Maltese Steel

Chapter 8

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 insist 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, the passengers were 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 towns 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, which read ‘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.

Steel sat for a moment and looked out of the passenger window at the grand structure. Its 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 were 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 held 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 lobby's layout. 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 the 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 that 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.