by Mark A Biggs
I’ve been hostage to myself, he thought, even though I wanted to lift myself free, I couldn’t – until now. He recalled that being happy wasn’t just a matter of thinking or pursuing happiness. The secret was to be happy for others, then there was an endless supply. Vicarious joy, he used to counsel others, a joy he was finding in Jack and Charlee.
Instantly, he felt relaxed, cheerful and ready to take on the world again. All he’d needed was the truth, but he had to hear it from the wisdom of the innocent.
‘If I went to my happy place,’ he laughingly said to Jack and Charlee, ‘it wouldn’t be here, beating you both at cards.’
In unison, the children put their hands on their hips, tilted their heads slightly to one side and, making faces that spoke a thousand words, joined Max at the table. ‘I’ve brought Uno,’ said Jack, his thoughts having moved on from the “Happy Place” conversation, freeing Max of any need to explain his past irritability. The children weren’t interested in his guilt; only who would win the game.
‘Pick up four,’ smiled Charlee, placing a “draw four wild card” in front of Jack.
‘No, Max, you pick up eight,’ replied Jack, his eyes alight with excitement as he placed another “draw four card” on top of Charlee’s.
‘Why do I feel this is a conspiracy to gang up on me,’ grumbled Max light-heartedly. A thought unrelated to the game they were playing suddenly entered Max’s mind. ‘I bet you love steam trains, Jack. Do you know the best one ever made?’
‘The Mallard. It set the world record for the fastest ever steam locomotive when it hurtled down the East Coast Main Line at 126mph.’
‘Oh, it may be the fastest, but the best and most beautiful has to be the Flying Scotsman.’
‘No, it’s not,’ answered Jack, with a playful exaggeration given to the words, ‘The Mallard is the best example of art nouveau steam.’
‘Only because it was designed by Sir Nigel Gresley – of Flying Scotsman fame.’
‘We have to go now,’ said Jack, signalling that he had moved on from the conversation and was into another thought.
‘Same time tomorrow?’ asked Max.
For the next two days, Charlee and Jack returned to play cards. As they played, Jack exercised Max’s memory and Max felt his synapses being awakened from their slumber. The visits were relatively short, never more than an hour, but, in that time, Max had to recall subjects ranging from Roman mythology to the Crimean War. When Max’s knowledge allowed, he’d throw a curve ball back at Jack… ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade, “Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred.” Who wrote the poem?’
Jack answered without hesitation:
‘Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.’
‘That would be Tennyson. Did I get the words of the poem right?’
‘My honest confession, Jack. I do know. Tennyson wrote the poem, and it was about the Battle of Balaklava during the Crimean War, but I don’t think I have ever known all the words. Just particular phrases that have become embedded in our language and culture. Well, my generation anyway. Things like: Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die … or Cannon to the left of them, Cannon to the right of them and as I have already said, Into the valley of Death.’
‘Do you know when the Great fire of London was?’
‘Jack, I do know that one. September 1666.’
And so the hour would pass, with Jack’s factual brain teasers and Charlee’s thought-provoking observations. Today, at the conclusion of their third gathering, Max repeated, ‘Same time tomorrow?’ The reply was different.
‘We are leaving in the morning; our holiday is over. Aren’t you?’
Max felt a pang of disappointment but hid his real feelings with a broad smile as he said, ‘I live here. Isn’t that exciting?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jack paused and then added, ‘Terry Pratchett said in a book. “There isn’t a way things should be, just what happens and what we do”. Goodbye.’
Drawing out the word, Max said, ‘J-a-c-k,’ then speaking in a good-humoured way continued, ‘I think you read too much.’ The truth of Jack’s parting words was not lost on him. As Jack and Charlee turned to leave, he felt obliged to share some parting “senior wisdom”. With that thought he racked his brain for something meaningful. A few phrases came to mind:
Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value?
We become what we think about.
Life is ten percent what happens to me and ninety percent of how I react to it.
I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions.
Max realised that, although he could remember some of the lines, he couldn’t recall who wrote them. As Jack and Charlee had proved, having the words was not always enough. Sometimes when the world seems a dark place, you need help from a special person to awaken the goodness and power within. No words of wisdom, and said, instead. ‘Thank you. Both of you.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dubrovnik
Olivia had Max up on deck early in the morning to watch as the Queen majestically glided her way towards Dubrovnik; after his encounter with the children this hadn’t taken much encouragement. For Max, this was the first time he’d been back since visiting Kupari with Claudia and boarding the Lelantos over 12 months earlier. Olivia and Max had been to Dubrovnik together, but that was so long ago; it was barely a memory. Like much of the Adriatic Coast, the brilliant blue of the ocean, with the towns lapping at its shore, contrasted by the ruggedness of the mountains behind, made the approach spectacular. From their vantage point they couldn’t see the Old Town, the reason most visitors came to Dubrovnik; the Queen was docking in Gruz, not the Old Town harbour. Nonetheless, the arrival provided an unparalleled view of the Franjo Tudman Bridge across Rijeka Dubrovacka. As they approached the Port of Gruz, they spotted two other cruise ships already docked, like cities, free of their constraints.
In preparation for their visit, Olivia had spent some time perusing the internet, not researching as such, but satisfying her curiosity. Like many places the cruise ships visited, she’d read, the popularity of cruising and the rise of the mega ships was causing overcrowding. At Dubrovnik, the fear was that its world heritage status was at risk due to the number of visitors. And the locals were no longer impressed by the amount of tourists. “Passengers have only about three hours after docking and disembarkation – 16 hours should be the minimum,” one article said. “Besides arriving all at once and creating enormous queues, the cruise ship passengers spend very little money ashore. They don’t have enough time in the city to do much more than walk the walls and buy an ice cream – very few have lunch, as they receive all-inclusive meals on their ship.” Taking Max’s hand and with the thoughts of what she had read still swirling around in her mind, she said, ‘We are lucky because the Queen is here for two days. When everybody else rushes off to the old city, all trying to squeeze through the Pile gate, we can take a taxi out to Kupari. On the way back, we’ll find a lovely local café for lunch. Later in the afternoon, when all the cruise ship passengers have fled, we can have the old city virtually to ourselves. How special will that be?’
‘Very special, my love. Did you know that Lord Byron, the great romantic poet, once described Dubrovnik as the Pearl of the Adriatic? We can’t even see the old city from here, but you know he was right. I think you will find the ruins of Kupari beautiful, but in their own strange way. Hauntingly beautiful, as ghost towns sometimes are.’
Kupari was 13km away from where they docked in Gruz. As always, the passengers fled, like ants streaming from the nest, the moment the gangways were down, ninety percent heading in the same direction, the old city of Dubrovnik. Taxi’s queued ready to ferry the constant torrent o
f people for the 2km journey. Some of the younger guests of the Queen walked to the ancient town, while others caught the local bus. When the flood of people exiting the ship had slowed to a trickle, Max and Olivia leisurely made their way to one of the waiting taxis who thought Christmas had come early when they asked to be driven to Kupari. The driver offered to wait while they explored the derelict resort, but they settled on calling him later, when they were ready to leave.
Turning off the road leading to Dubrovnik airport, they drove into the tiny ruined seaside village where the former military resort, built for the elite of the then Yugoslav army, stands in ruins. Once the taxi had left, Max did as Lucia had done a little over a year ago with him, explaining what they saw. ‘There were once four hotels here plus the Grand Hotel,’ he said. ‘In its prime, the resort was busy with thousands upon thousands of officers and their families. When the Balkans war broke out in the early 1990’s, the army left, looting and destroying much of the resort. They even used phosphorous bombs to systematically burn buildings floor by floor. This place is almost unrecognisable from its heyday. The Croatian Army set up a base in the resort in 1998, leaving in 2001. Claudia… I mean Lucia, told me that she never came here as a member of the Yugoslav Paramilitary Group, the Yellow Wasps, but I think she found the burned-out ruins a monument to those darker days.’
Olivia let Max talk as they carefully picked their way through the remains, disturbing some feral cats in their stealth. Olivia laughed aloud as the cats were awakened from their slumber, their fur spiky as they spat, hissing, bolting away. ‘We are so slow,’ she said, ‘even the radar ears of the wild cats can’t hear us.’
‘The walking dead,’ Max replied cheerfully.
‘Did I tell you,’ he continued, ‘Lucia said that the Military had built secret bunkers, chambers into the mountainside. That’s why Monya’s company wanted to buy the derelict resort?’
‘I don’t recall you saying, but did she mention where?’
‘She didn’t know, other than the entrance was from the Grand Hotel.’
‘How exciting. Shall we look?’ She didn’t expect to find the entrance, but for half an hour, maybe a little longer, they could relive their days as spies. The search was only a game, but that was all they had nowadays. Carefully, they explored the interior walls of the Grand Hotel when a movement, out of the corner of her eye, caught Olivia’s attention. She said nothing at first, not wanting Max to think that she was jumping at shadows. As they moved further into the hotel, Olivia became certain and gently touched Max’s arm.
‘We are being followed,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Let’s face them and issue a challenge.’ Taking Olivia by the hand, he allowed her to turn him in the direction of their pursuer. ‘We know you are there,’ he called. ‘Come out and show yourself.’
‘Hello Max,’ said a man as he came out from his hiding place. They immediately recognised him as one of Monya’s henchmen. One of those who’d captured Olivia in the cave below the Cold War Bunker in Scotland, later taking Max captive at the farmhouse.
‘It’s one of the three stooges,’ responded Max, not being able to recall his name, even though there were only two of them when they last met.
‘Vladimir,’ interrupted Olivia, ‘I wish I could say how wonderful it is to see you again, but it’s not. How’s Monya’s boat? It was taking on a little water last time we saw it.’
‘I see the doddering old vicar and his nutty wife are well and haven’t lost their sense of humour. A crying shame you didn’t drown.’
‘This nutty wife wishes to know what you want.’
‘To see you both dead, finally, old lady.’ He removed a pistol from under his jacket and pointed it as he walked towards them, stopping five feet away. He smiled before saying, ‘Monya sends his warm greetings. I can assure you that these are his words and not mine. He asks that you be his guests this evening on his new yacht, the Lucia, which is moored near your cruise ship.’
‘Guests or prisoners,’ Max mumbled, looking towards the pistol.
Pulling the trigger, the gun went “clink”, as the hammer struck an empty chamber. ‘Excuse my fantasy,’ snarled Vladimir while tucking the pistol back from where he had taken it. ‘You are both guests and it’s entirely up to you if you wish to attend or not. Monya asked me to give you this.’ From his pocket Vladimir retrieved a coin and taking a couple of steps towards Olivia, held it out for her. ‘6.00pm tonight,’ he continued and then looked at his watch before laughing and saying, ‘It’s now 12.30. You’d better hurry or you’ll be late. Oh, and he said, black tie’. Turning he walked away, leaving them alone.
‘What is it?’ Max asked.
Rotating the coin over in her hands before bringing it to her face for a closer inspection, Olivia answered. ‘It’s an Australian Penny. What do you suppose it means?’
‘Can I have a look?’ Olivia handed the coin to Max, who, after putting on his glasses, which he carried in his pocket, studied it closely. ‘It’s a 1930 Penny in mint condition. It’s rare, collectable and expensive.’
Olivia focused, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to decipher the cryptic message Monya was sending them. ‘The bastard,’ she said suddenly. ‘Excuse my French. A precious Australian Penny.’ Her heart sank. ‘He’s threatening to kidnap our Penny.’
The relationship with their children, Melissa and Gordon, but particularly Gordon’s wife Jane was “laboured”. Max privately described Jane as “the piranha”. At 85 years of age, after a motorbike and sidecar accident in Poland, they had been hospitalised in Prague before being medevacked to a hospital in London. After their release, they spent another two months in rehabilitation, before they were granted medical clearance to travel home to Australia. Still too ill to live on their own, they were forced to move in with Gordon and Jane to finish recuperating before they could return to their home in Maldon. Two weeks after the move, they’d been manipulated into signing a power of attorney. Gordon, Jane and Melissa had each explained the difficulties they’d faced after the accident. Without power of attorney, they’d been unable to make important decisions, medical and financial, to help their parents, or so they said. ‘It would be in everybody’s interest if you give a joint power of attorney to all three of us,’ Jane had said, promising, ‘We’d only exercise the authority in emergencies. That turned out to be a lie. Within months of returning to Australia, the unholy trinity, as Max referred to them, had secretly sold their home, emptied bank accounts and moved Olivia and Max into Bellbird Village, a nursing home. Without their granddaughter, Penny, that’s where they would still be.
Penny was Jane and Gordon’s daughter and was their favourite grandchild. It’s not that any grandparent wants a favourite; it was just the way things had turned out. Their bond with Penny was special, especially when their relationship with the children was so disappointing. When the unholy trinity shipped them into the nursing home, without an opportunity to return to their house in Maldon, it was Penny they entrusted to recover the hidden box containing false passports and matching Visa cards from their spying days. Two years later, when the secret message, calling them back into the service of Her Majesty, appeared in the newspaper, it was Penny who helped them escape from their nursing home prison to return to the United Kingdom. Penny was what they had wished their children to be and they loved her beyond words. But from the moment they shared their secret with her, she was at risk, and their ultimate fear had materialised. It seemed that Monya had their precious Penny. By calling his new yacht Lucia, he was also telling them that he knew Claudia wasn’t dead and understood their connection to her, when she was known as Lucia Da-dic. He knew it was Olivia and Max who rescued Lucia, as a 14-year-old child sex slave, from the same mafia Brotherhood of which he was now boss.
‘What do we do?’ asked Max calmly.
‘He wants something, but, look at us, what on earth does he think we can do?’
‘Perhaps,
we are to be bait to lure Lucia to him?’ suggested Max.
‘Then why threaten Penny? Why not just us?’
‘My love, these people think in different ways. I fear that he intends to cause us excruciating pain by taking away the thing we care for the most. Perhaps, he intends doing the same thing to Lucia, letting her watch as we suffer before killing us all. This is just the beginning of a long and drawn-out end.’
‘He’s not going to hurt Penny.’
‘No, my love, he’s forgotten what happened last time he took on this doddering old vicar and his nutty wife. The Lelantos is at the bottom of the ocean.’
* * *
‘How pleasing it is to see you both again,’ called Randolph, Max’s valet from his short stay on the Lelantos, as they slowly made their way up the gangway to board Monya’s new ship. The Lucia was undoubtedly a super yacht, the most notable boat in the harbour but, compared to the Lelantos, a humbler affair; a Range Rover Sport as compared to his old Rolls Royce. There was no helicopter resting on the third deck and likely no mini submarine or missile defence system. ‘He’s gone second hand,’ smiled Max to Olivia.
‘How the mighty have fallen,’ retorted Olivia sarcastically before cautioning Max. ‘You are to be on your best behaviour, no antagonising him. Find out what he wants by listening, we’ll argue about it among ourselves later.’ She then gave him a cautioning sideward glance, followed by a warm smile. ‘Honey, not vinegar.’
‘Would Olivia and Max kindly follow me. Monya is waiting for you in the dining room.’ Rather than leading them away, Randolph’s attention was drawn to Max’s dinner jacket, noticing a small stain on the lapel. ‘This evening’s dining arrangements were hastily made. Perhaps, Max would allow me to swap his jacket? I will have yours cleaned and pressed for when you leave.’ Olivia quickly took Max’s hand, gently squeezing it as a reminder of his promise to be on his best behaviour. She didn’t want him to bite at Randolph’s observation, something she’d already pointed out to him before they left and which he had grumpily dismissed.