The Disappearance of Anna Popov

by Gabriel Farago

  Jack, Will and Rebecca stared at the image on the small screen, the tension in the room rising with every heartbeat.

  ‘We’re sorry to hear that,’ said Jack. ‘Heart attacks can be very nasty.’

  ‘I can see we understand each other,’ said the Wizard, closing the laptop. ‘Therefore, no Mardi Gras story and no photos – right?’

  ‘It would be insensitive and disrespectful in the circumstances,’ said Jack, watching the Wizard carefully as he refilled his glass and sat back.

  ‘Well put. There’s one more thing ... Don’t contact any of our members for the time being, and if any of them should contact you, don’t speak to them. Call me instead – okay? And keep in mind,’ the Wizard continued, lowering his voice, ‘that we have eyes and ears in the most unlikely places ...’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I knew I could count on you, Jack,’ said the Wizard, standing up.

  Jack stood up as well.

  ‘Stay with your friends, I’ll see myself out. I know the way.’

  Jack thought it sounded more like a command than a polite suggestion and sat down. Smiling, the Wizard walked over and put his huge hand on Jack’s shoulder. Bending down until his moustache almost brushed against Jack’s face, he whispered, ‘And remember what we said about promises kept and promises broken.’

  No one said a word until the roar of the three bikes had faded away.

  ‘Jesus, can you believe this?’ said Jack, running his fingers through his hair. ‘Heart attack my arse! He knows that we know that he knows ...’

  ‘And we just go along with his crap and do bugger all about it?’ interrupted Will, shaking his head.

  ‘What a scary guy,’ said Rebecca. ‘He moves people around like pieces on a chessboard and thinks nothing of it. So damn confident and afraid of nothing.’ Feeling suddenly quite cold, she moved a little closer to Jack sitting on the couch next to her. ‘We have to be careful,’ she said, reaching for his hand.

  ‘Arrogant bastard!’ said Jack, trying to control his rising anger. The audacious home invasion had made him feel vulnerable.

  ‘Some warning – eh,’ said Will. ‘Breaking in and then just sitting in your house like he owned it. I wonder how much he knows, and how much he suspects.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to find out. Okay, decision time, guys. You’ve heard what Cassandra had to say. What are we going to do?’ asked Jack. Leaning back into the couch, he put his arm around Rebecca and looked expectantly at Will sitting opposite.

  ‘Let’s have another look at what she told us,’ said Will.

  ‘All right.’ Jack pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and opened it. ‘I’ve jotted down some of the key points. Always write things down straight away before your memory plays tricks on you, as your mum used to say – right, China? I’ve never forgotten that.’

  ‘You’ve still got it,’ said Will, pointing to the notebook, ‘after all these years.’ The leather cover – scratched and faded, and held together with a rubber band – was all that remained of the little notebook given to Jack by Will’s mother; the pages had been replaced many times. Because Jack was always jotting down ideas on scraps of paper he used to stuff into his pockets, never to be found again, Will’s mother had presented him with a lovely leather-bound notebook.

  ‘Spinner’s little book of inspiration, she used to call it – remember?’ said Jack. ‘One day, it’ll make him famous.’

  ‘If only she knew,’ said Will, a melancholy look in his eyes.

  ‘All right boys; don’t get lost strolling down memory lane,’ interrupted Rebecca. ‘Anna was last seen in January 2005 in Alice Springs. The police investigation lasted about a year and Cassandra was brought in towards the end to assist the authorities.’

  ‘Correct,’ Jack agreed. ‘Tristan’s accident happened just before Christmas 2005. She withdrew from the case after that and the investigation was closed.’

  ‘This is when it becomes really interesting,’ interjected Will. ‘As I recall it, Cassandra confronted the Wizard sometime in January 06 and then joined the club.’

  ‘Yes. According to her, the main reason for that extraordinary step was to take care of her invalid son’s needs. But she had a hidden agenda: she wanted to continue with the investigation into Anna’s disappearance and bring the Wizards to justice,’ said Jack. ‘And the best way to do that was from the inside. First question: do we believe her?’

  ‘I do,’ replied Rebecca without hesitation.

  ‘So do I,’ concurred Will.

  ‘That’s a good start,’ said Jack. ‘Let me read what I’ve got here, if I can decipher my own shorthand: C’s explanation extraordinary but plausible. Does fit facts. Is there more to it? Another angle? A different motif? Gut feeling uneasy!!’

  ‘You’re not sure then?’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Just a hunch ...’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s what came after that I’ve got problems with,’ interrupted Will. ‘Have you got any notes on that?’

  ‘I have. After joining the Wizards, C. makes enquiries. She claims to have discovered what happened to Anna and her friend, but refuses to tell us ...’

  ‘Why?’ Will cut in.

  ‘She said we weren’t ready,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit too convenient?’ asked Will.

  ‘Convenient? I don’t think so,’ said Jack. ‘Desperate more like it. She has to get us over the line. She needs to hold something back. Desperate people do desperate things.’

  Will didn’t look convinced.

  ‘That’s one way to look at it, I suppose,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Any problems so far?’ asked Jack.

  ‘It’s an amazing story, but it does kind of stack up. Especially with the boy ... Well, it comes down to this: we either believe her, or we don’t. What possible reason could she have to lie to us?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘I can think of a few, but I do agree with you,’ Will cut in, ‘it has the ring of truth about it. As far as it goes ...’

  ‘That brings us to what happened next,’ said Jack, flicking through his notes. ‘Do you remember what she said when we confronted her with the assassination?’

  ‘Yes,’ Will said. ‘She was evasive. She said she could only tell us about that if we decided to go along with her proposal.’

  ‘Correct. And this is her proposal: Cassandra believes that Anna is alive. She says she can find her, but only if we help.’

  ‘What’s in it for her?’ interrupted Will.

  ‘Look, Anna’s mere existence is a major threat to the Wizards – it can bring them undone. This is Cassandra’s only chance. Can’t you see? She may have her own agenda, but for her it’s a matter of survival. Her life and her son’s future depend on finding Anna before the Wizards do,’ Jack said.

  ‘And exposing their bastardry,’ interrupted Will.

  ‘And that’s where retribution comes in,’ Rebecca interjected.

  ‘Yep. Call it what you like, she’s desperate. That’s one hell of a motivation. Also, she’s been completely frank about the dangers. The Wizard will stop at nothing to prevent all this and we already have some idea what this means – right? The stakes are high, but so are the rewards. Imagine finding Anna alive after all these years,’ speculated Jack, remembering the countess kneeling in front of Anna’s photo in the chapel.

  ‘Let’s not get too carried away here,’ cautioned Will. ‘It’s all a bit of a long shot – surely?’

  ‘Perhaps it is, and bloody dangerous,’ said Jack, ‘make no mistake about it. We are messing with ruthless people capable of anything, guys, let’s be clear about this. Big risks here, even death ... I mean it! Have you considered this?’

  ‘Understood,’ said Will, ‘but we are running out of time. What are we going to do? Do we take the gamble or walk away?’

  ‘Becky?’ asked Jack.

  ‘We’re all in this together – right?’ replied Rebecca. ‘So, why don’t we just take a vote?’

  ‘Fair en
ough,’ Jack agreed.

  Surprising everyone, Rebecca held up her hand. ‘I say we go along with her,’ she said, looking first at Jack, then at Will.

  ‘So do I,’ said Will.

  ‘Me too,’ Jack concurred. ‘But what about the Canadian tour? All my engagements?’

  ‘That can wait,’ said Rebecca, casually brushing the question aside. What Jack couldn’t have known was that Rebecca was ready for an adventure of her own. She was prepared to risk all to find the happiness that had eluded her during her relentless pursuit of a stellar career.

  ‘Did you hear that, Will?’ asked Jack, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I never thought she’d say that.’

  ‘New Yorkers are unpredictable creatures, mate. You should know this by now, Spinner,’ said Will, slapping Jack on the back.

  ‘Not quite,’ Rebecca cut in. ‘Can you imagine the publicity we’d get should we really find Anna? The impact on Jack’s career, his reputation, and on current book sales alone ... I don’t think you guys quite comprehend what that would mean. It’s surely worth the gamble.’

  ‘See, we got it all wrong,’ said Will, lowering his voice. ‘Just when we thought she’d mellowed a little, she’s been on the job all the time. Tough cookie this one, mate.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ replied Jack with a shrug.

  ‘Did you say something boys?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘No,’ both Jack and Will replied, grinning.

  26

  Rookwood Cemetery, Sydney, 28 February, 10:30 a.m.

  The man in the black jeans and tee-shirt was the only visitor in the cemetery. Sunday morning was always quiet. Heavy with dew, intricate spider webs covered the rose bushes clustered around the little plaques like thorny shrouds, each one of them a solemn reminder of a dear departed. Momentarily confused, the man stopped, trying to orientate himself. All the manicured rows looked alike. It had been almost two years since his last visit. Retracing his steps, he walked back to the chapel and started again. His mother was in row twelve, he was sure of it.

  All the emotions he had so carefully suppressed – the regrets, the sorrow, the horror and the pain – came flooding back with frightening clarity. Turning a corner, he found himself in familiar territory. This is it, he thought. A yellow rosebush greeted the morning sun next to a rock. In front of it was a small brass plaque set into the ground. ‘Elvie Barton. Beloved mother ...’ he read.

  Choking with emotion, he fell to his knees and ran his trembling fingers along the inscription, his fingers leaving a dewy trail as he traced his mother’s name.

  ‘It’s done, Mum,’ he mumbled. ‘The monster is no more. Now you can rest in peace. I know I’ve disappointed you. I’ve let you down, but I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see.’

  Standing up, the man wiped the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but it felt good. Closure at last, he thought, trying to calm himself. The consuming rage he had felt since his mother’s death was slowly ebbing away. However, instead of the peace he had so desperately longed for, all he could feel was emptiness and despair. He realised then that it wasn’t finished yet. Something more had to be done. Something far more difficult.

  ‘I know I have to set it right. The debts have to be paid. You always said it’s never too late as long as you try and don’t give up. I’ll try, I promise,’ he said.

  Glancing once more at the humble little plaque, he turned around and walked away. As he reached the end of the row, he looked up and let out a mighty roar, releasing some of the pent up rage and sorrow that had been tearing his heart apart.

  Then he clenched his fists as he did before every fight, and prepared himself for the long journey north. Soon he would be heading back to the land of his ancestors, his true home.

  27

  Wolf’s Lair, 1 March, 11a.m.

  The Wizard stood in the crypt – motionless and silent – and stared at his dead friend lying on the table.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Zoran, walking up behind him.

  ‘It’s all coming together.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know the real reason why Rogan came to us ...’

  ‘Oh?’ Zoran put his hand on the Wizard’s shoulder.

  ‘I saw something in his bedroom.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A photo of Anna Popov ...’ said the Wizard.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Zoran withdrew his hand as if stung.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘After all this time? Cassandra, you think?’

  ‘Yes. And he knows Carlos was shot with a bullet meant for me.’

  ‘This is serious.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘We have to find Cassandra. Any news?’

  ‘Could be. One of our contacts at the airport just rang.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Some CCTV footage from a departure gate. He’s sending it over now.’

  The Wizard spun around. ‘Cassandra?’

  Zoran replied with a shrug. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  The faxed image – a close-up of a group of people waiting in a queue – was dark and grainy. A circle had been drawn around a petite, dark-haired woman leaning on a walking stick – with a question mark next to it. ‘9.15 to Alice Springs’ was scribbled across the top of the fax.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Zoran, handing the Wizard a magnifying glass.

  ‘Not sure; can’t see the face. But hey, what have we here?’ exclaimed the Wizard, jabbing his finger at one of the other people in the queue behind the dark-haired woman. A hint of a smile began to spread across his face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Here, have a look.’ The Wizard pointed to another woman – her face shown clearly in profile – standing next to a tall man. The man was looking straight ahead, away from the camera.

  ‘Rogan’s girlfriend?’ said Zoran excitedly.

  ‘Yes. And I’m sure the guy next to her is our dear Jack. Now we know for sure, don’t you think?’ The Wizard glanced at his watch. It was 11 am.

  ‘They’re still in the air. And soon we’ll be too,’ he added. ‘But first, let’s give Zac a call.’

  Zac Markovich, a publican in Alice Springs, was the Wizards’ largest distributor of party drugs in the Northern Territory. He was also Zoran’s older brother.

  28

  Alice Springs, Wandjina Gallery 1 March, 3 p.m.

  The first thing everyone seems to notice on arrival at Alice Springs is the dry heat and intense glare that make the lips crack and the eyes water. The hot air baking the red earth shimmered like liquid glass in the noonday sun when the small group walked out of the airport terminal building.

  ‘We’ll go straight to the gallery,’ said Jack, helping Cassandra collect her duffel bag from the baggage trolley. ‘Andrew’s expecting us.’ Rebecca had bought some clothes for Cassandra the day before. Dressed in jeans and tee-shirts, they looked like all the other tourists visiting Central Australia.

  ‘I’ll get a cab,’ said Will, guiding Rebecca to the crowded exit. None of them noticed the young Aboriginal leaning casually against the wall next to the information counter. He was watching them carefully from behind dark glasses as they walked past, his broad-brimmed hat pulled down low to hide his face. He followed them outside and got into a dusty four-wheel drive waiting behind the taxi rank.

  After accepting Cassandra’s proposal, they had agreed that the best way forward would be for everyone to meet with Andrew Simpson in Alice Springs and continue where Cassandra and Andrew had left off three years before. It had quickly become obvious that Cassandra wasn’t safe in Sydney and couldn’t stay at Will’s place for much longer. The Wizard’s unexpected visit had unnerved them all.

  Andrew Simpson’s assistant – a young Aboriginal woman – asked them to wait. Andrew was delivering a painting to one of the hotels, she explained, and would be back shortly.

  Cassandra w
alked over to where Jack was standing at the counter.

  ‘May I have Anna’s bracelet for a moment?’ she asked. ‘There’s something here ...’

  ‘Sure.’ Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out the bracelet and handed it to her. Slowly, Cassandra began to walk from painting to painting, carefully examining each one. At the far end of the room she stopped and looked up at a large painting of Dinkarra, a great Dreamtime hero. Tracing the signature – ‘Lucrezia’ – in the bottom right hand corner with the tip of her finger, Cassandra placed her hand on the frame, closed her eyes and stood very still. She appeared to be listening intently. Jack watched her carefully from across the room.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ asked Rebecca. ‘She lives in her own world ...’

  ‘Communicating with the spirits of the Outback perhaps?’ Will cut in, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  ‘I hope we’re not making a big mistake here,’ whispered Rebecca, a worried look on her face.

  ‘You were all in favour, remember? We have to give her a chance. She’s different. Patience, please.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Here’s Andrew now. Let me introduce you.’

  ‘Your phone call has certainly made me curious,’ said Andrew, extending his hand. ‘Where is she?’

  Jack pointed to the far end of the room. Andrew excused himself and walked over to the petite woman standing motionless in front of the Dinkarra painting.

  ‘What do you hear, Cassandra?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘The whisper of generations past,’ she replied without opening her eyes.

  ‘Our paths cross again,’ Andrew said. Such answers were usually the province of a Kadaitcha man, a wise elder sitting by the campfire in the desert, and not of a woman standing in front of a Dreamtime painting in his art gallery.

  ‘Can you understand what they’re saying?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but I can feel what they mean. There’s a connection here ...’ Cassandra opened her eyes and turned towards Andrew. ‘Between these paintings and Anna.’

  ‘Do you know what it is?’

  Cassandra looked wistfully at the bracelet in her hand. ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘I can find out. But only if you help me.’