Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  I reached across to the box where it rested upon the table and ripped the mobile phone from its surface.

  ‘It was all a hoax,’ I said. I undid the latches while Claudia and Jana watched on in anticipation. I lifted the lid to reveal what was inside; a pile of old books.

  ‘Where is it Max?’ spat Claudia with venom.

  Looking at my watch before facing Claudia I replied, ‘The Royal Mail got picked up a little over an hour and a half ago. I guess by now it’s somewhere in Edinburgh and will soon to be on a plane to London.’ It wasn’t actually going to London; I said that only for impact, and to keep the Agency and its nondescript house in Cliff secret.

  Claudia was still for a moment, saying and doing nothing, before taking, from her side, a Glock pistol. Pulling the hammer back for effect, she pointed the muzzle straight between my eyes. Olivia was safe, Janus was safe and I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of flinching. She held my gaze and, in my peripheral vision, I saw as her finger pulled slowly back on the trigger. It was difficult to resist the urge to close my eyes but neither of us blinked. Then, without warning, she pulled the gun away from my face and said, in a voice restored to her normal calm and overly polite way, ‘You may have won, but tell me—what do you have to look forward to? Nothing! Max, you have nothing! Go back to where you came from and spend the remainder of your miserable life in a nursing home.’

  ‘Boss,’ interrupted Semyon. ‘The diversion for our escape starts in two minutes.’

  ‘Thank you Semyon. Max sweetie, I’ve changed my mind –I’ve other plans for you. Semyon tie Jana up. Max is coming with us.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ I heard Jana ask.

  ‘Sweetie, you will have to wait and see.’

  THE END

  Claudia

  Mark A. Biggs

  mbkbooks

  MBK CONSULTING

  Dedication

  To my mother – Patricia Biggs

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to those people who helped in the writing of Claudia.

  Colin Chudleigh.

  Colleen Crookston.

  Sandy Komen.

  Paul Smith.

  PROLOGUE

  Claudia

  I watched in disbelief as Max reached across the table to the box housing the Janus Machine and ripped the mobile phone from its surface. Lifting his eyes, he looked at me and smiled, saying, ‘Claudia, it was all a hoax.’

  It was then that I realised the mobile phone had never been attached to a bomb; one supposedly concealed within the box. Max had threatened to destroy the Janus Machine if I did not reveal Olivia’s whereabouts. Although I don’t like to admit it, Max had ingeniously manipulated me. He had turned the tables. Kidnapping Olivia should have guaranteed us – the Russian Mafia – the ultimate weapon – but it didn’t matter. Olivia might be free but the Janus Machine was ours.

  Max unfastened the latches and lifted the lid, revealing nothing but a pile of old books. Seething anger flowed through my veins.

  What! No Janus Machine!

  ‘Where is it, Max?’ I spat in fury.

  How is it possible that two eighty-seven-year olds, Max and Olivia, had outwitted me, Claudia, a Brigadier, a Capi or Lieutenant, in the most powerful and influential of all the Russian Mafia Brotherhoods?

  My task was straightforward. Follow Max and Olivia, two nursing home runaways from Australia as they made their way to the United Kingdom on a mission to retrieve the Janus Machine, a device hidden in the dying days of WW2. The primary objective of my task was to secure the device for ourselves but the overriding imperative was to prevent it from falling into the hands of the British Government. The stakes were high: billions of pounds in extortion money would be lost if we didn’t succeed. For the British and other wealthy governments, thousands of lives were at risk.

  Provocatively, Max looked at his watch, mimicking my actions of when I counted down for the explosion which should have killed Olivia. He said, ‘The Royal Mail picked up a parcel a little over an hour and a half ago. By now, the Janus Machine is somewhere in Edinburgh and will soon be on a plane to London.’

  The contemptuous senile old man! He will pay for this – I’m going to kill him this time.

  Only seconds before, I had been the victor. It was a simple trade: the Janus Machine for Olivia. I had taken the precaution of holding Olivia at a different location so that when Max came to the exchange point, a farmhouse in Scotland surrounded by open fields, Olivia would be absent. Instead, he would watch a live video feed as we counted down to her death – a house that was slowly filling with gas. If he’d handed over the Janus Machine, I would then tell him where Olivia was. There was barely time to rescue her before an automated trigger device ignited the gas. It was enough. My plan ensured that Max had no time to cook up some cock-and-bull story, to stall hoping for a rescue mission. I’d not anticipated that he’d pretend to have concealed explosives in the box.

  With Olivia free and the Janus Machine on its way to London, my retribution would be cold, swift and final. Max would cower before me; he would beg for his life before I extinguished it in an ecstasy of unrivalled pleasure.

  As for the man who came with Max to the farmhouse, Jana, although I doubted that was his real name, I would let him live to tell the story of how I coolly eliminated – no, executed – Max. Fear of my name would spread: Claudia, a cold-blooded killer. I preferred it to Claudia, the laughing stock, outwitted by a doddering vicar and his nutty wife.

  I reached to where the Glock pistol was holstered at my side and lifted it until the muzzle was pointing between Max’s eyes. I pulled back the hammer, for no other reason than dramatic effect. The sound of it clicking into place sent a sudden rush of adrenaline surging through my veins. I quivered slightly as the orgasm from the anticipation of violence titillated my senses. I wanted, needed sex following a kill and this was going to be a pleasurable execution.

  Max held my gaze, his eyes fixed on mine. I slowly squeezed the trigger; the mechanism that would bring forth his God.

  Neither of us blinked.

  But then something unexpected happened.

  As I stared deep into the old green eyes, my mood mellowed. The rage I felt slipped away to be replaced by what?

  Was it pity? No – grief. What was happening to me?

  Without my permission, a tear formed and welled in the corner of my eye. Then another. I pushed them away but emotions that I had long forgotten surfaced. Staring into his eyes, I saw myself in the reflection. Not Claudia but Lucia, my real name: a fourteen-year-old girl, prisoner of the sex slave trade in the former Yugoslavia. Lucia stared back at me and I was transported to that time.

  * * *

  ‘You’re my favourite, Lucia,’ said Tamara, as she caressed and stroked my fine blonde hair. I felt the sweeping motion of the brush pulling the hair softly against my scalp. In the mirror, I saw Tamara smiling and standing behind my chair, her body pushing against my back.

  ‘We have some special guests tonight. They will want to take some pictures. Remember to be a good girl. You don’t want Ivankov to send you away, like the other girls.’

  ‘Just pictures?’ I said.

  ‘These are special guests, sweetie. You know I’m always outside and wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.’ She ceased her brushing and, in the mirror, I watched as she gently leaned over and kissed the top of my head. ‘Now get dressed, my little mouse, and make yourself beautiful.’

  She placed the hairbrush on the dressing table beside me and turned to leave the room. On reaching the door, she paused. With her beautiful blue eyes and flowing brown hair, Tamara, the only mother I remembered, raised her hand to her mouth and in the reflection, I saw her blow me a parting kiss.

  I’d been living there for so long that I no longer remembered my arrival or when I was given my own room. Unlike other children who were locked in their rooms, I was allowed to wander freely about the big house. I knew better than to ask where I was but I guesse
d, from what I had overheard, that the house was part of a large estate surrounded by a high stone wall with trees on the outside, their tops visible above the barrier. I knew that we were somewhere in Yugoslavia.

  None of this mattered: my home was my prison.

  To survive, I had learnt to smile, please and be pleasing. I had seen what happened to other girls when a guest complained, so I became a special gift, earning privileges in return. When I was alone in my room at night, I cried myself to sleep, wishing someone would come and save me.

  At first, the tears were because I’d been stolen from my mother and wanted to go home. But then one day, I couldn’t remember her anymore. Then the tears were for what they were doing to me and I cried to be rescued. But now I wept because I needed rescuing from myself. Sometimes, if a man or woman was gentle, my body screamed out in pleasure and desire. Afterwards, when they’d left, I floundered in the guilt of my own sexual feelings – despairing at what I’d become and what I would be.

  ‘Please save me. Take me away from this place,’ I whispered to myself, as Tamara pushed the door closed behind her as she left.

  Through the window, from the gravel driveway below, I heard vehicles slowing and then stopping. I stood, left the dressing table and walked across to the window to look down from my upstairs bedroom. A white van stopped and I saw six children, mostly girls, but also a couple of boys, taken from the house. They were bundled into the back, to be whisked away to their new owners. It was a scene I’d witnessed many times. Watching it again, my senses were numb and my response emotionless.

  When did I stop caring?

  When new children arrived, I kept my distance; aloof, remote but not always a physical distance because sometimes the jobs I was given involved closeness or contact with them. But by never looking into their eyes, I learned to build a wall that protected me. I felt nothing but detachment, asking no questions and giving no comfort. I survived. Their future rested in their own hands, or in truth, on how they used their bodies.

  As I turned away from the window, the scene drifted from my thoughts and I studied the garments in the wardrobe from which I could choose for tonight’s special guests. I knew that I was expected to select my prettiest clothes; instead, I picked an old pair of blue jeans, a loose-fitting top and sandshoes. I changed into them, slinked over to the dressing table mirror and stared at the reflection. Gazing back at me I saw a girl, happily playing in a forest, then lying by a stream and frolicking with the animals. Imagining the sky as a beautiful rich blue and the grass a magical emerald green. Birds sang and I felt the warmth of the sun as it illuminated my face.

  The fantasy was swept away by the sound of tap-tap-tap on the door followed by Tamara’s voice.

  ‘Don’t be long Lucia, sweetie. Come downstairs when you’re finished dressing.’

  Tamara’s footsteps faded and the silence of my room returned as she walked away down the corridor.

  For a second longer I lingered, remaining motionless to stare at my reflection in the mirror. With no sound or movement, for the briefest of moments, the world was perfectly still. My delusion one of happiness. Turning from the mirror, I looked at my pretty clothes sombre in the wardrobe, awaiting my attention for tonight. Before putting them on, I returned once more to my reflection and escaped into my dream of happiness.

  Gunshots! Yelling!

  With curiosity, but not panic, I walked over to look out from the bedroom window. The van was still there but this time men were hurriedly pulling children from the back and ushering them towards the house. The commotion was coming from the far side of the driveway gates. Another shot rang out, causing more people to rush from the house. Some took cover behind stone artwork decorating the garden whilst others crouched behind the fountain, the central feature of the driveway and the entrance to the residence.

  From my vantage point, I watched as an eerie quiet returned to the grounds which was suddenly broken by a deafening explosion. The bedroom window shook violently as the wrought iron gates that locked us away from the world danced upwards, spiralling toward the sky, leaving a fog of dust and dirt in their wake. Where these gates of hell had stood, the protectors of this underworld, armoured vehicles were now bursting in.

  The sound of gunshots returned but this time they came from every direction. I remained motionless, frozen, a spectator to a gladiatorial battle. From outside of our compound, more vehicles entered the courtyard and armed military people spilled out in overwhelming numbers. A whooshing noise from the rotor blades of helicopters suddenly overwhelmed the scene. Looking up, I saw ropes being dropped and men in battle fatigues descending to the ground below. People in army uniform soon filled the area around our home. The sounds of gunfire drifted away and then almost as quickly as it all started, the outside became silent. Instead, the commotion switched to within the house; people were running and calling. I knew where they were heading: to the secret escape routes, a flight from justice. They would be gone before the victors crossed our threshold.

  Turning back to the window, I watched police cars joining the swarm of military vehicles outside.

  A car, memorably a red one, neither a military nor a police vehicle, entered the compound and stopped slightly away from the other vehicles. The door opened and I watched an older man and woman get out. They exuded authority; a man I’d seen issuing orders, directing soldiers during the fight, saluted them and pointed around the grounds and then towards the house. The aged couple nodded as the commander did so, and after a short conversation, they were left standing alone. They conversed and I could see, from the movements of their heads, that they were taking in their surroundings. Then slowly, the older man lifted his head until his gaze found my window and our eyes met.

  I don’t know how, but I knew that he had come for me and I would be safe.

  * * *

  Staring deep into his green eyes and with the Glock pistol pointed at his head, I was struck by the realisation – It was Max and Olivia who came for me all those years ago.

  Age had taken a heavy toll on them, so much so, that I hadn’t recognised either of them. But now as I looked into those eyes I was certain, although Max wasn’t the name that I knew him by.

  Rattled by my own feelings, I hesitated and then eased the pressure on the trigger of my Glock by relaxing the muscles in my finger.

  I can’t do it. I can’t kill him but he mustn’t know the truth.

  Regaining my composure, I said in my overly polite manner, while trying to hide my ambiguity, ‘You may have won but, tell me, what do you have to look forward to? Nothing! Max, you have nothing! Go back to where you came from and spend the remainder of your miserable life in a nursing home.’

  I spoke those bitter words but inside I was being torn apart with feelings of despair replaced by a longing for the emotional emptiness of my life to end. It was the sound of my loyal henchman Semyon’s voice that returned my focus.

  ‘Boss, the diversion for our escape starts in two minutes.’

  I hesitated, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my distraction.

  ‘Thank you, Semyon.’

  It’s important to act decisively and retain my authority. Nobody must recognise my temporary weakness, I said to myself.

  Yet for reasons I was struggling to understand, I knew that I couldn’t kill Max but nor could I leave him behind.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I snapped, ‘I’ve other plans for you. Semyon, tie Jana up. Max is coming with us.’

  ‘Where are you taking him?’ I heard Jana ask.

  ‘Sweetie, you will have to wait and see.

  ‘Stand up Max,’ I commanded, and with this instruction, I placed my arm under his shoulder and, with a gentleness that surprised me, helped him rise from the chair.

  ‘I need to go to the toilet before we leave,’ he said. ‘You know what it’s like for old men! And with all this excitement!’

  ‘Sweetie, there is something about you that one can’t help but admire, even if one of your legs is abo
ut to fall off, we are leaving now! You can walk, shuffle or even crawl for all I care, but we are going.’

  I escorted, half carried, him to the door which was behind my desk. Pausing, I looked back to where the Janus Machine box with its discarded mobile phone rested.

  How am I ever going to explain this? Tricking me with the fake contents!

  The building where we were hiding had been used by us as a safe house for over twenty years. It was perfectly situated on a slight rise in the middle of open fields, with one track in, and five hundred metres of unimpeded view of anyone approaching. It was only twenty minutes’ drive from the Anstruther golf course, where we used a small sandy beach on the famous fifth hole, The Rockies, to smuggle people, arms and contraband in and out of the UK.

  My masters will despair that I lost the Janus Machine. Compromising the safe house may be a step-too-far. Any more mistakes could cost me dearly and yet, here I am, taking Max with me. What plausible reason could I concoct for that?

  With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I looked about for the last time. Passing Max to Semyon, I returned to the room and stood in front of Jana, still tied to a chair.

  ‘Jana, sweetie. Unlike your little masquerade, we do have explosives and they are rigged to blow up and destroy this farmhouse. Vladimir, if you wouldn’t mind sweetie, can you start the timer please?’

  Vladimir answered with a nod of his head and left.

  Saying nothing, I waited patiently while looking down at Jana. He didn’t look up to meet my gaze, but stared straight ahead, staying mute.

  About a minute later Vladimir returned.

  ‘Done, boss.’

  A sound filled the air.

  Explosions, detonations.

  Another noise.

  Rotor blades. Our helicopters were coming to life.

  This signalled that the diversions for our escape had started and it was time to leave.