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Which he’d seen before.
In Valletta.
A guva.
What had Laura said?
They were once all over the island. Now only two remained.
Make that three.
He stepped over and gazed down into the blackness, the bottom not visible.
“About damn time,” a voice said from below.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Pollux left the Pwales Valley. He’d just killed three men. Add in the villa owner and James Grant, that made five murders. All regrettable, but necessary.
He’d made a call as soon as he left the chapel, using one of the phones he’d removed from the dead knights, telling the person on the other end to meet him at the Lippija Tower. It sat about ten minutes away from the chapel, a short, squat building from the 17th century, with two floors and a parapet roof facing Gnejna Bay on the northwest coast. He assumed the tower would be deserted at this hour and saw he was right as he drove close and switched off the car.
He reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the laptop. It had been bought for him a few weeks ago and had sat dormant ever since, waiting. He could not bring his own laptop, or anything else, from his former life. Pollux Gallo would have left all that behind when he retreated from the world. There could be nothing that linked him with his own past. The transformation had to be complete in every way.
He slid the flash drive in and typed the password KASTOR I.
He opened the one file and began to read, closer at some parts, scanning others, but amazed at the wealth of incredibly damaging information. More than he could have ever imagined. For years he’d studied the cardinals, learning all of their pertinent biographical information. He’d even been privy to Kastor’s private investigations and the bits and pieces that stumbled their way. But the information Spagna had amassed was so much more.
Kastor had been right.
It was a gold mine.
A car approached from behind, its headlights filling the rearview mirror. He had little time, but this matter had to be resolved before he left the island. He set the laptop aside and exited.
From the other vehicle, Kevin Hahn emerged and said, “Daniels is out of custody.”
He waved off the concern. “The Americans should no longer be a problem.”
“Except that Daniels killed four of our men.”
“Which is a terrible tragedy. But that’ll only lead to the knights, so we’ll let them have that problem.”
He and Hahn had been friends a long time. They’d met just out of their teens and served in the military together, then both joined the order. Hahn was not professed, but he was a knight. Over the years, it had been Hahn who’d kept him informed about all that happened on Malta. He was his eyes and ears on the ground, rising steadily to the position of head of Malta’s internal security. When he’d formed the team that would make up his temporarily reconstituted Secreti, Hahn had been there from the start. Thanks to Hahn he’d become aware of the Americans on the island and all of what Spagna had been doing. With Hahn’s help he’d learned of Laura Price’s duplicity, her alignment with Spagna, and the attempt that would have been made on his life. Proverbs was right. A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
Hahn was more like a brother than Kastor had ever been.
“You look just like him,” Hahn said.
And sounded like him, too. He’d been practicing for months. Not all that hard, as Kastor’s pitch and tone were nearly identical to his own. Just a few variations, which he was concentrating on adjusting. The diction and syntax seemed the most difficult part. Everyone had their pet words, their own way of saying things, himself included. But he was no longer himself.
“Do you have any idea what Daniels might do?”
Hahn shook his head. “He told me little. He just left.”
Surely Daniels would reconnect with Malone, who would report that the Trinity had been found and returned to the knights and the church, who would sort things out. Of course the incident with the boat would need resolution. Men were dead. But again, nothing led to Rome.
“What do you want me to do?” Hahn asked. “The Americans have asked for my help in identifying the men from the boat.”
“Help them. It doesn’t matter. Be cooperative. Let them investigate the boat and the four men. That will lead to the Knights of Malta, not to Kastor Gallo or you.”
He could see that his friend agreed.
“Are you ready?” Hahn asked.
“I am.” He reached out and shook Hahn’s hand. “You’ve been a great help. But there’s a problem at the chapel. Two of our brothers became greedy. They wanted more. I had to deal with them.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“They left me no choice. I need you to return there and bury them with Kastor. He’s at the bottom of the guva, as are they. There’s a rope and shovel there, too. Use them to clean things up. We can’t risk anything being found. So far everything has gone perfectly and nothing leads back to the chapel. So let’s finish this.”
He knew his old comrade would not protest. Hahn was coming with him to the Vatican, eventually becoming the operational head of the Entity. Another reason why Danjel Spagna’d had to be eliminated. Having his man in charge of the world’s oldest intelligence agency would be nothing but a plus. Though he would have preferred to do this alone, Proverbs again was instructional. Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.
“I’ll get it done,” Hahn said. “You go become pope.”
“I have all of Spagna’s information. It should be more than enough to convince the right votes.”
He walked back to his car.
Pleased.
All that remained was to read the third part of the trinity.
Constantine’s Gift.
