by Mark A Biggs
‘Sister,’ I said, looking at Olivia, ‘I think it will be far easier than trying to lug them there ourselves.’ Then looking back to the porter, I continued, ‘They’re all yours.’
Cassocks are designed so trousers underneath can be reached. From my pockets, I took our cruise tickets and luggage tags. Handing the tags to the porter, I swiftly flashed the boarding pass which I hoped would satisfy his requirements. Immediately, he looked uncertain.
‘Father,’ he said with an air of embarrassment, ‘the sister’s ticket said Lady Olivia.’
‘Ah, you have a keen eye, my son. Indeed, it does. Once we are free of the railway station and before we board the ship, the sister and I will be changing our clothes, to travel incognito as it were. People can feel uncomfortable around us. That’s why we are keeping our little travel bag with us. It has our civilian clothes in it. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Indeed I do, Father. My brother is a policeman and, when he’s away on holiday, he invents another occupation if someone asks what he does for a living. Father, your secret is safe with me.’
‘Saying you’re a nun,’ added Olivia, ‘can be a real show stopper. People flee.’
The porter laughed and said, ‘I can imagine they would Sister—’ but stopped himself, before saying, ‘Sorry Sister, I meant no offence.’
With our heads slightly bowed, as if in silent contemplation and without looking overly suspicious, we joined the line to file past the police and out of the exit. Slowly, we moved forward, with me dragging the hand luggage and Olivia tapping away with her cane. As we drew closer, I could see that the police officers were holding photographs.
As each person approached, they studied the photograph and then the face of the person next in line. Even if it was a child, a person obviously not the bomber, they repeated the process.
Slightly behind the police was a group of other people who had been pulled aside for a thorough security check. Police, accompanied by army personnel, were searching their suitcases and checking their identification. Alarmingly, most of those being stopped were elderly women. Despite our disguises, Olivia’s age would categorically have her pulled aside.
This is not going to work, we must come up with an alternative plan, before it’s too late.
I tapped Olivia gently on the shoulder and called, ‘Sister.’
She turned, unable to hide the fear she was feeling as we approached the security check. I indicated, by turning my head, that we should step out of the line, which we did only metres away from the exit and the awaiting police. Ordinarily, this would have aroused the suspicion of the police but, today, we were two more of many people milling around, even this close to the exit.
‘Sorry Sister, I need to powder my nose before we leave.’
Olivia gave me a—what on earth are you talking about? look.
‘Use the gentlemen’s, a toilet stop,’ I continued.
Without waiting for a response and, dragging her travel case behind me, I left Olivia alone to watch the crowed.
The men’s privy was busy but not overly crowded. Within a minute a cubicle had become vacant. After entering, I waited a brief time before opening the door again but this time stepping out backwards.
To the first person I saw, while feigning distress, I said, ‘It’s a bomb. Look! Someone has left a case in there—just like Rome.’
Olivia’s travel case, with items removed that could identify, was on top of the toilet seat. To any onlooker, it was clear that it had been deliberately placed there and not left behind accidently.
Walking as quickly as I could to re-join Olivia, I said to many passers-by, ‘There’s a bomb in the men’s toilet.’
We pushed back into the queue, before the panic had a chance to reach where we were. Turning to the person behind and the person behind her, I repeated my story, ‘There’s a bomb in the men’s toilet!’
I could feel the line begin to surge. The panic which I’d set in motion when leaving the toilet was spreading and was now being fuelled by people in the line.
‘Hold onto me,’ I said, grabbing Olivia tightly, as we were pushed forward.
‘There’s a bomb,’ I heard someone else scream.
The line surged again and I tightened my grip on Olivia. There were now three people in front of us and then the police. Those in front pushed past without waiting to be checked. The police were distracted from their duty, looking about and assessing the alarm rippling through the station. Comprehension swept across their faces. If they did nothing, in a matter of seconds, the crowd would be a stampede and people would be crushed to death. They flung open the gate and we were pushed through by the force of those behind us.
Once out of the station, I immediately stepped to one side and pulled Olivia over to me, heading off at right angles to the others, trying to reduce our chances of being trampled. After twenty paces, we made our way down the steps in front of the railway station and out onto the edge of the grand canal with its water bus stops.
The area in front of the canal was a hive of activity with people milling around, seemingly unaffected by the chaos unfolding in the railway station behind.
‘I think we should move away from here as quickly as we can and catch a water taxi from one of the quieter canals to the cruise port,’ I said to Olivia.
With her arm still linked through mine, we turned left, intending to walk to the Ponte delle Gugle, a historic canal bridge famous for its gargoyles, where I thought that we would be able to secure transport. As we began to leave, I became aware of two men, and while it was impossible to be certain, they appeared to be Russian thugs.
‘Olivia,’ I whispered, ‘I think we are being followed – Russian Mafia.’
‘How can that be?’ she replied. ‘They surely weren’t expecting a priest and nun.’
It was then that it occurred to me, why we stood out as the Inspector and Olivia.
‘Your elegant cane, Olivia, you’re still using it. Maybe that’s how they identified us. As soon as we lose them, we’ll remove these costumes and dump the cane. Perhaps a nice umbrella will do instead? Then we’ll get ourselves onto that ship.’
We pushed into the crowd and weaved through the flood of people, trying to lose the men watching us. A narrow lane, the Calle de la Misericordia, appeared on our left and we stepped in, hoping they did not see us turn. It was deserted and wouldn’t offer any protection if we were followed.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Olivia.
‘See up there, in front of us?’ I said, pointing to a large green sign, which looked deservedly out of place, hanging from the side of a building. ‘That’s the hotel Santa Lucia and it backs on to a park, the Parco Savorgnan. I thought we could slip through the hotel, into the park and come out near the gargoyle bridge. Hopefully, that will give the Russians the slip.’
‘Jean-Marc,’ quivered Olivia’s voice and I looked at her, concerned. ‘It’s like someone has just walked on my grave, a disturbance in the force as Star Wars watchers would say. Something is not right but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s something about that name – Santa Lucia.’
Checking behind and, although concerned for Olivia, I was relieved as we were the only people in the lane and had not been followed.
Looking back towards the sign, I said, ‘It’s been a difficult start to our day. I can understand why you may be feeling a little unsettled. Let’s grab a coffee and a bite to eat before we take the water taxi, be tourists, if just for half-an-hour.’ After a short pause, I added, ‘Lucia is also the name of the Venice railway station. That’s probably where you’ve seen it. Not one of our best experiences, was it?’
‘That maybe it,’ replied Olivia, sounding a little more assured.
We entered the hotel, walked through their outdoor eating area, and into beautiful gardens. Feeling safer, we didn’t rush but instead savoured the greenery as we seated ourselves on one of the garden benches in this secret oasis of Venice. Later, we left the gardens through another b
uilding and came out on to a canal.
To my dismay, we’d not lost our Russian friends and they were waiting for us, twenty metres away from where we stepped out. The foot traffic was light running alongside of this waterway, the Fondamenta Venier Sebastiano. There were no bustling cafés and a place that had tables and chairs outside was empty. The Mafia could easily take us out here, slipping away unnoticed, through the same gardens through which we had just walked.
‘Olivia, we’re in trouble,’ I said, indicating with my eyes towards the thugs.
I quickly scanned the area for possible ways of escape. Spotting a water taxi expectantly waiting for its next fare, its motor idling, I guided Olivia hurriedly across to it. Before we reached it, I whispered into her ear, ‘Let me get in first.’
‘Buongiorno – good morning, my son,’ I started, with a reassuring smile to the boat master, trying to be as charming as possible while hiding my sense of urgency. From the corner of my eye, I could see our pursuers closing in, now alerted to our intended means of escape. ‘The good sister and I would like to go the Cruise Port.’
‘Si Padre,’ he said and extended his hand towards Sister Olivia, who rather than accepting it, took a step back in hesitation.
‘Perhaps my son, you could help me aboard first, then we can both assist the good sister. She’s a little hesitant of stepping onto a rocking boat, seeing she needs a walking stick for balance.’
Olivia briefly waved her cane in his direction for added effect.
He extended his hand again, this time to me and I took it, stepping off the dock and on to the vessel. Our hunters had now broken into a sprint, trying to close the gap before we fled. The taxi man, being unaware of their approach, turned leisurely and put one leg up on to the edge of the boat, then paused to ensure his footage was solid by moving it back and forth a couple of times. After what seemed an age, he leant forward and reached out towards Olivia. As he did so, I gave him a great big, heave-ho-push, shoving him over the edge and into the water. Olivia slipped the boat’s tether from its bollard and leapt into the taxi. It all happened with such speed and agility that I was stunned.
‘At eighty-seven!’ I said aloud, before regaining my sense of urgency and racing to the front of the water taxi and its controls.
I pushed the engines to full throttle and the bow lifted clean out of the water by the sudden acceleration, which forced me to hang on tightly to the steering wheel so as not to fall. I glanced over my shoulder, frightened that I may have sent Olivia cartwheeling over the stern of the boat and into the water. I needn’t have been concerned because she gave me a grin and a friendly wave with one hand, while holding onto her nun’s veil so it wouldn’t blow off in the wind, with the other. Seeing her seated on the red leather, I noted that she looked elegant, almost regal. With a flag flapping behind her hair, it reminded me of a scene from some famous black and white movie. One whose title I couldn’t remember. My thoughts didn’t wander for long because, in our wake, I could see the Russians, who had stolen a boat and were now in hot pursuit.
Passing under the gargoyle bridge I opened the taxi up to full throttle. I didn’t hear it, because of the noise of the motor echoing off the buildings and sound of the boat cutting through the water, but a bullet shattered the windscreen in front of me. I should not have been surprised, but I was momentarily taken aback with the realisation that they were now trying to kill us. I glanced over my shoulder. Olivia must have heard the shot and was ducking for cover by lying across the back seat.
‘Hang on,’ I yelled, weaving the boat first to the left and then back to the right as another bullet embedded itself into the wood next to me.
Bang, bang, bang!
Now I could hear guns being fired in quick succession but was forced to straighten the boat ready for a turn. Another five or six rounds rang out and two large splinters of wood flew into the air near me. Peering behind, I saw that the Russians were now metres away from us. We launched out into the Grand Canal, narrowly missing a water bus that was making its way up the passage along with a string of other sea craft. I yanked the wheel hard left and we sped off in the direction of St Mark’s Square.
Behind, I saw that our pursuers were temporarily delayed when they sideswiped a small craft. We were moving away too quickly to be certain but I think they sank the vessel. I turned my eyes and attention back to the front, in time to almost avoid a collision with a jet ski. I swerved to the right but it still wasn’t enough to miss it.
CRUNCH!
Our boat was tossed to one side as we caught the back of the ski, knocking the rider, a police officer, into the water. There was no time to stop and check if the rider was injured because, once more, shots echoed around us. They were gaining on us fast.
The Grand Canal is the main route through the middle of Venice. Water vehicles of all shapes and sizes traverse its passage in an order that seems chaos to a casual observer, akin to driving down a busy eight lane freeway. I weaved, trying to overtake or dodge other vessels. Sweeping at high speed around a bend, another smaller canal, hidden by a floating pontoon, probably a bus stop, appeared on our left. At the last moment, trying to outmanoeuvre the Mafia, I attempted the turn. It was wider at the entrance than most of the canals which allowed me to maintain our momentum. But then, as if out of nowhere, we were confronted by a gondola, making its way leisurely from one side to the other, carrying honeymooners or lovers. There was little chance of avoiding it and we crashed through the middle, cutting it in half. We didn’t stop, but dressed as a priest I felt compelled to offer a prayer for their safety and that they could swim.
The small canals criss-crossing Venice were remarkably similar, narrow waterways surrounded on either side by tightly-packed buildings, hundreds of years old, towering three and four storeys above with the elegance expected from one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in the world. Crossing the canals at regular intervals, ancient stone foot bridges connected a maze of narrow lanes.
The sound of gunshots from behind forced a refocus on the escape! In front of us, another canal was entering from the left. We took it and sped off in a new direction. A wail of police sirens joined our symphony of commotion, disrupting the serenity of this ancient place.
Our waterway joined a T-intersection and I turned left, which was a mistake. We entered a long straight canal with nowhere to hide. A smaller waterway, branching off to the right, appeared but was gone before I could consider attempting a turn. There was no option but to keep going, speeding towards another T-junction. More gunshots rang out and I glanced behind. The Mafia were shooting at the police giving us the opportunity to increase our lead. At the intersection, I veered right and, to my horror, we left the protection of the narrow waterways, finding ourselves in the harbour, a huge space of open water.
Ching!
A splinter of wood shattered next to me, then another and another. Bits of the boat were now flying off around me. If this continued, we would be killed or sunk. The open water was too dangerous, so I moved close to the buildings before heading left and then left again, hoping to re-enter the narrow waterways. Unfortunately, another wider canal appeared, but this time with boats moored on either side, there was only just enough room to pass other water users without crashing. It proved difficult for the Mafia to gain on us. In my desperation to outrun our pursuers, I side-swiped a couple of other craft on the way past, causing more damage to our boat.
Sweeping around a bend in the waterway, I recognised the gargoyle bridge. We were back where we started, about to re-enter the Grand Canal.
At full throttle, we raced out into the canal. Glancing to my right, I could see water police rapidly approaching with their lights and sirens blaring. Once more, we turned left, retracing the route we had taken minutes before, including following the smaller canal, the one concealed by the bus stop. This time, before I reached the T-junction, I went right.
SMASH!
The Mafia rammed the back of our taxi. Looking back, I saw the bow of th
eir boat above Olivia’s head, before slipping back into the water, taking more of our bodywork with it.
Our latest direction was a narrow waterway which became narrower as we progressed, to the point where it was difficult to navigate at speed. Although I heard more gunshots, I think we were each concentrating, the police, Mafia and us, on not crashing rather than the pursuit or the escape. We maintained our distance from each other and no bullets found their mark. Walkways or little bridges passed overhead with people watching the action, attracted by the sounds of the police and the commotion. The waterway widened and I opened the throttles but, rounding the next corner, my heart jumped into my mouth. A water taxi was leaving its mooring and we scraped its nose right down the side of our boat as we sped past. There was an explosion of sound behind us as our pursuers smashed into the taxi. I throttled back, turning hard left into another canal and then right into another before allowing us to drift to a silent halt.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked Olivia, while glancing back to see how she had fared during the chase.
Olivia was seated in the middle of the back seat and staring at her feet, where I saw water beginning to pool.
‘I think we’re sinking,’ she reflected. ‘Inspector – Oh, you know what I mean, Jean-Marc. How is it that I manage to race around the streets of Paris in a stolen Ferrari and not put so much as a scratch on it but when you are at the wheel …’
She paused to look at the wreck that was the boat and I took my chance to interrupt.
‘I take it that you’re fine,’ I said, managing a smile.
I searched for somewhere to hide and noticed some of the buildings had underground boat houses. Quietly, we slipped underneath one of the buildings, leaving daylight behind. While it was not pitch black, we had to be careful guiding our sinking taxi, in search of a place to tie up. Olivia joined me at the front of the boat as the water was entering rapidly at the rear.