Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  Samara got Kane to try Steel’s number again. If someone was after them, he might also be in danger – if he wasn’t already. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she would be turning at a roundabout, and then turning onto the Vjal L-Istadium Nazzjonali road. This would take them straight to the Embassy’s main gate – and hopefully, safety.

  Samara looked into the side mirror for the other car but found it had gone. She looked around nervously. She did not believe that they would give up. If anything, they would fall back and regroup. Samara’s senses were now off the chart.

  Every new vehicle on the road was a possible threat.

  Kane redialed. The voice from the speakers was that of the answering service. Kane ended the call and stuck the phone away in his pocket.

  ‘Maybe there’s no cell reception where he is?’ Kane said, trying to reassure Samara. She just nodded and bit her bottom lip. She was worried about him. He was this stranger in paradise, a man in search of the killer of his Goddaughter.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Kane said with a smile, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself more than her.

  ‘He better be, because we’re not,’ Samara growled as she looked in the mirror and found the next team almost upon them. She saw the last SUV and four motorcycles coming up – fast. Behind them a mass of blue light bars from the police patrol units.

  ‘Where the hell are they all coming from?’ Samara yelled.

  Samara put her foot down hard on the gas and gripped the steering wheel. Shots rang out, and bullets whizzed, as the hot projectiles flew past them. The back seats took most of the damage, along with the back door. Samara was happy that Kane had bought the six-seater model, each seat having more protection from the incoming fire.

  ‘Stop shooting my car, you assholes,’ Kane yelled as he fired four shots at the lead vehicle; each one hit the windscreen and grill. As he went to fire again, but a volley of 9mm ripped into the back of his headrest, pushed him back into safety.

  Sparks flew as the centre console's entertainment centre took a direct hit, leaving a distorted picture on the LCD display. Samara swerved just in time to crash into one of the men on a motorcycle, launching him over the centre partition and onto the other road. The man screamed and raised his hands in a futile effort to stop what was going to happen next, just as a dumper truck smashed into his body, and carried what little there was, away.

  Samara swerved the other way, but that biker was quick and braked in time. The driver of the SUV behind the bike wasn’t so quick. Metal and plastic screeched sickeningly as the two vehicles collided.

  The bike and rider were hurled into the air.

  Both came down hard.

  The bike smashed onto the front of the SUV, splintering glass and plastic shards across the road. The metal buckled and twisted as the SUV ran over the top of the bike.

  The rider came down straight through a nearby car’s windshield, causing the vehicle to swerve and stop side on to the traffic behind him. There was another screech of breaks as another biker crashed straight into the front panel of the car, sending him volleying over the car and skidding onto the road.

  Samara took the turn at the roundabout and then another left. Now they were on the Vjal L-Istadium Nazzjonali road.

  She smiled – they were getting away.

  They were on the main road to the embassy – by her estimation another fifteen minutes. Samara did not notice as her gaze was more on the two men on motorbikes cutting through the parking lot, and heading for the junction.

  Samara knew they were trying to force her down one of the side roads where there would be a roadblock – a kill zone. But Samara stayed firm. If they wouldn’t move, she’d move them. More shot rang out, but this time, they aimed at the local police giving chase. One of the police cars roared off after being riddled with bullet holes; the others swerved to miss the incapacitated vehicle, which lay motionless, steam spewing from the radiator. The two bikers had stopped at the junction and drawn their weapons.

  ‘Get down,’ Samara ordered, just as the men opened fire with their full-auto Glock 17’s. Samara and Kane got down as much as they could, the tops of their seats ripped apart by gunfire.

  But their car kept going despite the bullet holes.

  Samara slowed until the bikers were close then slammed on the breaks. From behind them, the vehicle shunted forwards as the bike smashing against the back of the Outlander. The rider was propelled over the car and landed on the other side of the street. The biker stood, dazed by the impact, and walked straight in front of an oncoming vehicle as it went to overtake. The car’s windshield fragmented as the rider smashed against it. The vehicle swerved blindly and ploughed directly into a flower store window.

  The second bike braked and swerved, missing the rear of the Outlander by inches. As it came up close to Samara’s door, the biker opened fire. Bullets spat, ripping at the rear seats. Samara wrenched at the wheel and collided with the biker, sending him hurling into one of the pursuing police cars.

  Kane yelled as something hot hit his leg.

  ‘Kane, are you OK?’ Samara asked, a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Never better, look what they left us,’ Kane smiled as he showed the pistol one of the bikers had lost in the crash.

  Samara smiled with relief, he was alright, and now they had another weapon. The police sirens' noise was drowned out by gunfire and the screech of tires from behind them, but Samara kept her foot down.

  Samara caught a quick glimpse of Kane from the corner of her eye as he aimed the new pistol and fired at the SUV. Sparks flew wildly as bullets struck the hood, and the windscreen shattered as a line of bullet holes pearled up the glass.

  ‘Nice shot,’ She said after seeing the aftermath of his shooting in the rearview.

  ‘Thanks, but it’s not over yet,’ Kane yelled back over the noise of the engine.

  The others were close now, so close Samara could hear the roar of their engines. She knew what they would do. They would attempt to box them in and then open fire. Not subtle but effective.

  She had other plans.

  Samara saw the last of the bikes coming up on her left. At first, she did nothing – it was too early to make her move. Soon they were level with the rear passenger door, but her eyes were fixed on the road, and the sudden turn off on the left. Quickly, Samara turned the wheel, and the massive Outlander veered to the left, causing the bike to veer off, crashing into a parked van.

  Samara smiled. It wouldn’t be long now before they were safely at the embassy. All they had to do was stay alive long enough to pass on Steel’s warning.

  Ten minutes down the Vjal L-Istadium Nazzjonali road – at the US embassy's main security gate, the Marines stood ready – alert. Samara had seen the circling helicopters, no doubt ready, just in case there was another attack.

  It was twenty-eight degrees in the shade for the three men and the security guard and hardly any cover to shelter in. The three marines were in full tactical gear. Body armour with ballistic plates, Kevlar helmets, webbing gear, camel packs full of water – and hot as hell. They had spent time in Iraq and Afganistan, so the Maltese heat shouldn’t have been any different, but it was a different kind of heat. Just as twenty-eight in New York is different in say Arizona. But the men were professional and dug in and got the job done – besides their shift was almost done and the promise of ice cream at the canteen egged them on.

  The three men had been there since ten o’clock and could not wait for a break. Two of them stood as overwatch on either side of the strip. While the other had eyes on the security guard who was busy checking the identifications.

  They were officially on lockdown. This meant ‘nobody in and nobody out.’ But that had been relaxed by the base commander, so only essential workers were allowed in.

  Lance Corporal Dickson stood ready at the gate. His M4 assault rifle pulled to his chest and his hands on the pistol grip and foregrip. The other two; Cooper and Sanchez, chatted about what cars they were going t
o get when they went back stateside. Dickson stood near the security guard, but not too close. He needed enough distance to watch the guy work but not so close he could not use his weapon if necessary.

  Dickson was tall and lean – they all were, lots of time to hit the gym kept them in shape. Dickson was in the worst of the three locations, he had the sun directly over him, while the others had found a little bit of cover. But Dickson had to move around – he had to move when the security guard moved.

  He was dehydrated and starting to get a headache, the water in his camel pack was almost gone so he had to take small sips.

  Their relief was late, but given the situation, Dickson could understand – but it did not make him any annoyed. He watched as more cars came forwards. The sun reflected off the windshields, making him squint – despite the ballistic sunglasses he was wearing. Some of the drivers had been told to turn around and go home until the all-clear was given. Others were allowed through and told where they could park and where to avoid. Dickson looked at his watch. He was getting angrier the more this damned headache dug into his skull.

  He could not wait to hear the excuses. ‘Oh, sorry we’re late we had to do this or that,’ he wasn’t bothered as long as they got there soon.

  Dickson looked up from his watch.

  The street was empty.

  The rush hour had passed, he figured that the heads of departments had gotten hold of their employees and gave them the good or bad news. He moved to the barrier, he stopped and listened hard. Some distant sounds had caught his ear. The noise was far of and muffled by the sound of the helicopters overhead. Cooper and Sanchez spoke loudly about the new Camero, figuring that they were free to raise the volume a little with lack of people now coming through.

  ‘Shut up a minute,’ Dickson ordered, straining pick out the sound.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Sanchez, pulling his weapon into the ready position.

  ‘I’m not sure, kinda sounds like—’

  A group of vehicles raced towards them. A battered black Outlander and a blacked-out Yukon all heading their way. Then Dickson caught sight of several police vehicles trying to get in front of the SUV’s, blue and red light flashed and winked. The vehicles hurtled towards them, sirens blaring, shots ringing out. Stray bullets impacted on the walls and floor close to the marines and the security guard. Instinctively they all to scrabble for low cover, ready for the next volley, unsure whether that was meant for them or someone else. Dickson lined up his rifle scope and checked out the view in front. His gaze started with the lead vehicle – the battered Land Rover. The red dot of the scope looked directly at a woman in the driver’s seat shouting something and flashing her headlights. Dickson and Sanchez knelt ready while Cooper radioed it in.

  ‘Zero this is Two-Four Echo, we have a situation at gate Bravo, require immediate assistance, over,’ Cooper said. His voice was calm, and each word slow enough and clear enough to understand.

  ‘Roger that Two-Four Echo, QRF on route to your location. Over,’ came the response.

  ‘Zero – be advised, we have approximately six Tangos and shots fired north of our location. Out.’ Cooper took a firing position next to a blast wall and waited. He wasn’t waiting for a reply from command.

  The Marines had no idea what was going on. Was it an attack? They did not know. But one thing was for sure. If they were fired upon, they sure as hell would fire back.

  Each man picked a target, specifically the black Toyotas giving chase to the Land Rover. The other vehicles were doing all of the shooting, both at the lead vehicle and police – clearly making them the aggressors.

  Situation – unknown hostiles were firing on a vehicle heading towards our location.

  The three Marines waited for the Quick Reaction Force to arrive and handle the situation. In the meantime, they just had to wait and observe. At first, it looked like an agency vehicle firing on a Mitsubishi Outlander. But they were also firing on the local cops. Cooper held the first black SUV in his sights, Dickson had the Outlander, while Sanchez switched between both. Dickson looked down his scope at the car as it grew closer, he saw the woman. She was stunning, she had a face he could stare at all day. Next to her was a man in his late thirties – a local possibly. He was full of panic and firing back blindly with what appeared to be a handgun. The bullets hit Yukon’s front grill, smashing the headlights, but not doing much damage. This guy was not a combatant – just some scared bastard who had gotten a gun. The men in the back of the Yukon turned their attention on the two police vehicles – their MP5’s spat 9mm full metal jacket rounds into the wheels of the cop cars. The two police vehicles span uncontrollably. One swerved off to the right and ended up in a nearby grass area. The other cartwheeled down the road, flipping from its roof to its wheels, leaving smashed glass, oil and coolant in its path.

  Dickson looked back at the woman. She had fear and anger etched on her perfect face. She was closer now, so much so he could see her perfectly in the scope. He did not know if it was the dehydration or the headache, making him see things.

  But she was talking – to him!

  ‘What the…?’ Dickson said, taking his eye away from the scope and shaking his head as if to reset his brain. Then he looked again. Yes – the woman who was trying to shout something. He went to reread her lips using the scope. Samara’s mouth moved slowly as if she knew that someone would be watching. Suddenly Dickson saw a splatter of red mist as one of the rounds from the persuing vehicle hit her in the left shoulder. The Outlander swerved left and right before barrel rolling towards them. Dickson and his men gasped as the two-ton car bounded towards them on its roof. Sparks flew as the vehicle skidded.

  ‘Shit!’ Cooper yelled as they all dove for cover. Suddenly, wood, metal and concrete exploded from the impact, sending splinters of red and white wood, raining down like badly cut confetti. To the side, there was a hollow dong, as the unbroken half of the barrier bounced off the small security hut and clattered onto the ground.

  The Outlander's front had careered into the barrier on its roof, shattering the multicoloured wood into a million pieces, and left a long blackened skin mark on the road's concrete.

  Dickson and his men ran back to their post and aimed their weapons out towards the oncoming vehicles. They knew they wouldn’t be allowed to fire out of the compound, but just the sight of three fully armed Marines made the vehicles turn and disappear. The cop cars had been incapacitated and lay across the road, screams from injured officers filled the silent air.

  Two Hummv’s approached at speed from the main building, more Marines armed and ready to go.

  There was a low groan of pain from the Outlander, followed by the sound broken glass falling. Samara and Kane crawled out the front of the vehicle and collapsed on the ground looking skywards. Samara looked up at the unspoilt blue sky, the dancing birds that swopped and darted, not a cloud in the sky. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. She breathed in but winced in pain as she exhaled, the wound from her shoulder hurt like hell. Suddenly twenty M4 gun barrels bared down on them, as the Marines stood over them. Causing Samara to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny, Miss?’ asked Dickson, somewhat confused.

  ‘I don’t think my brother’s insurance is going to cover this one,’ She laughed.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  The building was gone.

  If there had been anything more to find, it had been destroyed along with the farmhouse. There were still popping, and the sound of stray bullets as the ammunition continued to burn. Steel just hoped all the explosives and grenades were spent. The farmhouse was now just a pile of limestone rubble. A flamming funnel of red, yellow, and black cloud rose up. The barn was burning, the roof had collapsed. The sound of the bricks falling into the inferno mixed with a crackle of burning lumber. There was nothing more he could do in the way of search for information.

  Steel hoped his message had gotten through to Samara, and that they could get to the embassy in time. The cell signal
he had used had been weak – two bars at the most.

  He had heard the cries of pain. It was Stan.

  Steel would recognise his voice anywhere.

  Steel sauntered over to Stan. He had many question’s, and Steel would make it as painful as possible until Stan answered

  Stan just stared at Steel. The image of this man clad in black with the blazing farmhouse behind, made Steel look like he had just crawled from the pit of hell. Steel kept his movements slow, pondering what to do with Stan as he approached the trembling man. Steel crouched down in front of Stan.

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you.’ Stan said. Spitting his defiant words.

  Steel said nothing, he just smiled.

  ‘Go on. Kill me. I don’t care,’ Stan said, his tone and facial expression wrought with pride.

  Steel continued to smile. It wasn’t a wide broad smile like he was happy. It was more a thin mouthed slither with just the sides curled up – it was more amusement, or – satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Stan, but you are going to talk.’ Steel said, slowly taking off his sunglasses, revealing his cold, soulless, emerald green eyes. ‘Believe me.’

  The sound of Stan’s scream was lost in a westerly wind. To the two fires behind them reach up to the heavens like clawing hands. There was a roar of flame and the sound of bricks falling.

  ‘Who do you work for?’ Steel asked, holding the desert eagle that Stan had dropped. ‘and don’t give me that crap about being part of a terrorist group.’ Stan glared angrily at Steel. Steel smiled and stood on a wound that Stan had on his upper thigh.

  Stan screamed.’OK, OK.’ Steel released the pressure and stood back.

  ‘I work for a powerful organisation,’ Stan groaned. ‘I know you know them,’ Stan bore his teeth with pain. The sweat poured down his pale, cut face. ‘my associates were most interested in finding out you were coming here,’ Stan grinned through the pain. Steel thought back to the hotel's lobby, the men with the id badges, the picture of the horses head that kept creeping up. At first, Steel thought it coincidence, but now it made sense.