by Mark A Biggs
‘Theft will not be tolerated,’ concluded Nurse Ratched, pointing her dagger-like finger in my direction.
A grovelling humble apology was my only defence, accompanied by real dread; in just one day I had exhausted any goodwill harboured toward me at the home. If I was caught doing anything else, the UK would become an insurmountable obstacle and Janus might be lost.
If I thought Nurse Ratched’s dressing down was intimidating, by the time Olivia said her piece, the nurse was only mildly unfriendly; a pussy cat.
Olivia opened her account with an attack of poignant humour, which spoke of my past failures. ‘Another cunning plan Baldrick?’
That night, the dining room was a hum of excitement, of loud voices and quiet whispers. It was as if a bolt of rejuvenating energy had awoken many from a soulless slumber. There was even laughter, unfortunately at us and not with us, but laughter nonetheless. Olivia received looks of compassion, understanding and support, as though she was a mother responsible for a wayward child. After dinner, we made our way to the door ready to retire to Olivia’s room for after dinner drinks in her luxurious royal penthouse suite. A hand gripped my shoulder and, in a quiet but firm voice, Jana, a fellow ‘guest’ at our Hotel President Wilson, said in his rhythmic BBC accent. ‘You can’t fool me old man, something’s afoot. You can count on me.’
Working to the agreed plan, Olivia left the curtains open and the lights on. It was close to 9.30 pm when a tap-tap tapping was heard on the French windows and past midnight by the time Penny left. During the visit, we shared some of our past stories and formulated another plan.
‘Let’s hope this idea is better than the one to convince Gordon and Jane to send us home… or stealing a scooter.’ That was Olivia’s final observation.
We decided that, over the next couple of nights, I would simply break into the administration office, use their computers to purchase airline tickets, hire a car, book accommodation and contact Cliff. We would tell the retirement home that, on Sunday, because of my indiscretion, Gordon and Jane would be taking us home with them for a month. At the end of their scheduled visit, Olivia and I would merely accompany Gordon and Jane to the car and wave goodbye. Then, rather than going back inside, we’d go up the road and wait outside house number thirty-five for a pre-ordered taxi. The taxi would then take us to the train station. From there, it would be by train to Melbourne, where we’d hide out in a hotel before taking a taxi to the airport and then a flight to the UK. All-in-all it was very straightforward. We debated the wisdom of writing under the guise of Gordon and Jane to inform Bellbird that we would be absent for a month. Doing this significantly increased the risk of staff talking to Gordon and Jane during their visit but, in the end, we determined this a risk worth taking. On Sundays, there is no administration staff on duty and the office is closed. It would be highly unlikely that any of the nursing staff on duty would have seen the letter and therefore raise it’s contents with Jane or Gordon.
The letter to Bellbird Village was beautifully scripted by Olivia and included a further apology for the incident. Penny was to post the letter any time before Thursday using one of the street postal boxes in the city centre. Working in Hawthorn, some six kilometres from the CBD, and in keeping with the cloak-and-dagger world we were creating, she was to travel into the CBD during working hours without using her Myki travel pass. It was preferable that no one knew she was missing, so lunchtime was the best time and, of course, her mobile phone was to be left on her desk. At the end of the day she would follow her normal routine.
For a final act of intrigue, I handed Penny the Bellbird Village letter wrapped in a plastic bag, with instructions not to leave her fingerprints on it.
Before Penny left, we handed her another envelope, the one from the cash box, which contained a post office box key.
‘Penny, the only secure way to communicate in the digital age is via post. In the next couple of days we will write to you and in the letter will be an envelope addressed to us in the UK. You’re to use that envelope to send us this post office box key.’
As I said this, I pointed to the envelope in Penny’s hands. She opened it to reveal the key and nodded.
I continued, ‘If, for any reason, we don’t pick up the letter in Britain, the return address will be to you.’
I could tell that questions were flooding Penny’s mind because in rapid succession they sprang forth with urgency. ‘What do you mean, if you don’t pick up the key? And if it did come back what am I supposed to do with it? Why not take it with you?’ And then finally, ‘What is the key for?’
Inside I knew that Penny was the likely one to complete the mission and not us, but how could we expect help in ignorance, particularly if it placed her life at risk? After sixty-six years, the time was both right and necessary to share a little more of our story with her but not all of it. And so I began.
‘Penny, I want to answer all your questions but it’s not wise for you to know the whole story—not yet. You know some of our tale from when you brought us the cash box but, if it’s okay with you, I will start again from the beginning. To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what we’ve already shared with you. That was two years ago.’
Penny nodded and settled to listen.
‘Olivia and I met during the Second World War when I joined an organisation called the Agency in 1943. The first time I saw her was at the headquarters, a private house in a small village called Cliff in Cornwall. She was a beautiful Wren working for a top secret organisation. She was an officer and I was an inexperienced ordinary seaman feeling out of place joining a group of seasoned sailors to be involved in all kinds of clandestine and secret operations. The men were all suspicious of the new boy and Olivia went out of her way to help me settle in. She gave me confidence before I was sent on my first mission. I think for both of us it was love at first sight. It’s strange now but, in those days, ratings could not date officers. We were breaking rules even then. The Agency was not my full time war role; I was assigned to other duties in the Royal Navy and only summoned to Cliff for particular missions. Sometimes I would go months without seeing Olivia.
‘With the end of the war, our work with the Agency didn’t finish. Times had changed and our relationship, which had been frowned upon, was now encouraged. The Agency had become paranoid about being infiltrated by the Russians. If an agent had a new girl or boyfriend, they wanted to know who initiated the relationship, just in case the new partner was a foreign spy. We were seen as a safe option.
‘Olivia and I have, for the best part of our lives, continued work for them and a doddering old vicar with his faithful wife proved to be a most useful disguise.’
As I spoke, memories of a lifetime working together, often in dangerous situations, came flooding back. I recalled the friends we had lost, the places we had been, our wonderful marriage and subsequent life together. For a moment I had to stop talking as my voice choked and tears ran down my cheek.
‘It’s annoying how the slightest thing causes my voice to quiver nowadays.’ After a cough to clear my throat and pausing to take a breath, I continued.
‘You were spies?’ interrupted Penny.
‘I suppose we were. It almost sounds glamourous and on occasions it was, but, at other times, particularly during the war, it was deadly. This is one of those times.
‘What we need your help with had its origins in the concentration camps of the Second World War; it was called, in German, Projekt Janus or Project Janus.
‘It’s not safe to tell you what the Janus Project was or what the Janus Machine did but it was for this left over legacy from WW2 that we returned to Europe for our eighty-fifth birthdays. Our mission was to retrieve a thing called the Janus Key and deliver it into safe hands. The motorbike accident was no accident; someone was trying to retrieve the key but it was, by then, too late. Thinking we were being followed, we mailed the Janus Key back to the UK. Who was trying to get it, how they know about it or how they knew we were trying to retrieve i
t, we don’t know. Could be terrorists, multinationals or foreign governments; any or all would be interested and willing to kill for the secret or to keep it secret.
‘All we really know now is, for the Agency to send the retrieval code, the message in the paper we told you about, something really serious must have or be happening. We don’t know the exact hiding place of Janus but we believe it’s somewhere in Scotland. The clue to its location will be sent to a post office box in Exeter. The key to this box is the one you are to post to us in the UK. Once we have what’s in the post box we believe we will know where to look.
‘Because of the previous attempt on our life, we don’t want to carry the key unless absolutely necessary and, if we can’t make it to the UK, we want to know that the key is safe. I can’t tell you how, but we will leave you instructions. Knowing too many details of our trip may place you in danger; something we don’t want to happen.’
‘I need to pick you both up on Sunday. You can stay with me and I will take you to the airport,’ Penny said in a slightly panicked but authoritative voice.
‘That would be fantastic but our movements would too easily be traced to you. We don’t want to place you in danger. Penny, people are willing to kill for our knowledge and also what they think we have told you. Already you know more than you should; our false passport names, where we are going and when you receive our letter, an address we will visit in the UK. We have to be really careful that we don’t attract any more attention to you than we must. If anything was to happen to us, you will become the custodian of the key and we don’t want the wrong people knowing that.’
‘Do you think we did the right thing?’ asked Olivia later. ‘Involving Penny, I mean.’
‘What else could we do?’
‘We could not go?’
‘Olivia, if I stay here I will die.’
‘That’s the whole point of these places Max. This is our hotel California—you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.’
‘We are leaving!’
CHAPTER FIVE
The Grey Escape
After leaving breakfast and arriving at the rendezvous point at 9.25am I discovered that Olivia was, as always, customarily late. A couple of metres from the front office there’s the public notice board highlighting the various excursions and activities on offer during the week. Waiting and reading the board attracts no suspicion and so I easily filled the time until Olivia arrived.
‘Olivia, I was looking for you,’ I said in a raised voice. Using my two walking sticks, I made my way over to the prearranged observation spot in front of the open administration office door. A fictitious conversation about the trip to the movies advertised on the notice board for this afternoon provided ample cover as we cased the layout of the office. I paid particular attention to the locks, room layout and the position of the computers and printers.
The administration area is located on the left hand side of the foyer as you come in through the main entrance. It’s a large room with a reception window and counter linking it to the foyer. A number of desks furnish the room along with a printer and photocopier. At the rear is a door leading to the CEO’s office, which is also accessible from the main corridor. It has a window to the outside but is private from the administration area and corridor.
The foyer, which doubles as the reception waiting area, is a large open space and a key pedestrian junction for the home. Corridors head off to the left and right. Going left you pass the administration area, the CEO’s office and the Director of Nursing’s office before coming to the accommodation areas. To the right is the main dining room, reading areas, a small chapel, a common room and then accommodation. I knew all this already, of course, but now I paid it particular attention.
From my vantage point, the lock on the administration door looked simple and easy to overcome with a credit card. I saw two computers, one on the reception desk and the other on a work bench farther to the back of the room. The main risk of breaking into the office appeared to be its visibility. Once inside, people could see us through the reception window although, at night, nursing staff don’t generally walk past the window except during shift changeover. Unfortunately, the reception window was also visible from the corridor leading to the dining room. People coming and going would see into the administration room if they purposely looked.
On finishing the surveillance conversation with Olivia, I made my way down the corridor and paused outside the CEO’s office door. The office is accessible from the main corridor and from within the administration area. The lock on the door adjoining the main corridor appeared simple but would require specialist tools that I didn’t have. The obvious plan was to use the computer in the CEO’s office because it was out of sight of the reception window, but the only way to access the room was through the administration office.
The secret to planning and then executing a clandestine mission comes in two parts. First, do everything slowly, thereby maximising focus and speed. Many techniques are available to control the normal fight or flight impulse we all experience under stress; the management of this is the staple of secret agents. Over time we each find a technique or set of tools which work the best for us to enhance our calm and focus. For me it’s colouring books. Before going on a mission or before spending an evening planning a mission, I would sit quietly focusing on colouring between, but never touching, the lines. Each stroke of colour was meticulously applied through slow, purposeful and controlled movements of the pencils. Breathing became one with the pencil, breathing in with one stroke and slowly out with the other, pausing briefly with each change of direction. If a colouring book was not at hand, doodling in the same slow and careful manner induced a tranquil unruffled state of calm and concentration. The second secret is to ensure that to all those around you, nothing seems out of the ordinary. With this in mind we joined the after lunch excursion, as advertised on the notice board, to see a movie, Gulliver’s Travels, in 3D no less.
The timing of when to break into the office was the only decision remaining. There was no right or wrong answer with the outcome determining whether or not it was a good decision. Olivia and I discussed the two most obvious options; after the evening meal when non-independent residents are prepared for bed, or, alternatively, during the early hours of the morning when staffing numbers are low and the likelihood of anyone walking the corridors was slim. Each option had its own strengths and difficulties. In the early hours, any movement or sound would attract attention and, during the bed period, the building was a buzz of activity. After a lengthy debate, we settled on bed time, between the kitchen staff leaving (8.00 and 8.30pm) and the night shift arriving (10.30 and 11.00pm). Our plan left a narrow window, between 9.00 and 10.00 pm.
‘There’s no point waiting,’ I said to Olivia, ‘but everything would need to go perfectly.’
‘Whatever you do, don’t get caught. Not after yesterday. Remember, this is what you are good at and you’ve done it a hundred times before. Take your time and it will be a breeze.’ She said and gave me a reassuring smile.
Doodling quietly and seated at the reading space provided an unobstructed view of the front entrance, dining room and reception area. The last of the kitchen staff bade me a goodnight as she left through the front door. I counted slowly to thirty. Adrenaline flowed through my veins and I felt invigorated; a sensation not experienced in many a year. My creaking old body stirred and woke from its long hibernation. The home buzzed with noise as residents and staff went about their business. With both walking sticks held in one hand and using the other hand to manipulate the credit card, a familiar clicking sound signalled that the lock was open. A check left and then right while slipping the credit card back into my pocket freed my hand to open the door.
‘Are you okay Max?’ a voice called from behind.
Trying to show no hint of surprise, I slowly turned to see Nurse Sian watching inquisitively. I took my hand out of the pocket, now holding a handkerchief, which I waved briefly
in her direction before moving it towards my nose. Unhurriedly, I returned the handkerchief to the pocket and the second walking stick to my free hand. Clarification obviously at hand, Nurse Sian smiled enlightenment and hurried away.
After a brief pause and now with a little more foreboding, I proceeded with the break-in.
The door closed behind me and, for about the next three minutes, I was, through the reception window, on full view until I could find cover in the CEO’s office. To my delight the CEO’s office door was unlocked and swung open silently. Upon entering, I closed the door behind me giving me a sanctuary for the task at hand. I made myself comfortable at the desk and the CEO’s computer whirred into life while I pressed F10 so that the computer would boot in Bios mode. After I inserted the iSunshare CD and selected the Boot from CD option from the Bios menu, a beautiful screen appeared with the title ‘Reset Windows Password.’ Scrolling down I chose “Bill’s PC”. Bill is the first name of the CEO. I clicked the reset password button and the password became blank. The computer was accessed. Time taken; ten minutes.
It was unmistakeable, the sound of a key being inserted in to the CEO’s door which lead to the hallway, followed by the cluck of a lock giving way. The door handle turned and a crack of light penetrated the darkened room which moments before had been illuminated only by the light of Windows 7 emanating from the screen.
‘Bill, Bill,’ I heard Jana call aloud. The growing crack of light receded and then vanished as the door closed.
‘Good evening Jana, how can I help you?’ I caught the words being spoken in the corridor.
With the short conversation over, Bill opened the door to his office, intent, most likely, on catching up on some work in which he had fallen behind. The sense of unease was immediate; perhaps it was brought about by the door between his office and the admin being open, a door he always shut before going home. I saw him as he peered out into the administration area but then apparently satisfied, he sat at his desk.