Between the flight from the US into Germany and the one from there to here, it'd been almost fourteen hours that Adam had been in the air.  At least he'd been able to sleep part of the time, and walk around some.   It'd likely have been a lot easier if he could've simply gone to Malta, the Awakened way that is, but that would've been a giveaway, if anyone was monitoring--as Stephen had implied there would be.  Not to mention it would not have fit with the role he'd been assigned to play here.

Once he was off the plane, had checked through Customs and picked up his baggage, the next order of business was finding a way to the hotel.   Public transportation, Stephen had said.

Fortunately it didn't take long to find the bus service that served as a shuttle for the airport; and also fortunately, this was primarily an English-speaking country so he was spared the necessity of either fumbling through a phrase book or risking the use of telepathy to pick up the basics of the local language. 

Once he found the right bus, the one heading for Buggiba, he found a seat--fortunately it wasn't crowded today--and settled in for the ride.  

He passed the time reading through the guidebook he'd picked up about Malta--he'd done some traveling in the last eight years or so, but had never been to Malta before now.  Besides, if anyone was watching, seeing him do that would only make him look like just another tourist.

Almost too soon, he was in the city, and started walking through the crowded streets in search of the hotel.  Luckily it wasn't too far from where the bus had dropped him off, and

checking in was no problem either--having had all the arrangements made in advance greatly simplified things.

He'd gotten some rest on the plane, so didn't feel like going straight to bed.  Plus, getting familiar with the city and where he needed to go as soon as possible would help.   So once he'd stowed his baggage in the room, taking with him only some essentials--including his sketch pad and pencils--he started back downstairs and was out in the streets to begin

ostensibly exploring, though he was really looking for the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist.

That didn't, as it turned out, take long either.  And there was a perfect spot on the steps from which he could observe the people who passed..   He quickly set up the folding chair he'd brought with him...out came the sketch pad, which he rested on the board he'd also brought...and he was set.

He sat there and just looked around for a while, taking in everything, with pencil in hand waiting for the right moment...the right person or object.  He'd know when he saw it that  that  was what he had to start with. 

And a few minutes later, the sketching began...

-------------

There was nothing about the Bel Sol that gave it an edge in the hotel business that catered to the packaged holiday bunch.   It was a ten story box that had a marginal view of the Mediterranean, at best and then only from some of the balconies.  The food was served in the basement and wasn't particularly memorable.   The coffee was weak and the tea water never hot enough.  The eggs were always boiled and cold.  The rooms were functional but un-air conditioned with only ceiling fans for relief from the midday heat common in that part of the world.   There was live music twice a week in the bar, but it was usually mediocre.  The lounge wasn't much more than a portion of the lobby with some furniture.   But, in spite of it all, it always seemed to be booked if not fully at least close. 

Baz had only obtained rooms by force of connections, not the best way to keep a low profile but the best he was able to do in the time he had.   The vacation tour charter flight was just that and handled many different tour groups so the first thing they faced, after clearing customs, contraband intact, was sorting out which bus on the blazing hot tarmac was theirs.   He'd decided before they'd left London that they were all to be chance met strangers who'd gotten friendly at the airport and then on the plane after discovering they were headed to the same place.   Beyond that they would be middle class people, with Tobie becoming Sheila and Chance becoming Neil.  He would stay Baz.

The goal for the next eight days was to keep a distant eye on Adam Clifford while playing tourist themselves.  Experience had taught him that it wasn't difficult to get friendly with the other guests in a place like the Bel Sol.  So that part should be easy.   The next part, also straight forward was to spend some time at the Cathedral and plan how they would handle the day of the meeting. 

Baz suspected that that would leave a fair amount of free time for other things, which meant he was going to have to ensure they didn't get distracted by side interests.   He wasn't looking forward to eight days of tourist attractions, even the more spectacular ones from the many strands of Maltese history.  He also wasn't looking forward to eight days of truly second-rate food planned to appeal to the working class British palate, a state of affairs that inevitably meant chips with everything.   But being who he was, those things were merely wisps, of no more importance than the fact that in real life he traveled first class and on a junket like this he sat in coach.

So he joined his fellow tourists, bags in hand and went looking for the bus that would convey him to the Bel Sol.   On arrival he accepted his room key, the little card that told anyone who wanted to know that his plan was all inclusive and the sheet that listed meal times, bar times, and the times when the hot water was turned on.   He was charming to the staff and friendly with his companions, as would be the case for the next eight days.  He did not see Adam anywhere in the lobby, but he hadn't expected to.   He expected his first sight of him to be at dinner tonight.

So, relaxed and organized he repaired to his room to unpack, having loitered long enough to hear the room numbers assigned to Tobie and Chance or rather Sheila and Neil as he would think of them from now until the end of the job.   As requested they were all on the same floor as Adam.  Chance had been directed, as soon as he could manage it, to enter Adam's room and search it.   He was then to place a bug on his phone and a small recording device in the best position he could find to monitor the room and the doorway.  After that he was to leave and make himself visible in the bar.

Sheila was to spend the few remaining hours between check in and dinner lounging by the roof top pool, in case Adam was of a mind to perfect his tan.   He himself was going to examine the surrounding area and get a feel for the place.  Then, in the manner of chance met travelers they would meet in the bar before dinner and share a friendly drink.   It was a routine they'd perfected over a long history together.  They all knew their jobs and knew them well.

So Baz, having unpacked and changed, left his room, entered and exited the elevator as required, crossed the lobby and was on the street.   Having spent a fair amount of time pursuing a street map earlier he was confident as he turned right out of the hotel, walked to the corner, crossed the street and angled downward on a straight shot to the Buggiba Square and the Mediterranean just past it.  There was a sidewalk on the seaward side that continued unbroken in both directions, to the left into a commercial zone and to the right towards what appeared to be untouched shore above the seawall.   In that direction lay Valetta and the Cathedral.  In the other direction lay St. Paul's Bay and miles further the eastern tip of Malta off of which lay the islands of Gozo and Comina and every inch in between layered in history that went back thousands of years before Christ.

Baz made mental notes as he walked, of the bus stops, the taxi stands, the restaurants and the news shops.  He saw the souvenir and the jewelry stores, causing him to recall the relative cheapness of sterling silver on Malta.  He found that interesting in light of the current exchange rate between the Maltese lira and the euro, not to mention the pound but let it go as having no bearing on the job at hand.

Having walked as far east as he cared to he returned and paused in the square.  Every available inch of bench was covered with tourists most of whom were over sixty and many of whom were hoping to retire here.   He then continued past the square and followed the shore of the sea westward back towards Valetta and the Cathedral, probably an hour away by bus.  It amused him that the telephone boxes were British standard issue, a remnant of Malta's former colonial status.  He eventually turned north and headed back towards the hotel, navigating by experience and his recall of the map.

He timed it perfectly, entering the bar just as Neil took a beer to a table.  He waved a cheery hello and got a gin and tonic for himself.   Then he caught Neil's eye and asked soundlessly if he'd like company.  At the affirmative and equally soundless reply he crossed slowly over to the table, noting the jute box to one corner of the small stage and dance area and the pinball machine on the other.   The bar itself was long and somewhat narrow, a row of tables on each side of a center aisle with a small bar at the stage end of the one on the right as he'd entered.   He filed all of this information automatically, no longer even aware of doing so.  It was just part of the job, the attention to detail around him, noting positions of things, identifying exits and potential weapons.   He was a professional and he did his job.

He and Neil began a light conversation focusing on cricket and the latest nonsense at 10 Downing Street.  A brief exchange established they were as one on the topic of the foolishness of the Americans and the need to disengage completely from Iraq.  They had reached that point when Sheila joined them; looking inviting in form fitting jeans and a sleeveless top with a glass of wine in her hand.   The talk remained small, at least to the casual observer.  Baz described his walking tour in the manner of a man telling friends what was available in the area and Sheila replied with a description of the pool, while Neil outlined Adam's room and what he found under the guise of describing his own.

Satisfied with the day's accomplishment they waited for Adam and were rewarded in short order.  Adam himself ordered a beer and took a seat.   He drank it was looking around, studying the people in the bar.  As his eyes slid over them he gave no sign he’d ever seen them before.  In no very long time he finished his beer and departed, Baz, Neil and Sheila behind him but not obvious about.   He was headed for dinner and they were followed him.  When they reached the line at the entrance to the dining room Sheila bumped him accidentally and as easily as that contact was made.

Phase one was complete.