by Mark A Biggs
If I haven’t been discovered by now, the chances are no alarms have been triggered.
I would risk another couple of minutes of rest, to make it easier for me to scramble back into the mini-sub.
What had seemed like a clever idea, proved to be a nightmare for me as any sound sent my heart racing and the anxiety of being caught made me more breathless than trying to escape.
Bugger it!
I punched the flood button and the sound of the sea rushing in and filling the dry dock with foaming water was deafening. Everyone on the ship would surely be able to hear it. I had no choice but to hit the Outer Door button at the same time, hoping that the unit had a safety override that wouldn’t let the door open until the dock was safely flooded.
Moving as fast as I could, I clambered back on top of the submarine, opened the hatch, and shut it behind me before lowering myself into the pilot’s seat. Looking again at my watch, I saw that it was now almost 10.20, perfect timing. Outside, water had risen and was surrounding the bubble. It was time to go and I imagined security staff racing towards me. Picking up the control panel, my fingers hovered, just touching the two dive buttons. Closing my eyes, I squeezed down and pushed.
Nothing happened.
Except for the sound of the sea water filling the dock, the submarine was quiet. Opening my eyes and looking up at the digital screen, I saw a key pad was being displayed and underneath it was: ‘Please enter your pin.’ My heart sank and I dropped the controller, cradling my head in my hands. I was trapped and couldn’t stop Olivia.
Tap-tap-tap came the sound of somebody outside knocking on the hatch. A few seconds later, it was opened.
‘Good evening Max,’ said Randolph. ‘Claudia asks that you might join her on deck, for the fireworks.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Corfu
Olivia
‘Good morning, Lady Olivia,’ greeted Jean-Marc when I opened the cabin door to his knocking.
‘We have docked in Corfu m’lady,’ he continued as a passenger pushed hurriedly past behind him. ‘People are already queuing to disembark and may I suggest, it might be wise for us to join the crowd. Unfortunately, m’lady, we don’t have long if we are to be at the fortress by 9.30. I would suggest that we push in.’
‘The umbrella, Jean-Marc?’ I asked, miming giving one or two of the recalcitrant passengers a quick jab to hasten our exit.
‘Perhaps an, excuse me, may suffice, m’lady!’
It’s difficult to highlight any advantages, except reduced cost, of travelling on a lower deck of a cruise liner shared with the humbler members of the ship’s crew. Embarking and disembarking were certainly two of those, as at the end of our corridor was the gangway. While the queue of those waiting to escape for their day’s adventure, exploring the island for a whole six hours, before heading to the next port, snaked up the staircase, we simply walked from our cabin, along the corridor and, following an excuse me or two, we were out.
Umbrella in hand and with no casualties to report from our exit, we boarded the waiting complementary inter-port shuttle and were driven to the passenger terminal. This was the moment of truth. It was possible that, after Rome and Venice, the authorities would be checking all passengers leaving cruise ships. So far, luck had favoured the brave, and with no other option, all we could do was continue. We’d have to deal with any obstacles that materialised. If we passed through an immigration check point, it was difficult to tell, for we walked into the terminal on the dockside and straight out. No one stopped or showed us the slightest interest. We had arrived.
The walk from the harbour to the town of Corfu, was about three kilometres. Time permitting, meaning fifteen years ago, I would have enjoyed the gentle half-hour walk, but a taxi was in order today and luckily, a lengthy line awaited our selection.
It’s customary to approach the first taxi in the rank. Having asked to be taken into town, we were waved away like an annoying fly at a barbecue. This unsightly scene was played out a further six times. Each cab driver was waiting for a more lucrative fare, namely a rich American wanting a four-hour guided tour of the island.
‘This is going well,’ I said to Jean-Marc, who wisely counselled that we try the cab at the end of the line.
An obliging taxi driver, who couldn’t believe his luck at obtaining a fare into town, without losing his position in the line – last—would have driven us all of the way to the Old Fortress but with time to spare, having had no delays leaving the ship, we decided the town would do.
Corfu is a tourist town but the old part is charming with its vibrant architecture, fascinating little streets and hidden alleyways. Strolling around, we found influences of a history stretching back to the eighth century BC, were everywhere. It could be seen through the unique mixture of influences from Venetian, French and Sicilian.
‘It’s quite surreal,’ I said to Inspector Axel. ‘Here we are in Corfu, a place that’s so beautiful and picturesque that I’m tempted to call it magnificent. Yet, we are sought by the police and hunted by the Mafia. These two things are so incongruous.’
‘As is life,’ he replied.
As we continued to wander, slowly making our way towards the Fortress, my sense of being out of place became stronger. We left a narrow lane, with its Byzantine buildings, and came out onto an area of arcaded terraces and fashionable cafes, in front of which was an English cricket pitch. Not exactly what one would expect to see in Greece.
The entrance to the Old Fortress was in front of the Liston, near the Corfu Esplanade, a large park area running between the old town and the bridge linking the fortress to the town. Like something from a James Bond movie, this was the perfect setting for a secret meeting, with its massive bastions, twin peaks and fortified castles and a fabulous backdrop of sky and sea.
‘Have you any idea how we are meant to recognise our contact?’ I asked the Inspector, which was a superfluous question as he knew no more than did I.
He humoured me anyway by saying, ‘I’m sure he or she will find us, providing we are on time at 9.30.’
He looked at his watch and then smiled at me.
‘Our timing is perfect. In fact, being found has been one of our problems, Lady Olivia because we tend to stick out, don’t you think?’
‘Jean-Marc,’ I said pretending to be offended. ‘You are not suggesting that I look old?’
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘Distinguished and elegant.’
A polite way of saying ancient!
Max and I had been lucky. We had travelled, visiting many places, but this was my first time to Corfu. Despite a mixture of trepidation, not knowing if the contact would know the whereabouts of Max, and impatience, because 9.30am had already come and gone, we wandered the grounds stopping to admire the views, as any tourist would. Trying to blend in, which was a little unusual for us.
The next time I stole a glance at my watch it was almost 10.00am.
We have come a long way in our search for Max and it can’t come to naught.
‘Geia sou file mou,’ came a warm and jovial voice from behind us, repeating it again in English. ‘Hello my friends.’
I’m not sure what we were expecting but the warm welcome startled us and, for a second, neither of us knew how to respond, until I managed an unconvincing. ‘Hello.’
We were greeted by a man, in his fifties, speaking beautifully clear English with an alluring, sexy Greek accent. He was casually but neatly dressed, wearing bone-coloured trousers, and a light purple long-sleeved shirt, topped off by a cream Panama hat with a black band running around it.
‘Hello,’ he said again, tipping his hat as he spoke. ‘Sando said I was to expect you either yesterday or today and here you are. What a delight. What do you think of our beautiful fortress?’ His question was rhetorical so he didn’t wait for an answer and continued. ‘It’s an impressive sight built on top of Agios-Markos. The Venetians, who occupied Corfu from 1386 to 1864, started it in 1572, to fortify the defences because the Old Fortr
ess was no longer enough. The original architect was the military engineer Ferrante Vitelli and it took a long time to build, being finished around 1625. The French and British completed their work, improving the construction. The building you can see before you was built by the British during their rule of the island between 1815 and1863 and they did one hell of a job – it’s still standing proud and firmly. Did you know, its official name is Saint Mark, although everybody knows it as the Old Fortress? You will find the best panoramic views of Corfu from on top of the Fortress. Ah, but let me stop rambling, for you didn’t come all of this way for a history lesson.
‘Olivia, or is it Lady Olivia,’ he continued with a chuckle. ‘You have had quite an exciting trip, or so I’ve been told. A lot of people are searching for you, but you needn’t worry. From this beautiful Fortress, I could see if you were being followed and, surprisingly, you’re not.’
‘Are you able to help?’ I asked, ignoring his observations about the unwanted attention we had gathered along the way. I wasn’t sure if I was proud or embarrassed by my notoriety.
Proud I think.
‘Ah, straight to the point, I like that, Olivia. Why not? You have come such a long way to ask me about Claudia.’ He paused before looking from me to the Inspector. ‘You are thinking – no! Will he tell us the truth? Or maybe, why would I help you?’
‘It’s a fair question,’ answered the Inspector. ‘We wondered if you would be here. Sando could have sent us on a wild goose chase and we would have been none-the-wiser, until we turned up here.’
The man, who still hadn’t told us his name, thought that the Inspector’s manner of speech was funny. ‘A wild-goose-chase, yes, I like that. If you will excuse another history lesson, perhaps it will help you understand and trust me.
‘I had relatives, family, in Yugoslavia. They were living in a place called Zvornik during the Balkans war. Even though they weren’t Muslim, nonetheless, they suffered at the hands of Ratko Mladic. Forty thousand people were forcibly expelled, ethnically cleansed the media called it, from the Zvornik district and four thousand died or went missing. After the invasion of Zvornik in 1992, many fled, but were then encouraged to return, only to find that all inhabitants had to be registered. These registrations led to arrests and deportation to concentration camps. The Zvornik massacre, as it became known, was the murder and ethnic cleansing against Bosniaks and other non-Serbs living in the Zvornik district, and was carried out by Serbian Paramilitary groups. My family were among those victims. They were removed from Zvornik and we never heard from them again. Mass graves have been uncovered since the war but my relatives were not among the bodies. One of the most feared and brutal of those paramilitaries was a division called the Yellow Wasps.
‘The mention of that name, Yellow Wasps, caused terror among non-Serbians and there was no person more ruthless than a lieutenant called Claudia. Towards the end of the war she fled. No one knew where for certain, but we suspected Britain. Vojin Vučković, the commander of the Yellow Wasps, his brother, Duško, and Ratimir, were convicted in 1996 for killing seventeen civilians but that was just the beginning. War crime trials for the Zvornik massacre continued until 2010 but Claudia was never apprehended.
‘It wasn’t until one of my men started working on the yacht for a Russian billionaire called Monya Mogilevick, and he mentioned the billionaire’s lover Claudia, that I became suspicious. I wondered if this could be her. You see we already knew that Monya was from the Russian Mafia and this seemed the perfect place for her to turn up. We have no photographs of Claudia from that time in Zvornik, only descriptions and these are tainted by time. But from how my contact described Claudia, and from her brutal reputation in the underworld, I believe she must be the one and the same Claudia that we seek. So, that’s why I help you – for my family.
‘Claudia is on the billionaire’s luxury yacht, the Lelantos, but she’s virtually untouchable while on board. You would need a division of elite commandos to get anywhere near her. The yacht’s security guards are ex-Russian special forces and it has bulletproof glass, lasers, a missile defence system and even its own submarine. Don’t underestimate Monya. He is a powerful, influential and dangerous man and the head of a group of twelve Russian Mafia syndicates, called the Brotherhood. He united the Brotherhood under his leadership ten years ago. Before that, they fought each other in bloody territorial wars. Monya was unlike others who tried to unite rival factions before. He’s smarter, and instead of brutal terror tactics, he’s used a franchise system, like that used in normal commerce, with him as the CEO. For their loyalty, their syndicates would net billions of dollars. The empire is run like one of his companies and the syndicates have all prospered and grown. As long as the money flows, the fealty continues. Monya has become the wealthiest and the most powerful of all the Brotherhood but that’s not what makes him so dangerous.
‘Over the last few years he has courted the Russian Government, or maybe the Kremlin courted him. I’m not entirely sure what he’s been up to but we do know that he has some powerful and influential friends in the foreign intelligence service. Ask yourself, how many people have access to a military grade missile defence system for their own private yachts? I tell you this so that you know. If you take on Claudia, understand who and what is protecting her.’
‘If it’s so hopeless,’ I said, ‘why tell us?’
‘You may have an advantage. They are expecting a whale and you are a minnow.’
I peered at the olive-skinned man for a moment, intrigued at what he’d told us.
‘Do you know if Max is still alive?’ I asked at last, sadness decorating my voice.
‘My contacts tell me that, not only is he very much alive, but that he’s on the super yacht with Claudia. They were due to arrive in Split yesterday for what was to be the start of a two-week holiday sailing the Adriatic and Greek Islands. You must understand that getting information off the boat is difficult and we must be careful because of Monya’s connections with Russian Intelligence. We were taken unawares when the Lelantos docked here, in Corfu, this morning. The Harbour Master tells me she’s sailing for Turkey later today.’
‘It’s in the harbour now?’ I asked. ‘Max is here, in Corfu?’
‘Unfortunately for you, yes. The Lelantos will be here for another one or two hours, that’s all. Not enough time I imagine, to put in place whatever plan you have. I wish that I could help you but this is neither the time nor place for me to reach Claudia. I hope your rescue succeeds. Now I’m afraid I must leave. Good luck, both of you and antio sas – goodbye.’
I’d tracked Max over three-thousand, two-hundred kilometres and he was now only ten minutes away on an impenetrable ship. Watching the man with no name walking quickly away, I stared at the historic fortress where we stood. This had been the site of many battles, a bastion, a stronghold of Corfu. It had stood for hundreds of years as a monument to great resolve and architecture. In the harbour awaiting us, a modern castle, a super yacht, packed with the latest defences, imprisoned my beloved Max. I felt so close and yet so far.
‘Are you okay?’ asked the Inspector, breaking into my reflections on the challenges which lay ahead of us. ‘What are you planning?’
‘Ah – the plan,’ I said vaguely. ‘The cunning plan. That will depend on what we find when we reach the dock.’
‘Lady Olivia. You do have a plan?’ asked the Inspector smiling.
* * *
The Lelantos was not difficult to find; it dwarfed the other private yachts in the harbour. From our vantage point, standing behind a parked car, we had an unobstructed view of the ship, while believing we had cover ourselves. Without binoculars, it was difficult to make out clearly what was happening. The gangway was down and, at the top, on either side, were what looked like two guards. People in white sailor’s suits, we assumed were from the yacht, were on the dock talking with what looked like some local harbour officials. A blonde woman about the same age and stature as Claudia, was standing near the yacht’s ra
iling. I stared intently but I didn’t think it was Claudia. She was joined by a man.
Is it an old man? Could it be Max?
It was difficult, no impossible, to tell from this distance but still my heart leaped. I wanted to jump up and wave, to call out and attract his attention so that I could have a better look. Apart from jumping being dangerous at my age, I knew that doing this would-be folly. The element of surprise and being a harmless old lady were my only weapons.
‘Stay here,’ I whispered to the Inspector, though no one would have heard had I talked normally.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to put up my umbrella, to keep the sun off my head and as a disguise, and then simply walk up and take a closer look. They will be expecting two of us, so I’m sure I will go quite unnoticed. I will return with the intel– isn’t that what you police on a stake out call it – intel?’
‘Don’t you think I should go?’
‘Not at all, Inspector. A strapping young man like yourself. The moment you are within even a hundred yards of the yacht, they will intercept you and shepherd you away. I’ll be quite safe and will be a couple of minutes, no more.’
Without waiting for a reply, I popped open my brolly and strolled, as fast as I could, inconspicuously, towards the Lelantos. When I reached the sailors and harbour staff, I simply said. ‘It’s a beautiful morning isn’t it?’ While giving the umbrella a twirl in my fingers, I made it to the bottom of the gangway before the guards at the top paid me any attention. Folding my umbrella, I yelled out, as I mounted the stairs.
‘Claudia I’m here!’
With resolve, I marched towards the top and a burly man with broad shoulders and six feet six if he was an inch, moved to block my way.
‘Out of my way,’ I called, giving him three good whacks with my brolly. ‘Claudia is expecting me.’
I pushed past him and on to the deck. The other guard, the one I didn’t whack, was paralysed, staring at me in the utmost disbelief.