Frustrated, Clarkson replied, “Pardon me for being a stickler, but before we parse the legal niceties, do you mind telling me exactly what items we’re discussing?”
Paul glanced toward Ava, wordlessly asking, “Can we trust him with this?” She gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ava trusted Clarkson, but she’d defer to Paul’s judgment. She’d learned to appreciate his instincts about people. Paul deliberated. His mind told him to suspect everyone, but his heart told him the professor was a good man. On the basis of that intuition, Paul decided to tell the truth.
“We stole the lost jars of Cana. They’re in our hotel closet.”
Clarkson almost fell over. “Sliem Għalik Marija (Hail Mary),” he whispered.
While the two academics discussed the jars’ exalted status in archaeological history, Paul reread the newspaper report. He noted that investigators had found only one dead body in the catacombs, that of the female tour guide. The report made no mention of the impostor. This omission led Paul to an alarming conclusion: The killer had survived.
Chapter 13
Someone knocked. Gabe and Jess shared a look. Walking quietly, Gabe approached the door and peered out. It was a FedEx deliveryman, and he was loaded with packages. Suspicious, Gabe’s instinct was to leave the door locked. Then he remembered durmdvl’s message to expect a delivery. He signed for the shipment, and the FedEx man left. When Gabe opened the boxes, he discovered they contained thousands of dollars’ worth of cutting-edge computer hardware and a new phone. Jess was floored.
“What is all this stuff? What’s it doing here?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t order it.”
Suddenly Gabe recalled his offhand remark to durmdvl about needing a computer upgrade. This must be durmdvl’s response. Wow, thought Gabe, the guy doesn’t mess around. Refusing to consider how durmdvl had paid for the gear, Gabe concentrated instead on getting it unpacked.
“I have to go to class.”
“Okay, I’ll be here.”
By the time Jess returned from school, Gabe had taken over her den. Everywhere she looked an exotic computer component was humming or blinking. When he noticed her, Gabe said, “Hi, Jess. I set up everything in here. Hope you don’t mind.”
She sighed and forced a smile. “Of course not. How could I mind?”
With his attention focused on the computer screen, Gabe missed the sarcasm. “Great. Thanks, Jess. Oh, by the way, I finished off the rest of the Cokes. Looks like you’re out of soda.”
After hearing the details, Clarkson believed Ava’s story. He excused himself and hurried back to his office to contact Bishop Garagallo. As he passed Professor Fenech’s door, he recalled that his boss had seen him with the Americans. Clarkson swallowed. What would happen when Dominic realized they were murder suspects? Would he call the police? He turned to knock. Dominic was reasonable. If he spoke to him now, perhaps he could convince him of the truth. Then Clarkson realized it hardly mattered. Professor Xanthippe had seen the fugitives too. When that harpy connected the dots, she’d inform the authorities instantly. Time was of the essence.
He went directly to his office, closed the door, and turned the lock. A quick shuffle through his Rolodex produced a phone number for the archdiocese. He called and a polite receptionist answered. In rapid-fire Maltese, Clarkson asked to speak to Bishop Garagallo on a matter of utmost urgency. The receptionist apologized, saying the bishop was unavailable. “Where is he?” Clarkson barked.
“I’m very sorry, sir. I’m afraid I couldn’t say.” Then she confided, “It’s been an absolute madhouse here today. Everyone’s trying to follow the latest developments in Rome and then, on top of everything else, the bishop’s executive assistant never showed up for work. He’s gone missing. Personally, I’m not surprised. I always felt that young man was a little wiċċ laskri” (unstable).
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’ll give the bishop your message the instant he arrives.”
Realizing there was nothing more she could do, Clarkson said, “Thank you very much for your help. I appreciate it. Sahha.”
He hung up the phone and pondered his next move.
Paul and Ava returned to the computer lab. She tried to finish her research, but after the conversation with Clarkson, she was too angry. Paul read her mood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
After leaving the laboratory they crossed through the lobby, exited the building, and sat beneath a shady tree. Paul leaned against its gnarled trunk. Ava leaned against Paul.
When her words finally came, they were a torrent. She vented for a long time. Ava was both furious about and humiliated by the false allegations. Didn’t the media have a responsibility to print the truth? Didn’t they check their facts, research their claims? How could they be so irresponsible? She wanted to sue for libel.
Paul listened to her complaints without interrupting. When she wound down, he said: “It had to be Simon. With his money and influence, he can make them say whatever he wants. Besides, can you really blame the police for suspecting us? We were at the crime scene. Don’t you watch CSI? Our DNA must be all over those catacombs. You touched the body, for God’s sake.”
Ava shivered at the memory, and Paul moved quickly to change the subject. He asked, “Did you make progress translating the symbols?”
She sighed. It had been terribly frustrating. She might have identified the language, but she still couldn’t decipher the inscription. To Paul’s amusement, she sounded almost as upset about the unsolved puzzle as about the trumped-up murder charges.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, “it’ll come.”
“I’m glad one of us is confident.”
“I am.”
The sun had set. Now it was getting dark. By force of habit, Paul glanced at his wrist before asking, “What time do you think it is? Let’s go see if our new phone works.”
The world phone wasn’t fully charged, but it was operational. Leaving it plugged in, Ava dialed the 919 number from durmdvl’s text. Her first call was aborted — the signal was too weak. After unplugging the phone, Ava climbed upstairs to the roof, hoping for better reception. She redialed, and this time the call went through. After the anonymous voice mail beeped, she keyed in 999. durmdvl answered, authenticated Ava’s identity, and warned her that enemies might know they were in Malta.
“I’m afraid we learned that the hard way,” Ava replied. She recounted the previous evening’s unfortunate events. Horrified, durmdvl urged them to leave Malta before another assassin materialized. As they discussed travel options, Ava had a brainstorm. Who better to crack a code than a hacker? With durmdvl’s assistance, she’d be able to solve the mystery much faster. On the other hand, it might be unwise to trust a mysterious computer genius whom she’d never even met in person. Ava wavered. It was risky, but as Paul often said, life is risk.
Taking a deep breath, she decided: Circumstances justified a gamble. Crossing the Rubicon, Ava told durmdvl about the jars and the golden disks. Fascinated, durmdvl asked Ava to send photos. “Actually, we should forward them to Gabe,” durmdvl said. “He’s a superlative code breaker, much better than I am. I respect his skills. Don’t tell him I said so, but he has a knack for creative, indirect thinking that just can’t be replicated.” Hearing durmdvl express admiration for Gabe’s talents lifted Ava’s spirits. It was about time someone appreciated him! She agreed to send the photos as soon as possible. Then, with a smile, she said good-bye to her new friend and hung up the phone. Rejuvenated, Ava walked back downstairs to the computer lab.