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To the east was a second opening in the trees, this one a nearly straight corridor, at the end of which they could see the waters of the lagoon.
Of the dozens of tombstones visible, only a few were undamaged; all the others were either cracked or partially uprooted from the ground. Sam and Remi counted fourteen mausoleums. All of these showed signs of damage as well, either canted on their foundations or their walls and roofs caved in.
“What happened here?” Remi asked.
“A storm, I’m guessing,” said Sam. “Came off the ocean and ripped across the island like a chain saw. It’s a shame.”
Remi nodded solemnly. “On the bright side, it may make our job easier. We won’t technically be breaking into Mala’s mausoleum.”
“Good point. But there is one more hurdle,” Sam said to Remi.
“What?”
“Let’s look first. I don’t want to jinx us.”
They split up, Sam taking the east side and moving north, Remi taking the west side and moving north. Skipping grave markers, each headed for the nearest mausoleum, stopping only long enough to read the name engraved on the stone facade.
At last, Remi reached the graveyard’s northeast corner, near the jumble of pine logs. As she approached the last mausoleum in her line, it seemed to be the least damaged of the lot, with only a few cracks showing in the walls. It was also uniquely decorated, she realized, her heart skipping a beat.
She called, “Sam, I think we may have a winner.”
He walked over. “Why do you think so?”
“That’s the biggest cross I’ve seen. You?”
“Yes.”
The wall closest to them bore a four-by-five-foot Eastern Orthodox cross, with its three crossbars—two horizontal ones close together near the top and one near the bottom canted sideways.
“I’ve seen a lot of those, but none this big. I’m curious: why the slanted bottom crosspiece? I assume it’s symbolic of something?”
“Ah, the mysteries of religion,” said Sam.
They walked the last few feet to the mausoleum, then split up, each walking around a side to the front, which they found was surrounded by a calf-high wrought-iron fence. One side was smashed flat against the ground. At the bottom of three stone steps, the mausoleum door was open—or, to be more accurate, gone. Beyond that, the interior was dark.
Carved into the pediment beneath the mausoleum’s sloped roof were four letters: M A L A.
“Nice to finally find you, Your Eminence,” Sam murmured.
Sam stepped over the fence, followed by Remi, and descended the steps. They stopped before the opening; the stench of mildew filled their nostrils. Sam dug into his pocket and came out with his micro LED flashlight. They stepped onto the threshold, and Sam clicked on the light.
“Empty,” Remi murmured.
Sam panned the beam around the interior, hoping there was a lower antechamber, but he saw nothing. “Do you see any markings?” he asked.
“No. That smell isn’t normal, Sam. It’s like . . .”
“Stagnant water.”
He clicked off the flashlight. They turned around and climbed the steps. Sam said, “Somebody took him somewhere. All the mausoleums I checked were also empty.”
“Mine too. Someone disinterred these people, Sam.”
Back on the monastery grounds, they spotted a man atop a wooden ladder leaning against the damaged belfry. He was middle-aged, stocky, and wearing a black bicycle-racing-style cap. They walked over.
“Excuse me,” Remi said in Albanian.
The man turned and looked down at them.
