The Ford Journals 1.8

Episode 8: The Watchful Eye

MALTA, 2:17 PM

The cab pulled up in front of Iniala Harbour House, and before I could even step out, Bash let out a low whistle.

For once, he had nothing sarcastic to say. “Alright, I’m officially impressed, Ford. You really know how to pick em'.”

I stepped out, takin gin the view—golden limestone buildings stacked against the harbor, the water gleaming under the afternoon sun. It had a kind of quiet confidence, the kind of city that had seen empires rise and fall and still remained standing.

“Not bad,” I said.

Bash shot me a look. “You say that every time. Admit it. You’re amazed.”

The doorman opened the entrance, and we stepped into Iniala’s sleek, modern interior—a contrast to Valletta’s ancient streets.

Bash let out a low exhale. “This is definitely ‘someone else is playing’ levels of nice.”

I handed our passports to the receptionis, who slid two keycards across the desk.

“Welcome to Iniala Harbour House, Mr. Ford. Your suite is ready.”

Bash grabbed his card. And shot off like a racehorse.

I ignored him, checking my phone. No new messages. But someone had been tracking us here—I could feel it.

And I had a suspicion we weren’t the only one in Malta.

THE CLUE THAT LEADS TO THE BREAK-IN

An hour later, we were sitting in the hotel lounge, drinks in hand, a centuries-old sketch of Fort St. Angelo spread across the table between us.

Bash tapped the paper. “I’m just gonna throw it out there—this does not look like your standard tourist attraction.”

I pointed to a symbol barely visible in the lower corner—the same one from Petra.

“It isn’t. This is a pre-Siege layout of Fort St. Angelo, and that marking? It wasn’t part of the original fortress plans.”

Bash frowned. “So either some knight got bored and decided to doodle, or we’re looking at an actual hidden passage.”

“Something the modern maps don’t show.”

Bash leaned back. “So where is our Salim for this fortress, how we going to get in there at night?”

I smirked. “We don’t have to go at night this time Bash. We are going to sign up for a regular tour tomorrow, and we will slip away once we reach hallway number 2, and we will have approximately 7 minutes to reach the hidden chamber to meet back up with our tour before anyone notices we’re gone.”

THE TOUR & THE ESCAPE

The guide’s voice echoed through the stone walls as we followed the group through Fort St. Angelo’s courtyards.

“During the Great Siege of 1565, this fortress withstood relentless attacks from the Ottoman Empire, standing as the last stronghold of the Knights of St. John…”

The tour was shifting toward the Grand Harbour viewpoint.

I nudged Bash, ready to breakaway. Except—he wasn’t even listening to me.

I turned to see him fully engaged in a heated historical debate with the guide.

“Now, hold on,” Bash interrupted, “are we really giving all the credit to the knights here? Because if you ask me, the Ottomans underestimated the supply chain logistics—basic siege economics. You cut off their food routes earlier, the whole things falls apart in half the time.”

The guide blinked, momentarily thrown off, but continued… “Well, the historical consensus is—”

“See, that’s the thing,” Bash continued, “the historical consensus is written by the winner. I mean, let’s talk terrain advantage. The Ottomans had—”

Bash was all the way at the front, I was in the back, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I rolled my eyes and had to go.

THE HIDDEN CHAMBER-SOLO MISSION

The underground passage was cool, dark, and eerily silent.

I moved quickly, my flashlight casting long shadows against the stone walls. At the end of the corridor, I found the chamber—of course nothing out in the open.

The old fortress map hadn’t marked this exact spot, but there had to be something—a hidden panel, a loose tile, anything.

It would have been much easier if there was someone else with me to help look.

I was looking swiftly, as I only really had 4 ½ minutes left before it would be noticeable I was gone and security would most likely be called.

I ran my fingers over a stone that looked slightly out of place. Pressing the edges.

Nothing.

Then I saw it.

A stone that looked to be darker than the others. And it was on the floor.

I crouched down, gripping the edge. It was loose.

I gave it a careful pull. The stone shifted slightly, but something else happened.

A faint click.

I took a step back. A moment later, another stone—this one set higher in the wall—shifted outward, revealing a hollowed-out compartment inside.

And inside, resting in the shadows, was the reliquary.

Only about a minute left to spare.

I carefully reached inside, pulling out the ornate gold container. It was heavy, its carvings intricate, untouched for centuries.

I pressed the small engraved button.

The lid clicked open.

Inside, resting on aged velvet, was a parchment.

I unfolded it carefully. The writing was precise, deliverate.

But the moment I saw it, I knew something was wrong.

Half the page was missing.

I sighed. “Of course.”

I moved quickly, retracing my steps though the dark cooridor, back up the stairwell.

I slipped down hallway 3 to meet back up with the tour group seamlessly.

But Bash wasn’t there.

I scanned the crowd, expecting to see him still engaged in some passionate debate over medieval supply chains.

Nothing.

A slow realization settle in. Bash had gone looking for me.

Now I had to find Bash before something goes wrong.

THE SEARCH FOR BASH

As the tour was moving, I was side-eyeing every side corridor, every alley, etc.

Nothing.

A couple moments later, I hear a loud commotion towards the tour exit.

I closed my eyes. “Of course.”

I turned the corner just in time to see Bash being questioned by a very annoyed security guard.

Bash had his hands raised slightly in mock surrender, already talking fast.

“Look I get it, I do. But in my defense, if you don’t want people walking through here, maybe don’t leave the door unlocked? I really am doing you all a favor and showing all your weak-points on property, pretty weak fortress if you ask me!”

The guard folded his arms. “Sir this is a restricted area.”

Bash sighed dramatically. “‘Restricted’ is a strong word. I prefer, ‘highly discouraged.’”

I strode over, gripping his arm. “There you are. I told you to go use the restroom and come right back. Let’s go.”

Bash turned to me, looking genuinely relieved. “Oh thank God. I though you got kidnapped.”

The guard narrowed his eyes at me. “This your friend?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

The guard sighed. “Tell your little friend to stay with the tour next time, or we will have to report him to the higher authorities.”

“Won’t happen again, appreciate your help.” I said, and we headed out of there.

As I dragged him out of the restricted area, Bash muttered, “Well, that was embarrassing. You could’ve at least let me finish my argument with the guard, I was just about to shut him down…verbally.”

“Whatever you say Bash..”

THE WALK BACK TO THE HOTEL

We made our way back through Valletta’s narrow streets, the sun setting behind the harbor.

Bash exhaled. “Alright, so let’s recap. You ditched me. I went looking for you. Then I got ‘lightly detained’ by fortress security. And somehow, I’m the problem?”

I smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Bash shook his head. “Unbelievable. And here I was, worried about you.”

“Touching. Really.”

I explained to Bash about the parchment and how I found it, but it seemed to missing half of what we needed. But maybe the first half could show us where the second half was.

Bash understood but suggested an alternative. “Or, hear me out—we take the half we have, sell it to a very rich collector, and spend the resort of our lives in a villa somewhere.”

“Tempting.”

“I know, right?”

I smirked. “But no.”

Bash groaned. “See? This is why we can’t have nice things,” as we pulled up to our 5 star hotel.

“You’re right Bash.”

Bash responded quietly. “Bad timing on that one.”

It was now time to celebrate this small win, and figure our what was next…

Bash tossed his bag onto he hotel room chair, exhaling as he sank into the plush sofa.

“Well we have half a message,” he said. “That’s something.”

I unfolded the parchment again, studying the inked letters as if they’d suddenly decide to make sense.

“Yeah, but we need the rest,” I muttered. “Whatever this was meant to reveal, we’re only seeing part of it.”

Bash leaned forward. “Alright, let’s think. This thing has been hidden for centuries, right? So whoever left it wanted someone to find it, but only if they knew what they were looking for. Maybe there’s a pattern?”

I ran a finger along the torn edge of the parchment. Taking a very close look at the ink, and then—something odd.

At a certain angle, the writing looked…layered. I told Bash to grab the desk lamp, and to tilt it towards me.

That’s when it revealed itself.

A second set of markings, nearly invisible under the first.

“Bash, kill the lights.”

He raised an eyebrow but flicked the switch, In the dim glow of the lamp, a faint word emerged beneath the original text.

TRINITY.

Bash leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute. ‘Trinity’…That could refer to the Trinitarians, a religious order involved in ransom missions during the Crusades.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?!”

He continued, excitement building. “The Trinitarians had a significant presence in France. Plus, during the French occupation of Malta in 1798, many Maltese artifacts were taken to Paris.”

I glanced at the parchment, then back at Bash. “So, you’re saying the other half of this message might be in Paris?”

Bash nodded. “Exactly. Specifically, in the archives or collections that date back to the French Occupation. It’s a long shot, but it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

With a smile I said, “Paris it is, then.”

 FORD’S HOTEL JOURNAL ENTRY

INIALA HARBOUR HOUSE HOTEL ESSENTIALS

• Location: Valletta, Malta

• Vibe: Ultra-luxury boutique meets contemporary sophistication, blending Maltese heritage with modern elegance

• Accommodations: 23 uniquely designed rooms, suites, and residences, featuring bespoke furnishings, private terraces, and harbor views. *Some suites offer plunge pools.

• Dining: ION Harbour by Simon Rogan

  • In-suite dining: Chef curated experience available on request

• Rates: Rooms start at appoximately $700 USD per night, depending on the season, room-type, and availability

• Nice to Know: 

  • The Essensi Spa is housed in the subterranean vaults—a unique undergound sanctuary featuring a heated pool, sauna, and steam room

• Perfect For: Luxury travelers, honeymooners, and anyone looking to experience Valletta’s historic charm in five-star style.

• Must Have Experience: Enjoy a sunset dinner at ION Harbour, where the views will rival the meal.

• Suites: 

  • Grand Harbour Suties - Floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic waterfront views

  • Dome Suites - Feature unique architectural ceilings and private terraces

  • Presidential Penthouse - A sprawling top-floor retreat with a private rooftop plunge pool

• Awards: 

  • Forbes Five-Star Rating

  • 2 Michelin stars for ION Harbour

  • Conde Nast Travelers Hot List

• Amenities:

  • Essensi Spa with luxury treatments

  • Private yacht experiences on the Iniala Spirit

  • Personalized Butler service

  • Fully equipped gym (The Works)

  • Bespoke cultural experiences and private guided tours

ON THE HORIZON…

OTHER HOTELS FORD WOULD RECOMMEND TO CHECK OUT

If Iniala Harbour House is fully booked or you’re seeking a different vibe, here are some alternative boutique and luxury stays in Malta:

Always seeking the extraordinary,