Mission In Malta (8 page)

Max, Linden and Alfonzo made their way down to the limousine and, in a silent and quick ride to the Upper Barrakka Gardens, arrived at the opening ceremony of the World Annual Leech Conference.

The gardens sat high in the city of Valletta, floating above the Grand Harbour and commanding sweeping views of the ancient waterway.

A man in a black-and-white suit opened Alfonzo's door with a low bow, and the leech expert stepped out in a flurry of camera flashes and applause. He walked down the red carpet beneath breeze-shuffled trees draped with strings of coloured lights. Women offered wide, swooning smiles, and men clambered forward to shake his hand. And all of them were kissing him on both cheeks.

‘He's like some kind of leech celebrity,' Max whispered to Linden as they followed behind, occasionally blinded by the white camera flares.

‘Leeches are obviously very popular.' Linden straightened his jacket and started waving at the adoring looks from young girls. ‘Maybe I should wear a suit more often.'

At the edges of the gardens, ancient stone arches were snaked with stands of pink
bougainvillea. Buried within the many garden beds, hidden like gnomes, red lanterns glowed. In the centre of it all, a many levelled fountain was lit from beneath so that it seemed to spill streams of gold.

‘Ow!' Max pushed a tall man's elbow out of her face. ‘There's plenty of ground to stand on without having to use me as well.'

Waiters swept through the excited hum with large trays of food and drinks. They wove their way around brightly coloured lips, through cologne-whiffed air and past polished shoes, pressed suits and long, flowing gowns.

And each time people met, they kissed. It was everywhere. Old couples, young couples, kids and their parents. An old lady slipped one of the waiters a peck on the cheek when he handed her a cocktail.

‘What's with all the kissing?' Max mumbled to herself.

‘The what?' Linden looked up from a tray of small meat pies a waiter was offering him.

‘Why all the kissing?'

‘It's a big night and people are excited.'

‘I'm excited too, but you don't see me kissing everyone I meet.'

As eager leech fans scrambled around Alfonzo to get his autograph, security guards attempted to organise an orderly queue, and Max and Linden found themselves jostled to the back of the crowd.

‘This is like the Hollywood of the science world.' Max smoothed her elbow-shoved hair as they were pushed to the outer fringes of the ceremony.

‘If I'd known leeches were so popular, I'd have paid more attention to my hair.'

‘I'm not sure that would have helped.' Max smiled at Linden's untameable mop. ‘And anyway, our attention is supposed to be on Alfonzo and the people here, not your appearance.'

Linden tried to pat down his unruly hairdo but gave up when a passing waiter with a tray full of ricotta cheese-filled pastries walked by. ‘Pastizzis. Steinberger told me about these.' Linden took a bite. ‘Yep. They
are
good. I've got to find out a way to get these into the Mindawarra Bakery.'

‘Hey, watch it.' Another Alfonzo fan swung his camera into Max's head while trying to take a photo. ‘Do you mind if I have a little bit of earth to stand on?'

But Max didn't have to worry about standing for much longer. A wave of overzealous leech fans
had forced her away from Linden and towards the balcony fence bordering the gardens.

‘Max, you have to try one of these. Max?' Linden turned to see Max lifted from the ground by the crush of fans and left teetering on top of the low iron fence.

‘Linden!' Max reached forward in the confusion and tried to find something solid to hold onto, but one final, unseen shove from the crowd sent her toppling off the balcony.

‘Max!' Linden pushed through the crowd as if he was fighting a powerful rip. He reached the fence, searching desperately into the lamp-lit evening for Max, but all he could see was the blackened sweep of night that stretched all the way to the harbour.

Linden spoke into his watch. ‘Max, can you hear me?'

Nothing. An awful silence blotted out the night so that even the boisterous sounds of the party became muffled in the face of what may have become of his friend. Linden searched the darkness below, wondering if Max had landed in the harbour or, perhaps, he winced, slammed into the hard stone of the cobbled harbourside pavement.

‘Max, please answer.' Linden held the watch close to his lips. ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm here,' a small, irritated voice floated out of the device.

Linden strained his eyes. ‘Where?'

The light from Max's watch briefly illuminated the edge of her face.

‘Oh.' Linden's eyes adjusted to the low light, eventually revealing a flattened Max, only metres below him, lying on her back in a bed of … of …

‘It's manure if you're wondering where I've landed.' She turned the watch light off. ‘I'm in some kind of lower garden and it looks like it's fertiliser time.'

Linden smiled. ‘At least it would have softened the fall.'

Max carefully pulled herself out of the smelly bed, hoping to reduce the amount of reeking bits that stuck to her. ‘I bet things like this never happen to Alex Crane,' she complained.

‘I know I shouldn't,' Linden's voice snuck carefully out of Max's watch, ‘but … do you need a hand?'

‘No, I'll be fine.'

It was then that Max saw two shadows hidden beneath a stone arch at the far end of the lower
garden. The lights from the city behind them turned the figures into two sharp silhouettes. One towered over the other, arms flinging into the air and stabbing into the smaller one's chest.

Max slowly laid back on the manure pile and took her MP3 player from her pocket. She switched it on, pressed record, slipped in her earpieces and pointed the device directly at the men.

‘Do you understand me?' The tall shadow again beat into the chest of the other. He grabbed his shirt collar and delivered a hoarse threat. ‘We need the leech man if our plan is going to be successful. If he's delivered to us and everything works out, you get a nice little payout; if he isn't, well …' He sniffed. ‘You might find yourself going to sleep one night with the fishes. And we wouldn't want that, would we?'

‘No,' the smaller man wheezed.

Max raised her hand slightly, pointed her watch at the men and began recording with her mini digital camera.

‘If he isn't at the window by the end of the week, you'd better start running, because you don't want me catching up with you to tell you how disappointed I am.'

‘But I –' The small shadow began to cough.
A strangled, gasping cough that was being wrenched out of him. ‘Okay. Okay. By the end of the week. He'll be there.'

With one more squeeze of his shirt, the coughing man was pushed into a wall before he scuttled away.

The tall man straightened out his jacket and adjusted his tie. He took one long breath and snapped his head to the side in a sharp, bone-crunching crack that vibrated through Max's earphones.

‘Ow.' A sympathetic groan escaped from Max's lips and floated through the now quiet night. She bit down tight on her lips and flattened herself against the manure.

The tall man stepped slowly towards her, searching the darkness. Max willed herself not to move, hoping the cover of night would blanket her from his view. He stopped only metres from where she lay.

‘You coming back to the party or what? You're missing all the fun.'

The shadowed man turned to face the questioner behind him. ‘Yeah. I'm coming.' He cracked his neck again in a sickening snap before taking one more look and retreating into the night.

Max took a deep breath and let her chest deflate in a long, relieved sigh.

‘Linden,' she spoke into her watch. ‘Can you hear me?'

‘Yeah. Where are you? Are you okay?'

‘Nothing a shower wouldn't fix. Meet me back at the hotel in five minutes. I think I've found the men who are after Alfonzo.'

Max Remy stayed close to one of the inner walls of St John's Co-Cathedral in Valletta, Malta. The tolling bells of midnight rang throughout the sleeping city, signalling not only the hour of night but the time of the proposed robbery of one of Europe's most famous and treasured works of art: The Beheading of St John the Baptist by master Italian painter Caravaggio.

‘Come on, Archibald,' Max whispered. ‘I'm ready for you.'

Archibald Fossdrake – art thief, fairy floss stall owner and failed artist – was the person behind the robbery in yet another of his attempts to rid the world of its most famous artworks, and the Caravaggio was next.

Dressed in her black, full-length, anti-detection suit, Max slipped on her infrared glasses and searched the darkened corners of the cathedral. Her eyes drifted across the carved stone walls and along the domed ceiling and side altars with their intricately painted scenes from the life of St John. Every centimetre of the church was covered with art, down to the marble floor with its inlaid designs that took centuries to complete.

Max activated her Hover Shoes and floated
silently above the cool surface, waiting for Fossdrake's entrance.

And there he was. From a glass window high above the altar of the cathedral, lowering to the floor on a silken rope like a giant huntsman spider, was Fossdrake.

‘About time you showed up,' Max whispered.

The young spy waited for the thief to reach the floor, fold up his rope and make his way to the Oratory, the room that held the Caravaggio painting.

Moving across the floor on silent jets of air, Max followed. She poked her head into the Oratory. Her eyes flicked around the room. Her breathing quickened.

Fossdrake wasn't there.

She quickly ran her eyes over the tall golden ceilings carved with angels and banners and columns inlaid with the reddened marble of the Maltese Cross. She looked beyond the stone floor to the altar and above it, to the painting.

Max inched further into the room. Where could he have gone?

‘Oooph!' Max felt the threads of steel close around her like a giant octopus. Fossdrake was famous for his web launcher, and even though
she'd promised herself it wouldn't happen, Max had become its next victim.

The web launcher not only wrapped you snuggly in an inescapable trap, the steel threads were treated with a fine coating of knock-out serum that, after only minutes, left the victim in a deep coma.

‘Oh, that was too easy.' Archibald sniffled. ‘I thought the clever Max Remy would have been much more difficult to catch.' He smiled and stretched out his arms. ‘And here she is!'

The serum itched Max's nose. She swivelled and thrashed to loosen the threads, but with each movement she felt her muscles lose their strength and her body slip into a deep desire to sleep.

Fossdrake walked closer. ‘I'm going to rid the world of you for good, Max Remy. Do you understand? And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.'

The huge figure loomed over Max's tightly bound body. Closer and closer. All to the rhythm of a drawled, scraping sound.

Max turned her head to see a large, marble floor tile behind her sliding open, like the mouth of a gaping tomb.

‘Bye bye.' Fossdrake raised his hand.

He was going to push her into an open tomb. If Max didn't think of an escape in the next few seconds, she'd be locked beneath the church's marble floors for decades. Maybe even centuries. She had to escape. She had to get away before the brutal push that would

‘Ouch!'

‘Who are you?'

‘I'm the kid whose toe you just stepped on.' Max cradled her sore foot and jumped on her good one.

‘Well, you should watch where you put your toe in the future. Or you might just lose it.'

The short, stout man tugged at his rumpled suit and grunted through sneered lips before turning away.

‘I'm sure what you meant to say was “sorry”,' Max cried after him, but he'd already begun yelling at the waiter over the breakfast table about his coffee being cold.

‘Cheery fella,' Linden said, nodding. ‘I bet he's a ball to hang out with.'

Max and Linden were at the St James Cavalier Centre in Valletta. The first session of the Annual Leech Conference was about to begin, and to ignore the fact that the foyer was full of glass tanks resting on stone pillars filled with leeches, she'd been writing in her spy notebook.

‘If science makes you that popular, I think I've decided on a change in career.' Linden tucked into an apricot Danish and stared at Alfonzo, who was in the middle of a photo shoot and interview. All around him were journalists with microphones, notebooks and recording devices; photographers and bright lights, as well as the regular stream of swooning admirers.

‘How can he stand all that attention?' Max slipped her notebook into her pack.

‘It'd be hard having all those women running after you, but I'd get used to it after a while. All in the name of science, of course.' Linden shook his head, movie star style. ‘Have you heard back from Steinberger?'

‘No, not yet. Hopefully what we sent him will be enough for an ID.'

After Max's fall from the balcony the previous night, she and Linden had met back at her hotel room and, using her palm computer, contacted
Steinberger under the protective cover of the Shush Zone. Via the USB port on her computer, Max sent him the MP3 recording and vision of the two men, and Steinberger promised to get back to them as soon as he could with a possible identification.

‘So do you think your fall from the balcony was accidental or one of Alfonzo's “accidents” of the piano falling kind?'

Max looked at the swarming crowds around Alfonzo. ‘Oh, it was accidental. Those leech fans were so excited about meeting their idol, they didn't even notice I was there. Aah!'

‘Sorry to startle you. It's only us.' Alfonzo stood beside Max with Edgar's tank only centimetres from her face. ‘It's time to give my first lecture and Edgar has agreed to help me out, haven't you, little fella?'

Max stepped away from Edgar, who stood on one end and flung himself towards her with the entire reach of his slimy, contorting body.

‘Look, he's happy to see you.' Alfonzo brightened.

‘Sure he is.' Max looked away from Edgar and tried to shake off the creepy feeling of him wanting to slime all over her. ‘Who is Mr Happy over there?'
Max pointed at the toe-stomping man who was squeezing into a giant pile of croissants before finally choosing one and shoving it in his mouth.

‘Gregor Straussmann. A fellow leech expert. Very good at what he does too.'

‘And pleasant to work with?' Linden finished his Danish.

Alfonzo smiled. ‘We can't be all things to all people.'

‘That's what my mum used to say,' Linden said.

‘Maybe not all things,' Max complained, ‘but a few manners wouldn't be so bad.'

A voice floated above them, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for the first session of the day.'

A bustle of coffee and tea drinking, face wiping and excited movement filled the room.

‘Your big moment is here, my lovely,' Alfonzo spoke to Edgar.

‘Big moment.' Straussmann stood behind them. ‘Quick, everyone come and see the famous expert.'

‘Good morning, Gregor. Nice to see you again,' Alfonzo offered.

Straussmann met Alfonzo's gaze with an iron-cold look before grunting and walking away.

‘Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn't he?' Max sneered.

‘We're ready for you, Mr Martina.' A woman with a clipboard tapped Alfonzo gently on the elbow. ‘And your big announcement.'

‘Announcement?' Linden asked.

‘My colleagues and I have come much closer to linking our research with leeches to the prevention of the spread of cancer,' he buzzed.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Martina,' the woman breathed, ‘we really do have to go.'

‘Certainly,' Alfonzo replied. ‘Come on, my sweet. We don't want to keep everyone waiting.' Alfonzo tucked Edgar firmly under his arm before following the woman into the theatrette.

Max sighed. ‘Why do all the brilliant people I know treat their animals as if they're human?'

‘Because sometimes animals make a lot more sense than humans.'

Max squinted. ‘Did your mum say that?'

‘It was one of her favourites.'

‘Was there anything she didn't have a saying for?'

Linden thought about it. ‘No, I think she covered everything.'

Max's watch began to crackle. ‘Max, can you hear me?'

‘It's Stefan.' She and Linden moved around a corner into a small alcove. ‘Go ahead, Stefan.'

‘Meet me out the front of the centre. It's urgent.'

‘We'll be right there.'

As Max and Linden ran beneath the curved arches and snaking corridors to the front entrance, a set of rubber-soled shoes stepped out from a shadowy corner.

‘That's it, little ones. Run, run as fast as you can. Your destiny awaits and it's bound to be explosive.'