The Defector

by Mark Chisnell

  Once again he turned to his men, unfolding the piece of paper. Again, one word. But the same word. The onlookers cheered, waving automatics in the air, bandoliers and headscarfs flapping. A couple loosed off rounds before a disapproving glance from Janac silenced them. What were they cheering? Two cooperates or two defects? The revolver appeared, Janac looked pleased with himself. It must be two defects. I stole a glance at Scott, he still stared straight ahead. There was a little dried blood on his forehead, but no expression, no emotion. I heard the chamber click open and my eyes went back to the gun. He held it upside down to show it was empty, then pulled a shell from the clip at his waist and carefully loaded it. Time seemed suspended as he hesitated over the next move. Then he loaded another. And another.

  They had both defected. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And I couldn't do either. I was choking on emotion I couldn't describe. She had done it. Thank god, she could be dead now. That bastard Duval. But then I heard the chamber shut. Two to one odds. My eyes dragged back to her. The chamber span. He levelled the weapon at her forehead. She didn't flinch. I couldn't believe she was going to die. I couldn't believe how much I loved her. I wanted to scream, to pound, batter, bloody the bastard who tortured us. He was looking straight into her eyes, finger slowly increasing the pressure on the trigger. I flinched away.

  Click. The relief left me dazed, giddy. She was alive. She was going to make it. Now we had a chance. My mind raced ahead, out of control, unaccountable. Till a tiny voice said, maybe she was going to watch me die.

  Then the pistol report exploded. Duval. I looked back. Janac was staring at the smoking gun with a faintly amused expression, as though he hadn't expected it to go off. As Duval slumped forward I saw the gaping hole where the back of his head had been. The body hit the deck, twitched, blood spreading quickly around it. And I knew I was going to throw up. The warm, acid vomit surged up against the gag. I choked hard as I tried to swallow, my lungs started to fill. But hands ripped the gag off and beat my back. I spat and heaved and choked, and finally sucked in air, beautiful air. I blew my nose clear and immediately found the gag back in my mouth. I writhed against the acrid taste of my own puke. Janac was talking to me, ‘Whoo Martin, that could have been a real bummer. We wouldn't want you suffocating on us and cheating me of all the fun, would we?’

  I looked up at him, hands on hips, still that cynical smile on his face. I flexed against the bindings one more time. And the scream came from deep inside - and pounded soundlessly against the cloth of the gag. And then I was looking at Kate. She was sitting on the edge of the cockpit. Near the rest of them. The reprieved sitting with the torturers. She was twenty feet and a lifetime away. I ached now. Ached with fear and hate and longing. And a tiny bit of hope. It could be alright. One of them was pulling her gag off. The beautiful mouth I had kissed such a short time ago. But her expression was blank. You've got to be happy I tried to tell her, staring it into her eyes. He took the same chances as you. You had no choice. He acted for himself and you had to respond in kind. Dog eat dog Kate, I shouted at her in silence. And men eat men.

  Still she stared ahead. Unwillingly I followed her gaze to where Duval had been. There was no sign of him. It was as though he had never been. They must have pushed him overboard. She sat there, transfixed. I cast my eyes up at Scott. He was set in stone. I hadn't seen him move since the start of this. What did you answer Scott? Cooperate or defect? But there was no reply from the passionless, unblinking eyes. He didn't even look at Kate. Does he love her, I wondered. If he lives and I die, how will they talk about me? What will they say? Will she tell him about last night? Will they even stay together? I could feel the tears forming. So sad. It was all so desperately sad.

  But then the hands were at Scott's neck, and my heart jumped into my brain and pumped it into overload. The little ivory inlaid lid clicked back and the thin fingers delicately pulled the paper out. I watched him carry it away to the others. They were restless now, on the blood scent. I heard the word, but couldn't register it. Was it the same as last time? Or different? He was walking back towards me. My heart was pounding so hard all I could hear was the blood flowing. His hands were on the box round my neck and I noticed how beautifully manicured the nails were. I shuddered uncontrollably. A sick mind and perfect hands. His voice came through the haze, a radio tuned to the wrong wavelength, ‘So what was it Martin? What did you decide? What is the future for mankind?’

  He turned away again and the word was lost to the thunder in my head and the cheers from the crowd. I glanced around wildly for some clue to my fate, Kate had looked up, she was staring at us both, she looked confused. But Scott, he was looking right at me. His eyes, what was that expression in his eyes? I heard the revolver hammer click back. But it wasn't pointed at me. And the chamber wasn't spun. It was clicked slowly into place on a live round. No, Scott, it can't be, how could it? He turned away from me now, to look at Kate. She was on her feet, she looked so frightened. I glanced back to Janac, he too was staring at me. A thin smile twitched on his lips, as his finger closed around the trigger. Something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

  The realisation came at me with a rush - the son of a bitch was going to betray the game. The thunder in my head turned to a roar and the roar said - do something. A reflex rooted deep in the ages of man twitched the right muscles and my legs straightened in a spasm. One foot found a stanchion behind me and the sudden purchase propelled me forward with a gagged roar of incoherent anger. I flew at Janac and struck hard bone with the top of my head. The world exploded in a cascade of light. But I heard the gun go off in the same instant and the blind, hot rage drove me on. All this, to play his fucking game, and then he just kills Scott anyway.

  We both went down hard, I twisted to take the impact on my right shoulder, Janac under me. I heard him gasp as I hit him in the midrift this time. I felt rather than saw the muscle spasm the double blow had achieved. The speed and violence of the move had done the impossible and given me the advantage. I had the bastard cold. I rolled onto my feet as his hands twitched protectively, instinctively across his stomach. His eyes were glazed, unseeing. He was down and I was going for the kill - foot raised to stamp on his unprotected throat. But even as I lunged at him my supporting leg went from under me - in the fury of the onslaught I had forgotten the others. I hit the deck again, but this time I was unprepared. I took it badly, landing on my back across something hard and unyielding. Pain flashed up my spine and seared through the cortex, deep into my brain. But sensation lasted only an instant longer. As the next blow struck home, everything went black.

  I was going down for the last time, kicking hard but hopelessly, arms tied. Waves crashing over me, unable to get back up for another breath. I sucked in water, blowing, snorting, gasping - but consciousness kicked in to save me and I came to with a sharp stab of pain. I stared wild-eyed at the blurred, red-filmed scene around me. Janac was leaning on a winch pedestal nearby, hands across his belly, eyes focused on some other reality. One of the Thais stood over me, water dripping from the bucket in his hand. Kate was held by another. She was struggling hard, twisting, turning, all the time yelling at Janac - a stream of frenzied invective. Suddenly she was free and beside me. Her hand touched my temple.

  ‘Kate, I didn't defect.’ I gasped out.

  Then she was gone, pulled away by strong arms, now struggling again, spitting, screaming. I twisted round, blinking quickly to clear the blood and water from my eyes. Scott was crumpled, beaten, slumped against the guard rails, eyes closed. But still alive.

  I turned back as Janac eased himself upright. He walked a couple of paces, bent down gingerly, and picked up the revolver from where it had landed. Spoke some words. I was grabbed on both sides by unseen hands and dragged back towards the guardrail, dumped beside Scott, who still hadn't moved. This time they stayed with me, hands firmly on my shoulders. Janac watched this, then turned towards where Kate was still struggling. He raised the gun and shouted, ‘Silence!’


  Kate stared back, her gaze steadier than either his voice or the weapon. But everyone responded. Emotion and violence ebbed away into a surreal quiet. Janac slowly lowered the gun, and turned, once again, to face me. The silence lasted forever. My battered body screaming at me for a pain relief I couldn't provide. But Janac could. With the revolver that hung in a white-knuckled grip by his side.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that I struggled to hear him. ‘So help me, I should kill you all.’ he whispered, staring at me. His tongue flickered out to wet the thin lips. His hands, working blind, slid the six-chambered cylinder open. Two empty shells clattered onto the deck. One live round was left. This was it. I swallowed heavily. Fuck him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking I was afraid. I held his gaze, my hatred reflecting every watt of the anger I saw in his face. He would surely kill us now. I expected him to reach for another round. But he didn't.

  Instead, his free hand came up to the tunic's breast pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette packet. He flicked the top and eased out a smoke with his mouth. It drooped sadly, it's back broken. Janac looked down at it, snapped off the damaged end, then pulled out the Zippo and lit what was left. The tiniest spark of hope flared in me along with that cigarette. He took two long drags, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. The action seemed to soothe him, the anger dispersing with the smoke that drifted slowly away on the somnolent air.

  Finally, he spoke again, ‘Gutsy move Martin.’ he said. The tone was different, still quiet, without the anger, but tinged with something else that I couldn't pin down. Certainly, all the earlier sadistic exuberance was gone. ‘Stupid, but gutsy. What the hell do you think these people would have done to you if you'd taken me out... ?’ He shrugged a shoulder at them, ‘I'm the only thing between you and them. Me and the game, we're the best chance you and the girl have got. You should know that.’ He paused, pulled on the cigarette till it burned fiercely down to his fingers. Then he flicked it into the silent, watching ocean, which responded with a quiet hiss.

  But for all the nonchalance he was tracking my thoughts with the precision of a hunter, ‘But you thought I was going to kill him anyway.’ his words disturbed the exhaled smoke, a cartoon bubble over his head. ‘You were about to see your cooperation, your brave stand for conscience, rendered totally worthless.’ A trace of a smile flickered across his lips. ‘I understand the desperation, but I didn't anticipate the reaction. I underestimated you again Martin, didn't think you'd have the balls for something like that.’ There was a heavy silence. We gazed at each other through the soft, early morning light. I was completely still, my face a mask. Revealing nothing, unsure which way this was going to go. ‘So,’ he went on, finally, ‘I'll forgive your reaction to my little joke.’

  Joke? Christ, some fucking joke.

  ‘And you turned out to be a co-operator.’ he continued, quickly this time, ‘I was wrong about that too. When I saw Scott'd cooperated I thought it was perfect. I was sure you'd defect Martin. I'd get to kill Scott, and you'd have to live with it for the rest of your life. You and the girl. Perfect unhappiness. Divine lack of bliss.’ Now there was definitely a wry smile, the yellow teeth flashed, ‘Perhaps I should have just killed Scott. Who would ever have known?’ Then the smile disappeared and I suddenly saw what it was in his voice - a sadness, ‘I couldn't do it though. We have to play the game. I said that all along, you must play the game. The game is everything. I'll respect your decision.’ He shook his head, a disappointed father, ‘You were one of us Martin. You could have been one of us. You could have been free now. You and Kate together.’ But somewhere in his voice, his face, there was a recognition that with Scott's blood between us, Kate and I could never be reconciled. ‘That was your destiny Martin. And you have denied it. So now you and Scott must take your chances, at six to one.’

  Six to one, two co-operators.

  The chamber span with a rattle and clicked shut. And the gun was raised and levelled at Scott's forehead. I don't think he even knew. His head was still down. I can't imagine what he went through the time before. Knowing he was about to die. Knowing that it was my fault. Knowing that I would be left alive. I had seen it all in his eyes. That moment had finished him. His head was still down. He didn't know it when the gun went off.

  The report ripped through the still air. Jarring, brutalising the quiet. It happened so quickly, Janac had moved so fast. Death crashing back into the party so suddenly even the watchers were surprised. But slowly, the stunned silence was replaced by an animal murmur of satisfaction rippling out through the crowd. It grew, fanning the flickering flames of emotion that threatened to engulf me. Burning, searing hate and anger; glowing, throbbing pain and fear. Ben, Duval, now Scott. I fought to extinguish everything but the hate. I'd hate that bastard till I saw him in hell. My head went down, eyes closed. Focus on the hate. Forget Kate. Forget everything.

  ‘Goddamn it Martin. That should have been you. Six to one.’ it was Janac. More life in his voice. I felt one of the men beside me move, heard the splash as Scott's body went over the side. Just like Duval before him. I heard the chamber click open, the tinny rattle as the empty shell bounced on the deck. The solid clunk as the fresh round clicked home.

  ‘So here we are Martin. The final act. Live or die? The odds must be on your side now. You should make it. But of course, each spin is a separate event. No causal connection to help you. Just the odds, they're with you.’

  Slowly I raised my head, took in Kate, crying silent tears, wet streaks down her face, frightened eyes. But I had no fear now. Only the hate. I looked Janac in the eye. Still bloodshot. Still crazy. Come on you bastard. Do it. Do it now. We've come all this way. Let's finish it. The chamber span once again with its death rattle, snapped shut in the smooth, practiced movement. Pointed at my brains. Six to One. Fuck you Janac, I murmured into the gag, with no more strength for screaming. You haven't beaten me. And you know it. His finger tightened and the hammer fell. Fell onto an empty chamber. Fell with a hollow click. A click. The sweet sound of life.

  Epilogue

  Janac did let us go. With some food and water, even some diesel. We motored and sailed for four or five days I think, I don't remember too well. They found us as we neared the Australian coast. First a fishing boat, then soon, the Navy. There was a trial. A media circus. But Alex's disappearance supported our story. The jury believed us and we got through it - together.

  We're still together, Kate and I. It hasn't been easy. I'm sure it never will be. Time heals they say. But he'll always be with us, in the quiet moments. In the dark. Alone and together, Scott will be there. But we can be there for each other too. We can share it.

  It would have been so different if that first shot had killed Scott. Just a joke? Maybe. Or did my crazy charge stop him? That and the cooperation. Perhaps as I had thought back on Ko Samui, the selfless answer had the power to set me free.

  But I'll never really know, never understand. How can you understand? Grasping at the motives of a madman could send you crazy. Whatever happened, he didn't kill him then. And so everything is the same, but different. I did the right thing. I can be there for Kate. It's going to be alright. Sometimes you just know these things.

  *****

  Have You Read The Wrecking Crew?

  Janac’s back...

  Chapter 1

  Phillip Hamnet rattled quickly down the two flights of stairs from the bridge, his shoes skidding lightly across the steps hollowed and smoothed by countless watch changes. The master of the MV Shawould hit the deck at the bottom and strode along the passage to his cabin. He grabbed the handle and, with the deftness of practice, twisted and lifted. The door, with its sadly sagging hinges, still opened unwillingly. His wife, Anna, looked up at the noise and smiled as he entered. The door fell shut behind him.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, watching him carefully. A white T-shirt was stuck to his wiry frame, and a sheen of sweat and grease layered his tanned forehead. He looked heroically exhau
sted, she reflected, the handsome face stubbled and sagging off the high cheekbones, the hazel eyes shadowed by bags. And the matted blond hair needed cutting.

  Hamnet dropped into a chair by the small dinner table they had set up in his day room. ‘I suppose. That damned cargo never showed up. I just got the word from the company to go anyway. We’ve slipped anchor and headed down the channel. It looks like there’s some bad weather coming, but they want us moving, all antsy because we’re late now, when it’s their phantom cargo that’s caused it.’ He paused. ‘I left Richardson up there. It’s his watch, and supper’s waited long enough.’

  Anna nodded, and in silence served two portions of a rice dish. Hamnet stared at the electric fan, brooding. It struggled hopelessly to move the heavy air around the cabin, and the full weight of the tropics bore down on them — at its most oppressive and threatening in these moments before a storm. Anna coughed lightly. Hamnet sighed, glanced round and took the proffered plate.

  ‘God, it’s hot in here. Can I open the door?’ he said, putting the plate down and rising from his seat.

  ‘Of course. I only closed it while I was showering,’ replied Anna.

  Hamnet looked at his wife for the first time since entering the cabin. She was cool and composed in her light silk robe — an effect the water in the ship’s tanks was just about cold enough to produce. But it wouldn’t last for long. He pulled the door open and jammed a wedge under it to keep it that way, kicking it into place with unnecessary aggression.

  ‘Hey, cheer up, it’s the last trip,’ chided Anna as she reached for a bottle of white wine and poured him a large glass.