Maltese Steel Page 3

  Life had thrown Steel about, that was for sure. But he survived.

  In his five years with the teams, he disappeared again. SANTINI had found him, and MI8 was waiting to snatch him up. He was ready.

  As much as he did not want to admit it, it was beginning to tell on his body. But trained as much as he could, keeping himself fit and nimble.

  Steel pulled on a black T-shirt, black jeans. And slipped on a pair of military-grade short boots. In a small case, he packed extra t-shirts and enough underwear to tide him over and a black shirt and suit, just in case the hotel restaurant had a dinner dress code. He figured he could buy clothes as he needed them, thinking Malta would have some decent stores to shop at.

  He left the bedroom and headed for a room at the end of the hallway. Next to the door was a keypad. He punched in a number, and the door clicked open. As he entered the light came on automatically. It was a twenty-foot-by-twenty-foot, sterile white room. There were no windows and only one entry. Shelving ran along the left-hand wall; this was made from black metal with green felt cushioning. The shelving held pistols and rifles of different calibres laid out. There were electronic devices, cell phones and watches. Several pairs of sunglasses sat on wireless charges along with containers with contact lenses inside. Gadgets of the trade. All of which had saved his arse more than once. The sunglasses did not just hide Steel’s menacing green eyes from the world, but they were also connected to an MI8 HUB via his watch and cell phone. The right had wall held unique clothing, one of which had a temperature control so he could endure heat or cold. But despite all of the toys, Steel relied on his wits and training. He could not always rely on the gear. If it broke down or was lost, he would have to adapt.

  Steel picked up one pair of glasses, a cell phone and packed a set of contact lenses into his bag. He checked he had everything then closed the door and sealed the room.

  Steel took a black leather jacket from the coat rack and pulled it on. He looked around at his apartment and smiled as he pulled on his sunglasses. Steel knew he had to inform Whitehall as to what was going on sooner or later. Steel pulled out his cell phone and texted the office.

  Gone to see Marcus Foster in Malta, please send welcome pack. Back soon.

  Chapter Six

  Forest travelled south-east on the long and winding road from the San Lawrenz, stopping in Victoria’s city at the heart of Gozo. As he drank deeply from a newly purchased bottle of water, he looked around the town. Time could have stopped here in the 1930s. If only time could have stopped before Lucy died. The air thick and humid, Foster was reminded of bringing his daughters here when they were little girls and felt the loss deeply.

  Foster remembered the day trips they used to take to Gozo when they first came here. He smiled, clinging to the memory. The horn of a car pulled him back, and the smile faded.

  Another bottle of water in hand, he returned to his car, headed to the quaint coastal village of Mgarr, and the only route to Malta. As he drove onto the ferry, he could feel the temperature change. The coolness of the interior was a blessing; Gozo had been hot.

  The ferry took around twenty-five minutes to reach Cirkewwa on Malta itself. Just enough time to grab a coffee from one of the onboard kiosks.

  The sun was unforgiving, and the lack of a cold breeze made it worse. Foster used to laugh how the guy he replaced, would complain about the heat. Foster knew what twenty-five degrees felt like in New York, it was nothing. But on Malt, even the heat was different. Twenty-five in Malta could feel like fifty.

  Foster opened his car door and left it open for a moment, allowing some of the dry heat to escape from the vehicle before he got into it. He wasn’t in a rush; his boss had given him time off, given the circumstance. He leaned against his car and took a draw from a cigarette, anything to calm him for the drive home. It was that or drink. Smoking seemed the safer option.

  He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started it. Foster waited before moving off, allowing the sweet, cooled air to circulate from the car's air-conditioner. The drive back home would take a few hours over the harsh, but beautiful countryside due to some narrow roads and bad drivers. Foster put the car into drive and headed off. He had no idea how he was going to break the news to his wife. Lucy was the eldest of his two daughters by ten years, but the two girls had always been close. He feared this news would crush Abby.

  His mood made the journey back home seem longer. How could Foster tell his family what had happened, when he didn’t even know? He checked his watch. It was early afternoon, and the sun was high in the cloudless sky. He had stopped several times to gather his thoughts, and to delay the inevitable.

  Foster felt a sort of relief. Steel was on the way, and he would do what he could not. Foster would ask Steel to investigate what had happened to Lucy. This would be off the books, so he could not risk the Bureau finding out.

  This was a difficult time, and he needed Steel here, someone he could trust. The two men had been in the same unit. They had been through hell and back. Steel had said he would catch the next available flight, but that could be anytime. Foster figured Steel would transfer in London, and hoped for a quick turnaround, though flights did not always work out that way. He knew Steel would be here as soon as he could.

  Foster knew Steel better than most. He could be a cold bastard, that’s what made him good at what he did. Cold and calculated, but also as loyal and protective about his family.

  Steel had saved Foster’s life more times than he’d care to remember.

  Which made Steel perfect as Lucy’s godfather and Foster thought it only right, he knows what had happened.

  Foster felt better when Steel had said he was coming over. Steel was always big on taking care of people who meant a lot to him. Since the tragedy of losing his own family in a brutal murder, Steel had become to think of the Foster’s as family. As for the men who had killed his family, those Steel had found, Foster had imagined went screaming.

  Foster finally pulled into his driveway and parked. He turned the engine off and just sat. His gaze fixed on the large house. His large hands gripped the steering wheel, causing the covering to creak under pressure. He sucked in a large gulp of air and got out of the car.

  It was time.

  Chapter Seven

  The secure office phone rang. The Alpha waited, then picked up the receiver.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘We were right, it’s the cop,’ said Beta.

  ‘When is he leaving?’

  ‘He already left, he’ll change in London then getting a direct flight, he should be here tomorrow,’ said Beta.

  Alpha said nothing. He breathed slowly, letting his brain calculate.

  ‘Is the detail ready?’ Alpha asked at length.

  ‘Yes, they have the flight number,’ Beta replied.

  ‘Tell them not to engage, we don’t want to draw unnecessary attention. If he’s here for the girl, we can work around it,’ said Alpha.

  ‘And what about our orders, I thought —’

  ‘I make the decisions here, if it comes to it then yes, but we can’t risk unnecessary action, not until we know.’ Alpha’s voice was stern. How dare Beta talk to him like that? He was in charge.

  ‘Sorry, I – misspoke,’ said Beta.

  ‘Very well. You know the plan, that is what matters at the moment, we‒’ Alpha paused for what did not need saying. ‘‒The mission comes first. You can deal with the policeman later.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ said Beta.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Anyone can rough it,’ his old sergeant had always told Steel.

  Words to live by.

  It was going to be a long flight, so he knew he might as well make the most of it.

  Business-class all the way.

  The plane was a Boeing 777. A big old bird with seats he could relax into and not require a shoehorn to get out of. Steel was not one for pomp and ceremony; even though his father, the Earl, would i
nsist from time to time. Given that it was a long flight and needed to be fresh when he arrived, the business-class suited him fine.

  Most in his financial situation would have gone first class, but on a different floor with no exits.

  It was an enclosed bubble on top of the aircraft, with no means of a tactical advantage. And besides, Steel wasn’t a first-class kind of guy.

  Steel had taken a flight from JFK to London Gatwick, from there he took a direct flight to Malta. For him, time was of the essence, but unfortunately, the airlines had their own schedule. Steel had sent Foster an email giving him timings and flight numbers. Foster had offered to pick Steel at the airport, but Steel had said he would take a cab. Give Foster some time with his family. In reality, Steel did not think Foster would be in any shape to drive, given the circumstances. No, he would get a local taxi and take the time to think things through.

  Steel felt terrible that they hadn’t spoken in a long time, and he blamed himself for that. But when Steel had found SANTINI had discovered where he was, Steel needed to distance himself for everyone he cared about. But he had done it too late, and his team was ambushed on a fake mission. Many escaped, but not all.

  Once Steel was in the secret service, he was put onto missions all over the globe. But a lot of his time was spent hunting the group who had killed his family, it had almost consumed him – then he was integrated into the NYPD.

  He’d never forgotten those he had left behind, especially the Fosters who had been his second family.

  When Steel had thought it was best to put as much distance between him and them, hoping what had happened to his family, he wouldn’t happen the Foster’s.

  Steel made himself comfortable and waited for the plane to take off. Once airborne has free to use the internet. He needed to know what he was walking into. First, he would email the office in Whitehall, give them the facts, ask for any information relevant to Foster or his family. Next, he would check the local Maltese papers online, find out what was what.

  This could be an accident or murder. Either way, Steel needed facts.

  There was a roar from the engines as they began to taxi. One of the flight attendants was bringing round glasses of champagne or wine. Steel chose the champagne and sipped it slowly. Soon they would be in the air, and Steel’s investigation could begin.

  The flight landed late afternoon at the Malta International Airport the next day. The sun was high, with a few wisps of clouds covering the perfect blue sky. As Steel edged to the door, he braced himself for the sudden change in temperature. They would be going from air-conditioned twelve degrees to a roasting thirty-five in less than a second. Steel adjusted his wraparound sunglasses. He smiled at the attractive black-haired stewardess by the door.

  ‘Enjoy your stay, sir,’ said with a voice that made Steel week at the knees.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll find something to amuse myself,’ Steel said, still wearing the seductive smile. The airport was large – nothing compared to JFK, but big enough to accommodate the thousands of tourists. Steel took out his cell phone and sent a message to Foster that he had arrived safely and the name of the hotel he would be staying in.

  Foster just gave a simple emoji of a thumbs up. Steel cracked a smile, then place his phone away.

  Stepping out into the blazing afternoon sun, a warm breeze swept across Steel’s face as he scanned the faces of the waiting drivers. Some held up name cards, and others indicated the holiday service they were there for.

  Near the exit was a booth with a sign for Taxi Service. Next to it was a board with different locations and the set price. Steel located the price for Valletta and took out a twenty euro note. He paid his money to a woman with long black hair, a beautiful face strained by the pressure of her job. She took the cash, passed Steel a ticket and told him to wait until his number came up. The woman was calling out numbers, and tourists moved to their waiting transport. After a short while, another number was called over a tannoy. ‘Number twenty.’ Steel checked the number on his ticket and ventured into the brightness and warmth of the outside.

  Steel looked around until he saw a man leaning against the wall of the airport. The man was peeling an orange into a waste bin and whistling an unidentifiable tune. Steel walked past the local drivers who were pitching to him, calling out ‘cheap taxi, cheap taxi’, Steel kept on walking until he reached the man with the orange.

  ‘I take it you’re my ride?’ Steel asked, watching the man shove a large piece of the fruit into his mouth.

  ‘How’d ya figure that’?’ the man replied in an East London accent.

  ‘Because you’re the only one whose not bothering me, which means you work for the firm,’ Steel said with a smile. ‘or I might be wrong and your just some bloke eating fruit.’ The cabbie laughed and ushered Steel to follow. Steel followed the man to the parking area – which wasn’t too far from the terminal.

  ‘I’m Stan,’ the man said, offering Steel a handshake.

  ‘John,’ Steel replied, shaking Stan’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Stan.’

  ‘So, where we goin?’ Stan asked before sticking another slice of orange into his mouth.

  ‘The Grand Excelsior in Vallette.’ Stan nodded as if complimenting Steel on his choice.

  They walked in silence, measuring one another up.

  Stan headed towards a red minibus. Though a few years old it looked in good condition. Well cared for and maintained.

  Steel thought the passenger windows had a smoked tint on them – for the passengers’ comfort. He just hoped it had an air-conditioner.

  ‘What, no black cab?’ Steel asked with a grin.

  ‘Na, they wouldn’t let me bring one,’ the driver replied with a disappointed look.

  Steel could not be sure if the man was joking or not - but smiled all the same.

  Stan looked at Steel and the small bag he was carrying.

  ‘Not stayin,’ then?’ Stan said.

  ‘Don’t know yet, could be… life is full of surprises.’

  ‘And you don’t like surprises I take it?’ Stan laughed.

  ‘Depends on what they are?’ Steel shrugged and got into the bus, placing the small case next to him. Stan smiled to himself and climbed into the driver’s side, then started the engine.

  Stan was a short man in his late fifties. He had a shiny, shaved head, with gold-rimmed sunglasses that perched on a button nose. He was slightly paunchy from too much good food, most of which was hidden beneath an awful Hawaiian shirt.

  ‘Where you from?’ Stan asked, looking in the rear-view mirror. However, before Steel had a chance to answer, Stan was interrupting with fun facts.

  The rest of the journey was quite the same, a question followed by a fact or reference to something. Steel smiled, a London cabbie in Malta, acting as a London cabbie.

  Steel was glad he did not have to talk. All he wanted was to get to the hotel, grab a refreshing shower and possibly a cold mojito.

  The main roads winded up and down, left, and right – like a long concrete roller coaster. The road narrowed in places and hugging the sides of hills while huge drops on the sides. The snaking routes followed the landscape’s contours, taking them past breath-taking rugged scenery and small villages.

  The air was thin and hot despite the vehicle’s aircon.

  Steel noticed the change in scenery, the closer they got to the city. How houses that fitted into the early thirties blended in with the modern golf club and horse racing track. Olive groves and vineyards sat next to roads, adding a bit of green to the dry, arid landscape. It was a beautiful medley that he looked forward to seeing more. Steel also noticed Stan was texting a lot, which was possibly nothing, so Steel put it to the back of his mind.

  They travelled along the Triq Nazzjonali highway, which then turned into the Triq Sant’ Anna and Valletta, the capital city. Steel looked in fascination at the mix of old and new architecture, but everything had the same style regardless of age. Some of the streets that went through the tow
ns narrowed to being suicidal, but they soon opened out to give a fantastic view.

  Stan turned off Triq Sant’ Anna and followed Triq L-AssedJu L-Kbir towards the coast and the hotel entrance. Through the bustling city, full of tourists and shoppers. The view from his window getting more fantastic.

  There were parks, ancient buildings, palm trees and the never-ending blue sky. Steel looked at the street name they were on Great Siege Road. And he wondered what had happened in the island’s history to warrant such a name.

  Steel had to admit he wasn’t the greatest when it came to the history of a place. The truth was he never needed to do that kind of research. Most of Steel’s research pertained to a job, or a person, never the past deeds of a country or city.

  The realisation that he knew very little about the places he had visited saddened Steel. He knew the city’s tactical layouts, the best and fastest routes in and out, entry and exit strategies. Where the police stations were, how far to the airport or harbour.

  But he never studied the history of a place.

  Steel promised himself, while he was on the trip, he would change that. If he had time.

  Perhaps, once he was sure Forster was safe, he would stay longer and have an actual holiday. Steel knew he wouldn’t be missed at the 11th Precinct. Captain Brant would be the first to encourage Steel to stay away, for as long as possible. McCall, however, would be a different story. Steel had grown fond of their love-hate relationship, but he knew once he was gone, he’d be forgotten.

  The cab turned left onto Triq Vincenzo Dimech. Then Stan took a sharp right, and onto the hotel’s driveway. This continued down a driveway until it came to the large circular courtyard of the Grand Hotel Excelsior Malta’s main entrance.