Survive

by Tom Bale

  So why do you sound so afraid?

  But Borko doesn’t say what Gabby is thinking. He makes a face that suggests he is willing to compromise, although the belt is still coiled in his fist.

  ‘You were “economical with the truth”, then.’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘Gabby, please stop treating me like a fool. Nobody – nobody – treats me like a fool.’

  Maybe you should get out more? The words almost make it to her lips. It’s that giddy, reckless side of her character again. But what matters is that the family got away, and the longer Gabby keeps stalling, the more likely they’ll reach the boat and Borko won’t catch them–

  ‘I offered you the use of an apartment. You pretended to consider it. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’

  ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘Naji spoke to your boss. Apparently you have no plans to return to Sekliw next season. You’ve specifically asked to go elsewhere.’

  Gabby wants to scream with relief. Then common sense prevails: this is still dangerous.

  ‘What can I say?’ She takes a single step backwards, out of his reach, and starts to unbutton her blouse.

  ‘I’m young, free and single. I want to see as much of the world as I can before I settle down. You can understand that, Borko.’

  The blouse comes off, the room so quiet that they both hear the whisper of its progress over her skin. He’s about to speak when he sees her reaching back for the clasp that holds her bra in place.

  It silences him immediately: the expectation, the hunger, wiping his brain as effectively as a lobotomy. For a second, she is maddened by the power this has bestowed on her. Here he is, the son of a president, a billionaire – a killer, probably – and yet she can render him helpless simply by displaying two mounds of flesh designed to store milk for infants.

  What a world.

  She fumbles with the clasp, frees it, shrugs the straps off her shoulders, then deftly extracts her arms while keeping the cups in place. All the time she holds his gaze, her smile acknowledging the skill of the tease while inwardly she’s astonished by the way his mouth has fallen open.

  ‘So…’ he gives a start, as if remembering who he is and what they were talking about, ‘… you want to leave here?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Hands clamped over the cups. Wait, boy, wait. ‘But not until I’ve fucked your brains out.’

  ‘You–’ A laugh escapes him. He leans back, eyes narrowed, as if studying her properly for the first time. ‘Until you’ve fucked my brains out?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Now it’s time to open her arms, step forward and bend a little, dispensing with the lingerie as she reaches down and takes hold of him. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  The boat is used for tourist trips, and there are various items of scuba diving and fishing equipment on board. The owner, whose name sounds like Lev or Lex, is an older man, a native of the island with quite basic English. He is worryingly vague, sucking on a roll-up cigarette and seemingly baffled by the controls of his own boat.

  They sit at the back, only partly shielded from the cold wind. When Lev notices how they’re huddled together, shivering, he roots around in a locker and produces a couple of mouldy blankets. Better than nothing.

  The journey takes just over an hour. Grace and Dylan sleep for much of it, lolling against their parents. At times they wake, scared and confused, believing they’re back on the beach. Jody and Sam are quick to reassure them, but the effect is strangely disturbing: gradually their own words become harder to believe.

  Perhaps this is just a dream, Sam thinks, and soon we’ll wake up beneath the boat, to face yet another day in captivity.

  Finally they moor up in a lively tourist resort, the water lit by dozens of harbour-side restaurants and bars. It sounds like a thousand parties are in full swing: there’s music and laughter, shouts and whoops and car horns; dogs bark and doors slam and heels click on the cobbled streets. The atmosphere reminds Sam of Brighton – the Kings Road Arches on a Saturday night – and he understands that, oblivious to what he and Jody and the kids have just gone through, these tourists will feel they’re in a kind of wonderland out here. Life is good, the night is young, you only live once: a holiday state of mind.

  Lev’s brother collects them. He’s bearded and balding, and he thrusts a flask of whisky at Sam. There’s a fair chance he’s had a few nips of it himself, but what are you gonna do?

  As he leads them to a beaten-up Mercedes, Sam whispers to Jody: ‘How did she get all these people to help her?’

  ‘I bet they fancy her. Except Nick.’

  ‘Why not Nick?’

  Jody makes a face. ‘He’s gay.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘I might be wrong,’ she says, with a little twist of her mouth that means, I’m never wrong.

  He tuts. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t trusted her. We’d still be there.’

  Jody has a distant look in her eyes. ‘I don’t think you can blame us for doubting her motives… but yeah.’

  They get in the car, this time all four of them squashing together in the back. There aren’t any seatbelts, and Sam has the impression that no one cares much about rules like that over here.

  ‘Airport, yes?’ the driver says.

  ‘Please,’ Sam says. Oh Christ, yes.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re going home,’ Jody whispers once the kids are dozing again. ‘It makes me realise I didn’t think we ever would.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I keep worrying about Gabby. Will she ever see her family again?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he says with a weary sigh. He thinks of how he’d looked at his children and knew there was no way he could risk their lives for Gabby’s, no matter what she had done for them. If that makes him a bad person – selfish, cowardly, whatever – then so be it.

  ‘Nothing we can do now,’ he says, ‘except pray she gets away with it.’

  78

  Gabby wakes in darkness and grabs her phone to check the time. Almost three a.m. – the family should be safe.

  She’s amazed that no one has raised the alarm. The guard outside the guest block must have assumed they’re still with Borko. Or maybe the staff have strict orders not to disturb their boss when he’s ‘otherwise engaged’.

  She has half a second to bask in relief, until she registers that she’s alone in the bed. Then a light snaps on in the adjoining dressing room and Borko emerges, completely naked. She might have assumed that round two is on the cards, if not for the look on his face.

  That side of it has been more enjoyable than she anticipated. It turns out he isn’t nearly as selfish in bed as his everyday manner would suggest. But it wasn’t easy to put her fears aside; several times she had to pretend to be suffering from performance anxiety, rather than fear of discovery.

  His expression now is ominously stern. She sits up, not bothering to cover herself, lifts her arms and fingercombs her hair into some sort of order. She wants his attention on her body as she subtly shifts a little closer to her bag, which is on the floor beside the bed.

  ‘All right?’ She allows her voice to slur a little, while inside her rib cage there’s a heart beating itself into a frenzy. ‘Something wake you?’

  He nods, but doesn’t say what. Like a prowling animal he crosses the room, coming to stand at the end of the bed.

  ‘Did you know, Gabrielle, it was my father who inspired these gatherings?’

  She shrugs, realises it’s too sullen a response, then says, ‘He did this as well?’

  ‘Not exactly. He threw lavish parties for key people in our country. The purpose was to impress, or intimidate, or blackmail, and the focus was purely on the pleasures of the senses. Food. Alcohol. Drugs. Sex.’

  He snorts, his gaze turning distant. ‘Always sex. There were men, women, children on hand, who were required to copulate with the guests, and each other, and even with farm animals a few times. It was…’ His face screws up, as if at a sour taste; Gabby interpret
s it as revulsion until he finishes with: ‘… insipid, after a while. But then, as we’ve seen here, jaded appetites tend to become ever more extreme.’

  Gabby hardly trusts herself to speak. She considers snapping out a flirty remark, but knows he won’t buy it. The vibe’s all wrong.

  ‘You’re a smart cookie, Gabrielle. Perhaps you’ve gathered that I wasn’t entirely truthful when I downplayed the dangers to the family? I assured you they would make it, but that was never what I expected… or wanted.’

  ‘Right. So can I ask… why not?’

  'Because a spectacle was needed. Those Danish students pulled from the sea? They were here, but quickly fell into conflict–'

  'Then Sam was right? You lied about them?'

  He nods curtly. 'One of them murdered his friend. Witnessed live, it was a spellbinding moment. My guests were ecstatic. I'd bestowed on them an experience they will never forget.'

  'So this...' She swallows heavily. 'This year had to offer even more?'

  ‘It’s what I hoped – though always on the basis that the family were to be given a fair chance.’ Borko’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s unlike any smile she’s ever seen. ‘I correctly foresaw that they would display great spirit, and might find a way to survive. But I was also ready for savagery, desperation – and yes, I was fascinated to see how my guests would react to the death of a child.’

  ‘Dylan is only five years old. Would it really not have mattered to you if he’d died out there?’

  Borko turns slightly and sits on the corner of the bed. He’s close enough that he could reach out and touch her leg. Gabby wants to shrink away from him, but she cannot.

  ‘The truth? Their suffering means nothing. I know it isn’t what you wish to hear, but actually, if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that you are no different.’ He leans in. ‘I realise nowadays it’s important to make the appropriate noises, but at a fundamental level, none of us truly care about people we do not know.’

  ‘Of course we do,’ she says hotly. ‘It’s why charities exist, it’s why–’

  He cuts her off: ‘All for show. A fleeting moment of sympathy, usually to assuage guilt. Nothing more.’

  ‘No, I disagree.’

  His sudden laugh makes her jump. The silence that follows is paralysing.

  ‘I’m perfectly aware that you disagree, Gabrielle.’ There’s a weight to his words that at first she can’t interpret, but she feels a vertiginous dread. Borko stares at the floor, then slowly raises his head to look into her eyes. ‘No doubt that’s why you spirited them away from here?’

  They’re at the airport soon after midnight, and collect the tickets Gabby purchased on their behalf. It’s three hours till the flight, but they tell each other the time will pass quickly enough.

  The driver won’t accept a tip, any more than his brother or Nick had done. ‘For Gabby,’ they all insist. ‘For Gabby.’

  Inside it’s far too bright, and disturbingly quiet. They attract a few inquisitive stares, and Jody half expects to find ‘wanted’ posters with their mugshots on them. It’s only when they’ve checked in and gone through security that she dares to celebrate. They’ve taken another important step away from Borko.

  ‘Can he reach us now we’re airside?’ Sam wonders.

  ‘In his own country, I bet he can get anywhere. It’s more a case of him not knowing where we are.’

  ‘We hope.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The harsh lighting keeps the kids awake, so the four of them end up slumped around a grubby plastic table in an overpriced cafeteria, listening to the near-constant chime and murmur of the PA system. Sam and Jody Berry, it’s about to say, you cannot run from Borko Radić. You cannot escape.

  But it appears they can, and they do. A couple of grimy, tedious hours later they shuffle along to the gate, show their tickets and join a thin queue of early-morning travellers boarding the bus that will drive them to the plane.

  Jody isn’t sure if it’s her imagination, but it seems that the eastern sky is already starting to lighten. She gazes at the stars overhead and wonders how long it will be before she catches herself looking back almost wistfully on their experience of living life in the raw; when they were truly a family unit, working and surviving together, appreciating every sip of water, every morsel of food. That extraordinary intensity of living in the moment will be hard to beat. However perverse it seems now – for all the hardship and anxiety and pain – Jody suspects that she will miss it, just a little, once they start taking life for granted again.

  She can’t believe how nonchalantly Grace and Dylan have greeted the news that their ordeal is over. Of course, there’s no way of telling what sort of long-term damage might have been done – and it could be years before the full effects are felt. But they seem to be remarkably adaptable, perhaps because they’re accustomed to having their lives controlled by grown-ups.

  The plane is barely half full, and a kindly steward suggests they spread out over all six seats in their row. It means the kids are able to stretch out, one at each window, while Sam and Jody sit across from each other in the aisle. During take-off, Sam gripped her hand. With the plane horizontal again, and the seatbelt lights out, he can relax.

  First he releases a long and heartfelt sigh. Then gently, playfully, he taps his thumb against her DIY ring. ‘You don’t have to keep that on, you know.’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘I’ll get you a proper one.’

  ‘Oh, will you?’ She turns to face him. ‘Is that a proposal?’

  ‘I already proposed.’

  ‘So you did.’ She smiles, reaches across the aisle to kiss him, then looks down at the ring. ‘This one is fine.’

  79

  ‘Spirited them away?’ Gabby tries bluffing. ‘What do you mean?’

  Borko is shaking his head. ‘Your behaviour today has been quite odd, so I had the cameras monitored by a couple of my most trusted staff. The family went over the wall…’ He glances at a clock by the bed. ‘Around five hours ago. By now I expect they’re on board the Heathrow flight.’

  ‘You knew?’ Gabby exclaims. Her next question – Why didn’t you stop me? – dies in her throat. ‘Have you… gone after them?’

  Borko shakes his head. ‘They pose no threat to me.’

  Gabby can’t believe what she’s hearing. Relaxing a little, she leans forward and lifts the sheet to cover her breasts. ‘But you had planned to kill them?’

  He looks bemused. ‘Where did you get that idea? Thanks to you, they will arrive home tomorrow and resume their lives. I don’t expect to hear from them ever again.’

  ‘Right. And you were happy to give them all that money?’

  ‘Actually, no. The cheque has already been cancelled.’ As she winces, Borko opens his hands. ‘What are they going to do? A rough and ready working class family with no credibility, no leverage, no proof.’

  She lets out a held breath. Think, Gabby. Where does this leave you?

  The family are on their way home, and Borko’s fine about that. It’s cost him nothing, ultimately, and he’s right: when the cheque bounces, there won’t be anything Sam and Jody can do about it.

  So it could be worse. Could be a hell of a lot worse–

  Then Borko moves. First a punch, so heavy and brutal that it slams her down on the bed. Blood pouring from her nose, her brain scrambled, the pain as sharp as glass and the shock, the fear like an even heavier blow.

  He bends down, reaching for something, and sprawls on top of her. She struggles and tries to fight him off but he’s too strong, pressing all his weight on her legs and arms, and his breath is hot on her face, hot and foul, and he laughs.

  ‘Your ingenuity was impressive, Gabrielle. Most devious.’ He leans slightly, peering over the bed. ‘And you even came prepared.’

  He’s staring at her bag, at the last component in her oh so clever plan. Although reckless Gabby gets a kick from danger, sensible Gabrielle prefers not to be quite as vuln
erable, so during her earlier roaming she prudently searched for – and was fortunate enough to find, in the bottom drawer of a unit in the downstairs office – a small gun.

  She left it nestled in her handbag, within easy reach, believing it could save her if the worst came to the worst.

  She was wrong.

  ‘Personally, I don’t care for firearms,’ he says. ‘Too easy.’

  And now she learns what Borko picked up from the floor. A silk necktie. As with the belt earlier this evening, he loops the tie around one fist, and then the other. It means her hands are released – with a pitiful lack of strength, she claws at his stomach, his chest, but even when she draws a little blood, he barely reacts.

  ‘Borko, please.’ Tears spring to her eyes. ‘You’ve just said you don’t care if the family get away. Let me go and I’ll take the first flight out of here–’

  ‘The family played their part. Whereas you, Gabrielle, only betrayed me. You lied to me. Made a fool of me.’ He grabs her by the hair, lifts her head off the bed and slips the tie around her neck. ‘You remember Jody’s spirited outburst? How the rich and powerful no longer pay lip service to the rules that govern society?’

  He crosses the ends of the tie and rests his fists on her shoulders, slowly extending his arms and increasing the pressure on her neck.

  ‘I can confirm that Jody is entirely correct – and I speak as a man whose father is personal friends with the presidents she condemned today.’

  The constriction is making her dizzy, making her nauseous; Gabby feels starkly terrified but she tries to persuade herself that it’s a tease, a sex game. Any second now he’ll let go…

  Still pulling tighter, and coating her face with saliva as he speaks, Borko says, ‘It’s a world without limits, Gabrielle, for men like us. And in this world, people who betray me have to face the consequences. It’s nothing personal, merely a standard I have to maintain. I hope you can appreciate that… Gabrielle?’

  But Gabby can no longer hear him.