Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  ‘Ah, barn doors after the bolt – aye Sergeant?’ Steel said.

  The tall sergeant gave Steel an angry look. ‘We’re just following orders, Mr Steel,’ the sergeant said. Steel nodded and rushed out of the elevator, then stopped suddenly.

  ‘Where’s the incoming communications relay?’ Steel asked.

  The sergeant pointed towards the building next to the pool house. Steel smiled and nodded a thank you and carried on running. Steel knew he had to get the power back up and running so they could check their systems. Steel wasn’t convinced that the software installation was quite what they had made it out to be. Tipp looked positively ecstatic about the launch – that meant there was more to it.

  Steel found the small box-shaped building. It was no more than twenty-by-twenty, with a solid metal door and no windows. Steel tired the door handle and found it to be open. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door, waiting for a tug of a cable or the metallic thud of a grenade.

  But there was nothing but silence, and the door pulled freely.

  Inside was dark, less for the stream of light through the doorway which illuminated the generator. It was painted yellow and next to it was lots of boxy control panels. The motor sat silently in the dark. Steel did not know that much about engines and generators. His only experience had been with the twenty-watt generators the army used and the bulky thing at his family cabin in Alaska. But he figured this could not be all that different. Besides, he knew that they wanted the software online so Tipp wouldn’t have done too much damage. If he made sure there was no power to the hive, it would defeat the object. Steel figured Tipp had just cut the power to the communications buy time. Which – in effect, Tipp had done. He was counting on Steel, or someone, to restore communications first, before starting to hunt him down. Tipp knew this would buy him at least a fifteen-minute start. More than enough – or so Tipp had probably thought.

  Steel searched around the metal beast until he found what looked like a starter button. It was a big green push button next to a big red button.

  ‘Well, I hope green means go,’ Steel said. Then slapped the green starter. The engine roared to life, and the room was lit up from a fluorescent strip light above his head. Steel rushed outside and watched as the compound lights started to flicker on. He smiled and exhaled the breath he had sucked in before pushing the green starter.

  Steel rode the elevator back down to Bolton. He knew there was no way he was going to catch up to Tipp or find Price. The chances were they were long gone by now. However, their travel options were limited. The company jet was still in Tunisia. They would have to fly commercial or catch a ferry. Then a thought sprung into Steel’s head. He thought about the superyacht – who did actually own it?

  As the elevator doors slid, open Steel could hear cheers of joy as all the systems were back online, including the air ventilation.

  Bolton met Steel at the elevator. ‘Good job.’

  The two walked together towards Calver.

  Calver looked up from his computer, which was rebooting from the system shut down. Calver smiled as Steel approached.

  ‘Who owns this big black superyacht? It’s probably anchored in one of the ports around Valletta.’ Steel said. Steel pulled out his cell phone and showed Calver a photo of the ship. It was a blow-up of the picture Brad had kept on his data stick. Calver looked at the picture.

  Calver had seen the ship before many times but had never seen who owned it. He had just seen the men who had come over on the Zodiac – the men he was paid to bring to Victoria. He had been paid well – he just did not know who by – until now.

  Calver figured either Price or Tipp had set it up on Sloan’s orders. Calver figured they probably had photos of him taking them. Insurance if anything went wrong, he would get the blame, maybe even arrested for smuggling in terrorists. Calver had known why Sloan had recruited him, his past had caught up with him. Calver was hoping to use the money to disappear. Even for a little while, before Sloan found him again.

  ‘Uhm. Once this is rebooted, I can… you know… check,’ Calver said nervously, his voice strained at every word as though they burnt.

  Steel smiled. He knew guilty men, he had seen what they looked like how they reacted, moved, talked. Steel knew that Calver wasn’t a team player, he was always out for himself – Samara had said as much. But he was in it for a quick buck. Nothing more. Deep down Steel knew Calver was a good guy, just a little broken.

  ‘OK,’ Steel said. ‘Send what you got to my cell phone,’ Steel said. He had turned to head back to the elevator when Bolton stopped him.

  ‘Where you going?’ Bolton asked.

  ‘To break into Price’s apartment,’ Steel said and headed to the parking lot and the row of government-issue vehicles. ‘I just need and address.’

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Alison Price had a house just outside of Mdina. The place was modern, with a large garden. There was a seven-foot wall that enclosed the grounds. From what Steel could tell, she was not the neighbourly sort. The driveway was bared by a twin metal gate that appeared to be electronic.

  ‘Well, someone had cash,’ Steel said.

  He parked the black Yukon he had taken from the embassy parking lot and climbed out of the driver's seat. Steel looked around casually as he headed for the rear of the vehicle. He was hoping to find something more than a spare tyre in the trunk. Steel clicked the catch on the door and lifted it only to find it empty. But, Steel knew if they had any toys, they would be out of sight.

  He grabbed the corner of the mat and lifted it. Steel smiled as he looked down at the weapons cash. There was a Sig Sauer 320 with a suppressor, an M4 CQB assault rifle and a Kel-Tec Bullpup shotgun, all stored in a foam casing.

  Carefully, so no one could see, Steel removed the Sig from its compartment and checked the magazine was full. The top 9mm hollow-point round glinted in the sun, as he pressed down on it to checked the spring. It was nice and tight, meaning there was less chance of a stoppage.

  Steel replaced the magazine and tucked it into the small of his back before closing the trunk. He looked around once more, the street was quiet. Steel figured that’s one of the reasons Price had chosen the area. Steel sauntered over to Prices house. He would need to look for a way in. Which in itself didn’t appear to be that difficult for a man of his means? But this was a woman who valued her privacy.

  Steel figured there was most certainly an alarm system, possibly guard dogs – most likely Dobermans or ex-special forces trained German shepherds.

  Steel peered through the fence and waited. There was no barking or thundering of massive wolf-like paws on the lawn. There was nothing but the sound of the gentle wind.

  Steel smiled and hopped the fence. Then he waited again.

  Nothing.

  He walked casually towards the house. Taking in the vulgar shape of the structure. It was square and modern, with white walls and glass sliding doors. The roof was almost one complete solar panel. Definitely not keeping within the local tradition or style. Steel walked on the grass and avoided the concrete tiled path.

  Steel walked around the house and checked for a way in, or any signs of life. The last thing he needed was to come this far only to have his nuts ripped off by a big angry dog. Steel had made it back to the front door and had found several possible entrance points, but no signs of either two or four-legged occupants. There had been no doggy door of feeding bowls in the kitchen. While at the kitchen he’d also had a clear view to the front door and hallway. The house was mostly open planned, which made his life a lot easier.

  Steel was surprised top see no alarm system. He figured she was safe enough with the wall, or perhaps she was confident enough that if someone did break in the agency would hunt them down? Steel went back to the kitchen, thinking that was the best entry point.

  He looked up at the large glass sliding door. It was well made, with a slight tint to the glass to minimise the harmful effects of the suns rays. Steel took out the Si
g, and aiming at the top right-hand corner, fired a shot. There was a gentle thump as the suppressor silenced the shot. There was only the sound of the window as it shattered into a thousand pieces, sending tinted glass sliding across the tiled floor.

  Even though it was night time, Steel was surprised how light it was inside, allowing him to move about freely. Checking draws and cupboards. He started in the kitchen and worked his way through the house.

  The interior was like something from a dream house catalogue. It felt more showroom than a place to live, with modernistic furniture.

  Steel moved into the sitting area where there wasn’t much in the way of furnishing. There was a big tv on the wall, above a brick fireplace. An oversized brown leather couch sat in front of the tv, and in front of that, was a long glass and wood coffee table. To the right of the tv was a wall cabinet, full of china ornaments and glass objects. There were no photographs, but expensive-looking artwork hung from the walls. There was a drinks cabinet to the left, between a large window and the fireplace. Which made his job of finding anything, that much more challenging. He was used to rooms with lots of hiding places, draws, desks, and filing cabinets, but nothing was here. He tried the rest of the house. The bathroom was big and fancy but had nothing of use. Steel was just about to throw in the towel and head back to the embassy with his tail between his legs when he found another room. This was on the first floor, down the hall from the bedroom. At first, he thought it was just a place for towels. But a gap in the wall panel made him think otherwise. Steel pushed the shelving, and it slid gently open, to reveal an office. He stood in awe at what could only be described as a command centre. There were maps and photographs, blueprints and charts. Steel took out his cell phone and began documenting as much as he could. Then he found a picture that made his eyes widen. Brad and Lucy were near the cover in Gozo near Hondoq Bay. They were photographing men offloading weapons created from a Zodiak.

  Steel paused and stared at the photograph for what seemed forever. Steel blinked and forced himself, turned away. He could feel the hate rising within him again, so he took a deep breath to control his temper. Steel looked around at another board, this had more photographs, this time of Steel, Samara, Foster and Stan. He looked at some of the reports and background checks that they had produced. It was a thorough job, but thankfully a lot was missing from Steel’s file. The fewer people knew what he really did, the better.

  Steel moved about the room – which was small compared with some others, but it was still considerable. Steel figured it was at least twenty-by-fifteen feet, but with no windows and only one door, making it perfect for planning boards. In the centre of the room were a desk with a laptop and an old lamp. The office chair wasn’t extravagant, just an old leather thing, possibly she had found it in a second-hand store. But he had to admit it was oddly comfortable. He eased himself down onto the padded caramel-colour leather and began to search the drawers of the desk. There were notebooks and data sticks as well as the usual pens and pencils.

  Steel switched on the computer and waited. The seventeen-inch screen blinked and the ever-annoying ‘Please enter the password’ popped up. Steel had been lucky with most people’s passwords. Most had used the obvious things such as their birthdays or dogs name, even the name of their favourite movie star. But he knew there was no chance in hell he was going to get into this one.

  Steel took out his cell phone and made two calls. The first was to Bolton, the second was to London. Each call lasted less than a minute each. Each call contained vital information. The call to London had responded with a brief. ‘They’re on the way.’

  Steel stood up and turned to head out the door. He did not need to be there when the cleaners arrived. He took one more look around the room to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Checking each of the six action boards that filled the walls. As he gazed at the second board, a photograph caught his eye. He smiled. It was the black superyacht, and Tipp was aboard it along with Sloan and someone else he had never seen before. The man was tall and thin. His head was shaven, but he had a long greying beard. He looked European but not from this area. He had a pale complexion and a flat nose. Steel figured he was at least six-two judging by the height difference between him and Tipp – who was six-foot.

  ‘Well, now I know where you bastards went,’ Steel said to himself. He nodded as a plan started to formulate and headed for the door. Then he stopped and stared at what appeared to be an old wood locker peeking behind where the shelving had stopped on its track. Steel moved around to the locker and opened it, inside were two sets of clothing, one for an old man, the other for an old woman. Steel reached inside and pulled out the old man’s cane. As he twisted the fashioned wood Steel could not find anything sinister about it, the end had a rubber end cap and the top hand a silver handle. Then Steel stopped admiring it, and his hands froze. The handle had a trigger? Steel searched the silver cap and found it twisted at the neck, revealing a barrel. This was a single-shot weapon. But then it only needed one shot in skilled hands. And because the .22 was a small calibre, the shot would be almost non-existent if the stick was just one big suppressor.

  Steel tucked the stick back into the locker and closed the door. He wanted to smile, knowing he had found Brad’s killer. But he could not, he still had no idea who had killed Lucy or how, even though the why was now evident. She had seen too much, and Brad had tried to blackmail Price.

  Steel headed back downstairs. He had seen enough, but he knew he had to try the garage next to the house. The thing was wide enough for two cars, but he had only seen her drive one. The entrance to the garage was through the kitchen, and he found the door was unlocked. Steel pushed the door open and saw absolutely nothing but darkness. Gingerly, Steel moved his hand up and down the wall until his fingers found the light switch. He clicked it down, and two long strip lights blinked and light revealed the interior.

  The garage was huge, with cream walls and a grey ceiling. On the far side, there were sets of shelving containing tools and ropes. But at the far end was a green pick-up truck. As Steel walked over to the truck, he noticed the front end and bumper were dented – as if she had run into something – or someone. Steel looked over the damage to the front end. The damage was too high for it to have been a sheep, and as far as he knew there were no deer on Malta. Steel thought back to Lucy’s autopsy. The broken bones and the lack of water in the lungs. Steel took out his cell and searched his call log. He checked his watch, he just hoped he hadn’t missed the crazy pathologist in Victoria.

  The phone rang several times before someone picked up. It was a young voice, a man. Steel’s heart fell.

  ‘Is the Doc Bondi there?’ Steel asked.

  ‘He’s gone to the bathroom, why…who’s this?’ answered the voice.

  ‘My name is John steel, I spoke to the doc the other day, he should remember me,’ Steel said. ‘Can you ask him to recheck the Lucy Foster case? Ask him, is it possible that she was hit by a car?’ Steel said.

  ‘Sorry, what was your name again, I had to get a pen?’ said the voice. Steel groaned with impatience.

  ‘Get me the doc now before I come over there and feed you your own intestines,’ Steel growled. Steel heard the kid yelp and the sound of running footsteps. In the distance, the shrieks of the guy’s voice. Moments later, the familiar voice of the pathologist said ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Eighty

  As the superyacht pulled slowly out of Msida Yacht Marina. It glistened as the half-moon reflected off its sleek black curves. The hum of its engine and the sound of music broke the silence of the night.

  Tipp sat on the deck sipping Dom Perignon from a crystal flute. He wore a nervous smile. Everything had gone to plan ‒ until Steel turned up. He had ruined years of planning. They had escaped with their lives, and from the threat of prison. But Tipp knew that the Trojan organisation would be displeased at the failure of the mission. Someone needed to be held accountable. Luckily for him, Price was a higher rank in the organisation, in ef
fect, his boss. It was Price they would punish, not him.

  Price had told him she’d given the ship's crew the night off, they had business to attend to, and the last thing they needed was fifty-odd witnesses. Only two guards and the pilot had remained. One guard had stayed at the front of the ship, the pilot upstairs in the wheelhouse. The second guard was below.

  A noise behind Tipp caused him to turn. He smiled as Alison Price strolled onto the deck in a black bikini, she had mentioned her longing for the vessels hot tub. She was in her fifties, but her body was tight with slight muscle definition, a product of years of working out at the tennis courts' gym and hours.

  As she walked towards Tipp, she picked up the champagne bottle and poured herself a glass.

  ‘Where will we go?’ she asked, sitting on the leather chair opposite his.

  ‘We have to go and see them,’ Tipp said. ‘Seek favour, after all, it wasn’t our fault it went wrong, we never asked Steel to join the party,’ Tipp said, taking a sip.

  ‘No – they did,’ Price said coldly. ‘They thought we might be able to kill two birds with one stone. But your men ballsed it up, too busy trying to kill that woman, Samara,’ Price said with a callous grin as if she sensed who the bosses would blame.

  ‘And you never told me?’ Tipp said. He was angry, but also suddenly afraid. Had she set him up to take the fall? It would explain why he had had to source the terrorists.

  ‘I did warn you,’ Price purred. ‘Several times, in fact. I told you to leave the girl, but no. Your obsession cost us, sorry ‒ cost you,’ Price said, her tone changing to one of contempt.

  ‘But it doesn’t matter. The software is installed as planned, no one will ever know it’s real purpose,’ Tipp said.