Maltese Steel Page 5

  Extended by the shopping trip, the journey through small villages, open country roads gave Steel time to think.

  Why was he really here, what was the purpose of Foster’s invitation after all these years? The guy worked for the CIA if they were hunting down terrorists, he had unlimited resources without Steel.

  No, whatever it was either off the books or personal – or worse – both.

  It was five-fifty-five when they arrived. ‘Five minutes before a parade,’ Steel could hear his old drill sergeant scream.

  Sometimes that five minutes made all the difference.

  It did back then.

  Two things Steel learned from his days in the British Army.

  One; never volunteer for anything.

  Two; Five minutes before a parade, that way you’ll never be late.

  Words to live by.

  Steel took in the scenery as Stan wound through the small towns, often getting stuck behind a tourist who had a rental car and had no idea where they were going. Just outside Attard Stan pulled up next to a store he knew so Steel could get the flowers and wine. While Steel paid, he noticed that Stan was on his cell phone texting again. The man had been texting with someone almost the entire trip. Steel put it down as nothing to be concerned about, just a guy who liked to keep in touch, maybe a girlfriend or something?

  Steel got back in the minibus cab and closed the door, all the while wondering what Foster’s invitation was really about.

  The cab wound through the dusty streets full of mixed looking houses, before pulling up to a long driveway between two houses.

  ‘Here you go, sir. If you need me to pick you up…’ Stan said, making a telephone gesture.

  ‘Yeah… I know, just call,’ Steel smiled and gave the cabbie twenty-five euros before getting out, and taking his shopping bags with him. He shut the door and moved out of the way before Stan took off at speed, spitting loose gravel and pebbles everywhere. Steel paused for a moment, looking up both sides of the street as if he was unsure about what he was about to do and was weighing up an escape strategy. But Steel was checking for anything he considered strange – out of place. Just like the shiny blue mini down the road with a person sitting in it. Steel had seen it on the way down. He had seen the person had a paper map and a navigation system out. They could have been lost, a tourist who did not know their way around. Possible. Steel added it to memory, just in case.

  Steel began to walk down the path. The houses either side did not have much in plants and no lawn in the back gardens. He could tell the island was on some water allowance that did not cater to greenery. Some houses had pools, for those who could afford to fill them.

  Foster’s house was large but humble, not the fancy white picket fence and big garden he had always dreamed of having. The house was three stories, with off-white walls and a terracotta tiled roof.

  Steel found the Mediterranean look pleasant – quaint even. Out front, there were two cars parked. One was a large black Range Rover, and the other a massive white Mitsubishi four-by-four. Steel noticed the adjacent garage had been converted into an extra room.

  Steel took a moment as he walked up to check the place out. Motion-activated cameras covered the front door and driveway. As he stood at the door, he looked across to the window to his right. The inner framework had a three-centimetre strip of aluminium next to the glass. A piece of obsolete metal to some, but Steel recognised it as laser meshing. A calibrated net of beams connected to an alarm, which sounded when the window was struck. The glass was probably bulletproof.

  Why?

  Steel did not understand.

  As far as Steel knew, Foster was a section chief in charge of monitor watchers. They were the eyes for the Navy and passport control.

  Maybe Foster thought his past might catch up with him. In all the years they served in teams, Steel never knew Foster to be paranoid.

  Careful, yes – but never like this.

  The door swung open, and a fifteen-year-old girl stood in the doorway. She was a cute kid who had her mother’s looks. She wore jeans and a band T-shirt, her long brown hair fell straight down. Steel was shocked, last time he’d last seen Abby she was knee-high.

  ‘Yes,’ asked the girl with an unfriendly attitude.

  ‘Abby? I suppose you don’t remember me. My name is John, and I used to work with your father,’ Steel said. Hoping for some reaction apart from a shoulder shrug.

  ‘No,’ she replied before slamming the door, followed by a loud sorrowful cry.

  Steel smiled and shook his head. He remembered when she was little girl, all freckles and braces. Now she was grown up. Cute innocence replaced by an angry teenager.

  ‘Why’s the door shut? Didn’t you ask him in?’

  Steel heard his friend yell out after his kid.

  The door opened, and Foster stood there. He still stood tall, but his black hair had been replaced by a silver –Steel thought it suited him. The years of good food and desk work had added a couple of pounds. Despite that, Foster still looked in good shape.

  Foster’s eyes widened with relief at the sight of his old friend.

  ‘I don’t think much of your maid service,’ Steel joked.

  ‘Probably thought you were a beggar in those rags,’ Foster shot back, pointing to Steel’s thousand-dollar suit. The two men laughed and embraced like brothers.

  ‘How you doing?’ Steel asked. He saw the look of dismay on Foster’s face. His were red from too much crying.

  ‘Better… I guess. Hasn’t really sunk in yet.’

  Steel nodded; he knew that pain all too well.

  ‘Good to see you, buddy,’ Foster said.

  At first, Steel said nothing; he just hung in the large man’s vice-like grip. Steel just stood there, trying not to lose hold of the wine or the flowers.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ Foster said and led Steel inside.

  Steel followed Foster through the house to a large kitchen, and then to the backyard. There was a small, dried grass patch at the bottom of the square-shaped grounds, only a wall of high hedges enclosed space with a large pool and a patio. Between the house and the pool stood a long metal table with a marble effect plastic top, surrounded by eight wicker chairs.

  Several small trees in terracotta pots lined the garden and other potted plants that had blossomed into various blues, reds, and yellows.

  This added some life to the otherwise dry garden.

  A black and white cat walked along the poolside before finding a shady spot in the corner of the back yard.

  Martha Foster was a stunning woman. She had been then and even more so now. He remembered long golden locks that used to flow over her shoulders. But now, she wore her hair short. It suited her – but then everything looked good on her.

  Even with the loose-fitting white dress, her figure was still that of a model ‒ a career she had given up, to be with Foster. She may have given up the catwalk, but boy, could she still turn heads.

  Martha was busy putting wine glasses on the long table, ready for his visit. Her movements were slow and laboured like she had no energy.

  Steel stood silently in the kitchen doorway and just looked at the vision before him. Waiting to see her reaction.

  It seemed like a lifetime since their last meeting.

  Foster coughed subtlety as if to get her attention.

  Martha Foster turned with a broken smile to look at her husband. As she looked up, her gaze fell upon a familiar sight.

  ‘Hello Martha,’ Steel simply said.

  Martha cried as she rushed forwards. Martha threw her arms around him and held him tight. ‘Thank you for coming, it means a lot,’ Martha said. Her voice was soft, but something about her tone made Steel uneasy.

  ‘These are for you,’ Steel said, handing her the flowers. Martha smiled and thanked him. Taking the flowers, Martha searched for a vase, and Marcus took the wine.

  Steel watched Marcus and Martha as they busied themselves with opening wine and arranging
the flowers. But all the while, Steel got the feeling there was more to his being there than just helping to morn poor Lucy. Steel had seen the redness of Martha’s eyes, the drawn look in her face. She had been crying. Abby was angry, and Foster was attempting to put on a brave face for his family.

  Chapter Twelve

  Somewhere in the harsh lands of Tunisia, a man sat alone in semi-darkness. A low glow of light was coming from two standard lamps. These stood opposite each other in the large square room, the light was enough to break up the darkness at one end of the room. But failed to illuminate the twenty-twenty room completely. He sat on a claret leather chair in front of a large desk, carved from olive wood. On the desktop was a large monitor, a cordless phone, and an old brass desk lamp.

  The room itself had little in the way of furnishings. Two leather armchairs sat on a large Persian rug, between them a small oval oak coffee table. Along the right-hand wall was an antique bookcase to the left a large painting of a battle scene, set in the first Afghan war. The image was called The Last Stand, the final fight of the 44th Regiment at Gundamuck in 1842. Men on a rock platform surrounded by incoming hordes.

  The man sipped green tea from a Turkish glass teacup. The weak light masked his face. However, his white cotton shirt stood out from the shadows. His hands were large and bore signs of hard labour. His short-sleeved shirt revealed a tattoo of a crescent moon under an open star on his left wrist, where a watch face would sit.

  There was a knock on the single wooden door, then a young bearded man walked in and stood in the centre of the room. Waiting to be called forwards. Even in his loose-fitting khaki clothes, his trembling was apparent.

  He was in the presence of The Master.

  A man that governments had sort, but never found, a man that would bring death to the invaders.

  The man in the chair moved, only a beckoning hand. The young man approached and whispered something into his master’s ear. The Master waited until the young man had finished, then with a quick, upward thrust, pushed the glass cup into the boy’s right eye. The boy screamed before the man grabbed him and smashed his head onto the table. There was a crunch of glass as the wooden desk drove the glass deeper into the boy’s head.

  The screams stopped, and The Master sat back in his chair. The body slid off the desk and fell into a bloody heap on the bare concrete floor. In the open doorway stood a tall, bearded man in a dark suit.

  ‘I thought you might take the news badly,’ said the man in the doorway. ‘Don’t worry, the other plan will be active soon. There will be no mistakes.’

  ‘There better not Aamir. There better not,’ The Master said. His voice was deep and ancient. Aamir bowed and then waved behind him before moving out of the way. Letting two large built men into the room to retrieve the blood-soaked body of the boy. As Aamir closed the door, The Master opened a desk drawer and pulled out a picture of a woman and a little girl.

  ‘Soon my darlings…. Soon.’ His voice was as deep as his anger. He put the photograph away again and locked the drawer. The Master pulled himself out of the chair and walked towards the door.

  There was much to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun had kissed the horizon leaving a canvas of deep orange, reds and a wash of purple. The open sky and an easterly breeze had brought a crispness to the evening.

  To Steel, it was still warm.

  All through the meal, the conversation had been limited to chit chat. As if avoiding talking about Lucy. But Steel did not expect anything else.

  They had asked what Steel was doing now. Steel had answered but knew they weren’t really interested. Abby had stayed in her room, the thought of food and guests was somehow wrong in her eyes.

  The meal had been cleared just moments before. Steel had almost forgotten how good a cook Martha was. She had presented traditional Maltese food, including a tasty macaroni bake with a cheese topping. There were olives, bread, different cheeses and plenty of wine.

  After the substantial meal, Foster helped Martha clear the table and bring out the coffee. Foster placed down a long wooden tray onto the table. He then off-loaded the large crockery coffee pot, three mugs, a sugar bowl, and a milk jug of the same design.

  ‘What happened?’ Steel said bluntly.

  ‘They don’t know, local PD is investigating. Sergeant Gann Burlo has the case,’ Foster said.

  ‘What did the Medical Examiner say?’ Steel asked, before taking a sip from the coffee.

  ‘He hasn’t done the autopsy yet, tomorrow I think,’ Foster replied.

  Steel watched as Martha stood up. She said she was going back to bed and did not have the stomach to hear about her daughter’s death. Martha said goodnight, and with a gentle kiss on the cheek, thanked Steel for coming.

  It was almost as if she had already asked him to do something. He was just fearful of what it was.

  Foster led Steel into his study, which turned out to be the renovated garage. Foster’s workplace, away from work.

  The overpowering stench of cigars and strong coffee hung in the air. Steel knew by looking at the full ashtray on the desk, and the empty crystal whisky glass, that Foster had been there most of the day.

  ‘Talk to me, Marcus,’ Steel asked as he placed himself down on one of the leather armchairs.

  ‘Yesterday morning…’ Foster paused as he closed his eyes. The apparent pain of running through the events etched onto his face. ‘Lucy’s body was discovered at a place called Blue Hole Divesite. It’s near Azure Window on Gozo Island,’ Foster murmured. As if not wanting to be overheard by the rest of the house.

  ‘She jumped?’ Steel asked.

  ‘No… I mean, I don’t think so… I …I don’t know.’ Foster said, tears in his eyes.

  ‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Steel said. Trying to calm and reassure his friend.

  ‘Jonnie, I don’t even know what she was doing there. She was supposed to be at a friends house. Or that’s what she told us,’ Foster said. Suddenly realising how much he did not know his daughter, or what she had been doing.

  ‘So, the police are calling it a suicide, and you don’t want to believe it? It happens, kids go off the rails about all sorts of crap nowadays,’ Steel asked bluntly.

  Foster shot Steel an angry look.

  ‘What do you need me to do?’ Steel said.

  What do you want me to do? To Foster and to Steel meant the same thing.

  To everyone else, it was a simple request.

  What do you want me to do? This wasn’t just a simple request in Steel’s or Foster’s eyes. This was asking for permission.

  What do you want me to do? Or rather – do I have Carte Blanche?

  ‘Investigate, find out what happened over there, and if some bastard is responsible‒’ Foster’s eyes were bloodshot with anger. His voice rumbled with a vengeance.

  ‘We do things my way. If I don’t like the situation… I walk,’ Steel said. He stood up and placing his brandy glass down on the small coffee table which sat between the chairs.

  ‘Agreed,’ Foster said.

  Foster shook Steel’s hand and nodded.

  ‘OK… tell me everything, and don’t leave anything out,’ Steel said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Around nine that evening, James Calver arrived back to his flat. His ginger tom, Percy, was curled up on a throw blanket which protected Calver’s brown fabric couch.

  Naturally, Percy was too busy licking at its left leg to notice Calver.

  Calver walked into the kitchen and placed the shopping bags onto the work surface. His cupboards and refrigerator were almost empty.

  The kitchen was big enough for one – in fact, the whole apartment was perfect for a single person. It was a two-bedroom apartment, but one of those rooms was now a small gym

  The kitchen and sitting room was open-plan, with only a breakfast bar to separate them. A large Ultra High Definition television hung on the right-hand wall so he could watch tv from the kitchen. The walls were painted off-whit
e,. It was also light enough to reflect the sun’s rays – making it bearable in the summer which got up well into the high thirties.

  He turned on his computer and pressed the button on his answering machine to check his messages. ‘You have seven new messages,’ said the electronic female voice.

  One was from his mother. The others were just marketers, and another was from a girl who realised she had the wrong number. Calver smiled to himself as he listened to her voice. She sounded hot, but she was also drunk and wanting to kill some guy called Mike.

  Lucky Mike, he thought.

  Calver packed away a carton of eggs, some cheese, packs of cut meat into the refrigerator. Then he grabbed a beer to celebrate.

  He had food in the apartment – yey!

  The computer monitor showed a picture of a red moon setting over the ocean, with the Azure Window in the foreground. It was a photoshop picture, but he did not care, it looked great on the thirty-two-inch monitor. Calver typed in his password and waited the few seconds it would take to boot up.

  He had around a hundred emails in his inbox. Most of it was junk and some links from several networking sites. He sat in his black office chair, sipping his beer and began to delete the unimportant ones. A simple click of the mouse and they were gone. He spotted an email from the Harley Davidson shop he had been to in Attard. They had sent him information on a Softail he had asked about the week before.

  It was a luxury he could not really afford, but things were about to change for him in a big way. When that happened; he would have enough to quit his job and live on a small island somewhere.

  Seven more emails went in the trash. However, the next made Calver stop and sit up, his eyes fixed on the heading. Calver’s hand tighten on the mouse.

  I know what you did on Gozo, it read. The email had probably come from a public place like an internet cafe, with no real way of tracking the sender even if he found the computer.

  Those few simple words could ruin everything he had started.