by Stuart Field
Calver smiled at the tragedy of it all. He could chat with arms dealers and scumbags all day but cowered at the thought of talking to Samara from Room 14.
He took little glances, taking note of how her white blouse fitted well enough to define her slender form. How the first couple of buttons were left open to show her gold crucifix. She looked up again and met his gaze, and smiled, did she know he had been staring? Calver smiled back shyly before looking down at his coffee cup.
Wendy got up and straightened her black skirt; most might liken it more a belt than a skirt, and left the restroom, offering Calver one last triumphant smile. Calver gave a moment then followed. He loved to watch her walk, the way her hips swayed.
To him, she was perfect.
Wendy turned a corner, but Calver paused before following. He looked around, then moved after her. Calver turned and saw the corridor empty; Wendy had vanished. Slowly he walked down the hallway, wondering where she had gone. He began to feel anxious; had she realised he was following and taken off. Maybe she would tell his supervisor. Calver started to move quickly towards the offices. He hoped he was wrong, and she was just quick on her feet.
Suddenly, the door to a janitor’s cupboard swung open, and he was grabbed and pulled inside. Calver felt soft lips press against his and arms locked around his body in a passionate embrace. The room’s lights were not on, but he knew exactly who it was.
‘So, how did the deal go last night?’ whispered a voice.
‘Like clockwork, once they’ve seen the test, they’ll wire the money,’ Calver said. There was a click of a light switch, and Calver stood looking lovingly into the eyes of Edward Bryce, the floor manager.
‘God, I can’t wait to get back into regular clothes instead of this grandfather crap you got me wearing,’ Edward moaned. Calver kissed Bryce hard on the lips and smiled. Just a couple more jobs, I promise. Besides they haven’t found out were not the real Calver and Bryce yet, so let’s just enjoy it shall we?’ Calver said, grinning.
‘Are you sure they won’t find them, that kid was snooping around on the island?’ Edward said anxiously.
‘Yeah, and look what happened to him, look we are safe, OK, don’t worry. Just a couple more tasks and we’re done, I promise.’
‘So, what are you going to do when she asks you out?’ asked Bryce.
‘Who? Oh, Wendy. Nah, she won’t, it’s just attention for her. Besides, she’s already hoping someone else will ask her, that bloke from Flight Control,’ Calver said reassuringly. Calver had done his homework down to the last detail; Wendy wasn’t available, that’s why he chose her. A married woman would be too risky. Especially long-term married with kids, they might be up for a little adventure. Newly married women was always a bad idea; they’d still be in the honeymoon period and not interested. And too single was deadly, too clingy and too much bother, besides he just needed the illusion of the chase.
Bryce smiled, and the two men embraced.
‘OK, now get outta here,’ Calver said, almost pushing Bryce out of the door.
As Bryce left, the smile wiped from Calver’s face. This assignation was a risk. Had Bryce become a liability? Calver switched off the light and waited in the dark, gathering his thoughts, planning, scheming.
Chapter Forty-Two
At twenty-past ten the Master’s phone rang. He knew who it was, he knew Aamir would be reporting in.
‘Yes?’ the Master said.
‘The Mossad woman and the cop went to Foster’s house, he took out two of our men, nothing too serious though,’ Aamir said. His voice cracked over the line like he was talking from another planet.
‘And now?’ The Master said.
‘They did not find what they expected, we have him trapped on Manoel Island, we will have a chat with him later, find out what he knows,’ Aamir said.
‘And the woman?’
‘She is secure.’
‘We have come too far for mistakes, Aamir.’
‘I know, Master. However, the appearance of the cop was unforeseen,’ Aamir said.
‘Do we know who he is yet?’ The Master said.
‘His name is John Steel. He’s a British policeman working with the NYPD. He is staying at the Grand Excelsior, pretending to be a Lord or something. A strange cover considering he is saying he’s just here because of Foster’s little girl,’ Aamir said.
‘What has he to do with Foster?’ the Master said.
‘Steel was her godfather. He and Foster are old friends. So, it makes sense for him to come. But to have such an elaborate cover story, for who? He only came because his goddaughter jumped to her death,’ Aamir said.
‘Which, we both know to be untrue,’ the Master said.
There was silence from Aamir’s end, just the crackle of a bad connection.
‘No more complications Aamir, or I will deal with you personally,’ the Master said. He hung up the phone.
The Master sat and stared over at the map table. He thought about all the planning that had gone into their mission. They were close now, close to their final goal, and for him, it wouldn’t just be his last, but it would be his most glorious.
Chapter Forty-Three
Steel took the spare cell phone and glasses from his case and downloaded the updates while he showered. He wasn’t worried about the lost items, they all had a suicide chip installed. Once the new equipment was updated, the others would burn themselves out, plus they were only compatible with Steel’s biometrics. The sunglasses were just sunglass to everyone else, and the cell phone was useless. The credit cards were automatically cancelled and the new ones he already had, activated.
As Steel stood in the shower, he began to run through things in his head, arranging them as a murder board in his mind. Had his old comrade betrayed him, and possibly murdered his own daughter? He downed the two-fingers of whisky and placed the empty glass onto one of the glass shelves in the shower cabin.
He could not believe Foster would have done that. He wouldn’t believe it. Regardless, his primary goal now was to find Samara and get her to safety, and if Foster were involved, then Steel would deal with it – and him.
Steel stepped out of the shower and dried off. His mind was abuzz with the details of this puzzle. Unfortunately, he did not know what picture he was making. He walked around with a towel to hide around his hips, letting the ambient temperature dry him off. As he walked past the mirror in the sitting room, he saw the bruises from his tumble with the parachute guy had nearly healed.
He had to admit he’d had a rough couple of weeks, but he enjoyed them, it kept him active. He thought he’d be riding a desk all the time when he was integrated into the 11th Precinct Homicide Department. As it turned out, he hadn’t done that much, just made a lot of arrests and caused a lot of mayhem. His mind began to wander, thinking about McCall and the team. Not that he missed them as such, just the banter, the laughs, seeing how much he could annoy McCall before she snapped. Then he looked out across the bay to Manoel Island.
Why had they taken him there? Malta was big enough if you wanted to lose someone. So, why did they bring him there? They knew where he was staying, but yet they took him within, as it happened, swimming distance of the hotel?
He did not know whether these men were utterly incompetent or if there was a more practical reason. Then he thought about the black superyacht. Why had Brad had a photo of it? Was it the uniqueness of it? From what Steel had seen, there was only one of those about. Did that make seeing it significant? There was a limited number of harbours on the island suitable for a craft like that. So the appearance of the vessel wouldn’t be a surprise.
Steel took out fresh clothes from the wardrobe. They were identical to yesterday's outfit, black cargo trousers, Under Armour shirt and a lightweight jacket. He had bought three of everything, he wasn’t the type of guy to shop around and try on this and that. He was the sort of person who knew what he wanted. He would go into a store, grab what he required and was out again. For many years he had
worn green or DPM ‒ disruptive patterned material – combats. His civilian clothing was limited to jeans, a t-shirt and boots, something Helen made out she hated. But, he knew she secretly found them kind of sexy, her piece-of-rough.
Steel opened up the safe, took out his spare wallet and checked the contents: credit cards, cash, and ID.
‘Prepare for the worst, hope for the best and everything in the middle…’ he said. He smiled softly, put the wallet into his jacket pocket, and strapped on his back-up watch. Unfortunately, the ‘everything in the middle was a bonus’ end to the advice did not apply here, because there was no middle. They – whoever they were – had seen to that. Before he was curious, it was a puzzle, a mystery. Now, they had made it personal.
Steel looked over to his laptop, the downloads were complete. Steel grabbed the phone and sunglasses and left the contact lenses for later. He closed down the computer and packed it and the contact lenses away. He secured the room as he always did. If someone had gotten in, he would know, and he’d have pictures of just who he would be looking for.
He closed the door behind him and wiped the door handle and the door, so if there were any prints, they wouldn’t be his. And placed the please clean my room notice on the door.
He wanted to see how creative they were.
Steel took the bag of dry cleaning and headed for the elevator. It was going to be a fantastic day. He was going to get Samara back and get some answers along the way.
Steel had called for a cab to take him to Foster’s place. It was around quarter-to-twelve in the morning. His daughter would be at school, and Martha Foster would be at the market getting groceries.
The house would be empty.
The cab had dropped Steel a few doors down from the house. He did not need to announce his arrival; in fact, he needed it to be tactical. Before he had been sloppy, he had thought Foster was in danger.
Now, all bets were off. He was going in quiet and deadly. This time he would keep a clear head, regardless of what he would hear. He had to be cold and emotionless. He had to get his head back in the game.
Using the neighbour’s gardens, Steel checked the rear of Foster’s house. It was quiet – possibly too quiet. Steel hoped his escape wasn’t yet known and he had a bit of time. But like the Sarge said, Plan for the worst.
Samara sat plasticuffed to a wooden kitchen chair. She had been beaten, but she was alive. The curtains had been drawn to block out any light or prying eyes. They had kept her in a room with no windows. So, she had no idea of time, let alone whether it was day or night.
Two men had taken their turns beating her, but not so much as she passed out. They needed her awake, if she was unconscious, that was as good as sleep, and they wanted to deprive her of that. They were to keep her tired, physically and mentally. When she wasn’t being beaten or shaken awake, Samara had to endure white noise from an old pocket radio.
Samara had no idea where she was, but that was the point. If you don’t know where you are, you can’t formulate an effective escape plan. She wasn’t blindfolded, which was always a bad sign; meaning even if she saw them, Samara wasn’t getting out of there alive to tell anyone who had done this.
She looked around the room with an off-yellow glow from the two small lamps in two corners, illuminating the room just enough to know she wasn’t at the Ritz Hotel.
The building was old, the walls were limestone and not brick. They weren’t painted or wallpapered. There were two small windows, but even with the makeshift curtains covering them, Samara knew they had been boarded up. The was one door which she had her back too. And a person. But every time she went to turn her head, she was yelled at.
‘Face forwards, don’t turn around,’ came a voice. But not always the same voice.
Intimidation and scare tactics, don’t let the subject know who’s there, she thought to herself. Nothing gets under a person’s skin, as much as someone stood behind them when they can’t see who it is. Probably a thing man had learnt millions of years ago, like the fear of dark places and shadows: a natural instinct – self-preservation.
But every so often she would turn her head, and sometimes there would be no voice. Maybe there weren’t enough of them to continually watch her. After all, between her and Steel, they had made a dent in their numbers. Or perhaps they were that confident she was secure and tired they did not have to anymore, or maybe they were just bored of beating her, and the thrill had worn off.
Whatever the reason, she needed to formulate a plan.
Samara struggled with her bonds, but they had double cuffed each arm. Her best bet was to break the chair, possibly use the broken pieces as weapons. Samara tried moving the wood, the construction was solid, but she knew given the right amount of force she could work it free. She thought of falling back and using the drop to shatter the chair, but this wasn’t the movies. Samara knew she was too light for that, the chair would just bounce off the floor.
Samara sat for a moment to gather her strength, the beatings combined with her lack of sleep, had taken their toll. However, she still had fight left inside of her, all she had to do was keep it stored until the right moment. Samara sat and breathed in. There had to be something she could do; this could not be the end….could it?
Later on that day Steel had Stan drive him to Foster’s house. He had gotten out at the end of the street and told Stan not to wait for him as he did not know how long he would be.
The street was busy with people going about their daily routines. Steel walked up to Foster’s place and found the front door was closed, but the lock was still broken. Whoever had taken them and closed the door firmly enough, so the door appeared to be intact from a distance. Steel nudged the door and stepped inside after making a cautionary glace up and down the street to make sure he wasn’t observed. Steel stepped inside and immediately closed it behind him.
Steel walked in gingerly. Despite his instinct telling him he was alone and the thugs had gone, he did not wish to prove himself wrong. He had survived one abduction, a second might turn out somewhat different, under the circumstances. He might be seen as more of a threat, or worse, unnecessary to their cause. He stopped and listen. Silence filled the stale air. He was alone, he was sure of it. And, he hadn’t seen the usual vehicles outside on his arrival.
Moving cautiously, Steel proceeded to go room to room. Not just to find if he was correct, but to search Foster’s house for clues as to why he was working with these men. The downstairs was clear, so Steel headed for the staircase. As he got to the bottom step, he rubbed to wound on his neck and scowled. Remembering the bite from the electronic device.
Steel climbed the stairs, his eyes alert, and always moving from side-to-side like eager searchlights. He wasn’t going to get caught out again.
Steel started with Abby’s room. It was bright, and everything seemed to be white or light pink. Steel noticed the closet door was open and there was a group of empty coathangers on the rail. The house was empty, and Martha and Abby were out of town by the look of things.
Steel smiled. Foster had been smart enough to convince his family to take a vacation, possibly to see Martha’s parents back in the States who were too sick to travel.
It was a good time to do stupid stuff when the families not there to worry about. Foster was using Steel’s philosophy: ‘Being alone is the best defence. If there is nobody there you care about, they can’t get to you.’ Foster was preparing for war. But that still didn’t answer the question of what Foster was doing when Steel was taken? Steel headed for Foster’s room. He had to make sure that Martha had also packed. He hoped he was right and that they had left for a short while.
Steel moved to the door Foster had stepped from. He raised a wary hand and nudged the door open. It swung effortlessly revealing Foster’s bedroom. A large room with a king-sized bed and plenty of dressers. The walls were painted light pink, and the ceiling was white. The carpet was light beige, and the furniture was a gloss white with gold patterns. The wardrobe had a
long mirror that covered one of the doors.
The bedroom was clean, with no damage or signs of a struggle. In fact, it looked like it hadn’t been used for days.
Steel gritted his teeth with anger.
Foster had betrayed him, for what reason Steel did not know, but he’d have pleasure beating that truth out of the man.
There was a noise. Steel’s reactions were fast, too fast for the person behind him to react. Steel had grabbed them and tossed the person over his shoulder and onto the bed. Steel raised a mighty fist, ready to strike but held off the move.
There, sprawled on the bed was Kane. He had spread-eagled, and his widened eyes were transfixed on that white-knuckled fist above his head.
‘Kane, what the Hell are you doing here?’ Steel asked suspiciously, his fist still ready to strike.
‘I followed you from your hotel.’ Kane paused. A look of fear crossed his face. ‘Samara…she’s…she’s disappeared,’ Kane’s eyes where fixed on Steel’s bruised knuckles.
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Someone took us both this morning from here. I came to…extract some information from an old friend.’ Steel said, backing off, rubbing his fist.
‘Who? The American whose house we’re in? I passed him on the way, I think he’s heading north,’ Kane said confused.
‘North, what’s in the North?’ Steel asked, almost shaking the life out of the frightened tour guide.
‘Uhm… I don’t know, nothing really,’ then Kane froze, and a strange look came over his face. ‘The ferry. The ferry to Gozo!’