The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘I remember you,’ said Jana, following the publican to the stairs. O’Mara looked at her. ‘I remember you too,’ he said. ‘The Markovich raid.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Jana. ‘This is something similar and we need your help.’

  ‘No problem. Let’s go down.’

  The spacious cellar under the historic pub – classified by the National Trust – dated from the mid-eighteen hundreds. Built by George Paton, a Scottish stonemason, using convict labour and sandstone from the nearby Argyle Cut, it was a precious window into Sydney’s convict past. Reminders of the colonial days were everywhere. If one looked carefully, the chisel marks of the convicts who had carved the sandstone blocks were still visible. At the far end of the cellar was the narrow entry to the notorious smugglers’ tunnel. In the middle of the damp room stood a large wooden table with chairs and benches facing a huge fireplace. Iron pots, bottles and even shackles and chains littered the stone floor. Reminders of brutal colonial times long gone.

  O’Mara threw the bunch of keys on the table and looked at Jana. ‘You said you needed my help,’ he said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘As I remember it, you used to know the tunnels down here very well.’

  ‘Sure, but a lot’s changed since then.’

  ‘In what way?’ interjected Moretti.

  ‘Well, after the Markovich raid, many of the tunnels were blocked off and the old exits bricked up, especially those down by the harbour.’

  O’Mara pointed to the tunnel entry. ‘As you can see, we put in an iron grate to secure our entry here just as we were told to, and—’

  ‘How far does this tunnel go?’ interrupted Moretti.

  ‘Quite a ways, but I haven’t been in there in years,’ said O’Mara.

  ‘Could you show us?’

  ‘Sure.’ O’Mara picked up the bunch of keys and walked across to the grate. ‘I know one of these will open the lock. The Markovich brothers got off, didn’t they?’ he said, fumbling with the keys. ‘Bloody shame. They were rogues, them boys.’

  ‘Unfortunately, you’re right,’ said Jana. ‘Insufficient evidence. They were only convicted of some minor offences and went in for a year or so. The ones who did real time were their associates who were caught red-handed, right here. Usual story, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The Markovich brothers used to drink here all the time.’

  ‘What; Zac and Zoran?’

  ‘Yes, after they got out. They joined the bikies and came here often with their mates.’

  ‘The Wizards of Oz,’ said Jana.

  ‘That’s them. Their leader, the Wizard, was an evil bastard. Huge. Used to get into fights all the time. Bad for business. But he had a great voice,’ O’Mara prattled on. ‘Used to sing when he was pissed; opera mainly. Ha. We were glad to see the back of them though when they finally left and found another place to pull apart.’

  Incredible. Echoes of Anna Popov all over again. Here … now, thought Jana, remembering Jack’s latest book. If Jack could only hear this. Six degrees of separation … ‘You do know what happened to the Wizard?’ she said.

  ‘I read something in the papers a while back …’

  ‘He met a horrible end.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You live bad, you die bad … Ah, this one fits,’ said O’Mara, and turned the key in the rusty lock. The grate squeaked open, revealing a narrow passage leading down into the darkness of the smugglers’ tunnel.

  Moretti turned to the Police Rescue crew standing around the table. ‘Wait here, guys. We’ll go in and have a look,’ he said, and followed O’Mara and Jana into the tunnel.

  Van Cleef waited impatiently for Alexandra to get dressed. Shaking uncontrollably, and still in shock, she fumbled clumsily with her clothes. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Van Cleef felt suddenly uneasy. He had an uncanny sixth sense for detecting danger. It had saved him many times in the past. ‘Hurry up,’ he said, eager to get away. Helped by Igor, the young cameraman was packing away the video gear.

  Van Cleef turned to Paulus. ‘What next?’ he snapped.

  ‘We get out of here,’ said Paulus. ‘Through the special back door I showed you the other day. Our friends watching the front will be none the wiser, trust me. One of our cars is always parked in the back lane. Then we put our new film star here into a taxi and send her home; simple. And we both know she’ll keep her mouth shut; won’t you, my dear?’ said Paulus, looking at Alexandra. ‘Otherwise …’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Van Cleef.

  Paulus slapped his friend on the back. ‘Why so glum all of a sudden?’ he said. ‘Cheer up. Everything’s gone like clockwork.’

  ‘This is it,’ said O’Mara. ‘That’s as far as we can go.’ He pointed to a brick wall blocking the narrow passage in front.

  ‘What’s behind this?’ asked Moretti.

  ‘The rest of the old smugglers’ tunnel leading down to the harbour.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah. The tunnel dug by the Markovich gang. It used to link up with it a little further down to give the gang access to the harbour. That’s why this was blocked off.’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll get the guys,’ said Moretti.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Jana.

  ‘Knock down the wall, of course, and see what’s behind it.’

  The brick wall was a flimsy, hastily erected affair. Using sledgehammers and crowbars, it took the crew only minutes to make an opening large enough for a man to crawl through.

  ‘This is the old entry to the Markovich tunnel,’ said O’Mara, pointing to a bricked-up opening to his right on the other side of the wall. Moretti noticed it appeared to be pointing towards the Universal Security premises further up the road.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Jana.

  ‘Not bad for a hunch,’ said Moretti. ‘So far so good. When there’s nothing left, follow your instincts.’ Moretti turned around. ‘Okay guys, you know what to do.’

  Paulus was leading the way, his powerful torch lighting up the tunnel ahead. Still in a daze and unsteady on her feet, Alexandra stumbled along behind him. Igor and the cameraman had to steady her a couple of times to prevent her from falling. Van Cleef brought up the rear.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Van Cleef from the back. ‘Stop! Listen!’

  Paulus stopped. ‘What? I can’t hear a thing,’ he said.

  ‘Knocking … there,’ said Van Cleef.

  Silence.

  ‘I can’t hear anything either,’ said Igor.

  ‘You are imagining things,’ said Paulus.

  The tiny hairs tingling on the back of his neck and the perspiration running down his chin told Van Cleef otherwise. ‘No, I’m not!’ he said. Every fibre in his tense body told him to turn around. ‘We should go back.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Paulus. ‘We are almost there. Let’s go.’

  Moretti had reached a low section in the Markovich tunnel. To go any further, he had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl forward through the rubble. ‘What’s this?’ he said, shining the torch up ahead. The tunnel appeared to be opening up again into what looked like an intersection.

  ‘What can you see?’ asked O’Mara.

  ‘Looks like another tunnel. Here on the right.’

  ‘I don’t remember this,’ said O’Mara. ‘Must be new.’

  Moretti turned off his torch. ‘Shh! Did you hear that?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ said Jana, coming up behind him.

  ‘Voices!’

  Moretti crawled forward and looked around the corner. That’s when he saw it: a light was coming towards him out of the darkness. ‘Not a sound! Get back and don’t move. And keep your heads down. Someone’s coming!’ he hissed and reached for his gun.

  98

  Moretti held his breath and let Paulus walk past. Then he jumped to his feet, walked up to him from behind and dug the muzzle of his gun into his back. ‘Freeze!’ he shouted. ‘On your knees; now!’

&n
bsp; Caught completely by surprise, Paulus stopped in his tracks.

  Jana stood in the shadows with O’Mara by her side and let the Police Rescue officers run past. ‘You two,’ said one of the officers pointing his gun at Igor and the cameraman, ‘on your knees.’

  Van Cleef reacted like lightning. Years of training had honed his reflexes and ability to assess the unexpected and make snap decisions. His mind racing, he turned around and began to walk slowly out of the circle of light and away from the commotion because he knew nothing attracts the eye more than movement. Van Cleef felt suddenly his old self again. Uncertainty had been replaced by danger. He could handle danger.

  Van Cleef remembered passing a ledge under the ventilation duct moments before. For some reason, he had made a mental note of it. There was just enough light drifting across from the torches in the tunnel to make out shapes in the gloom. Running by now, Van Cleef reached the ledge, looked up and smiled. Perfect, he thought, and lifted himself up onto the ledge with one, easy, fluid move. The ledge was just wide enough for him to lie down. There was more good news: the suspended duct, which ran along the ceiling all the way to the exit, had enough clearance under the tunnel roof for him to crawl along without being seen from below.

  Jana saw Alexandra leaning against the sandstone wall opposite, disorientated and confused. She hurried over to her. Alexandra saw her coming. Overcome by relief and sobbing, she collapsed into her arms.

  Moretti handcuffed Paulus kneeling in front of him. ‘We meet again, Mr Koenig,’ he said. ‘And so soon. We have unfinished business – remember? For the last time, where is Van Cleef?’

  ‘I want to call my lawyer,’ said Paulus.

  ‘He was just behind me,’ said Alexandra, who had overheard the question.

  ‘Search the tunnel – quickly!’ said Moretti to the other officers crawling out of the smugglers’ tunnel behind him.

  Ignoring the commotion below him in the semi-dark, Van Cleef kept doggedly crawling along the ventilation duct towards the concealed exit at the far end of the tunnel. Paulus had proudly shown it to him the day before and explained how it operated.

  Moretti hurried along the tunnel in the opposite direction until he reached the concrete wall behind the garage and could go no further. Nothing, he thought. Damn! Where is he?

  ‘He must have gone into here,’ said one of the officers, pointing to the steel door with the flashing green light on the panel.

  ‘Get Koenig!’ barked Moretti.

  Holding him by his handcuffs, one of the officers dragged Paulus along the tunnel towards Moretti.

  ‘Now, are you going to open this, or do we have to break it down?’ said Moretti.

  ‘Go to hell,’ hissed Paulus. ‘I want my lawyer.’

  ‘A little cooperation would go a long way for someone in your position.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘All right, guys, go to work, and take this lowlife and his cronies outside.’ said Moretti. ‘I want this opened as quickly as possible.’

  ‘This will take a while,’ said one of the Police Rescue officers, examining the door. ‘We need to cut through the metal here with the torch. Tricky job.’

  ‘Call me when it’s open, but don’t go inside. And search the rest of this tunnel, every inch of it. I’ll be in the pub upstairs.’

  ‘Some of us are lucky,’ joked the officer, and went to work.

  Jana and Alexandra were sitting in the bar. The publican had poured them a large whiskey each and was having one himself. Alexandra had a blanket wrapped over her shoulders, but was still shivering. Jana took Moretti aside. ‘You’ll be shocked when you hear what happened to her,’ she said, lowering her voice.

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Moretti.

  ‘I doubt it. She was—’

  ‘Later,’ interrupted Moretti. ‘She’s safe, that’s all that matters for now. Catching Van Cleef has top priority. He’s got to be somewhere down there. It’s a bloody fortress full of electronic stuff, and that arrogant bastard still thinks he’s calling the shots. Well, in a way he is, but not for long. We’ve sealed off the place. Van Cleef can’t get away. It’s only a matter of time, but I still feel uneasy. Until we catch him …’

  ‘They were leaving,’ interjected Alexandra. ‘They were going to put me in a taxi and send me home … I want to go home; please.’

  ‘Don’t worry. The guys are searching the rest of the tunnel right now,’ said Moretti. ‘If there’s an exit, they’ll find it.’ Moretti looked at Jana. ‘Why don’t you take Alexandra home,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I don’t want to put her through more … ‘

  ‘No medical examinations? Evidence?’

  ‘No. We can interview her in the morning and she can make a statement then.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Jana. ‘She has to get away from here, but I’ll come back. Marcus is at home, he’ll look after her. I’m sure he’ll attend the interview with her as well.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll ask one of the guys here to drive you home. Go.’

  Paulus, Igor and the cameraman were under arrest and on their way to the station. The rest of the tunnel had been thoroughly searched. Except for another steel door set into the concrete wall at the far end, no exit or escape route of any kind had been found. No one thought of checking the duct running along the ceiling. From below, it appeared innocent enough.

  Dead end? thought Moretti. Can’t be! He was certain that an exit of sorts was behind that door. However, that would have to wait. Cutting open the other door turned out to be far more difficult than expected and was taking its time. Where is Van Cleef? Moretti pondered, over and over. Becoming increasingly agitated, he was nervously pacing up and down in front of the bar.

  ‘You keep that up, you’ll wear a hole into the carpet,’ said Jana, walking back into the pub.

  ‘Back already?’ said Moretti.

  ‘I’ve been thinking …’ said Jana.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘When we raided the Markovich compound and the gang’s tunnel, we discovered a secret escape route … It’s difficult to orientate yourself down there, but it could be the same one.’

  ‘Perhaps, but for now all we have is a dead end. A steel door set into the concrete wall at the end of the tunnel. I left an officer there, just in case. No one’s going through that door. Until we break it down, we won’t know.’

  ‘Perhaps we will …’ said Jana.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think I can show you where the Markovich tunnel used to come out into the street. I arrested one of the Markovich brothers – Zoran – as he was climbing out, trying to get away.’

  ‘What? Do you think you could find the place?’ asked Moretti.

  ‘I think so. Let’s have another look and see where the tunnel ends. It could give us a clue.’

  ‘Definitely worth a try. I hate waiting. Let’s go down.’

  Van Cleef had reached the end of the duct and was lying perfectly still just above the young officer guarding the exit. This was a complication he hadn’t expected. Everybody else was busy at the other end of the tunnel, trying to break down the door to the dungeon.

  Tired and bored, the officer was sending text messages on his iPhone. The distraction was exactly what Van Cleef needed. Silently, like a deadly spider stalking a hapless fly, he slid down from the duct until his feet touched the ground. Then, looking at the young man in front of him, he worked out the best way to kill him. Taking a deep breath, he struck. Moments later, the young man was convulsing on the ground – already dead – his neck broken and twisted, his phone still in his hand, a text message from his girlfriend awaiting a reply.

  Van Cleef stepped over the dead body and quickly punched a code into the panel. The door opened with the promise of freedom and escape.

  99

  Moretti knew something was wrong. The back of the tunnel was in complete darkness. Where’s the guy? he thought, and began to run.

  The young officer was lying on his back, eyes open wide, blo
od oozing out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Jesus,’ said Moretti and knelt down to feel his pulse. ‘Dead. His gun’s gone!’

  ‘When?’ asked Jana, catching up to Moretti.

  ‘Moments ago.’

  ‘Van Cleef?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Don’t know, but I’m sure he’s gone through this door. Over here, guys,’ shouted Moretti, raising the alarm. As he waved his torch about, his eyes fell on the ducting above.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Moretti, pointing his torch at the duct. ‘That’s how, I bet! While we were busy searching the tunnel down here, we failed to look up there. Too late! He’s one step ahead of us again. What a mess.’

  ‘And now he has a gun,’ said Jana.

  ‘What about that Markovich exit? Do you think you could find it?’

  ‘I think so. Certainly worth a try.’

  ‘Forget the other door, guys, work on this one,’ shouted Moretti as the Police Rescue officers came running. ‘Break it down, any way you can! He’s just killed one of ours.’ Moretti turned to Jana. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, ‘I only hope we’re not too late.’

  Van Cleef felt elated. For him, killing was the ultimate thrill. It ran through every fibre of his body and gave him a sublime feeling of invincibility and power. He had pulled off an almost impossible escape right under the noses of his pursuers. Macbeth would be proud of him. The gun too, felt good in his hand.

  Van Cleef feared only one thing: failure. He slipped the gun under his belt and began to climb up the ladder attached to the wall of the narrow shaft leading to the street above.

  Moretti and Jana ran out of The Hero of Waterloo. ‘As I remember it,’ said Jana, we were tipped off about the gang’s escape route and the hidden exit. It was in a small side alley just behind the hotel. I think it was a dead end.’

  ‘Come, let’s have a look. I don’t have to tell you what’s riding on this,’ said Moretti, fidgeting nervously beside Jana.