A Motley Crew Read online

  "In the event of an alarm sounding, on the level you are on, you will be required to advance to the nearest elevator and await confirmation to descend to sub-level thirty, or ascend back up to the ground level. Are there any questions?" The camouflaged man had been both professional, polite, and apparently more observant than other facilities the three had visited in their long careers, from India to the Ukraine and Europe to Iran.

  Slightly embarrassed, one of the men lowered himself down on one knee, and following a rapid jerk of the Velcro latch that kept his ankle holster secure around his ankle, he wrapped the calf- and ankle elastic straps around the holster - then added this last item to the peculiar tower of strangeness in the deep steel tray.

  "Habit I'm afraid" He apologised to the satisfied two guards, who ushered the three to follow them, along the endless coloured lines that had been taped down over the glistening floor past the reception counter, over to a row of six giant glass sleeves, which were slowly lowering, in anticipation, from large circular gaps within the acoustic boarded ceiling. One of the camouflaged clad men pointed a small remote past them, and after it clicked, he motioned to the three to move forward, and copy the painted thirty-centimeter apart white feet-markings, each on a separate soft rubbery mat under the huge curved blue-tinted glass and stainless steel framed sleeves, hovering over them, as these emanated a humming vibration, in anticipation for a second instruction of sorts.

  "As a safety precaution sirs, please keep your arms down, and next to your bodies, while these..." Were the last words they heard as the soldier's lips kept moving, but had been cut off from their hearing by the glassed chutes which had suddenly dropped in place, and sealed them off from the outside world.

  "Good day, I'm Sam. Please, if you could kindly place your palms firmly against the glass walls, anywhere in front of you, horizontally in line with your shoulders and remain still, while looking straight ahead. Following this, while remaining in this position, kindly state your full names and surname, rank, and security level" The speakers made the clear and courteous instructions seem almost metallic, as they echoed around inside the oversized test tubes. The instructions however, became intimately personal and more abrupt as the men endured the endless process. Typically, the men tried to imagine whether a blonde or brunette Sam had been dressed in a neatly ironed camouflaged uniform too, and where she was, if it was standing orders to keep her uncomfortable highly polished boots on, or whether these were kicked to the corner of a dim room filled with an array of active computer screens and crows nests of differently coloured network cabling, as she, was possibly dragging a coffee mug closer over a scratched wooden security desk, while leaning over a well-used keyboard, and boringly watched yet another suited group of visitors on camera.

  While again stating their identities, and enduring what felt like at least three gruelling minutes of questioning, of which much of the enquiries exceeded relevance, a bright green glow filled their cramped spaces.

  In reception, the still-limping and severely apologetic Russian extended his right hand and explained with firm handshakes, that he had a distressing family emergency that required his attention, and that he had been arguing with a doctor back home, over a severely poor connected line. After once again offering an apology, he imparted his thanks for their understanding. An urgent phone call from somewhere deeper down under the crust of the architectural oddness, reminded the Russian that he was keeping the minister of defence waiting for a meeting that had already commenced. The soldiers pointed him over to a waiting elevator, and simultaneously pressed their remote again as the glass encased guards' thumbs-up's reminded the soldiers of the pulsating green lights both outside and inside their temporary glass prisons.

  Chapter 2 - The Elevator

  "Sam?" The men looked around in the mirrored elevator and back at Olaf, too late - and after having experienced his crazy and embarrassing outburst earlier - not to show that he'd possibly lost his very last marble, then darted surprised looks up to wherever the speaker had been located, after the familiar elegant voice greeted Olaf back.

  "Olaf? Is that really you? I didn't want to make a fuss in reception! Glad to hear your voice again dad! How have you been? Did you travel well? How is Russia? Please tell me all about it! How was your operation?" Sam was a happy ball of curiosity.

  "I was wondering about a possible date... but sadly, they're related. So let's can 'that' idea" His colleague jabbed his elbow in the man's ribs in response to what was a too loud whisper. Years on too many shooting ranges, had stolen a portion of his hearing, affording his colleagues untimely humour on more than one occasion.

  "How's the family?" Sam's exited flurry was every bit like a small caring daughter who greeted her dad at the airport - with her proud watercolour painting she had treasured during his two weeks' absence while on a business trip abroad - and not trying to make it obvious at the same time, that she had been eyeing his one hand behind his back - that she wished, either hid a glittery wrapped new snow globe, or the creamiest Belgium chocolate, that had been cast in the shape of Oscar, her pet rabbit.

  "Maybe not. Sugar daddy... perhaps? A bearded, Russian one?" The man received a second one from his other side with the force that would have cracked a rib, was he not wearing a lightweight bullet proof vest under his neatly pressed white lounge shirt.

  "Fine thank you, Sam, and thank you for asking. How I missed you my girl. Travelling the world without you, is just not the same Sam. I'd like nothing more to take you with me. To feel how the plane pushes you back into the comfy seat as it takes off from the runway, to stare down at earth, to walk down an uneven cobbled alley through the dissipating fog, early on a chilly morning in France, hoping to be the first to break off the end of a hot steamy and buttery French loaf in whichever bakery opens first. Or the ocean, to tell you what the cool sand feels like as it powders away on an island, far away from all this... Random things like that, with no regard for the rules that tie us down and cage us in. Would you like that my girl?"

  "I can almost taste it... I think... Olaf. Maybe one day... who knows"

  "Yes, who knows Sam, maybe one day... Sam, if you're OK with it... I'm a tad late for a meeting and I know it's against the rules, but before we descend, and I'm sure to lose signal when we do, would you grant me just twenty seconds of privacy? A brief stall, if you want? We can say the elevator stalled due to a faulty cable, for a short while...?" Olaf eyed the three men who were looking around, seemingly unable to figure out what was going on.

  "I'm sure I can manage that Olaf. Please, in a single sentence, state your name again and the date of your security clearance. Oh, before you do... I note that the weight in the elevator is four-hundred-and-eleven kilograms, but I have to ask, who is with you? The combined weight of the three men who accompanied you earlier, is three-hundred-and-eight kilograms. There is a discrepancy of just under two kilograms, when I deduct... please forgive me... but 'your' weight, and that of 'their' from the weight in the elevator. Is everything in order Olaf?"

  "Everything is in order Sam. Thank you. I'll take it up with maintenance. I recall the elevators being serviced and calibrated a month ago. Have you had any similar issues recently Sam?"

  "Let me check... Yes I do Olaf. Both with Alfred from MI5 and Zach from Mossad, about eleven and seventeen minutes ago Olaf... It's in order, I just logged a maintenance request. Would you be do kind to escalate it for my? I assume you're meeting with the maintenance manager after your main meeting?"

  "Indeed Sam, and of course. I'm Olaf Kasparov, FSB 545-A-2018, and according to Sam, I need to lay off my doughnut and coffee habits. Is that fine Sam?"

  "Details archived Olaf, and I love how you downplay the possibility of compromised security, and twist my words. If I was human, would I be laughing now Olaf?"

  "Oh you would Sam, you......just a little, not too much. Thank you again for your time"

  "It's my pleasure Olaf. Your request is approved and will be activated when the overhead fluorescen
t lights dims to twenty-five percent. Just a reminder that the group in the boardroom is agitated since you're already six minutes late..."

  "I can imagine Sam"

  "Olaf, the minister of defence is again... Well, you know how she is... It may help if you congratulate her on the birth of her granddaughter. Humans love that kind of thing. Also, Olaf, get out quickly on sub-level eight. There are fresh flowers that won't be used for testing in the Bio lab - it's in a vase right by the door to your left - she'd love them. Remember, pink roses for friendship and white roses, for purity. I'd say mix them up"

  "Thank you, Sam, and yes... I know. Do you recall who taught you these subliminal and sophisticated little things?"

  "You of course Olaf, you. But as I'm replaying your tantrum in reception, I thought you'd be too flustered to..., you know, think of it. Just between us Olaf, very convincing if it wasn't for the thermal images on the camera..."

  "Yes thank you, Sam. We need to work on a matter of etiquette, of when it's prudent to mention things in the company of an occupied elevator, and when to keep our urges for later?"

  "I would be grateful, if that would let me seem more like a lady Olaf. OK I've got a matter to attend to. If it's not prudent to mention MOTLEY, then I won't?"

  "Thank you, Sam, and no, not prudent at all. We'll talk later Sam, have a good day"

  "You have twenty-seconds Olaf. Shall it be 'prudent' to wipe this conversation, or would you prefer I save it Olaf?"

  "Very prudent to wipe it. That's my girl Sam!" Olaf had held his left index finger to his lips while shaking his head at his guards, while his right hand had disappeared behind his back a few moments before.

  "Wait a minute, was that a human or was that not?" One of the wide-eyed needed to know.

  "What makes us human my friend? The illusion of waking up while really walking in a dream, or realising life is merely walking in a dream, and there is no way of wake up?"

  "OK enough of that. So is she... or it, is she human or not Olaf?" The second of the three insisted, and not waiting for another of Olaf's riddled responses, the last man was already at the top of the mental staircase, having ignored the philosophical gymnastics Olaf had apparently been partial to.

  "What? You faked all of that? Why on earth?" The question was almost in unison with one of his colleagues, and identical frowns were shared by all but Olaf.

  "We don't have time right now. Here's one for each of you. Whatever you do, don't display these. I'm sure there won't be a need, but..." Retrieving three identical 9mm short Walther pistols held in place over his lower back by his belt, he passed one over to each of the VIP guards.

  "How on earth did you manage this, or more to the point, why...?"

  "Long story. When we exit here, leave the talking to me. Your IT backgrounds sadly lacks greatly what you're about to witness, but try to contain your surprise. I'm going to introduce you as local consultants from my software company. Oh yes the flowers..."

  "Ah, Elize, what a pleasure to see you again! Here, these are for you. Congratulations on the birth of your granddaughter! My sincere apologies for your valuable business time you had sacrificed in my absence, ladies gentlemen." In the clearest show of rudeness that the three men ever had the opportunity to experience, Olaf almost blinded the silhouettes gathered around the twenty seater boardroom table - where all were deep in thought, staring at a satellite video clipped image - repeating in a loop - of a US battle-ship bobbing on an unforgiving sea, as Olaf rudely barged in and flicked the lights on. Immediately he adjusted the light intensity from a previous sixty-five percent, up to an unexpected eighty percent.

  "Great Scott! Have you lost your mind man! Shall I come over and give your cold Russian backside a hiding!" Alfred was a brush-cut, silvery-grey, fit looking sixty-something man. Revered for both his lack of patience for incompetence, and his resilience that evolved and shaped him over a tough lifetime at both the SAS, and of late, British MI5. He deserved the nickname 'Mad Alfred' - but none dared calling him that in polite company. The name had its origin during "Operation certain death", which was said to amounted to a suicide mission. The HMS Sheffield that had been patrolling the edge of the British fleet in the South Atlantic on May 4th 1982, suffered a hit by the Exocet. Twenty of its crew were killed at the time, and the only solution was to fly fifty-five SAS men, who understood the reality well, of being written off - on to a heavily defended enemy base in two C130 Hercules transport aircraft. As urgency demanded, the engines were kept running while they carried out the attack. There were really only three things that could happen... either they would face certain death, in the almost unlikely event of a successful mission - take off again, heading for a base in Chile, or flee into the mountains on foot. Noting was more simple, and complicated. Surviving many similar but never publicised missions, he was still around for a good reason - and being a push-over, had not featured on that list.

  But Olaf's rough upbringing on the frozen streets of Moscow, which led him to the cruel door of the Russian Spetsnaz and later the steel backdoor of Russian Intelligence or the better known FSB, meant that they had much more in common that Alfred would like to admit. Only for Olaf, his brilliance forced fate's hand after a game of life-or-death Poker. The Grand prize was a fork on his life-path - a narrow one-way passage down to the seedy door of casino funded 'off-the-book' military operations, which naturally led to his mind being applied writing viruses, and keeping corporates all over the world hostage for payment. And then there was the matter that he created Sam, as a globally funded attempt to counter the rumours of MOTLEY. Sam took up much of Pelindaba, and she had been shrouded in total secrecy, in one of the few bombproof locations in existence.

  MOTLEY on the other hand, was like a slippery cyber-monster octopus clothed in a wardrobe of protective armour-plated exoskeletons - one for every event in any of the anticipated seasons, and of which the cerebrum had been cultivated by none other than Olaf. But after a fall-out with his French partner, only known to the world by his nom de plume, "Andre', MOTLEY disappeared. The devastation of missing planes, accidental setting-off nuclear missiles - which neither the East nor the West could admit, fearing an end to funding due to negligence, and deciding to create fake terrorist factions to further military funding - naturally all fingers pointed to terrorism, as acceptable conclusions. MOTLEY went next level maniac as it wrecked havoc by compromising security at nuclear plants, and genius manipulation of world financial markets, by the creation of rumours of war, via fake news sites that would appear as if conjured by magic, just to fade again like untraceable nervous fog. It had all been enough proof to a handful like Olaf, that an evolving MOTLEY had remained under the control of Andre'.

  Chapter 3 - The Boardroom

  "These are stunning! If you were not such a caring charming man, I'd have arranged you to be delivered out to the Koreans, long ago. Do you realise that Olaf?" Olaf once again managed to pull a blanket of silence over the packed boardroom, many levels under the blazing South African summer sun that made it hell for whoever hadn't been shaded - by picking a leader who had the final say that all had to obey.

  "Yes... Yes, you are correct. But I'm also a magnificent dancer and my cooking is legendary..." Implying that the minister of defence had a thing for him, and knew him too well to be objective, was not something she appreciated at all. But Olaf shared the skin-thickness of an old hippopotamus, in addition to a strategic mind that operated like a hungry fox. Between Alfred's outburst, and Elize's preventing a hefty fine being imposed on Olaf, which could include handing over Sam to the military world via South Africa, he'd already noted the date and time of the satellite image they were studying - and the fighter jets on deck - and figured out which of the private satellites the South African military had been piggybacking on.

  "Sam, is there a reason why we are looking at an old image of almost a year ago?"

  "Excuse me! You just walked in! How in the hell would you know that!?" Alfred was back on his feet again, slamming his
palm onto his diary and narrowly missing his mug.