“It’s a badge,” the man said. “From another time. A responsibility that is no longer relevant.”
“And yet I retrieved this one and you’re still wearing one. Two in a single day—from something, as you say, that is no longer relevant.”
No reply.
“Are you a knight?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Professed?”
The guy nodded. “You’re familiar with us?”
“Actually, I knew little to nothing about you until a couple of hours ago. And I still know zero about this ring.”
He displayed it again for the man to see.
“Where exactly did you get it?” the man asked.
He’d come here for answers, and to receive, sometimes you gotta give. “Off a dead man.”
“Did he have a name?”
“MI6 is working on supplying one. He carried no identification.” He found his cell phone and showed a head shot of the corpse that Grant had sent. “One of yours?”
“I’ll find out. Can you provide me with this photo?”
“Absolutely. Do I get to speak with the grand master?”
“We don’t have one at present. Only a lieutenant ad interim. A temporary replacement. We’re awaiting the conclave and a new pope before choosing a permanent leader.”
He’d read earlier that grand masters were elected by the professed knights, in secret. But before they assumed office, the election had to be communicated in writing to the pope. That, of course, presupposed that a pope existed.
“Do I get to speak with the lieutenant ad interim?” he asked.
The man nodded. “He’s waiting for you.” Then he motioned at the stone stairway to their right. “Follow me, please.”
Twelve years he worked for the Magellan Billet. Stephanie Nelle had recruited him straight out of the navy and he’d come with little to no training, learning everything on the job. Along the way he’d acquired a set of instincts that kept him alive and allowed him to quit on his own terms, retiring early, able to buy a bookshop in Denmark, fulfilling a lifelong dream. One of those instincts had flared earlier in Milan when James Grant so easily agreed to double his fee. Another arose when the money was promptly paid. Now a third festered with the bad vibes he was receiving from this emissary. Luckily, this was not his first briar patch, and he knew how to walk among thorns.
He approached the stairs, his host two steps beyond.
“By the way,” he said, “what’s your position with the knights?”
“I have several titles, one of which involves providing security for the organization. I help make sure everyone and everything stays safe.”
The words were delivered with a confidence that came from being dressed in a shirt and tie. But they made sense. He assumed an outfit as large as the Hospitallers had a need for security.
They climbed the stairs.
He heard the distinctive thump of rotors beating through air.
A helicopter. Close by and coming closer.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Your transportation.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Luke climbed out of the guva.
Laura followed him, also using the rope. He caught her ease of technique and the fact that she barely needed a second breath from the effort. His original assessment seemed correct. She was in terrific shape.
He saw he was standing in an underground chamber, the walls more rough stone, the floor dank earth. Bright bulbs enclosed within metal cages lined the low ceiling and hurt his eyes. A door led out to a lit passageway beyond.
“These tunnels are from the knights,” she said. “They burrowed like groundhogs under the city. They were mainly for water delivery and sanitation. But they also served as a way to move men and weapons around unnoticed. Miles of them still exist. During World War II the Maltese hid from the German bombers down here. Some are cleared and easy to get to. Others, not so much. This complex, and the guva, are known only to the government.”
She started for the exit. The tunnel beyond seemed to go on forever. He didn’t move. She stopped and turned back toward him, noticing his hesitation.
“You know what I want,” he said to her.
She stood her ground. “I wouldn’t press things. I’m not happy about having a partner. This does not involve the Americans in any way.”
“Except for the fact that I’m now in on this.”
“Only because Stephanie Nelle sent you here. Now my boss says you’re to stay in.”
“From what I hear, you don’t take orders all that well.”
“I do my job.”
Something wasn’t making sense. “Why did you call Stephanie in the first place?”
“To tell her that you were an idiot. Vatican intelligence made you the minute you hit this island.”