Maltese Steel

by Stuart Field

  ‘What, you mean the fact it masks all your agent’s identities, while at the same time picks out our agents?’ Came a familiar voice from above them.

  Price and Tipp turned quickly only to see Steel at the pilot’s cabin high above them. Fear ran through their veins as they knew they had nowhere to run.

  ‘This was all about misdirection,’ Steel said. ‘Sure, you knew you might not lose the contract, which would have made you billions, but you had a fail-safe, swap the software for the one you had doctored for your needs. It was a win-win either way,’ Steel said pointing Sig Sauer P320 pistol at them.

  ‘OK, you caught us, bring us in Detective,’ Tipp said. His expression turned into a mocking smile. ‘You do have proof, though, don’t you?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Steel said. ‘There is no evidence, but then, I don’t need proof, not where you two are going,’ Steel said. With a movement of his pistol, Steel ushered them to the side of the ship. Forcing them away from him.

  Steel moved slowly down the steps, watching for any sudden movements from the two agents. He was quite happy to put a bullet in each of them, but he knew people wanted to have words with them. As far as the agency he worked for was concerned, they were a font of information. And two was better than one – especially if you turned one against the other.

  As Steel got halfway down, two hands grabbed his feet and pulled. Steel fell but managed to roll and hopped back onto his feet. Steel looked over and saw a man in white, the man whose nose Samara had broken. Steel re-aimed the pistol, but the man swung the pole and batted it out of his hand with a boat hook. The end caught Steel on the wrist, but it hurt like hell even though it did not rip the skin.

  The pistol skidded across the deck, straight into the waiting hands of Tipp, who grasped the weapon and aimed it at Steel. Steel saw the gun and went to dive out of the way before Tipp took the shot. But as he moved Steel found he was side on to the big man. As he moved the big man brought the pole smashing sideways on Steel’s back, sending Steel crashing to his knees, the wind had been knocked out of him. The big guy raised the pole, ready to do a downward swing, the metal spike aimed at Steel’s head. Steel rolled as the pole came crashing down. Tipp went to fire, but the big man had moved in front of his target. Tipp’s cursed and Price giggled with a sick amusement. She wanted to watch as the life was choked out of Steel.

  Steel was on his knees, crouched ready for the next attack. The big man was swinging the pole, moved towards Steel, the hook whistled past, Steel rolled and perfectly timed his upward kick. Steel caught the guy full in the sternum, sending him flying, and forcing him to release the pole. It clattered onto the wooden deck.

  Steel went to reach for the pole. Tipp fired sending wooden splitter into the air, leaving a two-centimetre hole in the deck. Steel ripped his hand back, Tipp fired another round, just missed Steel’s head.

  Steel rolled to his feet, Tipp fired again, but Steel was moving, the bullet shattered a window. The tinted glass exploded across the floor.

  ‘I thought you were a good shot?’ Price said.

  ‘Oh, shut up woman,’ Tipp barked back, holding the weapon with both hands, waiting for his next chance.

  The man in white raced at Steel with the pole he had retrieved. The man was swinging it and stabbing as he went.

  Steel moved to the side just as the spike swung past his head, then in one swift movement grabbed the pole, and yanked it towards him. Ripping it out of the man’s hands.

  Steel spun the pole and smashed the blunt end against the man’s head, dazing him slightly as the pole caught him directly on the side of his big, meaty head.

  Tipp raised the gun and fired, but the dazed man had stumbled in the way and took a bullet to the left shoulder.

  Angrily, Tipp aimed again and fired, this time the round sailed past Steel and hit a scuba tank that Tipp had left next to the bar. Steel looked back at the tank and the escaping air. His eyes widen as the tank began hissed. Steel dove out of the way, just as the tank exploded, sending shards flying indiscriminately. The fireball engulfed the interior of the craft, setting the seating area ablaze. Tipp held his shoulder of his gun hand. Blood flowed from where a glass shard had found its mark. Tipp roared in anger, he’d had enough of this nuisance. He fired again, but the pain in his shoulder restricted him from lifting the gun into the aim. Now he was firing from the hip while smoke from the fire obstructing his view. There was a sudden click of an empty magazine.

  Tipp froze.

  He did not see the punch, but he sure as hell felt it. His nose erupted, under Steel’s fist. Tipp reeled back and then dropped to the ground, blood gushing.

  Price ran for the speedboat that was moored to the side of the yacht. She knew this fight was lost. Tipp was incompetent and deserved what he got. Smoke billowed from the burning bar, there were more explosions as more of the air tanks exploded. The roar of flame and the sound of metal shards impacting off the interior filled her ears. There was another explosion – another air tank had erupted, this time shattering nearby windows. She ran blindly, heading for the lower deck and the speedboat they had come over on. Alison Price screamed as another window shattered showering glass in front to her.

  She ran on.

  She needed to get off the boat before Steel got to her.

  The speedboat was large enough for six people, but she wasn’t taking passengers. Price used the controls to lower the boat into the water. It was a slow operation, with the squeak of gears and the click of leavers and the winch system lowered the craft.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ she said, looking around, making sure she hadn’t been seen. So far, all the action was happening on the deck above – she hoped it stayed there.

  Soon, she would be home free and be rid of Steel at the same time.

  As the speedboat hit the water, Price climbed down and unhitched the winch gear. Price smiled coldly as she powered the boat out and away from the yacht.

  There was a roar of the outboard motor and a whoosh of spray. Price knew she had to get away as quickly as possible.

  Flames leapt from the ship's top deck, small explosions as the liquor in the bottles began to catch alight. The yacht was caught in an inferno.

  Price smiled as she swung the boat around and headed the other direction. She waved goodbye and blew a kiss to them all.

  ‘Bon voyage, and burn in hell,’ she cried out, hoping at least one of them would hear it. There was a blinding flash, and then a massive explosion of the gas and fuel tanks ruptured. Pieces of burning debris splashed into the water near the speed boat, covering the ocean in flame. Price smiled as she watched all her problems burn.

  Alison Price moved the speedboat to a safe distance and powered it down. She moved to the rear of the boat and watched. Cursing, she did not have her cell phone, so she could take a picture. Price stared at the scene, thinking how beautiful it was, a fire on the ocean at night.

  For her – nothing could spoil the moment. And there was nobody left actually to do it. She imagined Steel engulfed in flame. Possibly some of those metal shards from the air tanks had pierced his body. She imagined the pain he suffered, right up until the end. She hoped he hadn’t died before the explosion, she wanted him to feel the full power of the ship being ripped apart.

  Price never noticed the fuel spilling into the ocean. She had no cause to look. One of Tipp’s erratic fire had punctured the gas tank on the speedboat.

  As the debris fell, she looked up at what seemed to be red hot snowflakes. She smiled and just watched at the beauty of it all. It was like a thousand tiny lights floating down, each one an orange glow. She had never seen such a beautiful sight burning away her problems. She breathed in the crisp sea air and was pleasantly greeted with the smell of destruction. She smiled and hugged herself.

  She looked up again at one of the embers. It seemed bigger than the others and glowed with more intensity. She followed the ember spiral down, then lift as it was caught on the breeze. The extra air caused it to glow brig
hter. Her eyes were transfixed on this tiny light. Wondering if it would fall into the ocean or fly forever. The ember began to descend once again, she gasped as just before it touched the water, another breeze carried it up. She smiled with excitement at her new game. Price watched open-mouthed as it began to fall once again.

  Down it sailed, unhindered, interrupted. Alison Price’s eyes widened in anticipation. Would it fall or fly? It grew near to the water, she leaned forwards, her hands clutched the sides of the boat. Down it went, further and further.

  Its brightness was almost hypnotic.

  Price sighed with disappointment as it hit the water, almost as if she had wanted the game to go on for longer.

  Price shrugged and went to turn towards the boat controls. Maybe it had been for the best the game was over. She had to leave anyway before the coast guard arrived and started to ask questions. A sudden flare of light caught her attention.

  She turned back slowly.

  Her eyes widened in fear.

  It wasn’t just the yacht that was ablaze, but a stream of flame on the sea heading towards her.

  Price went to scream, but it was too late, as the explosion ripped the speedboat apart.

  Steel bobbed about treading water. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the coast guard came to his rescue. As he watched the speedboat disappear under the waves, he could not help but see the irony.

  From what Steel had pieced together, Price who had killed Lucy Foster. Lucy had seen the black yacht and witnessed the terrorists given weapons at night in Hondoq Bay. Lucy had tracked the boat to the marina and found the weapons cash at Manoel Island. But Brad saw an opportunity to make money, not realising who he was dealing with – the Trojan Organisation. But what Steel could not understand was why Lucy did not tell Foster. He could have done something. Or maybe she had recognised Price or Tipp from the embassy. Perhaps she did not realise how big it was. Perhaps she thought these were a couple of agents making a quick buck? But it did not matter in the end. What did matter – to Steel – was the way she was killed. Steel had the pathologist in Victoria look at the legs again, and he confirmed Lucy hadn’t just been knocked down by the car, but run over. The result was internal haemorrhaging and broken limbs.

  The news had made Steel feel sick and angry. He’d asked Calver to search the data banks to trace movements Price, and Tipp had made lately. It had shown Price going to Azure Window the night of Lucy’s death. Unfortunately, because of the weather, there was no image of her tossing Lucy over. But from what Steel had seen of Tipp and Price. Neither one of them would be physically capable of carrying a body to the cliff at Azure Window in the day, let alone at night. It did explain why they had used the Blue Hole and not gone all the way up to Azure Window – they physically could not. They weren’t big enough to walk that path in the dark and carry a body.

  Steel looked over at the sound of a boat approached. The strobe light on the life preserver he had managed to grab flashed violently. He was sick of drinking seawater – he needed a real drink – possibly lots of them.

  Steel was taken to the local hospital for a check-up, he was slightly scarred, bruised and need a few stitches. He’d had an x-ray on his chest, but they had found he’d suffered bruising to the ribs due to being shot in the vest. But they had classed him as fit but said he’d have to be on light duties for a while. Steel phoned the Grand Excelsior Hotel and asked if a driver could pick him up and return to the hotel and also if there could be a bottle of 18-year-old Glen Grant put in his room. He was tired and just wanted a long bath, some good food and to sleep.

  After an hour’s drive, the car pulled up outside the hotel. Steel had tipped the driver and thanked him before heaving his body out of the passenger side and headed inside the hotel. He felt like he’d been hit by a freight train, but Steel knew after a long sleep – if that was possible, he’d feel better.

  Steel went to the front desk and got his key and checked if there were any messages. The man behind the desk passed over a handful of message forms, they were all mostly from London or the family business. Steel thanked the man and headed for his room.

  Inside the suite, on the desk, Steel found his wallet, watch, and other items he had thought lost from Manoel Island's encounter. There was a note with them, it was from Sergeant Burlo.

  With kind regards, we found these in a car in a swimming pool, thought you would like them back. Burlo.

  Steel headed over to the drinks cabinet and picked up a bottle of 18-year-old malt and half-filled the glass.

  Grabbing the glass, he headed into the bathroom and stripped off his battle scared clothes. His muscles ached from the ordeal, but he would survive. He took a hit from the glass and looked at his bruised, muscular frame. The past week had not been kind, his wardrobe had suffered the most. He took another mouthful of whisky and stepped into the soothing waters of the shower.

  Steel slept until late morning. He had no plans, so he stayed in bed until eleven. He used the phone next to the bed to order brunch – eggs, bacon, mushroom – the works, along with a pot of coffee. Steel had made several calls. One had been to Whitehall. They had been briefed by the US Embassy on the events, so Steel’s input had just dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s, but he was required to see the CO as soon as possible. Steel had then booked himself on the next available flight back to Britain, which was due out the next day.

  The next call had been to Foster, who was on sick leave. Which meant he was home alone and bored. Foster had told Steel that there was a black-tie event at the embassy and that Steel, Samara and Kane were invited. Foster had also said that this was not an invitation; more a ‘must attend.’

  The next call was to Samara. She’d said that she had also received the invitation, but felt uneasy about going back there. Oddly enough, her bosses in Mossad seemed most insistent, calling it a ‘momentous occasion.’ Which made her even more uncomfortable.

  After breakfast, Steel decided to spend the day doing nothing. He walked around Valletta as though he was a tourist. He found a store and bought a tux for the evening's event. He wandered about, taking in the sights, stopping at coffee shops. But, it felt alien to him. He had never really been on holiday. He felt uncomfortable, but at the same time at peace.

  Later that evening, after showering and changing into his tux, Steel ventured down to the lobby. Earlier that day, Steel had arranged for a hotel to provide a car to take him to the embassy, and a twenty-year-old bottle Glen Grant as a present.

  The car pulled up to the arched main entrance, and Steel crawled onto the Mercedes C class's back seat. The cab was clean and had a pleasant smell of air fresher and leather soap. The radio was playing a local radio station and some group he had never heard of – but then, Steel wasn’t really that musical. He had met Jon Bon Jovi once and hadn’t known who he was.

  The cab ride was smooth and without incident, a first for the trip.

  The driver pulled up to the battered front gate which still had Samara’s car littering the grass area. The guard recognised Steel at once and swung up a grand salute. Steel saluted back, and they drove through. Outside the main entrance, Foster waited with Samara and Kane. Steel smiled at the sight of Foster, who was dressed in a tux with crutches under both arms. Samara looked stunning in a figure-hugging black dress, and Kane looked respectable in his tux. He saw Samara smile softly as Steel climbed out of the car, wincing slightly at the pain from his ribs. They all stood for a moment while they greeted each other with hugs. This merry band had been through a lot in the past week. One they would never forget that was for sure. Steel looked over at Foster who was balancing on his crutches.

  ‘I hear there’s a party inside, want to crash it?’ Foster asked, Steel smiled and raised the bottle of whisky.

  ‘I thought it was a bring a bottle gig,’ Steel said with a smile. The four of them walked in. Inside was as formal as it got. There was a live band who were playing soft jazz or something. The staff walked about with trays of champagne and h’orderve
s. There were people in cocktail dresses, or dress blues, or tuxedos. Steel was beginning to think he was back home at the estate at one of his father’s damned suck up parties. Steel grabbed a drink for Foster and Samara, and Kane both took a glass from a nearby server.

  ‘So, what's the party for? The fact we avoided world war three or that the damned software that nobody is meant to know about worked?’ Steel asked.

  ‘Probably both, but it was the ambassador’s idea,’ Foster said.

  ‘Who is the ambassador anyway?’ Steel asked, slightly embarrassed he did not know.

  ‘Ambassador Moira Kent,’ Foster noted that Steel had gone quiet, his smile had faded. ‘You ok bud?’ Foster asked.

  Steel nodded silently, then took a sip from his glass.

  ‘I hate these things,’ Steel finally said, with an uncomfortable look on his face.

  ‘I know, that’s why I organised it. So suck it up soldier,’ Foster laughed.

  People laughed, drank and eat, but Steel wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, he had no reason to.

  Steel looked over to see the ambassador, a refined woman in her late fifties, approach Foster and shake his hand. She had short blonde hair and blue eyes like pools of ice. An attractive woman. A long blue sequined dress hugged her athletic form. Steel suspected this was mostly to make some of the other guests embarrassed about letting themselves go.

  They chatted for a while before Foster introduced Samara and Kane. As Foster turned to Steel, he found an empty space.

  ‘Sorry ambassador, he’s…’ Foster said.

  ‘A little shy?’ The ambassador said.

  ‘Actually, I gonna say a pain in the ass – but yeah, we’ll go with shy,’ Foster said. The ambassador smiled and followed Kane’s gaze to the door to the garden.

  The ambassador found Steel in the garden next to a small table and a couple of metal chair. He held a glass, and the table took care of his bottle of malt whisky. She grabbed a glass from the conference table and slowly walked up behind him. Steel was looking up at the stars. Enjoying the solitude.