Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  ‘The trojan organisation, the people responsible for the Cruise ship bombing last year,’ Steel said.

  ‘Amongst other things,’ Stan nodded, grasping his leg. Sweat poured from his forehead.

  ‘So, what’s it all about, why you working with terrorists? Not really your sort of thing, though you guy’s stuck to the shadows?’ Steel asked.

  ‘A means to an end. These terrorists, as you call them, are fighting for a cause, we gave them the means to do so. In so doing, they served a function. It was all misdirection?’ Stan moaned with the pain. ‘All these incidents. Yours and the Mossad woman’s kidnapping, the car bomb at the embassy, all planned to cause panic,’ Stan said, licked his dry lips as if trying to put moisture onto them. ‘Enough for the right people to look in the wrong direction, of course,’ Stan said. His breath was laboured from the pain.

  ‘And Lucy, why did she have to die?’ Steel growled.

  ‘That Brad idiot had tried to blackmail the wrong people. He had a damned video. Of course, we didn’t know if he had given it to the girl, so we had a chat.’ Stan went to smile and shrug. But Steel changed his mind as he stamped heavily on the wound once again with his heel and dug it in. Stan screamed out in pain and grabbing at Steel’s leg.

  Steel brought the desert eagle down smashing the gun against the side of Stan’s head, forcing Stan to fall back. He was exhausted from the pain, but Steel wasn’t going to let up until he had answers.

  ‘So, what is the Trojan group after?’ Stan remained silent for a moment from the pain. Then Steel thought again to those men in the lobby. What Foster had talked about outside the pool house that day when he had talked about the recognition software project. ‘this is about that damned software,’ Steel said. ‘This whole thing is about a friggin defence contract?’

  ‘Not just a defence contract, but THE defence contract. Weapons, clothing, vehicles, ammunition, food, logistics. We are talking billions of dollars,’ Stan said, his eyes were alive with passion at the thought of it all.

  ‘But, you didn’t get it, someone beat you to it.’

  ‘It happens, that’s business for you,’ Stan shrugged. Steel thought for a moment. This wasn’t the sort of people to sit back and say ‘oh well, maybe next time.’

  ‘So what was the contingency plan?’

  ‘You, actually. Yes, we had a plan, but then you arrived and stirred things up enough, especially without Tunisian friends. Between you and Samara, I think you got a lot of people’s attention. They wanted to kill you at Foster’s place, but we convinced them, it was best you were left alive.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Steel said.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we promised there would be another time, and they could do what they wanted with you,’ Stan groaned in pain.

  ‘So, how are you going to trash the other software? You can’t swap it, it’s too well guarded, from what I hear?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, I’d be more concerned about what our terrorist friends are up to next,’ Stan said. Steel knew about the Embassy attack, he just hoped Samara had gotten his message in time.

  ‘Don’t worry, I think I got that covered,’ Steel said. ‘all you have to do is worry about the Feds when they get hold of you – or worse – your people.’ Steel brought the pistol down onto the back of Stan’s kneck hard, knocking him unconscious.

  After making a quick call to Sergeant Burlo in Mdina Steel had tied Stan up and left him for the cops to find,. Steel had figured he would make the appropriate phone calls to the right people. He was in doubt the people at the US Embassy would be interested in hearing what Stan had to say, but Steel could not risk being caught with a bound man in his trunk.

  Steel walked back to the old Land Rover. The smell of smoke was still lingering in his nostrils, and his mouth was as dry as a desert. He climbed and searched his pack for his cell phone. He saw the ten missed calls from Samara’s phone. A shiver ran down his spine. Had something happened to them? Steel pressed the call back button and waited. The phone rang several times until a man answered the call.

  ‘Yes?’ A male voice, American.

  ‘Is Samara there?’ Steel said.

  ‘Who’s this?’ asked the American.

  ‘Odd – I was thinking the same thing,’ Steel replied, getting a bad feeling.

  ‘This is Director Walter Sloan of the US Embassy in Attard, and you are?’

  ‘John Steel, I’m a friend of Agent Foster,’ Steel said.

  ‘Ah, Mr Steel, we’ve been waiting for your call, it appears you have some explaining to do. Why don’t you pop in and we can discuss it,’ Sloan almost hissed his words.

  ‘Happy too – got a helicopter?’ Steel said with a grin.

  ‘That we do Mr Steel. That we do.’

  The Embassy sent one of their two Black Hawk helicopters to pick up Steel. They were mostly used for transporting officials rather than troops. They could also be called on to help with casualties transport if the ambulance helo was too far away. The embassy thought it was in good relations between the two governments to lend aid when necessary.

  The half-hour journey back made Steel feel better, and it did not hurt that he loved to ride in helicopters. Steel looked out of the side window, everything looked small like a model. It made him think back to a museum he had been to in Hamburg, Germany – The Miniatur Wunderland, or something like that. The whole thing was like a massive trainset, but buildings and street lamps lit up with moving cars and planes. He found it quite fascinating. They had recreated London, Times Square, Berlin, amongst other places all in miniature detail.

  Steel gazed down, seeing the fields, streets and towns from three thousand feet. It looked even harsher than before – but at the same time more beautiful. He ignored the defending thump thump thump of the blades and the roar of the twin engines.

  He heard voices in his headset, talking over the open channel, informing everyone of their location and how long they had until they touched down. But Steel just sat and stared across the woven blanket of colour below. His thoughts were a million miles away. Thinking about Helen and how much she would have loved this place. Foster in the hospital, and at his life in New York. Steel caught his reflection in the window. His emotionless gaze looked back at him.

  Then he smiled slightly as the pilot announced they were getting ready for landing. Not because the trip was nearly over, but the mission was.

  Someone had killed his Goddaughter – they had messed with his family.

  Now, they were going to pay.

  As the transport helicopter touched down, it seemed to bounce slightly then the sound of the turbos screamed, and the rotor blades thumped at a different pace. The helicopter was idling, the downdraft was at a minimum, but still enough to cast sand and dust across the landing pad. As the door slid, open Steel saw five men stood in line with ten Marines behind them. Each must have been six-four, weighed over two-hundred pounds.

  Big capable-looking guys, possibly there in case Steel caused any trouble.

  Steel glanced over at a man who stood dead centre of the line of three men and woman. The man in the middle looked older than the rest. In his fifties, Steel thought. He oozed power. This had to be Director Sloan. Which meant the others were heads of departments – CIA, Homeland, FBI.

  Steel gave a thumbs up to the pilot and the loadmaster as a thank you. Then he ducked down and moved away from the downdraft of the helicopter. He headed towards the group of men who stood patiently to the side, the fact all of them were there told Steel that Samara had delivered the message – and that meant she was OK.

  The downdraft from the rotor blades swept clothing and hair about.

  ‘Mr Steel, I’m Director Sloan,’ Sloan yelled over the noise of the helicopter. Sloan offered his hand, Steel took it. The man’s grip was firm considering his size, which was three inches shorter than Steel with a thinner frame, but Sloan was still in good shape.

  ‘Pleasure to finally meet you, director,’ Steel lied, as they shook hands. />
  ‘We saw the photographs, thank you for the warning. Our computer techs are busy enhancing the pictures now,’ Sloan said.

  ‘Not a problem, oh, I also got a little present for you, back of the chopper. Someone, you guys, might want to have a chat with,’ Steel said, pointing back at the Black hawk. Sloan signalled to two of the marines to go to the helicopter. Sloan’s face dropped at the sight of this beaten man who was hogtied.

  ‘And we didn’t get you anything,’ Sloan joked.

  ‘Bring me a black coffee, and we’ll call it quits,’ Steel said.

  ‘Deal.’

  Sloan waited for the helicopter to leave and head back to its helipad. As the bird lifted off, Sloan introduced Steel to the others. As Steel had guessed, all department heads, all except one – Foster.

  ‘This is Alison Price from Homeland, Charles Tipp from the NSA and this intence looking gentleman is Lloyd Bolton from the CIA.’ Steel shook each one by the hand and gave a curious head bow to each.

  ‘So, do we call you Major John Steel or agent Steel of MI8, or as we know it IMIA?’ Sloan asked.

  ‘Glad you did your homework, makes things easier,’ Steel said.

  ‘Well, you’ve done enough work with all of our agencies to be known to us. Glad you were here on this one.’

  Steel just nodded. ‘Any news on Foster, sir?’

  ‘He’s in the hospital, it could have been worse. Doctors are working on him now, they’ll let us know,’ Sloan said. ‘He’s a tough old bastard, he’s gonna make it.’

  Steel smiled and shook his head. ‘Na, he's just too stubborn to die.’

  ‘Let’s hope we are both right,’ Sloan said.

  ‘Do you know what happened?’ Steel said looking about, noticing the crime scene techs doing their thing.

  ‘Car bomb,’ Sloan said. ‘Must have been the same sorry sons-of-bitches who attacked your friends there,’ Sloan said, pointing to the upside-down Outlander that sat in the place a barrier had been.

  ‘Are they OK?’ Steel asked.

  ‘They’re in a conference room, giving us a statement,’ Sloan said, with a curious look in his eye, an almost distrustful look.

  Steel experienced that bad feeling again. He could feel their suspicion burning into him. And, in their shoes, he might do the same. After all, they did not know him, he said he was Foster’s friend, but what if Foster had never mentioned Steel to them.

  As far as they were concerned, he was a British citizen who had sent a Mossad agent to a US Embassy. Steel had to admit if someone was telling him the facts he may be inclined not to believe them either.

  Foster was there to make it worse, so he had no alibi for being in the country.

  ‘Shall we talk inside?’ Sloan said, showing the direction to the main entrance with an outstretched arm. Steel could feel Marine’s gather round as they walked. A wall of highly trained muscle was blocking his exit.

  Steel checked out his surroundings. Exits, how many guards and where what type of weaponry they had. Steel noticed a row of photographs. All were high ranking officers, one Steel had seen before, a man called General Leyermont, but he had been a colonel when Steel first met him. Now the photograph showed a white-haired man with tanned skin and wide eyes. He had put some weight on since Steel had seen him last. Bains of a desk jockey Steel had thought.

  Steel knew an escape plan might be in order, just in case this whole thing went south. The air was thick with the smell of fumes and burnt cars, making breathing harder than usual. It was nearly twenty degrees outside, and the sun was high and unforgiving. Despite the promise of conditioned air, Steel was a little anxious about going inside this secure building. All they had to do was go into lockdown, and he would be trapped. Sure he could get out, after all, that had been his job in the SEALs, but it would also mean innocent people would get hurt.

  And he wasn’t there to be the bad guy.

  As they entered the building, Steel felt the sudden drop in air temperature, and it was glorious. The fact was, it was the coldest he had been all day – and it felt good.

  Steel was searched for weapons, then asked to go through the metal detector. He was glad he ditched the pistol when he knew the helicopter was coming. These Marines would have been all over him in seconds. One-on-one isn’t a problem, three on one with space to manoeuvre wasn’t a problem. But he had more than six in close-proximity, and another six who were armed with assault rifles, all ready to take him down if necessary.

  As Steel passed through the detector, he noticed Sloan nodding to their heavily armed escorts, who saluted and took up posts in the lobby. Making Steel wonder if they had just been an intimidation tactic?

  Sloan led the way through the building, assuring Steel that Samara and Kane were OK. But the feeling something was off, stayed with Steel.

  They all walked through long corridors, which had the same tiled floor and cream walls and overhead lighting as the lobby. The whole place was generic. Everywhere had the same doors, the same windows, the same sized rooms. It was like being in a New York office block. Steel followed Sloan as they moved deeper into the embassy until they reached a conference room. It had a single wooden door with brass fittings. Sloan opened the door and let Steel go into the room before him. Steel wasn’t sure if it was a polite gesture, or he was going to find himself in a secure room, and the door suddenly slammed behind him. So Steel smiled and gestured Sloan should go first.

  As if understanding Steel’s concern and motive for the action, Sloan smiled and nodded. The room was surprisingly long. With pure white walls and not that annoying cream the rest of the building had. There was a red carpet on the floor instead of the grey tiles, and the lighting was provided by two brass chandeliers.

  The room's centre was a long English oak wooden table, which had been highly polished to a mirror finish. Surrounding the table were twelve ornate high backed chairs, five on each side, and two sat on the ends. On the table were two conference phones and some bottles of water.

  Steel took in the two flags on pikes at the end of the room. The American and Maltese Flag crisscrossed and the base, in the centre were two pictures, the American and Maltese Presidents. Steel thought it was a very diplomatic room. The room walls were decorated with paintings from both US and Maltese history, works of art in oil and finished with golden frames.

  They all sat. Sloan sat at the head of the table with Tipp to his right and Bolton to his left. Price sat next to Tipp, leaving Steel to take the seat next to Bolton. Steel waited for someone to speak. He imagined lots of questions, most of which Sloan would use to paint a bad picture of Steel’s situation.

  ‘So, Mr Steel, tell me more about what this man, that you brought to us,’ Sloan said.

  ‘Stan Falan?’ Steel said. ‘The others called him the Falcon.’

  ‘So, what did this Falcon say?’ Sloan wore a neutral expression as he spoke.

  Steel sat and nodded for a moment as if he was thinking about what to do next. Steel noticed a dark grey device on the table. It had three arched arms, each of which had built-in loudspeakers and microphone. In the centre was a square plate around 12 inches in diameter. This was the device wifi function for accessing cellphones. This was linked to an overhead projector, designed for conference calls. He smiled and stood up.

  ‘How about if I show you?’ Steel took his cell phone and plugged it into the nearest device. Grabbing the remote control, Steel started the film of the interrogation he had recorded. Then he picked up a bottle of water from the middle of the table and sat.

  The group watched as they heard Stan’s confession. About the defence company and how they had arranged everything for profit. How they had used a terrorist organisation to do their dirty work. They had all been betrayed for money.

  ‘Who else has seen this?’ Sloan asked.

  Steel paused for a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight. Taking a sip of water from the bottle before he answered. ‘Nobody, only us,’ Steel said, his eyes fixed on Sloan
.

  ‘Good,’ Sloan said as he quickly pulled out a 9mm Sig Sauer P320 pistol. As Sloan took aim at the Tipp who was on Sloan’s right. Steel reacted and hurled the water bottle at Sloan’s hand, knocking the weapon to the side, the shot hit the wall leaving a small hole in the wall.

  Steel leapt over the table, knocking Sloan off his chair and onto the ground. Steel knelt over Sloan and punched him hard in the face before he grabbed Sloan’s pistol hand, forcing the barrel of the gun away from Tipp who had rolled out of his seat – or anyone else. The door burst open, and the Marine who had been standing guard reached for his gun. Sloan jerked his hands to the side, pulling Steel down enough for Sloan to react with a headbutt. The hit did not connect properly, but it was enough for Sloan to regain control of the weapon.

  The Marine stood confused for a moment at what was going on. He pulled his service Sig Sauer P226 and went to aim, but Sloan saw the weapon and panicked. He fired to the side and shot the Marine in the left foot. The guard let out a cry of pain and dropped to the floor, nursing his wound.

  Steel grabbed Sloan’s gun hand and twisted. Sloan screamed out in pain as he felt his tendons and muscles stretch and twist out of place, he expected to hear the crack as his wrist broke. The pistol fell from his grip, hitting him in the shoulder. Steel reacted by elbowing Sloan in the face – giving him enough time to brush the weapon to the side. It skidded across the carpet, but not far enough for Steel’s liking.

  Sloan slammed a punch into Steel’s side, but his muscles took a lot of the impact. Steel punched Sloan’s face then tossed the man over his shoulder and onto the side of the table. Sloan’s back slammed hard against the wood, letting out a moan as the wind left his lungs. Bolton went for the gun, but Sloan had seen him and kicked a chair hard, which slammed into Bolton, causing him the fall over the chair, his face smashed against the floor. Sloan rolled off the table and kicked Bolton in the ribs' side, he doubled up in pain.