Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  Nodding, Stephen said, ‘Thank you, Olivia. I do have some further questions but will wait until the end of your briefing.’

  ‘If we can move to the Gutenberg Bible then,’ continued Olivia with Max controlling the overhead projector, displaying an image of the Bible on the screen.

  ‘I don’t wish to bore you with the history of the Bible as a summary is provided in your papers. It was the first major book printed using mass production techniques in the West, one of the reasons it is valuable. It is believed that 180 copies were made, containing 1,286 pages bound in two volumes, although no two are exactly alike. 135 copies were printed on paper, while the rest were produced using vellum, a parchment made from calfskin. Only 49 copies still exist, or so the story goes. Of the 12 surviving vellum copies, only four of these are complete and one is of the New Testament only. The value of a complete vellum copy is difficult to estimate. 40 Million US dollars or more to a library or a museum but to some collectors, priceless.

  ‘There is no disputing that Melk Abbey had a Gutenberg. We believe that the sale, or not, to Yale University or to Abraham Rosenbach is a red herring. All that matters is that the world believes they no longer have one, except for Monya.’

  ‘If I may sum up,’ said Max, swapping positions with Olivia, ‘the Abbey scriptorium was a major place for the production of manuscripts. To this day, it maintains a renowned collection of writings in its library. Despite its treasures, it has the rare distinction of having survived since 1089, an unlikely outcome. How was it that the Abbey endured, unscathed, if those treasures were known to exist? It is reasonable to assume that the Abbey has secret rooms and chambers built into its foundations because all significant buildings from that time did. We’ve concluded that the Abbey hid its most valuable works, perhaps, in something akin to the Vatican secret archives. If there is a 50th surviving copy of the Gutenberg Bible, that is where it will be, particularly as everyone considers that they sold their copy.’ Max waited to see if Stephen was going to ask a question before continuing.

  ‘We know that, towards the end of World War II, Hans Kammler used forced labour to start the construction of underground factories in and around Melk. He later relocated those efforts to Linz. We believe that he relocated the facility, not because of the geology, but because he discovered the Melk Abbey secret vault. We don’t support the historical rationale for the relocation and the cryptic clue in his diary is significant. If construction workers stumbled on the archive, and Kammler traced its entrance back to the Abbey, the reference to the Apocrypha will identify the way in. On balance, we conclude that Monya’s story is plausible.’

  Stephen placed his hand under his chin, stroking it with his thumb while he thought. ‘You said there were 8000 people working on the underground constructions. If, as you surmise, the workers discovered the vault, archive, whatever it is you wish to call it, why haven’t details been published before now?’

  ‘I understand your question,’ started Olivia. ‘These were dark times and disposing of those who made the discovery would not have been difficult. Did you know that Melk, regrettably, had its own gas chamber and crematorium? There were the tunnel collapses, too, manufactured by Kammler probably, to justify the move and eliminate witnesses. Find the cave-ins, and we have a way into the vault.’

  ‘Professor, you have no attachment to this research, what are your views, in one sentence please?’ asked Stephen.

  ‘It appears to me that throughout its history the Abbey has created noise and irrelevance to distract people from the truth. The mystery surrounding the sale of their Gutenberg Bible is an example. My assessment, it’s reasonable to conclude that they have undisclosed treasures. What they are and where they are hidden, well that’s speculation. There are secret chambers, we know that so, until we know otherwise, I recommend that we proceed as if Monya’s story is true.’

  ‘The Apocrypha, Professor?’ asked Stephen.

  ‘The entrance to the chamber will be concealed. This is an avenue of inquiry. A good lead if we can determine its meaning.’

  ‘Thank you, Max and Olivia. Now Professor and Inspector, what can you tell me about the information on the memory stick?’

  The Professor looked at Inspector Axel, indicating that he was to respond.

  ‘It contains detailed drawings of the Abbey and video footage of each room. The exciting part is that it was filmed so we could create a 3D walk-through, a virtual tour of the Abbey. We need more computer power but, the Professor has been working on an algorithm that will search through the virtual reality world for things that might be of interest to us. For example, an Apocrypha reference hidden in a painting, a mosaic, or part of a sculpture. We could do the same for phrases Max is compiling.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Well, well,’ stuttered the Professor. ‘That all depends on what resources you place at our disposal.’

  ‘Porton Down, our Defence Science and Technology Laboratory. Will that suffice Professor?’

  What’s going on, thought Max. You don’t give access to one of Britain’s most top-secret facilities to steal a Bible, not without a damn good reason, and Penny isn’t the justification, nor was finding Monya’s whereabouts. He knew better than to ask. They would need to watch out for a “curveball”, as a friend used to say. Porton Down, isn’t that a biological and chemical weapons facility?

  ‘Yes, that will do nicely,’ answered the Professor.

  ‘Good,’ continued Stephen, speaking to the Professor. ‘What else are you planning?’

  The Professor once again looked at the Inspector. ‘We’ll be able to spy using any connected camera, one linked to the internet, smartphones, TVs, laptops, PCs or anything else. We’re hoping to spot one of the Monks use the secret entrance.’

  ‘Ok,’ said Stephen, once again grabbing at his chin. ‘You have three months, then I want a detailed plan of how you intend to retrieve this Bible. Max and Olivia, this is called preparation and I want no foolhardy actions or diplomatic incidents to embarrass us.’

  ‘What, Max and me?’ answered Olivia cheekily.

  Stephen ignored her jibe, so Olivia continued, ‘In preparation we would need to visit, for reconnaissance.’

  ‘Good! You leave tomorrow.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Budapest

  Stephen’s demand that Max and Olivia leave the following day was not intended to be taken literally; he meant ASAP when they had a clear idea of what they would be doing. He expected draft scenarios presented before he would allow Max and Olivia to depart. ‘In particular,’ Stephen had directed, ‘I want to know how the theft and then your escape might be executed. Your field trip is to be used to assess the viability of the various plans you concoct and to gather intelligence. That, Max and Olivia, is how a modern agency like MI6 works now, quite different than in your day. We will use all the information that you gather to finalize the strategy.’ While Olivia smiled at his patronising remarks, Max’s demeanour suggested “grumpy” so she kicked him under the table. ‘Wise words,’ he said.

  After much discussion the team formulated the outline of a scheme, but not sufficient to allow Max and Olivia to travel. The way into the archives would necessitate finding a secret entrance somewhere inside the Abbey. Likely to be deep inside the old fortress, a steep stone staircase would be the route to a chamber built into the original foundations. Max and Olivia would able to negotiate the stairs but the Bible, with its 1,286 pages, bound as a single or two-volume version, would be impossible for them to carry. It was clear that someone else would have to execute the break-in, Max and Olivia providing a diversion. A diversion that allowed the team to deactivate the Abbey’s security systems without alerting Abbey staff. ‘The obvious person to assist is Lucia,’ Olivia had said to Stephen. ‘The woman who called herself Claudia.’

  Another week passed and Max was becoming disillusioned, suffering through yet another meeting, unable to leave the UK until they had the blueprint of a plan. He would have preferred
to reconnoitre, then see what ideas he formulated, playing it by ear as he would have called it. ‘How can you plan to make a plan?’ he protested to Olivia. ‘If I had a plan, then we wouldn’t need a bloody plan. What’s with this “Blue Sky Thinking” rubbish they had us doing yesterday? No wonder the world is going to pot. There’s no common sense anymore.’

  ‘What we need is an unusual, an unexpected way of smuggling the Bible out of Austria and then Europe,’ said Max, focusing back on the meeting, ‘It’s unlikely that the Abbey will report its theft, because its other secrets will be uncovered. Unofficially however, one could imagine the Bible being sought aggressively and outside the normal rules of policing. Once we have it, a hornet’s nest will awake.’

  ‘We’ve had this conversation before,’ said the Professor. ‘All we do is go around and around in circles.’

  ‘Olivia, you’ve been to Melk Abbey. How did you arrive and then leave?’ asked the Inspector, ignoring the Professor’s cynicism.

  ‘We were on one of those Budapest to Amsterdam river cruises. About ten, maybe more years ago now… wasn’t it, Max?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘There’s your answer,’ suggested the Inspector. ‘Who would suspect a river cruise ship as the getaway vehicle with its mainly old-age pensioners? We could each take different boats that arrive at Melk around the same time, Max and Olivia on one, the other our mobile operations centre. Max and Olivia take the guided tour of Melk, which is when they instigate the diversion, being the signal for us to switch off the Abbey’s security systems and cameras. Lucia will then break into the chamber through the secret entrance. Once she has the Bible, we each simply sail away to the next port.’

  ‘I have lots of questions,’ said Stephen when the team proposed the plan to him. ‘I’m confident that you do too. OK, Max and Olivia, book yourself onto a cruise and find the solutions. I expect your final plan in ten weeks’ time. Don’t disappoint me. Professor, have you found the entrance yet?’

  ‘It’s early days.’

  ‘Olivia and Max, I have spoken to the CIA and Lucia will be joining us, along with Jana.’

  * * *

  Despite it being peak season, MI6 secured the booking of a river cruise leaving Budapest for Amsterdam in five days’ time. Max and Olivia decided to fly to Budapest a couple of days early ‘to help us settle in,’ or at least, that’s what they told the MI6 person organising the travel arrangements. In truth, it was a little adventure, as Olivia liked to call it but, this time, rather than hauling their luggage, it was forwarded to their Budapest hotel, who would transfer it to their ship on the day of the cruise. They had requested a suite at the Four Seasons hotel – The Budapest Royal Suite – with a view of the Royal Castle. Instead, they were given a “Privilege Room with a touch of Budapest” at the Mercure City Centre. What’s the privilege? A bed! Max had complained when the travel itinerary was given to them.

  ‘I can manage without my walking stick,’ said Olivia, as they prepared to leave St Ermin’s for the airport. ‘Would you mind if I didn’t take it with us?’

  ‘Of course, I don’t mind, but why did you ask?’

  ‘My love, I know you need yours and I didn’t want you to feel… What am I trying to say? I didn’t want you to feel that it wasn’t fair, that I could walk without it.

  ‘Life isn’t fair, besides, if I left mine behind, who would protect us? I don’t call mine Excalibur for nothing.’

  The flight from London to Budapest took a comfortable three hours and, like the trip from Venice, Olivia’s ears did not give her any trouble. Clearing arrivals, a driver, holding a sign displaying their names, was waiting to take them to the hotel. Once in the car, the chauffeur introduced himself. ‘Welcome to Budapest. My name is Ambrus. I will be escorting you to your accommodation, the Mercure, I believe?’

  ‘No,’ said Max. ‘That would be the Four Seasons.’

  ‘Max, what are you doing?’ teased Olivia.

  ‘You can’t take it with you; we can pay our own way.’

  ‘Where has our luggage been sent? Unless that is, you have a spare pair of Y-Fronts in one pocket and “me nickers” in the other?’

  ‘The Mercure, if you please, Ambrus,’ said Max in good spirit.

  ‘Certainly Sir. Did you know Budapest, often called the Paris of the east, is the name of two formerly separate cities? Buda and Pest, on the opposite sides of the Danube. You are staying in Pest, the newer part of the city. The urban centre, lovely restaurants, Parliament, the synagogue and the basilica. Most tourists are drawn to Buda, the west side of the Danube due to its narrow-winding steep streets, the castle district, spectacular old monuments and churches. Excuse me for saying, but to enjoy Budapest, particularly the old city, where public transport is not as convenient, you may find having a driver to your advantage. If that were the case, then Ambrus is your man. I could be your private chauffeur and wherever I was to take you, I would wait until you were ready to leave. My card.’ Ambrus reached into the rear of the car and handed Max and Olivia his details. ‘If it’s just a single trip you need, don’t ring for a taxi, try me first. I have already been retained to take you to your boat on Friday and will meet you at 1.00pm in the hotel lobby.’

  ‘Thank you, Ambrus,’ said Olivia. ‘Be assured that, if we need a taxi or a chauffeur, you will be our man.’

  The Mercure was on the corner of what appeared to Olivia to be a complex intersection with no traffic lights. I’m glad we didn’t drive ourselves, she thought. Entering Kecskeméti Street, they passed under a walkway, which joined their hotel to the other side of the road. Ambrus turned right, coming to a halt in the hotel drop off area. He opened the car door for them, but, with no luggage to transport he left with a final ‘Call me if you need a driver.’ ‘Is he one of us?’ questioned Olivia.

  ‘Who would know?’ said Max sighing, before saying, ‘You would think we’d have a contact here. All those we once knew here during the cold war are long dead. After we book in, I suggest we find a nice place for lunch. If my old memory serves me correctly, we used to enjoy some restaurants not far from here, a little further along Kecskeméti Street.

  After a freshening up, Max and Olivia set out in search of lunch. As they walked, Max observed that, while the buildings hadn’t changed in over fifty years, the names of the businesses and eateries had, the same observation that he’d made ten years earlier, the last time they were here. How is it, he wondered, that my reference point is from when we were in our twenties and thirties? The good old days? Well, they weren’t that good, he conceded. Pointing, he said, ‘How about the Urban Tiger. I’m sure we came here in the 60’s but, I recall a more romantic name. The good old days’ Max smiled, leaving Olivia in the dark about his musings, but she knew him too well.

  Inside, they were greeted by a smartly dressed waiter who escorted them to a vacant table. The restaurant was stylish but casual with timber tables, seats and cube wall inlays. A large bar, which ran the width of the room, had a reddish hue from its back lighting, casting a glow over the eating area. The place was vibrant, with a constant hum of talking people and the rhythm of food being prepared and served, with its accompanying aroma of wonderful spices.

  ‘Asian food when we are in Budapest?’ said Olivia.

  ‘The Asian Tiger, my love. There’s been a shift in the world order from that we’ve known since the end of World War II. We might as well move with the times, although I should have chosen Chinese.’

  ‘I was thinking Russian.’

  ‘Ha Ha Ha. Very good, Olivia, I like that one. We should rename this place the Asian Bear instead of Tiger. The Kremlin wants to claim power in this shift, there’s no doubt of that. At least in our days, there was chivalry in spying, a set of rules, a cold war convention. Not now. These are dangerous times.’

  ‘May we join you?’ said a woman with an eastern European accent, as she and her male companion seated themselves at the table. ‘I can’t see what all the fuss is about,’ she said, lookin
g at her companion. ‘They look like two harmless old dears. I think we should leave them in peace to enjoy their lunch.’

  ‘I agree, but why not first ask what we have done to deserve such presence in humble Budapest?’ said the man.

  ‘We are on holiday,’ answered Olivia. We are booked on a river cruise along with all the other “old dears” to Amsterdam. Who’s asking?’ It was then that Olivia noticed that the other guests in the restaurant were being ushered out of the door. Her immediate impulse was to jump up, put her hands above her head and yell in Hungarian, ‘Ne lőj, Ne lőj – don’t shoot, don’t shoot.’ Unless their assailants intended to kill or take everyone hostage, Max and she would simply walk out and recreate the same scene on the street. The assailants had usually fled before the police arrived. Her bottom moved from the seat, and then she changed her mind. Working, as they were, for the boss of the Russian Mafia, with his Kremlin connections, together with the British and American Governments, they were, she thought, untouchable. Unless these people were the Knights Templar or some other ancient monastic guardians of religious relics, which was unlikely, they had nothing to fear.

  The man laughed, ‘Who’s asking? Is that so you know which lie to tell?’

  Looking about and seeing that apart from their table guest, they were now on their own, Max answered, ‘That about sums it up.’

  It was the lady’s turn to speak. ‘You may think, because you are helping Monya, that you’re safe. Let me tell you, the Brotherhood is bigger than him, and you two cost it billions. I wouldn’t feel smug if I were you.’

  ‘You’re mistaken, my dear,’ answered Olivia casually. ‘It’s not Monya we are helping but the Kremlin. Monya is the go-between. I think it’s safe to say we are feeling very smug.’ Olivia could feel her right leg beginning to tremble and pressed it hard against the floor, trying to stop her fear rising, interfering with her facade of arrogance. She continued. ‘We’re here to do a spot of gardening,’ a subtle reference to Monya being known as the Kremlin’s gardener, ‘before we join the cruise. Are you a weed?’