Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  ‘Jana sweetie, provided that your friends don’t dilly-dally, you should be rescued, but this whole place will be flattened. Can I suggest getting away as quickly as you can? Oh, and I would watch the fireworks from a considerable distance! Until we meet again, Proshchay sweetie.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Escape

  Inspector Axel

  The phone rang. This time it wasn’t the desperate Jana trying to discover whether we were going to make it to the village of Elie in time to save Olivia. It was Peta, the officer in charge, who telephoned about what we were calling the Janus farmhouse incident.

  ‘Inspector Axel…sir,’ she said. ‘You will be pleased to know that we have Olivia. She’s safe and I’ve rung Jana back to let him know.’

  ‘Could you gauge Claudia’s reaction when you told him?’ I asked.

  ‘No sir. I can only guess that she wouldn’t have been happy. Max may be in real trouble now.’

  ‘Okay Peta, great work. I was wondering, how did you get to Olivia in time?’

  ‘We contacted an off-duty police officer living in Elie. Thank God, he was home and made it to Olivia with seconds to spare.’

  ‘That’s a blessing, excellent news. Where’s Olivia now?’

  ‘She’s at his house, the off-duty policeman’s, I mean. We have a car on its way to recover her. I suggest, sir, that you don’t return to the farm but come to the mobile command centre which has been set up in Anstruther. We have live feeds coming in from the farm and have established communication with other security agencies.’

  ‘Has anything happened since Olivia was freed?’

  ‘Yes sir, Whitehall, the Cabinet Office Briefing Room or COBRA as we call it in the UK—’

  I cut Peta off mid-sentence.

  ‘Sorry, what’s COBRA? I’m from Interpol in France, remember.’

  ‘It’s akin to the White House Situation Room in the USA.’

  ‘Okay. I’ve got it. Go on.’

  ‘COBRA was active because of the biological attack on London; they believe these terrorists are linked to that attack and are coordinating the overall situation now. We are running things on the ground but reporting back to them. We expect, sir, that the terrorists will attempt to escape using the two helicopters they have at the farmhouse. COBRA has authorised an E-3D Airborne Warning and Control System aircraft, an AWACS, from the RAF Base at Waddington to be their eyes in the sky. If the helicopters go airborne they will be tracked. They don’t intend to intercept as they believe that the helicopters may lead them to those behind the organisation and, sir, they still want to retrieve the Janus Machine.’

  ‘I take it that the AWACS will assume command if the helicopters take off? Is that right, Peta?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But as I said, while they are in the air, we will still look after things on the ground. Inspector, their instructions are clear; if we are likely to lose them either on the ground or in the air, they will be eliminated. We can destroy the Janus Machine but under no circumstances can it be lost.’

  ‘Understood. What about at the farmhouse? Has anything changed?’

  ‘No sir, but we are expecting some kind of diversion before they attempt an escape. The consensus is they will use the helicopters. COBRA has authorised aircraft to shadow them from a distance and, as an added precaution, two Typhoon fighter jets from the Lossiemouth RAF airbase in Scotland are on standby. They are fuelled and ready to roll. If the helicopters head out to sea, the Typhoon’s will be dispatched and instructed to intercept and destroy, even if we discover that Max is on board. The Janus Machine is the priority.’

  ‘Are you planning to storm the farmhouse?’

  Peta began to answer, then stopped and said, ‘Wait, sir. Both helicopter motors have started and explosions have commenced in no man’s land, the area between the house and the nearest cover.’ There was a pause before Peta continued. ‘They’ve detonated smoke bombs around the house. We’ve lost visual contact. This is it, sir! They’re about to make a break for it. Inspector, the moment the helicopters leave the ground, we are storming the farmhouse.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you, Peta. Be careful. The farmhouse may be boobytrapped. This is no ordinary criminal gang. Jana overheard Claudia telling Max that they have foreign government connections and you know what that means: significant resources, and God knows what they can call upon. Take great care.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. You know what sir, it’s quite possible the helicopters are themselves part of the diversion.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’

  Peta paused and I heard only the sounds of the commotion on the line for a moment.

  ‘The helicopters are airborne, sir.’

  ‘Good luck, Peta. I’ll be with you soon.’

  When Peta hung up the phone I imagined what was taking place on the ground, in the air, and in her mind. I needed to be there.

  ‘Come on Colleen,’ I said to my driver. ‘As fast as you can.’

  Colleen glanced, or should I say glared, in my direction. Without her needing to explain, I was reminded that we were in a 1600cc buzz-box. It had no lights or sirens and my earlier insistence that she speed to rescue Olivia, almost got us killed.

  ‘Safely… but as fast as you can,’ I corrected.

  It took seven minutes for us to reach Anstruther. Peta’s mobile control centre was a medium-sized white van with Incident Control Unit stencilled on its side. Through the open back doors, I saw that the interior was filled with TV monitors, computers and an array of other fancy looking communication equipment. A satellite dish dominated its roof line and, inside, men and women wearing headsets sat at work stations. A large screen displayed live video footage of the ongoing operation at the farmhouse. The operator could switch between the cameras being worn by the officers involved in the manoeuvre.

  Peta looked up from her seat, giving me a welcoming nod as I climbed into the back of the van. Colleen remained in the car.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector. Shut the doors behind you, if you don’t mind?’ she said, politely but firmly.

  I turned, realising that I couldn’t reach the doors from inside. About to leap from the van, I heard Peta say, ‘The blue button on your left. Push it and the doors will close automatically.’

  I complied.

  ‘Inspector,’ said Peta, ‘as you can see on the screen someone’s been found. He’s been tied up and appears to be on his own. Until we can establish who he is, I have told them to proceed cautiously. He could be a suicide bomber!’

  ‘That’s Jana,’ I said with excitement rising in my voice. Regaining my composure, I continued, ‘He’s one of us. Ask your men for a situation report from him ASAP.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ said one of the men from his work station, swivelling his chair in Peta’s direction as he spoke, ‘The AWACS is reporting that both helicopters have been staying low and heading north about ten miles from the coast. They have changed course and are heading east, into the North Sea. They have also picked up two Russian TU-160 Blackjack bombers tracking from the north, on course for the Shetland Islands. The AWACS is wanting an update from the farmhouse.’

  ‘A coincidence, the TU-160’s turning up and the helicopters heading out to sea?’ asked Peta, looking at me as she spoke, her face decorated with incredulity.

  ‘I don’t like coincidence,’ came my reply.

  ‘An update from the farmhouse please,’ said Peta, ‘and instruct them to speak to Jana, the guy you found. Tell them he’s one of us.’

  Via the monitor, we watched as one of the operatives spoke to Jana. Unfortunately, the sound feed was defective and we would have to wait for a radio message before we would discover what he had said.

  Whatever Jana said created a flurry of activity.

  The words that came over the radio were not what we wanted to hear. The farmhouse had been rigged with explosives and could detonate at any moment.

  The situation report from Jana would have to wait until everyone was clear.

&n
bsp; ‘Get yourselves out of there,’ commanded Peta. ‘As soon as you’re safe I want to know if the terrorists have the Janus Machine and if they left in those helicopters.’

  ‘And about Max?’ I added.

  ‘And find out about Max.’

  As we waited for the team to withdraw from the farmhouse, Peta relayed what little she knew to the AWACS.

  Their response was no surprise.

  If the helicopters continued their flight into the North Sea, away from Britain, COBRA ordered them to be destroyed. The designated kill zone would be reached in five minutes at their current speed. The Typhoon fighters, on standby at Lossiemouth, had been launched and would be within missile range of the helicopters imminently.

  Time has a habit of moving inexplicably slowly when in a hurry but all that we could do was watch and wait as our team evacuated the farmhouse. Inwardly however, I kept mumbling to myself,

  Come on! Ask about the Janus Machine and Max as you withdraw. Surely you can walk and talk at the same time.

  I knew better than to air my thoughts publicly. The rational and professional part of me knew that they would have asked, were it safe to do so. From the live video link, we could see our operatives and Jana enter the vehicles and begin speeding away from the farm.

  ‘Ma’am,’ the radio crackled. ‘The Janus Machine is safe and is not on board either of the helicopters. Max posted it to London before he went to the farmhouse to make the exchange for Olivia. All the terrorist got was a box of old books.’

  ‘Relay that message to the AWACS,’ barked Peta, then added without taking a breath, ‘I want to know where Max is and if the terrorists are on board those helicopters.’

  ‘Max is with the terrorists,’ came the reply. ‘But Jana couldn’t see the helicopters from where he was. All we can confirm is that they left the room together and then the helicopters took off.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ said the radio operator who was communicating with the AWACS, ‘I’ve passed on the news about the Janus Machine and they are letting COBRA know; they will inform us if there’s been any change to the plan. They also said, the Typhoon fighters will be within BVR, beyond visual air to air missile range of the helicopters, within four minutes.’

  * * *

  Claudia

  Leaving Jana tied to the chair, I joined Semyon with Max and we made our way out of the farmhouse towards the awaiting helicopters. Max had developed an annoying and deliberate limp which was slowing our progress; a nuisance because we needed to be airborne before the fog from our smokebombs cleared.

  ‘Max, sweetie, you are most exasperating. I spared your life so perhaps the least you could do is walk properly.’

  ‘I’m aged, or would you believe – it’s an old war injury. Or how about gout?’

  ‘Sweetie, if that’s the extent of your humour, it’s pathetic. Vladimir, help Semyon with Max to my helicopter. Have the others been told that we are leaving?’

  ‘Yes boss, everybody else is already on board and, as you ordered, Linda is waiting for you.’

  ‘Thank you, sweetie. Do be careful with him,’ I said, looking to Max. ‘At his age, his arms may fall off. If he keeps up with that limp, drag him but try not to hurt him too much.’

  ‘Boss,’ said Vladimir, ‘why are we taking him with us anyway?’

  ‘I thought it might be entertaining to push him out of the helicopter. To watch as he falls in a five-hundred-foot spiral before hitting the ground with a splat.’

  Vladimir sniggered and I looked at him with daggers as I said, ‘That’s not why I have kept him alive. Question me again and that fate awaits you! Do I make myself clear, sweetie?’

  ‘Yes boss.’

  Max was manhandled into my helicopter with Semyon and myself, but Vladimir was to travel with the others.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Linda, a mixture of disappointment, surprise and suspicion clouding her face.

  Linda Orr had been my partner in crime now for about four years. Our criminal friends saw us as a team, although I was the boss. Linda was a couple of years older than me, slim and athletic but not well endowed – muscular more than perky. Apart from our breasts, we were physically quite similar. Our physical attributes were where the similarities ended and in many ways, we were total opposites, which is why we got on so well. To anyone seeing her in the street, Linda could pass as a distinguished business woman. While she was a smart dresser when she wished it, she had little interest in the latest fashion. Although she was exceptionally bright, cunning and shrewd, she often played the blonde bimbo as a deception to our adversaries. It was Linda who planned our escape from Scotland. There was no doubt in my mind that we would outsmart our pursuers even though I had thrown a spanner in the works by bringing along Max.

  I loved Linda’s sense of humour and with it our verbal jousting, particularly when we found ourselves in tight situations.

  ‘I’ve defected,’ said Max, bringing my thoughts back into the helicopter.

  ‘Defected! You can’t defect,’ said Linda, looking confused and studying me for confirmation.

  ‘Ignore him sweetie. He’s senile.’

  As I spoke, the helicopter lifted into the air. It angled its nose downwards and, with its tail pointing in the air, we sped away metres from the ground, rising and falling with the terrain. Linda gazed over at me and I could tell that she wanted to ask some questions, but with the world speeding past and each of us feeling vulnerable, none of us spoke.

  The pilot dropped the helicopter over the cliff edge and we plummeted towards the beach below before levelling out and tracking from the land and out to sea. The adrenaline rush was over, for the moment.

  ‘Senile!’ repeated Linda. ‘Our masters won’t be pleased. First, we lose the Janus Machine and now we bring Max back with us. I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Have I ever let you down, Linda?’

  ‘I hate to spoil this love-in,’ said Max. ‘You don’t have to worry about your “boss” at all. You do know that they will shoot us out of the sky, right? The British Government isn’t going to let you simply fly out of here!’

  ‘He’s talkative for a condemned man,’ said Linda, giving me a playful look.

  ‘Remember that old mangy dog, the one we should have put down? Max is a bit like that, a bloody pain in the arse but lovable in a strange sort of way.’

  ‘He’s not going to have an accident on the carpet is he – like our dog?’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me, sweetie.’ I said, leaning in towards Max and, in a loud and exaggerated voice continued, ‘Have you got your incontinence pants on, love?’

  We laughed for a second before Linda returned to her first question. ‘Seriously Claudia, why did you bring him?’

  Having spent most of my life lying, it was not overly taxing to dream up a fictitious but believable story. ‘Remember 2008, when Max and Olivia were riding that old motorbike and sidecar around Europe?’

  ‘A 1948 BSA A7—stunningly beautiful. Beauty – something you two wouldn’t understand,’ said Max, interrupting my conversation with Linda.

  Before I could respond, I heard the slightest of sniggers coming from Semyon.

  ‘Semyon,’ I said. ‘If Max speaks again cut his tongue out and Semyon, if you think him a comedian again, I’ll cut something of yours out as well.’

  ‘Semyon, that’s a woman’s name anyway,’ responded Max. ‘So, cutting his dick and balls out would be doing him a favour.’

  With lightning speed, Semyon’s hand wrapped around Max’s throat and with his other hand he grabbed a concealed knife and pushed it against Max’s neck.

  ‘See how smart you are now,’ he spat.

  ‘Boys, play nicely now,’ laughed Linda.

  ‘Let him go, Semyon,’ I commanded. ‘And Max – no more!’

  The words, intended as a threat, sounded like a reprimand of a naughty child. But he nodded his capitulation anyway.

  Before returning my attention to answer Linda’s question, I
looked out the window to gather my thoughts, but rather than inventing more to embellish the lie that I was about to tell, a voice in my head became words from Shakespeare.

  Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. You and I Max but which of us is which?

  As unlikely as it sounds, it was as a defiant teenager that I realised that learning English would create opportunities. Without it, there was little chance of a better life. But it was not until I fled to the United Kingdom that I become fluent and discovered the joy and power of literature, poetry and the arts. I read avidly: Shakespeare, Dickens, Eliot, Hemingway, Wordsworth…, Tennyson and more. My appetite was insatiable, matched only by my ruthlessness, a paradox not lost on me. My only regret, I laughed silently to myself, was my reading of Moby Dick by Melville, a torture which would guarantee a confession from anyone who was forced to read it. It was so excruciating that I had come to love it.

  The sound from the beating rotors as they cut their way through the air brought my focus back to the moment. We were skimming the waves heading north, flying almost parallel to the coast line, moving slowly farther out to sea. As I watched, the pilot coaxed the helicopter upwards and we gained altitude. He altered course, heading out to sea. Aside from our other helicopter, we were alone in the sky. If we were being followed, they were keeping their distance.

  ‘When they were riding that old motorbike and sidecar around Europe,’ I said to Linda, ‘they went to the tunnels near Walbrzch. These are the tunnels where the Nazi gold train is supposedly hidden. It’s a long shot, but let’s interrogate him first, just in case he knows where the train is? Then we can kill him.’

  Linda didn’t reply but instead gave me a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders. Even though I knew Linda well, I wasn’t sure what it meant.

  Was she convinced by my story, or was she keeping her reservations to herself until we were alone?

  Thirty seconds later she spoke. ‘Claudia, you’ll have to do better than that if you don’t want to end up with your throat slit.’ She looked away before adding, ‘We should push him out now! Before it’s too late.’