by Keith Short
He trotted up the stone staircase to look outside in the square. Perhaps she’d come up for fresh air? The night air was cool and the gentle breeze cleared the stuffiness from his head. A group of smokers chatted in their little huddle. They hadn’t noticed anyone of Magda’s description. Concerned, he returned to the bar and enquired around the tables.
‘A good-looking blonde girl, my age. Did you see her leave?’
A shrug of shoulders from a disinterested group of male students.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for my girlfriend. We were sat at the bar about fifteen minutes earlier.’
‘Sorry, we’ve just arrived.’
Nothing from the bar staff; most of them were too busy to bother with him.
Concern became anxiety. Magda wouldn’t just go off like that. He was about to ask a female customer to check the ladies’ toilet for him, when he noticed a middle-aged couple staring at him from a table at the back of the room. Perhaps they knew something.
‘There was someone. Over there.’ The man pointed. ‘She was drunk, slumped between two men. She couldn’t walk and they had to slide her feet along the floor. I saw them help her towards the far staircase. It’s at the end of that corridor and it leads up to the rear courtyard. Perhaps she’s outside sobering up?’
‘Thanks. I’ll check it out.’
They must have been mistaken, Magda didn’t drink. A cold sweat came over him. Half an hour since he last saw her, nothing to go on, he ran up the stairs three at a time. The back of the building was deserted. He searched the whole club again, three more times, bumping into folk, stumbling into tables. Anxiety turned to panic.
‘Hey! You take care where you’re treading, my friend.’
He checked the front entrance again. Nothing. Where was she?
Call her.
Not available.
Call Szymon.
‘She hasn’t contacted me. Are you OK, Leon?’
He checked again at the bar.
‘Sorry, sir. I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. Perhaps you had a tiff?’
‘Not really.’
Call the police.
‘Yes, sir. If you’d like to come down to the station and provide some details.’
Leon caught sight of a man at the far end of the room who seemed to be staring at him. The man averted his gaze, slid off the bar stool and left the club. Exhausted and distraught, Leon sat down on the stool he’d vacated.
Where did she go?
This was his second visit to the Keller Klub since Saturday evening. As for the first visit, Leon arrived early before the bar became too busy. Different staff at work tonight and at last he’d found one who might be able to help.
‘Yes, I remember the girl. I noticed how elegant and well-dressed she was.’
The butterflies in Leon’s stomach took flight and his hopes rose with them.
‘OK, let’s talk about it. I’m Leon. What’s your name?’
‘I’m Zena. Are you a cop?’
Zena was a tiny girl, twenty perhaps, and seemed to have an ideal personality for this line of work. Let’s hope she’s observant. ‘No, I’m not a cop,’ he said, trying to reassure her. ‘How was she dressed? Do you remember?’
‘I do. She wore a smart white blouse and a short black waistcoat. I’d die for a waistcoat like that, I would. Never going to afford one though, not on my wages.’
‘Did you see what happened to her?’
‘Something odd happened. I saw it from that end of the bar –’ she pointed ‘– where I was working.’
‘What did you see, Zena?’
‘These two guys left with her and I thought I saw her stagger a bit. That’s what was odd. She hadn’t been drinking alcohol as far as I could remember. And like I say, she was so elegant and ladylike while she sat at the bar. But all sorts can happen on a busy night. I thought nothing of it and decided not to get involved.’
‘The men you saw, did you know them?’
‘I know one of them by sight. He always comes in on jazz nights. A bit of all right, actually. Don’t know his name though. The other one, I’ve never seen before.’
‘You’ve been helpful, Zena. Look, if this guy comes in again, can you call me? Here’s my card. I promise you, I’m not the police.’
At last, the prospect of meeting someone who assisted Magda that evening. Surely, he must have some idea about what happened to her.
To Leon’s delight, Zena came up trumps at the very next jazz night, a day later. He rushed down to the club to meet her bit of all right.
‘She was your bird, was she? A good-looker that one. But she was in a right state.’
‘Can you tell me everything you remember? It’s important.’
‘Something wrong, mate? I don’t want to get involved in any marital spats.’
‘No, there’s no issue for you. It’s just that I haven’t seen her since that night. She’s gone missing.’
‘Well, she was fine when I left her.’
‘You left her? You said she was in a bad state, why did you leave her?’
‘We took her up to the courtyard. The other dude, he said it was all right for me to go. He’d look after her. Seemed like a decent guy, so I just came back down to the music.’
‘This other man, did you know him?’
‘Never seen him before in my life, mate. But he did have the decency to come back and tell me she was OK and that he’d ordered her a cab. Then he left. Listen, if you’re worried, why don’t we go to the police? I’d be happy to talk to them if you want. But I’ve already told you everything I know.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. Thanks anyway, you’ve been very helpful.’ Looks like a long night for me, trawling around the taxi firms.
CHAPTER 15
The bedroom was large and opulent. The soft white lighting created shadows that merged and unravelled in time with the throbbing pain behind her eyes. This had to be a dream. But dreams were about places you knew, weren’t they? Or if you’ve never been in the place before, its dimensions were vague and distorted. I can see every detail. This place was real.
‘Good morning, Ana.’
The voice sounded real enough. A male voice, not as intoxicating as the female voice of the Melomet but almost as reassuring.
‘Who are you?’
‘Who I am is not important. We’re going to look after you from now, Ana. You will have a life of bliss.’
‘I’m not Ana!’
Raising her voice made the pain in Magda’s head worse. ‘What am I doing here?’
‘All in good time. But for now, you need sleep. Someone will come along and give you something. Goodnight, Ana.’
‘Wait, don’t go. At least tell me how I got here.’
‘You came by helicopter.’
Her mind, like her eyes, began to focus. The beat of whirling blades, a dark human shadow − the sting of the hypodermic needle made her feel warm, she remembered. There were others on board − a bleak atmosphere of panic and fear among them. Russian voices trying to calm them down. Did they crash?
‘The others, who were they? What happened to them?’
‘They came to no harm, Ana.’ The voice was beside her now. ‘Don’t worry about them.’
‘I’m not Ana. What are you doing to me?’
‘All in good time.’ The last thing she heard him say as she felt the cold fluid enter her vein.
She woke to the echo of approaching footsteps. The soft bed was now a hard table to which her limp body was stuck and she could do nothing but watch as the man in a white lab coat slid the hypodermic into her forearm.
‘Where is this place?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ he said, checking the monitors to her side and shaking his head in apparent disappointment.
She recalled the vivid flash
of light. A light of such intensity would have burned out her retinas; it must have been generated inside her head. And what about the classical music? She could see no audio speakers; that had to be inside her head too. The thought that they’d tampered with her mind sent her into a tailspin of panic.
‘What do you want with me?’
‘We’re preparing you for your new life, Ana,’ came a distant voice.
More than one of them. Her final thought as she drifted back into her dreamworld.
She stood alone in a scorching desert and looked into the sky. The lengthy equation she’d assembled spanned five long rows – hieroglyphics to the non-mathematical but mesmerising against the backcloth of electric blue. She added and deleted until she had perfection, stepped back and admired her work. Into her dreamscape came the helicopters. The noise was deafening but she couldn’t see them. Their beating blades blew the first symbol out of the sky and it fluttered down to earth, turning to dust in the desert sand. Line by line they dismantled her beautiful creation. Mathematical symbols fell like autumn leaves until the sky was empty. Empty, except for that brilliant fusion reactor they called the sun.
‘Leon!’ she cried aloud. ‘Where are you, Leon?’
Magda came to in a room that was warm with a smell of fresh paint. She rubbed the crusted sleep from her eyes, rolled down the sleeve of her pyjama top and eased herself out of the bed. Standing was difficult but she soon got the hang of it and started to totter around her new environment. In the bathroom, she found a towelling gown and soft slippers in her size; without thinking, she put them on and set off to explore. State-of-the-art kitchen, expensive furniture – this place was impressive. Why no windows? No pictures or any other forms of wall art, everything was decorated white. A door to the outside? That was white too. No lock, no door handle, she tried pushing it. Nothing happened.
‘Door open!’
No response.
‘Magda!’
Still no response.
No Melomet, she decided. She was trapped until someone chose to let her out.
In the open-plan living and dining area, she poured a glass of drinking water from the filter-tap and gulped it down greedily; it tasted good in her dry mouth. She refilled, set the glass down on the coffee table and slumped down in the sumptuous armchair. I’m hungry − when will they feed me? She’d come from an obscure world with strange voices. Why had they put her in a place like this? So many questions, no one to answer.
As if she’d rubbed a magic lamp, the door chimes tinkled and the section of wall above the entrance came to life. There was a lobby on the other side of that door. The overhead view on the screen revealed the top of a man’s head. Jet-black hair and muscular torso beneath – he’d found her.
‘Leon!’
She rushed to the door and tried to open it with her fingernails. In frustration, she banged at it with her clenched fists until they ached.
‘Leon! I’m in here. Can you hear me?’
The door opened.
In the lobby, a young man stood smiling. She threw her arms wide, inviting him to hug her. ‘Leon . . .’ Her voice tailed off to a deflated moan, her arms flopped by her sides and her head sunk on to her chin. Her visitor strode jauntily into the apartment and the door closed behind him.
‘What do you think of it?’ he said, opening his arms and spinning around on the spot like a ballet dancer.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, making no attempt to conceal her disappointment.
‘I am Sergei, your personal training instructor,’ he replied, snapping to attention.
Disappointment turned to anger. ‘Well, PTI Sergei, I don’t recall joining a health spa. Just tell me what I’m doing here.’
‘All in good time, Ana. Today is about introductions. I’m sure we’re going to get along fine.’
He was Russian. His English was good, but he spoke with those hints of accent and diction that can never be shaken off.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said.
‘I am. I’m starving.’
‘I’ll arrange for a meal to be sent down to you. You’ll be impressed, I promise.’
Sent down, he said. So how far was up? She could tell there was little point in pursuing him for answers. Besides, she could think no further than food at the moment.
‘Goodbye, Ana. I’ll come back in the morning, at around eight. You’ll find suitable clothing for exercise in your bedroom.’
That was his introduction? She wanted to scream at him, tell him she wasn’t Ana. But she had no energy. There’d be a better time for asking questions. And then I’ll squeeze the blood out of him – whoever he is.
The following morning, Sergei turned up on time and let himself into her apartment. Magda was dressed in a Lycra suit, sweatband and trainers − ready for whatever Sergei had in mind but feeling a tad ridiculous. ‘Before we go, PTI Sergei, there are a few things I’d like to talk about. This place, and—’
‘No time for that, Ana, we have a tight schedule.’
The gym was located two levels down from her apartment, at the end of a short corridor.
‘Where is everybody?’
‘This is it,’ he answered as he set the treadmill’s inclination, ‘booked exclusively to us for the next hour.’
‘And the next clients are?’
Sergei chortled and shook his head as he continued to adjust the machine’s programme. This was a case of doing as she was told until she could figure out what was going on.
She followed Sergei’s instructions to the letter throughout the thirty-minute workout. The session was easy, although her laboured breathing and long recovery times left her both surprised and disappointed. Thought I was fitter than that. When the session was over, her attention returned to her predicament, yet there was an underlying feeling of euphoria that she couldn’t explain. For a moment, she even felt pleased to be here. They must have drugged me.
‘Sergei, you’re going to have to tell me what this is all about. You can’t hold out on me any longer. I deserve—’
‘All in good time, Ana.’
CHAPTER 16
Leon watched in silence as the police sergeant nonchalantly scanned through his scribbled notes.
‘When was the last time you saw her, Dr Dabrowski?’
‘Saturday evening.’
‘And it’s now Wednesday. What makes you think she’s missing?’
‘She failed to show up yesterday at an important Jagiellonian seminar. I’ve tried contacting her, but no answer.’
‘Could she be ill? Have you tried contacting her parents?’
‘Foster parents, actually – both dead. Look, officer, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours retracing every possible lead and trawling the video-net. She’s a mature woman, a prominent professor. She’s a professional. You get that?’
‘Calm down, sir. We have a procedure to go through. Do you know how many missing persons we have on our books?’
‘No, but I doubt you have any like this one. She’s well known, revered by her colleagues. You need to understand that.’
‘Sorry, young man,’ the police sergeant said, with contempt. ‘I don’t know her at all. She may be important in academic circles, but she’s no celebrity. She isn’t a pop star or a sports personality, is she? With respect, she’s hardly a household name.’
‘And she’s not one of your run-of-the-mill vulnerable persons, as you call them. What are you intending to do about it? It’s out of character. I’m frantic with worry.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ the sergeant conceded, sitting up and at last making the effort to look interested. ‘How about this? We’ll contact the broadcast companies, see if we can get a public appeal out. Now, if you’ll just speak into this wafer-board, we’ll take some details.’
Leon stood up in a rage, incensed by this petty bureaucrat. ‘I want y
our help on this!’ he yelled, kicking his chair in frustration. The chair rebounded off the wall to his side and clattered against the sergeant’s desk. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow. And I want to see some progress.’ His head boiling like a kettle, he pointed his finger at the sergeant. ‘And you had better be here in person, officer.’
The inspector seemed to be genuinely interested in the case. At least he was more enthusiastic than that useless sergeant he’d met last week.
‘Her disappearance is well publicised. We’ve had another five potential sightings in the past week, spread throughout the whole of Europe. We’ve tracked down every friend, every associate, all visitors to her university faculty, everyone we can think of. We’re doing all we can.’
Leon wasn’t impressed. ‘Tell me something I don’t know. Don’t you think I’ve already done that myself?’
‘We’re putting out feelers in the Immigration Departments throughout Western Europe.’
‘Why are you doing that?’
The inspector got out of his seat and paced back and forth. ‘I want you to consider the following possibility, Dr Dabrowski. It’s not a pleasant thought, but we have to look at all potential outcomes.’
Leon knew he was about to be told something he wasn’t going to like.
‘Back in the nineteen nineties, there was a spate of abductions by Eastern European gangs. Attractive young girls from Western Europe, most of them English travelling abroad alone or in pairs, were taken by these gangs while holidaying in cities like Paris, Berlin, Brussels. They were used mercilessly as prostitutes in countries like Turkey and Russia. Those who were lucky ended up in the harems of rich Arabs. Those who weren’t so lucky . . . well, I won’t go into that. This sex trafficking as it came to be known was eventually dealt with by the police authorities and all but snuffed out.’ He sat back into his seat and sighed. ‘But, sad to say, it’s begun to re-emerge. This time the flow is from east to west, from Eastern Europe.’
