by Stuart Field
‘Oh, crap, what if they’ve stuck me in a sodding hole?’ Steel said. ‘Huh. Oh, well, even a hole has walls,’ Steel said as he stretched his right arm in front of him and his left out to the side. Then he started to move slowly forwards. The hope being at some point to find a wall.
Steel did not want to shout out. He did not think they would have brought him somewhere public on the off chance he did scream out for help. He hadn’t been gagged, suggesting screaming wouldn’t help him. And besides, there was no need to let them know he was awake.
Where was the fun in that?
Steel thought back to his time in the US Navy SEALs. It had been about seven months after his family’s murder that he went for selection. It had been an opportunity given to him by someone he came to trust, a man called Major Avory Dickson.
Steel figured saving the guy’s ass in Alaska counted for something.
No one there knew Steel’s past, no one cared, the truth was, that nobody really wanted him there.
He was an outsider, a loner. Not very good for someone looking to join a team. But he did OK.
Steel had done two years with the teams. One of his jobs had been prison infiltration and breakouts. A risky job, but he was crazy enough to do it, plus he had nothing to lose. If he died – he died, Steel did not care. It had been a dangerous job, but he perfected the art. Get captured, kill the bad guys, get everyone out.
Simple.
That was until his team were led into an ambush and most of them got taken out. Steel found out the SANTINI organisation had murdered his family that summers day so many years ago. They had somehow found him and tried to take him out. But the day his team got hit, he was three thousand miles away on another operation for the CIA.
It’s good to know even the bad guy’s get bad intel, he had thought at the time. Steel realised it was time to leave the SEALs, for the safety of the teams.
Time to disappear until it was time to take the fight to them.
And he had.
Now he was making them hurt. He was breaking SANTINI organisation apart piece by piece.
But oddly enough, he did not feel anything about that. No pleasure, no sense of revenge, no justice.
Nothing.
He was empty, they had made him that way.
His fear was that he would never feel again.
Suddenly, Steel’s right hand brushed against the rough brickwork of a wall. He had only gone ten steps before he had reached that point. Steel used his palms to search for a light switch or door handle. He knew the chances of finding such things were slim, but then this had been a quick abduction, so they would have had to find a temporary place to put him.
Steel’s thoughts went back to Samara, and what had become of her. He hoped she had gotten away, gone to call for the Cavalry – whoever the hell that might be. What part did Foster play in this? If he was dirty, why did he bring Steel over in the first place?
Steel’s mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He figured they had used a drug to knock him out, which would account for the thirst because the room wasn’t hot, or even warm, it was cool. So he wasn’t dehydrated because of the temperature. Steel checked his neck for sore spots of pin-pricks, he hadn’t been knocked out, he would have remembered that. Then he flinched slightly as his fingers found a place near his carotid. It stung like he’d been attacked by a bee or wasp.
Instinctively, Steel licked his fingers and rubbed the liquid onto the injection wound. It had been more muscle memory than anything, a sort of comforting trick a mother would teach a child to make them feel better.
But he did not feel better.
In fact, he was madder than ever. They had tasered him and taken Samara.
Why was he still alive? They could have simply tossed him into the ocean, been rid of him? Or maybe, they couldn’t afford for him to die? Perhaps they were holding him to interrogate him later, so they would have questions. He knew he would have done the same.
Instinctively, Steel felt that this was not the decision of the men who had been following Samara. Someone was giving them orders.
Steel took a moment and gathered his thoughts and breathed in the cold air. The room was so dark he had to rely on smell, touch and ….Steel stopped, his trail of thought had switched.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
The most obvious question.
Why was it so dark? Was he in a dark room that had no windows, or it was night time already? If so, how long had he been out, and what time was it?
Steel continued to search in front of him, but only felt cold bricks and some sort of powder. Steel rubbed his fingers together feeling the gritty texture and smelt it. Was he in an old building perhaps, and the mortar that held the bricks together had turned to dust with age?
It would account for the musty smell. Steel took off his right boot and placed it on the ground. He needed a reference point, so he did not keep going around in circles, then put his hands back on the wall and resumed the search. If there was no door, then there was a ceiling hatch, that would make life difficult if impossible to find in the dark.
As Steel continued his search, he found nothing but brick, his fear of the overhead hatch was becoming more a reality. But he had to wonder how high the ceiling was. If they had thrown him down with his hands strapped behind him, he would have sustained injuries, bruising or broken bones, maybe even a head wound, but he was unhurt.
Then, just as he was starting to give up hope, his fingers brushed against something. Not stone, it was wood – a door. A reassuring grin crossed his face. He mapped the edges of the doorway carefully, it was small and low down, which was possibly why he hadn’t found it before. The door was about five-feet by three-feet. And old door Steel figured because everyone, for some reason, was shorter back then. But it did not matter, it was a way in – and out.
Steel cursed he never put his contact lenses in. The electronic systems that within them would have made this situation thousand times easier. Still, he’d gotten out of worse problems without them. In a way Steel was glad for the loss of his gadgets for a while, yes, they were useful tech, but he was becoming too reliant on them, lazy. This situation would blow off the cobwebs, force him to use his instincts again.
Steel felt around for the door and the frame again. He needed to find out if it was an old or new door he was dealing with? The difference between the two would be whether he got out quickly or not at all, not without light anyway.
His finger brushed against the rough, prickly texture of the wood.
It was old – ancient.
Which would mean this door was probably over a century old, meaning it would be at least three inches thick, with heavy, well-made hinges that would be made from solid iron.
Doors built to hold off invaders.
In other words, something that could not be kicked through like a modern door. But the locks on an old door would be simple, and the chances were if it was an old building and the old door was still there, it hadn’t been maintained. Steel began to hope that where the hinges had been seated into the wall was no longer sturdy, that years of use and weathering had decayed the mortar, and the door could be forced out. Steel moved his hands from the frame to the door, half expecting the feel of thick oak.
But he did not.
He was feeling something else. It was weathered paintwork of a modern door. At some point, someone had replaced the old door with a new one, but now, even that was old. Steel guessed it had been done twenty or more years. Perhaps it dated back to the nineteen-sixties when the British were on the island.
Excitedly, Steel searched and found the door handle. By the feel of it. Steel figured it was a solid plastic-coated handle like the ones used in factories, but more important; it was a new lever handle. Steel smiled and put his muscular shoulder to work.
The door gave way quickly, making splinters of the ancient frame. Steel had held onto the door handle, to ensure the door did not crash open and alert anyone who
may be in earshot. He inched the door open just a crack to get a feeling of what light was outside the door. The corridor was poorly illuminated, but there was a light source from somewhere. Steel inched the door open a little more and listened for anything; radio chatter, footsteps, even someone clearing their throat.
But there was nothing, just silence.
Steel chanced to open the door a little more and peered out into what was an old corridor. The illumination was coming from poorly boarded up windows which let in shards of dusty light. There was a long hallway with a door at either end and more importantly, he appeared to be alone.
Steel went to one of the windows and tried to look through one of the gaps, but the bright light from outside was like a laser in the eye, Steel reeled back in pain and closed his eyes tightly.
He shook his head, cursing his stupidity, then went back to the window. He needed to see outside to find a landmark, anything to tell him where he might be. Steel grabbed one of the boards and pushed with all his strength. There was a screech of metal against stone before the board came free in his hand. A sudden blast of cold air swept over his skin. It was crisp and salty –sea air.
But where?
Malta was an island, which meant he could be anywhere in one of the many old seaports. Steel hurriedly looked out. He could feel his anxiety growing. He did not know most of Malta, only what he had seen on the map. And there were two other islands, Gozo and Comino, about which he knew as little.
As Steel gazed out of the window, hoping to see a harbour, or a city, even a damned goat header. But all he could see before him was the ocean and bright sun, high in a cloudless sky.
Steel figured he hadn’t been out that long judging by the sun's position it was still morning.
Steel swore to himself as he thought things through. He needed to get his stuff back, and rescue the girl, break them both out. Steel smiled and nodded to confirm the plan to himself.
A solid plan. If only he knew where the hell here was to escape from.
Steel looked around the room as he did up the bootlace. The light from the removed window board from the illuminated the room slightly. From what he could make out it was a large room, possibly an old barrack that could sleep up to twelve guys on bunk beds. But now it was empty of everything.
Steel went back out into the long stretch of corridor. He hadn’t had a chance to properly look it over before, his concentration hand been more on who might be in it rather than the construction itself.
The corridor was about thirty feet long with windows on the one side and five rooms. The floor was flat concrete, the walls were uncovered limestone. There were light fittings on the ceiling, but without the bulbs, they were just decoration. Steel thought this had initially been an old fort of some kind. Possibly dating back centuries from its construction. But like most fortifications on Malta, it had probably been added to by each defending force that occupied it.
Steel looked up and down the hallway and noticed doors on either side of his former cell. Each one evenly spaced, giving Steel a rough estimate of the size of the rooms. He figured his equipment had to be in one of them, assuming he had been snatched at Foster’s place but searched here. Both doors looked equally worn and uncared for. Which meant this was just temporary. They had not expected to bring prisoners here, or the doors would have been secured better. Steel looked at both doors, it was a 50-50 chance of getting lucky or finding a room full of bad guys.
And he was in no mood for a room full of assholes.
Steel reached for the left-hand doors handle. About the froze, considering an entrance strategy. Quiet or loud? The soft option would give him time to check out the room if no one came to check on him. If he was, they would react instantaneously, and the chances were one or two might respond by opening fire. On the other hand, the loud option would render them shocked for a second, a second that he could use depending on who was stood where and armed with what.
He broke through the door. As the door swung open, it revealed another room which looked as if it had been empty for some time. It smelt of dust, damp and old wood. Suddenly he heard men’s voices. Laughter. Steel rushed to the last door.
If Samara was anywhere, she might be there. It was the last room. Suddenly, he heard a woman’s voice, it was muffled by the walls and the door, but she had let out a scream.
Suddenly the clock was on a short count down. If Samara weren’t dead, she soon would be. He imagined her, strapped to a chair, bloodied from beatings. Brutal looking men taking pleasure in hurting Samara. All of them hoping she would remain silent so they could continue with their torture.
Steel had seen the bloodlust in the men’s eyes at the old barracks, the one who had been ready to rape her. He did not want to imagine what they were doing to her now for the fun of it. These men would continue their beatings and god knows what, even if she cracked and gave them everything, then they’d carry on just because they wanted it. Steel charged at the door leading with his shoulder, the impact of his full weight shattering the door frame into splinters. As he emerged on the other side, he rolled to avoid any gunfire. Ready to take on these men. Ready to rip them apart.
Steel knelt in a crouch and looked around.
But he wasn’t in the same room as the others, there were no men, there was no Samara tied to a chair. Steel found himself in the open air, the sun was over the horizon, the start of a new day. Birds danced it the heavens, the crisp sea breeze brushed against his skin. It was going to be a glorious day.
And then he saw them.
Twenty bewildered actors. All staring at him.
Steel bounced up on his feet and brushed himself off.
‘Morning,’ he said as if nothing was wrong. ‘Lovely day,’ he said and strolled off down a gravelled hill, leaving the actors stood, speechless. Steel looked over at the main fort, which was bustling with film crews. It would be too risky for the men to have Samara stashed up there where she might be found. Steel figured his abduction wasn’t planned, that’s why he had just been dumped there. The state of the place Steel had been left in showed it was never used so they could leave him there, possibly to return later to pick him up. He was confident Samara wasn’t there. Whatever the reason they had transported Steel to Manoel Island and taken Samara somewhere else. Possibly, for the same reason, they had wanted to grab her at the old barracks.
A stupid move by them, but fortunate for Steel as it was just across the water to his hotel. However, it was two miles of the rough ocean, which was filled with yachts and smaller crafts. Failing that, he would have an hour walk back to the hotel.
Steel weighed up his options and dove into the water closest to the hotel’s pier. He was already dirty from the dusty room, had no tech and no cash, so he did not think a little water would hurt.
The lobby of the hotel was full of guests, and a very soaking wet John Steel. He could feel the eyes on him as he crossed the marble floor to the concierge’s desk, leaving puddles behind him. Steel stood at the counter, patiently waiting for the man behind the desk to finish a phone call. The staff member laughed politely with the person on the other end of the phone, and Steel looked around as if nothing was wrong – just another day. At the same time, he looked up something on his computer, oblivious of the dripping guest before him.
‘Yes,’ The man paused as he looked at Steel, who was smiling as though nothing was wrong. The man placed the receiver onto its cradle at his desk, utterly shocked at what was before him. ‘How may I help you, sir?’ the concierge asked, his tone remained neutral, as though there was nothing amiss.
‘Good morning, it would appear I lost my wallet, and it had my room key with it, could I possibly get another one?’ Steel said, casually.
‘Lord John Steel isn’t it, the presidential suite?’ asked the concierge, knowing he had committed Steel’s name to memory as an essential customer.
The man smiled and produced a new key card.
‘There you go, sir. Do you require the police to assis
t with your stolen wallet?’ the man asked concerned now he had a rich man, not just a wet man before him.
‘No, it’s OK, thank you. I think I know where to look for it,’ Steel said darkly. At least he knew where to start.
With Marcus Foster.
Chapter Forty-One
Calver had gotten to work early. He had misjudged the morning traffic and had time to spare, so he sat on the sixth-floor breakroom and ate his pastry breakfast. Calver wore a broad smile. His joy was partly because of the deal he had made the night before, but more to do with new software coming online for the weekend. Software that would change everything, particularly for Calver personally.
His deal had gone well, sure they were Russians, but he was a businessman and not government, not really, he just worked for them. Calver did not consider himself a traitor, just a man with products that people were willing to pay a lot of cash for.
The breakroom wasn’t busy, most people had brought in coffee and went straight to their desks, they’d had breakfast with their families. He, on the other hand, had no family. He hadn’t even been home to change, he had brought fresh clothes with him. As he suspected the ferry over had been later than he had imagined. It had been his own fault. Calver had never crossed over at that time in the morning before, he had usually stayed over, but he had work this time. So, he had caught the first ferry over and raced to Attard for work. Picking up a coffee and a couple of Pastizzi – a traditional pastry filled with cheesecake, on the ferry.
There were two other guys from the second floor in the breakroom, and a guy Calver thought was from the third floor but wasn’t quite sure – not that he cared. And then there was the cute redhead, Wendy from Foreign Accounts. She was short and slim, wore a black skirt suit today, which he considered suited her better than yesterday’s grey one. Wendy had an oval face with long wavy scarlet red hair, her large blue eyes gave her a doll-like appearance. Calver smiled, and she smiled back before returning to reading something on her tablet. He had often seen her about but never dared to speak to her.