Steel switched off the bedside light and the corner of the room fell into darkness. “Mr Black, what are you going to do? Mr Black!” Long rushed for the light switch by his bed but tripped and fell over something. He reached up and switched on the light, to find himself alone.
Steel ventured down to the lower decks to try to locate this cargo hold. Deck Two was filled with storage rooms and cargo holds. In the centre of the deck was the crew’s long canteen table. This broke up the area between the two masses of storage and cargo holds. Below that was the massive engine room and logistics rooms.
As he made his way down the narrow corridors that separated the holds and the thick iron hull, he checked for signs of shields displaying warnings. Steel stopped as he stood in front of one door that held a large sign depicting the very words Long had uttered: KEEP OUT. He smiled and went to reach for the door handle. But he snatched his hand away and he turned to face the voices that approached him from the right.
Next to the room’s entrance, in an alcove, was the door to a cleaning closet. Steel quickly got in and closed the door quietly, so as not to draw attention to himself. At the bottom of the door was an air vent to allow the fresh air to dilute the smell of chemicals in the room: this provided an excellent eavesdropping opportunity for Steel to hear the approaching men.
Footsteps echoed down the iron avenue as the men approached. Steel could hear them laughing and joking as they came down. He smelt the stuffy air as he nestled himself close to the vent. The men stopped just outside the door of the cargo hold he had just left, and another voice greeted the men.
“The storm will hit at around four o’clock or sixteen hundred to the more educated among us.” The man’s voice was squeaky, but sometimes deep, and Steel had the feeling he had heard it somewhere before, but couldn’t quite place it. “The gas is also in place to send the passengers into a nice sleep for around thirty-six hours,” he went on. “Everyone will be told to stay in their cabins or somewhere safe indoors and to avoid windows.”
Steel listened with interest, as the plan began to unfold before him. “We get our stolen gear and get off, the passengers wake up none the wiser and everyone’s happy. So I want everyone ready to go at four o’clock, we rendezvous in the Captain’s Dining Room then.” The other men said their ‘Yes sirs’ and then Steel heard the three move off in opposite directions.
Steel looked at his watch, the hands showing it to be nearly four in the morning.
“They’re going to hit tonight,” Steel cursed to himself. He had to warn Tia although he didn’t know where she was. But he had a fairly good idea where to find her.
TWENTY-FIVE
McCall, Tooms and Tony had been seated in separate rooms to write their statements. Tony had been escorted downtown by a couple of IA (Internal Affairs) goons before McCall and Tooms had had a chance to speak with him properly. They had agreed to write the truth, as it was likely to be the only way to get Tony out of suspension or jail. If their stories faltered, IA would become suspicious and rip their accounts of events to pieces, making things worse for all of them.
Most people would argue that if Tony had shot Jones he had done it to save the lives of Tooms and McCall, but instead of claiming this, he denied it. If his weapon was proven to be a positive match, Tony would go down for a long time. Sam McCall sincerely hoped that he was telling the truth but she saw no other explanation than his guilt.
She looked up at the large clock above the elevator and sighed at the lateness of the hour. It was now nearly two in the morning and she could feel the last hit of coffee beginning to wear off. There were a number of aspects of this case that she found strange. Firstly, the shooter was a crack shot: they had managed to get pinpoint hits with a pistol from over eighty feet away in quick bursts. McCall herself was the best shot in the department when it came to using a handgun but that result was better than she could have done on a good day. If he had shot Jones, why deny it? Things didn’t add up for McCall and she started to feel that Tony had been set up.
Sam sat in a small briefing room with a small pasty-looking man who had a brown suit and mousey coloured hair. He sat there and watched McCall write down her account of the shooting, starting from when they re-entered the room. She finished, signed it, and then tried to stretch off the hours she had spent on the most uncomfortable chair in the world.
“I take it you have finished, Detective?” the brown-suited man said.
She smiled at him, making him turn away quickly, apparently embarrassed, and head for the door. McCall stood up and made for the open doorway but a tall, broad shouldered female IA officer was waiting.
“Don’t forget, you’re not to leave until you have been interviewed by our lieutenant, understood?” the female IA officer told her. “Also, do not discuss this with anyone, and that includes Detective Tooms.” McCall gave a supercilious smile and headed for her desk. She sat down in the chair and rested her head on the large jotter pad. She was tired and just wanted the comfort of her own bed, but that was not going to be possible for a while.
CSU and ballistics would not be ready until at least mid-afternoon, depending on the caseload they had at the lab. Tony’s jacket and shirt had been taken in to check for Gun Shot Residue, or GSR as everyone called it. The exhilaration at finding the killer had suddenly been swept away by this tidal wave of sorrow for Tony. Sam McCall watched him as he talked to one of the IA officers. He remained calm, even though the officer was obviously yelling at him, trying to get under Tony’s skin, hoping to make him lash out or say something incriminating.
McCall took out her cell phone to see if she had any messages, hoping especially for one from Doctor Dave, but the display was empty of new mail.
“Who are you phoning?” McCall looked up at the menacing face of the female IA officer. The woman backed off slightly but her expression was like granite.
“I was texting with the local media, I thought they could use a good story.”
The woman’s mouth fell open but she slammed it shut as McCall sat back in her chair and smiled.
“Don’t worry, Cassandra, the detective is only playing with you.” This was said by a tall newcomer, one of the IA team. “Why don’t you see how the others are doing?” Cassandra nodded and left, but shot McCall a scowl before she did so.
McCall stood up and grabbed her coffee cup. She had the feeling she was going to be here a while, so decided that she may as well top up her caffeine levels. The tall man followed her. “I guess you’re the lieutenant?” she said, turning to him.
He nodded and flashed a smile as they entered the break room. He was around six-foot three with broad shoulders and short black hair. McCall judged him to be in his mid-forties and quite a hunk, with chiselled good looks. “So how are you doing, Detective?” he asked. “This must have been a hell of a night.” He watched McCall pour herself a cup of coffee and smiled to try and defuse her cold attitude. “May I?” he asked.
She shrugged, as if not caring what he did, saying, “It’s a free country.”
He shook his head as he poured a cup of the aromatic-smelling brew. McCall looked on as he took a taste of the coffee and watched his face light up. “What the hell is this?” he asked as if he had never taste good coffee.
“A colleague gets it sent in. He couldn’t handle our coffee so he got this, and I guess it’ll just about do me,” she lied as she took a sip and felt her soul lift with the taste. “Look, Lieutenant, I am tired, I had a hell of a day yesterday.” She looked at her watch which read just after three, “—sorry, today. So if it’s no bother can I please go home and get some sleep?”
The lieutenant sipped his coffee. “We have your statement, we will text you with the interview time. Go home get some rest.” McCall shot him a brief smile before dragging herself out and to the elevator. The lieutenant shook his head and smiled to himself, whispering, “What a woman!”
McCall was woken by her second alarm bell as she had slept through the first one. The morning sunshi
ne was unable to break through the thick drapes in her bedroom, and it was dark and tranquil. She turned over and checked the time with a half-opened blurry eye: it was around six in the morning, and she didn’t have the energy or the will to crawl out of the comfort of her bed.
Sam had showered and changed and was now heading towards the morgue. Something Jones had said was nagging her. She had phoned ahead to see if Jones had been processed yet and was relieved to learn that he hadn’t been—she had persuaded Tina to wait until she had got there. McCall burst through the cutting room doors to find Tina sitting at one of the side worktops waiting patiently for her.
“Morning, Tina,” McCall greeted her with a smile as she handed her a mug of coffee.
“Good morning,” the ME replied. “I heard you guys pulled an all-nighter last night.” McCall tried to smile but couldn’t raise the enthusiasm, in the light of what had happened. “How’s Tony doing?”
McCall shrugged. “I don’t know. He was kept separate from us the whole time, like he was a mass murderer or something.” She just stared at her coffee cup, too exhausted to think straight.
“So, what was so important that I couldn’t slice this little charmer up until you got here?”
The detective shook her head to try and bring herself back to the land of the living. “What? Sorry, Tina, I only got around an hour’s sleep last night.”
Tina smiled in response to her friend’s plight.
“There was something he said last night that was bugging me,” Sam continued, “he said, ‘A real HEEL of a day’, with a big emphasis on HEEL.”
Tina looked up at McCall. “So you think he hid something in his shoes?”
McCall nodded giving a hopeful grin. “Where are his clothes?”
Tina pointed to several brown bags that hadn’t yet been sealed on the opposite worktop. McCall put on some surgical gloves and pulled out the left shoe to examine it. The shoe was plain and ordinary with no hidden compartment in the heel.
“You know, Sam, you have been watching too many Bond movies. Not that I can blame you,” Tina mocked her friend, but McCall ignored her and picked up the second shoe and twisted the heel. The sound of metal hitting ceramic tiles echoed through the cutting room, and the two women just stared at the key on the floor.
“You know, I think I know just what this key fits.” McCall remembered as if it had just happened: the way Jones spoke those last words and then looked up briefly. She reached down and picked up the key. She examined it for any markings, but it was blank. “Thanks, Tina, I owe you one.”
Tina smiled coyly as she watched her friend leave. Then she smiled and picked up her scalpel, saying, “Good morning, Mr Jones, let’s see what you have to say, shall we?”
*
Steel had waited some time in the storeroom before the coast was clear and had hidden himself away in a darkened corner and slept for a while. He had made it back to the passenger decks and was heading for a small restaurant that was opposite the Irish Bar. It was now seven o’clock in the morning, and the blazing sun had risen high in the heavens and it was already getting warm. Steel sat himself down and picked up a menu card from the top of a small round table as he was hungry and he needed time to think. He looked up as a young, skinny-built waiter with long hair and a thin apology for a moustache below his large nose asked him for his order. He chose the BLT and a coffee, and the lad left Steel to ponder things. The deck was almost empty, as many people were still in bed, or were at one of the many restaurants. Since Steel wanted peace and quiet, this seemed the perfect place.
He thought about the large Russian man. Why did he think that he was Blacke? And why did he send the goons after him in the gym afterwards? And the waitress who kept appearing. How was she involved, and who was she working for?
His concentration was broken with the arrival of the coffee. He poured the milk into the coffee and stirred it, and as his eye caught sight of the swirling liquid, the restaurant in Vigo came to mind. Who were the men who had shot the place up and who were they shooting at? Steel waited for around ten minutes before his order arrived on a large thin plate—the BLT sandwich was a large one. The time passed slowly, allowing him to formulate strategies. He had to find Tia and the Stewarts; he had to let them know what the hell was going on, so that they could get some sort of back-up on board the ship.
As he sat contemplating his next move he caught a glimpse of the waitress—she had not seen him, but he had definitely seen her. She wore an all-in-one burgundy catsuit that left little to the imagination. At first Steel thought she was a hallucination, brought on by lack of sleep, so he took a mouthful of coffee. But there she was, large as life, and heading for the elevators. Steel stood up quickly as he saw her talking to the blond goon who’d attacked him in the gym. Pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, he left it on the table as he made for the elevators.
As he approached the set of metal doors, his eyes firmly on the LED display of floors, the doors to the other elevator opened, as if to welcome him. Steel waited with his foot jammed in the doorwell to stop them from closing. He smiled as he saw the other elevator had stopped at Deck Sixteen: so the enigmatic waitress was off to see the Russian.
He took the elevator up to Sixteen and got out. As he stepped off onto the familiar floor, the feeling of déjà vu crept over him. The corridor was empty but he could hear voices in the rooms as passengers started to awaken. Steel needed to get to the Russian’s suite and to find out what was going on. His best bet was to go into the bedroom that was situated next to the office. He arrived at the corner of the corridor that led to the end and to the Russian’s suite, but saw the two large goons standing there with folded arms.
Steel retreated back round the corner to rethink his plan, as the normal route appeared to be not an option; he realised he had to be creative. As he started to walk back, a young Hispanic woman with a cleaning trolley trundled past him. “Hola,” he said greeting the woman.
“Hola,” she replied with a smile, then stopped at the first door she came to and knocked, saying, “Good morning, housekeeping.” There was no reply so she used her card to enter. Steel pivoted on his heels and turned, just in time to see her head into the bathroom, carrying a small radio playing Spanish music.
Steel saw his chance and headed for the balcony door and opened it, only to be met by a gust of heavy sea breeze. He slid the door back almost closed, and stood for a moment and looked at the black clouds forming in the distance, before him the maelstrom of the storm that was to come. The wind was for the first time blustery and unkind, and Steel looked up to the heavens and shrugged, joking with God, “Really? Why now?”
Once on the balcony, he jumped from one railing to the next one, and as he landed, he fell into the open area and rolled, as the wind from the ocean fought against him. He looked over and saw he had two more floors to go before he reached his goal. He leapt for the next one, just as a massive gust blew, making him fall short. He hit the side of the ship and slid down, his hands grasping for the bare railings. He hung there, suspended almost sixty feet from a watery death. But he managed to clamber up slowly until he was at the plastic railing on the top. Pulling himself up and over, he stopped for a breath. Then with his hands on his knees he looked over at the last one, leapt up and just ran for it, using the safety rail to boost his jump. He flew long and true, landing perfectly on the other side, before rolling towards the bedroom door. Luckily, the door was slightly open. Steel crept in like a cat on the prowl, his body low but agile. At the entrance to the Russian man’s office, Steel opened the door slightly so he could hear every word.
He could hear voices in the background that began to get louder and clearer as they came into the office area. He couldn’t see their faces, but he had a good idea who was who. As far as he could tell there were only two voices: that of the large Russian and the other female tones that he imagined was the waitress in the cat suit.
“Yes, Mr. Vedas,” she said, “he told us to be in the smoking lounge at
three o’clock.” Steel tried to find a keyhole without success.
“And what of the Americans? Have they been dealt with concerning the death of Anishka?” came the Russian man’s words.
Steel was puzzled. Who the hell is Anishka? he thought to himself.
“No, not yet,” the waitress continued, “they have so far given us little opportunity to act, but our sister will be avenged.” The more Steel listened the more it sounded as if they were moving around the room and he hoped that none of them needed to use this bedroom that he was in.
“What of Mr Black?” the Russian’s deep voice went on. “The contact asked us to get rid of him and yet he bested two of our top men and saved one of their lives in the process. Are we sure he is with the Americans?”
There was a moment of silence. “We can’t be sure of anything, sir, we just have to be ready.” The woman spoke with a husky Russian ascent.
“Okay. One thing is clear, and that is that we need to get the merchandise before THEY or the Americans do.”
Suddenly Steel realised this whole thing was bigger than he thought. Blacke was obviously running an arms auction with the CIA and the FSB, and whatever he was selling wasn’t handguns or cookies.
Steel waited for a while longer before looking at his watch: it was nearly twelve o’clock. He looked up as he heard Vedas yell to the others, “Come, I am starving. We go and eat now before meeting with that idiot Blacke.” There was a click as the door was secured behind them, and Steel smiled at his good fortune, as he didn’t fancy leaving the way he had come. Slowly, he slipped into the office area and moved quickly towards the door, until he saw the laptop on the couch. He looked around quickly, then moved over to the laptop. Withdrawing a USB drive from his jacket pocket and plugging it into the machine, he started to copy any files he could find.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 30