driver, Morgan slipped deftly through an unlocked wrought-iron gate and headed down a narrow alleyway that paralleled the side wall of the terrace. Reaching the rear of the house, he searched for a way in. He found a small verandah strewn with unused furniture and discarded household paraphernalia. The back door to the house was hard to get to, protected by the mad jumble of junk and rubbish. Anyway, it was too obvious. Instead, he found a small window, unlatched and a quarter open. It belonged to what must have been a washing room directly beneath the window was a wide bench designed for sorting laundry.
Waiting for a moment, Morgan listened to the conversation going on inside. There were definitely more than two voices. It sounded like three. He waited a few moments longer. Yes, three. They were talking in a room somewhere in the middle of the long, narrow terrace. They were speaking Maltese but he could tell by the raised tone and aggression in their conversation that they were aggrieved. He recognized the captain's highly charged voice, and registered the words celebrita, famuz pjanista, the name Hamilton and then the word pulizija in the midst of the excited jabbering. So, when the captain had been brought into this game, he hadn't realized that the target was, in fact, a celebrity - a famous pianist - until he was up to his neck in it. His paranoia had, correctly, driven him to the conclusion that the businessman, Hamilton, was in some way connected to the police.
Using the volume of their argument, Alex Morgan slipped into the laundry via the window.
Chapter 22
WEST OF SAN LAWRENZ, GOZO, MALTA
When Charly opened her eyes again it was early afternoon.
She longed for water. Her throat was dry and her lips brittle and raw. Her entire body ached with the pain of being smacked around and lying on the rock floor of the cave with little or no protection from the elements. One of her eyes felt swollen with bruising and her cheeks throbbed. But she knew she must not give up hope. Inner strength was her only chance for survival and the will to live was a potent ally.
She looked down at her hands, the tools of her trade. They were scabbed and swollen. The rough stone surface of the cave was unforgiving and the bindings they'd kept her in for so long had played havoc with her circulation. She stretched her fingers wide and wiggled them, again and again, in her usual pre-performance ritual, but their responsiveness was slow and uncoordinated. Could there be permanent damage - physical or psychosomatic? Would she ever be able to play again? God, how could she even think about playing, when she didn't know if she would survive the night?
Although they'd left Charly alone most of the day, she had a distinct impression of hurried activity going on outside the entrance to the cave. There was talking and yelling among the guards and plenty of engine noises - comings and goings. It all sounded like preparation, but preparation for what? Something was going on out there. Charly felt drained and could feel herself slowly losing the drive to go on, but she couldn't let that happen.
Beyond the cave she could see the beautiful azure ocean and as she gazed longingly toward freedom, she felt a calm come upon her. She was suddenly returned to Sunset Hill and the view across Puget Sound to the distant Olympic Mountains. But only for a moment.
As she fell once again into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing, Charly knew she could not take another day of uncertainty. She could almost hear her father's voice telling her to get back in control.
If she was to have any chance of survival, she knew she had to be strong.
Chapter 23
MALTA
Morgan edged his way closer to the three men in the midst of their altercation. His Maltese was sketchy at best but there were just enough similarities with English to get him over the line. The argument was over the issue of his, Morgan's, appearance on the boat. The captain and the policeman had been
Waiting for a moment, Morgan listened to the conversation going on inside. There were definitely more than two voices. It sounded like three. He waited a few moments longer. Yes, three. They were talking in a room somewhere in the middle of the long, narrow terrace. They were speaking Maltese but he could tell by the raised tone and aggression in their conversation that they were aggrieved. He recognized the captain's highly charged voice, and registered the words celebrita, famuz pjanista, the name Hamilton and then the word pulizija in the midst of the excited jabbering. So, when the captain had been brought into this game, he hadn't realized that the target was, in fact, a celebrity - a famous pianist - until he was up to his neck in it. His paranoia had, correctly, driven him to the conclusion that the businessman, Hamilton, was in some way connected to the police.
Using the volume of their argument, Alex Morgan slipped into the laundry via the window.
Chapter 22
WEST OF SAN LAWRENZ, GOZO, MALTA
When Charly opened her eyes again it was early afternoon.
She longed for water. Her throat was dry and her lips brittle and raw. Her entire body ached with the pain of being smacked around and lying on the rock floor of the cave with little or no protection from the elements. One of her eyes felt swollen with bruising and her cheeks throbbed. But she knew she must not give up hope. Inner strength was her only chance for survival and the will to live was a potent ally.
She looked down at her hands, the tools of her trade. They were scabbed and swollen. The rough stone surface of the cave was unforgiving and the bindings they'd kept her in for so long had played havoc with her circulation. She stretched her fingers wide and wiggled them, again and again, in her usual pre-performance ritual, but their responsiveness was slow and uncoordinated. Could there be permanent damage - physical or psychosomatic? Would she ever be able to play again? God, how could she even think about playing, when she didn't know if she would survive the night?
Although they'd left Charly alone most of the day, she had a distinct impression of hurried activity going on outside the entrance to the cave. There was talking and yelling among the guards and plenty of engine noises - comings and goings. It all sounded like preparation, but preparation for what? Something was going on out there. Charly felt drained and could feel herself slowly losing the drive to go on, but she couldn't let that happen.
Beyond the cave she could see the beautiful azure ocean and as she gazed longingly toward freedom, she felt a calm come upon her. She was suddenly returned to Sunset Hill and the view across Puget Sound to the distant Olympic Mountains. But only for a moment.
As she fell once again into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing, Charly knew she could not take another day of uncertainty. She could almost hear her father's voice telling her to get back in control.
If she was to have any chance of survival, she knew she had to be strong.
Chapter 23
MALTA
Morgan edged his way closer to the three men in the midst of their altercation. His Maltese was sketchy at best but there were just enough similarities with English to get him over the line. The argument was over the issue of his, Morgan's, appearance on the boat. The captain and the policeman had been
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