THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ANNA POPOV
A dark, page-turning psychological thriller, with a dash of the paranormal and the occult
Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2
Gabriel Farago
Amazon Kindle Edition
This book is brought to you by Bear & King Publishing.
Publishing & Marketing Consultant: Lama Jabr
Website: http://xanapublishingandmarketing.com
Sydney, Australia
Second edition 2016
© Gabriel Farago
All rights reserved
The right of Gabriel Farago to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.
Disclaimer
This story is entirely a work of fiction. No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional. The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.
Signup for the author’s New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of ‘The Forgotten Painting’ Novella and find out where it all began ... Click Here to Download..
The lips of wisdom are closed
Except to those ears that can hear.
The Cabbala
For Joan, my guiding hand.
Always steady;
Always strong;
Always there.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
The Disappearance of Anna Popov
1 Sydney Harbour, New Year’s Eve 2009
2 Somewhere in the bush near Bathurst, 1 January, 2010
3 Rose Cottage, Sydney, 9 January 2010
4 At the old farm near Bathurst, 10 January
5 On the plane to London, 11 January
6 Vienna, 13 January
7 London, 14 January
8 Kuragin Chateau near Paris, 16 January
9 Kuragin Chateau, 17 January, 3 a.m.
10 First visit to Wolf’s Lair, 21 February
11 Rose Cottage, 21 February
12 Second visit to Wolf’s Lair, 22 February; midnight
13 Rose Cottage, 22 February, 3 a.m.
14 Bleak House, 23 February
15 Rose Cottage, 23 February
16 Third visit to Wolf’s Lair, 24 February
17 Alice Springs, Wandjina Gallery, 25 February
18 Sydney Mardi Gras Parade, 27 February
19 Mardi Gras Parade, 27 February, 7:30 p.m.
20 Rose Cottage, 27 February, 11:30 p.m.
21 Wolf’s Lair, 27 February, 11:30 p.m.
22 Rose Cottage, 28 February, 2 a.m.
23 Wolf’s Lair, 28 February, 3 a.m.
24 Will’s antique shop, 28 February, 8.a.m.
25 Rose Cottage, 28 February, 9 a.m.
26 Rookwood Cemetery, Sydney, 28 February, 10:30 a.m.
27 Wolf’s Lair, 1 March, 11a.m.
28 Alice Springs, Wandjina Gallery 1 March, 3 p.m.
29 Alice Springs, The Drover’s Retreat, 1 March, 6:00 p.m.
30 Alice Springs, Wandjina Gallery, 1 March, 8:00 p.m.
31 Alice Springs, The Drover’s Retreat, 1 March, 8:00 p.m.
32 Alice Springs, Todd River, 1March, 10:00 p.m.
33 Alice Springs, 2 March
34 Fitzroy Crossing: O’Grady’s boxing tent, 2 March, 4:30 p.m.
35 O’Grady’s boxing tent, 7:00 p.m.
36 O’Grady’s boxing tent, 7:30 p.m.
37 O’Grady’s boxing tent, 8 p.m.
38 Fitzroy Crossing, 2 March, 10 p.m.
39 Approaching Bunuba country, 3 March
40 Fitzroy Crossing, 3 March
41 On the way to Windjana Gorge, 3 March
42 Windjana Gorge, 3 March, 9 a.m.
43 On the way to Tunnel Creek, 3 March, mid morning
44 Tunnel Creek, 3 March, 12 noon
45 Tunnel Creek, 3 March, 1 p.m.
46 On the way back to Fitzroy Crossing, 3 March, 4 p.m.
47 At the edge of Djumbud, 3 March, 2010, 5 p.m.
48 On the way to Kalumburu, 4 March
49 Kalumburu, 4 March, in the morning
50 Kalumburu, 4 March, in the afternoon
51 Never Never Downs, 4 March, 5 p.m.
52 Never Never Downs, 4 March, 7 p.m.
53 Never Never Downs, 5 March, 3 a.m.
54 Broome Jail, 5 March, 3:30 a.m.
55 Never Never Downs, 5 March, in the morning
56 Muddenbudden’s cabin, Never Never Downs, 6 March, 7 a.m.
57 Broome airport, 6 March
58 Never Never Downs, 6 March
59 On the way to Djanbinmarra Caves, 7 March
60 Broome Courthouse, 7 March
61 Djanbinmarra Caves, 7 March, 2 p.m.
62 Djanbinmarra Caves, 7 March, 4 p.m.
63 Djambinmarra Caves, 7 March, 6 p.m.
64 Djambinmarra Caves, 8 p.m.
65 On the way back to Never Never Downs, 8 March
66 Broome, 8 March
67 Broome Hospital, 8 March
68 Broome, 8 March
69 On the way back to Sydney, 8 March
70 Warriors’ clubhouse, 8 March, 10 p.m.
71 Wolf’s Lair, 8 March 11:30 p.m.
72 Wolf’s Lair, 9 March, 1 a.m.
73 Wolf’s Lair, 9 March, 2:30 a.m.
74 Wolf’s Lair, 9 March, 3 a.m.
75 Bleak House, 9 March, 4:30 a.m.
76 Will’s antique shop, 10 March
77 Cassandra’s funeral, 13 March
More Books by the Author
The Empress Holds the Key
The Hidden Genes of Professor K
Professor K: The Final Quest
About the Author
Connect with the Author
Acknowledgments
Preparing a book for publication requires many skills, especially today. It is a team effort. I’ve been very fortunate to have a group of talented and dedicated specialists help me deal with the many challenges of a rapidly changing literary landscape. Without their professional support and advice, this book would not have seen the light of day. There are too many to mention, but a few definitely stand out.
A special thank you must go to James O’Toole for designing a wonderful website which has become my online centrepiece and window into the cyber world. And then there is Gaynor Parke of the ‘Social Media Business Academy’, who became my guide and mentor, inducted me into the exciting world of social media and helped me discover and harness its awesome power.
Writing The Disappearance of Anna Popov was an ambitious project and would not have been possible without an experienced and competent editor looking over my shoulder. It began with Desney King who cast her critical eye over my work at the very beginning. I benefited greatly from her intuitive insights, sensible critique and constructive suggestions. A little later, Shelley Kenigsberg, a senior lecturer in editing, stepped in. Shelley’s vast experience and guiding hand became invaluable in bringing this project to fruition.
Who says we don’t judge a book by its cover? In a way we all do, especially when surfing the net for inspiration of what to read. A special thank you must therefore go to Vivien Valk for designing an imaginative cover that is true to the storyline, and captures the spirit of the book
.
In this complex new world of ebooks and global print-on-demand, every author needs the assistance and logistical support of competent ‘facilitators’. Jenny and Ally Mosher of MoshPit Publishing and Lama Jabr of Xana Marketing have become mine. It is because of them that I have time to write at all!
And finally, it would be remiss of me not to mention my wife, Joan, literary critic, researcher, patient sounding-board and cheerful travel companion – we visit all of the places mentioned in my books. Thank you for believing in me and what I’m trying to achieve with my writing.
Thank you all!
Gabriel Farago
Leura, Blue Mountains, Australia
The world hangs by a thread
And that is the psyche of man
Carl Gustav Jung
Author’s note
I first came across the story of Jandamarra and the Bunuba Resistance in the remote Kimberley in Western Australia. Leaning against a 700 year old boab tree with my Aboriginal guide – a Bunuba elder – I was looking up at the tall cliffs guarding the entrance to Windjana Gorge; his country. We had just visited some stunning Aboriginal rock art – haunting paintings thought to be more than twenty thousand years old. Rising like a fortress out of the glare, the tall cliffs – remnants of an ancient Devonian reef – formed a forbidding barrier between his world and mine.
‘This is where it all happened,’ the old man said, pointing into the deep gorge cut through the rock by the Lennard River. ‘And it wasn’t that long ago. Jandamarra’s cave is just up there.’
Jandamarra was an Aboriginal freedom fighter in the 1890s who refused to surrender his country and his freedom to the white settlers pushing relentlessly north.
As the shadows lengthened, I listened to the remarkable story of first contact between the Bunuba and the early Australian pastoralists. It was a stirring tale of heroism and despair, unspeakable brutality and acts of great courage. It was the final chapter in the long history of a proud people. With the story ending in tragedy, the painful words turned into a whisper of defeat, falling from the lips of one of its last true elders. Caught between two worlds, Jandamarra had tried to find a way of embracing the new, but the old was in his blood and could not be denied.
This conflict is by no means over. It exists today. Colliding cultures send ripples of discord far into the future and affect generations. It is as relevant today as it was in Jandamarra’s time. The stage is the same, so is the plot. Only the actors are different.
As the embers of our campfire turned slowly to ash, I began to wonder ... What if Jandamarra had lived today? What if ...
Gabriel Farago
Leura, Blue Mountains, Australia
The Disappearance
of Anna Popov
Prologue
Alice Springs, January 2005
Anna was dancing in The Shed the night she disappeared. The Shed was a notorious watering hole frequented mainly by thirsty truckies. It called itself a bush pub, but that was an exaggeration. It was more like a long wooden bar with a corrugated iron roof held up by gnarled fence posts and barbed wire. There were no walls. The floor, hard as rock, was red desert earth compacted by thousands of feet shuffling to the bar for a drink. Because the beer was always cold and the steaks huge and cheap, the place was always packed. More recently, however, there was one more added attraction: backpackers, mainly girls, touring the Outback. Looking for cheap grog and adventure, the young nomads had made The Shed their own. Located three kilometres out of Alice, it was within easy walking distance of the youth hostels and budget motels popular with tourists.
A local bush band was playing country and western music and the mouth-watering aroma of frying onions and sizzling sausages drifted across from the barbecue. It was very hot and very late.
‘Beer, mate?’ asked the barmaid, sizing up the tall dark stranger.
The handsome Aboriginal took off his broad-rimmed drover’s hat, wiped his forehead with a red handkerchief and nodded. ‘One for your friend as well?’ she asked, pointing to the huge snake wound around his neck and shoulders.
‘No thanks, she’s driving,’ he said, affectionately stroking the exquisite python.
Standing at the other end of the bar, a group of truckies were eyeing off the girls on the improvised dance floor. ‘Look, the sheilas have to dance with each other ’cause there’re no blokes here having a go,’ said one, downing another beer.
‘I bet you can’t get them to dance with you, mate; not even one,’ said another, patting his friend on the hairy beer gut bulging over his shorts. ‘Just look at you, you slob.’
‘Sure can.’
‘Oh yeah? You’re all talk. What’s it worth?’
‘Ten rounds.’
The others laughed. ‘You’re on.’
The man slammed down his glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched loudly. Pulling down his singlet to cover part of his protruding gut, he slipped his thongs back on and shuffled unsteadily towards the dance floor.
Barefoot and wearing the briefest of shorts and a tight-fitting pink tee-shirt accentuating her firm breasts, Anna, silky blonde hair swishing against the tips of her tanned shoulder blades, was dancing with her friend Julia. Anna was looking for freedom, Julia for the adventure which the novelty of travel to remote places invariably offered. The Shed had it all. Excitement, danger, and the lure of the unknown far away from the watchful eyes of fretting parents and curious friends. Enjoying her favourite Dixie Chicks song, Anna swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, letting the familiar beat of the music carry her away. When it stopped and she opened her eyes, she almost bumped into the grotesque, fat man towering over her.
‘How about a dance, luv?’ said the fat man, his bald head glistening with sweat.
‘No thanks,’ she snapped, turning away. ‘He’s gross,’ she whispered to Julia. ‘Let’s take a break.’
As his mates at the bar roared laughing, a flash of anger raced across the face of the fat truckie.
‘Come on, sweetie, just one. Be a good sport,’ he persisted, putting a heavy, sweaty hand on Anna’s shoulder.
‘Get off me!’ shouted Anna, pushing the fleshy hand away in disgust.
His mates at the bar began to whistle and hoot. Instead of walking away, the fat man grabbed Anna from behind, spun her around and lifted her up like a rag doll. Pressing her against his huge chest, he lumbered awkwardly around the dance floor like a dancing bear, performing his tricks at the fair. Anna, the man’s hot beer breath in her face, began to retch.
The man with the snake sipped his beer and watched the odd couple stagger across the dance floor. Slowly, he unwound the python, lifted it over his head and gently put it down on the bar.
‘Look after her for me, luv,’ he said to the barmaid, ‘she’s harmless. I’ll be right back.’ He walked slowly over to the dance floor.
‘That’s enough, mate. Put her down,’ he said, patting the fat man on the back.
The truckie turned his head and glared, his bloodshot eyes slightly unfocused.
‘Fuck off, darkie. This is none of your business,’ he hissed angrily.
The snake man’s right hand shot up in silent reply and grabbed the fat man’s ear. ‘I don’t think you heard me,’ he said, twisting the ear. ‘Let her go.’
The fat man let go of Anna, clenched his fists and spun around.
The tall man let go of the ear and stepped back.
The fat man charged – 120 kilos of rage.
Like most professional fighters, the tall man had the waist of a ballerina and the shoulders of a weightlifter. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he stood poised like a cat watching its prey. He sidestepped the charge easily, letting the fat man crash into the bar.
‘Fight, you fucking coward!’ bellowed the fat man, picking himself up.
‘Okay.’
The tall man exploded into action. The first punch, delivered by his left fist, landed on his opponent’s beer gut and went deep. T
he second, delivered by his right, caught the fat man on the left cheek and broke a bone. The fight was over in an instant. Two more massive blows, one to the chin and one to the nose, finished the truckie off.
‘Anyone else?’ the tall man asked, squaring his shoulders. No one stepped forward. ‘He had it coming. It’s over. Get back to your beers.’
The tall man walked to the far end of the bar, uncoiled the snake which had wound itself around a post, and slung it over his shoulders.
‘Thanks for looking after her, luv,’ he said to the barmaid. ‘One more for the road, please.’ Gulping down his beer, he reached for his hat, threw a few coins on the bar and walked out into the darkness.
Julia put her arm around her friend. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked, a worried look on her face. Anna nodded. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before they all have a go at each other and we’re caught in the middle.’ The two girls left the dance floor and hurried outside.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’ asked Anna. ‘One of the guys from the hostel had a car.’
‘No. They’re out the back, eating. We can walk. It isn’t far.’
The road leading into Alice was deserted. The girls took off their shoes and walked along the warm asphalt.
‘Did you see that guy with the snake? What a hunk! And I couldn’t even thank him. Pity.’
The powerful V8 of the ute purred into life after the girls had walked past. Inching slowly forward without lights, it left the car park behind The Shed and headed slowly for town. Startled by the engine noise coming towards them out of the dark, the girls turned around. The headlights came on suddenly, momentarily blinding them.
‘Get off the road!’ shouted Anna, pushing her friend into the bushes.
The ute accelerated and screeched to a halt next to them. ‘Walking along the road after midnight isn’t such a great idea. Especially ’round here,’ said a voice through the open driver’s window.
‘Look who it is,’ whispered Julia excitedly.
The Disappearance of Anna Popov Page 1
