The Merchant of the Black Market, A Lex Jackson thriller: Book two

Chapter 2:

Valletta, Malta 

As the SS Trenton entered the harbor, the sound of the yacht's motor echoed off the breakwater walls. They had stumbled upon a free dock near a cruise ship, and they could hear the excited chatter of tourists as they prepared to embark on a tour. Leslie strolled up the steps, taking in the salty scent of the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. As Leslie strolled up the steps, she glanced outward at the island. The Mediterranean sun brought out the golden tones of the honeyed limestone streets, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Upper Barrakka Garden was the knight's vantage point for viewing the yacht moored at one of the free docks. He watched intently as the two people stepped off the vessel and onto the cobblestone streets. Gradually, he brought his binoculars down, and he became motionless. It was impossible that she could be Jean de Vallette's granddaughter, but she was the granddaughter of Jean de Vallette. He learned the man's identity after snapping a photo with his cellphone.

The Raptor, the knight thought to himself. They strolled along the street till they noticed a cab going by and it stopped for them. They climbed in, and they shut the door. The taxi drove up the twisting, tiny lanes to the city gate. They exited and paid the driver with euros. Leslie and the assassin entered the city via the gate, feeling as if they were in a different year and century. They went along the cobblestone street, past 16th-century baroque, multicolored stone houses, and palaces. The streets were overflowing with tourists from all over the world who had traveled to visit the city, which is a UNESCO World Historic Site in its own right.

The Raptor had no trouble seeing himself living here in the seventeenth, eighteenth, or nineteenth centuries. His burner vibrated in his jacket pocket, reaching into his pocket. The assassin drew it from his pocket. He held it up to his ear.

"Greetings, Mr. Chase, it's a pleasure to have you here in Malta," the man's voice echoed over the telephone line.

Sneering, he said," that he had known many names before."

"Meet me in St. George Square and I'll tell you about the wet job I want you to do?" Victor stated as he strolled along the packed cobblestone walkway to the square. He learned about the Raptor from a black-market dealer. He stopped the chat.

   Flashback

St.Petersburg, Russia

Ten years ago

Leslie was enjoying her coffee in Coffee Room Street with her closest friend Chessa Stepanov when her companion noticed a dazzling golden Mercedes Benz pulling up to the door. She wouldn't have spotted the burly, good-looking man in a European tailor-made suit walking out the rear door. Her gaze flashed across the window. Outside, a harsh Russian stood clutching an AK-47. Three minutes later, a gentleman entered, gesturing to his bodyguard Grigory to stay outside. Chessa could tell the Russian gunman worked for The Bratva by how he held his rifle and the tattoo on his hand.

"Who are you and what are you after?" Leslie inquired, suspiciously looking at Chessa.

"Hello, my name is Semion Mogilevich." As he continued, the guy stated in a Russian accent. " Don't be afraid, I'm not here to hurt you." I'd want to hire you as a cleaner."

Leslie had read enough novels and seen enough movies about cleaners; they were the ones who cleaned up after the assassins finished their dirty job. Yet she was no maid. She was a university student studying Political Science. Her gaze sharpened as she pondered why the Russian tycoon would want to recruit her as a housekeeper.

He's the V for Zakone of the Bratva," Chessa said to Leslie.

"You'll start by training with my cleaners, and once you've completed your training, you'll work directly under me. "I'll transfer ten million dollars into an offshore bank account of your choice," Mogilevich told her.

Leslie's eyes glowed with delight at the prospect of 10 million dollars in her offshore bank account. She could travel all throughout Europe attempting to avoid detection. And, of course, she'd have to alter her surname. If she was going to work for the Russian Mafia, she needed better be good at it.

As Leslie stood up from the table where they were sitting, she said, "Imagine what a million bucks could do for me." I might become a cleaner for assassins. After leaving the building, Leslie and Mogilevich walked  over to the gleaming golden Mercedes Benz. Grigory grabbed the back door for them as he walked over to the Mercedes Benz. As the Russian gunman closed the back door behind them, they slipped in.

"Please don't worry about Grigory. He's simply here to ensure my safety from those who wish to harm me because of what I do. In my line of work, I have made many enemies," Mogilevich reassured her.

Grigory confidently took the driver's seat and shut the door behind him. The bullet-proof Mercedes-Benz navigated the narrow streets to the expansive dacha in the countryside. Upon arrival at the security gate, high-resolution surveillance cameras scanned for any signs of activity. Russian special forces operators were present, gripping their MP7 submachine guns. Counter-snipers closely monitored the area through their powerful scopes atop the roof with their ghost black ORSIS T-500 sniper rifles.The gate opened, and the bullet-proof Mercedes-Benz drove through, parking outside on a long curving hill with a marble pathway leading up to the Marble Golden Palace.

As the Russian gunman grabbed the back door, Mogilevich and Leslie quickly departed. Seeing all the armed men with weapons, she surveyed the property. As his butler opened the door, they strode up the marble pathway to the dacha. They entered a Russian-style interior corridor with paintings. famous artists hung on the wall.

Present day

The assassin and Leslie strolled up the street, admiring the imposing buildings, until they reached St George's Square. They settled into one of the cozy cafes. They sat down at an outdoor table. And they waited.On his way to the square, Victor Kenton walked down the crowded cobblestone street.He learned about Raptor, The Man with Many Faces," from one of his Sandino assets. As a child, Victor was born and raised in Malta by his father, a commercial fisherman, and his mother, a curator of Mdina's cathedral museum. He fled the island before he turned twenty. After graduating from St. John's College in Cambridge, he moved to London, England, where he studied modern history at St. John College. After that, he became a Sotheby's auction house representative.

After taking perpetual vows to become a Knight of Justice, they admitted him to the Sovereign Military Order of Malta. In a secretive conclave-style meeting at the Order's villa on Aventine Hill, they elected him Grand Master. However, three weeks later, 1.2 billion Catholics demanded Grand Master Kenton's resignation. It was later revealed that the Vatican intelligence agency had discovered Victor's use of the Sandino family to influence the Vatican's election of the next pope. Pope Francis was unhappy with these actions.

After that, he moved back to Malta, where he opened his own gallery called The Hospitalers. But he found his own calling in greed, selling relics and famous paintings from Unesco World Heritage Site. Victor sauntered over to Caffe Cordina, Valletta's most famous cafe. Victor walked over to the table that sat underneath an umbrella, where the Raptor and Leslie were sitting. He sat across from him at the table. He was wearing a tailored three-piece suit, and on his right hand, he wore a golden ring with the Maltese cross in the middle of it. 

The Raptor attentively examined him, attempting to find out who his client was. He couldn't place the golden right with the cross on it. Yet he was always one for details. Leslie leaned down and whispered something into his ear.

"He had to be a grandmaster or knight to wear the Maltese cross."

"His name is Sir Alfano Gateno is a local antiquities merchant who has been on loan to MI6 and the Sovereign Military Order of Malta." Victor placed his iPad on the table and clicked on an image. He's been peeking into my private galleries and asking strange questions. I want him gone, and I'll send $12,000 into both of your offshore bank accounts."

"How can I trust you, Mr.?" inquired the raptor skeptically.

"Vito Sandino said you were the best in our line of business, so I trust his word. The Raptor took out his Glock 21 and put it on the table, saying, "Don't double cross me or come after me after I've done it.". Victor sauntered out of St George's Square and walked up the cobblestone sidewalk disappearing into the crowd as he said, "Be sorry if you do well" Leslie knew she had seen him, but where was the question?