by Keith Short
‘Well, I—’
‘Oh, stop mumbling. Come and help me with my zip,’ she said, turning her back on him. His touch tickled. She spun around, pulled him against her chest and fell backwards with him on to the bed. With Sergei on top of her, she clamped him in a vice-like grip between her arms and legs and clasped her lips across his mouth. As she relaxed her hold, Sergei responded with a passionate kiss. She’d gone past the point of abort now – the recent memory from the black drum filled her senses. Don’t panic. She rubbed her hands across his back and caressed his buttocks; he was swelling between her legs. Please stop.
With a sudden jolt, Sergei appeared to come to his senses. He tore himself free and backed away from the bed. ‘We can’t do this,’ he gasped as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
Magda disguised her relief and, like a guilty schoolgirl, offered her apology. ‘You’re right, we shouldn’t. And it’s my fault, not yours.’
‘Well, let’s just pretend it didn’t happen and no harm is done.’ He stood upright and straightened his T-shirt. ‘I think we’ll give the swim a miss for today,’ he said, sweeping back the fringe from over his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Sergei. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been cooped up for so long. A woman has needs, you know.’
‘Leave it at that, shall we? It won’t happen again.’ Sergei left the bedroom.
Magda’s heart was racing and the adrenalin pumped through her veins. Got it! She sat on the end of the bed, listening to Sergei’s footsteps as he made his way through the lounge. As soon as she heard the whirring of the exit door’s motor, she jumped up and rushed to the anteroom. Thirty seconds, a minute max. It would be tight but the computer was set up ready – including the wafer-reader she’d been surprised to find among Jakob’s box of spares.
The front door clicked into its closed position – the sign that he’d reached the elevator door. He’s on his way back. She finished off at the keyboard.
The doorbell chimed. Fifteen seconds later, the door opened.
‘Ana!’ he shouted. ‘Are you decent?’
‘Yes, I’m just about to change.’
Sergei entered her bedroom for the second time that morning. Magda was rummaging through her wardrobe, still in her swimsuit.
‘Don’t worry, Sergei, there’ll be no repeat. You’ve forgotten something?’ She could see his face was taut with trepidation.
‘Yes, I just . . . ah, there it is. Must have slipped out while we were—’
‘Oh, your wafer – mustn’t go without that,’ she said with feigned surprise as he picked it from the crumpled bed sheet.
Sergei seemed quiet and less jovial since the episode in her bedroom. The way he looked at her nowadays was a bizarre mix of disgust and longing.
‘You’re looking a little forlorn today, Sergei,’ she said as they wallowed together in the jacuzzi. ‘Don’t you enjoy my company anymore?’
‘I’m fine. What training do you fancy this afternoon?’
She tapped his shoulder in admonishment. ‘Don’t change the subject. Look, we’ve known each other for months and I’m going nowhere soon. I’m just interested in who I have for company. You don’t let me mix with the other inmates, so, what about you, my gaoler? Tell me about yourself.’
‘You know I don’t like being referred to like that. But I see no harm in talking about myself. What do you want to know? Within reason, of course.’
‘How did you end up in a place like this, for starters? Do you like your job?’
‘One question at a time, please.’ His muscular torso relaxed as he eased himself back on his elbows. ‘I was in the Russian nuclear submarine fleet at the time and, while I was on shore leave, I was approached by someone who told me he was a former submariner himself. He explained how psychological profiles like ours were ideally suited to a fledgling company in the leisure industry that was owned by a rich Russian cartel. If I was successful in my assessment, they’d buy me out of my navy commission and install me in a fantastic job with a salary many times what I was earning in the navy. So, here I am.’
‘You mean they were looking for someone who didn’t mind being stuck down here for years? That makes you no better off than I am – you’re a prisoner just the same.’
‘Not quite. But you’re right in one sense. I signed a contract for ten years. After that, I intend to retire on the pension they’ve promised. My plan is to complete the contract then go back to St Petersburg, my home city.’
‘How do you know they’ll honour their side of the bargain? And don’t you want your freedom before that?’
‘It’s the choice I made. But coming to another question of yours – yes, I do like my job. Look around you. How many others can say they’re being paid a fortune to work in an environment like this?’
‘But you’re not enjoying it at the moment – am I right?’
‘Well, I was happy. That was before I met you. I have to admit, I’m finding this special assignment a strain.’
‘It’s nice to be considered a special assignment,’ she said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘but I’m not a strain, am I? When have I not done as I’ve been told?’
‘It’s not like that. It’s just that . . . Change the subject, shall we? Let’s just say discussing our relationship is out of bounds.’
She held his gaze until he couldn’t look into her eyes anymore. So, that’s it. He was falling for her and putting himself in a difficult position. She could live with that.
‘OK, we’ll change the subject, but on one condition. You need to admit that you know what’s going on. I’m not stupid. Even with my limited exposure to other girls, I can see there’s been some serious manipulation of their minds. You’re brainwashing them, aren’t you?’
Sergei looked around the spa as if expecting someone. ‘OK, you’re right,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know how they do it. But whatever it is, it didn’t work on you.’
I don’t believe him. ‘You realise that what they’re doing is wrong? They’re taking away our free will.’
‘They’re providing contentment. You’re all well looked after and you live in what is effectively a five-star hotel.’
‘But these girls are sex slaves living in a brothel, made to pander to the perverted desires of strangers. What about the families and loved ones they’ve been torn away from? What about my loved ones?’ She forced herself to calm down. So far, he’d been responsive to her own amateurish brainwashing. Charm the pants off him, she told herself, realising that it may literally have to come to that at some stage.
‘Are there follow-up drugs to supplement this process?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have they given these drugs to me?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to say. But they stopped once they realised they were having little effect.’
‘How did they administer them?’
‘By injection at first, while you slept. When they realised your resistance was strong, they put extra drugs in your food.’
‘And you knew all along?’
He nodded his head. ‘Yes,’ he said dolefully.
She could tell Sergei’s resolve was weakening but she restrained herself through five minutes of poignant silence before breaking the impasse. ‘You’re a lovely man, Sergei. I can’t deny that.’ She rubbed her hand down his arm. ‘I’ve always wanted to see where you live down here. Even more so, now I know it’s to be your home for ten years. Would you ever be able to show me?’
He scratched his chin. ‘I suppose there’s no harm, given our respective long-term situations. Actually, it’s not down here at all. I live on the ground floor.’
CHAPTER 24
‘Good evening, sir. How can we be of help?’
‘Do you have a catalogue of your girls?’
‘Yes, of course. Any particular requirements? I can show you who’s
available.’ Mary opened her ring binder. She could see Gina out of the corner of her eye, frantically waving a newspaper about, trying to catch her attention. Mary ignored her, the clients always had to come first. ‘See anyone you like, sir?’
Gina kept on waving. Her gesticulations were becoming more animated. ‘Look at this,’ she mouthed across the reception area.
Not now, Gina. ‘I’m busy!’ Mary hissed back. ‘Sorry, sir. What was that again?’
‘This one. She looks interesting . . .’
Once her client disappeared down the corridor with his purchase, Mary turned her attention to Gina. ‘Now, Gina. You’re obviously bursting to tell me something.’
Beside herself with excitement, Gina started rambling and stuttering. ‘Look at this photo, in today’s newspaper. This is Ana, from the Fantasyworld. It’s definitely her, I tell you. Do you remember me telling you about the Fantasyworld? Well, this girl was going to be my team leader. And it says she’s a university professor who disappeared five months ago. What do you think about that? Do you reckon we should tell the police we know where she is?’
‘Slow down, Gina. You know the girl in this photo, do you?’
‘Well, not exactly. But we were all shown her holographic image. She was going to be in charge of our dormitory team, you see. Team leaders had their own private accommodation and they—’
‘Woah! Calm down, you’re confusing me. You haven’t actually met her then? And what exactly are you going to say to the police? You don’t even know where this place is. I think we should keep our noses clean and not get involved.’
But Mary’s thoughts weren’t about staying clear of the law. It was the other photograph on the page that intrigued her. It was Leon Dabrowski, the nuclear physicist. She recognised him as the man who came to see her a couple of months ago with the picture of his girlfriend – the same woman whose photograph was now next to his. Dr Leon Dabrowski and Professor Magda Tomala – both of them were missing. He was on the run and she was cooped up in one of Rodin’s brothels. What’s all that about? ‘Very interesting, sweetheart. But don’t concern yourself about this. Trust me – I know what’s for the best. So be a good girl and run along.’
Gina scampered away, shaking her bowed head from side to side. Mary waited until she disappeared from sight before picking up the newspaper and reading the whole story. It was beginning to make sense. And what about that other woman in the photo Leon Dabrowski had shown her? She’d been so much like her mother. What if it was her? She could still be alive. For the first time in years, she craved a fix. Her confused mind drifted back through its hazy memory banks and she thought back to the days she lived with her brother. He was a bastard like his dad.
It must have been thirty years ago. It was Robert’s first visit to the house for weeks as far as she could recall.
‘The bitch isn’t coming back, you realise? Never.’
‘Robert! That’s our mother you’re talking about. And whose fault is it she’s gone? You’ve no idea how much you took her for granted. Just threw her kindness back in her face, you did.’
‘And what about you, little sister? The whore of Hampstead Heath, they call you – did you know that? And what does Mummy think about that, I wonder – proud of her little girl, is she? Don’t give me any of that crap, you little slut.’
‘Well at least I had the decency to give her some money towards my keep over the last few months. What have you ever done for her? I’ll tell you what you’ve done – nothing, sweet FA. You’ve bled her dry, you have. And now all you can do is moan about her leaving us to our own devices.’
‘Yeh, well she’s just left us both in the shit. No money to pay the bills, no food, nothing. We’re on our own now. But don’t worry, sis. I have plans for us both.’
‘Plans, you say!’ she shouted into his face. ‘What plans have you ever had?’
Robert’s demeanour changed. He sat down on the sofa and started to reason with her. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking. We have this house to ourselves and it’s going to be ages before they think about chucking us out. We’ll have months of warnings about not paying the council tax and we could always make do without gas and electricity. Believe me, I’m an expert on all that.’
Mary said nothing. What sort of hare-brained scheme was he dreaming up for them both?
‘You see, what I was thinking was that you could work from here. You’re more or less doing that anyway, these days. And I could find you your clients. I know plenty of punters who’d prefer to come to a smart house like this one, rather than pay for a quick shag in the park.’
‘You mean you’re proposing to turn our mother’s house into a brothel and you’re going to be my pimp?’ Mary sneered. ‘I reckon you may as well find a few more women on the game and let them live here. You’d make a fortune, you would.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that one. What a good idea – you’re not as stupid as you look.’
She couldn’t take any more of this nonsense. ‘I was taking the piss, you idiot!’ she yelled. ‘You must think I’m a moron.’
But Robert seemed to be serious about his plans. And over the days that followed he put them into practice. Mary cooperated, but at a price of two black eyes and numerous cut lips. It was over that period that Robert introduced her to heroin. The months that followed became a swirling fog as she spiralled down towards the same oblivion that awaited Robert. Every day became a bad dream. And the dreams were always the same – until the day the police knocked at their door. She expected it to be the bailiffs; they’d already made two visits to the house. It turned out to be a detective inspector with a young uniformed female officer. She could see the distress in their faces.
‘Miss Douglas?’ the man asked.
‘You’ve found my mother. Is she all right? Where is she?’
‘Can we come in? It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘No, you can’t. You can say what you have to say and have done with it.’
The police officers exchanged a look of concern. ‘It’s about your brother, Robert,’ the DI said.
‘Oh God, what’s he been up to now? Has he been caught dealing?’
‘I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. He’s dead. We found his body on the Heath last night. He’d been stabbed in the throat.’
‘Mary, Mary! Are you all right?’ Gina was shaking her by the shoulder, her face filled with concern. ‘You must have fallen asleep, you’ve been here for ages.’
Mary rubbed her eyes and sat up on the couch; dazed and clammy, she started to shiver even though it was warm in reception. The clock showed ten o’clock. ‘Are there any clients left in the place?’
‘No, the last one’s just left. I looked after him myself,’ Gina proudly proclaimed. ‘Shall I lock up?’
‘Yes, sweetheart, I think you’d better do that.’
Mary collapsed on to her bed, her head aching at the recollection of Robert’s violent death those many years ago. At the time, it shook her so badly that she agreed to have counselling; they even managed to wean her off the heroin and she hadn’t relapsed since. Over the years, she’d come to terms with her loss; it was inevitable, she told herself. She thought again about the photograph that triggered her memories and accepted, for the first time in her life, that she’d swept her mother’s disappearance under the table. It was finally time to do the right thing. She had to find out what happened to her. But where could she start? She could take a closer look at that photo. I’m going to have to find Leon Dabrowski.
CHAPTER 25
The elevator made its upward journey. Magda’s heart was racing and her palms were wet with sweat. She was going to see daylight for the first time in months. And there had to be a way out at ground-floor level.
As they entered Sergei’s quarters, her immediate impression was that the living space was more palatial than her own. ‘Straight ahead,’ Sergei said.
‘This is the lounge, one bedroom off to either side, each with an en suite bathroom and dressing area.’
‘Why two bedrooms?’ Magda grinned. ‘You have regular guests?’
Sergei returned her smile and opened one of the doors to reveal a large, congested room. ‘I use it as my study. I can see you’re impressed, but wait till you see my kitchen.’
Unlike his study, Sergei’s dining kitchen was clean-lined and uncluttered, but that wasn’t what captured Magda’s attention. At the end of the kitchen, there it was – the outside world beckoning from beyond a glazed panel. Before Sergei could stop her, she set off across the kitchen floor and headed for daylight. As she bounded over the final few floor tiles, the panel slid open. She threw her arms skyward in a gesture of freedom . . .
‘It’s a conservatory?’ she said, trying to suppress her disappointment.
‘Yes. Beautiful plants, don’t you agree?’
She gathered herself. There was a sense of relief after so many months of living underground. The frosted glass made it impossible to discern any detail from the world outside but she could make out a blue-sky day and a lush green garden. There had to be a way out of this glasshouse.
‘I can imagine what you’re thinking, Ana, but let me explain. You’re looking at three inches of bulletproof Perspex. No doors, no openings of any sort – we’re in a cocoon.’
Magda wasn’t listening; she was too busy walking around the interior garden, studying the possibilities rather than the plants. If she could get hold of a wafer, she could photograph that sheet of brown she could see through the conservatory’s glass – it had to be the external elevation of a tall building. A simple Fourier transform routine, a bit of straightforward image processing on her computer . . . she could bring the building into focus and maybe work out where she was.