Maltese Steel

Chapter 9

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 mouthful 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. s**t, 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.’