by Mark A Biggs
‘All going to plan, Penny discovered that Olivia Evans was slightly older than Penny expected from the email. She found a woman in her early fifties. Reading the accompanying profile, she would have been comforted reading about a person with nearly 20 years recruiting experience and who specializes in overseas candidates like herself.’
‘12 months in Peru… Is that what I really want to do, Penny would have questioned. Imagine working in Peru and in Public Health., she would have said. When I get back, I’ll have international experience and able to work anywhere. I know, I know. Don’t get over excited, it’s just an expression of interest, that’s all. Your Penny responded positively to the LinkedIn message, giving her mobile phone number to our bogus company. Do you know that she deleted the message twice before she finally sent it? Then she had quickly turned off her computer. All tell-tale signs showed that she was hooked. All that was needed was to reel her in.’
‘Why a Christian not-for-profit?’ asked Max. ‘She’s not a religious person.’
‘Unconscious bias. She trusts you and you were a priest. We look for subtle links, things that are not overtly recognisable. If they’re obvious, the scam is up. Once the bait is taken, it becomes both a psychological and waiting game. The secret is to make it demanding. I am told, we use a theory called “effort justifications”, a person’s tendency to attribute a value to an outcome, which they had to put effort into achieving. Gangs and the military units have used it to build loyalty for centuries. They call it initiations, where you have to complete demanding and sometimes humiliating tasks in order to belong. It creates loyalty to a group or a cause. Penny had to endure a screening interview, then an online psychological test and then a delay. Weeks passed before we contacted her again. When we did, she was told that she had made it to the final eight and that there would be another round of interviews and more testing, after which four candidates would be recommended to the employer for a final interview. That interview would determine who was the successful applicant. After her next interview, we told Penny that unfortunately, she’d not made it to the final four. Olivia Evans praised her effort, saying that she’d only just missed out. Number five. “Don’t be disheartened,” Olivia had consoled Penny. “You were up against some really tough competition and should be really proud of yourself. Can we keep your name on our contact list in case other opportunities come up?” Penny would have been disappointed. We waited a couple of weeks and then, just as Penny was coming to terms with her failure, we called her with something like, “Hi Penny, this is Olivia Evans. One of our final four candidates has dropped out due to ill health. We have discussed your application with the employer and they would like to interview you”. I’m sure you can guess the rest. Penny was successful and then posts on social media that she has a job in Peru. A few weeks later, we fly her to New Zealand for an induction, before starting in her new role. On the way from the airport, she is drugged and wakes up as our guest and we take over her social media accounts and phone. As far as the world and her friends are concerned, Penny started work in Peru. Then, lo and behold, after a couple of months, she meets a man and falls in love. Finally, she sends a message saying that she is going to take a social media holiday. Penny has vanished while her friends and family believe that she is in darkest Peru and in love.’
‘I am reluctant to ask this,’ said Max. ‘How do we know that Penny is alive, and, if we find the Bible, that you will let her go?’
‘You’re asking for “Proof of life”, as they call it. Well, that’s easy, but you must decide how exact you wish to be. If you want a picture of her holding today’s newspaper, that can be arranged. However, you may wish to consider that we’ve made her unexpected circumstances as least stressful as we can. Penny is free to wander the house and grounds where she’s being held. Her restraint is a bracelet, similar to the collars used with those underground dog fences. If she goes too close to the boundary, she’s warned with an audible buzzer. If she ignores that and continues to the boundary, an electric shock is given, rendering her unconscious at best, and killing her at worse. Penny has been told that, if she tries to escape, her liberties will be curtailed. There are guards, but she doesn’t see them. The only day she’s confined to the house is when the gardeners come. So that she doesn’t become bored, she has to clean and cook for herself. We’ve arranged a companion, Anna; someone to be her friend, to eat and talk with. We even warned her about the Stockholm syndrome, where, in time, she will want to trust Anna and even discuss escape plans with her.’
‘Anna,’ interrupted Max. ‘Is that Anna from Macinec?’
‘Yes, I’d forgotten you were listening when I discussed her with Claudia.’
‘She prepares your prostitutes for sale! Is Anna the most suitable companion?’
Smiling, Monya replied, ‘Surely, you wouldn’t want me to discriminate against Anna because of her occupation. Though you’re a God-fearing man, I didn’t see you as a narrow-minded bigot.’
‘Call me old fashioned, but it’s the slavery component of her job description that disturbs my moral conscience.’
‘You forget, Max, that Anna wasn’t good at her job so I think she’ll make an ideal companion. As you can see, I am trying to make Penny’s difficult circumstances as comfortable as possible and, as another sign of my good faith, when this ordeal is over, Penny will win the lottery, receiving 2 million dollars. She will reappear from Darkest Peru, broken-hearted because of a failed romance. If she were foolish enough say what actually happened, then I am afraid her life would be forfeit. The decision is yours, but my counsel would be to accept the video footage I am about to show you. It’s not a live feed, but something we recorded earlier. Asking Penny to hold a newspaper to the camera may cause her unnecessary distress.’
Monya reached into his pocket and brought out a small remote-control unit. The TV Max and Olivia would use to see the footage of Penny, hanging on the wall, flickered to life. It was a two-minute compilation of her having dinner, cooking in the kitchen and reading in the lounge. The curtains were drawn so that they couldn’t see out the windows. The footage was carefully constructed to conceal her location, and, other than the bracelet she was wearing, it was difficult to tell that she was a prisoner.
‘If we accept that Penny is alive and well, why would we believe that it is your intention to let her go?’ said Olivia, hiding her emotions.
‘Trust! Besides, what choice do you have? Before I answer any more of your questions, let me order dessert. Max, it’s your favourite, your real favourite, not the pretentious rubbish you sprout when in one of your temperamental moods. Jelly and ice-cream. Rather simple but nice. We, humans, are such complex beings, but completely predictable.’
‘You have been doing your homework. Flavours?’
‘I know a lot more about you than you think but we will come to that. Strawberry and Vanilla by the way.’ Unnoticed, Monya reached under the table and clicked a hidden buzzer, summoning the waiting staff who arrived to clear away the dinner plates, returning with jelly and ice-cream.
Seated in silence as the staff busied themselves around them and unbeknown to each other, Max and Olivia were having the same thoughts: Monya was a psychopath, common in business leaders, expected as a boss of the Mafia. He was charismatic, charming, adept at manipulating interactions, and had many of the other hallmark signs. Grandiose behaviour, egocentric and lacking conscience. The only discernible point of divergence, Olivia thought, was that he didn’t have a complete lack of empathy. He seemed to care about Penny’s emotional well-being while she was being held in captivity. Maybe that’s him manipulating us, she wondered to herself. Regardless, they couldn’t trust him.
With dessert over, Monya, summoned his staff to clear away the remainder of the meal, ordering a bottle of port to share with his guests. When once more they were alone, his demeanour became serious. ‘It’s time we got down to business. You have until January the 14th next year to complete your task. If, instead, you choose to focus o
n freeing Penny, you may succeed, but sometime in her future, I will kill her and the family she has. Neither of you has many years left. She will be vulnerable when you die. Is that the legacy you want to leave her?’
‘Monya, what resources do you think Max and I have? This seems to me a ridiculous and pointless game. You can’t honestly believe that we can do this, and then there’s the problem, what if your Bible doesn’t exist.’
‘I expect you to call upon all of the resources of your agency.’
‘MI6 will not help,’ said Max firmly.
‘No, I don’t imagine they would, but you have never worked for MI6. I told you before that I know far more about you than you realise. Then there’s the Professor. With his help, you can find it.’
‘We know nothing of the Professor,’ said Max, startled by this new avenue. ‘The last we heard, he had been ushered away in an escape craft, accompanied by your guards, when the Lelantos sank. If you lost him, you can’t expect us to know where he is. He could be dead for all we know.’
‘I can assure you both that he is not dead. I know this because a secret from one of our projects has been disclosed, Spectre and Meltdown security flaws, designed by the Professor, in every Intel chip. His genius was that the features behind these vulnerabilities were to enhance performance. He designed malware to gather protected information, exploiting subtle timing differences in how the processor was executing instructions. The Professor and I named these flaws, Spectre and Meltdown, so as you can see, he all but signed his name to the startling discovery of the vulnerability design. But some of my other projects that he worked on and if discovered would have left me vulnerable with my Brotherhood family, have been left untouched. He has not totally betrayed me.’
‘Even if the Professor is alive, what’s to say he is not with the CIA or MI6?’ questioned Olivia.
‘Jana.’
Max and Olivia were taken aback for a second, trying to understand Monya’s cryptic use of their old friend’s name.
‘You remember Jana, the old man who shared the nursing home with you in Australia and the one who rescued you, Max, when Olivia was kidnapped? The man who accompanied you,’ looking at Max, ‘to the farmhouse in Scotland. He turned up again in Astakos Greece and was helping a traitor to escape, one of my elite guard entrusted to protect the Professor.’
‘Not that “elite”,’ jibbed Max, which attracted a disapproving glare from Olivia.
‘A wealthy business associate of mine provides Russian mercenaries when our Government wants to deny involvement in a particular activity. Not that it’s a concern of yours, but Keiser, a private military contractor, guaranteed the loyalty of these ex-special forces soldiers of mine. I’ve had words with my associate. Their replacements, which I hope you don’t have the misfortune to meet, are very adept at their work.’
Olivia, wanting to prevent Max from derailing the conversation, spoke before Max had any opportunity to antagonise Monya again. ‘That’s very interesting, but I was wondering… What happened to the Professor’s wife?’
She died in a car accident, while Jana and the Professor escaped. As it turns out, Jana works for the same agency as you once did. So, you see my good Max and Olivia, you will have all the resources you need.’
‘With the greatest respect, if the Professor is alive, the CIA may have him,’ started Max, accompanied by another disapproving glare from Olivia, ‘After your meddling, at the behest of the Kremlin, into American politics, the FBI set up a special prosecutor to investigate. I read a federal Grand Jury had indicted a troll farm in Moscow, charging 13 Russians. The Professor could have given them that information.’
‘Max, I have faith in you to do what no one else has been able to do and get me that Bible, but you are worrying me, for poor Penny’s sake, not my own. Don’t go getting dementia on me, not yet anyway. You have been to my troll farm if that’s the unsophisticated name you choose to call it. Was it in Moscow? No, Dubrovnik, until I was forced to move it. Has anyone been arrested? No, they are all charged in absentia. No one will ever see the inside of a courtroom. Has Monya been mentioned? Again, no. My operations, which were run by the Professor, are untouched. What you read is all part of the game, more fake news, if you like. The FBI has found a notorious troll factory, named a wealthy businessman with connections to the President and indicted a few poor souls. It was all there to be found so that the Americans save face with their own people. All the while our operations continue. Everybody is happy.’
‘If you are right, and our old employer has the Professor, why would they help us?’ asked Olivia.
‘That is your problem, but I do hope you find yourself adequately motivated. Enough now. Randolph has a package for you. In it is a USB that contains all of our research regarding the Bible. Drawings, maps and plans of the Abbey, both pre and post the Eighteenth-century rebuild. You will also find video footage of every room, public, school and even the private areas. Finally, there are photographs of each sculpture, carving, window and anything with symbols or text on it, which may provide a clue for you. He will also give you a phone number that you are to call only when you have the Bible. That’s when we will make arrangements for the exchange. Remember, you have until the 14th of January, over six months away. If you haven’t called by then, I will assume you haven’t lived up to the faith I have in you. Now please excuse me. Randolph will see you ashore.’ Monya stood to leave.
As Monya walked away, Olivia called after him, ‘Why the 14th of January?’
‘It’s my birthday.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
London
When they were both safely back on board the Queen, Max asked, ‘So, what’s the Plan?’
‘We’re too tired and angry. Nothing good can come from ruminating over this now. The plan is bed and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we work out how to defeat this bugger and save Penny.’
‘You know he said that if we rescue Penny, he’ll take her out when we are dead and buried.’
‘Bed, Max. Penny will still be his prisoner in the morning.’
The next morning was to be the Queen’s final day in Dubrovnik. From there she would sail to Split, giving passengers 7 hours ashore before travelling to Venice, the final destination for most, and, as they left, new guests would be boarding to begin a cruising holiday to England, stopping at 5 ports along the way.
Over the last 6 months, Max and Olivia no longer woke early, and, despite the previous evening’s ordeal, it was after 9.00am before they stirred. Although not admitting it and, despite Olivia’s best efforts and a re-kindle focus from Max, they found that they tired easily, sometimes drifting off to sleep without realising it, until waking with a startle. In keeping with their new agreement, they joined other passengers for breakfast, and, when the people they were sharing a table with left, Max and Olivia discussed their predicament, concluding that the first thing they should do is contact Cliff, the place, not a person. Cliff was the location of their headquarters for the secret activities performed during the second and cold war. A coded message from Cliff a year earlier had called them back into service to retrieve the Janus machine. Briefly leaving the ship, they made their way to a public phone box and Max dialled a number, ready to give the password.
‘Can I speak to Robin?’
The reply would come, ‘She’s not here.’
Then he would say, ‘I want to speak to her brother, Robin.’
No one answered. Instead, Max was confronted by a recorded message, ‘The number you are calling is no longer connected.’ Assuming he’d made a mistake entering the digits, he tried a couple more times before accepting that he no longer knew how to contact the agency. Olivia, who was waiting outside the phone box was unflustered by the news. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. We should be getting back on board before the Queen sails without us. I’m not sure Monya will fancy giving us a ride to the UK.’
‘That’s an absolutely brilliant idea. Why shouldn’t he take us? What’s he going to do? Throw u
s overboard?’
Olivia shook her head in disbelief, ‘I hope, my love, that’s your wonderful sense of humour.’
‘Perhaps, you would prefer my other plan? Sitting naked on the main street, being arrested and then deported back to England.’
‘Ha, the last time you had us strip to the nuddy, we found ourselves committed to aged care. Note the word “committed”, as in locked up and not sent to where we wanted to go… home.’
As was their style in moments of pressure, they found relief in banter.
Having failed in their attempt to contact their HQ at Cliff, they decided that they should leave the Queen when it docked in Venice in three days and catch a plane to London. The evening before arriving in Venice, they carefully packed their suitcases, taking only the minimum, conscious that they might find it challenging wheeling their luggage through an airport. Armed with a walking stick in one hand and dragging the bags behind with the other, they set out down the corridor running in front of their suite. It would be a test of their mobility and stamina, they failed the assessment. They could walk easily but were unable to tow the case at the same time. The Valet carried the luggage back to their room.
‘Operation OBE isn’t starting well,’ smiled Olivia after they’d recovered from the humiliation of being stuck halfway down the corridor.
‘Operation OBE?’
‘Over Bloody Eighty. Excuse my French. Let’s try sharing a suitcase and see if together we can tow it. Penny needs us, so we can’t be giving up at the first hurdle.’
‘Second hurdle! Don’t forget the agency has done a bunk, leaving no forwarding address.’
‘Do you want to be wearing my underwear or yours?’
Max lifted his eyes towards Olivia.