by Keith Short
The monopod accelerated and Magda counted the seconds until they reached steady speed. She listened to the faint swish from what she presumed to be a monorail and mentally timed another minute. Her heart was pumping faster. They had to be over two kilometres from their starting point. That would surely be way beyond the bounds of her subterranean prison? A chance to escape?
When they reached their destination, Sergei pushed open the swing door that faced them on the platform and Magda and her travel colleagues entered the indoor arena. The vast hall had a six-lane running track at its centre and was totally enclosed with no windows; a single white panel lit the roof where she’d hoped to see skylights. Her heart sank. Thinking about it, she hadn’t noticed any elevation during their journey; they were probably still deep underground. She studied the layout of the stadium as they walked around its perimeter. The only additional exit was a wide double swing door behind the main stand. Over the door was a sign – ‘Warm-Up Area’. There was no escape from this place – no option but to get on with the race.
Ah well, here goes.
The rest of her competitors were already into their drills, striding along the warm-up area’s six-lane straight, encouraged by their vociferous coaches. Magda started her own preparations. For fifteen minutes, she followed Sergei’s instructions, gradually easing herself into the zone – that zombie-like state where she’d be primed for action and the world outside the race meant nothing.
‘Five minutes, ladies,’ the marshal called out. ‘Assemble outside the door as soon as you’re ready, please.’
She followed her competitors into the arena. The crowd in the stand began to applaud. Where did they appear from?
Stripping off her tracksuit and crouching to tie her running spikes, she surveyed the spectators. At one end of the stand she could make out a small cluster of Arabs – some traditionally dressed, others in western suits. The central seats were occupied by Chinese, chattering into their wafers and nodding vigorously among themselves. A few isolated spectators were scattered throughout the rest of the seating.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked Sergei, tipping her head up to indicate that she was referring to the Chinese group.
‘Gambling.’
‘You mean, they’re betting on the outcome of this race?’
‘Big bets. But don’t let it concern you. Just do your best.’
‘Do my best?’ If I don’t do well in this race, I become a piece of meat. She shook her head and slowly walked towards her mark.
‘Eight hundred metres, ladies. Four laps of the track,’ the starter announced. ‘Break after the cones at fifty.’ A tense silence fell over the arena. ‘To your marks!’
On the B of the bang.
The starter’s gun cracked. Magda snapped out along lane two. The spectators erupted into applause. Hard as you can, first five seconds are free. By thirty metres, she’d eased alongside the girl in lane three and settled into her steady pace. The break at fifty metres was hair-raising as all six girls attempted to funnel into the two inner lanes at once. The spectators cheered wildly at their animal-like jostling for position. Magda rode the pushing and elbowing well and even managed to give herself room on the outside. She looked up to the front of the field. The tiny Filipino was flying around the second bend, way ahead of the pack. She’s going too fast.
The adrenalin disappeared and by the end of the first lap, she was running relaxed. After the second lap, she was leading the chasing pack with two girls in front of her. Don’t go yet. End of the third lap – the bell. The two in front kicked and opened up a gap of ten metres. She wanted to accelerate but resisted the urge. Wind them in, they’ll come back to me. Final back straight, approaching the camber with one hundred metres to go – the two girls in front were fading and the three behind were losing touch. Final bend – stay in lane one, don’t run wide.
She entered the home straight. Thirty metres out, she hit the invisible tub of treacle and her world went into slow motion; she was deaf yet she knew the spectators would be shouting themselves hoarse. Twenty metres out – the girl in front wobbled to the side. Her legs have gone. Her stride shortened as lead weights materialised on her ankles. But Dinky-tot was slowing too. Go for her. Ten metres to go – she could almost touch her. With a huge last effort, Magda lurched across the track into the lane to her right, took one final torturous step and lunged towards the finish line. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye. It was Dinky-tot collapsing on to the track.
Magda’s limp upper body hit the track’s rubberised surface. The echoing roar of the spectators blasted her senses. Her head swimming, her chest heaving for breath, she slowly moved her hand across the track and touched the hand of the prostrate little girl to her side. Sweat streaming down her face and panting hard, Dinky-tot raised her chin from the floor and forced a smile. With the remnants of her strength, Magda nodded back to her. ‘Well done, champion.’
‘Third place, with a time of two minutes, twenty-two point six seconds, Heidi!’
There was polite applause from the spectators as the third-placed girl stepped up to receive her medal. The young Arab dignitary presented her with the bronze medal, stepped back and applauded her himself.
‘In second place, after a magnificent run and with a time of two minutes, twenty-one point two seconds, Ana!’
Magda stepped on to the podium. The Arab boy placed the silver medal around her neck and smiled at her. He rubbed his hand sensuously down the side of her thigh before nodding his approval and joining the crowd in their applause. Who the hell did he think he was? She wanted to take a swipe at him but knew better than to do that.
‘And in first place, with a time of two minutes, twenty-one point one seconds, the eight hundred metre champion is – Chloe!’
The Chinese went wild – even those who’d lost their bets, Magda imagined. She joined in with their applause, no thoughts of the dire circumstances that had taken over her life – until she noticed what was happening in front of her.
He must be sixteen, if that. The young Arab took the hand of the petite girl with the gold medal around her neck and assisted her down from the podium. To Magda’s horror, he ran his free hand across the girl’s breasts and unzipped her tracksuit top. As if expecting this, Chloe removed her top for him. Magda noticed that the stand had fallen silent. She looked across at the Chinese group, who uttered a soft cacophony of groans and gave each other surprised looks. To them, this was obviously an unexpected bonus.
The boy grabbed Chloe’s hand, whisked her to the high jump area and sat her at the edge of the landing mat. She bowed her head like an obedient concubine as he removed his robes. Knees together and hands in prayer on her lap, she offered no resistance as he pushed her shoulders and her torso dropped back on to the canvas.
Magda was transfixed, powerless to move. She could only wait like the others to see what would unfold next within this bizarre tableau. She glanced towards Sergei. He was frozen like the rest of them. Why doesn’t he do something?
The young Arab lifted Chloe’s feet off the floor and slipped off her tracksuit bottoms and Lycra running knickers. The spectators gasped as the boy’s loincloth dropped to the floor and he spread the girl’s legs apart with his hands. The crowd’s reaction caused Magda to look up again towards the stand. A man three rows back from the Chinese contingent was staring at her; he had to be the only person in the arena with no interest in what was going on in the high jump area. ‘You don’t scare me,’ she mouthed at him with venom.
The boy mounted Chloe. Magda could no longer bring herself to watch this depraved act. ‘Get me out of here, Sergei.’ He gave no response. ‘I mean now!’
They sat alone in the monopod, waiting for it to start. Magda broke the silence. ‘I want to ask you something, Sergei. And I want the truth.’
‘I think I know what it is, Ana. What would have happened if you’d have won?’
/> ‘Well?’
‘I didn’t give you any chance of winning, before the start. There were some fit girls in that field, most of them with running experience, and they’ve been training for longer than you. But I underestimated your willpower. The odds against you were enormous, by the way. Anyone backing you for a place today will be a rich man.’
‘Stop beating about the bush. Tell me what would have happened if I’d won that race.’
‘You would have resisted him, of course, and I would have stopped his bodyguards from becoming involved. It would have—’
‘Stopped them! Are you stupid? They looked like serious heavies to me.’ She felt the blood rush to her head.
Sergei stared at her with fire in his eyes. ‘I’m telling you, I would have stopped them.’
‘This is some sick fantasy world for super-rich perverts and gamblers. And I’m to become part of it.’ She unbelted herself from the seat. ‘You bastard!’ she yelled, flailing blows at his head. But Sergei obviously knew how to protect himself. He was even laughing behind the arms he used as his shield.
She refused to speak again for the duration of the journey. Did Sergei think this was one big laugh? Or was he a sadist? Either way, he’d looked into her eyes like never before – and it scared her. She was calm by the time they reached her quarters, but there was no getting away from her fate. That’s it, I’m to be used as a prostitute. Well, we’ll see about that.
CHAPTER 23
‘Where are we going, Sergei? Why aren’t we dressed for training?’
Sergei offered no answer. The elevator descended into the depths of the complex. She hadn’t been this far down before. What’s up with Sergei today? The elevator door opened.
The corridor was long and littered with marvellous paintings. Wow! At the end of the corridor, they stopped outside an enormous wooden door. Sergei opened it with his wafer. With no explanation, he eased her forward and the door closed behind her, leaving her inside a cavernous room.
‘Good morning, Professor Tomala,’ said the slim, elegant man behind the desk. She recognised him as the spectator who’d been studying her after yesterday’s race. ‘Please take a seat.’
‘You know who I am?’
‘Yes. You are a mathematician from the Jagiellonian Institute in Poland. An extremely competent one, I’m led to believe. I am Alexei Rodin.’
There was a distinct femininity in his soft voice. Who was he? ‘What am I doing here, Rodin? And I don’t want any bullshit. Why am I a prisoner in this bizarre underworld?’
‘A mistake, simple as that. It was our mistake.’
‘Come on, I need more than that. You’ve taken away my freedom. You’ve drugged me. You make me take part in a ludicrous race in front of gambling addicts and God knows who else. What are you up to?’
‘I’ll be straight with you, professor. We’ve assembled a cast of beautiful young ladies who are being trained to entertain important clients of ours. Think of this place as a wonderful holiday destination for the rich and affluent.’
‘You mean you run an upmarket brothel. And I’m to be a part of it? Not on your life. I hereby reject your offer, so can I go now?’
‘Ha! I appreciate your sense of humour, but it’s not as simple as that. As I said, incorporating you into our organisation was a mistake. Our . . . talent scouts, let’s call them, were unaware of who they were recruiting. I’m afraid we can’t let you go. You know too much and this whole set-up is highly confidential. Our clients insist on that, you understand.’
‘I understand your perverse logic, if that’s what you mean. But you’re holding these girls against their will.’
‘Not quite. They come to like it after a while. They adapt to their new environment.’
‘You mean you brainwash them into wanting to live underground. Well not me, Mr Rodin, whoever you are. I’d like to see the stars again and walk through a forest and take a tram to the city centre. I don’t even know where in the world I am, but I want out.’
‘You don’t seem to understand. We have no option but to retain you for the rest of your life. The risks and financial implications of your release would be unacceptable to our organisation. I’m sorry about that, but you’ll just have to come to terms with it. You are here for good. But rest assured, in your case I’ve decided you will not be part of the entertainment staff. We’ll respect your status in the society you left. We’ll even let you indulge yourself in your mathematical research and I’ll provide you with a computer in support of that. My advice is to accept it and make the best of it. Enjoy your new life.’
Magda was in shock. But there was no way she was going to give in to him. ‘The answer is no. You can’t keep me here against my will. People are looking for me right now and when they find out I’m being held prisoner, they’ll have your guts.’
‘And my response is this – you’re staying. And if you attempt to escape, your boyfriend and his family will be killed. This discussion is over, professor. I’ll have you conducted back to your quarters.’
Magda felt defeated. Her situation was worse than she’d imagined – and why hadn’t Rodin been concerned about them looking for her? She could continue to work on her escape strategy, of course, but it would have to be foolproof. She’d play along with their little games, offer them her full compliance while she searched for a weakness in their set-up. At least they weren’t going to drag her into their sordid world of prostitution. She had to be thankful for that.
Her thoughts were disrupted by a scuffling sound from the lobby. Couldn’t be Sergei, he’d escorted her back to her quarters thirty minutes earlier.
The doorbell tinkled and after fifteen seconds the door opened itself as usual.
‘Good day. I am Jakob. I have your computer.’
The grey old man wheeled his trolley straight past her. Magda had to laugh. ‘What’s that? Have you been raiding skips at the back of the Science Museum?’ At least Rodin had kept his promise and provided a computer. But what an antique.
Jakob looked at her with a blank expression. ‘Where do you want me to install it?’
‘Over there.’ She pointed to a recess at the back of her lounge.
Jakob wheeled the bulky trolley through to the anteroom and connected the equipment to the mains.
‘A keyboard?’ she said, feigning surprise. ‘And a mouse connected by wire.’
Her sarcasm seemed to go straight over the top of his head. ‘Yes, and you have many input-output devices,’ he said, pointing towards the old-fashioned disk drive. He picked half a dozen memory sticks from a tray and held them out in the palm of his hand.
‘Wow, that’s impressive,’ she said sarcastically, before spotting a bank of modern input-output sockets on the side of the computer’s monitor. Those may come in useful.
‘Yes, good system.’
Typical Russian sense of humour, she mused. He doesn’t have one.
With an expressionless face, Jakob continued to connect the individual components of the ancient system.
‘Are you an android, Jakob?’
No answer. He obviously didn’t understand the question.
She swivelled back and forth in her armchair and watched dispassionately as the old computer technician worked in silence. After fifteen minutes, he gave himself a satisfied nod and stepped back to admire the workstation he’d created.
‘I give demonstration.’
‘Ooh, I’m looking forward to that. Show me the voice control first, would you?’
‘No voice control,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Conventional input-output. You will—’
‘OK, OK. Just take me through the software you’ve provided.’ My God, where did they get him from? She’d already decided there was no way they’d provide her with any form of communication to the outside world. No Cloud access, no Melomet; it was a stand-alone system in every sense. At le
ast they wouldn’t be able to monitor her activities with this lot. She watched closely as Jakob navigated through the system software and the installed apps, making a mental note of any programme she’d need to inspect in more detail. There were a few useful maths algorithms, but they were well short of what she needed. Obviously trying to limit me. At least the computer’s memory size was nowhere near as stingy as she first feared.
‘And we have provided games. Look, you find them here.’
‘My God, some of these were written decades ago.’ Dungeons and Dragons, as old as the hills, but maybe she could deconstruct it and use it as the basis of her model.
Jakob ignored her remark and pressed on. ‘You like me to show how mathematics programs work?’
‘No thank you, Jakob. I’ll work that out myself. It will give me something to do.’
‘Oh? I thought perhaps you—’
‘Goodbye, Jakob!’
She waited until he let himself out; at least the old fossil knew how to operate a wafer. She studied once more the heap of junk they’d provided. What an insult; it was like someone buying Leon The Big Picture Book of Physics. She sat down and scanned through the preloaded software. This was all she was getting. Better than nothing, I suppose. Now I need to get some data.
It was a week after her interview with Rodin before Sergei turned up again. ‘We’re going for a swim today, Ana,’ he said. ‘You need to catch up on your fitness training.’
This was her opportunity. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Sergei. I’ll just get changed.’ She went into the bedroom.
‘Don’t be long,’ she heard him shout. ‘The pool is only free for an hour.’
‘Can you come through, Sergei? Something I want to show you.’
Sergei came into the room and stopped dead as soon as he saw her.
‘What do you think? I haven’t worn this one yet. Not too revealing, is it?’ One foot on the floor, the other on the bed, her sleek red all-in-one swim suit was having the effect she’d hoped for – this was going to work. ‘Fancied a change. The shiny black one makes me feel so unsexy.’ She tilted her head back in a sensuous laugh.
