Behind Stephanie, in the doorway, a man appeared. A new face. Tall, broad-shouldered, thick brown hair falling to his ears, a monk’s beard dusting his chin and jaw.
“Cotton,” Stephanie said. “This is Pollux Gallo. The lieutenant ad interim of the Knights of Malta. I think he can answer both of your questions.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kastor rode with Chatterjee.
A torrent of rain glistened beyond the car windows with each stab and flash of blue-white lightning. The steady slapping of the wipers worked to dull his senses.
They’d left Mdina in Chatterjee’s vehicle, heading toward Marsaskala, an ancient town nestled close to a sheltered bay on the eastern shore. A familiar place, with buildings that stretched on both sides of the water with a promenade that offered views of low shelving rocks, colorful fishing boats, and the old saltpans. He knew its name derived partly from marsa, Arabic for “bay,” and skala, Italian for sqalli, meaning “Sicilian.” In years past, Sicilian fishermen often sought harbor there, as it was less than a hundred kilometers south of their home. Summer was its busy time. Many Maltese families owned vacation homes there, its array of bars and restaurants catering to a seasonal crowd.
As a boy he’d come here often to swim, drying off on the warm rocks after a dousing in the cold Mediterranean. Back then the journey took a while, as the roadways were nothing like today. Few outside of Valletta were paved and none led anywhere except to dead ends, mostly at the water’s edge. All that changed in the 1970s when tourism exploded. Despite the modernization, though, history still tugged at every glance around the island. The knights’ presence remained strong, more, he knew, for the tourists than for any genuine love.
The Maltese and the Hospitallers never got along. They’d been resented from the start as foreigners who’d been given their land by another foreigner. The knights had not helped matters by bringing nearly continuous war to the island, their occupation deemed a constant threat to the Arab world. Even worse, they treated the local population more as tenement workers and soldiers in need than fellow citizens.
The knights never understood how to rule a place so small as Malta. People living so close to one another for so long had learned to appreciate the needs and desires of their neighbors. It was a kind, cooperative society, which the knights governed with heartless tyranny. By 1798 the Maltese were fed up and the French had been welcomed as liberators, with Napoleon lauded as their champion. Few on Malta had been sad to see the knights tossed out. But that joy had quickly been replaced with loathing, and the same mistake was not made twice. The French were vanquished within two years. Eventually, with the defeat of Napoleon in 1814, the British gained the island and maintained control until 1964.
September 21.
Independence Day.
That old nun from the orphanage had been wrong about the festival of Our Lady of the Lily and the three stolen pasti. All that had happened at an Independence Day celebration. He’d not corrected Spagna, but he remembered every detail. What had she called him?
Halliel ftit. Little thief?
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He removed the unit, noted the caller, and answered.
About time.
“I have good news,” the voice said in his ear. “I now know where Mussolini hid what he found.”
He closed his eyes in relief. “Tell me.”
“The British have had the information all along. I was able to use the Churchill letters to obtain what we need from James Grant.”
“Where is it hidden?”
“I can’t say on an open cell line.”
“Can you get it?”
“It might be a challenge, but it’s obtainable.”
“And the man you just mentioned?”
“No longer a factor.”
He, too, was being careful with his words, but he was able to say, “I’m with a man named Chatterjee. He works with a friend from Rome. We have a problem. There’s an American and a Maltese agent watching me.”
“Has the friend you mentioned made contact with you?”
“A bit of a surprise. But yes. You could have warned me.”
“It’s better this way. He’s the best in the world, and now he’s on your side.”
“Which came as news to me.”
“But welcomed, I’m sure. I arranged it, so please take advantage of the situation. Only a few more hours remain. Stay anonymous and above the fray. Let your new friend handle the dirty work.”
He did not need to be reminded. He’d begged for a fight with the last pope and had been given