Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  ‘Is he dead?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Which one?’ Max asked, looking at the three unconscious bodies lying on the ground.

  Olivia carefully checked each of them for a pulse. Relieved, she said, ‘They’re all alive, but I think we should get out of here and then call an ambulance from a phone box. We mustn’t use our mobiles’

  ‘Good idea but wait just a few more seconds.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked in alarm, as she watched Max go through their pockets, collecting their wallets, knives and other things he thought might be useful.

  ‘Hey, you!’ they heard a voice call from a nearby window. ‘I’ve called the police.’

  ‘Run,’ instructed Max, as he put the stolen booty into his pocket. Running was the one thing they couldn’t do but, as quickly as they could, with the speed of necessity, they covered the 100 meters to the main road. Behind them, came the sound of running feet and urgent voices. ‘Stop, stop!’ Stepping out into Pentonville Road, causing traffic to brake heavily, Olivia hailed a passing cab. The driver hesitated, as Max and Olivia climbed in because he could see the pursuers waving their hands and could hear them calling out.

  ‘Police – New Scotland Yard and as quick as you can,’ instructed Max with urgency. Followed by, ‘For God’s sake, step on it, man before they get here.’ The taxi swung into the traffic and accelerated away. Max could tell the driver was nervous as he kept glancing at them in the mirror. He needed to convince the cabbie that there was no need for him to report this incident to the police. Max asked, ‘What’s your name and badge number, my good man in case the police need to contact you?’

  ‘Artie Black – 21662.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Artie. My name is Syngen Smythe and this is my wife, Sylvia.’ Before she could stop herself, Olivia gave Max a “you must be kidding stare” before smiling and saying;

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Artie.’

  As he had hoped, by the time they reached New Scotland Yard, Artie was less suspicious. ‘The police may be in contact’ said Max, before the cabbie drove off, not wishing to accompany them inside. Spits of rain that started as they drove had now become a light drizzle. Max and Olivia found themselves on the steps of a police station in the dark, the rain starting to soak their clothes. When the taxi was out of sight, they crossed the road to shelter under a tree, hoping it would offer some protection from the rain. At least we have a nice view of the Thames and the London Eye, thought Olivia.

  ‘Syngen Smythe, Max! Straight out of James Bond. Couldn’t you have thought of a less conspicuous name? And Sylvia? A little less obvious I admit, but yet another character from a Bond film. For goodness sake!’

  ‘Well, it was better than some of the alternatives: Pussy Galore, Honey Ryder, or even Kissy!’

  ‘They are tacky and wrong on so many levels. I am telling you, Max, if you had tried one of those on, I would have handed you over to the police myself.’

  ‘From another time?’

  ‘Like us, I fear. What’s next?’

  Max thought for a few seconds before answering, ‘It may be unwise for us to go back to Kings cross because the police may already be looking for us. We need to leave London. Let’s spend thirty minutes searching for a car to borrow. Otherwise, it’s an intercity train ride, the further the better and a train would provide a warm place to sleep, better than a cold windswept station. We are getting a little past that kind of thing.’

  They tried walking up Richmond Terrace, which ran beside New Scotland Yard, but it was blocked by security gates. Retracing their steps, the next road was also barred. They were in the Government centre of London: White Hall, Westminster, Parliament, Downing Street, Big Ben. With tight security, there was little to no chance of stealing a parked car. Instead, they entered Westminster tube station, pleased to be out of the rain, and caught a train to Paddington Station, not because it reminded them of Penny but because it was the first train to arrive. Max suggested that they spend fifteen more minutes looking for a car before settling on a train to anywhere. The area around the station contrasted with that of New Scotland Yard with flats, street parking and even a hospital. There was an abundance of cars, most too challenging with the limited equipment he’d acquired from their assailants. That was until he spotted a late 1960s or was it an early 1970s, Triumph TR6 soft top.

  ‘Look at that, a true British Classic, the last of the great Triumphs. Did you know it is powered by a 2.5-litre straight 6 with fuel injection? And has a top spee…’ Olivia interrupted Max impatiently.

  ‘Will it have a heater? One that works?’

  ‘It’s a Classic, so there is no guarantee but, being British, it will be easy to steal.’

  ‘Isn’t life fun? I did prefer the Rolls you stole.’

  ‘Rib ticklin’, m’lady.’

  It took longer to climb in, having to drop their old bones down into the low-riding sports car with care, than it did to hotwire the motor.

  Max hadn’t driven in over a year but, it wasn’t the lack of practice that was causing him difficulties. Driving on unfamiliar roads, in a city, and at night was a challenge for anyone. Add rain on black bitumen, forty-two-year-old windscreen wipers and a demister consisting of Olivia’s walking stick with a handkerchief tied to the end of it, modified later to include Max’s hanky – it was almost impossible to see. Even though at that time of night the traffic was light, after two near misses, where Max drove on the wrong side of traffic islands, Olivia demanded that he pull over and wait until a truck passed, so that they could follow it. ‘At least until we’re out of the city,’ she said, ‘Then you won’t have to negotiate so many, roundabouts, traffic lights and those damn confusing intersections.’ Once they were on a main road at higher speed, windows down, they hoped, the windscreen would clear.

  Having pulled over, Max waited on the side of the road watching for lights in the rear-view mirror, then a truck roared past. ‘Go,’ instructed Olivia. Their destination was now in the hands of Eddie Stobart, as the lettering on the trailer told them. Half an hour passed, with the rain easing, Max and Olivia found themselves on the M4 motorway. Putting his foot down, Max accelerated past their guide, only to spot that the petrol gauge was hovering on empty. It was gone midnight when they pulled into the service station, exhausted by the ordeals of the long day and needing to find a place to sleep. Max opened the car door, ready to fill it with petrol.

  Hearing Max laughing, Olivia said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I can’t get out. The car’s too low and my legs are stuck. You try.’

  Olivia struggled to open the door fully let alone get out. She couldn’t budge. A set of headlights from a car pulling in behind filled the car’s mirror. ‘You better wave for some help,’ suggested Olivia. Seeing a hand waving from the driver’s side of the Triumph TR6 in front of their police car, officer Boote went to investigate.’

  ‘Good morning officer,’ said Max, trying to hide the surprise in his voice. ‘Embarrassingly, sir, my good wife and I have become a little stiff and find ourselves stuck and unable to extract ourselves from this fine vintage British motor vehicle. It’s the cold, you know. Perhaps, my good man, you could give me a little tug? A helping hand.’ Max held his arm towards the policeman. His female partner, overhearing the conversation, had walked round to Olivia side and, pushing the door fully open, was offering to assist her out of the car.

  With the rescue complete, the officers returned to their car to fill it with fuel. ‘Stay calm,’ whispered Max. ‘I doubt if the Triumph has been reported as stolen yet.’ The police officers were first to finish and, smiling as he walked past, on his way to pay, officer Boote pointed towards two vacant car parks and said, ‘When you have finished and paid, pull over there and we’ll check your licence and registration details.’

  Max waited until he saw officer Boote emerging from the service station before he and Olivia started walking there themselves. Olivia said as they passed him, ‘We have to spend a penny, love, but we won�
�t be long.’ Inside, she shared with Max her escape plan and then proceeded to take out her smartphone. Having found their location on the map, she searched for nearby streets. As Max paid, she found herself a quiet spot and dialled 999.

  ‘Police, Fire or Ambulance,’ the operator said.

  ‘Police. It’s an emergency,’ came Olivia’s distressed voice. ‘I’ve just seen a man wearing a balaclava and wielding a machete running down Harlech Gardens Hounslow.’

  Is that a road or a street, madam?’

  ‘That’s what it is called. It runs off Crawford lane, Hounslow.’ The place she was describing was a couple of roads back, almost directly behind the service centre from where Olivia was making the call. ‘I don’t want him to know that it was me who called the police, so I’m going to hang up now. You better hurry.’ She hung up the phone. Stalling for another minute before heading back to the car, Max and Olivia watched as the police car parked behind them switched on its blue flashing lights, maneuvered around the TR6 and raced away.

  ‘Now, Max, that’s how it’s done,’ she said humorously. ‘It’s all returning. Lady Olivia is back.’

  ‘Oh yes m’lady, but can you crawl back inside the Triumph?’

  ‘Do you see the sign; the one that says, “Travelodge Hotel” and is part of this service station complex?’ Max looked. ‘Well then, this Lady Olivia is crawling nowhere else tonight but bed. I’m going to walk over and you can drive. If you’re good, I might even help you out of the car when you get there.’

  ‘But does Lady Olivia have fresh underwear for the morning,’ smiled Max, while producing a clean pair of crumpled Y-Fronts from his pocket.

  ‘Touché. The team is back; Monya, better watch out.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rosie

  Having booked into the Travelodge Hotel well after midnight, they had managed to negotiate a late checkout, so it was mid-afternoon when the Triumph pulled into the car park. The drive up to the East Dart Hotel in Postbridge, Devon had been uneventful, by Max and Olivia’s standards. Extracting themselves from the car was still a challenge. They crawled out onto the pavement, then using the car’s door for balance and leverage, hauled themselves upright. During the drive, they’d agreed that, once they dumped the car, which they had to do soon as it would be listed as stolen, trains would better meet their comfort needs.

  The old white pub was as they remembered it from their overnight stay a year before. Speaking to the landlady, Rosie, was a gamble, but she was their only possible connection to their old HQ at Cliff. They needed to stay vigilant however, not revealing information about their secret agency. On entering the pub, the bar was empty. Rosie, the person behind the counter, looked up at the sound of the opening door. ‘Hello, Olivia and Max,’ she greeted, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’ Dumbfounded, Olivia and Max tried to hide their surprise at the welcome.

  ‘Two pints of your Jail Ale if you please, Rosie,’ responded Max before he and Olivia took a seat at a table for four. Rosie brought over the drinks and then went back to the bar to pour herself a glass of white wine. When she returned, she asked, ‘What brings you to Postbridge?’

  ‘I thought, from our reception, you were expecting us,’ answered Olivia questioningly.

  Rosie didn’t answer. Instead she sat quietly, encouraging Olivia to keep talking.

  After a short lingering silence, Olivia said. ‘Last year, Inspector Axel picked up a delivery for me, from you. Who gave you those items?’

  ‘Wisely, you are testing my credentials. Max, you may wish to ask me the code phrases, the ones you would use when contacting the agency? I will respond in the manner we use for a double verification.’

  ‘I want to speak to Robin,’ asked Max.

  ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘I want to speak to her brother, Robin.’

  ‘Robin Claude?’

  ‘No Duval,’ concluded Max.

  They both relaxed; Rosie was acting on behalf of the agency. Many questions were running through Max’s mind, what happened to Cliff was one, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

  ‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ smiled Rosie warmly. ‘Welcome, Olivia and Max. What brings you to Postbridge?’

  ‘Just out of curiosity, were you expecting us?’ questioned Olivia.

  ‘The agency heard chatter from the CIA that you’d arrived in Britain. We suspected that you may find your way here.’ Looking first to Max and then to Olivia she said. ‘How can I help?’

  Olivia took the lead, telling of Penny’s kidnap, explaining that, in exchange for her release, Monya wanted them to steal a Gutenberg Bible, which may or may not exist, from Melk Abbey in Austria. Olivia told Rosie that Monya believed that the Agency had Professor Akihiko, and that they would need his assistance if they were to discover the hiding place of the Bible. Max added that it was possible that the Bible was a ruse to lure the Professor out of hiding. ‘We understand that Penny’s fate may be of no concern to the Agency, but we had to ask. If you can’t provide the Professor, perhaps you could give us access to resources that would help us find and rescue Penny?’ said Olivia.

  Having listened intently to the story, asking probing and thoughtful questions to ensure her understanding, Rosie asked, ‘How will the exchange be made? The Bible for Penny?’

  Olivia explained how Monya had given them a mobile phone number, which they were to call once they had the Gutenberg. ‘We have until the 14th of January,’ said Olivia.

  ‘Will Monya be there when you hand it over?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Max.

  Their privacy ended when the pub door opened and the first customer of the evening entered. ‘I’ve booked you into the same room as last year,’ continued Rosie. ‘Let me talk to Cliff and we can discuss it over breakfast in the morning.’ She left them alone, going back behind the bar to serve the patron. ‘Good afternoon, Frank. Your usual?’ they heard Rosie say.

  The next morning, with breakfast and check-out complete, Rosie’s children at school and Paul, her husband, elsewhere, Max and Olivia joined Rosie in her office. ‘It seems there is a great deal of interest in your friend, Monya. Did you know he’s dubbed the President’s Gardener because his company provides gardening services to the Kremlin? He runs another company called Keiser, which provides Mercenaries for Russia’s activities in Eastern Ukraine, Syria and elsewhere? It allows the Kremlin to deny official involvement in operations when things go wrong,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Monya told us about Keiser but he said it was run by a wealthy associate of his,’ said Max, interrupting.

  ‘He told you about Keiser. Well, that’s interesting in itself, but he lied. Or as we prefer to say in diplomatic circles, he was “economical with the truth.” The Agency knows that Monya has extensive business dealings with the Russian Defence Ministry and is party to the Kremlin’s inner circle. As you’re aware, his super yacht, the Lelantos, had its own missile defence system, lasers and an array of advanced semi-warfare electronic equipment. You don’t get to have those toys without very close links to the military and government. He also finances and runs the Russian “troll factories”, who use social media, spreading fake news to disrupt western democracies, particularly during elections, or other significant junctures, like Brexit in the UK. According to the CIA, one of the factories even went as far as calling itself the “Department of Provocations”. You met Professor Akihiko, who oversaw all of Monya’s cyber activities, at the Internet Research Agency – the IRA – in Dubrovnik. It was from there he developed ransomware and a range of other cybercrime tools as part of his Mafia activities. The WannaCry worm that so badly affected the UK health system originated from the IRA. Monya has a complex web of legal entities, making it challenging to un-stitch his activities. He’s a tricky man to get close to, and yet you have his phone number!’

  ‘You’re going to help us then?’ asked Olivia, concerned that, after hearing about Monya, the Agency would want something significant in return.