by Stuart Field
Foster took a large mouthful this time, malt caused him to wince and almost cough. ‘They went to Gozo one day, some new project, save the damned birds or some crap like that, anyway when she came back to see us the one day, she was all secretive. I asked what was wrong, but she asked me…’ Foster pause, pain and confusion marked his face.
‘She asked you what?’ Steel said. He planted both feet on the floor and leant forward. Foster had his full attention.
‘She… she begged me not to ask what was going on. She begged me, Jonny, my daughter begged me not to ask, nor to interfere,’ Foster sat back in his chair and tossed his free hand about as though he was swatting away a fly. ‘How could I interfere when I had no idea what the hell was going on in the first place. At first, I thought they’d had a fight, and it was all over, and she thought I was going to go make Brad change his mind. Hell, if that had been the case, I would have thrown a friggin party,’ Foster laughed. The smile fell swiftly away. The solemn look came back.
‘That night, we stayed up and talked, mostly about what she had been up to, catching up. Having the whole father-daughter thing. It was nice,’ Foster said. ‘Before that, we hadn’t seen much of her. Her job at the gardens and her voluntary work took up a lot of her time. She’d phone each week to say hi, speak to her mom,’ Foster’s eyes began to fill with tears, and a small smile cracked at the side of his mouth.
Steel guessed that was the last good memory Foster had of Lucy.
‘It was about two in the morning when she said it. She’d been drinking, we both had. We’d cracked open that bottle of Glen I’d been saving. Man, it was smooth,’ Foster said, his gaze fell over to a drinks cabinet to a bottle of eighteen-year-old GlenGrant. Steel figured there must be no more than three fingers left in the bottle.
Must have been one hell of a night, Steel thought.
‘She told me that Brad had given her something the day they broke up. She wouldn’t say what it was, just that he had said it was insurance if something went wrong. Brad had found something when he had been on one of his exploration trips, she’d said. That Brad liked to go cave diving and all that shit. But this time he’d found something, something that had scared the crap out of him,’ Foster explained.
‘Do you know what he found?’ Steel said. He pulled himself out of the comfortable chair and dragged himself over to the drinks cabinet. Steel was impressed by the selection of fine malts on offer. He figured most had been birthday and Christmas presents. Steel chose Jonnie Walker Blue label and uncorked the top. The smell of herbs and the smooth malt filled his nostrils. Steel poured two-fingers into his own glass before taking the bottle over and topping up Foster.
‘No, Lucy never told me what it was, or what he’d found. Apparently, I would find out when the time came.’ Foster took a mouthful from the freshly topped up glass.
‘I think it was an SD card or a data stick. Possibly full of photographs or a video,’ Steel said.
Foster looked up at him, confused. ‘How do you know, did you find it?’ Foster asked.
Steel shook his head.
‘No, but I am pretty sure it was. The SD card in his phone was new, had hardly anything on it, strange for a young bloke who likes to take pictures, don’t you think? I believe he was blackmailing someone, the only way he could do that was with photos of something he’d found.’ Steel looked over at Foster, weighing up his reaction. Foster remained still and almost emotionless at Steel’s theory. ‘I believe he had made a copy and gave Lucy that copy. That’s what the insurance was,’ Steel said.
Foster drank as he processed this new theory. ‘I can’t get my head around Brad blackmailing anyone.’
‘I don’t think it was for money,’ Steel said. ‘I spoke to a couple of people who knew him, and the impression I got was he wasn’t the sort of bloke to do that kind of stuff. Besides, if he needed money, his dad was also doing well in the NSA, and his mom was an heiress,’ Steel said. Foster raised a curious eyebrow. He wasn’t surprised Steel had the information, just wondered how he had gotten it so fast?
‘And yes, Marcus, I did check-up on Brad and his family.’ Steel smiled to himself as he watched Foster’s face contort with curiosity. ‘No, this was more power over someone to do something,’ Steel said. Then retook his seat in the armchair. The leather creaked with newness rather than age. Steel arranged himself in the chair, finding that sweet spot. Once he was comfortable, he took a sip from the malt and let his mind play through the facts.
He thought for a moment then shook his head, almost doubting a theory he’d just had and quickly dismissed.
‘What’s wrong?’ Foster asked.
‘Why kill him in broad daylight? Why not wait until night time, wait for him in his apartment? If he had this proof, why kill him before getting it and the copy?’ Steel said. He looked over to Foster, who was still processing the thought his daughter could be involved in such a thing and not tell him.
‘Why didn’t she come to me? I could have helped.’ Foster started. ‘I could have….’
‘What could you have done? We don’t even know what they had. You always kept your family in the dark about things because you thought it would keep them safe, perhaps she was doing the same,’ Steel said.
Foster nodded slowly. Understanding made it no less painful.
‘All we can do is find the proof and get the bastards who did this,’ Steel said.
Foster said nothing, just raised his glass to salute Steel. Steel returned the gesture, and both drank in silence. Steel had left Foster’s place around midnight, the long day and booze had taken its toll. Steel had taken a taxi back to the hotel and after a cool shower had slipped into bed and had fallen into a deep, troubled sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning Steel woke early. It was still dark outside, and the air held a damp chill. The clock next to the bed showed it was half-past four. Steel found it an excellent time to go for a run. He’d gone out the same time the day before, and the conditions had been just right. He pulled himself out of the comfortable bed and headed for the bathroom.
Moments later, Steel walked back into the room and headed over to the windows. As he pulled opened the drapes, he stared out across the ocean view. The sun had not yet broken the horizon, and the sky was a royal blue and purple watercolour on a dark blue backdrop.
It had rained during the night, cooling the air and leaving small puddles on the sidewalk and streets, not to mention his terrace.
Still, the view was spectacular, and he’d got coffee. It was a small Café Americano from the machine next to the minibar. Steel sipped his coffee as he stared out across the bay, passed the small island with the old fort, and onto the lights of the next city which made an orange glow on the dark canvas of the morning sky. Steel made his way to the sitting room of the suite. He had noticed a large parcel had been left for him. The box was 2 foot-long, a foot wide, and a foot deep. It was wrapped in plain brown packing paper, and sellotape held the folds together. Steel smiled at the address of the sender. Steel Grange, Kent, UK. Steel tore open the parcel and opened the box. His trusted friend and butler had packed a hooded tracksuit and a set of decent running trainers and a laptop with a 15-inch screen.
Along with some other luxuries, the was a note. Just cause you're on holiday, no slacking off the training ya bugger. Steel smiled. His butler had once been his sergeant in the SAS. A tough bastard to be sure, but a hell of a good man. Steel had offered him employment after the Sarge – as Steel affectionately called him, had gotten his cards and was let out into the world. The Serge had excepted after he had found out the conditions of his duties, which primarily was to look after the estate and any affairs that needed taking care of. He was also Steel’s armoury consultant, picking out weapons and gear that Steel might require.
The Sarge had been there five years now, and the estate had never looked better, and the wine and whisky cellar never so full, most of the time.
Steel took out his tablet and pulled up
the photos he had taken from Lucy’s hard drive. It was mostly a mishmash of selfies or pictures of Brad. But Steel was interested in unusual ones. Ones that were of places of scenery, photos that just did not fit with her everyday work. He had found several pictures of harbours, including one in Vallette. This one was to the east of his hotel. It was part of an old fort complex, catering for large ships such as tankers or cargo ships. Steel went to another screen and pulled up the internet map search. He found an excellent spot to observe from, a nearby park that overlooked the place. Steel plotted the route he would have to take and closed down the device.
Steel pulled on the tracksuit and stretched out. His muscles ached from inactivity. He left his room and ventured down to the lobby to hand in his room key, figuring it would be safer in reception than his pocket.
Steel jogged at a steady pace. He was heading south-east along Great Siege Road, and passed the ‘C’ shaped The Grand Pheonix hotel, Passed the parking lots on both sides, passed the Statue of Independence. But all the while, he had the feeling he wasn’t alone. He had noticed he had picked up a possible tail just after the Grand Pheonix. Two men in tracksuits. Possibly other joggers that preferred the early mornings? A possibility, but he committed their faces to memory, just in case.
The roads were quiet, making it easy to cross the junctions without stopping. Steel avoided the puddles on the pavement that last night’s downpour had left. In a few hours, everything would be dry, as though it had never happened.
It had only taken him twenty-five minutes to reach the King George V Recreational Grounds. This was a small park with a kiosk and a fantastic view of Boilers Wharf across The Grand Harbour. The wharf was the business end of the island, with massive oil tankers and cargo vessels. All of which lay anchored and lifeless, only the docks' blinding lights made it look alive and busy.
To the left of the port was Fort St Angelo. A colossal limestone emplacement built back in the days of the crusades and then built-upon throughout the ages, and now a fascinating museum. The two men remained behind him. No longer a coincidence.
Steel looked upon the high angled walls and the low set buildings within the compound. He imagined the armies that had tried and failed to invade the island, including the Nazi’s in the second world war. Steel looked over to a pier that stretched out from the fort. And the large, expensive yachts lined the pier almost like a showroom for the super-rich.
Steel took in the lay of the land, looking for something out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, he had no idea what was ordinary or what was unusual. The whole of Malta was a fantastic medley of old and new, and ancient. Of high tech and no tech. Massive cruise ships and small fishing boats. He half-imagined Noah docking the Ark here, then the starship USS Enterprise would come into view in the sky.
A road curved ran along the ancient walls below him to another small pier full of powerboats of different shapes and sizes. The white of their hulls stood out against the still blue ocean. Steel looked down at his watch. He would have time enough to run back and have breakfast before another day of the investigation.
He wanted to get to the other island early before crowds of tourists filled the place.
Turning, Steel started to sprint back. He wanted to see if he could beat his time and see if he could lose the people tailing him.
Four men. Two teams. One was a small bald man in a blue and black tracksuit, taking a look at the same view near a set of benches. Next was a tall, thin man with black hair and beard. He wore jeans and a sports jacket and carried a newspaper. Steel smiled to himself as the man sat down on one of the benches. It was so cliché; it was laughable Steel had thought. Steel saw the next team later, as he passed by a kiosk. Two joggers dressed alike, pretending to have a coffee. Steel shook his head as he jogged on.
Now he could have some fun.
On his arrival, he had researched streets and possible escape routes; just for such occasions. After sizing up the men, Steel assessed the only one who may give any problems was, in fact, the thin guy with the paper. The other three were bulky – perfect for dishing out damage, but no good on their feet. They hadn’t been the guys from Mdina. Still, they bore similar facial characteristics, they were also from North Africa, definitely not from Maltese.
As he headed for a fenced-off football ground, he noticed a woman jogging passed him. She was tall, and her skin-tight outfit showed off her athletic form. Her long black hair was tied up in a pigtail which swung against her back with every step.
Steel could not help but stare. She was stunning and had an elusive, attractive air of danger about her.
And for Steel, that was enough.
He thought about pursuing her but remembered the two teams. As Steel took one last look back to hopefully catch one last look at her perfect form, he noticed the teams had gone.
Steel stopped in his tracks. He was puzzled, felt cheated at not having the chase after all. He thought about it for a moment.
These must have been a forward recognisance team. Observing precisely what Steel did. Which road he took, where Steel had stopped if he had done so – which of course he had. They were looking for a pattern. Steel knew this was how forward planning worked. Find out if there is a pattern in the way the target moved, was there a favourite place the target liked to frequent, did they prefer track to concrete, long mileage to short. Did they prefer scenic to none scenic?
Steel wondered if there had been other teams on different routes. If so, that meant a more extensive organisation than he had initially conceived.
Was it SANTINI or maybe the other organisation? If so, what the hell were they doing on Malta?
Steel shook off any thoughts about the other groups. This did not have their style. If Mr Williams had wanted Lucy and Brad dead, it would have been more… theatrical. And for the others, there probably wouldn’t have been bodies to find – unless they wanted them found. And shooting in the middle of a city? A hit like that was more KGB, or CIA, or MI6, even the MI8.
Steel returned to the hotel. Showered, changed into black cargo trousers, black T-shirt, and a black army-style jacket. The thin ripstop material would keep him fresh in the heat of the day's sun. Steel knelt down and fixed the laces on his military-style boots as he watched the news on the large flat-screen. The US had some weather issues, storms and blizzards. The UK had the worst flooding for years, India had launched a spacecraft. At the same time, in a village not far away, a building collapsed, killing hundreds. The world was in chaos. It always was, and probably always would be. He was starting to feel depressed by the programme. Then an advert came on for holidays in Barcelona. He raised an eyebrow and placed it on his list of things to do after the case.
‘Who knows, when this is all done?’ Steel said to himself. He walked over to the desk, reached down for his unique sunglasses and synchronized the watch, phone and glasses. There was a bleep from all three and a message of all three screens said Sync complete. Steel put on the watch, stuck the cell phone in the inside left jacket pocket and placed the sunglasses over his blue coloured contact lensed eyes.
He took breakfast in the restaurant with a sea view and a strong cup of coffee.
Steel thought back to the woman jogger. Wondering who she was? Would he see her again if he returned to the same spot tomorrow?
Then the thought of the two teams shattered those idle plans. If they had been a reccon team, Steel had two choices. He could go back on the same path tomorrow – hoping they would think he would change his jogging route, or indeed, he could change his route and see if his gut feeling was correct and there was another team.
If that was the case, he was looking into something bigger than blackmail. Steel checked at his watch as he walked into the lobby and thought about bringing his plan to go to Gozo forward, despite the ME having planned to see him the next day. He needed to see the place where they had found Lucy, and also, try and find that damned jetty he had seen on Brad’s pictures. Of course, he’d keep an eye out for his new shadows. They wer
e not discreet about making it known they were there, but their presence made Steel nervous.
He remembered what someone had once told him about wolves. ‘It’s not the one that you can see you should worry about, it’s his twelve brothers and sisters behind you that you can’t.’ Maybe its arse backwards this time. It’s not the eight assholes that you can see but the one dangerous bastard you can’t. Usually, that was Steel himself – the guy in the shadows you don’t see until it was too late. If you saw him at all.
The events of the morning had made Steel later in his departure than he had hoped. Never the less he had to go. The main entrance was full of tourists. No doubt the groups were waiting to go on some guided tour of the island or hopefully Gozo itself. Steel excused himself passed an enthusiastic group of elderly women and headed for the concierge’s desk. He needed a taxi to take him to the ferry port in Cirkewwa, and he knew just the man to take him.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spotted the female jogger he had seen that morning. She was leaning against a wall next to the grand staircase. But despite his pleasure at her unexpected appearance, he could not help but wonder why she was there, in his hotel?
Was she there for the tour? A possibility. But there had been far too many of the coincidental meetings. Steel’s mind began to spill all sorts of theories. The more interesting idea was that she was also a guest at the hotel, but what were the chances? In his experience – nil.
This time instead of the skin-tight jogging suit, she wore beige shorts and a white short-sleeved blouse, with black ankle boots. She had the body of an athlete and the face of a goddess. Steel saw she was talking to a man, a local man, but not a guest. Steel caught the sheen of a plastic pass holder which hung around his neck, as it reflected in the light from the chandeliers. Their conversation had been brief but had an effect on the man judging by his solum reaction. He walked away and left her standing alone. Steel felt himself taking a lingering look at this strange, possibly complicated woman. He touched the side of his glasses and took a photograph. He knew the picture would be sent to his phone where he could send it off later to Whitehall for analysis. Steel wanted to know if there were any more players in this game, and what hands they were holding.