The Disappearance of Anna Popov

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Come on, Rebecca, that’s not fair. There’s no harm in at least listening to what she has to say. We’ve come this far, we might as well.’ Jack withdrew his hand and slipped the bracelet back into his pocket. ‘Now, get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. I suspect we’ll have an eventful day.’

  He was about to stand up when Rebecca put her hand on his leg and ran the tips of her fingers up his thigh.

  ‘Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?’ she teased.

  ‘Mae West, 1933, in “She Done Him Wrong”.’

  ‘Not bad ...’

  ‘I’m always armed when I go into dangerous places.’

  ‘I should think so. Waking a girl in the middle of the night can be very dangerous, and has consequences ...’ she purred.

  ‘Consequences?’ asked Jack, pretending ignorance. He could feel the hand brake losing its grip. The cart full of desire was rolling down the hill, and was quickly passing the point of no return. The sophisticated chaperone had retreated. What was left was an incredibly desirable woman inviting him into her bed.

  ‘Come here.’ Rebecca lifted up the sheet.

  ‘Nice tan. I thought authors and agents weren’t supposed to ...’ Jack said, frowning.

  ‘There are exceptions.’

  ‘Oh? Tell me.’

  ‘Are you going to just sit here and talk? Or ...’

  Leaning forward, Jack brushed his lips ever so gently against the side of Rebecca’s neck. ‘Or what?’ he asked.

  ‘Take off those dreadful pyjamas and I’ll show you.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘For the last time. Shut up and get into bed!’

  ‘I have to warn you,’ whispered Jack, ‘my lips have a mind of their own ...’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They go places ...’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  23

  Wolf’s Lair, 28 February, 3 a.m.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Zoran, walking sleepily into the tiny control room behind the crypt. All the surveillance cameras in the compound were being monitored from there. It was three o’clock in the morning. Staring at a computer screen, his huge bulk occupying most of the confined space, the Wizard was reviewing CCTV footage of Jack’s meeting with Cassandra.

  ‘Look at this,’ he snarled, stopping the tape.

  The frozen image showed Jack sitting on his bike in front of the church. Cassandra stood next to him, holding out her right hand.

  ‘I hadn’t noticed this before,’ said the Wizard, ‘but there’s something in her hand – look.’ The Wizard leant forward, pointing to the screen. ‘Now watch.’

  He started the tape again, showing Cassandra handing something to Jack. ‘He isn’t even looking at it, whatever it is – see? Instead, he quickly slips it into his pocket and takes off. Strange, don’t you think? Almost as if he was expecting it, or wants to hide the fact that he’s received it,’ he added. ‘It may be nothing, but then again ... Rogan was the only stranger she had anything to do with and everything that happened in the crypt has been recorded. I looked at it – nothing. The only thing is this here. Unfortunately there’s no sound. It all happened outside.’

  ‘And our Jack is a journalist. All journalists are curious. They snoop around, that’s what they do.’

  ‘There’s got to be more to it. Obviously, someone had to let the gunman know ...’

  ‘Are you quite sure that black mongrel’s behind the shooting?’ interrupted Zoran, changing direction.

  ‘Absolutely. There are only a couple guys I know who could pull this off, and he’s one of them. Just look at the logistics: the venue, the timing, the shot. Straight through the eye, for Christ’s sake! You’ve got to have cahunas of steel to do this, and you know what he was like with a rifle.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it,’ Zoran agreed.

  ‘And the word is, the cunt’s vowed to kill me ...’ The Wizard began to laugh.

  ‘Especially after the fire ...’

  ‘Exactly. Well, a few arseholes have tried, and regretted it,’ said the Wizard, rubbing his knuckles. ‘Let him bring it on.’

  Still smarting from the humiliating debacle at the parade, the Wizard suddenly felt better. He was about to unleash a long overdue retaliation.

  ‘We’re ready, aren’t we?

  ‘Always.’

  ‘The three of us will deal with him. You, me and Sladko. No one else! This guy’s smart. The three of us are the true Wizards – right?’ The Wizard slapped Zoran on the back.

  ‘The three of us are one.’

  ‘Just like the old days – eh?’

  ‘You got it. Most of the new blokes in here are fucking useless. Balls without brains.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘You reckon someone in here told him that you’d be riding in the parade?’

  ‘Yes. Wearing the Devil mask,’ the Wizard cut in. ‘And that decision was only made on Tuesday night.’

  ‘Correct. But Cassandra handed Rogan something on Monday, the night before. That doesn’t fit, does it?’

  ‘I thought that too. But we called him back on Wednesday – remember? By then all the arrangements were in place. The second session was Cassandra’s idea. She had to clear something up ...’

  ‘You’re right, that fits. She could have told him then, but how? We recorded everything. What about the tapes?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘This was well planned. Not much time to get the information out. Four days, that’s all. Apart from the guys riding in the parade, no one knew any of this stuff,’ Zoran mused, stroking his beard.

  ‘And I would trust every one of them with my life – except that bitch,’ whispered the Wizard. ‘I’ve always been uneasy about her,’ he added. ‘Right from the very beginning when she first came to us with the boy. Well, now we know, don’t we? But how did she do it?’

  ‘Rogan?’

  ‘Has to be.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘No one fucks with me and gets away with it,’ snarled the Wizard, almost crushing the remote control in his hand.

  ‘You may never know for sure.’

  ‘Maybe, but I intend to give it a go,’ replied the Wizard, a smile spreading across his craggy face.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ll pay Jacko a little visit in the morning. Want to come along?’

  ‘Just try to keep me away.’

  24

  Will’s antique shop, 28 February, 8.a.m.

  Will’s antique shop occupied the ground floor of a spacious Victorian terrace. The faded sign above the door – ‘Arthur Hamilton & Son – Antiques and Curios. More posh for your dosh’ – brought a smile to Jack’s face. The place hadn’t changed at all. The workshop and kitchen were behind the shop, the living quarters upstairs.

  ‘We’ll go around the back,’ he said, turning into the narrow lane leading to the rear entry.

  ‘You once lived here, didn’t you?’ asked Rebecca, following Jack into the lane.

  ‘I did, twenty years ago. With Will and his parents. Two very happy years of my life. I moved in as a lodger and ended up being part of the family.’

  Reaching for Jack’s hand, Rebecca stopped. Jack stopped as well and looked at her. Then, leaning slowly towards him, she kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘What was that for?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing in particular. I’m just happy.’

  ‘In that case, what about here?’ said Jack, pointing to the other cheek.

  Rebecca kissed him on the other cheek.

  ‘And here?’

  ‘Don’t overdo it, buster.’

  ‘Make hay while the sun shines, as my Auntie Mabel used to say. You were right; that was one hell of a dangerous place last night,’ said Jack, trying to look serious. ‘Not to mention the consequences ...’

  ‘How did you find the consequences?’

  ‘Chal
lenging. I can hardly keep my eyes open.’

  ‘Lucky you were so well prepared then ...’

  ‘Do you think that’ll be the end of it, or do I have to brace myself for more consequences?’

  ‘Oh, there’ll be more for sure,’ said Rebecca, pinching Jack on the bottom. ‘I hope you’re up to it, buster.’

  ‘Only if I get my beauty sleep.’ They both burst out laughing.

  The roller door was unlocked. Jack pulled it up and stepped inside. One half of the workshop was occupied by the old van; the other had a long wooden workbench running along the sandstone wall. The bench was littered with all kinds of carpentry tools: planes, saws, carving chisels, gouges. Jars of all shapes and sizes filled with glue and varnish were neatly arranged along the back of the bench like an army waiting to go into battle to fight the relentless wear and tear of time. Everything was covered in dust. Awaiting unlikely restoration, an assortment of chairs in various stages of disrepair was hanging from the rafters. A large cast iron slow combustion stove stood in the middle of the room, its long flue reaching up to the corrugated iron roof like an accusing finger pointing to heaven.

  For Jack, the familiar smell of furniture polish, glue and diesel conjured up memories of long lazy Sunday afternoons spent sanding back old furniture with Will and his dad while listening to the ABC. The old wireless, covered in sawdust, was still tucked away in its familiar place – a little shelf above the workbench. Back then, Will’s mum would be baking scones in the kitchen and bringing endless cups of tea to keep ‘her boys’ going.

  Today, though, Will was leaning against the workbench reading the Sunday paper.

  ‘Good morning, guys. You’re up bright and early,’ said Will, watching Jack and Rebecca. ‘You look like two kittens who have just discovered the cream bowl,’ he added, raising an eyebrow. ‘There’s nothing in any of the papers about a shooting,’ he continued, pointing to a pile of papers on the bench. ‘Apart from a short piece here about the Wizards of Oz leaving the parade early with one of their members who had fallen ill, the Wizards don’t feature at all. There isn’t even a photo – zilch. So far so good.’

  ‘Coffee, boys?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘Great idea,’ said Will. ‘Kitchen’s just over there.’

  ‘I’ll find it,’ said Rebecca, and walked to the back.

  ‘Well?’ asked Will.

  ‘Well, what?’ said Jack, pretending ignorance.

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘What do you expect? Strolling in here, glowing like two teenagers after a romp in the hay.’

  ‘Hmm ...’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘She’s dynamite.’

  ‘Strictly business – eh?’ teased Will, slapping his friend on the back.

  ‘It’s not what ...’ Jack stopped in mid-sentence as Rebecca walked back into the workshop, balancing a pot of steaming coffee on a tray. ‘Smells good,’ said Will. ‘I’ll get the mugs.’

  ‘Where’s Cassandra?’ asked Jack, looking around.

  ‘Still asleep, I suppose. She’s in your old room, by the way,’ Will said.

  ‘She’s sleeping in your old room?’ asked Rebecca. ‘That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s managed to enter your life, Jack, can’t you see?’

  ‘She has something we want.’

  ‘Yes, and she knows it. She’s manipulating you. Be careful.’

  Jack shrugged.

  ‘This was the hub of the house,’ Jack reminisced, running his hand along the smooth timbers of the large table at the back of the workshop. ‘Isn’t that right, China?’ Will nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Workshop, garage, dining room and lounge all wrapped in one because the parlour and the dining room in the front had been converted into a shop.’

  ‘We had a similar room at our farm in Pennsylvania when I was a little girl. All our family life happened in that one room,’ interrupted Rebecca, noticing that none of the chairs matched.

  ‘Because we spent so much time working, we ate here every evening and then played Monopoly and Scrabble until the small hours. Will’s dad sat at the head of the table, right here on this chair. Strange how simple objects can outlive people, don’t you think?’

  ‘This place looks like something out of Dickens. The only thing that doesn’t quite fit is this here,’ said Rebecca, pointing to the old van.

  Will returned with the coffee mugs. ‘Cassandra can’t stay here, Jack,’ he said.

  ‘I know that. But look, she has no money, no credit cards, no phone – no one. She has nowhere to go and the Wizard is after her. We can’t just throw her out either.’

  ‘So, what are we going to do, eh?’

  ‘First, we listen to what she has to say. The proposal – remember? Then we decide – okay?’ said Jack.

  ‘A smart decision, gentlemen,’ said a voice from behind.

  Jack spun around, almost spilling his coffee. Leaning on her walking stick, Cassandra stood in the doorway.

  ‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’

  Slowly, she limped closer and stopped in front of Rebecca who was sitting at the table. For a while she just looked at her. Rebecca held her gaze.

  ‘We haven’t met, but I think we know each other,’ said Cassandra at last.

  She pulled a small wooden box out of her pocket and placed it on the table. Jack recognised the box instantly, the words SATOR and ROTAS carved into the lid reminding him of his first encounter with Cassandra.

  ‘You’re right, I have no means and nowhere to go,’ she repeated, turning towards Jack. ‘But I do have something you seek. I can lead you to Anna,’ she said quietly.

  ‘She’s alive?’ asked Jack, unable to suppress his excitement.

  ‘All the signs say so. But I have to warn you, the journey ahead is very dangerous. In more ways than you can possibly imagine.’

  ‘We need to know a lot more than that,’ said Will, shaking his head.

  ‘Life is full of choices,’ replied Cassandra. ‘This is a fork in the road. You will have to decide which way to go. But once you make your decision, there’ll be no turning back. I will tell you all you need to know to make up your mind. If you decide to follow me, the path will be arduous and difficult, but will most likely lead you to Anna ... If you decide against this, I will walk out of here now and you’ll never see me again.’

  She opened the wooden box, took out the deck of Tarot cards and put it on the table in front of Rebecca.

  ‘This is my proposal. Please ... listen carefully.’

  25

  Rose Cottage, 28 February, 9 a.m.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Jack, pointing to the three Harleys blocking the narrow footpath in front of his house.

  ‘There’s someone sitting on your doorstep too,’ observed Will. ‘Look at his tee-shirt.’

  ‘A little magic goes a long way,’ read Jack. ‘Shit! Thank Christ we left Cassandra at your place.’

  Cassandra had suggested they go for a little walk. She, however, had stayed behind in Will’s workshop, waiting for their decision.

  ‘Do you think they’re looking for her?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Must be. I wonder where the other guys are,’ said Jack, as a second bikie emerged out of the side passage next to the house.

  ‘Checking the back, I’d say,’ said Will.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Jack, walking up to the man sitting on the step.

  ‘Jack Rogan?’ replied the bikie, scrutinising Jack through dark glasses.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Out and about early? Church?’

  ‘I like to walk.’

  ‘You’ve got a visitor, mate.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s waiting inside, mate,’ said the bikie, indicating the open front door with his cigarette.

  Jack raised an eyebrow, glanced over his shoulder at Will, and said nothing.

  There are certain peop
le whose presence can fill a whole room. Balancing Jack’s computer on his lap, the Wizard, decked in his regalia, sat in the small parlour looking completely relaxed among the antiques. He looked bigger and more threatening than Jack remembered.

  ‘Nice photos,’ said the Wizard, pointing to the screen.

  Jack cursed himself for having left his computer switched on and open. His instincts told him to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve already had a look. Saves me having to show them to you later,’ Jack said. ‘This is Will, the guy who took them.’ Jack pointed to his friend standing behind him. ‘And of course you’ve already met Rebecca. Coffee?’

  This guy is good, thought the Wizard, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye. He was used to putting people off balance by catching them unawares. Uncertainty created fear – the most powerful tool of all.

  ‘Scotch would be better,’ said the Wizard. ‘I haven’t slept in two days. It keeps me going.’

  Jack walked over to the sideboard and poured a large whiskey into a tumbler.

  ‘Whatever brings you here must be important,’ he said, handing the glass to the Wizard. ‘An early interview session perhaps? After such an eventful evening ...’

  Jack noticed a flash of anger race across the Wizard’s face. It only lasted for an instant, but it was a warning. He’d better tread carefully.

  The Wizard gulped down his scotch and held out the empty glass.

  Jack refilled it and put the bottle in front of him. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘We have to suspend our little arrangement; temporarily,’ said the Wizard. ‘One of our guys had a heart attack during the parade ... You may have noticed?’ Ignoring Rebecca completely, he was watching Will with half-closed eyes. Will held his gaze without flinching.

  ‘An unfortunate incident. We don’t think he’s going to make it.’ The Wizard put the laptop on the coffee table in front of him, turned it around so that the others could see the screen and pointed to the close-up of the Devil’s face. It clearly showed a gaping hole where the left eye had been. ‘With a heart attack like this, that’s hardly surprising, is it?’ he added quietly, changing the tone of his voice.