by Mark A Biggs
‘I have my reasons,’ I said calmly, although I was now worried.
If I couldn’t convince Linda, then I would need to invent a much more believable story by the time we reached Moscow. I shook my head.
Why did I want to save him? I owe him nothing, look what’s become of my life. You should kill him now! My mind was again filling with confused thoughts.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Linda.
‘A slight headache, that’s all.’
I wasn’t all right. For whatever reason, one I was yet to understand, I wanted him to live. Needed him to live, even though he abandoned me and worse, doesn’t remember me.
The helicopter began to descend and a large tanker came into view.
* * *
Inspector Axel
‘Thank you, said Peta. ‘Let the AWACS know that we think Max is on board. Switch your communications with them through to the loud speaker, so that we can all hear what’s happening.’
‘With the Janus Machine safe and Max on board, surely they won’t shoot them down?’ Peta asked me.
‘I don’t know Peta, all we can do now is wait and see.’
The live video feed from the farm showed that the officers were safely away from the house. They were securing an exclusion zone around the area in case of an explosion. The crackle of the radio drew my attention away from the monitor. It was a broadcast from the AWACS, now on loud speaker, which occupied those in the control room as we nervously waited.
‘We have two Russian TU-160 Blackjack bombers still tracking on bearing Two Two Zero and heading for a British area of interest.’
There was a slight pause before the AWACS operator continued.
‘Both helicopters are now one minute from the kill zone. COBRA, we have no other assets available to intercept the bombers. Be advised that it will be thirty minutes before Yankee Five Romeo One-One and Yankee Five Romeo One-Two can be airborne. If the Russian bombers continue at their current speed and course, they will be in an area of interest in fifteen minutes. Can I confirm: the primary target is the helicopters?’
We couldn’t hear the communication between COBRA and the AWACS; instead we waited for the AWACS to relay the command to the fighter jets. It didn’t take long.
‘Typhoons Oscar Charlie Echo 06 and 07, your targets are two bogie helicopters bearing One Two Zero, 60 miles at 500 feet.’
‘Roger,’ came the reply.
Turning to Peta, I said in stunned disbelief, ‘They are going to take Max out!’
She didn’t reply but instead stared ahead, as if she hadn’t heard me. An eerie silence fell over the control room. I could visualise the two jet fighters as they swooped down on the helicopters at over 700mph. It would be over in a matter of seconds.
‘Typhoons Oscar Charlie Echo 06 and 07, your bogies are bearing One Two Zero, 40 miles at 200 feet. Be warned we have shipping in the vicinity.’
‘AWACS control, this is Typhoon Oscar Charlie Echo 06. I have missile lock. Please confirm that we are authorised to engage. Over.’
‘AWACS control, this is Typhoon Oscar Charlie Echo 07, I also have missile lock. Confirm engagement. Over.’
‘Standby Typhoons Oscar Charlie Echo 06 and 07.’
In our control room, the men and women monitoring the farmhouse stayed fixed to their screen but we knew that they were focused on the radio and what was about to happen next.
‘Negative Typhoons Oscar Charlie Echo 06 and 07. The shipping is too close. Visual engagement only. Confirm?’
‘Roger, visual only.’
‘This is it,’ I said to Peta, ‘they are about to be shot down.’
Seconds later, another AWACS transmission arrived.
‘Typhoons Oscar Charlie Echo 06 and 07, we have a new assignment for you. We are tracking Two Russian TU-160 bombers, 350 miles north of you. Turn north bearing Two Zero. You are to escort our friends away from British airspace. Do not engage. Repeat, you are not to engage.’
There was an audible sigh of relief from those in the control room.
‘Okay everyone, back to your duties and switch off that loud speaker,’ instructed Peta to the radio operator before adding, ‘I want to know what’s happening with those helicopters.’
Our man talking to the AWACS switched off the speaker and we waited patiently as he conversed.
‘Ma’am,’ said the radio operator. ‘The Typhoons have been diverted to intercept and escort the Russian bombers away from territorial airspace. The AWACS is continuing to track the helicopters and has sought assistance from the Norwegian Airforce under an anti-terrorism agreement between our two countries. The Norwegians will be airborne in ten minutes.’
I still feared for Max’s safety, but for a now, he was safe from ‘friendly fire’. If indeed, he was on one of the helicopters.
* * *
Claudia
‘There she is,’ said Linda.
Addressing the pilot she continued, ‘Right on time. Take us in.’
‘Linda, your planning is impeccable as always.’
‘Why thank you, Claudia.’
As we touched down on the tanker, I breathed a sigh of relief. Landing on a pitching and rolling deck is not only difficult but an ordeal for the passengers. The seaborne rendezvous, the first part of our escape plan, was complete and phase two was about to start.
* * *
Inspector Axel
My attention was diverted away from the helicopters and back to the farmhouse. On the live video feed, we watched as it exploded in a massive ball of flames. I knew exactly what they were doing. They were destroying any evidence, making it harder to find Max. I felt helpless and for the rest of the afternoon and late into that evening, I had to wait, watch and listen. My other disappointment was that Olivia didn’t make it to the control room. The spooks arrived at Elie and took her away before we had the opportunity to intervene.
What was left of the farmhouse was secured by our officers. A forensic examination couldn’t start until the site had been given the all clear by an army bomb disposal unit. As for the helicopters, not long after the Typhoons had been redeployed, the AWACS tracked the aircraft landing on a large tanker sailing in international waters. Radar monitoring, suggested that the helicopters didn’t take off again, but next morning when the freighter was photographed by a surveillance plane, they were gone. Our best guess was that they had been pushed over the side.
With the site cleared by the bomb disposal team, a peripheral search of what was left of the farmhouse drew a blank. Although a thorough forensic search for evidence was yet to be completed, ground-penetrating radar revealed nothing. No hidden passages or underground bunkers that Claudia and her associates could have used to escape. We concluded that they and Max had been on the helicopters, which had now vanished.
Although we were still shadowing the tanker as it made its way to Rotterdam in Holland (where when it arrived, it would be boarded by police and security agencies), I was sure that neither Max nor our terrorists would be on board.
The only lead could have come from Jana when he was brought to the command centre, but he added nothing to what I already knew. We were dealing with a crime syndicate with links to the Russian Government. Unfortunately, before I had the chance to learn anything new, MI6 arrived and whisked him away, removing any opportunity for me to interview him. With MI6’s arrival, we were politely thanked for our assistance and told that the affair was a matter of national security and that it would be handled by the secret services. Fortunately, the MI6 officer in charge, Stephen Walls, was not the cloak and dagger type. He promised, if he could be believed, to provide us with regular updates. He said, if Max was on the freighter, he would let us know immediately. When I asked about Olivia, Stephen replied that she was “helping us with our inquiries” and he expected his team to finish debriefing her by Wednesday next.
‘What will happen to Olivia?’ I asked.
‘When we board the tanker in Rotterdam, if Max is still missing, Olivia will be de
ported to Australia,’ he answered.
‘Perhaps, in the interim, once you’ve debriefed her, I could assist by supervising Olivia until Max is found or a decision is made to deport her.’
Stephen contemplated my proposal for a few moments and I held my breath awaiting his reply.
‘Perfect. I will make the necessary arrangements.’
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia
Olivia
The house in Elie and the surrounding streets had to be cordoned off following my rescue from the house full of gas; the plot of those wishing to capture the Janus Machine to put pressure on Max.
They underestimated my Max.
The risk of an explosion remained high until the vapours dissipated into the atmosphere. The lovely young off-duty policeman, who saved me, took me to his house while I waited for a ride back to Anstruther. The spooks, MI6 and the police arrived at the same time. A bitter argument ensued concerning who was to take me and where I was to go. An argument in which I was totally ignored. The spooks won and I was bundled into a car to be taken away. For a “debriefing” is what they told me.
“Interrogation” was more accurate and it was carried out by a most charming man, Stephen Walls. He was probably closer to sixty than fifty with a good crop of black hair, so I guessed that he dyed it. A vain gesture in my day, but not necessarily now. He was smartly dressed though not eccentric like many of his peers. He wore a plain blue tie rather than a brightly coloured bow tie and a scrunched-up handkerchief was absent from his suit’s breast pocket. From the way he spoke, I could see that he was well educated; probably at Oxford or Cambridge, obviously British, but not quintessentially so. During the debriefing, he observed the mantra that I knew.
You catch more people with honey than you do with vinegar.
Although I couldn’t imagine him wanting to waterboard me.
The interrogation was spread over three days and was quite civilised, more of an extended “polite chat” than a grilling. Stephen opened by sharing what he knew of Max’s fate, or as much as he was willing to divulge. The information was delivered with a delightful sense of imaginary candour.
I’m telling you everything Olivia – or is that how he wanted me to see him.
But I knew exactly what he was up to,
He was trying to win my trust.
My response to Stephen’s questioning was played using his methods. Games within games, though we were ostensibly on the same side. I think we each knew that the other was holding things back.
No wonder we British seem foolish to some of our adversaries. They must laugh at the “British Way.” It’s subtler than it appears.
‘I think our colleague’s lying, old chap.’
‘I do hope not, that just wouldn’t be cricket. Tea?’
It was clear to me, that neither Stephen nor MI6 knew who employed Max or I and if they did, they understood very little. How galling it must have been for MI6 to discover the existence of another Government secret agency, one operating since the Second World War and which had flown under their radar. Their knowledge of the Janus Machine was also tenuous. After small talk, it was Stephen’s opening question, which exposed his lack of knowledge. Despite this, I remember thinking,
Don’t underestimate your adversaries, particularly when they are your friends.
He might have been ignorant but he was certainly not naïve and I would have to be careful not to fall into his well-set trap.
‘Olivia, the nation owes you our gratitude. Without you, the biological attack on London would have been much worse,’ Stephen said. ‘You know as well as I do how these debriefings work and I’m sorry that some of my questions will appear pointless, shall I say. But as you know, we start from the premise that we know nothing and let you tell us the whole story.’
I acknowledged this.
‘You were being held captive when Max posted the Janus Machine, but can you confirm where it was sent?’
It was then that I knew.
Well, well! MI6 doesn’t know about the agency and probably doesn’t know much about the Janus Machine either. And it’s not up to me to tell them.
Thinking quickly, I settled on what I thought was an ingenious strategy to see me through the interrogation. I would act as if Max and I believed we were working for MI6 or MI5, and that they already knew everything. The risk was that Stephen could confess that they knew nothing, but being a pompous British man, that was never going to happen.
‘Stephen, are you testing me?’
‘Please Olivia, humour me. As I said, we pretend that we know nothing. You remember how this works?’
‘Max would have sent it to the same post office box we always use, Stephen. The one in Exeter. The same one you sent the clue to.’
‘The clue?’
‘Stephen, the clue so that we knew where to search for the Janus Machine.’
Over the next three days, I answered all the questions as truthfully as I could, interspersed with the occasional, ‘Surely Stephen, you already know this?’ To which he inevitably replied, ‘Humour me, Olivia. Tell me anyway.’
I told him how we worked for the Special Operations Executive (SOE) during WW2 and how Max had been sent to Murmansk on one of the Russian Convoys to retrieve the Janus Key.
‘The Janus Key?’ Stephen repeated.
‘Stephen! The Janus Key. It’s the thing that makes the Janus Machine work. Do you really want me to tell you the whole story?’
‘It’s probably wise,’ Stephen said. ‘Just so we are confident that we are all singing from the same song sheet, as it were.’
So, I started again, this time summarising all that I knew of the Janus Machine. Well, that’s not entirely true. I gave him ninety percent of what I knew, so that it was as close to the truth as possible, but with the addition of a few well-placed lies.
‘Stephen,’ I recall saying, ‘the Janus Machine was developed in WW2, as part of the Nazis’ biological weapons program. If my memory still serves me correctly, it was invented by a scientist called Dr Von Erick Brack, at the Majdanek concentration camp in Poland. By experimenting on the prisoners, he learned how to create a biological weapon that could target specific race, age, sex, even hair colour if he so chose. The secrets of the weapon were coded into the Janus Machine. To unlock the code, you needed a cylindrical encryption key, the Janus Key, which must be inserted into the machine. As far as we know, there was only one machine made, but two keys, one of which was destroyed. Britain managed to capture both the Janus Machine and one of the keys. However, towards the end of the war, for safety reasons, the decision was taken to separate the key from the machine. They were hidden separately and the clues to the respective hiding places were entrusted to different people. No one person knew the final resting places. Neither Max or I were involved in hiding the key or the machine. We were however entrusted with a name, a trusted friend from the French Resistance, Pierre Gicquel. He was one of the custodians, if ever the key was to be retrieved. We were also given a code word and, if that was used, it meant the Machine was to be found.
‘After the war, Max and I married and chose the guise of a doddering vicar and his nutty wife as our cover for our role as Cold War spies. As part of this deception we moved to Australia. From there we would travel around the world on Christian Missions which were in truth, spying assignments. In the 50s, 60s and even the 70s, no one knew where Australia was, let alone that it had spies. Australia and our religious ministry combined to become a perfect disguise.
‘Your agency, Stephen, would initiate contact with us via an advertisement placed in one of the newspapers, hidden in the death notices section. No smart phones or iPads in those days. Over the decades, as we aged and the cold war slowly came to an end, the assignments became less frequent until finally we had no contact with anyone from the spy game. We didn’t retire, as such; our old life as spies just fizzled out and along with it, memories of the Janus Machine. Initially, out of habit each morning, Max bought the newspaper to
check the death notices. In later life, this became an unfortunate necessity as our friends began to depart this world. Nostalgically, Max checked to see if a message had been sent. There was nothing for over twelve years. Then, when we were eighty-four, suddenly there it was. A message to retrieve the Janus Key.’
I stopped to assess the effect of this information and then continued, ‘Stephen, are you sure you want me to tell you all this? You sent the message, for God’s sake.’
‘Please Olivia, humour me for a little longer. That was before my time here so, hearing it from you, is much more informative than reading an old report. Please do continue.’
Pretending to be a little annoyed, even managing a slight huff, I continued. ‘Okay. To celebrate our eighty-fifth birthdays, Max and I had been planning one final trip on our beloved 1948 BSA A7 motorbike with sidecar. We decided to use that adventure as our cover for this mission. The bike and sidecar were shipped from Australia to the UK, where we met up with it. Before seeking out Pierre Gicquel in France, we rode it around Britain, then we took it across to Europe. Pierre Gicquel’s information led us to another contact in Antwerp.
‘With both bits of the puzzle, we worked out the hiding place of the key. The tunnels near Walbrzych in the Czech Republic. Although we didn’t know it at the time, because the killings were made to look like accidents and so weren’t reported in the news, Pierre Gicquel and our Antwerp contact were both murdered shortly after our visits. What we also didn’t know was that Claudia, we think it was Claudia, before killing our contacts, extracted clues which led them to Walbrzych. She possessed none of our WW2 experience, the context for understanding the clue, so she didn’t know where to look and had to wait for us to find it.
‘Our plan had been to locate the Janus Key and deliver it to an agent waiting for us in Prague. Not long after we arrived, Max suspected that we were being followed. It took us three days to locate the key. Then, before leaving Walbrzych, en route to Prague, we decided the safest option was to post the key back to the UK. To the post office box in Exeter,’ I added.
This was a lie. As in Scotland, we had posted the item to our Cliff headquarters in Devon. Taking a breath, I checked Stephen for any sign that he was aware of my deception. None was apparent.
