Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  Steel cracked open a bottle of water from the minibar and took a long draw as he watched the world go by. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean and ticked his skin while listened to the haunting sound of the Scopoli’s Shearwater, a native sea bird that sounded like a baby crying.

  At that moment, life was good.

  Possibly the best it had been for a long time. But Steel knew he could not relax into the mood. He was no closer to finding out what had happened to Lucy, but something was going on. It had got Brad killed, and Samara had almost been grabbed by a bunch of thugs. And then there was Kane. For some reason, Kane didn’t want Steel going to Gozo, why? Steel was hoping Kane would clear up that and a few other things that evening. He had wasted enough time on goose chases and dead ends.

  Steel went back inside to the suites writing desk, a beautiful piece of furniture in a Victorian design. Steel’s laptop and phone sat neatly on top of the desk, both charging and loading updates. His unique sunglasses and contact lenses sat upon a loading platform, also charging and loading updates.

  Field equipment his handler had called them. Expensive was what Steel had called them. But necessary. They had helped him out of a lot of situations.

  Steel checked himself in a long mirror. Ensuring he looked good, that his tactical shoes did not clash with his attire. He stared at his reflection, looking passed the clothes and looked at his reflection.

  The son of a British Earl, an ex-soldier and now worked for something bigger than he had imagined actually possible. There was MI6, CIA, FBI, the French DGSE, The German BND, and then there was – them.

  Steel had been recruited after his time with the SEALs. It was plausible that they had their eye on Steel for a long time, possibly since a young age. MI8 was beyond a secret service. Formed after 9/11, just like the OSS soon became the CIA. MI8 was considered beyond black ops, beyond the red tape. And they had sought him out.

  The perfect candidate.

  The fact that Steel’s father had also been a member of MI8 for many years may have helped tip the scales in his favour. Maybe it was the fact that he wanted revenge, or they did. Whatever the case, he did not care.

  Steel checked himself in the mirror. He had found dark clothes suited him better, plus dark clothing had that look about it. He did not consider himself good looking, or even anything special, regardless of his heritage. All he saw was a damaged man with talent – a talent for ending up alone because it was better that way.

  If you love something, it will be taken from you. Steel had learnt a lesson years ago, and now being alone was as normal to him as being with a partner was for most others.

  A sharp beeping noise from the desk broke his concentration. Steel turned to see the updates were completed on the phone and laptop. He unplugged the phone and placed it in his inner jacket pocket. The laptop had automatically switched off, the small blue LED power light faded. Steel took the computer and slid into a slipcase before he put it in the wall safe. Steel wiped clean the touchpad if someone tried to check his prints to work out the combination. Not that it mattered, they would just use a code breaker device. But why should he make things easy for them?

  Steel looked at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock. Steel picked up the receiver from the house phone and dialled the number on the card. It rang several times before being picked up.

  ‘Mr Steel, I’ve expecting your call. I will meet you in your lobby in twenty minutes,’ Kane said confidently.

  ‘Sure, why not, nothing on TV anyway,’ Steel said, picking up his sunglasses and placed them in the other inside pocket of his jacket. He heard Kane laugh before the phone went dead. Steel smiled and put the receiver onto its cradle. Steel grabbed the contact lenses and made his way to the mirror. He hated wearing them, but he found that his soulless, dark green eyes spooked the hell out of people. A useful tool sometimes, but something he liked to keep undercover. Besides the lenses had a useful tech in them.

  Just in case.

  ‘Plan for the worst hope for the best and anything in the middle is a bonus,’ Steel’s instructor used to tell him. Steel still had no idea what the ‘anything in the middle’ part was about. But then the guy had been weird ‒ even liked Marmite on his chips. Sick bastard. Steel knew he had time to kill, so he checked his messages. Several from his company, which he had replied to, used the digital signature app to sign off on a couple of documents. Steel hated this. He wasn’t a businessman, though he knew the ins-and-outs of the company. His father had schooled him in that. Steel hadn’t seen it at the time, but now, Steel was convinced his father knew something could happen, and Steel had to be ready to step into those big shoes.

  After fifteen minutes, Steel stood up and closed down the tablet, it was time.

  ‘OK, let’s get this over with,’ Steel sighed and headed out the door of the suite.

  Steel found Kane sat in the lobby on a two-seater couch with ornate carving. It looked antique, as did all the furniture of the bar area beyond the double staircase. It was a classy finish to the hotel’s exclusiveness.

  Steel stood by the elevator. He looked at Kane and suddenly felt over-dressed. Kane wore half-cut jeans, a long white linen shirt, and training sandals.

  Steel approached but said nothing. He just watched as Kane checked his phone.

  ‘Twenty minutes, huh, so how long have you actually been waiting?’ Steel looked down at the French reproduction table and saw scattered sugar granules. ‘How about ten to fifteen?’ Steel said.

  Kane just rocked a flat palm from side-to-side in a ‘so-so’ motion and put his phone away as he stood up. ‘About that – yes,’ Kane smiled and offered a welcoming hand. Steel completed the handshake.

  ‘Come,’ Kane said and headed for the hotel’s entrance.

  Steel was a little wary about Kane, but there was something about this guy he liked. Probably because he was as mad as a hatter, but Kane reminded Steel of a good friend he’d had in the SAS.

  Steel had lost a good friend after his life fell apart, and he knew he had to disappear.

  The trip to Kane’s house did not take long. Mostly because Kane drove like he was late for something. For Steel, it had the bonus of losing any tails they had picked up. Steel sat looking unnerved by Kane’s driving; he had an image of toughness to uphold, but all the while, he was discreetly holding on to the door handle.

  Kane pulled up to a modest two-story house and switched off the engine before getting out. Steel followed slowly; his gaze fixed on the house, waiting for something to happen.

  ‘Welcome to my home,’ Kane said proudly and headed for the front door. Steel followed while checking around him, looking for any new vehicles decided to make a stop. The street was empty, but all the time, his gut was warning him something was off.

  Inside was bright and homely. Pictures of his family filled the walls of the hallway. Documenting all the trips that they had taken. Steel could see Kane and his family loved to travel and work for the local film industry. The hallway was long with a staircase to the left and a room to the right. At the end of the corridor was another door. Steel guessed that was the kitchen.

  Steel followed Kane as he went through the door on the right. This led to the sitting room and dining room. It was a large open planned double room that led off to the left to an open-plan kitchen making an L-shape. The sitting room and dining room were bright with cream coloured walls and a stone fireplace which heated both rooms. The sitting room was twenty by fifteen, with a window with a view of the front garden.

  There was a sofa against the right-hand wall and above the fireplace was a forty-inch flatscreen television. Steel noticed there were ornate cabinets with old porcelain miniatures. Steel figured these were an inheritance from a parent or a grandparent. The dining room was half the sitting room's size, with a sliding patio door leading out to the garden. In the centre was a small, highly polished dining table with four chairs. Steel guessed that this could extend and there were extra leaves and chairs somewhere.

&nb
sp; As they made their way through the sitting room Steel stopped at a group of photographs on a wall. These were of famous actors with Kane or his wife. Steel nodded, impressed at this family’s history.

  ‘An upside of the business,’ Kane laughed, noticing Steel’s interest in the photos. They headed for the kitchen, the smell of freshly cooked fish and meats filled the air in a delicious aroma. Steel felt his stomach growl in anticipation. As they passed near the fireplace Steel froze. He looked down at one picture of Kane’s wife with a white dress and flowers in her hair. The photo pulled at a memory of Steel’s wife. Years ago, Steel had taken her on holiday in Bavaria. Helen had looked like Samara in the picture before him, happy, loving. A good memory - but one that brought him pain.

  Steel touched the scare at his waist. A wound he could never forget, and never wanted too.

  ‘Oh, that,’ Kane said. ‘That was taken four years ago, in the Black Forest in Germany, beautiful, isn’t she?’ said Kane proudly.

  ‘What?’ Steel said in surprise. Kane’s words bringing Steel back to reality. ‘Yes, you’re a lucky man,’ Steel replied, pulling back his emotions with a smile.

  ‘However, as beautiful as she is, my wife hates when her well-prepared food gets cold. Not a good thing to see, believe me,’ Kane joked in earshot of his wife who was busy in the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t believe him,’ she said, giving Kane a stern look, ‘I would wait until you have left.’ She winked with a smile. Kane’s wife was a tall and slender, she had raven-black hair that fell past her shoulders and down her back. She wore a white wrap dress that revealed well-trained calf muscles. Brown t-strap shoes and a gold cross on a gold chain complemented the outfit. Steel followed Kane into the kitchen. It was a large room with plenty of windows, and white coloured walls matched nicely with the grey colour of the modern fittings.

  ‘Mr Steel, this is my wife, Maria,’ Kane said, indicated his wife, who was just about to take something out of the oven.

  ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam,’ Steel said, bowing slightly from the waist. Maria returned the gesture with a head bow and raised hands in oven-mitts. ‘But please, call me John,’ Steel said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, John.’ Her voice was warm and soft. ‘I hope you are hungry?’ Maria said, tossing a green salad in a wooden bowl.

  ‘Come, John, we shall get out of the kitchen before she makes us do something,’ Kane laughed. Maria reacted by throwing a dishcloth at him, which landed gently onto his right shoulder. As they passed by the sink, Kane dropped the cloth onto the side.

  Steel followed Kane into the garden where a long wooden table had been set with a white table cloth, wine glasses, and candles in small silver and glass candelabrum. Wooden bowls with different salads, bowls of olives, plates of bread, cold meats, and fish-filled the table's centre. It was a feast, for what appeared to be for many, not just three adults and two children. Then Steel noticed there were six chairs.

  ‘Someone missing from the party?’ Steel asked suspiciously.

  ‘No, we’re all here,’ came a familiar voice from behind him. Steel turned and saw Samara in the doorway, holding two wine bottles, one red and one white. Steel turned to Kane and scowled. He had suspected something was wrong, and now he knew.

  ‘John, I believe you know my sister,’ Kane said with a broad grin.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After twelve hours of monotony, Calver left the embassy, his brain was fried, but he wasn’t heading straight home. He did not have time to crash out, watch TV and drink beer. He had things to do, people to see.

  Calver was on a tight schedule. He’d brought everything he needed with him. A change of clothes and his bag was in his car. He had to be on the next ferry to Gozo, and he had little time to get there. The journey, on paper, would take around half an hour. But Calver was a practical guy, he knew that shit happened when you did not need it to. He would have to head Northwest on the Triq l-ldward towards Vjal L-lstadium Nazzjonali. The road would take him towards Mdina, and then at the roundabout, he’d have to head North until he hit the route 16, and then up towards Cirkewwa.

  He could see the roads being clear at that time of the evening, something he desperately needed. Every second counted. The sun had not yet entirely set, for that he was thankful, he hated driving in the dark. Also, he would have to take his chance on the roads, put his foot down and hope the cops weren’t around. He could not afford being pulled over, not just because of the time it would take, but he knew it would get back to the office. And there would be questions. Questions he could not answer.

  He checked the clock on the dash of his Range Rover, according to the display, he was making good time. But he could not be complacent and assume it was going to last.

  Against the odds ‒ it did.

  The roads remained clear, and the lights stayed green.

  It was completely dark by the time he reached the port in Cirkewwa, Calver had made it and with time to spare. Good, he thought, time to load up and hit the onboard kiosk. The trip over to Gozo would take around half-hour tops; then the road trip would take him twenty minutes due to the winding roads in almost complete darkness.

  He found a seat on the passenger deck and sat with a fresh coffee and a sandwich from the kiosk. Wasn’t a feast, but all he had time for. Once his meeting was done, he would have time to have a proper meal – which would probably be breakfast in Victoria, Gozo’s capital.

  Calver checked his second phone for messages. His work phone was back at the car, turned off, battery out; no need for anyone to know where he had been, especially the Company. Calver grumbled to himself at the lack of new communications, but then no news was good news, he thought reassuringly. Calver placed his disposable phone back into his pocket and took a sip from the hot coffee. The potent beverage made him wince. He’d had weaker trucker coffee, but then he was used to the good stuff at work.

  The crossing was calm and quick, which for him had been a blessing. He was a computer geek, and the closest he wanted to come to water was a shower in the morning. Taking the ferry, it was necessary, so he bore it.

  The ship made an anchor at Mgarr Habour. The vehicles started to disembark through the small fishing village and make their way up Victoria's winding road. From there, he headed towards Hondoq Bay.

  The bay was a great place for swimmers and people with boats during the day, with its clear blue waters and a small jetty. However, it was deserted at night and was the perfect spot for what Calver needed, dark and secluded.

  Despite single lane roads close to deadly drops, Calver arrived at the slipway. He waited patiently with his lights off, but the motor is running. He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was now ten-to-nine. He was early, but better that than being late. These weren’t the sort of people you kept waiting, besides he had a reputation to uphold and not being punctual would damage that.

  He took out a pair of night vision binoculars and scoured the ocean for a vessel. Through the military-grade scope, everything was bathed in light emerald green. The Rongland Night vision binos had a fantastic x 5 magnification, making them perfect for his needs. Except he saw nothing but the ocean. He looked back at the clock. It was two minutes to. He raised the binos to his eyes for another look and again, nothing but ocean. Calver was suddenly sickened by betrayal.

  Had he been set up?

  Were the police or worse waiting back up the hill for him? Calver chanced one more look, his heart in his mouth.

  Calver smiled as he saw a small dingy with three men aboard, the waves lapping up at the sides as it cruised towards the shore. It approached slowly, then halfway, it stopped. Calver watched and waited. He knew there would be a signal, one he would have to respond to, or the boat would turn and go back the way it came. Then he saw it. Three bright intermittent flashes, possibly from a flashlight. It was big enough to see, but the beam wasn’t so intense it would alert the rest of the island.

  Calver got out the car, flashed his own small torch
twice. There was a whirr of an outboard motor, and the craft raced towards the jetty.

  One of the men tossed up their guide rope, Calver caught it and tied it off.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Calver said with a smile. ‘You had me worried.’ He laughed and helped one of the men onto the pier.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Master handed the receiver back to the boy. Gingerly the boy placed it onto the cradle of the telephone. He had just received a phone call that made him happy. Things were finally moving forward.

  The Master’s men on the island had reported that the cop and Samara were in the house of a man called Kane. They had seen the cop arrive. The man called Kane had driven him. They knew Samara was there because of the blue Mini was parked a couple of places away. Close enough to get to in an emergency, far away enough to keep someone guessing which house she was in.

  So far the Master’s men had been blessed with good fortune, despite their incompetence at the old barracks. Their orders were clear, grab the woman and bring her to Aamir. Unfortunately, they had underestimated her abilities and the cop’s involvement. Before he was just a person to be aware of, nothing to worry about. But, since his participation at the bridge at Mosta, and his interference in Valletta, he was now a threat.

  The Master stood slowly, grasping the arms of the chair to push himself up. He wasn’t an ancient man, but his bones hurt from too much conflict, the years had not been kind, but he was a fighter regardless.

  He headed towards a large map that lay spread out on a sturdy wooden table. The boy followed the Master, carrying a candle with him. His youthful features lit by the glow of the flame. The old table was plain and functional. It had been used for many things; dining, food preparation, an operating table, and even the laying out a body before burial.