by Rahul Sharma
All of a sudden, four men emerged from various shadowy corners, each armed with a lethal looking machine gun. The cameraman made an attempt to get his camera rolling. There was a small bang from one of the guns and a bullet embedded itself into the video camera.
Antony raised his gun. “Whoever does not want to be shot, should line up on this side of the table.” He indicated a side of the table. He then looked at Angelina and her cameraman. “The two of you will head up to office number 12. Remember, you are being watched throughout, so don’t try anything funny.”
The two slinked away. When they reached office number twelve, they were swiftly and silently killed. Angelina Fent and her cameraman were not heard of again.
**********
6 sat alone up in the largest office of the building. So far so good, he thought. He watched the police force assembling at the base of the building, all armed. They seemed to have taken his warning to be true and were too afraid to storm into the building- just as 6 had wanted. He heard a chopper flying near the building.
6 held up a walkie talkie to his mouth, “All ready Jerry?” he asked quietly.
“Ready to roll dude!” came the reply. 6 nodded, picked up the phone and began to dial.
**********
Officer Stephen Frost was forty two years old. He had a wife and two children. He was also the most experienced cop still serving the Goodane police department. So it was most natural that, on seeing the interruption of the meeting and hearing the message, Officer Frost rushed to the base of the Goodane tower, swearing under his breath.
There were already a few policemen at the base of the tower, discussing their plan of action, when he arrived. He hurtled out of his car without switching off the engine and sprinted up to the group of officers, his grey hair unkempt, and his chin full of shaving cream.
“Any further news?” he asked one of the officers as he wiped the shaving cream off his chin. The officer replied in the negative. Frost took the liberty of swearing some more before marching up to the officer in charge.
“What do you have to say Darson?” he asked the man who looked the most anxious. Darson stared at Frost, almost shivering at the sight of his superior “I have no idea Steve. I dunno what’s goin’ on….I set some of my most talented officers on duty in there an’ now its been “taken over”….nobody’s answering their cell phones….I swear I ain’t got a clue what’s goin’ on!!”
Frost’s expression softened, Darson seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Frost held his junior officer by the shoulders and said in a reassuring voice, “All right Darson, you go home, take some rest. I hear you’ve been up all night…tell ‘em at the station that I’ve taken over this emergency.”
All of a sudden, the pay phone on the sidewalk began to ring. Everybody in its vicinity stared at it. Frost, however, strode determinedly towards it, saying as he went, “Darson, go home. You there,” he pointed at a young technician who nearly fell over in alarm of being called, “record this conversation.” The technician nodded. Darson, who had seated himself in his car, wished everyone luck and drove off.
Frost stood by the booth, watching the phone ringing and ringing, while the techie set up the recording system with an unusually high speed. Once the table was set up and the techie sat behind it, he gave Frost a thumbs up. Frost scooped up the phone on its last ring.
“Hello?” said Frost, addressing the unknown.
“Hey there. I hope you police goons have taken my warning seriously. I want no choppers, no commandos, and no bugs of any sort near the building.” said the voice. Frost quickly assessed the quality of the voice- it was young, composed masculine and radiated power.
“Who are you?” Frost asked, not responding to the voice’s warning.
“That, my friend, is insignificant. Just listen to what I have to-” but the young man was cut off again, “What are you going to do with the businessmen? What do you want? I’m ready to hear your demands…”
“My dear man, to hear my demands you must let me SPEAK!! I do not want any kind of object. All I am going to do is play a little game with these businessmen. Understand?”
Frost spluttered, what was this? “A GAME?” he asked incredulously. Of all demands, this was the most unexpected.
The voice seemed unconcerned with Frost’s ludicrous tone of voice. He just carried on, “Yes, that’s right. A little game with my hostages. Would you like to join in?”
Frost was taken aback. First of all, a terrorist playing a game? Next, he was inviting him to join in? Crazy!! Frost considered. “What happens if I win this game of yours?” he asked slowly.
The voice on the other end laughed. It was a light youthful laugh. “I will give you the rules of the game once you are inside. The consequences as well. I just want to know: are you playing or not?” There was a short pause. Then Frost replied, determination in his voice, “Yes. I’m in.”
The voice now lost all traces of politeness. It was hard and businesslike, “Good. You will do EXACTLY what I say or I will see to it that you are shot. You will enter the building through the side entrance. No communication devices, cameras, phones or any explosives should be brought inside. You will enter and must proceed directly to the 13th floor. No stopping on the way. Use the service elevator. You will not diffuse any bomb, should you see one. Remember, you are being watched throughout.”
Frost took a few seconds to ingest all these instructions. “Can I bring my gun?” he asked quietly. The youth laughed. “Yes,” he said, “you can. But nothing else. By the way,” he added, “you’re recording station or whatever? It’s going to explode in ten seconds. See you.” There was a click.
Frost looked at the young technician, his eyes wide, to see the young man staring back at him, equally fearful, his headphones askew. With a frantic gesture of his hand, Frost bade his colleague to move. The technician nodded. He swiftly threw off the headphones and put as much distance as he could from the recording system.
Sure enough, within five seconds, there was a small explosion and thousands of dollars’ worth of recording equipment changed into shards of metal and glass. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. Frost exited his phone booth and stood by the smouldering wreckage. The technician joined him. He was pale and sweaty but seemed unhurt. Frost noticed ‘Stanley Morel’ was the name on his badge.
“You alright Stan?” he asked kindly, putting an arm on the twenty-something year old’s shoulder. Stan nodded, unable to speak. His eyes were still on the spot where he stood ten seconds ago. He then slowly opened his mouth, “That guy, was a kid. Not older than me.” He said slowly. Frost nodded.
“I sent the voice data to the main computer,” he gestured towards a laptop propped open on a bonnet, “we can analyze further details from there.” Frost clapped him on the shoulder, “Good thinking.” He said encouragingly before walking off to relay his conversation to the officers looking anxiously in his direction.
All six of the officers seemed as incredulous as he did when Frost told them about the game. Just as he had finished describing his conversation, Stan hurried up to him, quickly pushing his spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose as he approached. He shook his head, “Absolutely nothing on the voice search. This guy is a total newbie. Seems to me like he’s some nutter who’s got himself into such a meeting by chance.”
Frost scratched his half shaved chin, looking at the tower in front of him without seeing. “Did you run a search on terrorists playing-”
“-Games? Yes I did. That was a total dud as well. Dude’s totally crazy. Are you going then?” Stan asked, looking at Frost, his eyes full of enquiry and concern.
Frost looked at Stan for a moment, steeled himself and said in his most confident voice, “Yes, I am.” After a moments pause he added, “Well, I better get going, I don’t want to keep my mystery host waiting.” He cast a look at the top of the tower, and began to strip himself of all gadgets, save his gun. Finally, after bidding a polite farewell to all his fellow off
icers on the site, Stephen Frost entered the building.
**********
The lounge on the 13th floor of the Goodane tower had the atmosphere most unlike that of a lounge. Tension crackled in the air. Seven business tycoons were seated quietly on various chairs and couches, each one engrossed in his own thoughts. Four gunmen stood at various positions, all cradling their guns and keeping a sharp eye on their hostages.
Nobody dared to move and the only sounds in the room were the muffled footsteps of the gunmen walking around and the eventual heavy sigh of a businessman. After several minutes of anguished silence, there were heavy footsteps out side the lounge. All the occupants of the room turned to look at the door through which the sound was heard. A policeman walked in, his hands by his sides, followed closely by a fifth gunman. The officer’s escort gave a curt nod to his four team mates within the room and walked out the door through which he entered.
“Steve!” cried one of the businessmen, rising from his chair as he gazed at the new arrival. “Steve, what’s going on? Are you here to get us out of here? What is the police doing?”
But Steve did not reply to any of his questions. He merely shook his head and walked over to a bar chair and seated himself on it. He then laid his head in his hands and waited. One of the gunmen pulled out a walkie talkie and spoke into it. Seconds later, the entire Tower echoed with the same calm and youthful voice.
“Since everyone is set, let us begin. The game has only one objective: to find me. I will allow you to roam the building, each one separately. The first person to find my location wins. Understood?” There was a pause in the room as the eight “contestants” looked up and got up from their various positions. “Very simple rules actually,” the voice mused, “nothing you great gentlemen can’t understand….All right then!! We’re ready to go!!”
“Wait!!” one of the tycoons called out, “What about those of us who don’t find you? The losers?” There was a pause. Jay Edison didn’t expect a reply, so he was surprised when the voice on the PA system replied to him. “Well, lets just say, your fate will be unknown. Sort of gives you an incentive to find me, doesn’t it?”
There was a loud silence in the room, as the seven tycoons looked at one another- newfound enemies. Just as one of the suit-clad men was about to reach for the door handle to leave, there was a scuffle on the other side of the door. The door burst open. Two fast moving bodies fell in through it. After a few seconds, Frost recognized his escort gunman, holding a young man in a full nelson. The gunman threw the youth onto the floor and pointed his gun at him. “Freeze,” he said in a clear voice, “or I’ll blow your guts out.”
The figure on the floor lay still for a moment. Then slowly, he got onto all fours, and then stood up with his hands in the air. Frost took care to analyze this new, unexpected entity. He wore semi formal clothes, stained with dust and sweat. He had a mop of red hair and horn rimmed spectacles. His eyes were pale grey in colour and his nose was almost pointed at the end. A thin back scar ran across one of his cheeks. He had an air of cool arrogance about him.
“What’s going on? Who is this new arrival?” said the omnipresent voice on the PA system. Frost made a mental note to himself that the man on the phone (who happened to be the one speaking on the PA system) was not lying- Everybody was being watched.
“Some young kid was found sneaking around outside. I dunno how he got into the building sir.” One of the gunmen called out, keeping both his eyes and his gun trained on the new arrival.
“I am NOT some young kid,” the youth said angrily in a hoarse voice. “My name is Neil Straford and I’m the heir to the Straford chemicals industry. I figured there should be a representative for the Straford industry and I figured it should be me!!”
This caught the tycoons’ attention. Julian Straford was the only businessman who had not been called for the conference because he was disliked by all the other men of money. It was very much like him to send his son to spy on the meeting. The voice, however, was obsessed with his game, “I don’t care who you are, and who you represent. Since you’re in here, you will have to play along. I believe you know the rules. Gentlemen, you may leave the room to begin your search. Remember, you are being watched throughout.”
One by one, seven multi-billionaire men left the room with anxiety and fear in their eyes. Finally the young boy exited the lounge. The Hostage game had begun.
**********
Zeus Machden had been named after the god of gods. For the past fifty four years, he had managed the country’s biggest construction company. Machdan constructions was the company behind almost any legal building in the country. All competition in the field had been crushed brutally and Machdan was almost synonymous to the word “construction”. But now, the owner of all the wealth, the creator of so many wonderful buildings, was shivering uncontrollably as he left the lounge.
As he walked through the deserted passages of the Goodane tower, Zeus tried to think rationally. His first impulse was to throw himself out of the window….no, that wouldn’t work…..he then decided to check the basement. If there was a bomb in there like the guy really said, Zeus was sure that he could defuse it since he had spent four months in the company of a bomb squad. Zeus slowly dragged his small body into the next elevator and headed down to the basement.
Two minutes later, with a loud ding, the elevator opened out into the musty basement. Zeus pulled out a pen flashlight from his suit pocket and shined it around. The room was filled with old furniture covered with sheets. Zeus stopped moving for a moment and listened. No ticking, no beeping, that was a good sign. He then slowly delved deeper into the labyrinth of unused and dilapidated furniture, looking for either a bomb or the host of this ridiculous “game”. The basement is a good place to hide things, he mused, especially if the basement happens to be as vast as this one.
After a few minutes of wandering around, Zeus stopped and leaned heavily on the back of a sofa, thinking. Zeus began to idly twirl the flashlight in his hand, making the beam of light fly around the dusty room like a hyperactive spotlight. As he gained more speed in twirling the light, his thoughts began to move faster as well. He decided that he would go back to the elevator and go up to the topmost floor. Zeus had been to the Goodane tower before and he knew that the office on the highest floor was the most superior position in the building. He had slowed down the rate of spinning his flashlight and was about to stand up and go back to the elevator when he heard the click.
Zeus Machden spun around. His flashlight gripped firmly in his hand, his eyes frantically searching for the source of the mechanical click. But whatever it was, it escaped the beam of his flashlight. Zeus heard a soft footstep and he sensed something moving- he began to panic. He pointed the flashlight at a corner of the room where he suspected the noise came from, what he saw made him blanch with fear.
A dark figure stood in the corner of the room, Zeus only had a second to see him before it happened-and in that second he only saw a silver silenced pistol. And then there was a silenced “phut” and before he knew it, Zeus Machden was dead.
**********
About four floors above Zeus Machden’s freshly killed body; Francis Colt was gazing dreamily out a window. He could not see the police gathered at the foot of the tower. Francis gazed out at the skyline. Drifting away into his own dreamy thoughts. He was the least bit interested in this game. He had been forced by his father to enter the family automobile business. All he wanted to do was become an author.
As he threw open the window of the hall in the Goodane plaza, Francis Colt forgot where he was and the consequences of being idle. He murmured a poem under his breath as a cool breeze caressed his face. He began to wish for a new life-one that did not involve being forced to worry about the latest models and the fuel consumption. He was good at the trade, no doubt, but he absolutely LOATHED it.
“Oh! For a new life...” Francis muttered poetically under his breath. The light whispering of the breeze was the only sound
that filled his ears. Little did the poetic millionaire notice his “new life” stalking quietly up to him. There was a ‘thunk’ of metal on bone, and young Mr Colt was winging his way to his “new life”.
*********
Remus and Romulus Trent were twins named after the two founders of Rome. In their early thirties, these two brothers had just recently taken over from their father and currently headed Trent AgroTools. Remus and Romulus, being extremely close to one another, obviously decided to tackle this unexpected event together. After Remus left the lounge, he waited outside for his twin brother. After a quick session of strategizing, the twins set off confidently towards the topmost offices.
The silence deafened Remus Trent, as he walked a few paces ahead of his brother, down the carpeted corridor. Having lost an argument with his brother, the older of the two entrepreneurs was forced to walk ahead of his twin brother.
“Hey Rem,” came the voice from behind him, sounding very soft in the muffling silence, “Hey Rem, what if he’s in one of these rooms? We could just walk past the fellow without a clue!!” Remus halted in his track. Little bro could be annoying at times, but he had a point. Facing his brother, Remus asked him, “So what, you wanna bang open every door?” Romulus nodded. “Go ahead then...”
So the two brothers continued down the hallway, up the next staircase and across the next corridor. Remus stalking cautiously in the lead, his stance ready for action, while his brother threw open every door the two passed by- to no avail. But as they approached a T-junction, Remus stopped. He held out an arm to stop Romulus from throwing open another door. “Listen,” he said, “do you hear someone?”
Romulus stopped. His expression became one of rapt attention. His ears keen for a sound. He turned to look at his brother and nodded. They both looked keenly at the T shaped junction of three corridors in front of them. Sure enough, within seconds, the footsteps became louder and a person appeared.