The Defector

by Mark Chisnell

  The words hung in the air between us. I stared back at him. I was almost beyond caring, almost beyond fear. I knew we would all die. We would die in the game. And it was the unknown element of the game that did instil the fear in me.

  ‘I always promised you a final game Martin. And this is it. No way out this time. Nowhere to run.’ He stood up and stepped back, crushing the cigarette with a booted foot. ‘I must say I've had a lot of fun figuring out exactly what it will be. But not as much as I'm going to have watching you play it. To start with I thought my little computer game would be ideal. But it's kind of difficult to run it on the boat, and there wasn't time to get it down here. It was hard enough finding a boat that would do the job. So we'll have to use an old-fashioned alternative. I think you'll like it.’ he paused, ‘Sure about the smokes, might be your last chance?’ he went on, pulling the pack out and waving it at us again.

  I shook my head.

  He stepped back a pace then squatted down to our level again. I gazed into the grey eyes for a fraction of a second, but there was nothing. Only dilated pupils and blood-shot crazy paving. ‘So can you guess what we're going to play?’ he said in a quieter voice, gently exhaling smoke as he spoke.

  He didn't have to tell me - the Prisoner's Dilemma. I was back where I started.

  ‘As you can see,’ he went on, ‘the four of you have been split up. The others are on my boat. Each of you two, will play against one of the other pair. I'll come back to who is playing who later.’ he flashed a smile, ‘Now each member of each pair will be asked the same question. But you don't have to answer till dawn tomorrow. So you have all night to think about it. The question is simple, I wanted to keep it simple. Strip the game down to its bare essentials. So the choice you are making is clear. Tomorrow morning I will ask you, are you a co-operator, or a defector? Your answer is just as simple; I cooperate, or I defect.’

  He stared at us for a second or two and in the silence I managed to ask, ‘The others, they're alright?’

  ‘Well it wouldn't be much fun playing against a dead man, would it Martin?’ he snorted derisively, stood up, backed away, ‘One of them has a flesh wound which we sort of treated and the other a headache, they're fine. So, to resume, you and your opponent will be asked to cooperate or defect. If you both decide to cooperate, then you both get to play a little game of Russian roulette with me.’ The revolver replaced the cigarette in his hand, ‘At odds of six to one.’ He opened the cylinder and dropped out all but one shell. It clicked shut and span in a single movement. The gun was pointing directly at my forehead. It was so close, I could read Smith and Wesson on the barrel. I looked past it, at his eyes again, they were on fire. But then he was smiling and the gun was down.

  ‘But not yet Martin, not yet.’ he said. ‘If you both decide to defect, then the odds on the roulette get a lot worse.’ The cylinder was open again, and two more shells were loaded. It flicked shut and span. ‘Two to one.’ he rasped. This time the gun was pointing at Kate. He shook his head. The gun was lowered. ‘Not good, not good odds at all. All right for Bobby in the movies maybe, but I wouldn't want to be facing that one for real in,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘fourteen hours. So I guess right now cooperate looks like the answer? But of course there's a catch. A Prisoner's Dilemma catch.’

  ‘You bastard.’ I breathed.

  ‘I know you know all about it Martin, but forgive me the indulgence. I want to finish my speech for your pretty little girlfriend.’ He took a couple of steps forward, leaned right into our faces and said, ‘If one of you answers defect and one of you answers cooperate, then the co-operator dies and the defector goes free.’ The grey eyes danced over us, I could feel his breath on my face, see the pulse in his temple. I licked my lips, swallowed. He still hadn't told us who we were playing.

  ‘But,’ there was a slow smile, ‘We still have to pair you up.’ The smile spread into a grin, ‘This is what makes it all so special.’ he paused, but I knew what was coming, ‘Martin, you will be playing Scott. Because he's this young lady's boyfriend. Or should I say was? Did you already blow him out Martin?’ he laughed, a loud sound in the silence. And then stopped, suddenly, spun away, then turned again. The cigarette jabbed at me for emphasis, ‘Which means Martin, that you have to watch her play Duval first.’

  I felt, nothing. Everything... and nothing. I stared at him, at the glitter of amusement in the grey eyes. I forced myself to speak, it was still barely more than a croak. ‘If we survive that, what happens?’

  ‘You go free, with your boat and a bit of food and water. All over. Penance paid. I told you before, you may survive, but you have to play.’

  ‘Why the hell should I believe you? Why don't you just kill me, that's what you want.’

  ‘You know that's not true. And save me the hero speech, this is the way it's going to be. You get a chance to live. What chance depends on how you answer the question. The fun bit for me, is you thinking about that answer, all night. What will you decide Martin? Against Scott? Are you a co-operator or a defector? It's beautiful Martin, it's all turned out so well. Sweet dreams people; I'll see you at dawn.’

  It was in a dream that I watched him turn and go. The rest of the crew came to life at his departure, and bundled us brutally back into the forepeak. I crashed to the hull, cheek against the cold, black carbon, listening to the fishing boat untie and motor off. Some time passed. I don't know how long. After a while I moved cautiously to a sitting position. ‘So it was Duval all the time.’ I croaked, but the words had no venom. I looked at Kate, sitting in the tiny streams of light coming through the bullet holes. The blond hair was frayed with sweat and dirt. The face lined and worn, a century older. But her body was still tense and defiant.

  She looked back at me, ‘Forget it Martin. It makes no difference now. No more than any of the other reasons we're here.’ She was right, of course. We sat in silence. Eventually I said, in a voice I now recognised as mine, ‘I'm so sorry Kate...’

  ‘I wouldn't blame yourself for the behaviour of this psychopath.’ she said distantly.

  ‘No, but if I hadn't got you involved, if...’

  ‘We've talked about that already Martin.’ it was an exhausted voice.

  We lapsed back into our own thoughts, defect or cooperate? Self-preservation or sacrifice? It just went round and round and came out the wrong place every time. I'm better off if I defect. I... am... better... off. Me.

  ‘I studied the Prisoner's Dilemma at Oxford.’ Kate said suddenly. I looked at her, unsure how to respond. She sat with an unnatural stillness, leaning against the hull, staring at the ribbons of light filtering into the dark space. ‘I had a theory about it.’ she went on, ‘I thought if people could understand, maybe things would be different. It was like a changing theory in science, like what happened in the sixteenth century with Copernicus.’

  I shook my head blankly.

  ‘Everyone believed that the earth was at the centre of the universe. Then Copernicus came along and said it was different, that the sun was at the centre, and the earth and the other planets revolved around it. It was a theory that shook everything people believed in, the whole of our understanding was turned on its head. We were no longer the centre of the Universe. A paradigm shift, that's what they call it.’

  ‘So, what's that got to do with the Prisoner's Dilemma?’ I said.

  She wearily pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked across at me. ‘That was my solution. The problem with the statement, 'I am better off, whatever he does, by defecting.' was the assumption that the individual comes first rather than society as a whole. A lot of people think that there is no alternative, that they have to look after themselves rather than the group. That's what happened in the eighties, in the way people like you behaved. But I wanted to change the paradigm, to say that we, the group, are better off whatever the other guy does, if I, the individual, cooperate.’ Our eyes met for a second before she turned away.

  ‘So in the electric shock game,’ I said carefully
, ‘if I had cooperated and Janac had defected all the time, I'd have got a level five blast till it killed me. But at least one of us would have survived - him. Rather than taking a level three each, until it kills or maims us both?’

  ‘Precisely. The group is better off. Cooperating, acting for the common good has to be the right answer.

  ‘A nice theory,’ I said, ‘But we're not in the lecture hall now - we're talking about real life and real death.’

  ‘We should be able to trust others to do the decent thing.’ she said, ‘Even when it may reduce our own chances of survival.’ she hesitated, staring at the deck, ‘But you're right: now I keep getting the wrong answer.’ There was a crack in her voice that hadn't been there before. ‘It's such a good theory...’ she went on, ‘the group is better off if I cooperate, but now... with Duval? And for you and Scott!’

  ‘That's why he's doing this Kate. He knows all about us. It's been the game, all along, to test me. To see if I'm a defector or a co-operator. And now, with Scott to play against? And I have to watch you play Duval first? Christ, I bet Janac can't believe his luck. I'm just so sorry you all had to get involved.’ Silence again. Then I said, ‘What about the radio?’ with sudden, ridiculous hope.

  She looked up, ‘I never got them to hear me. I heard them a couple of times but then it went dead.’

  ‘They took the aerials out with the first burst.’

  ‘They were too far away anyway.’ she replied.

  The silence grew out of the gathering gloom and enveloped us once again. The right thing to do was clear. The answer should be to cooperate. That was what my life had taught me. Right back to Kate and I breaking up, the currency dealing, the motorway accident, all Janac's games. If all the trauma, loss and sacrifice had any point at all, that was what it was about. That society couldn't survive on self-interest. We, some of us, had to act for the good of us all. I could do that. I could see myself, a good job, paying my taxes, letting people into traffic queues... But, against Scott? Would he see it? I could remember his hands around my throat all too clearly. The anger. The hate, that was what Kate had said. All directed at me. Would he put that aside? If he didn't and I cooperated, I was dead.

  ‘Kate,’ I said, hesitating, ‘What do you think Scott is going to do?’

  She looked up and shook her head slowly, ‘It's no good Martin. It's got to come from you. It comes from inside. Are you a defector or a co-operator? I know that what is between the three of us seems important, but ultimately you make a simple choice - can you trust him to do the right thing for you both?’ She sounded so old, tired, weighed down with an understanding beyond her years. ‘And for me,’ she carried on, ‘god only knows how hard it is. I know what sort of a person Scott is, I know him too well. And I still love him,’ her voice was breaking again, the self-control slipping away. ‘However confused my feelings are, and with what I now feel for you. We have shared so much over the past three years. If I tell you and affect your decision, if I was wrong, if anything happens to either of you...’ her voice had gone. I realised I could barely see her in the gloom, it was nearly nightfall. I crept over to her, and pulled her gently into what was left of the light.

  ‘I can't do it, I can't defect.’ she tensed again. ‘My whole life I've been fighting against that attitude, that crap, it's destroying the world.’

  ‘It'll destroy you now Kate, if you let it. You must defect and take your chances, because you know he will.’

  She pulled away slightly, ‘Scott won't let him.’

  ‘Scott won't be able to stop him Kate. He'll try, all night probably, but...’

  She shook her head slowly, ‘I can't. I really can't. If he cooperates and dies because of me.’

  She didn't have to go on. I knew how hard that was to live with, ‘Kate, he won't. Everything about him screams out that he'll defect. The choice is a chance of life with maybe his blood on your conscience, or certain death.’

  ‘To me? You think he'd do that to me?’ she said, very still.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked and then I thought I saw her nod. Just the merest hint.

  ‘And you?’ she asked. ‘Can you trust Scott enough to put your life in his hands, can you cooperate?’ It was dark now. I could feel her breath on my neck, her lips were inches from mine. We both waited for my answer, and when I breathed it into her mouth, our lips just caressing, I was sure I meant it.

  ‘I have to.’ I said, ‘For you, for me. I have to cooperate.’

  It would mean redemption, the penance paid. And Kate would understand I'd finally changed. If we both lived, it was the difference, the promise of a new world.

  Chapter 28

  I drifted back into consciousness, slowly, too slowly. I could feel Kate's weight across my arm. I caught my breath. She shifted slightly and pulled me in a little tighter. I didn't want to disturb her. So I lay still, listening to the gentle rhythms of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath. And stared through the holes in the deck at the changing patterns of stars. The boat rolled slowly to the motion of the waves and the thrust of the engine.

  Cooperate or defect? I was still thinking about it when the first glow of light filtered through, and I heard the clips go on the hatch. No more time to think. It was time to decide. I rocked Kate gently to wake her. But she still came to with a start, her eyes fearful, the nightmare real. I nodded silently at the hatch, grey musky daylight struggled through it. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then sighed deeply into clasped hands. I watched her hold that position for a few seconds. But the voices outside were getting impatient. She looked up finally, and kissed me softly, whispering a barely audible 'good luck' through a dry throat.

  ‘You too.’ I said and held her tight for a couple of seconds, before taking her hand and leading the way.

  As I emerged through the hatch I was pushed to one side and gagged. Janac was standing at the base of the mast, ‘Sorry about the gag boys and girls, but we don't want to spoil the surprise for anyone, do we?’ he said.

  One of the others handed me a paper and pencil, and then hung a small box round my neck.

  ‘So you just have to write the answer down on the paper, and stick it in the box there. Not quite as high-tech as my computer game, but it'll have to do.’

  I was pushed even further away from Kate as I started to write.

  ‘Cooperate or defect remember, no maybes, no conferring, a spoiled paper gets everyone a bullet in the brain.’ he added with his cackling laugh.

  The pencil disappeared as soon as I had finished. My hands were shaking and the writing looked like a five year old’s. I'd done it. I folded the paper and placed it in the box. As the lid snapped shut my arms were grabbed and pulled behind me. I tried to tense my muscles against the cord, but they kept pulling tighter until it had bitten deep into the flesh. Just moving hurt like hell. No escape this time. I was spun round to face Kate. I glanced at her. They had done the same, hands tied behind her back, a cloth forced into her mouth. I daren't look in her eyes.

  Janac spoke again, ‘Good,’ he said, with a delighted grin, ‘we're ready. The die is cast, the hand dealt, the wheel spun. Let's do it, and may the losers be damned.’

  We were pushed up the steps onto the deck. I glanced quickly upwards and choked my anger into the gag. The bastards had left Ben up there. I started to struggle against the pushing hands and was promptly slugged over the head. My knees folded and I tipped forward, unable to save myself, crashing into the winch pedestal. I lay there, dazed, struggling to focus. But hands grabbed me and forced me to my feet. I saw the trail of blood down the mast. The dark, dry stain on the deck. I looked away quickly.

  ‘Squeamish huh?’ taunted Janac, ‘Holy shit, you are going to have a lousy day.’

  I glanced at Kate. She had seen it too. The tears streamed clear streaks down her grey face. I lunged desperately at Janac, but again a blow dropped me to my knees.

  ‘Careful now Martin,’ said the voice, in a measured tone from above me, ‘it's my game after
all, and I might just change the rules and blow your girlfriend's brains out. Much as that would disappoint me.’

  I forced my breathing to slow, and squeezed my eyes shut against the pain from my head. And didn't twitch a muscle. I must have laid there for several minutes. The boat was quiet and still. There were few waves and no wind. The engine was off again. Precious time I thought, there could be so little left. And I'm spending it gagged and trussed, too scared to move. Then I heard the other boat bang alongside. We had been waiting for Scott and Duval to be delivered to us. There was some heavy thuds. I wondered how bad Duval's arm injury had been. Bad enough to be a lot worse after a night without hospital treatment. God, what kind of a time had they had? Duval injured, and Scott trapped with a man he despised who held the life of his girlfriend in his hands. Knowing that Kate was with me. He didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve any of it. None of us did.

  I was jerked to my feet. The other three were already lined up by the guardrails on the port side, all on their knees, about six feet apart. It flashed through my mind that I could just slide into the water, that drowning might be better. But that was no chance at all. I wanted a chance. I was pushed into line beside Scott. He didn't even look at me. Just stared straight ahead.

  The rest of the scum were gathering around Janac to watch. Lounged over the pedestals and guard rails. A blur of chatter and laughter. The sickness I felt in my stomach started to spread. I closed my eyes quickly, but the feeling was infecting every part of my body. Think about Kate, my mind said, think about Kate. I looked around, Janac already had her box open. He stepped back and unfolded the paper carefully. His voice rang out. One word. But not in English. The mob was hushed. I twisted my neck to watch Kate as he reached for the box round Duval's neck. Her head was down, her shoulders slumped forward.