McKenzie"s Podcast

Bubbles broke the surface then drifted away on the ebb tide as the weighted body sank silently out of sight to the Mediterranean Sea bed forty metres below. Back on the shore in La Carihuela, Miguel and his crew prepared their nets for a full night’s fishing…. McKenzie sat gagged and bound, tied to a chair on the deck of Don Pedro Dominguez’s luxury yacht, ‘La Dama de la Noche’. He had watched the whole scenario unfold. Paco, the Columbian Overseer, had walked into a trap and fifty kilos of

McKenzie found himself caught-up in worship. He had begun to pray in a spontaneous way, but before long, joy and excitement began to well up inside him. All at once it spilled out his mouth in a cascade of words that were not his own. McKenzie had heard about this and he had read about it. It was even mentioned in the bible. The words came from deep inside him yet McKenzie began to have an understanding of what he was saying. He began to pray with the same effervescent joy in his own

McKenzie sat sipping his piping-hot mint tea. There wasn’t too much tea in the small chunky tumbler on account of it being crammed full of fresh mint leaves and far too much sugar. He sat at a wobbly table surrounded by a variety of leathery faced, deeply browned and near toothless men who all looked, at least, twice their age. They babbled away in a thick Arabic dialect making sure that they kept their conversation secret from uninvited ears. Sucking habitually on their shared hookah pipe,