by Stuart Field
Steel shrugged and put it down to the lack of space. Even he had to walk sideways as not to scrape his arms on the sides. Any pictures would have continuously been knocked off the walls every time someone walked by.
The last room was an ample sized sitting room. Steel stood in the doorway for a moment and assessed the layout.
The sun shone directly in front of him through two, 5x3 sized windows. These were separated by a thick, stained wood audio-visual stand. Steel noticed the 65-inch flatscreen television, and brand new games console sat on the display unit.
‘Nice,’ Steel thought. At the far end of the room to his right was a dark imitation-wood cabinet filled the wall. This was full of model cars, DVDs, movie action figures, and games for the console. All neatly displayed, even the DVDs and games were in alphabetical order.
But still – no photos.
Against the wall next to him sat a long green velvet couch, some spots worn thin with use, probably second-hand. Between the sofa and tv was a small coffee table, a massive wooden thing from the eighties. Perched on top were the remotes and controllers, along with more magazines.
These were yachting magazines. Not Brad’s style – or price range. Hell, the guy did not even have food.
Steel began to move about the room. Taking everything in. Seeing if anything did not fit. Steel had to admit this guy’s overly neat way of arranging everything made his search easier.
The more Steel looked, he could only conclude this was just a place for Brad to crash and store his clothes.
No one really lived there.
The furnishings looked like they had come with the apartment, judging by the nineteen-eighties styles.
Steel started to look through the drawers of the wall unit and opened every cupboard. Checking under the cushions, as well as behind any easy to move pieces of furniture. Steel was convinced there had to be a clue in the apartment.
Brad had found something that he was blackmailing someone with, which meant there was proof of whatever this thing was. The photographs were the only logical thing worth blackmailing someone for. So that’s what Steel searched for. Brad had found something on Gozo, something he had seen, so photos or a video was the only option. What Brad had on these people wouldn’t be documentation, so it had to be digital.
However, Steel had found nothing on Brad’s cell phone that had to mean he had been smart and transferred it off his phone onto something, just in case, he lost his phone. So there was a memory card somewhere. One Steel had to find.
Brad wasn’t a criminal mastermind, but he was smart enough not to keep everything in one place. He would have made copies of whatever he had. Smart money would be on Brad, splitting them up. Possibly, giving the copies to someone he trusted. Brad had perhaps seen too many spy movies and was going down the whole if-something-happens-to-me thing.
Steel stopped his search and sat on the sofa. What if? If Brad had given the evidence to someone, who better than the daughter of a CIA section chief?
Was Lucy killed because someone believed Brad had given her the proof?
It would explain a lot.
Steel’s gaze took a long scan of the room. The question was if Lucy had Brad’s evidence, and Lucy was now dead, did that mean that the evidence was now in the hands of the bad guys here? Steel was praying it did not. If they had, it was going to make tracking the bastards that much harder.
But not impossible.
Steel thought for a moment. Trying to put himself into Brad’s shoes. If you were going to hide something, you considered that important, where would you go? He started with the CD cases and games boxes. Checking behind the disks and in the inserts. He checked behind the tv and under the games console. He checked lampshades and plant pots. But found nothing.
Steel took one more look around, almost as if waiting for something to catch his eye. But the room; like the rest of the apartment was virtually empty. If Brad had hidden the evidence, then he had stored it well. Now all Steel had to do was find it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Steel left the apartment and handed the key back to Anna. He’d thanked her again and warned her that the cops may come round asking questions – he asked her not to mention that his visit, but also told her not to lie if they asked directly.
Steel walked back along the narrow street back to where he’d left Stan, who he hoped was still waiting. As he wandered down the narrow streets, he felt eyes watching him.
He was being followed.
But who, and how long for? Since the hotel?
Then he got thinking about Anna Bennello. Was she safe? Had they seen him enter the store – the apartment?
Steel wanted to turn around, confront his shadow, see what they knew. But Steel knew he could not turn around, or even do the old movie's trick of tying a shoelace if someone did do it, the tail would know – or at least suspect he had been made. Besides, Steel was better than that – he was trained better than that. He needed to know if someone was back there.
Unfortunately, he could not use the store windows as a mirror, they were too flat, lacking the angle needed to show him his tail. And none opportunistically faced towards him.
God, he missed New York. The place was full of possible viewpoints.
Steel knew that further down the street widened and became a small junction where it came to a T-junction. Steel also knew that there would be parked cars, lots of them, and with cars came mobile mirrors angled to see behind.
Steel walked casually. Taking his time and looking in the shop windows, at the architecture – playing the tourist.
He did not need to rush.
Besides, it would drive whoever was following him nuts with anticipation.
Moments later, he saw the junction – and the many parked cars.
‘OK. My turn,’ Steel said to himself as he headed for the nearest vehicle, a parked UPS truck. Steel took a quick glance into the window of the open door.
The glass gave a reflection so clear it was almost like a mirror. All Steel saw were families and a small group of kids. He wasn’t really surprised, his brain had been messing with since he’d arrived in Malta, so why not now. Then Steel saw them.
It was a black BMW with two men in the front. The driver was bald with a black goatee. The passenger was a large man too big for the vehicle, so much all Steel could make out was the bottom of his bearded chin. The smaller man shot Steel a glance then returned his gaze forwards. Not the most suspicious of actions, possibly nothing, then the guy nodded slightly to the big man next to him, the signal of his action was saying, That’s the guy.
As Steel past them, he took note of the licence plate, a simple three-digit, three number combo. He kept going until he was far enough away to dare another glance. Steel smiled as behind a crowd of kids. Then, another man appeared from the direction Steel had come – this had been Steel’s tail in the alley. The man stopped and spoke to the men in the BMW. Steel sighed with relief, he wasn’t losing it after all. He watched the man and the car for a moment longer while he stood amidst a crowd of tourists who had just gathered. Perfect camouflage – until they moved away, which Steel hoped wouldn’t be for at least two minutes more. Luckily an elderly woman was probing the tour guide with questions he did not even understand.
He did not care what she asked, she was buying him time.
From where Steel stood, he could see both the short guy and the men in the car. Hand gestures were as clear as day through the windows. At least the bad guys had been curious enough to have reversed into the parking slot. What had been their perfect vantage point, had now become his.
Steel was growing weary of watching the men, they hadn’t moved or done anything to chase after him. They just talked. The medium-sized guy in the passenger seat had spoken briefly on his phone.
Steel was beginning to wonder if he’d gotten that all wrong. Perhaps they were just three guys, sitting and talking, maybe the small guy hadn’t been following him.
Steel headed towards the
junction of the road he was on and the main TelghaTas-Saqqajja road, and the parking space when Stan was possibly sleeping. Steel had just turned the corner when he heard the rev of an engine. Big, meaty, full of horsepower, the growl of a twin-pipe exhaust.
The BMW.
They were making a move.
Steel ducked quickly around the corner of S. Wistin street where he had come from, and TelghaTas-Saqqajja road. Hoping to put at least some distance between him and them. There was a loud noise of voices behind him – It was the next tour, and they did precisely what Steel hoped they would do. They blocked the exit.
Steel walked quicker, not quite a jog, but a very brisk walk. Enough for him to get the lead he needed. The road was full of traffic and pedestrians that ran across at a whim, causing the traffic to stop or slow. The sound of horns been activated in anger. The gap between him and them was opening.
Misdirection.
They had seen him turn right, and onto the next street. Steel needed them to follow him onto the road – and keep going.
He had no plan apart from disappearing from sight.
And that was just what he did. He disappeared.
Another tour was coming in the opposite direction. It was a larger group than the others he’d seen, thirty people at the most. But more importantly, it was filled with people from Texas.
Tall people from Texas.
Even at six-two Steel felt a dwarf to some of the men in the group.
Steel smiled and ducked in amongst them, getting lost in a sea of tall people.
Perfect camouflage.
Steel watched as the BMW driver beeped his horn continuously while yelling angrily out of the window. The pedestrians blocking his path gazed at him in bewilderment. Steel smiled at the anguish of the men in the car – they were losing their quarry.
The tourists hurried out of the way. There was a screech of tires, as the men set off after their prey.
As the car had passed him, Steel had seen the small guy hadn’t been in the car. Steel figured he had stayed behind, to go back to await instructions.
No matter.
Steel’s interests lay in getting rid of the two in the car. And he had.
Steel stood at the same junction, where he had seen the French tour guide. He leant back against the brickwork, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the disappearing taillights of the BMW. He sighed, pleased with himself. He was a happy man, but he still hadn’t gotten that coffee.
He was just about to leave and head back to the taxi. His head clearing from the adrenaline rush of the chase. And then, just as his gaze was about to leave the street.
He saw it.
He saw a familiar car.
There was a blue mini ‒ travelling away from Steel, but travelling towards the same direction as the BMW.
The question now became, who was following who?
Steel stood for a moment. Weighing up what he’d seen at Brad’s apartment – which had basically been a bust. There was nothing there apart from crappy furniture.
That bothered Steel.
There had been nothing there. It was void of anything of interest.
Not even a computer. The guy was an internet freak who loved to post videos for the cause – so where was it?
Then he thought about the men in the car and the short guy who had tailed him. Steel had been on the island long enough to get a good feel and sense of the place, of what the local people looked like. A white guy from England looked different from a white guy from say Texas, just like a Black guy from Jamaica looked different from a black guy from Africa. Similarly, the Maltese people had a different look to those from the Middle East or North Africa. And Steel was sure that the guys from the car were not local. If he had to guess, he’d say Tunisia or Lybia.
If that was the case why the hell were they following him? Was it something he’d done in the past? Steel had to admit in his long carrier – both in the Army and with the Agency, he’d made a lot of people unhappy. But if that was the case, why would they wait until now?
It did not make sense. The only logical conclusion was that the men were there for anyone who had checked out Brad’s apartment. Or possibly left with something from there.
Steel reached Stan’s minibus taxi that was still where he’d left it. Steel found Stan asleep on the back seat of the minibus. Snoring happily, content with life. Steel’s gaze fell back onto the TelghaTas-Saqqajja road that both the BMW and the Mini had taken. The Beemer chasing its tail, the Mini chasing them? All the while, one thought came to Steel; Is the enemy of my enemy, my friend or my enemy?
Steel wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He was sweating. Little wonder, the sun was high and hot, that was normal here, but for the last two hours, he’d been too occupied to notice. He was done in Mdina for now. Steel weighed up the time he had left and the things on his mental list. One of which was heading head back to the hotel, see if there was anything from the office, but first, he needed to see Foster.
Steel looked down at Stan while he slept. Stan was fast asleep, alright. He’d had heard the man’s snores from just outside the vehicle.
Steel gently cracked the door open and slipped in behind the wheel. He started the engine and adjusted the mirrors using the internal setter. He pulled the safety belt across his chest and clicked it into place. He reached over and set Stan’s navigation system to take them back to Foster’s house. Steel figure the address would still be in the navigation system memory, so all Steel had to do was press the, ‘Go To,’ button. As Steel fought with the settings, noticed that Stan had taken someone over to Gozo a day before Lucy died. Hardly a coincidence, after all, Stan was a taxi driver. Maybe the person he took had offered a hell of a tip to ferry them around. A thick blue line showed up on display, showing the route. Steel put the vehicle into gear and headed back towards the road they had come to Mdina on, heading east. Then, at another intersection, head north towards Attard.
As Steel pulled onto the road and drove, Stan carried on sleeping, oblivious that they were moving.
As he navigated the busy streets, Steel began to think about Lucy. If she had gotten something from Brad, she would have hidden it well. She had been a smart kid who, from what the Foster’s had told him, had watched far too many cop shows and spy movies. Not to mention her dad had been one hell of an agent.
Hours later, Stan was woken up by the sound of Steel slamming the driver’s door. The panicked cab driver looked around, confused by where he was, and what time it was, and how the hell they’d gotten there in the first place.
Steel had driven to Foster’s house. He wanted to update Foster on progress – which in truth, was very little. Steel was leant slightly into the vehicle, with his crossed arms leant on the open driver’s door window. Stan sat up and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the bright blur to disappear and his vision to return.
‘Thanks for the ride Stan,’ Steel said with a smile. ‘And go home. You look tired,’ Steel joked. Steel stood up straight and tapped the roof once, making a hollow, tinny sound. He turned and walked towards Foster’s house.
As Steel approached the house, he heard Stan leave, blasting eighties music that faded away mercifully quickly, then the front door opened. Foster stood in the doorway, a glass of whisky in his hand.
‘Travelling in the style I see,’ Foster joked. Steel smiled back at his friend then stepped inside, grabbing Foster’s drink as he did so.
‘Please, come in, have a drink,’ Foster looked down at his empty hand. ‘You know I spat in that?’
Steel took a sip, swirled the liquid around in his mouth like it was mouth wash. ‘Adds to the flavour,’ Steel replied, before taking another sip.
‘You Brits are gross, you know that?’
Steel shrugged with a childish grin, took another sip from the glass, and followed Foster into his office. Foster walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a fresh drink, then raised the bottle of 18-year-old whisky, as if to ask Steel if he needed a top-up. S
teel shook his head and headed for one of the chairs which faced Foster’s desk.
‘Lucy’s ex-boyfriend, Brad West, what do you know about him?’ Steel asked before taking another hit from the whisky.
‘Not much,’ Foster shrugged.
Steel looked up from the glass, a look of disbelief etched all over his face. ‘Well that’s a load of bollocks for a start, and you know it. If I remember you vetted all of your nannies before you took them on,’ Steel asked. ‘So you would have vetted the shit out of a boyfriend. So… who was he?’
‘Was – ?’
Steel saw something in Foster’s face, something he did not like. Fear.
‘Marcus, what the hell is going on here? I’ve got people tailing me, Brad got blown away in the middle of a town, and your daughter’s death, so, tell me what the fuck is going on, Foster? Start talking, or I’m on the next plane home.’ Steel growled.
Foster looked up at his old friend. His watery eyes confirmed something was going on, and it had gotten Lucy killed.
‘Brad and Lucy were inseparable. They’d been together forever, or so it seemed. Known each other since we came over, hell, that’s two years now.’ He smiled and raised a shaky hand that held his glass to his lips and took a mouthful of the eighteen-year-old whisky. ‘They were always on that damned island, trying to save the plants or the rocks, or the bugs. Anything to stick it to the man, I guess,’ Foster smiled again, this time with a sense of pride. Steel knew that he’d always taught his kids independence and their own way of thinking.
Steel sat and listened, let the story unfold. Allowing Foster to think back at memories of Lucy.
‘Brad was a wild card, but he was good to her, so I allowed a little leeway as far as their relationship was concerned. Besides, if I’d banned her from seeing him, she would have just left anyway,’ Foster continued.
Steel smiled and nodded. ‘So, what happened that day?’ Steel asked. He sat back in the chair, his left leg was crossed casually over his right.