The Malta Exchange (Cotton Malone 14)
He steadied himself and marched toward the entrance.
Kastor’s aide waited outside the glass doors.
His first test.
“Eminence,” the priest said, offering a slight bow. “Welcome. Your room is ready. I’ll show you the way.”
He nodded in gratitude and followed the young man inside.
* * *
Luke drove back toward the Church of St. Magyar’s. Hard to get lost on this island, the whole place smaller than back home in Blount County, Tennessee.
He wondered what his mother was doing. She lived a solitary life, his father gone to his reward a long time ago. Two of his brothers lived nearby and kept an eye on her. She lived off Social Security and his father’s retirement, but Luke made sure she never wanted for money. Not that such oversight was easy. She was one proud woman, who never wanted to be a burden to anyone. But he’d worked out an arrangement with her bank where he could transfer money into her account with a phone call. And she could not transfer it back out.
Not that she hadn’t tried.
He slowed the car as he entered a town. Farmland and vineyards surrounded its shops and businesses, which all seemed gauged to agriculture.
Finally, he was focused.
On track.
He stopped at an intersection, then turned the car toward the Pwales Valley.
* * *
Pollux admired the vestments laid out on the bed. A full-length cassock, mozzetta, zucchetto, and biretta, all in scarlet red to symbolize the blood a cardinal supposedly was willing to shed for his faith. The rochet was a traditional white, Kastor’s a simple embroidered lace signifying his lack of jurisdiction over any post or diocese. Others wore more elaborate designs presented to them by their congregations. But always white. He already wore the cardinal ring, but a gold chain with a crucifix lay on the bed, ready to be donned. Kastor’s aide, a priest he’d dealt with before as Pollux, had never hesitated, assuming that the cardinal himself had arrived.
“Is all in order?” the priest asked in Italian.
He looked away from the bed. “Yes. Perfect.”
The bedroom was a reflection of simplicity. Just the bed and a nightstand with a plain crucifix on a cream-colored wall. A silent butler filled one corner, there for hanging his clothes, the floor a polished parquet with no rug. The sitting room beyond was equally austere with a table, three chairs, and a buffet against one wall. Nothing adorned its walls. Nothing covered the parquet on the floor, either. Both rooms emitted a musty, lived-in waft with a trace of masculine musk.
“You should change quickly,” his aide said. “The schedule is tight. Mass inside St. Peter’s begins in less than an hour. Then, contrary to usual, the cardinals will proceed directly to the Pauline Chapel, then start the procession to the Sistine Chapel.”
He’d brought the four parchments, safely tucked inside the reliquary within the duffel bag, which had been delivered to the room. They would stay here. Constantine’s Gift might be needed later, when they all returned here for the night. His laptop was also inside the bag, the flash drive safe within his pocket, where it would stay all day. That would definitely come into play later this evening.
“Leave me,” he said.
The aide withdrew, closing the door behind him.
He stared at the scarlet robes.
A cardinal.
Once a title given to second sons and ministers of ambitious monarchs, most often now it went to those in the curia. The post was mentioned nowhere in the Bible or in the teachings of Christ. It had been totally created by the church. The name came from the Latin cardo. Hinge. Since the election of a pope hinged on their deliberations.
Like now.
He smiled.
Time to complete the transformation.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Luke reentered the guva chamber. The chapel’s main door remained splintered into pieces, offering easy access. Malone had told him the Knights of Malta owned the building and would be informed of the entire situation once he was in Rome. Hopefully, they wouldn’t send him a bill for the damage.
It should bother him that Malone had assumed the lead, dispatched to the Vatican while he was sent back to this hole in the ground with dead bodies. But it didn’t. He was a team player. Always had been. Stephanie had sent him here and he would do what she wanted. Pappy would handle things in Rome, and together they’d get the job done.
And that’s what mattered.
He agreed with Harry Truman.
It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you don’t care who gets the credit.
He stood at the edge of the hole, gazing down at the black void. The rope remained tied to the post, snaking a path downward. He grabbed hold and planted his feet on the side wall, an easy matter to work his way down. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he glanced toward the bottom.
No bodies.
No shovel.
He stopped.
Where the hell had they gone?
He’d seen no one and no other vehicles outside. But where he and Malone had dug earlier seemed disturbed, the area larger, nearly taking up the entire floor. Somebody had been here digging. Above, he caught the momentary flicker of a shadow in the light. Alarm bells rang in his head. He began to pull himself back up the rope, working his feet on the rough walls, hurrying. He came to the top, his head cresting the edge, his eyes seeing a man with his back to him, slicing the rope with a knife.
Damn.
The hemp snapped.
The fingers of his left hand swung up and dug into the hard earth, barely supporting his weight. He heard footsteps scrapping his way. He pulled himself up and saw Kevin Hahn, his right arm sweeping downward toward him in an arc, the knife coming straight for his hand.
Crap.
Pivoting, he swung out, his right hand finding the edge, which allowed him to yank the other away and continue to support his weight.
The blade pierced the hard ground. The fingers on his right hand ached. Hahn moved to withdraw the blade for another blow. Luke planted both hands and pushed up, one knee finding hard ground, his left hand grabbing hold of Hahn’s ankle and yanking a leg out from under him.
He rolled out of the guva.
Hahn sprang to his feet, brandishing the knife.
Luke rose, too. “Are we seriously going to do this?”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He gave the five-inch blade the respect it deserved, but he’d faced many a knife before. And what self-respecting east Tennessee redneck didn’t like a good fight every now and then. Besides, he had a ton of questions for this bastard.
Hahn jabbed a couple of times, which he allowed, trying to gauge his opponent’s potential. Which wasn’t all that much. Surprising, given this guy’s job. Maybe too many ftira and too long behind a desk.
“You bury those bodies?” he asked.
Hahn’s answer was another swipe with the blade.
Enough. He dropped back a step and allowed Hahn to advance. He feigned left, then shifted in the opposite direction, swinging his right fist up hard, catching Hahn’s jaw. The head whipped back and he followed with a left jab to the stomach. Hahn crumbled forward. He kicked the knife out of his grasp. Hahn tried to right himself, dazed from the two blows. But Luke grabbed two handfuls of shirt and wrenched him upright, swinging Hahn around and angling him out over the guva. Hahn’s arms flailed as he tried to find some semblance of balance but the only thing keeping him from dropping below was Luke’s two-fisted grip on his shirt.
“It’s a long drop,” he said.
He caught the fear in Hahn’s eyes.
“I’m going to ask some questions. You’re going to answer. If not, I let go. We have a deal?”
Hahn nodded.
“Let’s start with the question you ignored. Did you bury those bodies?”
He nodded again.
“You’re not going to make me ask, are you?”
“I was told to do it.”
He sh
ook his head and pushed Hahn farther out at a dangerous angle, which immediately got the guy’s attention.
“Okay. Okay. Okay.”
He pulled him back.
“Pollux Gallo. I did it for him.”
“And the cardinal? What do you know?”
“He’s dead.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Who killed him?”
“Gallo. Brother-to-brother. He’s down there.”
“I want to hear it all. And talk fast. My fingers are getting tired.”
“Pollux and I go way back. He came to me with a plan and made me an offer. I went along with it.”
“You sold out Spagna and the Entity to Gallo?”
Hahn nodded. “I hated Spagna. He deserved what he got.”
This guy was a wealth of information. Stephanie and Malone both needed good intel, but to acquire it would take a little time.