It had been a few hours since they had any contact with the masked men. Mackenzie was thinking of the masks that they wore: the grinning smile was quite unsettling. Why would they wear masks? Maybe it was reassuring, as concealing their identities meant that the prisoners would be freed some time. Better than the alternative. If they were able to identify their kidnappers, who knows what the end results would be. She shuddered at the thought.
She knew they were being monitored. The quiet movement of the closed-circuit camera gave that away. Things will work out. Pray. Just keep calm. She needed to remain calm to help her think clearly. She wondered where Paul was—they were together, but . . . like a flash . . . one minute they were walking, talking, and then . . .
She was also annoyed because she didn’t break the law. She didn’t jaywalk. Her law-abiding ways drove her crazy sometimes. Always has to do the right thing. No speeding tickets, no fines for anything. She strongly believed laws were to be obeyed. It was not drilled into her by her parents, just some inner code inside her. She was obeying the ‘Don’t Walk’ indicator. Somebody pushed her onto the road.
Mackenzie realised she was staring at the man who pushed her, and he was staring right back at her. She turned away. She wondered about the dark smudge under one of his eyes.
She heard the door open and turned to see the hosts return. They had the silly masks on again but that was okay if it meant she would be released. Mackenzie could not get over the size of the nose. But she knew politicians, especially American presidents, were popular targets for caricature artists.
The bulkier man spoke. “If you could all take your seats please, we have a small presentation for you and then you’ll be taken to your accommodation”.
Mackenzie remained standing. She watched his lips moving behind Nixon’s big lips. She noticed hair above his top lip: he had a moustache. Then it hit home what he’d actually said. “Excuse me . . . accommodation . . . how long are you planning on keeping us here?” she asked.
“Not long. We’re quite a distance from the city and we plan to transport you all back there tomorrow, using conventional transport. A bus will be here in the morning.”
“Excuse me . . . I look forward to the bus trip . . . but could you tell me if my friend is safe?” asked Mackenzie, she had a nagging feeling about Paul.
“You’ll see him tomorrow,” the bulkier man said.
The nagging feeling did not go away. She watched as the big man pushed a button on a remote. A soft motor sound came from the end of the room. A screen came sliding down out of its casing. The lights dimmed, a shutter came down on the window. Mackenzie picked up a sniff of something, a musky, earthy smell. She was sure it came in with that big man.
Mackenzie watched the presentation, but her thoughts were on Paul. Maybe he was still back there at the crossing, scratching his head, trying to work out where she had gone. But that was hours ago. Maybe he was with the search party. Where would they look? She had no idea where they were.
The lights were all back on now. Mackenzie watched the shutter going up on the window, the light invading the darkness. She got up and walked towards the window. It must be near or past lunchtime. Her stomach was rumbling. She looked at the table at the back of the room—there was a bowl of fruit there, so she walked over and grabbed an apple.
She turned and looked at the bulky guy. “Sir, I am quite angry with what you have done to us. How you expected us to sit through a presentation is beyond me. But we sat and watched, maybe because we’re numb. So we sort of have a picture of what you are up to, but surely there must have been another way of doing this. You talk about the ripple effect. Well, what about the effect this is having on our families and maybe our bodies?”
She sensed some nervousness with the big man and hoped the smaller man would get more into the conversation. She took a small bite of the apple. Her body thanked her.
“We understand but you see this is what we wanted to happen. You have been inconvenienced.” The smaller man was now contributing.
But she stared at the big man. There was something familiar about him. She felt like grabbing his mask and ripping it off. She looked again at the smaller man. “Inconvenienced. Yep, you’ve certainly got that part right.” She looked at her apple and took another bite. She watched as a few of the others walked over to the table and took some fruit.
“You will be back in touch with your families tomorrow and they will be much relieved.” The small man was nodding his head like it was bobbing on a spring, almost as though he was trying to convince himself.
“Yep, they will be relieved.” Mackenzie thought of her parents, then thought of Aaron and how he would sort these men out.
“But think of those that don’t come back. This is what we want to prevent. We were saying before we want people to obey laws. They are not, so we want to do something about it.” The small man was speaking again.
“But haven’t you broken the law by kidnapping us?” asked briefcase man.
The smaller Nixon paused and thought about the question. “I suppose we have, but we don’t believe they will pursue us because their energy and time will be taken up investigating the technology we have shown and the suggestions we will make. We believe our message will be strong enough to bring about changes to the law.”
“What do you mean by ‘suggestions’?”
“Well what you just saw . . . there really is no penalty for the so-called trivial laws. There are fines, there is something called probation for minor offences and then there is prison. We will be offering an alternative penalty.
“And what may that be?” asked briefcase man.
“Let’s focus on prison for a moment, while a criminal is in prison they can’t commit crimes, can’t rob people, break into houses or mug someone. On that level, prison does work. But from the other side, some have said that being in prison made them hard, functioning more like an animal than human. There’s a loss of sensitivity, lack of care and not being scared of returning to prison—a revolving door mentality. So we want to avoid prison.”
“But people who commit minor offences don’t end up in prison.”
“Repeat offenders do. And they keep offending because they are not sufficiently inconvenienced by the current punishments.”
“Why are you telling us this? Shouldn’t you be talking to the authorities?” One of the women spoke up.
“Not at this point. You are our messengers. As you can appreciate, if we were to appear in public we would be arrested, so we will wait for the appropriate time.”
Mackenzie looked around. She was tired. Most of the others had returned to their seats. They all looked weary, resigned to the fact that really there was not much they could do but wait it out. She pulled up a seat, and joined them. A bus trip back tomorrow. She couldn’t wait. It should be an interesting bus trip. How were they going to conceal their hideout? With blindfolds or blackened windows, maybe. Giddy up, horsey. Yes, she was tired.
Waiting was easier said than done. Mackenzie thought it would be a good idea maybe to get to know each other; it would also help kill some time.
Briefcase man was Graham, an entrepreneur, who owned a speciality coffee company now expanding into the Asian market. Everybody wanted an espresso after his introduction. Angela was a personal trainer and worked in a city gym. Mark was a backpacker on his way to buy some groceries. He was excited—backpackers want stories to tell, and he reckoned he was on to a good one here. Not everyone shared his enthusiasm. Barbara and Peter were tourists and weren’t overly excited about the deviation in their holiday plans. And Mackenzie was Mackenzie. She broke down when she told them about Paul. Barbara and Angela comforted her.
And there was the man with what looked like a tear tattooed on his face. He didn’t participate in their team building exercise. People didn’t want to push his involvement.
The introductions killed some time. Dimness came over the room. Hot food was wheeled in—pizzas. At least they knew they were near civilisation.
Chapter 18
AARON RETURNED TO HIS apartment late in the afternoon. He was none the wiser, and it had been a long day. Thoughts of Mackenzie made it hard to concentrate on anything else. His boss was sympathetic.
He had stopped near the site on the way back home and watched as emergency services personnel tried to control people, crazy people. Once news of a big event or accident got out crazy people came from everywhere to see what had happened. And this was a big event.
A group of people had placards declaring the end was near. Repent and be saved. Aaron wondered what church they belonged to—there was a drunk arguing with them, swaying forward and back. Some placard-holder’s friend stood ready to catch the man if his coordination skills completely failed.
Aaron needed some air so put on a sweatshirt and headed out to the balcony. He could see a helicopter hovering over the site. Why were people attracted to tragedies? Does it put people on a pedestal if they were able to tell others they saw where those people vanished? Everyone seemed to be seeking significance. He walked back inside thinking about dinner. He looked at his phone on the coffee table. Do people feel significant when they got text messages? Is someone more significant if they have a famous person’s autograph?
