Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  He looked up at Steel, who sat almost in a trance; his hands rested on the table as if he was steadying himself. Suddenly Steel looked up at Burlo and smiled.

  But Steel’s smile faded as he took a large mouthful of the coffee – and regretted it.

  ‘So, what, the old couple were the assassins, you can do no better than that?’ Burlo scoffed, tossing his pen onto the pad. ‘Come on. You know something.’ Burlo said, sitting forwards, his arms outstretched, grasping the sides of the table trying to be intimidating.

  ‘When I was chasing Brad, he carried on down that street, he could have gone at least twenty different ways, but he carried on down that road. At first, I thought it was because of the bridge, he knew he could lose me in the undergrowth, but now…’ Steel said.

  ‘You think someone told him to go that way?’ Burlo finished Steel’s thought, but he still wasn’t convinced by it. ‘So how would they have contacted him, and who are they?’ Burlo said.

  ‘When I first saw Brad, he was checking something on his phone, I thought it was an online map or something, but he knew the area. That’s when it led him to Lucy’s friend Zoe. It was almost as if he had a tracker on her,’ Steel said.

  ‘That’s a great story, Mr Steel, but we never found a cell phone on him. So I guess you’re going to say the killers took it after they had dumped the wheelchair?’ Burlo said, shaking his head unconvinced.

  ‘No, of course not. I took it,’ Steel replied with a grin. Steel took out the cell phone and placed it onto the metal table between them. Burlo gazed at the phone, then looked up at Steel.

  ‘And were you ever going to give this to the police?’ Burlo asked. Steel thought for a moment.

  ‘Eventually,’ Steel shrugged.

  Burlo smiled at Steel’s honesty.

  Burlo left the room, leaving Steel to drink his coffee. Moments later, Burlo had returned with a latex glove and a clear plastic evidence bag. After stretching the blue glove over his large hand, he took the phone and then placed it into a clear evidence bag. He sealed it and filled out the details on the bag.

  ‘I have no doubt you had a look what was on it?’ Burlo asked bluntly.

  Steel nodded, but his expression had changed. It was now cold and stone-like as before.

  ‘From what I can tell, Brad was trying to blackmail someone, with what I don’t know,’ Steel said. ‘The drop-off point was the bridge by the look of things. He had tried tracking the other person’s phone using GPS tracker software, but that, unfortunately, sent him to Zoe’s place of work…’ Steel stopped for a moment.

  Had he been that blind?

  After all, Zoe had given Brad up without hesitation. Hell, she virtually gift-wrapped him. He’d tracked her to the café, not her place of work – but the café, and then the chemist. Brad had been tracking Zoe.

  ‘We need to speak to Zoe Keen; she could be—’ Steel said urgently.

  ‘No, Mr Steel. We don’t need to talk to her. I do,’ Burlo said. He stood up and headed for the door. Burlo opened it wide and stood to the side. ‘I’ve got a good hold on this case Mr Steel, so there’s no need for you to investigate further. Enjoy your holiday,’ Burlo said, ushering Steel out.

  As Steel reached the door, Burlo stopped him. ‘And stay, out of trouble Mr Steel. You’re not a policeman here.’

  Steel glared at Burlo, but even though he wore his sunglasses, Burlo could feel Steel’s eyes burning into his soul.

  ‘No, I’m not a cop here… I’m something far worse,’ Steel said and walked towards the exit.

  Burlo stood for a moment, a shiver ran down his spine.

  What the hell had Foster unleashed on the Island?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The midday sun was warm and appealing to James Calver. It was much more satisfying than the image from the fake windows down in the blockhouse. The hive building was a five-story complex that was over a hundred-feet underground. Each floor contained a long central corridor with various sizes that branched off from the main hallway. Each floor had its own bathroom and breakroom facilities. Each floor was assigned to a different department; NSA, CIA and Homeland. All the offices had a function. There were satellite surveillance, command coordination, laboratories.

  Two lifts ferried the workers from the surface down to the blockhouse. However, a stairwell went to each of the floors of the Blockhouse hive. This was considered more practical as it freed up the elevators.

  The corridors were bright, with white walls, floors and ceilings. The place had a sterile feel to it. So much so, the designers had installed fake windows with images on high definition screens of the surrounding landscape. Psychologists had discovered that merely having a view to look at stopped a person feeling Closter phobic.

  Calver thought the experts were full of crap and should spend twelve hours down hundred-feet underground. Besides, smoking was forbidden down below.

  The experts hadn’t thought about that.

  Calver had come up to have a cigarette break. Twelve hours looking at monitors was enough to drive anyone to stir crazy. On quiet moments, he would sneak a read of a new book from his favourite author.

  He sucked in a breath of fresh air, then lit up the cigarette. It was a quiet place to reflect on things, away from the operations room's incessant noise.

  He looked up in time to see a swarm of playful swallows dance across the clear blue sky. The morning had been uneventful, to say the least. Shipping traffic was quiet, possibly too quiet, but it gave him a chance to finish the book he was reading.

  Calver took another draw of nicotine. Letting the taste fill his mouth, hoping it would last him for the next six hours. He stood with his back against the brickwork of the long building, dreams of the weekend filling his mind. He had big plans for the weekend, things he had been planning for a very long time.

  Calver looked at his watch and grumbled. It was time to go back down and finish his shift. He was already halfway through his twelve-hour stint, but it was still halfway. He snubbed out his cigarette in the box ashtray was attached to the wall, then headed in.

  As he entered the building next to the embassy’s pool house, he felt his phone vibrate. He took out his cell phone to check the message.

  He stopped dead in his tracks as he read it. A look of relief crossed his face, followed by a broad grin. Calver placed the cell phone back into his pocket and headed for the elevator.

  His uneventful day had just got interesting.

  Calver reached the third floor of the blockhouse. The brightly lit hallways made his eyes hurt with the unnatural light. He made his way through the maze of corridors until he reached his section. He used a keycard on a side panel and punched in a four-digit code. There was a hiss of hydraulics, and the door slid open. The room was much darker, with only the light from monitors and desk lights to break the darkness. The room was a fifty-foot square with work twenty work booths in the centre. The floor supervisor’s office was to the left of the room's entrance, with a long window for the man inside to keep watch. He had to react to an arm raise from his staff. This would indicate a problem that they had discovered that he needed to respond to.

  Calver slung his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down hard on the cushioned seat. He pulled himself towards the desk and got to work.

  The map of the Maltese Islands panned out slightly. Then the image zoomed in on the Island of Gozo. Using his mouse and a couple of keys, the picture zoomed in onto a large building just on the outskirts of a small town.

  He smiled as he watched the real-time feed. Two men loading a white van, both dress almost the same. Calver rocked in his chair as he watched and tapped his fingertips together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the approach of the floor supervisor. Calver leaned forwards and pressed the escape key, bringing the screen back to its previous feed.

  He looked at his watch again. It was ten past twelve.

  Six hours to go, and the next stage in his plan would begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Two
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  Steel had left Mosta police station and located a clothing store. He had bought a new black suit with a short-sleeved black shirt. After changing he’d placed his old clothes in a plastic bag, he had gotten from the store and dumped the ruined clothes, but kept his boots. Steel had found a cab and headed back to his hotel. He needed a shower, and to check somethings online.

  It was around two o’clock by the time Steel got back to his hotel room. Steel picked up his cell phone and sent a message to the office in Whitehall.

  Find out all you can on Brad West. Thanks. Steel knew it would take sometime before the information was found and sent to him. John Steel used the coffee machine while he checked the rest of his emails, but found nothing much of interest. Steel rolled his neck and shoulders, his bones were still aching from the car’s impact and the morning’s activities. Steel headed for the bathroom and switched on the shower. Waiting for the water to reach the correct temperature. The coffee machine stopped making the unsavoury gargling noises meaning his drink was ready. Steel grabbed the mug and headed for the bathroom, taking sips as he went.

  Steam had filled the shower cabinet, and the bathroom mirror was clouded with mist. Steel stripped off his new clothes and stepped into the shower. He stood with his head down, letting the soothing water run over his head.

  After leaving the police station, two things had struck him.

  Firstly, who was Brad in contact with? And why did they kill him? Unless of course, that was the plan all along?

  Perhaps the blackmailer? But then why kill him so publicly? It would have made more sense to pick a quiet rendezvous somewhere then kill him. With the amount of wilderness available on Malta, it might take days – weeks even – until he was found, if he was at all.

  The second thing, the blue mini that had been following him since he had dinner at Foster’s house. Who was driving, and what did they want?

  Friend or foe; witness or killer?

  Steel thought back to Burlo and the interview – or the warning, it was all in perspective. He figured Burlo was just sizing him up. Getting a feel for him. From what Steel could see, Burlo was a good cop.

  But great?

  That was yet to be seen, but Steel doubted it.

  But Burlo had a file full of information on Steel. He had had a background check on someone from another country – in minutes?

  Burlo must have known he was coming, possibly days in advance. Steel found out about Lucy seventy-two hours ago. He’d only been in-country and working for a day, but yet this cop had all that information ready in minutes? It seemed unlikely.

  Steel had an idea who had tipped him off, possibly by accident. Foster.

  It made sense.

  The two would have been at the scene, Burlo would have been telling Foster what they thought had happened. Emotions would have been high. All Foster had to do was swear he would get whoever did this, or something along those lines.

  Burlo would have told Foster it was a suicide. Which would have pissed Foster off. Steel paused in his soaping action. His hands resting on his chest.

  The phone call – Foster would have gotten his secretary or someone to track Steel down. Hell, it was the CIA, they had probably known where Steel had been since the New York harbour incident. Burlo perhaps overheard the conversation, heard Steel’s name being mentioned? Foster said that Burlo was a family friend, maybe Steel’s name had come up in a conversation over dinner or something? Perhaps Foster’s wife had told Burlos’s wife he was coming?

  Would make sense.

  Steel just hoped that was the case, if not, he had more to worry about.

  Steel was glad he’d copied the data on Brad’s phone before handing it over to the cops. Usually, he would be surprised if the local police would investigate further. Still, he had a good feeling about this Criminal Investigation Division Sergeant Burlo. However, Steel had to be careful.

  Like Burlo had said. He wasn’t a policeman here.

  Steel stepped out of the large corner shower and stood in front of the mirror. Picking up the glass, he downed the rest of the whisky. He felt the tingle of the malt caress the back of his throat.

  Steel grabbed one of the handtowels and wiped the mirror clear of condensation.

  It had been a hot shower.

  Lots of steam. Just the way he liked it.

  He checked his body for bruises where the car had hit him. Luckily, there was nothing serious, more the bruises to his pride, and a couple of superficial scratches on his hands, and his forehead but nothing life-threatening. Steel was glad the car had been going slow.

  He could not believe how careless he had become.

  How did he not see a damn road? Steel put it down to the fact Brad had pissed him off so much he was focused on Brad and nothing else.

  Steel thought about Zoe. How was she connected, or was it just pure coincidence the signal was coming from her chemist? Steel made a mental note to go and see Zoe again. Hopefully this time he would get more out of her.

  Steel’s fingers touched the six-round scars on his upper body. All reminders of when he was shot years ago. A reminder of all he had lost that summers day.

  He looked up into the mirror and stared into his dead, dark, emerald green eyes.

  Another scar from that day. Steel shook off the memory that was just about to take him away. He did not have time for painful memories.

  He had a job to do.

  Besides, he was hungry, and he’d be no good without any energy.

  The first rule of business. Eat when you can, you never know when your next meal will be.

  Steel walked to his wardrobe. The clothes he had weren't practical for what he was about to do. Steel hadn’t packed for an active investigation, he had packed for a practical one. He needed to go shopping.

  Steel walked the short distance into Valletta. He was amazed at the medley of old and new. The ancient high walls of the city were married with modern shops and bars and restaurants. He found a clothing store and purchased two black polo shirts, two black cotton cargo trousers and a black military-style jacket. He thanked the woman behind the counter and headed back to the hotel to change. As he headed back to the hotel and tried not to notice the Mini parked discreetly around the corner from the complex. He had no idea how many blue Minis were on Malta, but then he was back to not believing in coincidences.

  Back at his room, Steel set the coffee machine to task while he slipped into the new clothes and pulled on his military boots. He figured these would be more appropriate than a suit. Steel checked himself in the mirror then took a black military-style jacket from the bed.

  Sure it was warm outside, but he needed pockets.

  He drank his coffee while he checked his messages. Whitehall had said that Brad’s family was wealthy and he turned his back on money to do conservation work. This fact puzzled Steel. If Brad was blackmailing someone, it wasn’t for the money? What the hell was it? And who was he blackmailing? Steel had sent a copy of Brad’s phone data to the office. He hoped they could find something useful, possibly check the caller information, see who he had called or who had called him recently. He had also sent a situation report, letting them know how the investigation was proceeding. He knew he had to treat this as a proper investigation and not something personal. MI8 was not going to splash out funds for his personal mission, but he had to use the system a little.

  Steel clicked onto Malta's internet map search and studied Malta and Gozo's satellite images to feel the place. Picking out landmarks or buildings so he could orientate himself on the ground. But a feeling in the back of his mind told him he had to go. He was getting too comfortable, and he had work to do.

  Steel took the elevator to the lobby with five other people who stood silently. Steel did not mind the silence, he was busy playing that damned Lee Marvin tune in his head.

  On the third floor, the elevator opened, and a new couple got on. The woman was a tall redhead with a small pasty looking husband. She wore what appeared to be a black
bathing suit or just scraps of cloth.

  She was attractive, and she knew it.

  As the doors opened, she made sure she got out first, so everyone got an eyeful. Steel just smiled to himself and shook his head, wondering how the poor bastard of a husband could be so calm. Lots of vodkas, or valium probably.

  The elevator stopped at the lower ground floor, and Steel exited the elevator. He looked around the poolside for the first time. The sun was high and exceptionally bright. The cloudless sky was broken only by birds dancing and swooping in the blue heavens. The hotel grounds were extensive, including a small harbour, and a large pool with surrounding seating areas.

  His hawk-like gaze stopped over by the pool and the outside bar. The small rotund building made to look like a tropical beach hut.

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said to himself, looking over at the bar, and set off to have lunch.

  Steel chose a table with a straw canopy that faced both the small harbour. A refreshing sea breeze carried across the embankment, making the menu cards sway in their holders. Steel looked out across the two views before him while sipping the mojito he’d ordered, and awaiting a BLT sandwich.

  He needed to find Brad’s apartment. He knew it wouldn’t be with his parents, a guy like that would want his own pad, but not too far away from mom and the occasional laundry trip.

  He’d seen the type before.

  The kid would have been a complete nightmare for everyone but his mother. In fact, the more Steel thought about it, the more it made sense, Brad’s father had probably insisted that he leave home.

  He would avoid speaking to the parents. It would only make the kid’s parents nervous, having the police called, that was one thing he did not need. He opened up the tablet he had brought down with him, to check the data he’d copied onto a data stick. There was plenty of music files and lots of photographs. He had managed to copy the text messages from the phone but not the call logs. The tablet displayed all the different files he had retrieved from Brad’s phone. Some were junk, while others could be useful.