Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  ‘So… Steel, what’s the plan?’ Samara said.

  ‘We are close to Porta Delgada, we need to land there,’ Steel replied, his face emotionless – cold – calculating.

  ‘Land or crash?’ Foster asked.

  ‘I would prefer land,’ Steel said, still looking at the engines. ‘But we can’t let this plane enter US airspace. We don’t know what else they have. I’d rather see this plane at the bottom of the ocean than crashing into a building in the capital,’ Steel’s voice was suddenly calm and focused. ‘I need you to sit right at the back if we are low enough to water, I want you out of the plane via that ramp, put on the vests, the coast guard will pick you up,’ Steel said.

  ‘Pick us up, you mean?’ Samara’s words rang with emotion.

  ‘We have to bring down the plane, and the only way to do that is to take out the engines,’ Steel said opening the small hatch, and the plane rocked from side-to-side from the pressure change.

  ‘Go on – strap in, but be ready,’ Steel yelled. Foster and Samara ran to the seats furthest back and strapped themselves in tight. Steel took the automatic rifle and emptied a magazine into the first engine. Sparks flew, and black smoke and flames billowed from the engines. Steel clipped on a fresh magazine and opened up on the next engine. Sparks flew as the rounds impacted on the frame. Pieces of torn sheet metal fell away, leaving the exposed components. Then the engine exploded, sending chunks of steel and iron spiralling down to the ocean. Both engines were engulfed in red hot fireballs.

  The plane started to bank to the side and fall. The other engines failing to keep the aircraft aloft.

  Steel headed for the back of the plane to get ready for the sudden exit. Suddenly something hit him in the back, pushed him to the ground. He had been shot, but the vest had taken the impact. As Steel rolled over onto his back and looked over at an older man approached. He was dressed all in white cotton and wore an angry glare. He looked around at the empty cargo hold, and his anger grew.

  ‘What have you done? You have ruined everything,’ yelled the Master.

  ‘Sorry, wasn’t big on the idea of some loon crashing a chemical bomb into Washington let alone two,’ Steel shouted over the howl of the wind blowing through the hatch. The Master shot Steel a confused look. Something Steel had just said made no sense.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said the Master, his anger building. ‘We were dropping weapons for our brothers. We were going to watch America burn, and their people would fight amongst themselves. They would tear their country apart,’ the Master said. ‘But you have ruined that!’

  ‘So, why were their two bombs in there?’ Steel paused for a moment, the realisation of what was happening suddenly hit him. ‘You didn’t know, you had no idea they were there. Someone made it so you would take the fall for a chemical bomb, they needed you on this plane for DNA purposes,’ Steel said. ‘You were meant to die today, but not how you expected, I guess.’

  The Master’s eyes moved about, his mouth hung open. Steel could see the emotions racing through the man’s eyes. Steel stood up slowly. Ensuring no sudden moves. The man in front of him was unstable as it was. Steel did not want to risk getting shot a second time. Who knows, the Master could hit something less protected next time – like Steel’s head.

  ‘Sloan was right, you have been set up to take the fall.’ Steel thought for a moment and looked back at the Master. ‘You never planned to go down with the ship,’ Steel said.

  The Master looked up at Steel, his pistol was now angled down, as if it was too heavy for him. Steel did nothing. He did not rush to take the weapon away from him. If anything, he pitied the man at that moment. The Master’s glorious dream had turned out to be a setup.

  The Master’s face fell as he realised he was just a pawn in someone else’s game.

  ‘You were going to drop-off the weapons and then scarper back to whichever hole you crawled out of,’ Steel shouted over the noise. All the while, inching closer to the Master.

  The Master nodded.

  ‘But they needed a terrorist. They needed a face to be on television. They needed someone for the people to hate. Just like 9/11,’ Steel’s expression wained as a thought sprung into his head.

  ‘I’ve just worked out what this whole thing is about, and I think I know whose behind it as well,’ Steel said with jubilation. There was another shot, and Steel was pushed down again. The Master had fired again, but this time in the chest. Steel groaned as he felt the bruise the bullet had made.

  ‘No! You did this,’ the Master said, his eyes burning with rage. ‘I know who you are Mr Steel, I’m surprised you are still alive. I was assured you were dead, but no matter, you soon will be,’ the Master raised the weapon once more and went to fire. There was a violent crash, and the plane shook violently. Steel and the Master were thrown about in the cargo bay as the plane went into free fall. The two men rolled like rag dolls in a tumble drier. The aircraft was out of control and falling fast. Samara raced towards the cockpit, fearing that there was no pilot. Foster followed after her.

  Steel rolled close to the Master and released a punch that should have taken the man’s head off, but the movement of the plane meant he just about reached the Master’s jaw. However, It had been enough to send blood and teeth flying.

  Samara and Foster entered the cockpit, only to find the empty seats of the pilot and co-pilot.

  ‘You know how to fly one of these?’ Foster asked. Samara shot him a nervous smile. ‘Great, that’s a no then.’

  ‘How hard can it be?’ Samara said, climbing into the pilot's seat.

  ‘Well, there's good news and bad news,’ Foster said, climbing into the seat next to her.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Good news is, we are close to land.’

  ‘And the bad?’

  ‘We are too close to land, and neither one of us can fly this puppy let alone land the sucker,’ Foster said pulling at the controls to try and level the plane off, so they didn’t crash nose-first. Samara heaved along with him. Suddenly the only working engines sputtered and died, the fire had burnt them out. The nose tilted down, and Foster and Samara heaved at the half-circle steering device. The nose began to rise slowly, they were no longer diving, but they were losing altitude. The island before them was growing closer.

  ‘Any ideas?’ Foster asked.

  ‘No, but we still need to keep this beast away from land, if not, then at least away from a town or city. We need to put this in the water.’ Samara said. Foster nodded. They saw a spot near a cliff face, it was away from a beach. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. Samara looked over at Foster, and he nodded.

  ‘You done good kid, I just hope someone gets to know that,’ Foster said. Samara smiled. Then as she looked over at their target, she gripped the steering column and prayed.

  The Master raised the pistol once more and went to fire. But Steel had gotten to his feet, charged the man, and tackled him like a quarterback. The weapon flew out of the Master’s hand as he was lifted off the ground, and slammed hard into the plane's side. The Master let out a grunt of pain as the air left his body. The Master brought an elbow down onto Steel’s injured shoulder, causing him to scream out in pain. The Master smiled. Steel looked up at this hideous grin from the man and headbutted him directly in the face.

  ‘What you laughin at ya, bastard?’ Steel said and tossed the man towards the other side. As the Master smashed against the wall, he fell directly on the Sig that Steel had lost. The Master gave a menacing grin and raised the weapon.

  ‘Good-bye, Mr Steel.’

  Suddenly, everything was thrown forwards as the belly of the transport aircraft hit the water. Steel and the Master were thrown forwards. Steel landed hard against the side of the wall, letting out an oomph of discomfort. The Master slid down the centre like a hockey puck. Water began to flood through the open loading ramp. The plane was tilting down tail first, forcing the nose was upwards. The hold's contents began sliding down towards the water
, coming up fast through the open loading door.

  Samara and Foster sat in the cockpit. They were dazed but alive. The plane had come in straight like a glider, the nose had been slightly up thankfully. Samara could feel a crisp sea breeze on her face, with droplets of water like a slight rain wetting her skin.

  ‘Am I dead, is this heaven?’ she asked, staring up at the bright sunlight above. It all seemed surreal.

  ‘Samara,’ Came a voice. She smiled. Was it him, was, had she died, and now she was in the afterlife? ‘Samara! Get up, we are sinking kid, we have to go.’

  Samara shook her head as if to wake herself from a pleasant dream. Foster was up and out of his seat. The bandages that the medics had put on him were covered in blood and oil. Samara crawled from her seat. The impact of the crash bruised her, but nothing was broken.

  The plane was going down. It was now at a twenty degrees angle, and the aircraft's weight was pushing more in-depth into the sea. But the Master did not care, he wanted his revenge on Steel. The man had destroyed his plans, and so, he would destroy him. Steel began using the seats as a ladder to clamber up, heading for the hatch.

  A massive wave smashed against the side of the plane, knocking Steel and the Master to the ground. All the while, the aircraft continued to sink. Steel headed for the hatch, but the Master had other plans. He shot at Steel again, clipping his shoulder, but the kevlar held.

  Steel fell once more and grabbed at the impact point. It hurt like hell, and he was getting tired of the old man.

  The Master raised the weapon again and fired. But Steel had anticipated the move and had rolled to the side and slid down. Steel stood up and ran at the Master and rugby tackled the old man smashing his body against the lined walls.

  The Master groaned in pain as the wind left him. Steel grabbed the Master’s pistol hand and with a twist had disarmed him. The Master went to draw a knife, but Steel tossed him to the back of the plane. Blood dripped from an abdomen wound the Master suffered when the plane hit the water. The blood dripped into the water. The Master looked down at the pooling blood and saw something at his feet. He reached down and grasped a pistol that he had lost during the battle. The Master pulled it up out of the water, letting out a roar of anger as he did so. Bullets spat from the barrel as he fired indiscriminately.

  Steel knew that was his cue to exit. The old man’s aim was getting better, and he was nearly out of luck. The law of averages said that the old man must get lucky at some point, and he only had to do that once.

  He’d already had three unlucky strikes.

  Steel did not want to find out if four was his unlucky number.

  The water was rising and was up to the Master’s upper thighs. Defiantly, the Master swore in Arabic and raised to the weapon. The blood dripped from his hand. The water began to change colour around the Master.

  ‘I heard you killed the one known as HE,’ growled the Master.

  ‘Who the hell is HE?’ Steel said, confused.

  ‘HE was the one who showed us the way, gave us these gifts,’ the Master said.

  ‘What – Stan, or rather the Falcon?’ Steel asked, hoping it was and there was some other guy out there he had to try and get rid of.

  ‘No, HE worked at the embassy, the head of this pathetic gathering of infidels,’ the Master said, bearing his teeth as he spoke. Steel sighed with relief.

  ‘Sloan, his name was Sloan, and bad news dickhead, I didn’t kill him,’ Steel went to shrug, but the pain in his side stopped him.

  ‘No matter. Still, I will have my revenge, Mr Steel!’ screamed the Master. He fired, the bullet hit Steel in the side of the vest, probably bruising a rib or two. Steel fell to the cold metal of the floor. The water was coming in faster now.

  The Master smiled and aimed. ‘You shall all burn,’ The Master said calmly. Suddenly the room turned a brilliant red as Samara fired a signal flare directly at the Master. He screamed as the phosphorus burnt into his midsection. His robes began to ignite. The Master’s burning body began to stumble around, flaying his arms and screaming before dropping to his knees and falling to the metal floor. All three watched as his burn body slipped into the water and disappeared.

  Steel, Samara and Foster clambered out of the hatch and hauled himself to the top of the craft. The plane had crashed on Vila Do Porto's island's southern tip and had anchored itself on jagged rocks to be battered by waves. The tail end of the transport plane was hidden under the swirl. Steel stood precariously on top of the wrecked plane, hoping not to slip and join the Master in a watery grave. He saw that the wing had snapped off at the joint to the main fuselage, leaving an angry mess of twisted metal framework and sparking cables.

  Steel stood for a moment and closed his eyes. Letting the crisp, salty sea air and the crisp sea breeze envelop him. He took a moment to take in the fact they had survived. Against all the odds, they had succeeded.

  Steel opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Steel had half expected to find themselves on top of a sinking aircraft in the middle of the ocean. But Samara and Foster had made it to the islands. Steel stared down at the broken wing and smiled. It had fallen across the tops of a group of rocks providing a bridge to the safety.

  Steel walked over the wing and looked over at the wreckage of the plane and the endless ocean. Smiling, Steel turned, admiring the view. Chaos mixed with beauty. Steel knew that Calver would be monitoring their movements while everyone else got ready for the software installation. Bolton had tasked Calver to keep watch and give reports.

  At last, Calver had something good to say.

  Plane down. Three survivors. Cargo lost at sea.

  As they waited on the wing for rescue, Steel had told them everything. About the farmhouse, Calver, Price, Sloan – everything.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  While Price had been causing chaos in the Blockhouse, Tipp had been several floors above speaking with Washington. They had agreed on a delay in putting the software in action until it could be verified as untampered with and genuine. Tipp had told Bolton the news while they were stood in the operations room. At the same time, a computer technician from the company varified it using his secured laptop. The company sent the technician over with the software about a month ago. The guy was there just in case of any issues – not that the company envisaged any at the time. But Washington had insisted there was tech support on hand.

  Bolton agreed the delay was for the best. Besides, nobody knew it existed. There would be nothing in the media to report on this breach in the security system. Bolton stood awkwardly against the wall. He had his leg bandaged by the medics, and he was forced to walk with a crutch.

  Calver sat at one of the booths. He was nervous, but at the same time relieved, he no longer had to look over his shoulder where Sloan was concerned. But Calver also knew he was either very unemployed or very unemployed and going to jail.

  Bolton felt easier now he knew that the plane hadn’t made it to the US, and Foster was still alive. Price was still at large, but a call the Bureau had sealed her fate. She would have three-letter agencies and law enforcement looking for her.

  Tipp was on his fifth espresso, was in charge of the installation of the software.

  Bolton had to admit he was happy someone else had that job. Being the one to flick that switch was too much of a risk. Bolton was in line for the directorship. He did not need any mistakes with the software. Besides, for him, it was a win-win. If it failed, Tipp would look bad, if it worked, he could claim the credit.

  Two other men stood in the sidelines; representatives of the company that provided the software. They were both tall and stocky, one had a grey suit, the other brown. They were both in their early forties, and both had black hair.

  While Calver coordinated the rescue of Steel, Samara, and Foster, Bolton had other worries. One of which was Sloan, who was dead, and Bryce was missing. Who had he and Price worked for, and who else was involved?

  Bolton took a sip of coffee he had gotten from the m
achine in the break room. It was intense and dark with a thick texture. At this point, he needed the caffeine. Bolton looked at the watch.

  One minute to go.

  One minute, until they found out if it was all worth it.

  A black hawk helicopter from the USS Nemesis aircraft carrier had first taken them back to the aircraft carrier to get medical treatment. The medics had wrapped a bandage around Steel’s midsection and tented to his cut shot wound. Samara had escaped with minor cuts and bruises. At the same time, Foster became stitches and new dressings, both from the explosion and the crash.

  They were now aboard a second Black hawk, this was taking them back to the embassy. Foster had spoken with Bolton over a secure satellite connection on board the Nemesis. He had de-briefed each other on what had happened.

  The Nemesis had sent out hazmat crews to the crash site to evaluate possible contamination. While salvage crews tried and located the cargo that had been jettisoned from the back of the C-130.

  Steel had closed his eyes in hope to sleep, or at best just to rest. He’d briefed Bolton and Tipp at the same time as Foster. Steel had also used the time to contact London and appraise them of the situation. His last communication had been days ago when he had requested a background check. Steel figured he would have to return to London and take the harsh verbal treatment from his Commanding Officer. Steel had found it amusing that the head Secret Service was called ‘C.’ But the head of MI8 was simply called CO. not very original, but functional.

  Samara spoke to Kane. Using the helicopter’s communications system, letting him know they were OK. She figured he would be going out of his mind with worry, which he had been. But just hearing her voice had calmed him slightly.

  The ride back seemed longer than it should. Which suited Foster, he’d have time to think about things, who played what part.

  The black hawk cut through the sky with ease. Steel looked over at Samara who was busy talking, Foster was sedated, but awake. Steel had tried to sleep – the first rule of business, sleep when you can. But something was keeping him awake.