Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  Sometimes, I am amazed at how much it’s possible to cram into one day. I’m not sure what time we finally made it back to our hotel, but I remember that it was still Sunday. With all the excitement of the day, the moment my head touched the pillow, I fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Monday passed without incident and we kept a low profile. We stayed in the hotel, eating all of our meals in their dining room. Other than essentials, I rested and was content to let myself doze for much of the day, recharging my batteries for the adventure ahead.

  Nothing whatsoever to do with my age.

  We concluded that our guests would try and capture us before we reached the restaurant however if we made it into the Eiffel Tower precinct with its enhanced security, we should be safe. Having reviewed our plan to get to the Tower we were confident that it would work. But privately I wondered.

  Would they all turn up and would our plot to escape work?

  Sunday night had been a close call. It was clear that the Romanian gang running the cup scam had been tipped off and were expecting us. This could mean only one thing. The clan leaders were talking to each other. This raised our confidence that a representative from each syndicate would accept our dinner invitation, as a precaution.

  Our successful departure from the dinner relied upon us convincing our guests that we were working with the intelligence community. We needed to maintain the upper hand, make the clan leaders realise that it was in their best interests to co-operate with us if they wanted the bracelets removed and the Ferrari returned. If they suspected that we were working alone, we would be at risk unless we involved the police but then I would lose any chance of rescuing Max.

  Finding a company that ran an evening bus tour to the Eiffel Tower had not been difficult. Swamped with choice, we settled on “Ever Young—tours for the discerning traveller over seventy.” What made this group stand out was the priority access to the Tower mentioned in their advertising brochure. No standing about and waiting in long queues for the security checks. Their advertising guaranteed access after screening and they even offered a hotel pick up and drop off service. A perfect choice, we thought, as our plan required for us to be in a large group. One we could hide within.

  ‘It’s not unusual for a son or grandson to accompany an elderly parent, aunt or uncle,’ said the man when Inspector Axel, posing as my son, rang to enquire about the booking. ‘In fact,’ continued the receptionist. ‘We have a few younger people with the group tonight.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. How many are in the group?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘We are almost full. If you make a booking it will take us to – let me check – sixty.’

  ‘That’s excellent. I would like to make a booking for two, with a hotel pick-up please.’

  Our plan for reaching the Eiffel Tower restaurant was set.

  * * *

  The bus arrived at our hotel just before 6.00pm. As had been promised, the Inspector was not the youngest in the group and the tour was almost full. Our disguise for the first part of the night’s plan consisted of hats and jackets. The jackets hid our dining clothes and concealed padded cushions – these would give us the appearance of added body weight. I chose to carry a walking stick instead of my handbag. In the plan, I was to be accompanied into the Eiffel Tower by another woman as we suspected that the Romanian crime gangs would be on the lookout for an older lady and younger man.

  Once on the bus, I spotted a woman sitting on her own and asked if I could join her. The Inspector found another seat behind me. My instincts had been correct. The lady I chose was travelling on her own and welcomed my company. Our hotel was near the Eiffel Tower, so we were the last ones to board. Within ten minutes the bus had joined the host of other tourist buses at the Eiffel Tower.

  ‘Would you mind helping me off the bus?’ I asked the lady sitting next to me.

  ‘Not at all, dear,’ she replied.

  Once at the bottom of the stairs, I expanded my request to include aiding me through the security check point.

  ‘My son,’ I said to her, ‘is coming. He is at the back of the bus and will meet me inside the security fencing.’

  With the stick in my left hand and the lady on my right arm, I kept my head bowed as we shuffled towards the check point. I stole a glance and saw one of the men we encountered on Sunday night standing next to our entrance. He was scanning the crowd. We joined the queue of the seventy and overs to pass through the metal detectors. Unluckily, we were going to pass right in front of him.

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ I said to my escort. ‘I forgot to ask you your name!’

  ‘Sally,’ she replied. ‘Did you say that your name was… Faye?’

  ‘Yes, Faye, my dear. Can you tell me where you’re from? I don’t travel much anymore and I do love hearing about where people live.’

  That was all Sally needed and she chatted profusely, providing a detailed description of her home, life, family and all manner of things. The line moved quickly and we became closer to the man seeking me. I hoped that my chatty friend would aid in my disguise.

  To my horror, the line stopped as we reached him. Sally was still chirping away but I heard none of what she was saying because my ears were filled with the thumping of my heart. I lifted my eyes. Luckily, he was scanning the crowd off into the distance. For a moment, I thought that my elementary mistake of looking up had been unnoticed but then his eyes dropped and he saw me.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, with a snigger. ‘Nice disguise!’

  As quick as a flash, I hit him with my walking stick.

  ‘Help!’ I yelled. ‘This man tried to touch me. Pervert,’ I called, giving him another whack.

  All the old ladies in the line and those from others rallied to my aid. Armed with whatever they were carrying, handbags, walking sticks, tourist maps, they lashed harmlessly out at him with their beatings. The sheer number of the shouting and rampaging pensioners that formed the attack forced him into retreat. The line moved forward and we entered the metal detector within the security hut.

  Inside, Sally and I joined the Inspector who had gained entry without incident.

  We stayed with the tour until it was almost over. As everybody else was preparing to leave, we told our tour leader that we had decided to stay and would find our own way back to the hotel.

  We walked to the first level where we discreetly removed our overcoats, ready for dinner. We hung the discarded coats in the lavatories and hoped that they would not trigger a bomb scare.

  It was 8.40pm when I looked at my watch.

  ‘Are you ready?’ I asked the Inspector.

  He nodded as he said, ‘As ready as I will ever be, Olivia. Let’s go and find Max.’

  Dressed for dinner, we entered the restaurant for our 9.00pm sitting. A waiter escorted us to a table for five where our three guests were waiting for us. The server pulled the chair out from the table and guided me into my place before doing the same for the Inspector. Returning, he took the white napkin from the setting in front, opened it and placed in neatly across my lap, repeating the same ritual for Inspector Axel. Another waiter then joined him and introduced herself as our wine waiter while handing a wine list to both of us.

  Our guests, two men in their mid to late fifties and a woman, perhaps ten years younger, watched the theatre in silence.

  ‘Gentlemen and Lady,’ Inspector Axel said, looking to each of our company in turn. ‘Can I suggest a bottle of champagne.’

  He looked towards the wine waiter. ‘Perhaps your Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque.’I knew that the Inspector was establishing the tone, the unwritten rules, for the way in which tonight’s negotiations were to be conducted.

  ‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said the waiter while collecting the wine lists.

  The other waiter produced the menus, telling us that our dinner guests had already ordered. We made our selection and the waiters withdrew. Finally, we all sat at the table alone.

  ‘Thank you for joining us this evening
,’ said the Inspector. ‘As you know our agencies are looking for Claudia, the lady in the photograph we gave each of you.’

  ‘As you would know,’ said the woman guest, sarcastically, ‘it would be unwise for us to be informers. Our reputations rely on trust and any assistance we give will trigger a reprisal. Such things can easily escalate into gang war, a situation we all prefer to avoid.’

  The men, who were seated on either side of her, remained expressionless as she spoke. When she finished, there was again silence.

  I let the silence linger for a few seconds before joining the conversation.

  ‘This is a little different. Claudia and her syndicate are terrorists. They have used a biological weapon against Britain and blackmailed the United States and many other countries for billions of Euros. If you refuse to cooperate, the governments of those countries will seek retribution against those they see as hindering our investigation. They may even think that you are assisting these terrorists.’

  I paused briefly to let the magnitude of what I had just said sink in.

  ‘Organised crime is one thing – but terrorism, I assure you, is something entirely different.’

  As I finished speaking and before they had an opportunity to respond, the wine waiter appeared holding the bottle of champagne we had ordered. She poured a taste into the Inspector’s glass for sampling.

  ‘That will be fine,’ he said.

  Glasses filled, the other waiter appeared and entrees were served.

  ‘Are you saying,’ said the man sitting on the woman’s right, looking at Inspector Axel and not at me, ‘that by withholding our co-operation, we will be seen as helping terrorists?’

  Inspector Axel seemed totally engrossed in his food and ignored the question until he had finished chewing.

  ‘That’s precisely what we are telling you and I don’t need to spell out what this will mean,’ I said.

  The man’s eyes shifted from the Inspector and he met my gaze. We each ate in silence.

  The entrées were swiftly cleared away and replaced by the main courses. Inspector Axel dutifully ordered a bottle of red and a white wine for the table.

  The woman broke the silence, saying, ‘My acquaintances here don’t believe that you are working for the “agencies” you cite. I have a more open mind, which is why I agreed to meet, rather than dispose of you.’

  ‘The GPS tracking bracelets,’ interrupted Inspector Axel, ‘and ones that can’t be removed, aren’t regular issue of the police or Interpol.’

  ‘A gimmick,’ said the man speaking for the first time on the woman’s left. ‘My contacts at Interpol know nothing of this operation.’

  ‘That’s true,’ replied the Inspector calmly. ‘We are working with the British and MI6.’

  ‘We will see,’ retorted the man before focusing back on his meal and then adding, ‘Not a bad steak. Enjoy it for it may be your last meal.’

  ‘We have designed a little test for you, to see if you are telling the truth,’ said the woman in a flamboyant, almost jovial, voice. ‘But first finish your dinner and enjoy the wine. We wouldn’t want you dying on an empty stomach.’

  I struggled to fight an overwhelming desire to steal a glance at the Inspector. The tables were being turned and control of the evening was slipping away from us. It took a lifetime of training to hide the panic I was feeling and to stop myself asking, ‘What test?’

  The main course was finished and cleared away with the same efficiency as the entrée before anyone spoke again. It was the woman who again took the lead.

  ‘Believe us or not, we don’t know where Claudia is. We do know who she is and for whom she works. Claudia is commander for a Russian billionaire property developer and Mafia boss called Monya Mogilevick. She is also his lover. He is part of what they call the Brotherhood, made up of twelve syndicates, each with its own boss. They all report to Monya. This makes him a dangerous and powerful man. My cousin Sandor, in Rome, will know how to find her.’

  From her pocket, she retrieved a card, but hid it as the waiter approached and proceeded to set our desserts in front of us on the table. Mine was a cheese platter.

  With the waiter gone, she again removed the card from her pocket, this time holding it up so that the Inspector and I could see it.

  ‘His girls work the number 64 bus route from the Termini to the Vatican. Write your phone number on the card and give it to one of the girls. They will recognise our symbol, as will my cousin. He is expecting you and, for his own reasons, is willing to help. Before I give this to you, you must pass our little test.’

  She looked expectantly to the man on her left, one with a small scar above his right eye.

  ‘Hello, Inspector Jacques Axel of Interpol,’ he said, and just like the other man, he seemed quite content to ignore me. ‘You see, we know exactly who you are. Perhaps you would like to tell us our names.’

  He paused as if waiting for a reply. After a few seconds of silence, he continued, ‘Surely Inspector, if you were working with MI6, you would know who we are?’

  We could do nothing except stare blankly back at him because we had no idea who they were.

  What the hell are we going to do now? This is not going to end well.

  ‘No, I thought not,’ he continued, now turning his interest to me. ‘And you Olivia.’

  Before he could say my surname, he was interrupted by a vaguely familiar male voice coming from directly behind me. Accompanying the voice came the light touch of a hand as it gently settled upon my shoulder in a reassuring way.

  ‘What do we have here?’ said the voice. ‘A genuine collection of nasties. Ivan Conners, Brida Sztojka and Nilola Raffael, not the kind of people you would ordinarily expect to see together. This must be a very special occasion.’

  Our dinner guests’ attention was drawn to the man speaking from behind me and I resisted the urge to turn to put a name to the voice I recognised.

  ‘And who are you?’ said the woman that I now knew as Brida Sztojka, in a most unfriendly tone.

  ‘You’re not telling me that you don’t know who I am! I think you have failed your own test,’ he said in a teasing tone.

  He waited a second or two before continuing, this time in a more serious manner. ‘My name is Stephen Walls and I am the head of MI6. We take a very dim view of our agents being threatened. You didn’t for one moment think we would let Inspector Axel and Olivia meet you unaccompanied?

  ‘I’m here with my counterpart from Israel – Mossad,’ said Stephen, pointing to a table a few settings away from ours. ‘Claudia is a mutual friend, who managed to upset the Israelis and the United States as well as the British. We Brits would much prefer to gain the information we need over a civilised dinner.

  ‘My counterparts in the CIA and Mossad have less pleasant ways of encouraging cooperation. Perhaps you would prefer that I leave and Yossi Pardo,’ he said, pointing towards his table and at a man seated there, ‘comes to join you?’

  ‘What we told Olivia and the Inspector is true,’ said Brida Sztojka, now more conciliatory, ‘My cousin in Rome will know how to find Claudia. Now what about my Ferrari and the bracelets?’

  Reaching into his pocket, Stephen took out the set of keys belonging to the Ferrari. They were the same keys that I had put into the safe in my hotel room earlier. He dropped them onto the table.

  Thank goodness, we had taken the precaution of leaving our false passports and credit cards with a friend of the Inspector.

  ‘You will find the car downstairs,’ he continued. ‘A couple of my people are chaperoning it until you arrive.’

  ‘And the bracelets,’ said Nilola Raffael, the man with the scar.

  Stephen again reached into his pocket, this time dropping what looked like two small magnets onto the table. ‘These will remove them. Now gentlemen and lady, dinner is over and I think it’s time you were leaving us. You won’t be seeing me again. If we have the need to talk with you again, that pleasure will fall to my associates at Mossad. It is in
your interest to ensure that we don’t need to chat further.’

  Who gave MI6 a copy of the bracelet keys? I have the originals in my pocket. Cliff?

  Our dinner guests remained mute, gathered the keys and magnets from the table, stood, and without looking back, started to leave the restaurant. As they moved towards the door, I saw two other men withdraw from another table and follow them out. I didn’t ask, but wondered if those men were ours or theirs.

  ‘May I join you?’ asked Stephen politely and, without waiting for us to respond, took a seat at the table. ‘The consensus from the agency is that I should have you both arrested. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t? Both of you.’

  Stephen stared at the Inspector, speaking directly to him in a stern voice, ‘Your duty was to see her safely on a flight back to Australia – tomorrow. You have betrayed our trust.’

  ‘I’m entertaining,’ I said, interrupting his reprimand.

  ‘Entertaining! God give me strength, Olivia. Entertaining! A secret agent is meant to be a grey man, invisible, blending in. We didn’t need you to carry your mobile phone, or even wear the shoes we gave you, the ones with tracking devices hidden in them. No Olivia, all we had to do was watch the nightly news. News Headlines – eighty-seven-year-old grandmother steals a Ferrari and is last seen driving at a hundred miles-an-hour down the Champs-Elysées with the police in hot pursuit. Do you have any idea how many favours we had to call in? The French police wanted to throw the book at you. Don’t look so surprised Olivia! You don’t really think you out-drove the police and avoided all the road blocks to make a clean getaway on your own? You know the French will want something in return? I don’t like being in debt to anyone. But the French, Olivia? The bloody French!’

  ‘Grey person,’ I said.

  ‘A what?’ replied Stephen, with a look of surprise on his face.

  ‘You meant a Grey Person, not a Grey Man. I’m a woman, Stephen, not a man.’

  Stephen looked first to me and, in total disbelief, slowly turned to look at Inspector Axel who smiled and then shrugged.

  ‘All right,’ he continued, this time in a less exasperated tone. ‘Since you left London there has been another development. A cyber-attack by ransom-ware worm called WannaCry has caused widespread chaos to the British Health System as it struggles to cope with the aftermath of the biological attack. There is speculation from GCHQ that Russian hackers with links to the government are behind the attack. The worm shares segments of code known to have been used in the past by the Russians. We think that your Claudia could be involved and so we are going to let you go, to see what you can find out. As far as we are concerned, you’re not working for MI6 and we will deny any knowledge of you. Understand that you are on your own.