Maltese Steel Read online

  Steel sat for a moment and looked out of the passenger window at the grand structure. It’s looming white walls, towered high above. Stan had parked at the entranceway under a colossal veranda, which sheltered them from the overwhelming sunlight.

  Steel got out of the minibus and leaned through the open window of the passenger side. Steel handed the Stan fifteen euros tip and nodded with a smile. Stan returned the smile and gave a short salute before skipping back to the driver’s side.

  ‘You got a card just in case I need you again?’ Steel asked, leaning on the open driver’s side window. Stan took a card from a stack that was in the cup holder next to the gear shift. Steel took it and looked at the business card. Stan Falan Taxi, and below that was the telephone number. Steel placed it into his jacket pocket and stepped back from the vehicle, as Stan took off. Steel grabbed his case and headed inside via the large glass entrance doors.

  Inside was crisp with a fresh breeze provided by the air-conditioner, causing Steel to shiver slightly with the temperature change.

  The hotel lobby was large and elegant, a long red carpet stretched across a polished marble floor. The ground level looked as grand as its name. Above, two lavish chandeliers sparkled overhead as the light was reflected through a thousand cut glass jewels. To the left was the concierge’s desk, and the check-in desk was around the corner from that. Two arched red-carpeted stairways led to the first floor. Beyond where the staircases met was the bar, seating area, and the downward stairwell that led to the dining room; which sat parallel with the front entrance.

  As Steel stood in the lobby, he took note of the people. Most were rushing here and there, while others sat staring at their electronic devices, making the most of the free WIFI. An elderly couple sat near the entrance clutching camera bags, eyes wide with anticipation of the tour bus’s arrival.

  A doorman wearing a grey waistcoat; the hotel’s logo on the breast pocket took Steel’s bags and followed him towards reception. As they approached the desk, Steel noticed two men stepping out of the elevator.

  The men both looked in their fifties. The taller had the look of wall street about him, the other, the bearing of a company man, CIA, or one of those three-letter agencies. The grey suits were similar, but Steel would bet there was a hefty price difference between them.

  Steel noted a laminated pass hung around the tall man’s neck. It bore the man’s photograph and ArmourCraft Industries in bold red letters. The left side bore a graphic representation of a black horse’s head.

  Steel figured this was the firm’s logo – a simple design that had an ancient Greco-Roman feel. The kind of design found on a shield or banner.

  As Steel stood in the line of people waiting to check-in. The two men passed close by. Close enough for Steel to catch a small part of their heated conversation.

  ‘Everything is going to plan. Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of,’ said the smaller man.

  The large man had an angry, bore a disbelieving look.

  ‘We have a lot of money riding on this. If we go down… so do you,’ the tall man threatened.

  Steel turned slightly to his left and watched the two men head for the bar, committing them to memory. Something was obviously amiss and had the potential of being an exciting eavesdrop. Still, Steel had other things on his mind and did not need that kind of distraction.

  Steel turned back to the queue of people. In front of him, a German couple waited impatiently. The man was in his late forties, with a beer belly and broad shoulders, dyed-brown hair sat upon a bloated, red face from either too much sun or anger. His wife was a tall brunette, in a tight leopard print dress, she looked high maintenance. The woman looked at her watch every five seconds as if that would hurry things along. Steel looked over at the desk, and the young woman behind reception was tending to a young couple. Steel smiled as the couple’s young boy, and the girl began to fidget and annoy each other. The boy who was around eight was teasing his maybe-six-year-old sister. To the annoyance of the mother – and the waiting German’s behind them.

  As Steel waited, he took the time to check the layout of the lobby, noted the position of the three elevators to his right, stairwells, and entrances to the restaurant and bar. He mapped the open space, a tactical layout in his head. Steel saw every pillar as cover, every fire extinguisher as a weapon.

  Or a distraction.

  As the family wrestled their children towards the elevators to get to their rooms, the German couple rushed forwards

  While he waited, Steel checked his cell phone for missed calls, but only had the usual greeting from the Maltese cell company telling the rates. Steel closed down the cell phone and tucked it back into his pocket. He watched as the German couple finished checking-in and were now headed after a porter with a loaded brass luggage trolley.

  As Steel stepped towards the desk, he smiled at the attractive raven-haired woman. She returned the smile.

  ‘Hi, I believe you have a reservation for me, the name is John Steel,’ he said. Passing her his credit card and passport.

  ‘I’ll just check for you sir,’ she held the cheeky smile as she checked for the reservation. Her smile became almost cat-like as she saw what he had booked.

  ‘So, Mr Steel, we have you for ten days in the Presidential Suite,’ she handed him a check-in card to fill out and prepared his key card.

  ‘There is a possibility that date could extend, is that a problem?’ Steel asked. Thinking that he might actually have a vacation after he sorted Foster’s problem out.

  ‘No sir, that shouldn’t be a problem at all,’ she replied, seeing that there were no reservations for that suite until the next month.

  ‘Thank you,’ Steel took back his credit card and passport and took the room card keys from her. He headed for the elevators.

  The Presidential Suite was huge, with two bedrooms, and a fair-sized bathroom. There were a dining room and a large sitting room with a big flat-screen tv and a writing desk. The sitting area had a long sliding window which led out onto a large terrace.

  The room was pleasantly cool due to the air conditioning working throughout the suite. Steel explored, smiled and shook his head at the extravagance.

  It was pricey, but then ‘anyone can rough it.’

  Between the long couch with its expensive covers and two armchairs with the same style covering, the lounge area had a small coffee table holding champagne on ice. Two flutes stood to the side. The silver bucket was drenched with condensation. Peaking from underneath a carefully arranged napkin, was the neck of a bottle of champagne. Steel smiled as he uncorked the bottle then filled one of the flutes on the silver tray.

  He took the glass and stepped out onto the terrace. Looking over the fantastic view, Steel raised the glass to salute the city.

  Chapter Nine

  Foster sat at his desk in his small office at the back of his house. His wife had taken Valium and was lying on their bed, crying, Lucy’s favourite teddy bear, a tattered brown thing with one eye, clutched in her arms.

  He knew she needed to be alone, time to work through her grief, to come to terms with what had happened. It was her way. He had learnt that through twenty years of marriage.

  So, he sat at his desk, a large glass of Jack in one hand and a family photograph in the other.

  The alcohol did not help. If anything, it made things worse.

  He went to take another sip but paused and looked at his computer screen. A message alerted him that he had mail. A quick scowl almost scorned the machine for the interruption.

  He placed down both the whisky tumbler and the photograph, then leaned forwards to operate the keyboard. He had several emails, most of which he had known but left for later. But one was new.

  An email from a friend.

  He opened the email, and a broken smile crossed his face as he read the contents.

  Steel has arrived. He’s at the Excelsior. Foster picked up the glass of whisky, leaned back in the cream leather office chair, and took a mouth
ful of the golden liquid. Feeling the warm tingle at the back of his throat, he swallowed.

  Foster figured with traffic and the roads; it was a good twenty minutes’ car journey from the hotel to his house. That depended on if Steel was unlucky enough to get a taxi driver who wanted to show him the sights instead of route direct.

  Foster leaned forwards, placed the whisky glass down onto the desk and took a burner phone from his desk drawer.

  He paused for a moment; eyes fixed on the phone.

  He placed the cell phone back in the draw and picked up the cordless phone from his desk with a head shake.

  The years he’d served with the SEAL’s and the agency had taught him to cover his tracks – to watch his ass. A simple thing like a new burner phone was subtle but effective.

  However, the best way to hide something is to put it in plain sight. After all, as far as anyone knew, Steel was an old friend here on vacation.

  ‘Grand Excelsior Hotel,’ said a man’s deep voice.

  Foster pictured a tall man with a barrel chest and a beard on the other end line. ‘Mr Steel’s room please,’ he asked before taking another sip from the whisky.

  ‘One moment, please,’ replied the baritone.

  Foster stood up and carried his almost empty glass to an antique rosewood drinks cabinet. He added a measure.

  ‘Putting you through now sir,’ said the deep voice, making Foster smile as the image crept back into his mind.

  ‘What’s up, Marcus? Checking I got here, OK?’ Steel’s voice rang with a touch of dry humour.

  ‘No. Checking you ain’t got a chick with you already,’ Foster said. There was a brief moment of silence – both of the men choosing what to say next. Steel broke the silence.

  ‘How are you doing old friend?’

  ‘Not great, better now you’re here,’ Foster said.

  ‘Martha and Abby?’

  ‘Martha’s in bed, she’s taken something to help her rest. Abby’s…well angry,’ Foster explained.

  ‘Sorry bud, I know it’s hard.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you do, you’ve been there. Shit, you had it worse,’ Foster growled.

  ‘I come over in the morning, give you guys time.’

  ‘That’s ok. Look, get a cab and come over, you’re having dinner with us tonight. Say around six?’ Foster said. ‘I would pick you up, but I’m kinda…’

  ‘Yeah, I get it,’ Steel said sympathetically. ‘Give me the address, I’ll be over soon.’

  Chapter Ten

  James Calver sat at his computer, tracking a fishing boat coming from Tunisia and travelling fast. Calver had zoomed the satellite image in as far as he dared.

  A few crew members were visible on deck, each dressed in waterproofs and going about their business. But something seemed wrong. Calver used the computer to check the vessel out. A fishing boat out of Egypt called the Al-Thar. Calver dialled a number and placed on his headset.

  ‘Charlie two-four, we have a vessel on approach to sector fifteen from La Goulette. Be advised the vessel is on a fast approach,’ Calver said.

  ‘Roger that,’ a voice said. ‘Charlie two-four, two minutes. Out.’

  Calver smiled as he watched as three small shapes leave the USS Nemesis, the aircraft carrier on operations in the area. They would have to wait until the ship was in Maltese water before they could do anything. The vessel held a steady course for the west side of Malta.

  Possibly one of the quiet beaches.

  Calver’s suspicions were confirmed.

  The vessel was undoubtedly a drop-off boat. Probably the ship Intel had warned of. A group of radicals hoping to get into the US, through Malta via the UK.

  Unfortunately, the source had failed to provide pictures or names, so the whole crew was suspect. Guilty until proved innocent was the way things went since 911.

  After the influx of people pouring into Europe, claiming to be Syrian refugees, security measures had gotten tighter everywhere. Before it had been easy to spot a possible infiltration, now, it was a damned nightmare. That’s where the new system would come in.

  Brand new facial recognition software would be linked to every country. It was fool-proof for spotting known terrorists in seconds. Even if they had a facial disguise.

  The new system had proven to be ninety-nine per cent accurate. However, the bad guys were getting smarter. And that was a problem.

  The new system had been trialled by all the agencies. In four days, it was due to come online. Until then, the people of Section G would have to stay alert and be on the ball.

  Calver leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his blonde hair, as the black hawk helicopters approached the ship.

  Calver was twenty-five and working for the man. Snatched up from MIT for being a computer whiz. He remembered the day the Agency poached him. Remembered how the sound of being an agent gave him visions of working overseas, sipping vodka martinis and beautiful bedding women. They never mentioned being stuck nearly fifteen stories underground in a nuclear blast-proof rabbit hole.

  His blue eyes fixed on the screen as the helicopters hovered above the ship. The orders from the team leader rang in his ear like running commentary. The yells and shouts of command, ‘Let’s go boys and keep it tight and by the numbers. Kowalski and Dicks, you got point.’ There was zipping noise as the commander used the abseil rope. Then the sound of military boots hammering on steel deck flooring made it sound like a radio sketch. On another monitor, he had the helmet camera feeds. Live footage was reordered for playback if required.

  ‘Zero, this Charlie two-four, the target is secure. Zero casualties. Awaiting escort for pickup of the package. Zero, be advised package is full. I repeat, the package is full,’ said the voice.

  ‘Roger that Charlie-two-four, good job and nice catch,’ Calver said. Relieved at the lack of casualties, he sat back in his chair and blew out a sigh of relief. He stood up and stretched.

  The five hours sat on his ass had taken its toll.

  The shift was twelve hours, with an hour break in the middle. Janis would come around with a drinks trolley, offering refreshments so that they did not have to leave the desks.

  The section chiefs had at least been generous and said they could make their workspace their own. Calver had several comic book superhero bobbleheads and a plastic cactus on his desk. Whereas others had pictures of their families or cars. The bosses had figured that a homely feel improved working conditions. The idea was fewer people went sick, and morale would be better, making the place more efficient.

  Calver shook off his five-foot-nine frame and did some short arm and back exercises. He could feel the pain in his lower-back subside as he touched his toes. But it came back as he straightened out. Twelve hours sat down sounded dreamy, but it had its downsides. For some of Calver’s colleagues, it was too much junk food and lack of exercise, for others, it was the absence of quick smoke breaks.

  In his two years here, he had seen people come and go, but he stuck it out. His transfer applications had gone through to an office in Washington weeks ago. Now, it was a case of keeping his mouth shut, do a good job, and wait.

  Calver looked at his screen and saw the patrol boats surround the ship, then the Black Hawks left. The destroyers wouldn’t be too far away.

  Mission accomplished.

  The ship would be searched by bomb disposal units. They would do a sweep with sniffer dogs for explosives and traps. The crew would be kept on board the vessel until it was deemed necessary, and safe, to transfer them onto a holding facility. He tried to imagine what full was. Apparently, his interpretation and the team leaders differed. Amount and content mattered to the people upstairs. It mattered to him because a big score could get him noticed. However, the section chief wasn’t there; he had to have some personal time apparently. Today was not the day for him to be nursing his kid’s flu. Today of all days, he should be there to witness Calver’s glory.

  Chapter Eleven

  Steel showered and changed. He
slipped on the black suit and the black polo shirt he had packed. The refreshing shower had done the trick, but he feared the air-conditioned room gave his body false hope for what awaited outside. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Steel pulled out the cabbie’s business card and phoned the number. There was something about Stan that intrigued Steel. It was one of those feelings he would have but could not quite put his finger on it. So, Steel decided to keep the man close. It was probably nothing, but he had to be sure.

  ‘Be there in twenty minutes’ was the promise. Steel went down to the bar and had a quick double Jonnie Walker Blue. Steel looked out through the panoramic windows, the sparkling lights of the town across the water offered a hypnotic sight.

  Steel checked his watch, then finished his drink before heading for the hotel entrance.

  As the British cabbie pulled the minibus up in front of the hotel, Steel smiled. The guy was there with five minutes to spare.

  Not bad.

  ‘I hope you didn’t run any red lights to get to me?’ Steel joked, but Stan just rocked his hand from side-to-side, as if to say ‘maybe.’ The cabbie laughed as Steel climbed into the cab and clicked on his seat belt. The cabbie started the engine, then put his foot down. The engine screamed like a small, wounded animal as the vehicle took off, leaving a cloud of black, oily smoke.

  ‘Where too, guvnor?’ Stan asked, his mouth still full of whatever foul-smelling thing he was having for his supper.

  ‘This address,’ Steel said, passing the address to Stan. ‘Also, I need to pick up wine and flowers on the way.’ Foster lived in a town called Attard which was to the north, which Steel had discovered using the map search, was also close to the American Embassy.

  Stan grumbled to himself before putting the destination into his navigation system.