by Mark A Biggs
‘Be careful down there,’ they heard the Professor say.
Lucia, with her torch held out in front, instructed, ‘Follow me.’ She began moving off but stopped abruptly. Having heard Olivia’s concern over booby traps, she asked to borrow Max’s walking stick before moving off again. Cane in hand, she prodded the ground in front as she walked. The path they had chosen was a narrow tunnel, only just wide enough for them to get through, with their shoulders brushing against its walls as they walked. Occasionally it would open up before narrowing back down again. Rather than running straight back into the wall, it seemed to twist and turn, and Max reckoned the corridors were built as spirals within spirals to maximise their length within the space available. Time was difficult to measure with any accuracy when walking slowly and in semi-darkness but, after twenty minutes that seemed longer, they arrived at a door. Having struck it a couple of times with Max’s stick, Lucia, holding her breath and using both hands, turned the resistant door handle. It begrudgingly opened.
A gush of warm air and light greeted them as they stepped through into a library. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust. What they witnessed was not the ornate grandeur they had seen in the Abbey, but it was impressive nonetheless. It felt like they were staring at one of the legendary ancient lost libraries. Books and manuscripts filled the shelves lining the walls. Working desks with lamps were ordered throughout the room and, running the entire length of the library, were timber and glass cabinets. Max thought, They must house rare books. For a moment, they each paused, mesmerised in silent wonder at what they saw. Someone spoke, but it was not one of them.
‘Hello, Olivia and Max, but I’m afraid I don’t know your friend. Would you mind coming in and closing the door behind you? You’re letting in the draught.’ Lucia turned and saw that, like the secret passage in the Abbey Library, the door was built into a bookcase. As she carefully closed the door, she turned a book onto its side to mark the entrance. When it was shut, no evidence of its existence was visible, save for her marker. She turned another book onto its side to make the exit easier to find.
To the right, the direction of the voice, a hand appeared above one of the armchairs and waved. They were being invited to join the yet unseen person. A robed Monk, the Abbot-Principal, who they’d seen earlier, was waiting for them. ‘Please,’ he said, gesturing towards empty seats. ‘You’re quite famous. Have you ever heard of Google Image Search?’ He waited for a second, and when no one answered, he continued, ‘I must disappoint you, Olivia. Your photo didn’t come back as either the Queen of Great Britain or a Lady Olivia Suzanne Elizabeth Huggins, only an Olivia who became famous after a near-fatal accident while riding a motorbike and sidecar around Europe with her 85-year-old eccentric Vicar husband, Max. Your friend,’ he said, looking towards Lucia, ‘I must confess, I don’t know who she is. Judging from the scale of your operation, convincing the Austrian security forces that the Queen was both here and under threat, and then shutting down our security systems, I would have to conclude that she is attached to one of the intelligence services, the British perhaps? I wondered if finding this place was your goal. To tell you the truth, I’m rather surprised because, when it all fell apart upstairs, I assumed you had failed. Nonetheless, I came down here, just in case. Here you are but the way that you arrived here is a mystery to me. Another secret of the Abbey… but enough of my idle chatter. What is it that the British Secret Service want with Melk Abbey?’
For the briefest of seconds, Max, Olivia and Lucia looked to one another, as if to say, who’s going to do the talking. It was Olivia who took the lead. ‘With respect, how should I address you? Father, Brother, Prior?’
‘How rude of me. Father. Father Kaspar.’
‘Father,’ said Olivia, ‘I am as you know, Olivia, my husband, Max and this is Lucia. We are working for the American and British governments. Although this will seem quite illogical, we have come for your Gutenberg Bible.’
‘I see. I suppose it wouldn’t help if I said that we sold it in the 1920s?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, continuing, ‘Nor will you tell me why you want it but perhaps, you may say, if it is to be returned?’
‘In all honesty we don’t know,’ Olivia said.
Father Kaspar didn’t respond, instead, standing, he said, ‘Follow me.’ He led them to the far end of the room, passing twenty glass cases, containing what Max thought were elegant and elaborately scribed religious texts. Father Kaspar gestured towards the final cabinet. Right there, in front of them, rested a complete single-volume Gutenberg Bible, a vellum copy. For Max and Olivia, the experience of seeing it momentarily stole their breath. Father Kaspar opened a cupboard underneath the glass case, removing what looked like a large portable computer bag, and handed it to Olivia. ‘To carry it in,’ he said.
‘Do you mind if I look at some of your other works?’ asked Max. Father Kaspar remained mute but indicated towards the other glass cabinets. They walked away together. There was no lock securing the Gutenberg under its glass and Lucia and Olivia removed the Bible, while Max and Father Kaspar walked amongst the collection.
Father Kasper said, as Max peered through the glass at the work below, ‘The Abbey’s Scriptorium was devoted to the writing, copying and illuminating of Manuscripts. We have here many of the works thought lost to time, plunder and war. You’re looking at the Gospel of Eve, and over there, is the Secret Gospel of Mark. Here,’ pointing to the next cabinet, ‘is a Codex Sinaiticus.’
‘Why do you keep all these treasures hidden away?’ questioned Max. ‘They are of historical, in addition to religious significance. Is it that you are frightened of what they might say? A threat to Christianity as we know it?’
‘Nothing so conspiratorial my friend. Unfortunately, the earth’s chequered history is littered with those times when great wisdom and knowledge are lost, whether through anti-intellectualism, the purging of art, literature, science, the decline of a civilisation, or war and theft. Think of some of those great losses. The burning of the Library of Alexandria, the obliteration of the Library of Baghdad, and the destruction of the Maya and Aztec codices. Max, even in your lifetime you have known Hitler and Croatian book burning, the destruction of Jewish books in Alessandria, and Kurdish books in northern Iran. Can you imagine what would happen if Al-Qaida or Islamic State ever gained access to the Vatican archives? Do I need to say more? It was Abbot Nicholas, in the late 1400s, who first started concealing key works. His wisdom to maintain an imposing library, but not of such renowned intellectual, and now financial significance, to make it a target. Each of my predecessors, as do I, share the same prayer that one day it can be revealed. But until that day comes, when the world is ready, these treasures must remain hidden or they will be lost to everyone.’
‘I understand and solemnly swear never to divulge what we know,’ said Max.
‘I want to believe that, but here you are, willing to steal because, in your judgement, the means justifies the end. How then can our secret ever be safe? Can I remind you, my Brother Max, of what Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans? Why not say, as some slanderously claim that we say, “Let us do evil that good may result? Their condemnation is deserved!”
Max knew the Abbot was right, but from time to time, even the scriptures gave little in the way of guidance. There were moments, he thought, when failing to prevent evil was no less an evil. Like the United Nations’ failure to stop the Rwandan genocide, he said to himself. Sometimes it was right to commit evil so that good could come, like his fighting and killing in World War 2. Max sighed, letting the air escape audibly from his lungs as he thought. How can a moral absolute be justified as being true?
‘May I pray for you?’ he heard Father Kasper say but Kasper didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, he raised his hands to place them on top of his head. As he did so, he said, ‘My Brother in God, I fear a great trial awaits you. For it is time for judgement to begin with the household of God.’ As Kasper prayed over him, Max whispered the end of the Bible verse.<
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‘What will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Orange Flags
Not that he had a choice, but Father Kasper made no attempt to prevent Olivia, Max and Lucia from leaving with the Bible. They did agree to switch off their body cameras, and to be blindfolded when led from the hidden Library and into Melk Abbey. Inspector Axel, having monitored their progress via radio, left the Assumption of St Mary’s church to be reunited with his team on board the river cruise ship.
The original plan was to continue the trip, disembarking in Amsterdam, before Max and Olivia took a high-speed train to Barcelona, from where they would board the Queen Mary 2, the cruise ship being the ideal vehicle on which to smuggle the Bible out of Europe. Now that they had the Gutenberg, the team felt they should abandon the cruise and travel straight to Amsterdam. When Olivia suggested the change to Stephen, he was insistent that they stick to the original plan. He instructed her to refrain from contacting Monya until he and Bronwyn met them in Amsterdam.
Back on the boat, Olivia was surprised how quickly her charade as the Queen of Great Britain passed into history. It was almost as if it had never happened. The day after Melk, some of her fellow cruise passengers were enjoying breakfast in good humour with Lady Olivia as she explained. ‘Oh, I had a famous husband. He’s dead now, of course, but everywhere I go, my keepers follow.’ She smiled towards Inspector Axel and Lucia who were seated at the next table. ‘Why on earth anyone would be interested in kidnapping me is still a mystery. But the children insist. So, here I am, and there, they are. Leaning in towards the centre of the table, around which she and the seven other breakfast guests were gathered, Olivia whispered, ‘Can I tell you a little secret? Sometimes, I sneak out the window at night, like a naughty child.’
‘You better not try that here,’ joked a handsome man, somewhere in his mid-seventies. ‘Unless you can swim.’ The people at the table all laughed before moving back in their seats to continue eating their morning meal.
The team, Max, Olivia, the Professor and Lucia, had debated the best way to protect the Bible now that they had retrieved it. Should it be left on board or be taken with them on shore excursions? At first, they tried the old “double bluff”. The morning after Melk, when they docked in Passau Germany, Max remained on board with the Bible, while the others went ashore. Inspector Axel lugged the padded case Father Kaspar had given them, filled to look as though it was holding a large book. Mid-afternoon, when they returned, Max told them that, other than a few crew members, the boat had been deserted. ‘Anyone could have overpowered me and taken the Bible, if they’d wanted. I’ve spent the day thinking and have come up with a cunning plan.’
Olivia, despite loving her husband, quietly whispered to herself ironically, ‘Here we go.’
Max, having their attention, said, ‘I doubt even Monya would storm the cruise ship with passengers on board. This means, at night, the Bible is safe. During the day, I suggest from now on, we ditch the tell-tale case and wear identical APT daypacks, the ones given to us when we boarded. We put the Gutenberg Bible in one and then pack the others to look the same. Here’s the clever part: each day, we split up and join different excursion groups; Olivia and Lucia together, the Professor and me, while the good Inspector goes on his own. If an attempt is made to steal the Bible, their problem has just multiplied by five and we have added protection, being with other cruise passengers.’ All agreed to Max’s suggestion and, the next morning, the scheme was put into operation.
As they were finishing breakfast, the ship docked at Regensburg. The activities on offer included three different walking tours. Olivia remembered from their reconnaissance trip that Regensburg was a beautifully preserved medieval city. She and Max had marvelled at the 12th-century old stone bridge, the gate to Roman Castra Regina, Porta Praetoria and St Peter’s Cathedral. Rugged up against the autumn cold they each left with different groups.
Olivia smiled when she saw Max and the Professor enter the same café that they had settled on for morning tea and to warm up, Alte Linde, with its view of the old stone bridge. Olivia and Lucia were near the door, so they acknowledged each other with a nod of the head and a “good morning” when Max and the Professor passed them, moving to a table a little further inside.
Despite trying his best to ignore her, Max couldn’t resist glancing over and stealing a look at his beautiful wife. She caught him staring at her a couple of times and had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling. On one occasion, when she caught him looking, he indicated to her, with a short sharp, semi-lifting of his head, for her to look out the window. A convoy of orange-flagged mobility scooters, captained by fifteen old people, was pulling up outside. That’s the spirit, thought Olivia watching them. Her attention was brought back to the room when Lucia said, ‘I’m just going to powder my nose.’ She stood and headed for the toilet. The Professor, with the same thought, followed.
Hearing the ringing of the bell as the café door open, Max looked, expecting to see the first of the pensioner chariot jockeys coming in. Instead, he was filled with dread. It only took him a second to recognise the man: Vladimir, the same person who’d given them the 1930’s penny. Max watched as Vladimir put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. Startled, she looked up at him as he bent down and whispered something into her ear.
‘It’s the nutty vicar’s wife. How wonderful to see you again Olivia,’ Vladimir said. Changing from his frivolous tone to one of deathly seriousness, continued. ‘Now, listen to me very carefully, because I don’t care how many people I kill. Make a scene and I start shooting.’ He put an arm under her shoulder, helping her to stand. ‘Outside,’ he whispered, and then seeing Olivia looking towards Max said, ‘I wouldn’t worry. Your husband is like a faithful old puppy; he will follow us out.’ Vladimir escorted Olivia to the door, letting go of her arm while he opened it. The crack of Max’s walking stick across his back took him totally by surprise. He hadn’t expected the old man to cover the distance so quickly, let alone take him on. Before Vladimir had a chance to recover from the first blow, the stick made contact below the right knee, causing him to yelp in pain before buckling, falling to the floor. Max scurried past, taking hold of Olivia’s arm. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ Vladimir screamed after them, not caring who heard.
Outside, the first arrivals from the convoy of scooters were carefully dismounting. To steal the mounts, Max knew that he couldn’t hit or push the riders because a fall, or even a mild blow, could be fatal. Instead, he wacked his walking stick as hard as he could onto the seat of the first scooter. The noisy “Bang”, startled its guardian. He lifted his stick again, this time waving it ferociously and intimidatingly while yelling ‘Zurücktreten, (step back). And you,’ pointing to an eighty-something-year-old woman, dismounting the scooter next to Olivia, ‘Zurücktreten.’ While maintaining the hostilities, Max and Olivia mounted the stolen electric steeds, just as Vladimir, who had picked himself off the floor, was exiting the café in pursuit. With a jerk, Olivia and Max accelerated away causing Max’s walking stick to slip from his grasp, falling to the ground.
Turning left onto the old stone bridge and heading away from the medieval city, Max yelled over his shoulder to Olivia. ‘Follow me.’ Behind them, they could hear the shouts of the enraged and peeved pensioners, ‘Britisch Stoppe sie’ – (British, stop them). Vladimir jumped out of the way, cursing, as the posse of angry German scooters went flying past in hot pursuit.
‘Bring the car, they’re getting away,’ yelled Vladimir angrily into his radio. Irritated, he watched, unable to do anything until the procession of orange flags had gone whizzing past.
Max heard the squeal of wheels before he saw, in the mirror, the black Mercedes, rocketing from the old city and onto the bridge. Within seconds, he could see they were behind the last of the scooters. Tooting furiously, Vladimir’s partner swerved from side to side, trying to find a way past. Hell hath no wrath like a pensioner scorned. Fanning ou
t and blocking the bridge, two of the riders, both ex-fighter pilots, gave the impatient Mercedes the “bird”. Vladimir swore, accepting that there was nothing they could do until clearing the bridge. Luckily, he could still see the vicar and his nutty wife as he recalled Monya’s words. ‘Don’t underestimate them, or you’re shark bait!’
At the end of the bridge, Max waved to some bemused diners, as they raced through a small outdoor eating area, followed by a gaggle of flagged mobility scooters, then a prowling Mercedes. A main road appeared on his right and Max reckoned that it led to the motorway. Vladimir would soon overhaul them if the they chose that route. Instead, he went straight ahead until, 100 meters later he saw a narrow laneway on his left, too small for the Mercedes to follow. He thought the sign read something like “Gebhardtstraße”. At the last moment, he swung in. In the mirror he saw that Olivia followed, along with the chasing scooters, now gaining on them.
The road swept to the left before opening into a square. Taking his right hand from the steering bar, he dropped it to his side, giving it a discreet wiggle, to foreshadow a change of direction. At the very last moment, he swung the scooter to the right, almost hitting the wall of the building on his left. Racing headlong into another alley, Max glanced in the mirror. Olivia was still with him, but as he’d hoped, some of the orange flags had been lost. A few turns later they were back on the road leading to the old stone bridge. They turned left, which is when Max saw the lurking black Mercedes. With no choices, they would have to overtake it on the inside and hope that, like on the bridge, the angry Germans would inadvertently act as their wingmen. The road pavement ran to the edge of the buildings, so there weren’t footpaths as such. This meant the pedestrians and the outdoor eating areas were separated on either side, from traversing vehicles, by parked cars. Max positioned his scooter to hug the buildings and to use the parked vehicles as a barrier between him and Vladimir. Olivia followed suit. Going at full speed, 8 mph (12 km/h), Max could see the approaching tables and chairs of an outdoor restaurant where patrons, with warm blankets snugly tucked over their legs, were enjoying its hospitality. Just beyond that, he noticed a small alleyway. Indicating with his left hand, he foreshadowed for Olivia their next turn. With one hand still off the handlebars, the scooter hit a slight bump in the cobblestone pavement, causing him to temporarily lose control. He was in the outdoor setting before he knew what was happening. The customers seated on the chairs closest to the road, seeing the scooters racing towards them, had already deserted their haven in anticipation of a disaster. Although Max avoided hitting the tables and chairs head on, he did side-swipe the one closest to him, causing it to concertina into the others. The contents of the tables were flung from their citadel and found a new home on the street accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and china. One of the patrons stepped out, waving his fist at the disappearing Max, only to jump back as Olivia roared past, followed closely by the racing seniors.