by Mark A Biggs
The lady’s face burned red with anger. Olivia feared she had pushed her inquisitor too far and things were about to turn nasty.
‘Have you been on a Budapest to Amsterdam river cruise?’ Max asked the lady in a joyful tone, attempting to break the tension. She looked at him in disbelief. Subtly using his left hand, he tucked an end of the tablecloth through his belt, making sure it was secure. The lady was next to him, on his right, as was the man to Olivia. To temporarily distract their assailants, so they could attack first, he would stand suddenly, pulling the tablecloth off the table, sending the dining setting crashing to the floor. He would have to grab a knife as it passed, stabbing the woman in one sweeping motion and Olivia would have to improvise to take out her man. ‘It’s not just we old goats who go on these cruises,’ he continued. ‘There are people your age as well. You should join us.’
The lady and man looked at each other. Their instructions had been simple; find out what Max and Olivia were up to before finishing them, as payback. If they were working for the Kremlin, and we kill them, there will be no place to hide. Are they lying? I think they are, but then again, it could be true. We were warned, they’re cunning. No, it’s a lie. Kill them.
‘Hello sweetie,’ came the voice of Lucia walking in from the kitchen. ‘What have we here? It’s my old friends, Natasha and Boris, an unexpected pleasure. You will both be pleased to know that I’ve been taking some happy snaps and sent them to a friend. You have a choice to make. Leave, and your photos with Max and Olivia will remain our little secret. Or stay, and they will be forwarded to Monya. I’m sure he will find your presence here very interesting. It’s entirely up to you.’ Lucia held up her phone so Natasha could see the photographs. Looking at Max, she gave the slightest inclination of her head, accompanied by an almost unnoticeable smile and he knew they would be fine. A few seconds later, she said, ‘Proshchay – goodbye,’ turned and walked out the way she came in. Lucia was gone. Boris and Natasha studied each other before nodding. They stood and, without saying a word, left the restaurant.
The people who, minutes before, had been ushered from their tables returned to their meals and, once again, the room filled with people and conversation, as if nothing had happened. ‘Well, at least we know who’s looking out for us,’ said Max, breathing a sigh of relief. He added. ‘My legs were shaking.’
‘I’m relieved, my love, mine have been shaking for years. At least now, I’m not alone.’
Max smiled. ‘Come on, let’s get something at our hotel.’
As Max stood a calamitous sound followed him. Red and white wine glasses from the table spiralled through the air, tumbling to the ground and shattered in a song of explosive melody as they found a new home on the floor. The china joined the symphony, followed by a percussion of knives, forks, and spoons. Max and Olivia watched the destruction unfolding. With the concert over, they glanced around, engaging the confused stares of their fellow patrons. When Max untangled the tablecloth from his belt, two final items, chopsticks, slipped, falling in apparent slow motion, bouncing a couple of times before coming to a rest.
* * *
The afternoon of the cruise, Olivia inserted into her ear a communications device, designed to resemble a hearing aid. She’d wear it for the duration of the trip. They wanted to test the range and penetration whilst inside the Abbey. Olivia also wore a body camera, disguised as a brooch. When they reached Melk, Max would remain on board and monitor Olivia on his laptop.
Ambrus arrived promptly and drove them to the ship. They hadn’t seen Lucia since the restaurant and wondered if she was a passenger. When they sailed for “the cruise through the city at night” to see Budapest’s iconic buildings lit up, Lucia wasn’t on board.
The river cruise was as they remembered it from last time. Most, but not all, of the guests were over sixty and what was new was that most of the passengers were using Facebook, posting pictures and writing accounts of their journey for their friends. The observation confirmed what Monya had told them; grandparents were becoming the staple users of that social network. ‘This might come in handy,’ said Olivia. ‘When we come back for the Bible, the Professor can harvest data, from Facebook and the other social media accounts of our fellow passengers on the river cruise. We can then weaponise that data and micro-target them.’
Max looked at Olivia questioningly. ‘What the heck does that mean? Why on earth would you want to harvest the data and micro-target them?’
‘The Professor told me, the more you know about a person and their friends, the easier it is to coerce and manipulate them through targeted and crafted messages, fake news, if you like. You use posts that resonate with them emotionally, reinforce their views and prejudices. I’ve been toying with the idea of pretending that a famous celebrity is travelling on the cruise. The Professor could manipulate the passengers’ Facebook feeds to make them believe that Lucia, say, is a famous Hollywood actress. When we visit the Abbey, we could make something happen that would appear to put this celebrity at risk. Maybe… shutting down of Abbey’s security system is part of the threat. The Abbey would be placed on lockdown while they wait for the police incident response team. That’s when we break in and steal the Bible. Perhaps the CIA could contact their Austrian counterparts, alerting them to an important US asset visiting their country.’
‘You’ve certainly picked up the lingo of these new times, Olivia. I can see two problems. Lucia can’t be in two places at the same time. She can’t be the movie star and steal the Bible and, with all those police around, there’s the slight problem of secreting the Bible out of the Abbey.’
‘I know but maybe the answers will come during our reconnaissance.’
After leaving Budapest, it was the afternoon of the third day when they arrived at Melk, having spent two days in Vienna, stopping at Durnstein en route. Ten years ago, when they last visited Durnstein, Max and Olivia had walked up the hill to the old castle ruins, where Richard the Lionheart, the King of England, was imprisoned in 1192. On that occasion, something about the castle had saddened Max. He felt it this time too, even though he could only view it from the town. Was it that one of the most famous names in British history was imprisoned here over eight hundred years ago or that, for centuries, King Richard had been gloried in his struggle to save Jerusalem, Christendom’s holiest city, from Saladin, the Muslim conqueror? As he reflected, he didn’t think so. It wasn’t the legend because he knew there were always two sides of a story. No, his melancholy was because, after eight hundred years, those who believed in the same God had not yet accepted each other. Worse, the brutal conflicts between Sunni Islam and Shia Islam, people of the same faith, caused such strife. This led his thoughts to the wars in the Middle East, Daesh, the Taliban and terrorist attacks on the West. Struggling with his emotions, he pushed the thoughts away. That the ruins move me should be enough, he thought. Sometimes, we can overthink, look for meaning where there is none. He laughed at himself, I’m a silly old bugger. Nowadays, I can become teary over breathing. I suppose that’s better than the alternative: waking up dead.
Arriving in Melk, the Abbey was impossible to miss, perched on a hilltop overlooking the town below. With its yellow facade, octagonal dome and twin spires, it is one of the most inspiring sights in all of Europe, thought Olivia. According to the cruise director, there were two docks in Melk, from which it was about a 20-minute walk up the hill to the Abbey. No walking was necessary, because they had buses waiting.
As was the plan, Max remained in the cabin to monitor Olivia’s progress on his laptop. ‘Are you alright, dear?’ asked Susan, a lady from the cruise who sat next to Olivia on the bus. Olivia had inadvertently responded to one of Max’s provocations, heard through her earpiece. She’d smiled and said, ‘I was told it’s quite alright to talk to yourself, but it’s when you start answering that you have a problem.’ They both laughed.
Once inside the Abbey, Olivia left her tour group, mixing and wandering among the other tourists. As she walked, she
was conjuring up different scenarios of where best to create a ruckus. Was there a way to get them to close the fireproof doors of the library? Could they block the spiral staircase to the church? Of course, the final plan would depend on the location of the entrance to the secret passage. She examined the windows, the entry and exits, contemplating the best way to smuggle the Bible out. Max assessed the communications and visuals whilst Olivia was doing the reconnaissance. The communications device had no issues penetrating the Abbey walls, but Max was unsure whether it would work once below the ground. The Professor had suggested that Olivia could conceal a signal repeater within the Abbey to help the signal reach the command post.
After leaving Melk, it was another thirteen days before they disembarked in Amsterdam. The travelling had given them time to thrash out the basics of a plan and they were keen to be back in the UK. They were hoping that by then, the Professor would have found the secret entry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jana
The day after Max and Olivia arrived back in the United Kingdom, they met with their enlarged team at the underground office, which now included Lucia and Jana. During the debriefing, they learned that Lucia had shadowed them throughout their journey, though they only saw her once. They were disappointed to learn that finding the entrance to the secret chamber was still proving elusive – if the chamber existed at all. Olivia had outlined their plan for the diversion, telling Stephen that the details would be ready for his pre-meeting, which would be a run through, the week before an ultimate presentation to MI6 and the CIA. Stephen instructions were that he wanted all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Stephen finished the debriefing by saying, ‘You have two months to find the entrance. MI6 is putting its faith in all of you. Don’t let us down.’
Inspector Axel, the Professor, Lucia and Jana spent most of their time working at Porton Down. Stephen hadn’t specifically excluded Max and Olivia from going there, but his intentions were clear as he refused access to transport and a security pass. This meant they had little to occupy their time, other than to ruminate over their frustrations. On one particular long and boring day, Olivia suggested that they ask Stephen for driver’s licences. ‘So we can practise, in case we need to make a speedy getaway while on the mission,’ she had told him. ‘We’ll need a car too.’ To say Stephen was uncommitted is an understatement. Why they would want a car was a mystery to him, they were in central London where a car is an inconvenience. When Max threatened to steal a car, Stephen had finally relented. ‘On one condition, that Olivia does the driving. One licence, one driver; that’s it, take it or leave it.’
‘Sounds like a plan, and don’t forget the wheels,’ Max had responded, ‘We would like a nice car; sporty.’
Two weeks later, while standing back to inspect the shiny new red Ford Focus that had been delivered to their hotel car park, Olivia asked Max, ‘Doesn’t that give you a renewed sense of independence, even if we never use it?’
Pretending to be alarmed at the statement, Max repeated in an exaggerated tone, ‘Never use it, I don’t think so! Tomorrow is Sunday so let’s get up early and take it for a little spin while the traffic is still light. It’ll be a great way to build your driving confidence. Then, let’s plan a little road trip. We could head up to Scotland, maybe Loch Ness, in search of the monster.’ He smiled.
The next morning, they awoke with the sparrows, and by 6.00am, were successfully negotiating the hotel car park to head out on their Sunday jaunt. They decided to drive past some of London’s iconic sites, after which they would head down towards the coast. They wanted to be back by early afternoon to beat the traffic. The trip started in earnest with Trafalgar Square. ‘There’s Nelson’s Column with the four lions,’ Max pointed out. ‘I doubt the younger generation knows that it commemorates a British naval victory in 1805. The Battle of Trafalgar in the Napoleonic Wars with France and Spain.’
‘Does it matter?’ Olivia asked, worried that Max was about to give a running commentary on London’s history.
‘I think so.’ Max paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, ‘An understanding of the past helps us to understand the present, which is not just useful but essential. What is it they say? “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Maybe it’s my age but we seem to be stumbling into uncertain times and, unfortunately, we have a bloody history. It’s been over 70 years since we had a truly worldwide conflict. Maybe my unease is because I doubt that MI6 and the CIA are helping us just to learn of Monya’s whereabouts. My history tells me that we can’t trust them.’
‘Come on, Max. You don’t have to be morbid today, we’re off duty. What will be will be, we can worry about it when the time comes. You’re right, though, something isn’t quite right. For today, let’s just have some fun.’
After driving past Trafalgar Square, Olivia headed down the famous Strand, seeing the Royal Courts of Justice on her left, which was built in the 1870’s in the Victorian Gothic style. It was then onto St Paul’s Cathedral. ‘I love this part of London,’ said Max solemnly. ‘Did you know that, before St Paul’s was built, this may have been the site of a Roman temple to the Goddess Diana?’ Max didn’t wait for Olivia to answer. Instead, he opened his window and started waving to passers-by on the footpath. When they stopped at traffic lights, he yelled, ‘Good morning’ to the small number of pedestrians out early on a Sunday morning. Infants and the elderly are excused from normal social constraints, society granting them permission to freely display their feelings, and, in doing so, they often bring joy to others who envy their liberty. When the people noticed that the ruckus was coming from a bald-headed old codger, they smiled and waved back. Olivia wondered if she had made a mistake by encouraging him. Smiling, she thought it could be one of those days, knowing that at some point, she would have to reprimand him. The problem was, that he loved it when she growled at him. When they reached London Bridge, Max called ‘right turn.’ They headed along the Thames to Westminster and Big Ben. It was there that Max suggested that they drive past Buckingham Palace, the Queen’s residence. When they arrived, to Olivia’s embarrassment, Max put his window down again. This time, rather than yelling greetings out the window, he put his arm out and practised what, in Britain they call, “The Royal Wave”, to the Palace guards. ‘Let’s go past again because the guards didn’t wave back,’ he insisted in a jovial tone. With the traffic on Constitution Hill Road being light, Olivia begrudgingly executed an illegal U-turn and headed back the way they’d come. As they approached the Palace for the second time, Max grumbled in realisation. ‘Well, that won’t work. I’m on the wrong side. The guards won’t see me.’
‘Max, I’m not going back again. If we get arrested, Stephen would be most disappointed.’
‘Where is that spirit of adventure, your dare and do?’
Olivia ignored Max’s comments, but she was disturbed. It was a little further down the road, when she had stopped at a set of traffic lights behind another vehicle, that she said, turning to Max, ‘I’m keeping my dare and do for saving Penny!’
‘Sorry,’ he said and leaned over to give her a kiss.
‘You’re a silly bugger sometimes,’ Olivia said, meeting his gaze. Lightly touching his hand, she leaned in towards him and kissed him on the lips. As they smooched, her foot eased from the brake pedal and the car drove forward. SMASH! They hit the back of the car in front with an almighty wallop. Bang! Both the driver and the passenger side airbags exploded into action. Max and Olivia had the air knocked out of their lungs but were more shocked than hurt. The man from the car in front alighted angrily, stopping briefly to inspect the damage to the rear of his vehicle before striding towards the Ford Focus. When he saw the age of the drivers, his demeanour softened. After checking to see whether they were hurt, he rang for an ambulance, despite Max and Olivia’s protests. Although it was still early on a Sunday morning, a crash in the centre of London, at a normally busy intersection, soon brought the police. The registration
check on Olivia’s car came back as blocked. While it was not unheard of for the registrations details to be withheld, it was uncommon, and certainly not expected for a couple in their late 80s. For the police officers, the morning became stranger when they asked Olivia how the accident had happened. Max had shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘We were snogging!’ The police officers looked at each other in disbelief and then turned to Olivia, who said, ‘What can I say? He’s a handsome man.’
When the ambulance arrived, Max and Olivia were allowed out of their car. The paramedics did a routine check of blood pressure, heart rates and asked whether they’d hit their heads, Max and Olivia confirming that they hadn’t. Everything was normal, at least for people of Olivia and Max’s age. When the paramedics suggested that, as a precaution, they should accompany them to the hospital, Max and Olivia declined their offer. Instead of making their way home, they were taken to the station in the back of a Police car, where Stephen was already waiting for them.
Stephen said, ‘I see you both escaped the accident unscathed.’
‘An unfortunate mishap,’ replied Olivia, smiling reassuringly. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘Do you know what they were saying over the radio? That the two of you were “pashing on at the traffic lights” – kissing! Please tell me that you didn’t tell them that?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Max. ‘I think “snogging” was the word we used!’
“Snogging!” What don’t you understand? I’ll be lucky to keep this out of the papers and once again, I’ll have to pull some strings to keep you from being charged. This is not some movie where MI6 is exempt from the laws. How can I tell the Police hierarchy that the reason two “Over Bloody Eighty” year-olds were driving an MI6 car is a need-to-know basis? They won’t accept that. I can see this going all the way to the Minister. Again! Like when Olivia stole the Ferrari in Paris or told the Italians that a bomb was planted at the Venice Railway station. I’m still having to eat humble pie with my French and Italian counterparts. That’s it, no more driving! Your licence is suspended.’
