Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  ‘Is that when the accident happened?’ Stephen asked, breaking the temporary silence.

  The events from the motorbike crash still haunted me. It was because of that accident that our children convinced us to give them Enduring Power of Attorney, to be used in case of an emergency, they promised. Despite our misgivings, we had signed and, within months, they’d sold our house, emptied our bank accounts and shipped us off to a nursing home.

  All in the name of our care, they’d said.

  Remembering the accident and the events which followed no longer made me tearful. But given that this was a debriefing and I was trying to appear truthful, I considered that it may be to my advantage, if not more authentic, to give the impression that, recalling these events, could trigger a strong emotional response. It aided, in my mind, the deception. It would confirm me as an old, harmless and vulnerable woman. This was, if I had my way, the furthest thing from the truth, although I would concede the “old” part.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. There were no tears but I swallowed lightly and then allowed a slight hesitation to quiver in my voice. ‘Yes, that’s when the accident happened, or a better description would be, the attempt on our lives. We were never the same after that – it was a serious crash. After our release from hospital, we returned to Australia to find ourselves locked away in a nursing home and waiting for God.

  ‘Max stopped searching the newspaper when we first moved into the home. I can’t recall the exact order of events, Stephen, but I think we had been living there about twelve months when the news reported an Ebola outbreak in Africa. Max didn’t say anything but I noticed that about that time, he started checking the death notices in the paper again. When Britain experienced that Ebola outbreak, closely followed by bird flu in the USA, I secretly wondered if someone had a Janus Machine. When both outbreaks vanished as mysteriously as they came, I was convinced something evil was at play.’

  ‘Did you share your thoughts with Max?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t in a good place at that time and I didn’t want to burden his mind with such dark thoughts. It was a difficult period, for both of us.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Stephen. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted your flow.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I replied. ‘On the 21st of March this year, which by chance was our second anniversary, two years since we had moved into that dreadful nursing home, a secret message, one agreed to years earlier, appeared in the death notices of the paper.

  “DUVAL Claude of Covent Gardens. Passed away peacefully.”

  ‘It meant that we had to travel to the UK and retrieve the Janus Machine. The communication confirmed our suspicions, Stephen, about the Ebola and bird flu outbreaks. Someone had used targeted biological weapons against the UK and the USA and, maybe, the Ebola outbreak in Africa was a test run.

  ‘We escaped from the home and flew here, to the UK. Unfortunately, initially at least, the police tried to catch us and send us back to Australia. Once here, we found ourselves in an epic game of cat and mouse with the police and Claudia’s people. Eventually our search for the Janus Machine took us to an old cold war bunker, under a farmhouse in Scotland. That was about the same time that the terrorists used the biological weapon against London. When we retrieved the Janus Machine from its hiding place, Claudia was waiting for us. Max escaped with the help of Jana and I was kidnapped. Do you want me to tell you about Claudia?’

  ‘No, no, that’s okay, Olivia. Jana has told us all we need to know but I do have one question that’s been nagging at me. Do you know Claudia?’ As he spoke he pushed a photograph of her across the table that separated us. ‘I mean, have you met her before? As part of your work?’

  For a moment, the question stumped me. There was something nagging in my memory.

  Have I met Claudia before?

  ‘I don’t think so Stephen but there is something about her and I can’t put my finger on it. Do you mind if I keep the photograph?’

  ‘Go on, keep the picture. I ask, Olivia, because something is odd. Why would Claudia want to take Max with her?’

  ‘I’ve asked myself the same question because it makes no sense. My fear is, does she want to kill him and make some grand gesture with his body? She can’t want him for any other reason.’

  ‘Olivia, is there anything, anything at all from WW2 or during the cold war, perhaps, that may be of interest to her?’

  ‘Except for the Janus Machine, everything is in the past. I have racked my brain, but there’s nothing of value that we know.’

  And so, our chats continued over the course of the three days. Not once did I mention the headquarters in Cliff, instead telling Stephen that we would meet our contacts at the East Dart Hotel in Postbridge, Devon. A place where we stayed whilst eluding the authorities before recovering the Janus Machine.

  At some stage during our conversations, Stephen told me that, when the debriefing was over, I would stay with Inspector Axel. He said that it would not be indefinitely, only until the tanker they believed Max was on had docked and been searched. I would then be returned, though deported was how I saw it, to Australia with or without Max. Stephen explained that Inspector Axel was helping Max after I was kidnapped and he’d been instrumental in my rescue from the house in Elie.

  ‘Stephen,’ I asked, with an edge of sorrow in my voice. ‘How many people died from the biological attack, before we could stop them?’

  ‘It’s not over yet Olivia, but hundreds. It may even become thousands.’

  * * *

  Perhaps naively but, until the day after my debriefing and while waiting for Inspector Axel to collect me, I had a vain hope that Max was still on board the ship. That was until I read an article in the Sun newspaper which accompanied my breakfast. The headline read:

  MULTIPLE nuclear-powered Russian submarines are being hunted off the UK coast, sources confirmed yesterday.

  Three NATO search planes have been scouring seas off east Scotland for the last 48 hours.

  A Royal Navy anti-submarine frigate HMS Sutherland has joined the hunt for the subs—armed with cruise missiles.

  Sources said a Royal Navy Trafalgar class hunter-killer sub is also backing the pursuit.

  A Whitehall source said: “There are believed to be multiple Russian submarines off the coast of Scotland. Various assets have been deployed to identify their location and understand their intentions.”

  Insiders fear the submarines are fearsome Akula class boats, bristling with a deadly arsenal.

  The Russian president has nine at his disposal—each with a crew of around 70.

  Last May it emerged that Canadian submarine HMCS Windsor had been dispatched on a similar underwater hunt after Russia deployed five attack subs into the North Atlantic.

  The new search follows a long line of inflammatory incursions as Russia flexes it muscles along its border with NATO.

  A Navy spokesman said: “It’s our long-standing policy that we don’t comment on submarine operations. The UK has a range of assets to patrol our seas.”

  Putting the newspaper back on the table, I took a sip of steaming coffee, followed by a bite from my toast with marmalade, as I contemplated what I had just read. I picked the paper up again and reread the article. At that moment, I knew that if Max was still alive, he was no longer on the tanker. He, Claudia and the others would be on-board one of the submarines and long gone before the ship docked in Rotterdam. My fate was to be shipped back to Australia, discarded and forgotten. As for Max, I had no faith in the police, MI6 or anyone else caring about his predicament. Still pondering Max’s predicament, I was brought back to the present by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Leaving the table, breakfast and my coffee, I meandered across and opened it to be greeted by Stephen.

  ‘Good morning, Olivia. I just wanted to let you know that Inspector Axel is on his way. He should be here within a couple of hours. Thank you again for all your help and I’m sorry about Max. You do realise that it’s unlikely that he is on the tanker, although we won
’t know for sure until it docks?’

  He made the statement with such an exaggerated expression of sincere compassion on his face, that I thought it fake. I knew that if Max was alive, and if he was going to be rescued, I would have to do it myself. Something I couldn’t do from a nursing home in Australia.

  ‘I promise you,’ continued Stephen, ‘that we will do everything in our power to find him. I hope you have a safe trip back to Australia.’

  ‘Thank you, Stephen,’ I said, continuing the pretence, ‘I know that you will do everything possible to find Max. I’m sorry to confess, but the fight has deserted me and I want to go home – to Australia. There is just one thing, a small favour.’

  ‘Olivia, you know that, if I can, I will.’

  ‘Thank you, Stephen. It’s Pierre Gicquel, our lifelong friend who was murdered in Lannilis. You remember, he was killed after we visited him.’

  I was worried that I might have to fake a little emotion at this point, perhaps a tear or two to help with the persuasion. But it was not necessary, for, as I spoke of Pierre, I genuinely grieved for him. No tears came but my voice crackled and croaked of its own accord.

  ‘I want to visit his grave before going home to Australia. I don’t have many years left myself and I will never come back to Europe. I would like to say goodbye. To say thank you, and I’m sorry. He died because of us.

  ‘Stephen, I was hoping that Inspector Axel might accompany me across the channel, so that I can say my farewells. I could fly home to Australia from Paris.’

  ‘It’s a little irregular.’ Stephen said, checking himself before continuing, ‘but, under the circumstance, I’m sure it can be arranged.’

  I started to thank him but he stopped me by continuing.

  ‘Did you know that Inspector Axel’s father, Jean Axel, also knew Pierre Gicquel?’

  ‘We did.’

  For the second time that morning my voice betrayed emotion and I needed to pause before continuing.

  ‘Kate and Edward told us before…, you know…, before the house explosion that killed them. Like Pierre, they died because they were helping us, Max and myself.’

  * * *

  When Inspector Axel arrived later that morning, it was clear that he had spoken to Stephen about the trip to France.

  ‘Hello Olivia,’ he said, with no emotion or warmth in his voice.

  ‘Inspector,’ was my equally neutral reply.

  ‘I’m to escort you to Lannilis and then to see you safely on a plane back to Australia.’

  ‘Are you my chaperone or guard?’

  ‘An escort, for your protection. We wouldn’t want you becoming lost.’

  ‘You are so kind, Inspector. Do you mind fetching my bag?’ I added with an air of annoyance in my voice.

  He picked up a small suitcase holding the belongings kindly purchased for me by my hosts.

  ‘No Operation Underpants this time,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry, it was a private joke between Max and me. Where are we going?’

  ‘A friend’s place in Oxford. London is still on lock-down until tomorrow. We will stay in Oxford until the tanker has docked and been searched. Then it will be a train from St Pancras International Station to Paris. I’m not sure how long you will have in France before flying back to Australia.’

  His reply was not abrupt, just precise, implying that there was nothing further to say.

  I followed the Inspector to the car, where he opened the trunk, lifted and then placed my suitcase inside. Returning to the passenger’s side, he opened the car door, took my arm and helped me inside. As he was doing this, he briefly gained my attention by staring into my eyes and, at the same time giving a subtle, almost unnoticeable, shake of his head. The message was clear: no talking. What had transpired in the house was a game. It was to continue in the car and I had no idea what was going on. He was acting as if we had a rapport, which we did not, and that I was likely to share information with him, which I would not.

  He wants me to trust him by making me think that he is helping me and not MI6. I wonder if this is the beginning of an elaborate ploy devised by Stephen as a way of discovering if I’d been holding back during the debriefing.

  With the Inspector assisting me into the passenger’s seat, I wondered what was going through Stephen’s mind. I knew he would be watching and listening. Mixed thoughts filled my mind.

  ‘No love lost between those two. He will see her safely on to the plane.

  What are they up to? MI6 will need to keep a close eye on those two. Or.

  What else do you have to tell, Olivia? Share the truth with the good Inspector.’

  Only time would tell whether Inspector Axel was a friend or foe but I would need to decide quickly because it would be difficult for me to escape and then find Max without help.

  The drive from the country estate, where I had been an honoured guest (or was it prisoner) to Oxford, should have taken a couple of hours, but Axel insisted on going via the Police Headquarters in Exeter. The trip to Exeter was not in total silence but what little conversation there was, could only be described as courteous.

  As we approached the police station the Inspector said, ‘Sorry for the detour, I have to return this car to the pool. We will be taking another vehicle the rest of the way to Oxford.’

  After leaving the car, the Inspector led me into the station. As we went through the front door, he handed me a note.

  Say nothing. Please follow the policewoman into the bathroom. A change of clothes and new shoes are waiting for you. Leave your handbag in the bathroom. See you in five minutes.

  Reading it I thought, at least Max isn’t the only one paranoid about surveillance. Maybe it’s a man thing. At any rate, this cloak and dagger stuff was becoming a little tiresome.

  Saying nothing, I dutifully followed the policewoman.

  Returning, sporting my new attire, I was greeted by Inspector Axel who had also changed. For the first time that day he smiled, saying, ‘Hello Olivia – coffee?’

  To this I replied, perhaps a little ungratefully, ‘You’re more suspicious than Max. Yes, coffee would be lovely.’

  I was imagining a quiet chat in one of Exeter’s nice little coffee houses. Instead I was ushered into one of the station’s interview rooms.

  ‘Two coffees please,’ he instructed the policewoman who had accompanied me from the changing room.

  ‘Wait,’ I said as she began to depart down the corridor. ‘Flat white, skim milk – and nice and hot, please.’

  ‘Sorry Olivia, I didn’t want to take the chance,’ began the Inspector after the policewoman had left, ‘that we were being bugged either in the car or from our clothes. Not until I know your plans, at least.’

  ‘What do you mean, plans?’ I said, trying to appear surprised by his question.

  ‘No time for games, Olivia. I know that you don’t know me but, I can tell you, Max trusted me and so must you. We both need to don our original clothes, and quickly. If they are bugged or have a tracking device hidden in them, leaving them idle will soon attract suspicion. I am going to come straight to the point. You may really want to visit the grave of Pierre Gicquel in France but, because I investigated your motorbike accident in 2008, outside the city of Walbrzych in Poland, and because I’ve followed you every day since you first arrived in the UK to find the Janus Machine, I understand you! I know you have no intention of returning to Australia. Not without Max.’

  I said nothing, just waited. A few seconds later the Inspector spoke again.

  ‘Did you choose France for a reason or was it because visiting Pierre Gicquel seemed like a reasonable request?

  Should I trust him?

  I stared mutely back at the Inspector.

  ‘Olivia, you have to trust someone. You can’t do this on your own; please let me help you.’

  With a weary sigh, I finally relented. ‘Inspector, you must appreciate my apprehension. You are right on three fronts, I don’t know you
, yet I must trust someone and, I am not going back to Australia without Max. Not willingly anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We need to get you a new wardrobe before leaving here, without raising the suspicion of MI6. I have no doubt they are monitoring you. On our way to Oxford we can pull over and find a safe place to talk. Even though I’m swapping cars, it’s best to play safe. We need to watch what we say to each other in the car but once we’re out of the UK, things will become a little easier. You understand that the spooks will be watching you, unquestionably.

  ‘Now, put your old things back on and meet me back here, by then the coffee should have arrived and we will just have to play it by ear. The first thing, Olivia, is to find you that new wardrobe. Keep the handbag and the phone they gave you for now. We can ditch them when we are ready to go underground.’

  I went back to the bathroom where I found the shower was running. Upon my entry, a policewoman, who I hadn’t seen before, switched off the shower and handed me a towel, even though I was not wet. She then slipped silently from the room leaving me alone.

  Playing along, I pretended to dry myself and then changed back into my old clothes and returned to the interview room where I found Inspector Axel already waiting for me.

  ‘Hello again, Olivia. Sorry for the detour. I hope the shower has helped freshen you up for the drive to Oxford. As you can see, I have changed myself. I ordered you a coffee,’ he said, pointing to a takeaway cup sitting on the table.

  ‘How long before we leave?’ I demanded, while pulling a chair out and seating myself in front of what would be the interview desk.

  ‘Not long. There are a few things I need to do, so it might be thirty minutes, maybe an hour.’

  ‘These shoes are awful. My feet really hurt. I was wondering if someone could take me down the street for a little shopping. I might do a girl thing and treat myself to a new outfit at the same time. It’s what we women do when the world seems a little grey.’