by Stuart Field
‘Slippery? The man is like a frigging eel,’ Samara swore under her breath. She decided to follow the others, thinking that he would need to ride the bus with the others – or at least she hoped so.
Her plan had been to force Steel onto the tour bus just so she could keep a better watch on him. When he was alone with the taxi driver, it was unpredictable, whereas the tour was scheduled. She would know where he was – apart from now.
Then she caught sight of Steel, coming down from another building, and slipping silently in with the group.
‘Gottcha,’ she smiled.
Samara knew that the next step would be a trip to the old British barracks.
This was a dangerous place to be caught in, with lots of excellent hiding places, not mention there was only one way in and out. The gaggle of people returned to the bus and got inside, ready for the next part of the tour.
She sat behind the mini cooper's wheel, the engine was on, and she was ready to pull out onto the road and followed close behind. She watched the bus indicate and then pull out. She waited, letting at least one car pass, giving them space, so she wasn’t directly behind the bus. She sat in silence, thinking the music from the radio would disturb her concentration. She pulled out onto the road.
The bus was in her sights, and the SUV was in her rearview mirror.
Behind her sunglasses, her eyes glared at the sight of the team behind her. It was undoubtedly a six-man snatch team – two men in the front and at least four in the back.
Standard Operational Procedure, or SOP for short.
The driver would stay put, the leader – who undoubtedly was the ugly guy sat next to the driver, would coordinate, he’d stay put too. The four guys would surround the person – two at the front – two at the rear. They might follow the subject, wait for the perfect time to strike. The best option, one would have a syringe with something to render the subject unconscious, better to handle them that way – no chance of yelling or screaming, or fighting.
It would be quick and quiet.
Professional. Or at least that’s how she’d been taught. These guys could be a different matter. They looked like they did not care who saw them.
She looked in her rearview again. The van was at least two cars behind and hanging back. Something in her mind told her this was all wrong. Why only one team, there should be at least two? Unless of course, they had no idea who this John Steel was.
She smiled. After reading his file and actually seeing the guy, she hoped she got to see that confrontation.
She watched as the tour bus pulled up near the entrance to the makeshift gate to the barracks. She found a spot some distance in front of the bus, pulled in and waited before getting out. She checked her rearview. A sudden uneasy feeling overtook her; where the hell was the blue van? She used the rear-view mirror; waiting for the last person to get off the bus. As the group disappeared through the gate. Pulling a 9mm Masada Striker from the holster at the small of her back, she slid out the magazine, checked it. The seventeen hollow pint rounds sat neatly, the top bullet glinted as the sun reflected off the copper.
Seventeen in the mag and one in the pipe.
SOP.
She slid the magazine back into the slot in the pistol grip and waited for the click. Tucking the weapon back into the polymer holster, she got out of the car and locked it.
The street around the entrance to the old barracks was busy. There was lots of foot and road traffic. She smiled to herself, knowing it would be difficult for the snatch team to do anything here.
She slipped through the gate and quickly mixed with a crowd of twenty-year-olds. She hoped nobody would notice one extra person.
The man called Steel was walking by himself most of the time. But he had talked with the others around him. She had to admit it did seem as though he was having a little fun.
Though he had the bearing of a soldier, back straight and shoulders back. His hands would fidget as if he did not know what to do with them. Possibly due to all those years been told not to put hands in pockets.
She smiled and brushed away a strand of hair that had broken free from its confined position behind her head. There was a slight breeze which did little to bring down the temperature, but she was used to it. For her, it was a lovely day.
Samara had seen Steel take note of the exits, possible cover options, and kill zones. His head movements were slight, but she knew what he was doing. Casualty, attack and retreat risk assessments. She knew what he was doing because she had done precisely the same. Steel may be a cop now, but his military instincts were ablaze.
For some reason, he was keeping a careful distance from the tour guide. Marking him as a possible threat maybe? But then, Kane had lied about them going to Gozo, which had been stupid, but necessary if only to get Steel on that damned bus.
The British barracks entrance was through an arched doorway, but the original door had long been replaced by a chain-link fence. Samara followed the group through the gateway, and everything opened out. To the right was a massive stone wall which possibly held the headquarters. There was a doorway and high above a small domed tower or lookout post. To the left was the old and unkept barrack blocks, battered from age and weather. In front of her was a steep ramp. This slopped down to an open area and more high walls and walkways.
As they walked down the steep ramp to the ground level, she looked back. There was still no sign of the men from the van. That began to worry her even more. If they weren’t the snatch team, what were they doing there?
The old barrack block was a three-level Accommodation building, with rusted metal bannisters clung to the sides like scaffolding. The crumbling building had been used in many movies and tv series, all Samara, saw was a perfect place for a sniper or kill team. She looked around again, there was still no sign of the men. She figured whoever they were, killing innocent people wasn’t part of the mission. No matter how much they did not care about being seen, making front-page news was apparently not the plan. No, if they were there, it would have to be somewhere confined, indoors.
‘Next, I will show you where the soldier’s hand got chopped off in the zombie movie World War Z,’ called the Kane to the excited people. Samara’s heart sank. She’d been there before if anywhere was perfect for an ambush, that would be the spot. There were lots of dark places to hide in.
Kane ushered the group to follow him. They turned back on themselves as the flat courtyard carried on to the side of the ramp, to another set of buildings – which, in effect, was just one big building. It was a two-story limestone building with archways and stone staircases. The buildings had no windows or doors, just holes in the walls where they should be. To look at them, they seemed to belong in Jerusalem or Bagdad, or any other Middle Eastern or North African city in the time of the Roman empire. The only give away was the mass of litter film crews had left behind. Kane wandered forward alone, kicking at large pieces of rock. The group held back slightly, the sound of the clicking of cameras.
Steel kept to himself.
The tour had, inevitably, split into two groups: the quick and the slow. Steel had placed himself between the groups.
As the group moved up the worn stone steps, past a pile of stones, past discarded beer bottles, and headed into the building. They followed Kane up old concrete stairs, people groaned at the sudden change from bright light to shadow. They laughed and joked about it. All the while, she stayed as close to Steel as she could without been spotted by him.
If anything was going to happen to Steel, the other men would have to wait until he was alone. Or something grabbed his curiosity, either way, she had to be ready.
Observe and report.
As she moved with the crowd an old woman in front of her dropped her small backpack, the contents emptied out on the stairs, bottles of water bounced down past her as she struggled to see where Steel had gone. She’d helped the others pick up the old woman’s stuff, then quickly pushed forwards.
She scowled in anger.
>
Steel was gone, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d knocked the backpack off Samara himself. But he would only cause a distraction if he’d known she was there.
But how? She’d been careful – or so she had thought.
Her scowl turned to a smile of admiration.
They were right, he was good.
Samara began to wonder how long he had known she was there. Since the first stop at the street tour, perhaps he had seen her car when they left the last stop? But none of that mattered now. Steel was gone, meaning the men from the van were indeed after him.
Kane waited patiently for the group to gather on the first floor of the building. The space was sizeable, though more of a large corridor than an actual room. It had doors that branched off as well as the stairwell they had just used. To one side was a large archway with a view. Kane explained the scene from the movie while he held up the file and showed a collection of stills taken on set. All in vibrant colour. A professional job.
They gasped and took more photos. The murmur of chatter echoed around the confined space of the building.
Click, click, was followed by gasps as he explained further. Kane pointed out the fantastic view from one of the archways, a panoramic view of the courtyard and barracks.
More, Click, click, gasp.
Kane looked at his watch. Time to leave. They were on a schedule, and the bus was waiting.
Samara watched Kane usher the people out, and nodded slowly with relief. Good, Samara thought, get these people the hell out of here.
Kane waved his hands and beckoned the people to follow him. Warning them to take care as they walked down the worn stone steps.
She waited until the group had made their way back down before she made her move. Kane looked up at her from the stairwell. Their eyes met for a brief second.
She nodded to Kane, he returned the gesture. He knew then, something was about to happen.
Kane’s attention shifted onto his party. He quickly ushered the group down, back to the central courtyard and the ramp. His voice echoed through the foundations as he continued the tour.
Samara looked down the empty staircase lit by natural light from the open doorway below. Steel hadn’t been with the group, he had disappeared. The last time she had seen him was on the stairwell.
Samara wondered where Steel had gone. Was he hiding, or was he after something? Had her appearance spooked him and forced him into the shadows?
Or worse – had they found him?
She hammered a clenched fist onto the stone stairwell wall, cursing the situation. Her eyes fixed on the place where Samara had dropped her backpack. Trying to picture what she had seen last before the crowd intervened. All she remembered was Steel looking back at her, smiling.
She smiled softly to herself, reassured by the fact Steel had left by his choice, not someone else. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The snatch team would be waiting for him as he left the area. She wondered, how slippery was this eel? Or was he a cobra, waiting to strike?
She set off down the stairwell, but she was suddenly grabbed from behind. Powerful arms locked her in a bear hug, arms pinned at her side. Samara was overcome by the potent scent of body odour and lousy deodorant. She lashed her head backwards, hoping to catch her captor on the chin, but the brute was several inches taller, and all she was hitting was his solid chest.
The man laughed callously, knowing he could squash her like a piece of fruit. Samara gagged as his stench became overpowering. She wondered how long the guy had been stuck in the car for, or if the windows worked? Then she felt his grip loosen slightly.
She stomped a heel onto the man’s foot, making him release for a second in pain and surprise. That second was all she needed. His arms widened slightly as though he was about to grab his foot. Giving her a chance at a second strike. Jumping as if skipping a rope, she launched herself directly up. The top of her head impacted the guy’s bottom jaw.
A yelp of pain and a cascade of blood spat out as the man bit deeply into his tongue. He tossed her across the room like she’d burst into flames, and stumbled backwards, both hands clutching his bloody maw. Samara could see he was still stunned and tried for a third strike, knowing that once he recovered, she wouldn’t get another. Samara delivered a double kick to the stomach, forcing him back towards the open window. His bear-sized hands shot out to the sides at a terrifying speed. A speed that she had not conceived possible from the brute. His massive hands clutched the sides of the window frame and stopped his fall.
As he straightened himself out, he gave a bloody grin. His beard was damp with a glistening, blood looking almost black in this light. She realised this was the guy who had driven the BMW in Mdina.
A second team?
It was the only explanation. Because the guy trying to squeeze her like toothpaste wasn’t with the others.
‘The others? Shit.’ She thought out loud.
Then it struck her. The second team must have been in the barracks all along. The first team relaying Steel’s position to these guys. So what was she, collateral damage because she was following Steel? Her mission was to collect information on Foster, and Steel was now part of that equation, and so had the men in the car after she had seen them at the airport.
It was supposed to be a simple data gathering mission, now it had exploded into something else.
She swallowed hard. The man was at least six-three and three-hundred pounds of mostly muscle. He had a short stubble haircut, a blood-soaked long beard, and no neck. He wore a checkered flannel shirt over a red t-shirt baggy blue jeans and white deck shoes.
He rubbed his massive paws in anticipation as he watched her. Clearly, he had no qualms about hurting women.
He spat blood and wiped his mouth; his eyes full of bloodlust that made her shiver.
‘My turn,’ said the brute, crouching with open arms, like some kind of sumo wrestler. He was going to rush at her. After the surprising speed of his reactions, she acknowledged she had no idea how quickly he would be on his feet.
‘What do you want with Mr Steel?’ She asked, hoping the conversation may take his mind off ripping her apart.
‘Who the hell is Mr Steel?’ asked the brute, his lustful eyes still trained on her.
‘The tall British guy you’ve been following. You know, black hair, black clothes, sunglasses?’ she said. Her breathing was steady, but she could feel her heart thumping against her chest. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, her muscles ached from the readiness for sudden activity.
The brute thought for a moment. Then shook his head, a puzzled annoyance twisted that round face. She figured he must have thought she trying to stall him with stupid questions.
She could see he was getting mad, the veins in his neck started to throb. Perhaps he thought her questions were to stall him – in which case he was correct. But his answer was terrifying.
Who the hell is Mr Steel?
Six simple words.
Six terrifying words, because now, the game had changed, and she did not know the rules.
‘The guy you’ve been following since the airport?’ she said, her voice growing angry; he was pissing her off.
The brute shook his head again. His eyes had calmed slightly, the blood lust wasn’t entirely gone.
‘We haven’t been following a guy – we’ve been following you,’ the brute grinned.
And then that menacing, bloodlust look was back.
‘I don’t suppose coming quietly is still an option now?’ she asked, still hoping to make it out alive. The man’s evil grin spoke volumes. Even if she lay down and cuffed herself, he was going to hurt her, the way she had hurt him – and probably more. He seemed the sort who enjoyed beating up women, liked hurting people.
She knew fighting this mass of muscle wouldn’t achieve anything, apart from her getting hurt, or killed. Logically, she had to get away. Jumping the stairs was a good bet because she was nimble and quick. His reflex actions were sharp, but maybe on his feet, he was as slow
as a sloth due to his bulk? Or worst still, perhaps he was built like an American football player and moved like one as well?
She was about to find out.
The man grinned like a wild beast and rushed towards her. He was quick for his size she had to give him that, but he was slow enough for her to make a move. She rolled out of the way at the last possible moment, waiting for him to grow near before she moved, hoping momentum forced him on. The hunch had been correct, she smiled as he smashed against the stone bannister. He impacted hard against the old stone wall, let out a ‘humph’ as he knocked the wind out of himself. A cloud of dust that plumed from the wall that coved the man.
His gaze shot over to where Samara had rolled, just as she disappeared out of the window. He roared like an animal, the noise echoed around the room, through the passageways, across the courtyards. She heard as the man ran down the stairs after her. The sound of his puffing and panting echoed through the small narrow stairwell. This was a building made for smaller, slimmer people, not bulky, muscular brutes.
She heard the clatter as his feet slipped on steps worn to uncomfortable, unsafe angles.
Samara heard the man growl obscenities, threats of what he would do to her once he caught her. But, the misshaped stone steps forced him to lose time and footing.
She found an old piece of boarding on an old pile of old stage props, she picked it up and tested is strength, all too aware of the footfalls coming towards her. She put her back to the wall of the building.
As he ran out of the building, the blinding morning sun must have taken him by surprise. The shock of coming out of the shadow into bright light blinded him for a second, forcing him to clench his eyes shut and raised a large hand to block out the glare of the sun.
With a grin, she swung the boarding like she was hitting a home run. The makeshift weapon smashed against the man’s face.
There was a loud crack, a grunt of pain. He stumbled backwards holding his nose and looked at her with angry eyes, blood gushing from between his fingers. She swung the piece of wood once more, but this time it swung upwards between his legs. The man doubled over and a low moan all the winding would allow before he fell to his knees. Samara spun and landed a kick directly on his jaw.