Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  Steel smiled, remembering something his old sergeant used to say. If you look like you should be there, people will assume you should be there. Steel hoped that his battered appearance could be contributed to the car bomb if he asked Steel to say that he had been there all night. A flimsy excuse, but more feasible than trying to tell the truth.

  Unfortunately, he referred to gate crashing big parties rather than infiltration – but it seemed appropriate for both cases.

  The inside of the building was plush, with a more friendly feel to it than the outside. Rolls of red carpet covered a brown marble floor was by leading to the many ground floor rooms. A mix of antique and modern furnishings dressed the walls and offices. The place had the feel of a grand hotel.

  Staff moved about, going here and there – their lives controlled by their tablets and cell phones. Steel walked towards a grand staircase which ran along the right wall; giving maximum floor space to the lobby. He walked up casually, nodding a greeting to perfect strangers. Most of which did not even register him. Steel figured that the people worked by the theory, If you made it in, you must belong there.

  Of course, this made his life easy as he explored the building. Steel stopped and thought back on what the guard had said, ‘on the first floor in one of the safe rooms.’

  Steel proceeded down the long hallway. Which, like the rest of the interior of the building, looked more like a stately home. With luxurious rugs on wooden flooring. Antique furniture and an expanse of oil paintings. There where brass chandeliers with crystal teardrop, There were vases from China and ornaments from Malta and Gozo. Steel made it to the first floor, with no clue where Samara or Kane would be.

  But he had an idea.

  Unfortunately, there were plenty of rooms to choose from. Still, Steel was looking for only one in particular –one with a guard outside of it.

  If Steel knew the three-letter agencies like he thought he did, Samara and Kane would be separated. Hopefully, on the same floor, and if he were in luck, they would be next to each other.

  Steel turned on to another corridor where he saw the guard. He was a man in his twenties, tall and slim. His black hair was cut short on the sides but left a bit on the top to style. He wore a black suit, white shirt and possibly a Sig Sauer P226 in a belt holster.

  Steel moved towards the guard casually. There was no need to spook him or give him cause to set off any alarms.

  ‘Hi, I’m looking for the two Mossad agents you’re keeping up here,’ Steel said. As if he worked there. The guard shot Steel a concerned look.

  ‘What two Mossad agents?’ asked the man. His voice was deep and accent-free. ‘We only have one, and he’s in here,’ said the guard opening the door. Steel looked over at Kane who was lying on the table of the small room.

  Steel walked over to the table and found Kane fast asleep. Steel poked him.

  Kane did not move, just snored louder.

  ‘Kane,’ Steel said.

  Kane continued to snore. Steel rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens, then tipped the table. Kane crashed onto the floor with a yelp. The guard at the door smiled to himself and looked away.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Kane yelped, rubbing his back.

  ‘Nice to see you too,’ Steel said. Kane smiled and shrugged apologetically.

  ‘Where’s Samara?’ Steel asked.

  ‘I don’t know, we got separated after they brought us in, they asked me a bunch of questions and then stuck me in here,’ Kane said.

  Steel turned to the guard, a look of urgency on his face.

  ‘Where’s the woman?’

  ‘What woman, sir? I was told there was this guy, no woman,’ said the guard.

  ‘Fine, he’s coming with me, the director wants to see him,’ Steel lied, hoping the guard hadn’t yet heard of Sloan’s fate.

  ‘Fine with me, I’m sick of his complaining anyway, I was thankful when he’d fallen asleep,’ said the guard, who headed back down the corridor. Steel ushered Kane out of the room, then headed back out the way he came.

  Samara was gone, and possibly in danger. Someone wanted her out of the way. Now, Steel was afraid that they had finally got her. Kane followed Steel down the corridor to the stairwell, his expression worried. The two men moved quickly but casually, down the stairs and out of the main entrance. Now they were heading back to the blockhouse. Hoping someone could tell them where Samara was. As they approached Steel, saw Lloyd Bolton coming from the blockhouse. He looked worried with a cigarette between teeth ready to light up.

  ‘The woman, where is she?’ Steel asked, catching the man by surprise.

  ‘What wom…’ Bolton started to speak, then saw Kane. ‘Oh… the Mossad woman?’ Bolton said, lighting the cigarette. ‘She’s in the main building, a couple of doors down from that pain in the ass,’ Bolton said. He indicated Kane, who just smiled at the thought of being so much trouble.

  ‘No, she’s not,’ Steel said. ‘I found him, but she’s missing,’ Steel answered. Bolton thought for a moment. Then taking out his cell; he made a call. He waited for a while, then started talking. Bolton had turned his back and moved out of earshot.

  Steel looked at Kane – who just shrugged. Bolton turned slowly and faced Steel, the look of horror on his face.

  ‘What is it?’ Kane asked. ‘Where’s my sister?’

  ‘Sloan had her transported out of the embassy. She’s heading to the airport,’ said Bolton. Slowly placing his phone in his pocket. Steel looked at his watch; they could not have left that long ago so he might be able to catch them up.

  ‘I need a car,’ Steel said urgently, Bolton pointed to the row of black Yukon SUV’s.

  ‘Keys should be inside, anything else you need?’ asked Bolton.

  ‘Yes – delay that software going online. I think this whole thing is about that going online,’ Steel said.

  ‘You got two hours at the most, after that it’s out of my hands,’ Bolton yelled as he headed back towards the blockhouse door.

  ‘Roger that,’ Steel replied, heading off towards the row of SUVs.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The safe house near Attard was still. Aamir’s orders had been clear – no one was to be outside until it was time. No lights or loud noises, no television or music.

  It appeared no one was there.

  The house itself was out of the way; far from prying eyes. But Aamir wouldn’t take any risks. All it would take was someone to see them bring them down. All contact with the Master had been severed to prevent the authorities from tracking either of them. It was a risk, but the Master thought it necessary, especially with the new software going online.

  The Angel told the Master it was taken care of. But Aamir wasn’t so sure; he trusted the Master but not the word of someone he had never seen.

  Aamir watched his men get the weapons ready, magazines filled. He had a look of pride on his face. Many of his men would not be coming back, but they had prepared for the next life. Of course, he would be holding back with the second team once the assault had taken place and the blockhouse was taken. Team two would control the computers and send viruses over the net to all connected, causing a security panic like no other. The Angel had told the Master which computers to use and give them passwords.

  A young boy ran up to Aamir. The boy had an innocent smile on his face, wide brown eyes and scraggly black hair. The boy was no more than ten years old, but he was a soldier.

  This boy would lead the fight.

  He would ride his bike to the gate and tell some tale about being lost. The guards wouldn’t think twice about the school bag on his back. The explosives inside the bag would make a large hole, and bring the guards running. That’s when Aamir’s men would hit the second gate. A decent plan if ever there was one. After all, nobody knew they were coming. Despite the incident at the main entrance, Aamir was confident the plan would still work. His men had been foolish to have not taken the Mossad woman out earlier as she and her companion drove to the embassy. But it
did not matter now. Things had been set in motion, and the plan had to go ahead, no matter what.

  The Marines and Maltese SWAT teams stood ready a few houses down from that which had been identified as the terrorists’ safe house. The four mixed teams waited at their assigned points, while the entry team’s had the lead. They would breach the front and rear entrances. The Marines were there as support, both with snipers and cover fire as required. The Marines did not like it, but they were on someone else’s turf.

  A simple job.

  Aamir sat on an old kitchen dining chair the previous occupiers had left behind. He took a long draw on his cigarette as he watched his men. The boy had gone to bed. It was late, and he needed to be fresh for tomorrow. Aamir could tell his men wanted to sing. Let their voices fly and be carried on the wind for everyone to hear.

  But that was not possible.

  Not tonight.

  Tomorrow they would sing, tomorrow they would roar like lions, tomorrow they would be more than men.

  They would be legends.

  Windows shattered as several flashbang grenades were shot through into the ground floor and the first floor. This was quickly followed by four explosions and blinding flashes as the flashbangs activated. Four loud pops sounded outside the safehouse as the breaching crew took out the front and rear door using a solid shot from Remington shotguns. The doors splintered at the frame and were kicked open. At the front of each breaching crew was a man with a ballistic shield, behind him seven men from the mixed force team. Two terrorists stood in the small hallway holding the sides of their heads, blind and deaf, disorientated. Both were quickly brought down. The front door breach team swept through the hall, checking rooms as they went. As they entered a large room on the right sparks flew from the shield as four terrorists opened fire with their AK-47s. The team behind the shield paired off, moving to the right and left of the mobile cover. Then took out the four gunmen. The rear door crew encountered four men in the kitchen. One of the men from the local RIU team took one shot into the vest. But he returned fired as he lay on the ground, taking out his shooter. As the teams converged inside the building, the noise was deafening. The night air was filled with more roar of explosions from shock grenades; yelling and screaming.

  Aamir stumbled about, half-blind and deaf from the flashbangs and stun grenades. His hands are waving about, hoping to find a wall or something stable to steady himself.

  Gunfire rang out.

  Bullets whizzed past Aamir, striking one of his men in the chest. Screams of pain sounded from all over the place. The smell of gunpowder and smoke from the grenades filled the room, stinging Aamir’s eyes. He was half-blind, confused and dazed.

  There were bursts of light as Aamir’s men fired blindly. Their bullets impacting on the ballistic shields of the entrance team. There was more gunfire, but this time no screams as two of the terrorists were cut down instantly.

  Aamir started to get his hearing and eyesight back. There was a noise from upstairs.

  It was the boy with the explosives. Soon all would be consumed by fire, and the Master would be pleased. It wouldn’t be the Embassy, but this would do.

  The shouting stopped along with the gunfire.

  Aamir looked up at the staircase, waiting for the child to do his duty. A tear rolled down Aamir’s face as he saw the boy carried down the stairs by an RIU policeman. The boy held on the armoured cop – he confused and scared.

  Aamir burst with rage and ran at the child with a grenade in his hand. Suddenly Aamir was pushed to the side as if a gust of wind had blown into him.

  But no sound of breaking glass, the sniper had shot through one of the broken windows.

  Aamir fell before he could pull the pin.

  Blood oozed a hole where his chest used to be. The .50 calibre round had punched through his body like going through butter, ripping a football-sized hole in his back.

  The grenade rocked in Aamir’s hand.

  Then – stopped.

  The RUI cleared out the injured and waited for the bomb squad to make the building safe.

  The Marine team leader watched as the RIU men exited the building. With him, his opposite number in the RIU looked relieved.

  ‘Good job,’ said the Marine.

  ‘You too,’ replied the RIU Police Sergeant before he walked off to see his men.

  The Marine pressed the switch to operate his throat microphone.

  ‘Zero this is Echo One-One. Threat eliminated. Seven injured, thirteen dead. No friendly casualties. Over,’ said the Marine, team leader.

  ‘Roger that. Good job. Return to this location. Out,’ Bolton said, then leant back into the chair he had been hovering over ever since the operation started. Bolton and Price were sat in the operations room – they had been huddled around Calver’s screen, watching the operation unfold. Tipp was back upstairs making calls to the Pentagon.

  ‘What now?’ asked Alison Price as she strolled over to another chair. Her black high heel shoes tapping on the polished floor as she went.

  Bolton looked over at her and shrugged.

  ‘That’s in Steel’s hands now, thank God he was here,’ Bolton said venting a breath he’d been holding onto for a while.

  ‘Yes – isn’t it? I just hope we don’t have to kill any more of Steel’s friends to nudge him to do things for us,’ Price said with a smile. Bolton looked at her with a shocked expression on his face.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bolton went to stand up, a confused look on his face.

  Alison Price drew a Smith and Wesson M&P 9c nano pistol – and put a bullet into his left leg. The bullet hit the upper thigh, just at the fleshy part of the outer muscle. Bolton hit the deck with a scream of agony – grasping the hole in his leg.

  The blood flowed freely between his fingers and pooled quickly on the shiny surface of the floor.

  ‘Don’t worry Lloyd, I’m not going to kill you – not yet anyway,’ Price said with a cold smile.

  Calver rushed over to thee medkit and ripped it from the wall, then rushed over to Bolton. The rest of the staff screamed in a panic and rushed for the elevators.

  ‘Now, don’t you boys go anywhere,’ Price laughed and left the room. They knew she would be heading for the elevator. They also knew they were trapped down there. Price could make up any story she wanted, she could even tell people to ignore any phone calls from the Blockhouse. She could say it was part of the lockdown. Price could even say that Bolton had killed everyone, and securing the elevator was the only way to contain him.

  They watched and waited – making sure Price wasn’t going to change her mind and come back to finish them off.

  She did not.

  The two men stared at the doors, each man holding his breath in anticipation.

  The silence was deafening as neither of them spoke. The second ticked by.

  ‘I take it that bitch has left us down here to die, then?’ Calver said.

  ‘Yeah, lucky us,’ Bolton nodded. Sweat was pouring from his brow.

  Calver used the medical kit's scissors to cut open Bolton’s trouser leg to check the wound. Bolton winced in pain as Calver checked the back of the leg to find an exit point.

  ‘It’s a through and through. You’re lucky.’ Calver opened a packet containing a strange-looking syringe device which contained what appeared to be mini marshmallows.

  Bolton looked at it and shook his head. ‘What the hell’s that for?’

  ‘This,’ Calver said plunging the twelve-inch clear plastic tube into the wound and pressed the plunger, injecting the miniature blood soaking sterile sponges into the wound.

  The container emptied and Bolton past out.

  ‘Your welcome,’ Calver smiled as he started to bandage the wound.

  Calver’s thought drifted to Steel and what he might be doing. Then his thoughts went to what Steel might do to Price when he found out what she’s done.

  Calver had read up on this John Steel character, and he was more than impressed. In fact, just readin
g the file had sent shivers of fear down his back.

  To Calver, it was all fascinating, but what was more mysterious, was the British military intelligence file on him.

  John Steel was a spy – or agent – or something, for the British Secret Service. Calver had seen his record sheet, the things Steel had done. Calver knew that Price was going to pay.

  Far down the brightly lit corridor, Price ambled between the work sections and the fake windows. Two of the Marines who had stood guard down the corridor ran towards Price.

  ‘What’s going on, Ma’am?’ one of them asked.

  ‘It’s agent Bolton, he’s been shot, quick, you have to help him,’ Price said in a panic. As they rushed passed her, she shot them both in the back of the head. Price shook her head. A cold smile crossed her face as she walked down the series of doglegged corridors to the elevator. She found a group of people hammering at the elevator door. Screaming for it to open. Price raised the weapon and shot them, one bullet for each, one round either in the head or the chest.

  Price watched with amusement as the light came on over the elevator doors showing it had arrived. There was a gentle ping, then the doors slid open. She watched as some of the bodies fell into the small metal box. To her, it was comical – like a scene from a comedy film.

  She smiled to her self coldly then began to pull the bodies from the elevator then stepped inside.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Steel was back on the Triq L-Imdina road and heading south-east. The streets were full of afternoon traffic, making driving slower than he had hoped.

  ‘So where are we going?’ Kane said.

  Steel shot Kane a confused glance. ‘The airport…we’re going to the airport, remember?’ Steel said.