The Disappeared (25 page)

‘Things are a
helluva lot worse than what everybody thinks.’

Inspector
Coetzee was standing in the interrogation room of the Bishop police station. He
was leaning on the heavy government-issue desk with both fists. Across from the
desk, Sergeant Jansen was staring at him with arms crossed. ‘A helluva lot
worse. I can tell you that.’ The mood in the room was sombre. A steady silence
clung to everything. The last of the remaining residents had been thankfully
cleared from the premises and Coetzee and Jansen were alone. Even then, as a
precaution, Coetzee had insisted they hold the briefing in the interrogation
room with the door closed. He had every reason to believe that right now he
knew more about the dire situation in their town than anyone else. There was no
reason to inflame the volatile moods of his wards any more than was necessary.

‘I don’t
understand,’ Jansen said. ‘They all disappeared. Just like that?’ He looked
around himself. ‘That doesn’t make any fu – ‘ Even in these bizarre
circumstances Jansen was still careful to watch his language around his strict
and demure commanding officer. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ Jansen unfurled
his arms and ran a shaky hand through his hair. ‘Where did they go? Are they
dead? Where are the bodies?’ His eyes darted maniacally across the room. ‘Who
would do something like this? And why?’

Coetzee stared
at his subordinate. This morning Jansen seemed especially aggressive and
fidgety to him. It was hardly surprising considering what had happened. ‘I don’t
know. All I know right now is that ...’ he paused trying to formulate the right
sentence, ‘... it appears as if a large ... a
very
large group of people
disappeared into thin air last night.’ The ridiculous statement hung between
the two uniformed men. ‘I don’t know exactly how many. What I do know is that
they disappeared without a single trace.’ Silence.

‘Did you try
radio for help?’ Frustration was creeping into Jansen’s voice.

‘Of course I
did,’ Coetzee said angrily. He resented his subordinate’s questioning of his
leadership. ‘Our communications are down.’ Coetzee spoke with a weary
resignation. ‘There’s no way to reach the outside world.’ Jansen’s mouth slowly
fell open. Blood drained from his face.

‘That can’t
be. That’s impossible,’ Jansen said as his arms fell to his sides. He looked
empty and deflated. It was a disconcerting sigh to Coetzee. ‘Did you try the CB
radio? What about cellphones?’

Coetzee
exploded. ‘Didn’t you hear that little Duggan brat? It’s all down. Nothing is
working!’ Jansen rouged visibly. He stared at the wooden floor. Coetzee sighed
deeply regretting his outburst.

‘Willie.’
Coetzee had never before used his subordinate’s first name and the word hung
loud and awkward in the air. Jansen stared in surprise at his CO. ‘Look, I have
no idea what happened. Or ... or who’s behind it.’ Coetzee spoke with genuine
tenderness. He almost surprised himself. ‘But we need to stand together. You
need to focus. Right now me and you are the only police officers left in this
town. We have to remain –’

Coetzee leaned
across the desk and patted the younger man’s shoulder. Then he proceeded to
tell him about the events of the morning. He recounted his trip to Vlad’s home
as well as finding the vehicle abandoned by Constable Jali. He also told Jansen
about finding the logbook and the strange inscriptions it contained. A deep
silence followed his words. The two men stared into their own dark thoughts.
Although separated only by a piece of wood they were in fact worlds apart. Each
trying to make sense of the bizarre occurrences that had now brought them
together in the bleak interrogation room of the Bishop police station.

Jansen spoke
first. ‘What are we going to do Inspector?’

‘Good. You’re
asking the right questions.’ Coetzee smiled wryly. ‘We need to keep calm. And
we need to stay on top of the situation.
Oraait
?’ Jansen nodded meekly.
Although shell-shocked and confused, a little colour was returning to his face.
‘I tell you what. You stick with me on this one and I will personally commend
you for a promotion. You got my word on that.’

‘Thank you,
Inspector.’ For a variety of reasons the two men had never been close. For all
the years of their association they had maintained a working relationship that
was barely cordial. Yet now as they sat across from each other as the only
remaining representatives of the police force of the town of Bishop ... a new
bond had been formed. It was the bond of shared experience.

‘The first
thing we have to do is ascertain the extent of this ... tragedy.’ A new
business-like crispness now enlivened Coetzee’s words. It had the desired
effect and re-animated Jansen. He sat up straight and stared intently into Coetzee’s
face. ‘I need you to continue the job that I began this morning. I want you to
go from house to house – don’t skip even one – and see if you can find any more
survivors.’ Coetzee was surprised at how easily the word rolled from his
tongue. Although it was an unpleasant thought, he now had to think of the missing
residents as deceased. Anything else would be wishful thinking of the most
pointless kind. Jansen nodded briskly. ‘This is very important work, Sergeant. We
have to keep everybody together. And in one place. It’s the only way we can
establish some kind of control over the situation.’

‘Yes,
Inspector.’

‘
Oraait
.
So, I want you to conduct a
thorough
house-to-house search of the
entire
town. I suggest maybe you start with Eugene Collie’s place.’ At the name Jansen
looked up.

‘Collie? Do
you think he’s still alive?’

‘I don’t know
Sergeant. But we sure as hell could use his help right now.’

Eugene Collie
was an ex South African National Defence Force member who had lost an arm
during a disastrous artillery accident at the Tempe military base in
Bloemfontein. The accident had been the result of incompetence and gross
negligence on the part of his commanding officer. As a result Collie had
secured himself a handsome disability pension and was now living an indolent
lifestyle building and selling WWII model airplanes ... and boozing it up with
Jansen. He was one of three police reservists in Bishop. And also Jansen’s only
real friend. If
anybody
could be called Jansen’s friend. One arm or not,
Coetzee needed all the manpower he could lay his hands on. ‘Go to Collie’s
house. If he’s there – God willing – inform him of the situation. Let him take
the area north of Main Street, you take the south. I’ve already searched the
area around Vlad’s house up until the Vanderbijl house. If you find any
survivors, tell them to get themselves to the Abbot immediately.’

‘Yes,
Inspector.’

‘Now this is
important, Sergeant. This is not a request. It’s an order. You tell them it’s
the matter of the utmost importance that they follow my commands. If you find
that citizens are not complying, you have the authority to make arrests.’

‘Arrests? On
what charges?’

‘Bugger the
charges. Make something up. But whatever you do, make sure you get them to the
Abbot.’

‘Yes sir!’ The
thought of arresting people on tenuous charges obviously excited Jansen. A new
glint enlivened his eyes.

‘As soon as
you’ve finished the search, you come back here and report to me.’ Jansen nodded
curtly. The confusion and fear of a few moments ago appeared to have dissipated
and Jansen was his former self. It was exactly what Coetzee needed. ‘Okay, let’s
move out.’ Both men stood up. For a ridiculous moment it appeared as if the younger
man was going to salute Coetzee. But the moment passed. Jansen headed for the
door. ‘Oh yes, one more thing, Sergeant. We have a guest in the presidential
suite.’ Jansen stopped dead in his tracks. The
presidential suite
. It
was a local station joke. Their name for the cells. Coetzee could see that
Jansen’s interest had been piqued. ‘An escapee from Westville Reformatory. Can
you believe it? White boy. In for armed robbery and accessory to murder.
Serious charges.’ Jansen nodded in agreement. ‘I want you to help me keep an
eye on him. We’ve got a lot going on here. We don’t need problems with an
escaped convict.
Oraait
?’

‘Yes,
Inspector.’ Jansen exited.

Coetzee sat
down in the chair. He sighed deeply, feeling tired and stressed. It had only
been a few hours since he had entered the police station that morning. Yet it
felt as if years had passed. He sat in silence, feeling old and inadequate.

How could
this be?
How could something like this happen? And exactly how many
people were actually missing?

And then he
thought of Duggan’s words.
We’ve been cut off. Deliberately.

Deliberately?
Who would do something like that? And why?
Why
? This wasn’t just a
freak accident that could be explained away. There was something terrifying ...
and diabolical about the whole thing. This was orchestrated. And carefully
planned. Somebody was behind this. Somebody with frightening power.

God help them
all.

Jansen was
walking towards the police car lot. And then thought better of it. He couldn’t
let an opportunity like this pass. He whirled around and headed for the
presidential
suite.
He wanted to check out the prisoner.

Dark and
restless thoughts flittered through his mind. Moments ago he had been relaxing
in his house looking forward to a day of boozing and watching vids. And now?
Now he was stuck in the middle of some
frikkin
Steven Spielberg movie.
What the hell? He was still struggling to come to terms with everything that
had happened. Couldn’t it just be some massive joke played on him by the other
members of the Bishop police force. He wouldn’t be surprised. They were always
trying to put one over on him. Always trying to prove that they were more
clever than him. Always making him look like a stupid and lazy cop. Yeah, he
wouldn’t be surprised if this was just some stupid practical joke. Trying to
make him look like an idiot.

But of course
this was the little hysterical voice of his paranoia that was speaking. The
fact was, people
had
just vanished. Into thin air. Gone. Poof.

And then of
course there was the prisoner. Overnight the town goes for a ball of shit. And
then suddenly a stranger shows up. Out of nowhere.

What the hell
did that mean? It couldn’t be a co-incidence, right? No, of course not. In the
real world there was no such thing as co-incidence. In the real world there was
only

(
red light
)

cold hard
facts.

Jansen’s head
felt thick and muddy. And then there was that metallic taste in his mouth. Was
it the air? Or was it his hangover? He tasted his mouth and felt his irritation
grow.

Jansen stepped
into the anteroom that gave him an unrestricted view of both prison cells. The
prisoner heard him and looked up. Just as Jansen guessed. Long-haired hippie
scumbag. White trash. And they called
him
low-class?

Jansen stared
with white-hot contempt at the prisoner. The animosity was returned in kind as
the imprisoned youth fixed Jansen with an angry scowl. Livid eyes stared at
Jansen through clumps of long blond hair. ‘What the hell you looking at?’ The
prisoner growled through a mouth twisted into a violent sneer as his eyes
remained fixed on Sergeant Jansen.

Black rage
exploded in Jansen’s chest. He lunged forward, neatly pulling his baton from
its sheath. He slammed the heavy club into the metal bars. The crash
reverberated loudly through the small enclosure. ‘Who do you think you are, you
piece of shit?’ The words came in a shrill torrent of violence. ‘I’ll take you
out, you scumbag cunt!’ To his disappointment the prisoner hadn’t even flinched
during his outburst. He was still staring at Jansen with cold hostility. Jansen
moved closer to the iron bars. He dropped his voice in a growled whisper. ‘I
know who you are, scumbag. I know who you are and I’m gonna take you down. You
might have everybody else fooled but I see right through you. You got me?’ With
delight Jansen saw the youth’s scowl replaced by frowned confusion. The
prisoner didn’t appear so mighty all of a sudden. Jansen smiled slowly. ‘Whatever
you’re planning, I’m gonna put a stop to it. You don’t know me,
boykie
,
and you’re gonna wish you never met me.’ Jansen winked ominously at the
prisoner. He pretended to throw the baton at the prisoner. But he didn’t
receive the desired reaction. That was okay. There was still plenty of time. He
smirked loudly. ‘Later alligator.’ He swaggered slowly out of the anteroom
while fixing the prisoner with a domineering glare. He was going to make the
prisoner regret that he ever set eyes on him Jansen decided.

He had no idea
how right he was.

‘Nothing.
Nothing at all.’

Lindiwe and
Duggan were standing in his Internet Café. They were looking at a computer
monitor. One of the work stations in the shop. More specifically they were
staring at a progress bar that was looping endlessly.

CONNECTING TO
HOST...

‘Give it a
little while, and then ...’ An error message popped up.

CONNECTION
TIMED OUT. And underneath:

UNABLE TO
DETECT HOST.

Duggan sighed
in frustration. ‘I’ve been trying all morning. Nothing.’

Lindiwe stared
at the monitor, mystified. She knew just the bare minimum about computers and
thought a sympathetic silence was her best contribution to the matter.

‘I mean, do
you understand, it’s not like the system is struggling to make a connection to
the host. It’s as if the host doesn’t exist at all.’ Duggan stared at Lindiwe expecting
her face to mirror the astonishment that he felt.