‘What do you mean?’
‘There are two different spirit worlds here. They overlap and collide. You of all people will understand. You’re connected.’
Andrew looked puzzled.
‘We have to confront something evil,’ continued Cassandra.
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell you. Come on, let’s join the others.’
The walls of the small lounge room behind the gallery were covered with paintings. Some old ones were painted on bark, the colours smudged and fading. Others were painted on canvas or wooden boards.
‘These are the paintings I can’t part with,’ explained Andrew. ‘They’re the storybooks of my people. As you can see, I’m running out of space. Please, make yourselves comfortable.’
‘The energy in this room is amazing,’ observed Cassandra, absorbing the fantastic shapes and colours closing in on her from all sides. They were the powerful images of a strange, distant past she couldn’t quite comprehend.
‘This is incredible,’ said Rebecca, looking at the paintings. Andrew sat down facing Cassandra and rolled a cigarette.
‘Last time we met, Andrew,’ began Jack, ‘you told me that you interviewed everyone who was at The Shed the night the two girls disappeared. All but one – the guy with the snake. I think you called him Shadow Man.’
‘That’s right,’ replied Andrew, lighting up. ‘We couldn’t find him. It was as if he hadn’t existed at all. He disappeared without a trace.’
‘Not quite ...’ said Jack.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you should hear this from the psychic you brought in to help you find him,’ replied Jack, pointing to Cassandra.
Surprised, Andrew looked at Cassandra through the cigarette smoke. Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes and was taking deeper and deeper breaths, shutting out everything around her.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ she began, speaking quite softly. ‘A middle-aged, hardened criminal who has spent more than half his life behind bars, befriends a young Aboriginal man – a first timer – in jail. The older man wields enormous power and influence among the inmates and the guards. The impressionable young man falls under his spell. For the next two years the older man runs the affairs of a notorious outlaw motorcycle club from inside prison. The young man becomes his protégé.
‘After his release, the young man wants to join the club. In line with club tradition, an initiation task is set by the council in charge of recruitment. If he can pass, he becomes a member. Some members of the council oppose his candidacy. They don’t want to admit an Aborigine into the club and deliberately set an extremely difficult task which they don’t expect him to be able to fulfil: he has to abduct two girls and deliver them to the Wizards as part of his initiation. What’s more, he has to accomplish this without being caught or in any way implicating the club or any of its members ...’
Cassandra’s voice became faint and trailed off. The cigarette between Andrew’s fingers had turned into a column of ash which fell unnoticed to the floor. No one moved.
‘What happened?’ asked Jack after a while.
‘Contrary to expectation, the young man is successful. He abducts two girls right here in Alice Springs and turns up with them at the Wizards’ remote farm near Bathurst in New South Wales, just as the council had directed.’
‘You can’t be serious, surely!’ Andrew was almost shouting.
Cassandra opened her eyes and looked at him. Embarrassed, he lowered his gaze and reached for his tobacco.
‘Each year, the Wizards import enough pseudoephedrine from the Netherlands to manufacture many millions of dollars worth of the drug, ice. That’s their core business,’ continued Cassandra, closing her eyes again.
‘The courier business is an ingenious cover for the distribution of the drugs. The remote farm is being used at that time by the Wizards to manufacture and store huge quantities of ice. It is also used for their initiation ceremonies,’ said Cassandra, turning pale.
‘What happened to the girls?’ interrupted Andrew.
‘Drugged and very weak, the girls arrive at the farm.’
‘How?’
‘In a caravan.’ Satisfied with the answer, Andrew nodded.
‘The Wizard officiates during the initiation ritual,’ Cassandra continued. ‘The girls are subjected to the most unspeakable abuse, during which one of them dies ...’
‘If any of this is true, why didn’t you come forward sooner?’ demanded Andrew.
‘Easy. Andrew, please,’ Jack stepped in, ‘give her a chance. There are reasons ...’
Suddenly, Cassandra’s whole body began to tremble. Beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip and forehead and her eyelids began to flutter.
‘I have to lie down,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible. ‘He’s close. Very close ... He will ...’
Rebecca rushed over to Cassandra, knelt down beside her and placed her hand on the psychic’s flushed forehead.
‘She’s fainted!’ exclaimed Rebecca, looking alarmed.
‘We’ll take her to the bedroom,’ said Andrew, getting out of his chair. ‘This way, come on. Quickly!’
29
Alice Springs, The Drover’s Retreat, 1 March, 6:00 p.m.
The Drover’s Retreat – a rundown pub on the outskirts of Alice – was popular with the locals but had seen better days. Sitting back in his rickety cane chair, the Wizard was surveying the veranda in front of his room. The corrugated iron roof had large holes in it, the handrail was broken in several places, and the floorboards were slowly rotting away. Casting long shadows across the dusty road below, the setting sun was about to disappear behind the ancient red hills, promising some relief from the searing heat. Somewhere a bush band was playing country and western music.
‘What a dump,’ said the Wizard, reaching for another beer. ‘And you tell me we own half of it.’
‘It’s making money,’ replied Zoran, spreading his fingers. ‘The accommodation’s crap, but the bar and the steakhouse downstairs are pure gold.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Tired and irritable, the Wizard was drumming his fingers against the tabletop.
‘Where the fuck is he? He should have been here an hour ago.’ The Wizard found waiting difficult at the best of times. Sladko was pacing up and down behind him like a caged animal ready to pounce, the floorboards creaking every time he walked past.
‘Sit down, for Christ’s sake, you’re making me jumpy.’
The late afternoon flight from Sydney had been tiresome, uncomfortable, and full of excited tourists, making them all edgy.
Sweating and out of breath, Zac the publican arrived with a case of beer under his arm.
‘What a sight. The Wizards relaxing in the Outback; who would have believed it?’ he said, putting the beer on the floor. ‘Here, go for it, guys. Cheers.’
‘It’s about bloody time. Where did they go?’
‘To a house just out of town. Our guys are watching it.’
‘Whose house?’
‘A man called Simpson, a retired cop. He runs an art gallery out there. Abo stuff for tourists.’
‘Ah. Just as I thought,’ said the Wizard, a smile spreading across his face. ‘I wonder ... Are they still there?’
‘Here comes Banjo now,’ said Zac, pointing to a young Aboriginal getting out of a ute. ‘He’s been following them all day. Why don’t you ask him?’
‘Is he okay?’
‘You can trust him with your life.’
Whistling loudly, Zac walked over to the handrail. ‘Up here, mate,’ he shouted, waving his hat.
‘They arrived together from Sydney,’ reported Banjo. ‘Two men and two women. One of the women is really little and limps and has a walking stick. Here are some photos.’ The man handed the Wizard his digital camera.
‘Have a look at these, Zoran. Recognise anyone?’ The Wizard pushed the camera across the table.
‘Great. Now we know for sure. But what are they doing her
e?’
‘I’ve got a fair idea. Where are they now?’ asked the Wizard. ‘Still at the copper’s place?’
Banjo nodded.
‘You wanted to find the bitch,’ Sladko cut in, ‘now we have. Why don’t we just bring her in and ask her? I’m sure we can make her squeal. What do you reckon, Zoran? And we can take care of the others at the same time – right?’
‘We’ll do nothing of the kind. She’ll tell us all right, but not the way you think.’ The Wizard turned to Zac, standing beside him. ‘I need your help.’
‘What’s mine is yours,’ replied Zac, turning serious. ‘You know that.’
‘We need wheels, weapons, supplies, the lot. And someone reliable who knows the country around here,’ added the Wizard. ‘Any problems with that?’
‘You got it.’
‘Are we going somewhere?’ asked Sladko.
‘You bet we are,’ said the Wizard.
‘Where?’ asked Zoran, belching loudly.
‘Wait and see. And don’t get too pissed.’ The Wizard looked at Zac. ‘Have the copper’s place watched round the clock,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m taking a kip. If they make a move, wake me.’
30
Alice Springs, Wandjina Gallery, 1 March, 8:00 p.m.
Rebecca sat by the window in Andrew’s lounge room watching the sun go down, when something caught her eye. Looking up, she saw Cassandra standing in the doorway.
‘Where is everybody?’ asked Cassandra quietly. ‘What time is it?’
‘You went out like a light. The boys have gone to dinner. Come over here and sit with me.’ Rebecca motioned to the chair opposite.
Cassandra limped over and sat down. Running her fingers through her short hair, she looked up at the paintings surrounding them on all sides. The strange shapes and colours looked even more mysterious at night.
‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ began Rebecca, closing the book on her lap.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Remember what you said to me when we first met?’
‘We haven’t met, but I think we know each other,’ replied Cassandra without hesitation.
‘What did you mean by that?’
‘When I meet people for the first time, I often feel things. An aura, a life force, a presence. It’s difficult to articulate, but it’s real. Yours was particularly strong and familiar. It was the same with Jack. It was as if we’d met before and were destined to meet again. Here, right now in these unusual circumstances. You and I have met before ... Our fate lines have touched in an eternity moment. This happens sometimes during a reading, but without the cards, it’s rare.’
Rebecca tried hard not to smile.
‘It’s perfectly natural for someone like you to feel this way about such things,’ continued Cassandra, locking eyes with Rebecca.
Rebecca bit her lip and looked away. It’s always disconcerting when someone reads your thoughts.
‘But it wasn’t always that way, was it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You grew up in the country, in a closed community of rather special people. Different people ...’
Rebecca sat up as if pricked by a needle.
‘Theirs was a different world. They had different rules and beliefs and a very different way of life. A spiritual life, withdrawn from the wider world around them – right?’
‘How do you know this?’ Rebecca whispered.
Cassandra reached for Rebecca’s hand and closed her eyes. Suddenly, Rebecca felt relaxed and at ease. Something warm and comforting seemed to pass to her from the woman sitting opposite.
‘I know because of who I am.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I have a gift, handed down to me from long ago. My mother had it too, as did her mother before her, reaching back generations. It’s both a blessing and a curse. But you know exactly what I mean, don’t you?’ Cassandra opened her eyes and looked at Rebecca.
Cassandra’s eyes had turned into dark pools – deep and mysterious gateways into a different consciousness – beckoning Rebecca to enter.
Looking into those eyes, Rebecca saw herself as a little girl back on her parents’ farm in Pennsylvania. Often she would see things before they happened and hear people talking to her who weren’t there. When she told her brothers they laughed, until one day she warned one of them, a carpenter, not to climb on top of a particular roof. He ignored her. She even ran to her father and pleaded with him not to let him do it. He told her not to be silly. The brother fell from the roof and broke his neck. After this her life changed. She became an outcast, someone to be avoided. Her deeply religious and superstitious family was afraid of her. Rebecca could hear Cassandra’s words, ‘You know exactly what I mean’, ringing in her ears like a mantra. Then she saw herself standing naked in front of her mother, crying. Searching for a telltale mark, her mother had cut off her daughter’s long hair and examined every inch of her shivering little body. Rebecca withdrew her hand and lowered her eyes, hoping the disturbing image would go away.
‘It’s never easy being different,’ said Cassandra, a gentle smile spreading across her troubled face.
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Your relationships with men ...’
‘What of it?’
‘They’re attracted to you, and you want to like them, but ...’
‘But what?’ Rebecca snapped, caught off guard.
‘Hush ... You’re different.’
‘I am?’
‘You know you are. Deep down, in your own secret little place, you are attracted not to men, but ...’
‘That’s nonsense!’ protested Rebecca, her voice sounding shrill.’
‘Is it?’
Biting her lip, Rebecca looked away.
‘Your marriages failed, not because you fell in love with another man, but because you fell in love with ...’
‘No!’ interrupted Rebecca, tears in her eyes.
‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ said Cassandra.
‘Afraid of what?’ interrupted Rebecca.
‘To admit it.’
‘Look ... how about we have something to eat?’ Rebecca asked. Pale and shaken, she changed the subject. ‘Andrew said we should just help ourselves.’
The kitchen was at the back of the cottage next to the stables which had been converted into bedrooms.
‘My repertoire is somewhat limited, I’m afraid,’ confessed Rebecca, peering into the fridge. ‘But my omelettes aren’t too bad. Okay with you?’
Cassandra nodded gratefully. ‘I’ll set the table.’
‘Another question – do you mind?’ asked Rebecca beating the eggs.
‘Go ahead.’
‘You said this afternoon that there was great danger and evil close by. What was that about?’
Cassandra stopped rummaging through the kitchen drawers and looked up. ‘I felt something ...’
‘What?’
Cassandra paled. ‘A presence.’
‘Oh?’
‘The Wizard is close by.’
‘What – here?’
Cassandra nodded.
It was obvious Rebecca didn’t believe her. ‘Tell me more,’ she said as she served the omelette.
‘Every once in a while the forces that shape our destiny throw up something really frightening, something truly evil,’ said Cassandra once they were seated at the table. ‘History is full of examples. The Wizard is one of those ... creatures. He’s the scariest person I’ve ever come across. A freak.’
‘In what way?’
‘He has no moral constraints whatsoever. He’s capable of anything. For him, the unthinkable is normal. Also, he’s a man without fear. I mean no fear at all. He’s only in awe of one thing – the occult. The most frightening thing, though, is his ability to manipulate others. He puts people under his spell and they do his bidding – unconditionally. I’ve seen it many times. It’s quite amazing.’
‘But he’s been to jail for many years ...’
>
‘Yes, and he’s built an empire from in there. He’s turned being imprisoned into a career.’
‘How?’
‘Virtually all the club members – certainly most of the council – were recruited in jail. New members are selected very carefully. Personality traits, strengths and weaknesses, professional experience, are all evaluated by the Wizard personally. He even has what he calls a “usefulness scale”. The name says it all. Look, the Wizards have accountants, doctors, engineers, lawyers, politicians, even a former police commissioner, in their ranks. What the Wizard lacks in education and skills, he takes from others. He uses people. He has finely honed instincts and a sixth sense bordering on the uncanny. Hallmarks of a very talented, evil genius.’
‘Amazing.’
‘When you add a lot of money to all this, and I mean a lot of money – almost exclusively generated through the club’s sophisticated drug trafficking operations – you have the Wizards of Oz. A criminal moneymaking machine based on a winning, virtually invincible formula.’
‘What formula?’
‘Complete dependence of all the members on the club and each other, and a code of conduct based on obedience and silence with one man at the helm – the Wizard. Look, these men are all outcasts. They’re the lepers of society. They have nowhere to go. Yet in the Wizard’s world, they can become heroes where the very deeds and character flaws that turned them into criminals are valued and rewarded, even respected and admired. Everything’s upside down.’
‘What about your son? Isn’t he at risk after all that’s just happened?’
‘You mean with me on the run and the Wizard after me?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t harm what appears already dead,’ replied Cassandra sadly. ‘Tristan is beyond reach, and the Wizard knows it.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you? I think not.’
‘Oh? How come?’
‘All is not as it seems.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My son is safe where he is just now. In fact, he’s in the safest place I could wish for.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘At the moment, I can’t protect him – right? I can’t even visit him anymore. The worst thing that could happen is for him to come out of his coma. If that were to occur, the Wizard would gain a foolproof way to get to me. Tristan can only wake up safely when the Wizard is no more. And that is precisely what he will do – one day.’
The Disappearance of Anna Popov Page 14