Maltese Steel

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Maltese Steel - book excerpt

Chapter 1

A cold March wind brushed Lucy Foster’s cheeks as she plummeted from the top of the Azure Window. Once a rocky arch that stretched out from the Maltese Island of Gozo. Now just rock face with the broken pieces of the massive arch buried under the waves.

It was said to be one of the wonders of the world, but after a tremendous storm wreaked havoc on both islands – it was no more. The craggy archway lost to the deep.

The midnight sky was black and cold, but not as cold as the ocean below. Lucy would not feel it. The velocity of her fall masked the smell of the sea air. Around her, the sounds of the wind were dulled by the crashing of the waves.

However, Lucy did not feel or hear anything.

There was no light from the moon for the waves to reflect, which would have made the fall from the cliff seem endless – as if it was a nightmare.

Lucy’s body slammed against the ocean as if the water were made from concrete. Her neck snapped back, and her ribs shattered. Her right arm was dislocated and pulled towards her back.

She had felt nothing.

The waves tossed her fragile body up like a piece of driftwood. The wind howled, and the waves roared. Towering waves crashed against each other. Pounded relentlessly against Lucy’s limp body again and again. Giant, claw-like waves reached up and grabbed her, pulling her down to the depths. The ocean surrendered her battered body to the surface once more as if tired with its prey. The waves crashed as the wind howled.

Finally, Lucy’s body vanished beneath the surface, dragged down into the blackened depths as she was swallowed into the abyss.

Chapter 2

At the same time, over four-thousand miles away from Gozo’s coast, John Steel sat in his office at the NYPD’s 11th precinct. The room had been an old storage room that he had commandeered. The walls were a mix of half red-painted plaster and a lower half made from dark wooden panels. The hardened concrete of the floor was now hidden under a polished wood. There were brass lamps and Cambridge style bookshelves. The whole place looked as though it should belong in a stately home.

John Steel sat behind a long oak desk. The top was covered with green leather. On the desk was a computer monitor to his right, and a landline pushed far to the left. The computer keyboard and mouse were in front of the monitor, leaving the centre of the desk free. To his right hung a large, lifeless flatscreen monitor, which showed nothing apart from the room’s reflection. His eyes glanced over the report he had just written and was about to file.

Steel sighed profoundly and tossed down the file in frustration. He had been assigned to the NYPD to monitor and – if necessary – hinder the operations of an organisation called SANTINI.

SANTINI was an underground organisation that dealt in murder, assassinations, arms smuggling, anything that would serve its purpose. However, unlike organisations such as the Italian Mafia, Yakuza, White Russian Mafia, SANTINI remained in the shadows. Carrying out assignments that would be profitable and draw no attention to their existence.

But Steel knew of them. His entire family had been murdered by them, and he had been gravely injured while trying to save his family. Steel looked over at his reflection in the powered down the desktop monitor. He gazed into his dark soulless green eyes, which were just another scare had had to remind him of that day. His once pale blue eyes had somehow turned to this dark unnerving dark emerald colour after his life-saving operation. For years he had thought that the old Japanese gardener had saved him, healing his wounds at his home. But Steel had found out later that the very people Steel worked, for now, had saved him.

Like his father before him, John Steel was British Secret Service – or MI8. He had been recruited after his time with the SAS. However, after the murder of his family, MI8 thought it best that Steel went into hiding until the organisation responsible had been identified, or at best eliminated. So, Steel joined the US Navy SEALs. Whitehall suspected putting an ocean between Steel, and the organisation would take them out of their gaze for a while. Also, the training would do him good for what needed him to do.

But now, he was stuck behind a desk doing paperwork of a murder investigation. Steel felt nauseous, claustrophobic. This was not him. He was a soldier – an agent of the British Secret Service, not a cop. Sure, he had thwarted the plans of SANTINI on several occasions, but for some reason, they had gone dark. Were they laying low because of him? Possible. But then SANTINI did not just have him after them, there was this Trojan Group. Trojan was also a criminal organisation, but they – Steel’s eyes – were more of a threat. They sought power, control, and would do anything to get it. However, these had also disappeared from his radar. Steel found it curious, but at the same time disturbing. One he could understand – but both, surely that couldn’t be good?

But despite this upset, Steel had done his job and was ready to come home as far as he was concerned. Ready to do the job he was hired for – and being a cop was it. John Steel grabbed a pair of sunglasses that sat on a wireless docking station and slipped them on. He saw a blink of red light in the corner of an LCD HUB in the right-hand lens, then the words Retina scan complete. Identification confirmed. Steel heaved himself out of the comfort of the padded leather office chair, grabbing the file and then headed over to the door. The report was done, all the eyes were dotted, and Ts were crossed. Despite his reluctance to be there, he knew he still had to do the job correctly. He opened the door, suddenly the silence of the office was shattered by the chaos of the homicide division’s bullpen. Phones were ringing, and voices grew louder. As Steel looked out across the sea of busy people, the small screen in the right lens ran a diagnostic and quickly analysed them. John Steel smiled to himself at the gadget that had saved him, and others live so many times, but he also knew he could not be reliant on it. It was just an aid. Steel knew he had to rely more on his skills and own intuition.

Steel was looking at the people of the night shift, his shift had left hours ago. He had just stayed over to make sure there were no discrepancies in the report. The last thing he wanted was the guy’s lawyer picking something out and get the scumbag off with. Steel walked over to a Captain Alan Brant’s office and knocked. Steel wasn’t surprised he was still there.

Alan Brant was a bear of a man. He was in his fifties, but still had the build of a quarterback. Steel looked over at the shaven football of a head. The light from the overhead light gleamed off his dark shin. To Steel, Brant always looked angry – even when he wasn’t. But this time those cold brown eyes scowled at Steel as he entered after knocking. Brant sat back in his chair, his massive form leant back against the PU leather, causing it to creak.

‘Take it you done writin that report?’ Brant said. His thick-lipped mouth curled as though every word had a bitter taste to it. His voice was deep like you might imagine a grizzly or brown bear to have.

‘Yes, I’m done,’ Steel said. His tone was emotionless. Despite being British, he had no accent to speak of. There was no hint of a regional accent, just British. Brant gave Steel a curious look. Steel wandered if Brant picked up on what he had said – or indeed, how he had meant it, ‘Yes, I’m done.’

Steel placed down the file in front of Brant and ran his fingers through his raven-coloured hair. It felt longer than he would have wanted it to be. It was possibly time to visit that barbers shop in the morning, Steel thought, catching his reflection in the long window that separated the Captain’s office from the bullpen. His black suit and shirt did not reflect too well in the window, making it appear as if he was a floating head without a body. Steel smiled to himself but did not show it.

‘McCall is pissed at ya after what you did,’ Brant said, rocking in his chair. The sound of the metal joints squeaked with the subtle movement.

‘She will get over it. Besides, it got the job done, didn’t it?’ Steel said. His tone was cold and unemotional.

Steel did not care for their rules anymore, he found them tiresome. Rules that kept the allowed the bad guys to go free and hurt the innocent. Rules that with the slightest loop whole could be undone. He preferred his rules, the rules her was governed by. There is your target, investigate and take whatever action is necessary. He lived in a black and white world, with the only red been his enemies’ blood.

‘You threw the man outta the window Steel!’ Brant growled. His eyes bulged from their deep-set sockets. A slither of spit formed in the corner of Brant’s mouth a was held by the hairs of his circular beard.

‘And if I hadn’t, you’d have several officers in the morgue or hospital right now – including McCall,’ Steel said with an angry tone.

Brant sat back and sighed deeply. ‘Yeah, I know, but still, these cowboy actions of yours are getting outta hand.’

‘Understood,’ Steel said calmly. ‘don’t worry, they won’t happen again,’ Steel said and turned to leave. Brant looked over at Steel, a look of concern filled his face.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Brant asked. He had read Steel’s innuendoes and body language. Brant was the only one in the precinct who knew what Steel was, who he worked for. Sure, Steel had closed some exceptional cases, but now Brant felt Steel was just treading water.

‘I mean –.’ Steel paused and looked over at the commendations and photographs on Brant’s wall. It was impressive, but Brant was a cop and Steel wasn’t. ‘I’m going home, I’m tired,’ Steel said and left the office, closing the door softly behind him.

Captain Alan Brant watched Steel cross the bullpen floor and wait for the elevator and wandered, had Steel just said goodbye or only good night?

Chapter 3

Dwejra sea birds hovered overhead. Their baby-like calls hung carried on a refreshing sea breeze which hurried across the coastline. The sun began to gather warmth over the Maltese Islands though it was still early morning.

The surrounding landscape had a dangerous beauty, like something from another time or planet. Yet, the image was broken by the parking spaces and shops.

Special Agent Marcus Foster stood near the rocky ground where the Azure Window had stretched out into the ocean. An enormous craggy arch that had been created by weather and stormy waters. Now, just a strange rock formation remained to mark where the arch had stood.

Some people would swear that there was a face in the rock if looked at from a certain angle. Set in the San Lawrenz district of the Island of Gozo. The window had been a magnificent natural structure that Foster had in years gone by brought his family to see.

Now, he was there for a very different reason.

He had received the call around six that morning. Pat and Michael Fabri, who owned the ice cream store close by, had found a young woman’s body while walking their dog at the Blue Hole; a tourist trap and diving ground. They always walked their little terrier, Skippy, there before getting ready for the tourists. Skippy had alerted them to the woman in the water. She had been too far for either of them to swim out, so Pat had called the police on her cell phone. The police boat had found only the body, no purse or form of ID. However, the sergeant in charge had recognised her as Foster’s daughter. Despite her broken body, her face was somehow mostly undamaged – enough for her to be identified at least.

Foster was a tall man with massive shoulders. Six-foot three and a haircut any Marine would be proud of. The fresh sea air brushed across his face as he looked out across the ocean. Trying to think of why his little girl would take her own life. For him, there was only one answer: She wouldn’t.

‘Marcus, the medical examiner, is about to take her away,’ said Sergeant Gann Burlo. Burlo was a friend of the family since Foster’s arrival five years ago.

Foster starred out at the serene beauty of the ocean and nodded silently. Burlo moved to speak – but felt awkward breaking the silence.

He turned to head back to the police Land Rover that waited for him.

‘Gann, are you putting this down to suicide?’ Foster asked without turning to look at his friend.

‘I will wait to see what the medical examiner finds, but everything points to that, or just an accident. Why? Something we should know?’ Burlo asked curiously.

Foster turned slowly and shook his head.

‘Just so I can tell Martha. An accident would be better, knowing her little girl took her life would destroy her,’ Foster said.

Burlo gave a sympathetic smile and nodded slowly. ‘I’ll let you know. But I think it was more likely to be an accident, but it’s not for me to say I’m afraid. That’s down to the medical examiner. But, out here late at night, and last night was pretty dark,’ Burlo said.

Foster turned back to the view and sighed while Burlo returned to his car. Foster pulled out his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial number.

‘Hi Janis, it’s Marcus Foster. Can you find me John Steel’s number in New York?’

Chapter 4

It was eleven o’clock in the morning when a cell phone rang in a secure office. A man waited before answering the burner phone. He was sat in the dark – he preferred it that way. It helped him to think – and he had a lot to think about.

‘Yes, what is it Beta?’ His voice was deep and emotionless. His voice rang with a hint of a Boston accent.

‘He called someone – just now. He’s getting outside help,’ said the muffled voice of a man on the other end.

‘Do we know who?’ asked the man called Alpha.

‘No, not yet.’ Beta paused for a moment before speaking again. ‘Could be that old army buddy he keeps talking about?’

‘What – the cop?’ asked Alpha, before pausing for a moment as if weighing up this new information. ‘It’s possible, I guess. Keep tabs on the airlines, if his name pops, put a detail on him.’

The man known as Beta did not immediately reply – a response wasn’t necessary. There was a moment of silence, then Beta broke it. ‘And what about the other thing?’

‘You know what to do – so, take care of it,’ Alpha said and placed the handset back onto the cradle.

Chapter 5

John Steel had taken a cab back to his apartment. The ride was quiet and uneventful. The cabby had talked of most of the way, Steel had not taken much notice and had replied with some friendly-sounding grunts. As the yellow Ford pulled up outside the address, Steel paid then climbed out onto the sidewalk. Steel watched the cab car’s taillights disappear into the mass of traffic that was moving slowly like some cumbersome beast.

Steel entered the vast brick monstrosity built in the 30 – all Redbrick and windows.

Steel considered it had more class than the modern steel and glass buildings. It had character. Like the Cromwellian mansion, he had lived in back home in England. Unfortunately, Steel was the son of an Earl since his parent’s murder years ago, which had passed to him and the family company. But Steel was not one for titles, he wasn’t a businessman. He was a soldier, an investigator, and now a cop.

Steel was greeted by a doorman who tipped his cap to Steel and opened the door for him. Steel nodded a greeting and entered. He was home.

Inside the lobby was filled with a white marble floor and high arched ceilings. The reception desk was topped with black marble, and the front was polished oak.

Steel walked over at the two men behind the desk, said his good mornings and retrieved his keys. Steel had thought that taking his keys may be a bad idea if things went wrong. Luckily, his instinct had been correct and saved himself a hefty fine for losing them. He took the elevator up, using the time to think.

Steel lived on the top floor, with a terrace view of the park and the city. As he opened the front door, the crisp conditioned air felt good against his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the temperature change.

He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the door, as he did so, his eyes scanned the open-plan loft, and he gave a comfortable smile.

It was good to be home.

The loft was spacious, with polished oak flooring, and a mix of modern and antique furniture. The white-painted walls held various works of art, but no family photographs.

To the right, a staircase wound upwards to a mezzanine that was Steel’s bedroom. Behind the twisting staircase, was the open-plan kitchen, which lay beneath the mezzanine. Next to the kitchen was a long corridor which contained a bathroom and several other rooms.

Steel poured himself a large whisky from a drink’s cabinet in a corner near a large panoramic window, a virtual wall of glass. After the night he’d had – he needed it. Steel stood at the window and watched as a shifting orange-watercolour sky bathed everything in a dark umber. He looked down at the view of Central Park and the city. It was possibly the only time he was thankful for the family money. It gave him the freedom to do what he wanted without restrictions and also guaranteed the best rooms of seats on flights. But it was also a reminder for him. Steel had survived the attack on the family estate, his family had not. He was alone in the world. But his pain gave him purpose. Steel had gone to New York to find those responsible. An organisation called SANTINI. But they had gone underground. Disappeared. But he knew he would see them again. It was just a matter of time. Steel thought about one of SANTINI’s agents – a man called Mr Williams, who he had encountered on his first Mission with the NYPD, not that the cops were aware it was a mission. Mr Williams was – for Steel, the epitome of the term, the bad guy. He was as sadistic as they came, but somehow had a sense of honour and charisma. Somehow, through their encounters against each other, they had formed strange mutual respect. Steel knew that Mr Williams had nothing to do with his family’s murder, possibly, Williams only saving grace. Mr Williams had also disappeared from the limelight. But Steel knew they would be back.

Steel felt tired. Drained. He took a sip from the whisky and stared out across the horizon.

He had been in one place too long, and it was starting to get to him.

Steel sighed. He loved the city and working with the team.

But it wasn’t him.

This wasn’t his life.

It was a mission that had gone on for too long.

Steel walked towards the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine. The machine gave an electronic whir before it began processing the mix of coffee grinds and hot water. It would take ten minutes before the brew would be ready – time enough for him to shower and freshen up.

It was five in the morning. Steel knew he had a couple of hours before he had to be back at the precinct. The truth was, Brant would be happy if he did not show, and as it was, Steel did not feel much like going in anyway. He had risked his neck again and not gotten so much as a thank you for it. Sure, Steel wasn’t a glory hound, he did not care if that asshole Addams got the credit for it. But, all he had gotten was shit for it. And that was beginning to wear thin.

Steel downed the whisky and headed for the corridor and the bathroom.

He had to freshen up before heading off to the precinct.

Steel pulled off his shirt as he headed for the bathroom and kicked off his Bugatti shoes, leaving them lying at the bathroom door entrance.

It had been a long night; from which he was still hurting.

Flying into a guy at was going to leave a mark –it had, several in fact. He was bruised and scratched – but alive.

Steel pushed the door open and stumbled inside the bathroom.

It was a big room – possibly the size of most people’s bedrooms. Gold Antique Limestone covered the walls and floor. Oak vanities with brass fittings made a perfect addition. The walls and flooring had an Egyptian feel; inspired by the tales of Cleopatra. At the far end of the room was a bathtub made for two, and a double window next to it, with a fantastic view of Central Park.

Steel took off the rest of his clothes and draped them over the wicker clothes hamper next to the door. He looked out of the large window as he headed to the entrance of the wet room. This was a long narrow 6x5 foot space, with staked slate wall panels covering the inside walls and slate floor tiles. Above, a large foot square showerhead hung from the ceiling and seven small LED lights zig-zagged across the top. The dividing panel was a foot-thick false wall, with a voice-activated thirty-two-inch monitor built into it.

A little treat he had installed so he could check on the news and watch movies. It also showed the view from the several cameras he had installed in the apartment, just on the off-chance Steel had uninvited guests while he is freshening up. There were two monitors fixed back-to-back so that Steel could watch from both sides.

‘Check emails,’ Steel commanded in a raised voice. The screen blinked, and the display showed his email account. There was the usual junk mail; others were invitations to A-list parties. Parties that he had no time, nor feel the need to attend. The remainder was from a man called Hendricks who in charge of Steel’s company back in Britain while he was in the States. A company Steel’s father had founded, and he had inherited. It was a billion-pound company that made everything from watches to the general public, to weapon systems.

‘Screen off,’ Steel ordered. The screen went blank. He had neither the time nor the patients to respond to the emails. Steel knew they would wait a little while longer. Just until he was in a better frame of mind.