Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  He looked like a cartoon character.

  Steel dressed leaned against the wall next to the door with one foot resting against the wall, and his arms crossed. As the song reached a high point, the coroner spun around to see him. With only his eyes moving, the man froze, almost as if he was looking for somewhere to dash off and hide suddenly.

  ‘Well, I thought you nailed it perfectly, Doc, especially the bit at the end,’ Steel said kicking off from the wall and walked over to the troubled, blood-soaked man.

  ‘I am John Steel, a friend of‒’

  ‘Marcus Foster, yes. He said you’d be coming over. Sad business, unfortunate such a young thing should go like that,’ the Henry Bondi said. The smile falling from his face. Bondi walked over to the stereo and switched off the music.

  ‘Uhm, doc, it's not my place to say, but isn’t it slightly disrespectful to be dancing about while you're working?’ Steel asked. Hoping he hadn't squashed any chance of help from Bondi.

  ‘It’s my office, not the autopsy room. Besides, I’m stuck down here by myself for nearly twelve hours a day. What can I say? It keeps me sane,’ Bondi shrugged. Steel could see his point.

  ‘Marcus was wondering if you’d found anything? He would have come, but work has him tied up,’ Steel said.

  ‘Ah, yes. The Lucy Foster case. This was an unpleasant case because I knew her. Well, that’s to say I met her once or twice when I would go up to the Azure Window,’ Bondi’s face was filled with empathy. ‘She was severely beaten about by the waves; it was a rough sea that night,’ Bondi explained.

  ‘So what’re your thoughts, suicide, accidental death…murder?’ Steel asked with interest. The coroner looked Steel up and down with a curious smile.

  ‘Foster said you’d be direct.’

  Steel shrugged one shoulder in response.

  ‘Have you been to the Azure Window?’ Bondi asked.

  ‘No, just got over today, there were some – complications, which prevented me coming earlier,’ Steel said with a gentle smile.

  ‘Marcus told me who you were, and why you are here,’ Bondi said, and then his smile came back for a brief second. ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you what I know and see what you think.’

  Steel could see that this doctor was more interesting than he looked. He was a man up for a challenge—possibly a chess and crossword enthusiast. Steel had noticed the chessboard in the man’s office, halfway through a game, the newspaper on the desk which was folded to reveal the crossword.

  Steel saw the pleasure in the man’s eyes because he suddenly had someone to play with. The trouble was, Steel was finding this game interesting as well.

  ‘OK, doc. What you got?’ Steel said with a broad grin.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Samara had gotten most of the files on the people in Foster’s team. Not that she expected anything less than another fantastic rush job. Samara wondered if their wager of who buys dinner next had anything to do with it. The files were detailed. Showing everything from where a person was born to how much they had in their bank accounts. Flicking through the files, Samrara wondered. How much of her life was on display to anyone who might dare to investigate her? The files in her possession just proved that each side knew more about the another than they would care to admit.

  She settled down with the files with the bottle of champagne she had gotten on Steel’s tab.

  Most of the files read as she thought they would. They came from good homes, excellent schools, never been in trouble with the police, somewhat boring people on paper, but she never believed print anyway. If these people were that good, nine times out of ten times, their whole world was fabricated. Good people have good thoughts. However, agencies such as the CIA, FSB, MI6, or Mossad for that matter, need good people who could think like bad people – a thief to catch a thief as it were.

  Samara read on, file after file. Nothing stood out to her. She looked over at the rest of the files on the laptop. She figured that she’d gone through only half of the forty records, and she felt depressed at the thought of going through the rest.

  Samara took another hit from the champagne glass and grasped the next file. As she pulled it across, the one underneath snagged and fell to the ground. The pages spilt on the carpet.

  Samara cursed, she had to move out of her comfortable spot to pick up the pages. She rolled out of her place on the couch and began she reach for the file. She stopped, her hand stretched out, ready to pick up the next piece of paper, but something had caught her eye. Samara noticed the front sheet of the file which contained a photograph and personal details.

  She sat down hard and stared at the picture. Her expression fell away, and a look of contempt took its place.

  ‘What are you doing working for the CIA. You son of a bitch?’ Her words, bitter and full of contempt. Samara stood up and headed for the door. As she went, she pulled out her cell and pressed the speed-dial number.

  ‘Kane, how quickly can you get me to Victoria on Gozo? and bring something big and heavy, your car will do.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Outside the small desert village, the wind howled like a wounded beast from the depths of hell. The sand storm was just about to hit, but the Master’s people were safe from the unforgiving weather. They had been there for many years and had endured more than the weather. Every man, woman and child was a fighter, they would endure, even after he had gone.

  The Master sat quietly in his room while the noise of the oncoming storm hammered outside. He was undisturbed by it. If anything, the Master found the sound of utter chaos and destruction soothing.

  The Master smiled as he opened the link on his computer. A blackened silhouette of a figure. It was the man only known as HE appeared on the video chat screen. The Master found the name curious, but then people called him the Master, so who was he to judge?

  The man known as HE was responsible for the operation, the funding, the plans, the information on the target. It was HE who had procured the C-130 aircraft and left it in Tunisia for them.

  The Master did not know what HE’s ultimate goal was, and the Master knew not to ask.

  The man known as HE had delivered.

  And now, so must the Master.

  The target would be in place ready for the conference, just as HE had said. It had seemed like years since the man known as HE had contacted the Master. He had warned the Master of an attack on his people, troops had stormed the old camp looking for them, but they had found only innocent farmers. The forces had killed the farmers and their livestock.

  From that moment a relationship had been born, HE would give details on convoys and areas of interest. It was as if HE had been sent to the Master from the Gods. But the one known only as, HE, never asked for anything in return. HE would just call and lead the Master to something that helped their cause.

  And then one day HE called and told the Master of a Great Plan, a way to hurt the people of the West.

  Everyone would know their name – Hisan Khashabiun – and tremble.

  The plan had taken months to get ready, but most of it had already been done by the one known as HE. The Master had been suspicious at first, at how much had already been organised. But then, it had saved them time in the long run and money – to which the master had little compared to this new investor. HE had promised fire, blood and revenge. The Master had asked what HE was getting out of it? HE had simply replied, ‘an opening.’

  And now, the time was almost upon them.

  Their time was almost at hand.

  ‘I see your people are in place and everything is going to plan,’ said an electronically distorted voice, the silhouette didn’t move. The Master looked shocked for a moment. How did this man know all these things, had he eyes everywhere like he claimed?

  ‘Yes, that is correct. We will be ready to go at the appointed hour. I have a whisper of a man causing trouble on the island, a friend of one of the CIA agents‒’The Master said.

  ‘This is not your conc
ern, he will be taken care of, at the moment he is serving a purpose. If I were you, I would be more worried about the attack going off without a hitch.’

  The man known as HE was calm, and if anything – emotionless. The voice was constant and unrattled by the Master’s report.

  The Master nodded as if displaying his understanding.

  But the man known as HE was right, the cop on Malta was no concern of the Master’s, not yet anyway. But he had a feeling that this man was trouble, and trouble had a way of getting in the way.

  ‘This will be our last communication until after the mission. It is… safer that way. Make sure your people are ready and where they are meant to be on Friday. I want no mistakes. Do you understand?’ growled the voice, sending a shiver down the Master’s spine.

  There was something about that voice that felt – evil.

  To some, the Master was a powerful man, he was God-like, and he feared nothing or no man. But this mysterious HE was something different entirely. HE was no mere mortal, the resources he had given were bountiful, more than the Master could have dreamt.

  ‘We will be ready,’ the Master said. His voice was stern and commanding, but inside he feared what was to come. HE had given everything but asked for nothing in return. That was…not yet. Deep down, the Master feared the price HE would be asked for was his very soul. The screen turned black as the signal was lost. The Master pushed down the laptop's top as if concerned, he could still be seen through the small camera. The Master sighed profoundly and smiled to himself. They were ready, and nothing could stop them.

  Later that day, Aamir had spoken with the Master, and all was well. Once again, Aamir had proven to the Master he was worthy. Soon, if Aamir survived, he would be given a proper command of his own.

  Aamir had known that the Master was getting orders from a higher power, but he did not care, it was the Master he followed.

  Everything was in place.

  They were ready.

  Aamir closed the lid of the laptop and stood up. He touched the roof of his mouth with his tongue; it could not have been drier. He walked over to a small refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda and stood with the door open. The air was cold and soothing. The light illuminated a portion of the room.

  Aamir reluctantly closed the refrigerator door and headed towards another room at the back.

  The room was small with a boarded-up window. It had possibly been a small workshop a long time ago. The walls were painted dark beige, and brown smears went at angles and up and down. Almost as if someone had used a paintbrush to put them on with. It smelt of old walls, and old wood, and cigarettes, and body odour. The small room was now a radio room, or as they liked to call it, The Communications Centre. A man sat with a headset perched on one ear, and the other ear was free, so he could hear what was going on in the house. He was a big, heavyset man with a long beard and a large scar down his left cheek that went from his fringe to his chin. Somehow, it only scratched past his eye, missing it altogether. He had fought many battles with many brothers before finding these. But now he was older and wiser, smart enough to make him a cautious man, one who like to be able to hear someone coming as well as listening to the broadcasts.

  He had been with the group almost as long as the Master. But the Master had a name, even if it was just the Master. The big man had no name. Or, at least, not one worth telling anyone else.

  They did not need to know it.

  ‘If you have no name, you have no past, future. But most of all, no one can rat you out,’ was the man’s philosophy.

  However, Aamir wanted people to know his name, he wished for people to tremble at the very mention. Soon he would go down in history; soon everyone would know his name.

  Far across the water in the camp in Tunisia, The Master’s turned to his aide; a young man in his twenties, tall and slim with an aristocratic bearing. The assistant pulled out the Master’s chair and watched his master rise. The Master was tall, around six-three in height, white cotton robes concealed his slim build by giving the illusion of bulk to the shoulders. But his head remained uncovered, so his bearded face was there for all to see. The aide bowed as the Master walked past him.

  ‘Come, boy; we have much to do. The time of history and revenge is almost upon us,’ the Master said in a bellowing voice.

  The aid smiled and bowed again.

  ‘Yes, my Master, revenge is upon us.’ The two men disappeared into another part of the building and began to start with the plan. Outside, the sandstorm was like a hungry predator, hitting the small village hard, devouring anything that the people had failed to secure.

  Howling as it went.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Darkness had fallen, and the small towns and villages of Gozo sparkled like fireflies in a field. High above a million stars twinkled and blinked in a cloudless sky. In Victoria's city, people wandered the brightly lit streets quaint city, sitting in restaurants or frequenting cafes' bars. Tourists sauntered dreamily, taking in the warmth of the night and the big sky above. The aroma from the restaurants filled the air, along with music and laughter. But Steel had chosen not to stay in Victoria. Instead, he’d found a hotel in a town called Xewkija. he had found it online, and booked the rooms straight away. It seemed a decent place, best of all, out of the way of the main road and the capital city of Victoria. If someone was looking for him, they would no doubt suspect he would be there.

  Steel had worked on the theory that if they got over to the island too late, they could at least go straight to the hotel, then go to the morgue in the morning. After which they’d then, head off to Azure Window.

  In front of the hotel was in a large plaza. Which was caught in the middle of two main roads. The Triq San Bert which ran along the local church's side, and the hotel's side, and the Pjazza Sang Wann Battista – which later became the Triq L- Indipendenza. Steel figured the plaza wasn’t just used a parking area. It was probably a market place, possibly at Christmas or perhaps there was a Sunday market? The local church – The Rotunda St. Johns Baptist church, was to the left of the hotel, and directly in front, were bars and restaurants. Down from the restaurant and bar, was the local police station. Steel took particular note of a tall stone cross, which had probably stood there since the late sixteen-hundreds.

  Steel stepped out of the cab that had brought him there and paid the man plus a decent tip. As Steel watched the taxi disappear, he could hear a television. They were watching football in one of the bars.

  Steel found Stan. He was sitting outside a restaurant opposite their hotel. Stan was tucking into a juicy steak, along with a cold beer.

  Steel sat but said nothing at first. Stan was unable too because of the food in his mouth. A waitress came over and gave Steel a menu card, but he just pointed to Stan’s plate and smiled.

  ‘I’ll have what he’s having,’ Steel said.

  The waitress smiled back and headed back to the kitchen. The beer did not take long coming, and Steel thanked her and watched her walk away. All the while, he could not help but think about poor Lucy.

  What the hell was she doing out there at that time of night?

  Tomorrow they’d head out to Azure Window nice and early, but for now, Steel was hungry and tired. The last decent meal he’d had seemed like days ago, and his stomach was giving him a painful reminder.

  Steel watched Stan happily tucking into a thick rib-eye and using a Merlot to wash it down.

  ‘You seem to be settling in,’ Steel said curiously, picking up the bottle and examined it. The steak wasn’t cheap, and he figured the wine was a good forty bucks a bottle. Stan just smiled with juices flowing down his chin from a broad, exhilarated smile. ‘I take it this is part of your expenses?’ Steel asked, waving at the waitress to bring another glass. She smiled shyly and scampered away.

  ‘I figured why not, I’m on vacation,’ Stan laughed.

  Steel smiled back. ‘Yeah, why not, after all, I did drag you here. Kicking and screaming,’ Steel said, taking th
e glass from the waitress and filling his glass. Steel watched as Stan eat. He remembered seeing a film about the old kings and their banquets and how they used to eat the meat from the bone – long before table manners were apparently invented.

  Stan bleched loudly and undid his belt notches.

  ‘More mead, my Lord?’ Steel said sarcastically. Stan replied with a dumbfounded look. ‘Never mind,’ Steel grinned and took a sip from the wine.

  It did not take long for the steak to arrive. It was a large slab of meat that filled the plate, with a side of mixed vegetables. Steel closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the meal.

  He hoped it smelt like it tasted – excellent.

  They drank more wine and talked – or rather, Steel listened to Stan babble about the old days.

  The hours drew on, and Steel could feel the fatigue of the day and the wine kicking in. He looked at his watch, 20:15. Making Steel wonder how long Stan had been drinking. Had he started as soon as he got to the hotel? The man was utterly intoxicated.

  Steel had asked if he could settle up later as they were staying at the hotel across the road and he would be over from breakfast. The waitress smiled and said it wouldn’t be a trouble, and if he needed anything, she would be more than happy to bring it over – any time of night.

  Steel was tempted to leave Stan nursing a fresh bottle of beer he’d just gotten, and head over to the hotel. Steel needed a shower and to get a couple of hours of sleep. He knew that he needed to be fit for the next day. Especially if something happened. If the last couple of days had taught Steel anything, it was – be ready for anything.

  Steel stood and watched Stan for a moment, wondering how much the old guy had drunk? And knowing that he would be doing most of the driving in the morning while Stan recovered. Which Steel didn’t mind? It would be a good exercise, plus Steel had always found he learned more about a route as the driver than as the passenger.