Chapter 75
Mellie?a, Republic of Malta
Duncan climbed out of the taxi van and into a sunny Maltese morning.
He luxuriated in the warmth. It was nothing like the rainy skies and low clouds of springtime in Exeter.
Still, the breeze reaching this hilltop from the Mediterranean’s blue waters below required wearing a light jacket.
He wished he could’ve donned shorts, but not knowing the terrain ahead, he had settled for khaki pants and stout boots.
He cleared out of the way for the other four. They were all similarly attired. Only, Naomi had added a wide-brimmed sunhat. And Sharyn had her usual ballcap with her ponytail tucked out the back.
Tag climbed out last, using his cane to help propel him. “Ready?”
“We’d better be,” Archie said. “We’ve traveled a proper long distance to get here.”
Duncan rubbed his wrist, which had long healed, but he still found himself massaging it when nervous.
For Easter Break, the five of them had flown to the Republic of Malta, a trio of islands about sixty miles south of Sicily.
While other university students headed to parties in Spain or Greece, they had detoured here.
Not for drunken festivities, but to hunt for confirmation of what they had worked on over these past five months.
What Naomi called their private study club and what Tag described as our little Gardiens party.
While they had reached some conclusions months ago—using charts, maps, and reading histories—they had waited for this school break.
For a couple reasons. First, they wanted the heat to die down.
After the events in the Dolomites, the spotlight had shone too strongly on them—both at school and far wider.
The discovery of the lost treasures of the Second Temple had garnered much press, especially with the murderous conspiracy surrounding it.
The aftermath and repercussions still reverberated across intelligence agencies, financial institutions, and nations.
Cardinal Tissot had been captured and imprisoned, but the ongoing efforts to root out other members of the Confrérie continued.
This was aided by Saanvi Burman, who was confined to a prison hospital, paralyzed from the neck down, requiring help even breathing.
Archie’s father also worked diplomatic channels to further this effort.
Though, knowing such organizations, the enemy would surely rise again in one form or another.
As Sir Kelly had once told them, power does not tolerate a vacuum.
Additionally, Duncan’s dad—with his international ties to the banking world—worked alongside Archie’s father to ferret out and confiscate all the gold hidden by Tissot’s family. Any success in this regard would likely wound Tissot more than the decades of incarceration ahead of him.
Off in the Dolomites, Laurent continued working with a team of archaeologists, religious scholars, and other academics who painstakingly sought to extract the vast treasure.
Duncan imagined he was also looking for Saint-Germain’s key amid all that gold.
This thought caused him some guilt, knowing what Sharyn had kept secret.
He stared up the curve of the narrow street. It led to a church with a tall belltower. The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Mellie?a. It was the oldest church in Malta, first consecrated in 1436. From their studies, this seemed like the best place to begin their search.
Naomi joined him, craning up at the stone structure. “And you think the Temple of Water is somewhere inside there?”
Duncan knew that that was exactly what they were looking for, a vault dedicated to water. Here on an island surrounded by the sea.
“Hopefully we’ll find its door hidden in the church,” Sharyn said. “But I’m certain the vault itself is buried somewhere in the limestone hill beneath it.”
For now, they had to take her word on it. None of them had witnessed the miracle she had seen. He could still picture her kneeling at the foot of the flaming menorah, staring at the burning book.
“Let’s go.” Tag led the way up the hill with his cane. “If it’s in there, I’m not missing out.”
“Me neither,” Naomi said. “Not this time.”
Duncan rolled his eyes and followed, hooking his arm around Sharyn. Their relationship had grown over these past months. He had even spent February’s half-semester break with her back in the States.
Naomi waved to the picturesque village that surrounded the church. “The name of this place. Mellie?a. Do you know what that translates to?”
Tag frowned at her. “What?”
She reached and tapped the amulet hanging around his neck. “Salt.”
He gripped the tiny crystal vial. “Really?”
“Said to be named after the bay’s ancient Roman salt pans.” Naomi eyed him. “Hopefully it’s a sign of good luck for us.”
“I’ll take it.”
Duncan knew the story behind the charm. Naomi had sent a sizable wire payment to the two who had helped her in San Vito. Most of those funds had been contributed by Archie’s dad, who had been equally appreciative.
Duncan took Sharyn’s hand.
I am, too.
As the group continued upward, he surveyed the spread of neighboring valleys, all framed by white cliffs pocked by caves, once neolithic homes. Even the church ahead was the island’s only surviving troglodytic sanctuary, meaning it had been built into caves, rising out of them from below.
Not unlike the bunker in the Dolomites.
For that reason alone, it was worth investigating.
But the more important reason strode alongside him. He glanced over to Sharyn and squeezed her fingers, expressing his trust.
Only she had witnessed the miracle that led them here.