by Mark A Biggs
If we sink now, Olivia may find it difficult to swim.
‘Perhaps a life jacket may be in order,’ I suggested.
Olivia declined but instead encouraged me to find dry land.
‘Before my stockings get wet,’ she said.
After a couple of minutes of exploring the under-building maze, with the back of the boat about to sink under the water line, a dock came into view. We pulled up and I helped Olivia off the boat.
‘It’s time we got out of these costumes and went back to being Lady Olivia and her secretary,’ I said, ‘but I’m afraid your cane has to go.’
‘You mean, the elegant cane, has to go,’ Olivia teased. ‘Perhaps an umbrella, as you suggested?’
‘An elegant umbrella, m’lady.’
A powerful light cut through the darkness and halted our banter in its tracks. It was coming from the direction of the canal and flitted from side to side, as if someone was searching. We could hear a boat, its motor gently burbling, as it wove between the stumps of the building. Olivia and I could hide, but our moored water taxi would give us away.
I wondered if we would be able to escape before they seal off the building but there was no time.
Concealed behind large wooden pillars at the end of the dock, we waited as the searchlight grew brighter and the sound of the boat louder. The dock was lit up as if it were daylight and we huddled behind our screen as the light swept back and forth. Darkness descended again and the sound of the boat became more distant.
‘They’re gone,’ I said. ‘It’s time we were out of here.’
Except for the elegant cane which went over the side of the dock to join our sunken boat in the murky water below, we bundled up our religious attire and disposed of it in a dark alcove. We found our way up from underneath the building and out onto the street.
On most corners in Venice are signs pointing to San Marco, St Mark’s Square. Although we had no idea where we were it was a simple matter of following the signs and, within minutes we were hidden amongst the hundreds of visitors in the square. Stopping only to purchase the umbrella, deciding against the intended coffee and cake, we took a water taxi to the cruise port.
* * *
The sight and size of the cruise liners took us by surprise. They were astonishing, but we were not sure whether this was in a good or bad way.
‘They’re enormous,’ said Lady Olivia.
It took a moment to find our bearings before we joined the stream of people following the signs to their ships.
The cruise terminal was as busy as any airport and it was overwhelming and chaotic with people wandering about searching for information about what to do next. Soon after arriving, we were greeted, given information with forms to complete, taken a numbered ticket and told to wait for our number to be called. Once summoned we entered another queue for the check-in windows. Time seemed to be passing slowly because Lady Olivia and I were keen to be aboard and underway before the authorities tracked us to the ship. As we knew they would.
‘Welcome, Lady Olivia,’ I heard the check-in attendant say, having taken her passport. ‘This is your boarding pass and you will be staying with us on deck five in one of our lovely inside cabins. Have you travelled with us before?’
‘No,’ replied Lady Olivia, sounding most offended. ‘I’m afraid this was a last-minute decision. My private secretary assures me that none of your better suites were available but I would be most grateful if you could check again. We will pay for an upgrade, of course.’
Having failed in her bid for a better cabin, we passed through the metal detectors, had our photos taken by security and a photographer working for the ship who hoped to sell the result to us during the cruise at some ridiculous inflated price, and found ourselves on deck five, where outside the cabin doors, our luggage was waiting.
‘At least something has gone right,’ I said to Olivia upon seeing our bags.
Ignoring my observation and giving me a kindly smile, she replied, ‘You promised me a coffee and cake, before you took me for the joy ride. Give me ten minutes to freshen up and then let’s have something to eat. I’ve something to tell you.’
Deck 12, at the stern of the ship, had a lovely outside eating area. I found Olivia a shady spot while I went and selected an assortment for lunch, deciding upon a wine instead of the coffee.
‘We deserve this,’ I said, giving Olivia the wine glass, ‘even though it is before five.’
‘Max would say it’s after five somewhere in the world,’ she said and, lifting her glass, she clinked it with mine. ‘Cheers. Welcome aboard Jean-Marc, at least we made it this far.’
We ate quietly and were mesmerised by the people as they visited the eatery. Most had plates of food filled to overflowing and scoffed it down as if it were their last meal on Earth. Not able to finish their culinary selection, they’d slip away returning with deserts stacked one on top of the other.
‘People come on cruises for the food,’ I said, raising one eyebrow as I spoke.
‘Indeed, they do,’ replied Olivia, ‘and there is plenty of it. I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you!’ She paused and waited for my full attention. ‘I have met Claudia before, I’m certain of it, and believe her real name is Lucia. The last time I saw her, she was only fourteen and a prisoner in Yugoslavia. That must be twenty years ago and she has changed such a lot. The more I study the photograph of her, the more certain I become. It was the hotel sign, the one saying, Santa Lucia, that made the connection for me – although it took me some time to realise it. It makes some sense, why she didn’t kill Max. She must have recognised him but why she would take him with her, I can’t fathom. If she didn’t want him dead, why not let him go?’
Olivia stopped speaking and peered around, as if contemplating what to say next.
‘There’s no wisdom in taking him,’ she said, ‘because she can’t tell the Mafia bosses the truth. They will want him dead. I wonder, does she have a plan or are things unfolding as they develop? Maybe she doesn’t know herself? Max is the chink in her armour, if we find her, and if Max is still alive, we may have a slim chance.’
I listened to Olivia as she told the story of Lucia, the girl in a picture and how they spent two years searching for her before the rescue. They freed her from the Russian Mafia and returned her to her family just as the Balkans war was breaking out. So, the promises they made to stay in contact were unfulfilled and when the war was over, she had vanished.
Throughout our lives we encounter many people but every now and then we are touched by someone. Listening to Olivia, as she recalled the story, I knew that Lucia had left her mark on Olivia and, from what she told me, more so on Max. Whether she could reconcile Claudia being Lucia, I didn’t ask and it didn’t matter. For over an hour, I was spellbound listening to this grand old lady recounting the many adventures she shared with Max. When she had finished, I was aware that I was part of a wonderful love story and not merely the rescue of Max.
The thought overwhelmed me and I felt alone. She had shared a lifetime with Max and, even in these twilight years, I knew that she must love him – why else risk everything to find him. What touched me was how she showed that love. It was simply the way she spoke, with admiration, respect and caring, as deep as that. I was moved by her but also felt empty. My wife had died and my daughter was probably murdered. I had no one who deeply cared for me and I doubted, having now met Olivia and Max, that I had truly loved anyone.
‘The ship’s leaving,’ said Olivia excitedly, which made me smile.
Despite the difficulties of our day and the challenges that awaited us, she was still able to find joy.
And so must I, I said privately to myself.
From our seats, we had a magnificent view. Our ship towered above Venice, dwarfing it in its shadow, and we looked down upon the City in all of its majestic beauty and history. It was a wonderful experience but what a travesty it must be for those on shore and for those who call Venice home. To see these huge ships dominating the
skyline as they slip from their moorings! But today we were on board and marvelled from our vantage point. Venice was truly a sight to behold.
CHAPTER TEN
Kupari
Claudia
‘Yes, well done everyone,’ I repeated and, for the briefest of moments, I wondered if Max had saved me again.
I dismissed the thought as pure folly as I reached over from the co-pilot’s seat and lightly touched Melanie-Jane on the shoulder in recognition of what she’d achieved during the landing.
‘You too, Max,’ I added.
He responded by stretching one of his hands towards me and, before I knew what I was doing, I had taken it and given it an affectionate squeeze.
Stop it!
I castigated myself irritably, then realised that both of my feet were firmly pushing down onto the brakes. With the easing of my leg muscles, the pressure came off the pedals and, in unison, the rest of my body relaxed and let out an audible sigh while involuntarily repeating the words. ‘Well done everyone.’
‘What now?’ Max asked.
‘You stay here with Melanie-Jane while I make some calls from the cabin. We will be needing a clean-up team, to dispose of the bodies.’
‘And medical help for the pilot?’
‘Sweetie, of course,’ I replied, not meaning for the vexation I felt from his question to have crept into my voice.
Pulling myself out from behind the controls, I stepped over the co-pilot’s body which I’d unceremoniously dragged from the seat and dumped on the floor. I paused and opened my mouth, as if wanting to say something but the moment passed and I hurriedly left the cockpit.
Nikola’s body was where we left it and I had to step around it. As no one was watching, I turned and stared at the lifeless corpse. As with the co-pilot, I felt nothing, no sadness, remorse, guilt, victory or pride.
Nothing!
Lifting my hands, I studied them, turning them over a couple of times. Would this death stay and haunt me later?
Hanging on the wall, next to the table where Max and I had been sitting, was a secure phone line. Like any large and well organised criminal group, we ran a twenty-four-hour crisis response room. All I had to do was dial, provide an authorisation code, and wheels would be put into motion. Depending on where in the world the call originated, assistance was not always available from our criminal group. In those instances, help could be provided by other Brotherhood members who had a presence in that country, but only in extreme cases, and provided that Monya approved the request. Dubrovnik, being one of our own areas of operation, meant that medical and clean-up crews were on hand. Having placed the call, we could wait for the emergency team or I could leave using the car, kept in the shed at the runway, for our use during visits.
My next phone call was to Monya and he listened as I recounted the flight and expressed my concern that Nikola had managed to breach our security. He shared my disquiet and told me to lift our alert level to orange, the second highest. ‘It would stay there,’ he said for the duration of the cyber-attack on London and until we understood how Nikola came to be on board our plane and whether it impacted our operations.
Monya was planning to join me on Saturday and host the reception we were holding on board the yacht for key government officials, whose approvals we’d need to purchase the old resort at Kupari, near Dubrovnik.
‘It’s possible,’ I said to Monya, ‘that the plane’s landing gear has been damaged. It was quite a landing. We won’t know for certain until the engineers have examined it. I wouldn’t count on it being available for Saturday.’
We debated whether a private plane should be chartered for him to fly but, with the security breach, he decided that he’d skip the trip. I would handle the purchase negotiations in his absence and he spent the rest of the call explaining what he wanted from the deal.
‘Nevertheless,’ he said, as his parting shot on the subject, ‘I want that land and its buildings.’
To that end, I was to ensure our guests were exquisitely wined, dined and entertained. It was to be a formal, husbands and partner, affair – bribery was acceptable and expected but prostitutes were not to be at the party.
Towards the end of the lengthy conversation, as the rescue crew arrived outside the plane, Monya told me about Olivia and Inspector Axel. They’d been in France searching for information about me and were heading for Rome. As a precaution, a price had been put on their heads.
‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘given their previous tenacity, it would be unwise to underestimate their ability to find you. I would be disappointed if I found myself playing host to both Max and Olivia. That would be intolerable. Do I make myself clear?’ Monya said.
‘That won’t happen,’ I promised Monya.
Having hung up the phone, I was struck by the uncomfortable realisation that I may encounter Olivia. Yet again, my decision to bring Max was looking shaky. Pushing Olivia to the back of my mind, I opened the door, allowing the clean-up crew to board the plane.
‘Don’t touch Nikola, the steward,’ I commanded, pointing to the body on the floor. ‘Not until I’ve had a chance to thoroughly search her and go through her belongings. The pilot is this way.’
I led them towards the cockpit saying, ‘We think they were poisoned and the co-pilot is dead. Concentrate on the pilot.’
When we arrived, Max was caring for Melanie-Jane, trying to keep her talking.
Seeing us, he said to her in a gentle and reassuring voice, while stroking her cheek softly, ‘Help’s here.’
The scene made me angry and I wasn’t sure why.
‘Sweetie,’ I said coldly while reaching out towards him. ‘Come on, we need to keep out of the way of the medical crew.’
It was the right thing to say for the occasion but it was not what I was thinking.
Back in the cabin I searched Nikola, to no avail. Her ID was likely to be false, unless Nikola Tesla was her real name – which I doubted. I kept the identity document, nonetheless. She wore no jewellery and her handbag that was in the galley was empty, except for lipstick, sunglasses and tissues. There were no keys, coins, till receipts; nothing to tell us who she was.
I gave the bag to one of the clean-up crew saying, ‘Destroy everything, sweetie, and no photographs. I don’t want any records that link her to us.’
‘Boss,’ said one of the clean-up crew members. ‘Don’t you want to try and find out who sent her?’
‘Sweetie, I don’t care who she is, where she’s from or who sent her. More importantly,’ I repeated angrily, ‘I said no pictures. The last thing we want is photos of a dead girl being found on a phone that is connected to us – so, put your phone away – NOW!’
After he had complied, by slipping his phone into his pocket, I continued, but with a change of tone in my voice. ‘She’s dead, but the next one will be taken alive and I can guarantee they will talk.’
‘You kept her ID,’ whispered Max when we were out of earshot of the clean-up crew.
‘You don’t miss much,’ I answered, surprised, but remained mute as I had no intention of telling him why. The secret was that I didn’t know myself.
Max and I left the private aerodrome for the drive to Dubrovnik where Monya’s luxury yacht was docked and waiting to serve as our floating hotel until after the reception, when it would take us to Split and the beginning of a two-week vacation sailing around the Greek Islands. The drive took us past the seaside village of Kupari and the resort we were negotiating to buy. Turning off the highway, we drove towards it and the beach, stopping near the five derelict buildings that were abandoned hotels.
‘Come on,’ I said to Max, ‘I want to look around.’
‘Where are we?’ he inquired while surveying the scene. ‘It’s like a ghost town! Almost surreal.’
‘This is one of the reasons we came to Dubrovnik, to buy this place. It was built as a resort for the elite of the then Yugoslav army. There were once four hotels here and one grand hotel. That’s it over there,’ I said, p
ointing as we picked our way through the rubble. ‘When the war broke out, the Balkans war, the army left, looting and destroying much of it. They used phosphorous bombs to systematically burn them, floor by floor. It’s still beautiful is it not? Just look at the beach and the crystal-clear Adriatic Sea. What a magnificent backdrop. I love the contrast, the sweet and sour of this place. Desolation against the beauty of the sea. Violence and harmony, ugliness and splendour.’
‘Is that why you want to buy it, to turn it back into a resort?’
‘Yes, we intend doing that, but that’s only part of the story. Look at the buildings, see how they are embedded into the slope? When the military had it, they built a maze of passages and rooms tunnelled into the hillside. That’s why they blew it up before they left, to hide and seal the entrances to the chambers. The Croatian Army set up base here in 1998 and stayed until 2001, but they never found what’s hidden behind. We will consolidate our cyber divisions here, relocating the Moscow office, merging it with our Dubrovnik operation. What could be better than a forgotten military complex hidden in the side of a mountain? And the cover for the operation.
A holiday resort, teaming with people coming and going. Look about you. The Adriatic Sea! When we build a private harbour to accompany the resort, we will have access to the ocean, a smugglers paradise.’
‘Can you just do that? Can someone from Russia buy Croatian property that easily?’
‘No.’ I said and laughed. ‘Monya owns a multi-billion-dollar property development company in Russia called the Edsel Group. It has a subsidiary, a Croatian-based company called Titanium, that can buy here. It has already built several residential and commercial complexes in Croatia and it will buy Kupari with Russian money, which is quite legal.’
Talking about the resort reminded me that, before long, the history here and its connection to my past, would be gone. I stopped talking and gazed around the derelict site before turning and silently staring out to sea and then surveyed the ruins once more.
‘Were you here during the Balkans war?’ Max asked, drawing my attention back to him.