Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  She smiled as his unconscious bulk slammed against the ground, sending up a brown cloud of dust. That was one less to deal with. She knew his friends wouldn’t be far behind.

  The attack, the realisation that she’d been the target all along were stunning. But why follow her? She was nothing, a nobody. She was there to collect intel. Observe and report. Nothing more. And yet, there she was battling with the people she was ordered never to make contact or interact with.

  No interaction! She’d just laid one of them out, and she was sure his buddies wouldn’t be too far behind.

  Samara knew she had to get out of there fast before the others found her. The main entrance was out of the question. The other team members would be waiting. She would be drugged and tossed in the back of the van quicker than a blink of an eye. Samara looked over at the bottom of the ramp the tour had gone down and smiled. As a child, she used to sneak into the old barracks with her friends. She knew the best hiding places and also the best way to get out without being seen.

  The old fort was in two parts. The upper level was now the military museum, and the lower barracks had been left to wither. At the end of the long doglegged ramp was an ornately carved limestone fountain with three large spheres on top. The fountain’s base was overgrown with long grass. Behind the fountain, was a curved Greek looking structure with large columns. It was old and worn, but still inspired a sense of awe as though it did not belong with the rest of the barracks. As though the whole place had been constructed around the fountain and the arched columned structure.

  Both exits to the museum and the barracks would indeed be watched, and she had to slip away quickly and quietly. She knew her only way out was behind the columned structure and over the wall.

  Samara clambered passed the old structure, through some high grass and towards an old stone wall, which had possibly been part of a building. Beyond that were trees, lots of trees.

  Camouflage.

  Cover.

  Wild undergrowth and bushes blocked her way, but she continued towards her target.

  The sudden burst of loud voices made her stop and turn.

  It was the other team.

  She figured they had probably become suspicious at how long it was taking the man to grab her, and come to investigate.

  Using the old buildings as cover, Samara moved low through the undergrowth. Samara would be able to handle these men, her training had been as good as it got, but she had also learnt that it was sometimes better to retreat, regroup, and assess than act. Samara had no idea the number of people she was dealing with, who they were or why they were after her. She could not take anything for granted.

  Observe and report.

  Yeah, those orders have gone to hell, she thought, fighting through the long grass.

  Samara moved quickly, but stealthily up the other side of the ruins of the old fort, to a climbing point she had used as a child, and hoping it was still there. Samara could not risk being caught; there was too much at stake.

  Samara stopped and dropped to her knees. The voices began to get louder, they were heading in her direction. Using the large bushes as cover, she moved slowly, an inch at a time. She could not risk the movement of the vegetation giving away her position. She could hear their voices. They were at the wall she had just passed. Samara remained still, her breathing became shallow and steady.

  The bushes made it hard to see the men, making her more comfortable about her hiding place. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

  One man shouted an order for the others to search the old barrack building and the courtyard, thinking she had hidden in one of the rooms. She smiled and moved slowly backwards, heading towards the climbing spot.

  Slow and easy, she thought to herself. Slow and easy.

  She listened to the men yelling back to the leader each time they cleared a room. It was undoubtedly a scare tactic to let their prey know they were closing in.

  All the time, they unaware they quarry was heading for her exit. Samara began to move quicker. Hoping the cries from the men would cover her escape through the dense undergrowth. She could feel her blood racing, her heart beating so fast it might burst out of her chest. But it wasn’t through fear; it was exhilaration. This chase excited her, but the sight of the climbing place excited her more. She smiled and moved forwards. This game was nearly over.

  As she had passed a group of trees, a small flock of birds took to the sky, screeching as they went. Sure they had given away her position, she froze and dropped to her knees, her heart was in her mouth. Samara listened carefully for the sound of footsteps or movement as the undergrowth was disturbed. She knew he had seen the birds –he was coming for her.

  The question was, was he alone?

  The leader of the group turned and faced the startled birds. A menacing grin crossed his face as he headed up the stone steps; towards her. He did not alert the others. He sniffed at the air, trying to catch a scent from perfume or deodorant. His movements were slow and deliberate. He was enjoying the hunt.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Aamir stood in front of a map of Malta and the island of Gozo. It was a massive ten feet by ten feet, full-colour, topographical map, gridlines, and interest points. It was the kind of thing a person would expect to see in a military command post.

  It was fixed to sheets of cardboard, making it easier for pins to be stuck into it. And the whole thing was attached to the wall using long nails on the four corners and along the edges. It wasn’t the best of jobs, but it would do.

  Behind him, several collapsible six-foot tables lay two wide and five long to create one large table. On this table were computers, files, and radio equipment. Sat against the wall next to the front door were rifle racks, full of automatic rifles and submachine guns. A room branched off on the right, this was full of sturdy green weapon and ammunition boxes all neatly stacked.

  Next to a far wall stood another of the tables. This was four monitors, each showing three of the twelve security cameras that guarded the building’s outer walls. All windows had been boarded up to stop light escaping at night, making it seem no one was inside.

  Aamir was pleased with the command centre. The men had done well in following his instructions. They were in an old house on the outskirts of a town.

  It was a three-story building, with a cellar. Here, they were safe from prying eyes. Movement in and out of the building had been restricted to one or two at a time. Too many people coming and going would draw unwanted attention. As per Aamir’s instructions, everyone was wearing the same outfit. Jeans with brown working boots, a red checked shirt, and a blue baseball cap. Each of them had black hair and a beard. To the quick observer, they would appear to be the same person or at least family.

  Aamir looked at the plan of the island. Cities, towns, ports. For the moment, it was a clean slate in which to place pin markers; safe houses, drop-off points, emergency extraction points. The whole plan had taken over six months to get to this point – half a year of watching and waiting. Aamir smiled confidently as he placed the first pin into the map. The large red pin sat neatly over a small drawing of a building he had sketched himself. Above the picture, the words US Embassy stood out.

  All the other men looked at Aamir as he stuck in the pin with force. The room fell silent as they all stared, waiting to see what he would do next.

  ‘Now brothers, it begins,’ he said, still looking up at the map. Behind him, the men cheered with hateful lust and ambition.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Samara edged slowly back towards the fort's rear wall, on the other side of this was the busy main street. She knew that her pursuer would have to go through an old derelict building until he got to the overgrown courtyard. His best bet was to wait for his men to return before breaking cover, then assess the situation before taking action. She could take them all, but not together. Samara was proficient in Krav Maga, but in a large group and all at once, even she would have difficulties. Maybe after a few more y
ears of training, but not yet, she was only a year out of the academy, and this was her first real assignment.

  She had expected it would be an easy mission. Observe and report. How hard could that be?

  Now all she could do was get the hell out – and fast.

  The man moved slowly through the building. Pieces of rubble and old wooden furniture littered the floor. The stench of stagnant air hung in each room, causing the man to cover his mouth and nose. He searched the whole building and found nothing. He went to go back the way he came, then he stopped. He turned at the middle and looked back at the broken windows and the trees beyond them. He smiled to himself and moved towards a large window, which was more like a doorway than a window. Certainly big enough for a person. There was a bottom wall which reached up about two feet from the ground, and there were signs of where the frame hand been fixed in.

  The man stretched out his right leg slowly. Inching his foot through the hole in the wall as he could not see the other side. Placing his right foot gently on the ground, he pulled his body through slowly.

  Inch by inch.

  Slow and methodical.

  Profesional.

  The man found himself in a small wooded area. It was a perfect place to hide. He smiled wickedly as he tucked away his pistol and drew out a long, evil-looking blade. The blade was around ten inches in length and two inches wide. The long blade had a serrated top that ended in a double-edged tip which was at least two inches in length. The handle was made from carved redwood. The hilt and pommel were stainless steel, which glinted in the sun. It was a wicked blade for sure, a hunting knife.

  He crouched down slightly and crept as low as he could, trying not to disturb the stones and rubble on the ground. He would stop and look around, listen, then move forwards again. The man did that for several paces.

  Stop, look, listen, move. Stop, look, listen, move.

  He had his orders, and she was in the way. Something to his left caught his eye. Something had moved quickly, but quietly. He turned to look but found nothing. Had he imagined it? Could it have been a bird? He knew he had seen something, and he doubted it was Samara.

  He shrugged it off as just been his overactive imagination and turned back towards where the birds had flown. From behind him, he could hear the muffled chatter of his colleagues, dulled calls to find him. But he did not want to risk answering, not with Samara so close. He would wait, let them come to him. The man figured with all his men back there, Samara could not double back and escape. She would be trapped. And then they would have her.

  He smiled, thinking everything had come together, sure, though not as planned. Still, mission accomplished. He began to turn to face the way he’d been heading. The man gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, ready for anything.

  A kick to the right knee took him down, a roundhouse kick to the head surprised him, cost him. But he did not go down. She went for a second kick, but this time he was ready for her, he caught her leg. The man sneered with glee and swung her by the leg, straight into one of the nearby trees. The man laughed as her body slammed against the trunk. He had plans for her, and he could not wait to see her face as he tortured her.

  The man’s grin broadened as he slowly approached her. Behind him, his men shouted, called for his location. They would soon be there, and then the fun would start.

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ he sneered, holding the knife in one hand and undoing his trousers with the other. ‘We’re going to ride you and then we’re gonna slice you,’ he said.

  In Samara's eyes, the man saw the anger and pain as she held her back, from where she had impacted the tree. He knew she wasn’t about to show fear. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that. She wanted to show him his knife sticking out of his gut, but given the circumstance, that wasn’t about to happen.

  ‘I’m over here; I’ve got the girl,’ he called back to his men.

  But no answer came.

  ‘Hey, you sons-of-bitches! I’m over here,’ the man shouted again.

  Silence.

  Only the murmur of the traffic beyond the wall and the chatter of the birds filled his ears.

  ‘Where are you, you stupid sons-of-bitches, I’m over here?’ The man called. A sudden panic ran through him. He turned sharply around with the knife in one hand and his trousers around his ankles. He was expecting an attack. But all he saw was the building, the trees, the grass. And through the window, he saw something. A pile of rags, no – his men. They were all laid in a heap on the broken ground. The man swung around quickly, the knife ready to strike in his hand. The blade held sideways, ready to slash whoever had done this.

  But there was no one there.

  The man turned back to Samara, only to find she was gone. The man cursed loudly and set off after her, forgetting about his trousers. He lunged forwards, but his restricted legs could not move, he lost his balance. He struggled to reach out for something, but there was nothing there but air. The man felt the rush of wind as he tumbled straight down towards the earth.

  The man grunted as his face smashed against the dry earth. His mouth filled with blood as the impact loosened some of his teeth. He went to stand up but was forced down by something hard smashing against his back. Then it was followed by two more blows, one of which was to the back of his head. Everything went black.

  Samara had seen the man fall. She had savoured the moment as his face smashed against the ground, the spat blood and teeth. Samara also knew she wouldn’t get a second chance, he had to stay down. She found a broken branch and had brought it down on her attackers back. Samara had seen Steel take out the men. She was amazed at how quick, and silent Steel had moved.

  The man groaned and began to move. His movement was slow and painful – but he was awake.

  Samara walked over to the man and looked down. She could have hit him again with the branch, but how many times would be enough? Samara picked up the knife and knelt on top of him. She had one knee pushed into his back while the other rested on the ground. Grabbing his forehead, Samara pulled back his head and exposing his throat. Calmly she drew the sharp blade across the taught flesh and listened as his blood filled his mouth and he started to drown on his own fluids. She did not slit the carotid, she would have been covered in arterial spray. This was it was slow and painful. The bastard would feel his life slip away.

  She felt the body grow limp, the life had left the man’s body. It was done. He was done.

  Samara ran over to the wall and began to climb. It had been a long time since she had done this climb. Somehow, it had seemed easier when Samara was a child. She stretched her right arm out for the top ledge but found she did not have the reach. Her boot slipped from its foothold, and she slipped. From nowhere, a strong arm caught her. Fearfully she looked up. Almost expecting it to be one of the men. The sun glared from behind her captor, making it impossible for her to see who it was. Samara began to panic. Then she thought about the man she had just killed, had this man seen it? Did he belong to the other team, and now he would do the same to her? Giving her a slow, painful death in retaliation?

  ‘OK, you bastard, let’s get this over with,’ she said. Knowing the first opportunity she had, her new captor would get a kick in the balls, followed by a punch to the throat. Samara knew it wouldn’t be the big guy before, he was possibly thrown in the back of the van. It did not matter, whoever he was, this guy would get it first, then she’d hunt the others down, and she’d kill them all.

  The figure laughed and pulled her up slowly. As she neared the top, she pulled her arm back, ready to launch an attack. She knew a flat open palm hit could cause a lot of pain, and she was ready. She held her breath and prepared herself. She was ready. Suddenly as she neared the edge, she stopped. As Samara dangled for a brief moment she wondered what was coming next, was he going to drop her, leave her hanging until the others arrived. Then she heard an electronic click. He’d taken a photo of her.

  What for?

  Proof?


  ‘OK, you can grab the ledge now,’ her captor said. She looked up at the stone edge of the wall. She threw up her free arm and held on just as her other arm was released. Samara pulled herself up and over. As she stood, Samara looked up at her savour, John Steel.

  ‘You know, there is a door,’ Steel joked, watching her brush stone dust and undergrowth from her clothes.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t speak to strangers,’ Samara said.

  ‘Strangers? I think we are way past strangers, don’t you? I mean we do keep running into each other – so to speak,’ Steel smiled and extending a hand to shake.

  Samara looked down at his hand and then back to his face.

  ‘It’s a small island, we are bound to bump into each other, happens all the time,’ she said unconvincingly. A sudden commotion from the museum gate caught her attention. Two men looked down the road and straight at her. It was the other snatch team.

  ‘Friends of yours?’ Steel said.

  Samara shot him an angry glare and ran off across the street with Steel fast behind her.

  ‘By the way, my name is Steel – John Steel,’ Steel yelled at the fast-moving woman.

  ‘Not interested,’ she lied.

  ‘You know we would be a lot safer if we rejoined the group if we could find them,’ Steel suggested. He felt his smartwatch vibrate, and he pulled out his phone. As he looked at the message, he had just gotten. It was from the office in Whitehall with a quick background check on Samara. Steel smiled broadly before putting his phone away.

  Now he knew who she was - Agent Samara Malka, of Mossad. The big question now was why she was following him?

  Samara agreed with Steel that rejoining the tour was their best option. Thinking it was, if anything, a decent hiding place. Samara had suggested going back to her car, but Steel had figured whoever was after her, would be staking out her car just in case. No, the tour was the best option for now – safety in numbers. Steel doubted even these goons would have the gall to open up in broad daylight. But the more Steel thought about it, the more dubious he became of his own plan. Because he had no idea where Kane and the tour would be at that moment. Plus, there was also the threat that the tour bus was no longer in the city. After all, this was a movie tour. And there had been a lot of films, and television series made on the island. Also, at least four cities there that he knew of, which meant there were probably more, he did not. And that did not include the small villages between them.