Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  ‘Well then, start packing and no more of your nonsense.’

  It was still difficult, but, working together, they could wheel the luggage. Olivia spent the next part of the evening on the internet, booking a car to take them to the airport and tickets to London. After that, they sat together to plan what they would do once they arrived. Friends they’d once known had since passed away. Unable to contact their headquarters, arriving in London, one of their favourite cities, seemed daunting. Pragmatic, they settled for things will work themselves out; when they do, the way forward will become clear.

  Because they were leaving the Queen, they’d need to disembark along with other passengers whose holiday had ended. This meant their luggage would pass through customs, an advantage as the suitcase was taken from the ship and was waiting at the cruise terminal. From there, it was only a short walk, luggage in tow, to where a man, holding up a sign with their names on it, was waiting to drive them to Marco Polo Airport.

  ‘Whew, stage one complete,’ smiled Olivia, as they arrived, making their way to the entrance. It wasn’t a large airport, but, with the number of people milling around, they were both apprehensive. For a moment, they remained, frozen in time, watching as automatic doors opened and closed and people scurried about their business. ‘It will get easier,’ encouraged Olivia. ‘We’re a little out of practice, that’s all.’ Unbeknown to Max, sheer panic concealed itself behind Olivia’s show of confidence. To add to her nervousness, on her last flight, from Paris to Rome, she’d experienced excruciating pain in her ears, unsettling her balance. She hoped it wouldn’t reoccur.

  Grasping the travel case with one hand each, the other clutching their respective walking sticks, they moved forward. ‘Into the valley of death,’ recited Max. ‘Charge of the light brigade.’ He lifted his walking stick momentarily, pretending it was a lance.

  Together, they attacked the self-check-in and, with a little help from one of the frustrated people waiting, in what had become a growing queue behind them, managed to print the boarding passes. To the shaking of Olivia’s head, Max turned and, facing the waiting line, held his boarding pass aloft. Taking a bow, he called aloud, ‘Victory is ours.’ A spontaneous round of rapturous applause followed. Boarding passes secreted in their pockets, one hand on the case, the other on the stick, they hobbled forward to the next obstacle, the baggage drop.

  The waiting attendant, having watched the theatre of their approach, greeted them cheerfully.

  ‘Good morning, Sir, Madam. You seem to have a fan club. Can I have your boarding passes and passports, please? Thank you. Are you able to lift the bag onto the scales?’

  Placing the bag directly in front of the scales, Max and Olivia positioned themselves on either side of it. With the handle still extended, they could not lift it. The same teenage girl who had helped them moments before, magically reappeared, and with a buoyant, ‘Here you go,’ lifted it into position, ready for its journey to the plane.

  ‘Did you pack the case yourself?’ asked the counter lady.

  ‘No,’ answered Olivia. ‘We did a bit each.’

  ‘That’s quite alright, but the luggage can only travel under one person’s name and that person is responsible for whatever is inside.’

  ‘Young lady,’ laughed Olivia, when you have been married for more than 60 years, you will find that we women are always responsible. If I didn’t check what he packed, he would have a week’s supply of odd socks, no pyjamas, a scary thought, and only one pair of underpants. If you were to point it out, he would say, what’s wrong with that?’

  Unsure if Olivia was being serious or if her remarks were a humorous quip, the counter lady chose the safe option and asked, ‘Have you booked assistance for boarding and for disembarkation?’

  ‘I’m sorry, love, I didn’t know we could. Is it too late?’

  An electric chariot whisked them to the gate lounge, and, as if travelling business class, they were first to board. It didn’t last as they were last to leave when the plane landed in London. There, another buggy waited, ready to ferry them down the long passageway, from arrivals to the luggage pick-up area. Twelve months earlier, thought Olivia, as they raced past the people walking from arrivals, she had been driving a stolen Ferrari along the Champs-Élysées. Then, it had been an improbable dream that came true, but, now it would be an impossible fantasy. How quickly things change! She pushed the circumspect thoughts from her mind and said to Max, ‘Isn’t this great? What an adventure.’

  Having been last off the plane, and, despite the motorised journey to the baggage carousel, it was difficult to find a place among the already gathered crowd huddling around the circulating luggage. They found a spot, immediately before the point that unclaimed items vanished back into the abyss, before reappearing on the other side for another run past the multitude of waiting hands.

  The crowd had thinned slightly by the time Olivia spotted their bag, meandering its way slowly towards them. ‘I’ll get it,’ announced Max confidently, moving to stand, side-on to the machine, bracing himself as he reached out and grabbed the case. He didn’t topple, it was more a graceful drop. Within seconds, he’d vanished from view behind the curtains as the conveyor belt whisked him away. Olivia, startled by the fall was lost for words. When she did call out, her distressed voice vanished into the hustle and bustle of the busy airport. Any second, she hoped, whoever was watching the CCTV would activate an emergency stop of the conveyor, but they didn’t, the passenger baggage continuing its journey on the roundabout. She saw his legs first and then his body emerged from the depths of the building. Cries of alarm accompanied his reappearance and within seconds, some unseen person stopped the carousel. Uniformed men and women swarmed in from every direction, ready to take control of this outrageous stunt but found, instead, senile ineptitude. Olivia made her way to where Max was sitting and, pushing herself in between the bemused security, said, ‘That bag there…’ poking it with her stick. ‘That’s mine. Oh, and he’s mine too,’ she said, giving Max a gentle prod. ‘Be a dear and get them both down for me, will you?’

  * * *

  A little shaken, Max and Olivia had made it to England. Having been helped, or more accurately, escorted by airport security, they found themselves outside Heathrow Airport. ‘What now, Max?’ inquired Olivia. ‘Is it a taxi to London?’

  ‘Our passports would have been flagged and triggered an alert with MI6 who have undoubtedly sent someone to watch us. If you wait here, I will go back inside and see if I can spot who it is. Then I would ask them for a ride to London under the guise that their boss, Stephen, will want to make a time to chat with us. We can make those arrangements in the car. I’m going to look.’

  Olivia waited patiently, but, after fifteen minutes of standing, decided that she needed a seat, so moved to where she could find a bench. Twenty minutes later Max finally came into view walking, stick in hand, towards her shaking his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘If they were watching, I would have sussed them.’ Sounding dejected, he added, ‘I really thought they would have been interested in us.’

  ‘A week is a long time in politics, but a year is an eternity in the spy game. Things change, Max. That’s all. Things change. Come on, let’s take a taxi.’

  ‘Where to guvnor?’ asked the cabbie in his beautiful cockney accent.

  ‘London’

  ‘A beautiful city guvnor. Is there any particular place or address that you would like to go? I can find them all and without one of those confounded GPS things, which would take you via Timbuktu. The knowledge governor, it beats a computer every time.’

  ‘Sorry my good man, Kings Cross station if you please.’ It was the first place that popped into Max’s mind, a mind swirling with the realisation that neither had thought about accommodation once they made it to London. Feeling Olivia give his hand an affectionate squeeze, he thought: What is it she said before? We are a little out of practice, that’s all.

  It was the beginning of rush hour as they arrived at the st
ation. They had travelled in relative silence, not wanting the driver to overhear a conversation they both knew they needed to have, Olivia said, as the taxi departed, ‘What now?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, but first, we need to find a place to stay and get some rest. Do you realise,’ he added in a jovial voice, ‘that it’s past my afternoon nap time, although surprisingly I’m not tired? “It must be all that excitement” as you would say, my love. Stress is the word that comes to mind. On a positive note, I have an idea of how we can contact Cliff.’

  ‘Another plan?’

  ‘A cunning plan and this time one of my best, but let’s talk about it over dinner when we are rested and refreshed. My suggestion is that we walk along this street.’ Max looked around for a sign before reading it aloud to Olivia. ‘Pentonville Rd. This way, and when we see something we like, let’s book in for just one night.’

  As they struggled along the street trying to dodge the oncoming barrage of pedestrians, all of whom seemed oblivious to the world as they rushed relentlessly towards the station. Olivia recalled to Max how she had forgotten how chaotic the streets of London were. It was not that people were intentionally bumping into us, she thought, but walking two abreast, so they could pull the luggage, made it inevitable. By the time they reached Caledonian Rd, which was at the end of the first block, they knew they’d have to accept the first accommodation they came across. It wasn’t their mobility that was letting them down, just the awkwardness of jointly towing a suitcase through a crowded street that made further progress “mission impossible”. Pausing, waiting for the traffic lights to change so they could cross the road, Max spotted a sign on the other side of the intersection – Keystone House Hostel. Not the usual kind of residence to be frequented by Lady Olivia Suzanne Elizabeth Huggins, he pondered, but needs will, where needs must. For the first time that day, luck was with them. A private room was available, though they wouldn’t have taken a dormitory if that was all that was on offer. The idea of sharing a room with five or six pimply and smelly backpackers would have spirited them on at least for another block or two. Perched on the end of the bed, one that filled most of the room, Olivia surveyed their temporary palace before observing.

  ‘We could have taken a cab to a nice hotel.’

  ‘You’re the one who likes to declare that we should be enjoying new experiences. Well, you can’t say that this isn’t an adventure.’

  ‘Neither of us thought about it, did we? A taxi, I mean’

  ‘No, but we have now, and there’s always tomorrow. After a nap, we will be back on top of our game. We’ve had a valet for the last 12 months; where we haven’t had to make even the simplest of decisions. That’s all it is. Have you seen the bathroom?’

  ‘We’ve got one?’

  ‘Olivia, now I know you are teasing me. Seriously, the shower is over the bath, and the bath has no support rails to assist us getting in or out. We can’t use it but, on a positive note, from now on, when we book a hotel, we know to ask for a step-in shower.’

  ‘A sponge bath, is that what you are trying to tell me?’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a couple of cans of deodorant.’

  ‘The Keystone Hostel… A man’s paradise!’ laughed Olivia.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Triumph

  ‘Max, wake up, it’s past eight o’clock. Our ten-minute nap has grown into a three-hour sleep. Come on, we need to get some dinner and don’t forget to take your passport with you. I’m not sure that this is the safest place to leave it.’

  Having laid fully dressed on top of the bed, they were both ready to leave within minutes. Although annoyed at having drifted into slumberland, at least they felt refreshed and with a good dousing of Max’s perfumed antiperspirant – “performance in motion” – they ventured out onto Pentonville Rd.

  ‘Left or right?’ asked Max. ‘Towards or away from the station?’

  ‘Away. Let’s treat ourselves to something nice to eat.’

  It was a typical late spring evening, cool and overcast. Their spirits were high, and, with walking sticks in hand, they strolled down the street enthusiastically, this time unhindered by luggage or the crush of rush-hour crowds. ‘Pizzas Union,’ suggested Max cheekily as they walked past the shop. Fifteen minutes later, when they began to tire, having seen nowhere more suitable to eat, they joked that perhaps “La Pizza” or the “Meat House”, which they’d also passed, may have been their best choices for the evening. ‘I take it,’ said Max, keeping with the good spirit of the conversation, ‘that the Pentonville mini-mart is also out?’ Not wishing to walk too far, they decided to retrace their steps. This time, however, as they passed a multi-story building calling itself “Kings Cross”, they noticed a sign for, “Mildred’s”, a vegetarian restaurant inside the arcade. ‘That will do,’ Olivia said.

  ‘The Meat House or Vegetarian,’ Max mused. ‘You don’t think we can keep looking, maybe for something in between?’

  ‘Vegetarian is good for you and besides, I want to hear about your plan to find Cliff. I’ve been patient in not asking.’

  Smoked tofu, fennel, apple and white bean sausages with cider jus, pan-fried hispi cabbage, peas, dill and mash, were, not the bangers and mash Max that had been craving. After eating the meal, he couldn’t complain. ‘Not bad,’ he begrudgingly admitted as he scraped his plate clean, before trying to steal Olivia’s last piece of bread. She gave him a playful slap on the wrist.

  ‘We should talk to Rosie,’ Max said.

  ‘Rosie?’

  ‘The landlady at the East Dart Hotel in Postbridge. If my memory serves me correctly, it was where Inspector Axel was given the false passports and the other items you’d requested from Cliff. Even if the agency only used her as a post office, it’s the best lead we have. The only lead.’

  ‘I agree. When and how?’

  ‘Tomorrow, we hire a car and drive up. How does that old joke go? I’ve had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes. I’m half blind, can’t hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts. I have bouts with dementia, poor circulation and can hardly feel my hands or feet anymore. Can’t remember if I’m 87 or 92 and have lost all my friends. But thank God, I still have my driver’s licence.’

  ‘Very funny, Max, but neither of us has a licence, or have you forgotten? You could always buy a car like last time?’

  ‘Buying one would take at least a few days. How about I steal one instead? It’ll have to be an older car, one without all those electronic immobilising gizmos. On our way here, I saw some of those old-style council low-rise flats. They should be the ideal place to find an old bomb. My suggestion, we stroll up some of the side streets and have a look. Identify a car to target. In the morning, we visit a hardware store and buy the tools we need. This time tomorrow night, we are on our way.’

  After leaving the restaurant, they turned north and headed up Calshot Street. As luck would have it, parking, in some places, was allowed on either side of the road, turning the two-way street into a single lane at those spots. There was an abundance of vehicles to check out but, with street lighting only on one side of the road, the dimness made it difficult to determine, without peering in the window, how easy the car was to steal. This would draw unwanted attention to themselves. All in all, they decided the street was a smorgasbord of options for the following evening.

  ‘Home, Max,’ said Olivia, satisfied with the evening’s endeavours. As they neared the Pentonville intersection, they noticed three men, teenagers, or perhaps, they were in their early twenties, turning into the street. You shouldn’t make judgements based purely on appearance, thought Max, but with their hoodies pulled down over their heads, the swagger in their steps, and taking up the whole footpath as they approached, he felt justified in being apprehensive. ‘Stop,’ he whispered to Olivia. ‘Let’s wait until they pass.’

  ‘Look,
it’s pops and grandma out for their evening walk,’ sniggered one of the advancing men to his companions. They laughed, halting a few away, in front of Max and Olivia. The man continued speaking, ‘it can be dangerous on the street at this time of night. You should know better than to be out after dark.’ There was more laughter. ‘Now you will have to pay if you want to pass. What do you have? Shall we take a look?’

  Max and Olivia didn’t respond, their attention being drawn to the sound of a flick knife opening. The person holding it wasn’t a man after all but a woman, twenty if she was lucky, thought Olivia. She waved the blade so that they could see it.

  ‘Give us your wallets and phones,’ said the man who had sniggered, while his accomplice also produced a knife, twisting its blade back and forth menacingly.

  Behind the assailants, Max watched as people walked along Pentonville Road, 100 meters away. He knew that, even if they yelled for help, they wouldn’t be heard. Do you hand over your wallet and phone or do you fight, because no matter what happens, they are likely to attack anyway? Without saying a word, Max reached into his pocket, removed his wallet with his free hand, holding it out so they could see it clearly before letting his arm drop beside him. Stooping, leaning heavily on his walking stick, an old and helpless man, shuffled forward, closing the distance between him and the man who had been speaking. The gang leader, he assumed. The other two goons were drawn closer as he hobbled towards them. Inching forward, ignoring their laughter and obscenities, concentrating on his next move. It would have to be quick and decisive, there could be no hesitation once it started. He knew Olivia would come to his aid but, unless he could subdue them, she would never survive a frontal assault; she’d be cut down in seconds.

  Max straightened suddenly and, by lifting his walking stick at the same time, amplified his strength as he sent it smashing forcefully up between the gang leader’s legs. His agony was instantaneous and, as the leader bent forward, Max brought the stick down violently across the back of his neck. Sidestepping the man as he fell, he swung the cane sideward, catching the woman across the face, breaking her jaw. Seeing Olivia out of the corner of his eye as she advanced towards the woman, he swung viciously to his left, targeting the hand of the other thug who was still holding a knife. The thief moved and Max’s walking cane struck the pavement, his own momentum causing him to stagger forward, almost toppling. He felt the blade of the knife as it slashed across his free arm, a tinge of pain causing him to look at the superficial cut, as he tried to regain his composure. In the background, he heard the woman, cursing at Olivia, but couldn’t see the fight. Stay calm and focused, he thought as he straightened and, pretending his walking stick was a fencing foil, he took the pose, holding the cane straight out in front, ready to confront his attacker. ‘Pret,’ he called towards his bemused assailant. Followed quickly by, ‘Balestra.’ He lunged forward, smacking his cane into the hand of the man holding the knife. It lacked any meaningful force, the lunge didn’t hurt the assailant, but it caught him by surprise, as he looked at the point of contact, wondering, what had just happened. Abandoning the pretence of chivalry, Max struck again, this time swinging wildly towards his opponent’s head. The man sidestepped the attack; now Max found himself with his back towards the attacker. He froze, staring at the world in front. It was over; the knife would strike him in the kidneys and the death that followed would be slow and agonising. The fatal blow didn’t materialise. Max turned. The man was waiting and, with his free hand, beckoned for Max to advance. Once more, Max took a fencing pose and to the smiles of his assailant, lunged forward with his foil. The thief grabbed it and tore the cane from Max’s grip. ‘Now what, old man?’ he sneered. Max heard the crunch before he saw Olivia’s walking stick snap the thug’s collarbone. The second hit was decisive. With both hands, she wheeled the cane as if it were an axe and it connected with his body between the shoulder blade and neck. He collapsed on the pavement.