Chapter 5 – Of fathers, felons and fire-arms

As the hours succeeded one another, the heat and the endless motion had caused Stacy to doze off. She was once again tucked under Mac's arm. Unable to sleep, Mac stared into the all-encompassing darkness replaying their conversation over in his mind.

"What happened to your dad Stacy?" he asked gently.

At first he thought she wasn't going to answer him. Then suddenly she began to talk. Not the happy chatter from that shopping trip earlier that morning but in a small, timid voice devoid of all emotion. She sounded as though she was reading from a dull school book, each word pronounced flatly with no feeling. "He's dead. We were going to Canada. He said that we were going to start a new life. We'd get a new house and he'd get a new job. He said we had to have new names too. But then our plane crashed and he died."

A plane crash? Mac was momentarily stunned. "Where was this Stacy?"

"I don't know. In the mountains. I was asleep in the back. Dad was flying. He was a pilot. There was a storm. I don't really remember what happened. After the crash I waited. I thought someone would come to rescue us but they didn't so … so I had … I had to ..." She broke off. Mac understood.

"You had to leave him. It's okay Stacy. You did the right thing. Go on."

"I was by a river. There were lots of rocks. There was this waterfall. It was steep and slippery and I got lost. I walked for ages through this forest and then I came across a trail so I followed it. Then I came to a track and followed that. There was a man fixing his truck. He was kinda' scary looking. My dad had said I shouldn't trust anyone so I climbed in the back of the truck without him seeing. I guess I fell asleep as when I woke we were in this yard and there was another man unloading the boxes. He yelled at me and I got scared and I ran. I kept running. I didn't know where I was so I kept going. Eventually I found out I was in New York. It was cold and raining so I went to the museum and I hid in the toilets and slept in one of the exhibits." She paused. "Only they don't come to life like in the movie," she added sounding a little disappointed.

"Why didn't you go to the police, Stacy?"

"Dad said we couldn't. There was a bad man who was angry with him and that this man was very rich and he would be able to find us. So we had to go find a new home. We were going to live in Canada. Dad said we would get a house and I could have my own flower garden."

"Was that were you were going when the plane crashed?"

"Yes."

"Where did you live before?"

"Miami."

"Stacy, what was your dad's real name?"

"Sam Garner"

"Is Stacy your real name?"

"Yeah but I told the police and Alice and Hank that my name was Stacy Daley. Like Larry Daley from the movie. I'm sorry I lied."

"That's okay Stacy. Do you know the name of the man your father was afraid of?"

"Yeah, he was his boss. His name is Cyrus Mason."

.

Those two simple words were like a slap in the face. Of all the scenarios Mac had imagined as the reason for their abduction, none of them had put that man as the cause. As he sat in the darkness listening to the drone of the engine his mind tried to piece together the scraps of information. Cyrus Mason. He knew that name. It was on the FBI's most wanted list. It was red-flagged so all NYPD executive officers knew to contact the Bureau if that name came up in relation to any investigation.

Stacy's father Sam Garner was a pilot. Cyrus Mason was an arms dealer. Was that the connection? Sam Garner had worked for Cyrus Mason Had he shipped arms for Cyrus Mason but had a change of heart or had he been duped? But Sam was dead so why go after Stacy? It seemed unlikely that he would want revenge on the thirteen year old daughter of a dead man.

His mind focussed on the problem at hand as he processed the new information but slowly he became aware of a change in the movement of a truck. They slowed, swung left and began to follow a more winding route. After a while the engine began to sound more laboured and the gears changed down. The van rocked from side to side following the large turns in the road. They were climbing.

Stacy stirred next to him. "Mac?"

"Stacy, listen carefully. I think that we're nearing our destination. There's something I need you to do for me." Mac explained what he wanted and Stacy nodded in the dark.

.

The winding route had continued for what Mac thought was at least an hour when they turned to the left and the van slowed taking a smaller rougher road. Eventually it turned right once more and they crawled along over what felt like a bumpy track. It jarred their bones; both were feeling stiff and sore after sitting so long on the hard floor. The van pulled to a stop and the engine was switched off. The van rocked as their abductors got out. They felt the doors slam and then all went silent. They sat for some time listening to the ticking of the cooling engine.

Eventually there was movement at the back of the van. The doors opened. Mac squeezed his eyes closed to prepare for the bright light after being in the dark so long but he was surprised to see that, although not completely dark, it wasn't that bright. Jowls stood there, the now familiar Desert Eagle in his hand. "Out." They crawled out and stretched. Mac looked around. They appeared to be in the middle of a forest. Tall trees rose on either side of them, the late afternoon sun filtering down through the leaves. The ground underneath was rough and there were a number of boulders hidden among the undergrowth. A silver SUV was parked among the trees. Somewhere nearby he could hear the sound of running water and he thought he caught a whiff of wood-smoke. Mac found himself shivering in the cool of the shade after the heat in the back of the van. Stacy edged closer and slipped her hand into his. Jowls waved the gun at him. "That way and don't try anything stupid." They passed the van where Goatee was leaning against the driver's door, his hand on the gun in his belt. For a moment their eyes met but he looked away from Mac's piercing gaze, nervously flicking ash from a cigarette. Jowls shoved Mac towards a gap in the trees. A small path led downwards. It looked as though it had been roughly hewn and then smoothed over by endless footsteps. Mac led the way watching his step, his muscles stiff after the long uncomfortable journey.

After a few minutes the path opened out to a large clearing. A small lake glowed a deep sapphire blue in the evening light, its edges black where the trees cast their shade. A small wooden cabin stood invitingly at the water's edge. They made their way towards it and climbed onto the stoop. As they approached a man opened the door. Mac felt Stacy stiffen beside him. He had long greasy-looking hair tied into a pony-tail. He wore jeans tucked into cowboy boots and a denim shirt with a silver-tipped Bolo tie engraved with a pair of crossed guns. He too had a gun stuck into the waistband of his pants. He leered at Stacy and reached out to touch her hair. "Hey there girlie. Ain't you the pretty one?"

Mac felt his anger boil inside him and he pulled Stacy closer as he glared at the man. Jowls jabbed the Desert Eagle hard into his back. "Move it." Ignoring the pain, Mac stood his ground, his eyes challenging the man in front of him.

"Zeke!" An authoritative voice called from inside. Zeke grinned showing his uneven, nicotine stained teeth, and stepped back allowing them to enter although his eyes never left Stacy.

The small cabin had bare wooden walls and floor but was neatly furnished. There was a small kitchen fitted out with simple pine cupboards and a large ceramic sink, the plumbing hidden by a red and white checked curtain. Matching curtains covered the windows. Mac could hear the whine of a generator that powered the lights. A wooden table with four high-backed chairs stood in the centre of the room set with two bowls, two spoons, two glasses of water and a loaf of bread on a board. Something was bubbling gently on the stove. A fire had been lit in the grate. Two wooden chairs stood by the fire-place. In one sat a man wearing army-green cargo pants tucked into sturdy walking boots. His matching shirt was rolled up to the elbows and he wore a pocketed sleeveless jacket giving him the air of a jungle explorer. He held a glass of bourbon in one hand swirling the liquid round lazily while he looked them up and down.

"Hello Stacy."

Stacy remained silent but Mac could feel the pressure of her fingers as they gripped his hand tighter. Mac studied the man in front of him. He put him at 5'12'', around 160lbs. He had short grey hair and cold ice-blue eyes. Mac guessed he was no more than forty despite the grey hair. He had an authoritative almost arrogant air about him, one that said he liked power and money and had plenty of both. Mac was in no doubt that the man sat before him was Cyrus Mason.

"And you must be Hank." Mac could feel Stacy stiffen beside him but she didn't say anything. Mason waved to the chair. "Please sit."

Mac didn't move. "What do you want?"

The corners of Cyrus' mouth twitched in amusement. "Not one to beat around the bush I see. Very well." He pushed himself up from the chair, drained the liquor in one mouthful and placed the empty glass on the mantle-piece between an antique looking clock and a wooden candle-stick. He took a step towards them. He stared at Mac for a moment then looked down at Stacy. "It's very simple. Your father stole something from me and hid it in that plane and I want it back. And you and Hank here are going to get it for me."

Stacy stared at him in incomprehension. "Wh...what?"

The man's lips stretched into something akin to a smile. "Tomorrow morning we're going on a little hike and you are going to show me exactly where your father's plane crashed."

Stacy's eyes went wide. "But … but I don't know where ..." she stammered.

Cyrus lifted a hand to silence her. "I do … at least I've calculated the approximate area in which the plane went down. I'm sure that once we're there we'll find something to jog your memory."

"I'm not going to help you," Stacy spat making Mac want to smile. The girl had guts. This time Cyrus did smile, a slow menacing smile. He reached a hand behind him. It took less than three seconds for Mac to find himself staring down the barrel of a Glock 17. Mac quelled the urge to rip it out of Mason's hands and shove it down his throat. He was getting more than a little tired of staring down the barrel of a gun.

Cyrus glared at Stacy who had gone white. "Oh I think you are. Because if you don't I'm going to blow your step-father's brains out."