Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  How I made it across the bridge, along the Quai, past the Eiffel Tower and into the underground car park of our hotel, the Novotel Tour Eiffel, without being seen, I don’t know. My escape had been achieved without a single scratch on the car.

  The day was not yet over, for we had one more guest to invite before our list would be complete. For that, we needed to wait until dark.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Submarine

  Max

  My transfer from the tanker to the Russian Akula-class submarine had been a most undignified but speedy affair. According to Claudia, the submarine was being hunted by NATO and UK forces. Surfacing next to the tanker was not dangerous because it was in international waters and could not be fired upon. Nevertheless, military submarines are a weapon of stealth and being discovered would have been embarrassing and dented national pride. The Russian Navy’s ability to operate undetected with impunity close to the shores of its foes was important to them. If we were discovered, said the submarine captain to me later, NATO would shadow us all the way back to Russia and I would be reprimanded or face some other disciplinary action. I might even lose my command!

  Claudia understood the risk the submarine was taking. She knew that if my presence, and particularly my age, caused the submariners to be discovered, our trip on their vessel would be an uncomfortable one and would anger the Kremlin and her Mafia boss. Before the transfer began, the captain offered me, through Claudia, a deal, one that could be made only by someone who respected the age-old traditions of a British gentleman. In return for not being incarcerated in the submarine’s brig, I promised to cooperate with my loading onto the submarine and agreed that I would not attempt an escape, make unnecessary noise, or cause any trouble until we were off the submarine. I also promised to wear the rubber shoes that I would be given once on board. Having given my word, to Claudia’s disgust, the Captain was convinced that I would honour it. Of course, I would.

  It was long past midnight, in the early hours of the morning, when the transfer began. Because of my, let’s say, less than nimble capacity, I was strapped to a stretcher, craned over the side, and manhandled down into the hatch. Exhausted, I have almost no recollection of my undignified conveyance, drifting in and out of sleep during the process.

  Once on board, Claudia and I were given a cabin to share. She patiently, almost tenderly, helped me into the room and onto my bunk where I fell into a deep sleep. When eventually I opened my eyes, the clock on the wall was showing 10.30 hours. I noticed that the bed next to me was empty with no signs that anyone had slept in it. Claudia was seated at a small table to the right of the bed and was staring warmly back at me.

  Did she hear me stir and turn to see me or had she been watching me sleep, acting as my protector during the night?

  ‘Good morning Max,’ said Claudia kindly. ‘Captain Andrey Yegorov is waiting for us. You must keep the promise you made to him and stay as silent as a mouse.’

  Silent as a mouse, I thought, confused? Claudia doesn’t speak like that!

  With the words still running uneasily around my head, I listened intently, trying to understand what was behind the way she was speaking.

  ‘Sonar is bouncing all over the place; someone really wants to find us. Now get dressed, I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  She’s treating me like a bloody child, I contemplated angrily. It’s our daughter Jane in disguise.

  The door opened and then closed again as Claudia left me alone.

  Am I being patronised, respected, or conned? Or are cracks showing in her harsh exterior?

  I wasn’t sure what to think but my training had taught me not to respond to my emotions. Only time would tell but I resigned myself to watching her actions and ignoring her words.

  I’ll look for a weakness that I can exploit.

  Having dressed, I found that I was a little unsteady on my feet. Claudia noticed and without comment, discreetly helped me walk to the control room where Captain Andrey Yegorov was waiting. To my surprise, the room looked just like it did in the movies. Someone was talking to the helmsmen, who were seated behind what looked like a half steering wheel. In front of them were large computer screens. Banks of electronic instruments, covered in lights and gauges, lined the walls. Each was being monitored intently by the men on duty.

  ‘Good morning Comrade Max,’ said Captain Andrey Yegorov, raising one finger to his lips, as he continued talking. ‘Once more, we play our dangerous game, a game of chess against our old adversary.’

  Even at the best of times, my ability to recall one liners from movies was terrible. In fact, I was the last person you ever wanted on your trivia table. But I immediately recognised the line from the film, The Hunt for Red October, and retorted with the only other line I knew. A line I recalled because it sounded more of a statement from a British sea captain than a Russian. Not the sentence, but its tag line.

  ‘You’re afraid of our fleet,’ I replied trying to copy Sean Connery’s accent, but doing it poorly. ‘Well, you should be. Personally, I’d give us one chance in three. More tea anyone?’ emphasising the word tea.

  ‘I like this man,’ laughed Captain Andrey Yegorov, giving me a gentle slap on the shoulder as he spoke. ‘My attempt at humour aside, NATO, the Norwegians and the British are all looking for us. After picking you up, we slipped into the noisy coastal waters to give them the slip. It’s full of ships, marine life and everything that makes detecting us near impossible. What’s better, is that Europeans are environmentalists and won’t use their sonar close to shore. We must be getting a little too predictable. They have guessed that we would head for the coast and we have a contact above and are hiding in the shadow zone, watching. When we can, we will sprint and drift away from them. Next, we must avoid the undersea surveillance systems – underwater listening posts. We do that all of the time, it’s not difficult. All going well, by tomorrow we will be with the whales where there will be no sonar to worry about. After that, we’ll track out into the Arctic. The ships and planes will have lost interest in us by then but, we know that a British Trafalgar class submarine is about so we must be on our game and make sure we are not shadowed.’

  ‘Crazy Ivan,’ I said.

  ‘You watch too many movies, Max, but sometimes they get it right. It was nicknamed that during the Cold War. We call it clearing the baffles. For the moment, we need to be very quiet and wait.

  ‘I believe you to be a gentleman, Max and that you will honour our agreement. How do you English say? Will be on your best behaviour.’

  ‘I am a man of my word, Captain.’

  ‘As am I. There are, I’m afraid,’ he said solemnly, ‘not too many of us left.’ Then brightening his tone, added, ‘How do you like my ship, Max?’

  ‘It’s my first time on a submarine,’ I replied.

  ‘Ah, a virgin. She’s recently been overhauled, but enough of that. You would have been enjoying our hospitality for about five more days but, with this unwanted attention, we won’t dock in Russia until Wednesday – next week, if all goes well.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  ‘Severomorsk,’ came his reply.

  ‘Severomorsk, Murmansk. I haven’t been to Murmansk since the war. It’s a place I have a desire, perhaps need, to see again.

  ‘You served on the Convoys to Russia during the second world war?’ asked the captain, with a genuine tone of interest reflected in his voice.

  ‘A long time ago, but you don’t forget. The touch of war influences you in ways unimaginable at the time. Not always for the worst, Captain, but you, yourself, must be aware of the insidious nature of the past. It can chip away at our humanity, poison our capacity for goodness. Its potential for making a good man can be lost. I’ve often wondered,’ I said, looking towards Claudia, although not intentionally, ‘why traumatic experiences affect people differently? For some the past dominates and they repeat it, doing the very things they hated, becoming what they swore never to be. Others can break free and choose their own l
ife, be the person they want to be. They don’t forget, but instead, forgive and become free.’

  ‘That is true,’ said the Captain. ‘Those of you who remain, the men who sailed on the Convoys to Russia, are considered heroes in our country today. My father was one but with the Russian Navy, of course. I am honoured to have you on board my submarine, Max, regardless of the interest that our friends have in you. Now, I would ask that you return to your room while we try to avoid detection. Once we are free of the vessels searching for us, you will be able to move about the submarine quite freely, with Claudia as your guardian that is. Do stay away from the missiles and the nuclear reactor,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘And, if all goes to plan, I hope that you will both be my guests at dinner this evening.’

  The captain turned to one of his officers, saying something in Russian which Claudia interpreted for me. The soft, patronising tone of her voice earlier, in our sleeping quarters, was gone, to be replaced by bitterness, underlined by exaggerated politeness.

  ‘Sweetie, the captain has asked the officer to escort us back to our room.’

  The man gestured to us and we followed him out of the control centre.

  Life on a large submarine reminded me of the two things I loathed the most. One was a long haul international flight where there is no sensation of movement – then without warning, the frightening feeling of leaping into the air or dropping like a stone.

  The second is sleeping in the inside cabin of a cruise ship where there are no windows to the outside world. With no natural light, time ceases to have meaning and the internal body clock goes awry. On a cruise ship, once you leave your cell, the real world is not far away.

  Both of my dislikes were evident on the submarine. Without warning it would aggressively dive, tipping everything off the table. All I could do was to hold on as it continued forever downwards. The hull would creak and groan in protest at the depth but still we headed deeper. Our feeling of control deeply affects how we act. Here ignorant, with no control or understanding of the events going on around me, I felt helpless.

  In the absence of natural light, the seconds, minutes, hours and days are relevant only in the context of a sailor’s routine. The schedule of activities and meals gives structure and creates an artificial day and night. Sleep time is set by a clock hanging on the walls and waking is via an alarm that you have set.

  With no work, schedule or routine, other than eating and sleeping, the ten days dragged. Claudia showed open disdain for my presence and, while I wondered what had brought about this change, I let myself slip into the old routine from the nursing home, sleeping much of the time. It was a little over four weeks since Olivia and I escaped our prison in Australia and I was a transformed man. As I dozed for another nap, I was acutely aware how quickly my routine could revert. Without Olivia to prod, hassle and cajole me, fatigue became my companion and sleep a blissful mistress.

  I discovered that Linda, Semyon and the other reprobates who were on the helicopters with us were not on board the submarine. I overheard that they had been put ashore in Europe for other business. With luck that would be the last I saw of them, but something told me I would meet Linda again.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, over a week since I was bundled onto the submarine, natural light awoke me from my lazy slumber and chased the sickly sleep from my old eyes. Again, I was unceremoniously hauled from the submarine like a sack of potatoes. I wanted to visit Murmansk, to remember and pay my respect to the Arctic convoy sailors and all those who perished during the war. I asked Claudia but she dismissed my request with a disdainful snort, before regaining her composure and saying, with a belittling smile.

  ‘Sweetie, a chartered flight is waiting to take us to Moscow. There will be no time today, perhaps another occasion.’

  My gentlemen’s agreement with the Captain was now behind me and Claudia had seemed to want me to live.

  Why would I be here otherwise?

  The Captain’s promise had shackled me but Claudia had disarmed me too; I had failed in my duty to escape.

  Now, that she was back to her frosty self, my apprehension grew.

  Maybe she would decide that bringing me along was an abysmal mistake? What’s to stop her killing me, a ritualistic penance to the sordid underworld in which she lives?

  Escape while we remained in Russia seemed unimaginable. For the time being, my fate rested with the Gods and the meeting with Claudia’s Mafia boss.

  Over twenty years ago, when we were spies, Olivia and I had dealings with the Russian Mafia. I still remember it as if it were yesterday. We were gathering intelligence on their involvement in illegal arms sales to the Middle East, when quite unexpectedly, the trail led us to the seedy world of child sex slavery, and human trafficking. For two years we searched to find a girl, about twelve years old when we first saw her picture. When I overheard that we were meeting ‘Pakham,’, I knew that this was Russian for Mafia boss. I also heard Claudia say that his name was Monya Mogilevick.

  The name was unfamiliar, not surprising as our last involvement was just prior to our retirement. I still wondered what became of that beautiful but sad girl. She was called Lucia Da-dic, from old Yugoslavia, as it was called then. We’d broken into the Mafia compound and entered the house. We found her there, waiting in a bedroom. She’d ran towards us, her arms outstretched, telling us that she knew that we would come. That memory still haunts me. The Yugoslavian police told us that she would be reunited with her family. For the first two years, we’d written to her family but our letters were unanswered.

  Time moves on, but I never forgot beautiful Lucia running toward me, her arms stretched out – reaching for me, saying, ‘I knew you would come. But we left. We’d betrayed her.

  The trip from the submarine base to the airport had taken half an hour. A luxury private jet was waiting for us and, other than the unseen pilots, we were alone on the flight. Once in the air, Claudia left me to freshen up, returning tastefully dressed in a skimpy black number. With the change of clothes, her demeanour mellowed, becoming friendlier, offering me a drink of spirits which I declined. She chose the seat opposite me for the flight, but when she didn’t engage in conversation, I put my head back and pretended to sleep. Occasionally, I would steal a look at her through half-closed eyes. She seemed intent on studying me, like on the submarine but her stare was irritated.

  She hasn’t softened, she’s angry I thought.

  I took another peek.

  That’s not anger, it’s displeasure. No…., perhaps disappointment even regret? Regret that she would have to kill me? Regret for having brought me along? I can’t decide.

  A new Rolls-Royce Phantom was waiting for us at the private runway when we disembarked from the plane. The chauffeur opened the door so that I could climb into the back before doing the same for Claudia. The car whisked us away and Claudia again offered me a drink of spirits, which I refused.

  ‘You should,’ she said, ‘It may be your last.’

  She consumed two stiff drinks of Scotch between the airport and the house. As on the plane, we didn’t speak and my apprehension grew.

  We arrived at a heavily fenced and well-guarded mansion. Leaving the car, as we made our way into the house to meet Monya Mogilevick, the Pakham, I noticed that the guards and the staff accorded Claudia profound respect. Likely she held a senior position within the syndicate or was she Monya’s mistress? Perhaps his lover? I trailed behind Claudia, feeling invisible to the people we passed.

  We stopped in front of large wooden double doors. Claudia brushed her hands down the black dress as if straightening the material.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Except for the offer of alcohol, these were the first words she had spoken to me since leaving the plane, but I knew the question was not for me.

  She knocked on one of the doors twice gently, and a few seconds later they swung open.

  Monya was seated at the head of a long elegant table in a palatial dining room. He was eating
alone but was expecting company because the table had been set for two additional guests, one to his right and the other to the left. The man who opened the door greeted Claudia in a cultured English voice before leading us across the dining room to Monya.

  ‘Claudia my dear, it’s so good to have you home,’ said Monya, indicating the vacant chair and place setting on the left side of the table. ‘Come, my dear, join me.’

  He turned and looked towards the man who had escorted us into the room and said, with a smile, ‘You may leave us.’

  When the man left the room and the doors had closed, a waiter dressed in a white shirt, black bow tie and black trousers, appeared from the side of the room and escorted Claudia to her seat. Monya waved his hand and another waiter appeared. He led me to the place setting on the opposite side of the table to Claudia. If she had been fearful of meeting with Monya, I couldn’t tell because she moved gracefully, glowing with confidence.

  She is an enigma. Now, far from the cold-blooded killer I know her to be.

  ‘Our friends in government,’ Monya said, ‘are pleased with the way things turned out in Britain. You had NATO and the British scurrying around. As for us, we made billions from the venture, all thanks to you.’

  He raised his wine glass towards Claudia before noticing her glass was empty. He stared towards one of the waiters who appeared with a bottle and filled Claudia’s glass. The theatre then resumed. Monya raised his glass and clinked it with Claudia’s. They each took a sip, followed by silence as they studied the wine. The waiter filled my glass. I considered the hypocrisy of drinking to their success but raised the glass to my lips and drank anyway.

  ‘I can imagine it now,’ Monya said, praising himself. ‘The British, Americans, the other countries we extorted, congratulating themselves. They believe that they have won. But as we know the Janus Machine was a diversion, I did tell you that, yes?’