The Disappearance of Anna Popov

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Lazarus?’

  The Wizard nodded.

  ‘Lazarus here is betting ten grand. He’s putting his money where his mouth is,’ shouted the ringmaster.

  ‘What, straight back from the dead?’ shouted someone in the front. The crowd roared with laughter.

  His mind racing, Pigeon tried to come to terms with what his eyes and ears were telling him: the Wizard was alive, standing in the ring next to him, ready to fight. One thing Pigeon knew for sure: this would be a fight to the end.

  ‘Just in case you’re wondering,’ hissed the Wizard, leaning across to Pigeon, ‘you shot the wrong man ... The Alchemist is dead. You didn’t really think you could cross me and get away with it?’

  ‘Come on, place your bets. That’s the spirit,’ shouted O’Grady, encouraging the punters.

  ‘Enough of the bullshit!’ roared the Wizard, clenching his massive fists. ‘Ring the fucking bell.’

  36

  O’Grady’s boxing tent, 7:30 p.m.

  Sensing a moment of confusion in his stunned opponent, the Wizard went on the attack with a favourite combination. His first punch – delivered with the left – caught the champ off guard and dug deep into the gut. Expecting his opponent to react by bending forward, the Wizard’s right shot up from below, aiming for the chin

  Once again, speed was Pigeon’s friend. A lightning-fast reflex – a small step back – saved him from a devastating blow. Raw power met speed.

  ‘You remembered what I’ve taught you,’ hissed the Wizard, grinning. ‘Expect the unexpected – good. But it won’t be enough.’

  Bouncing off the ropes, the Wizard moved forward again, using another combination. This time Pigeon was ready for him. First, he blocked the punch by lifting his fists, then his left exploded forward. Glancing off the Wizard’s wrist it connected with his right ear. The crowd roared.

  ‘Enjoying the fight, Cassandra?’ asked Zoran, putting his arm around Cassandra’s waist. ‘You’re not betting, I see. Lost faith in your little champ, have you? Can’t say I blame you. He stuffed up once already, didn’t he? Big time – right?’ Zoran laughed.

  His mind racing, Jack was considering the alternatives. With Zoran’s gun digging into his back, the choices were limited. Leaning forward, Jack was trying to make eye contact with Andrew. As Andrew turned his head towards him, they briefly locked eyes. Reading the question on Jack’s face, Andrew shook his head.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Zoran whispered into Jack’s ear. ‘You should have listened to the Wizard, mate, instead of Cassandra here. Bad choice. How about a little wager – eh?’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ asked Jack.

  ‘If the Wizard wins, Cassandra comes with us and you and your mates forget all about this and bugger off back to Sydney.’

  ‘And if he loses?’

  ‘We walk away and we both forget all about this.’

  ‘And Cassandra?’

  ‘She stays with you.’

  ‘And Captain Thunderbolt?’

  ‘Not your concern.’

  Go along with him, whispered the little voice inside Jack’s head. ‘You’re on,’ he said.

  O’Grady rang the bell. The first round was over. Nothing excites a crowd more than the sight of blood, and both fighters were bleeding profusely. Blood was oozing out of the Wizard’s battered ear. Running down his chin, it trickled onto his hairy chest, turning the glistening beads of sweat crimson. The Captain was bleeding, too. A deep cut had opened above his right eye and blood smudged his cheeks. O’Grady reached for a towel and wiped the Captain’s face. Turning towards the Wizard panting in the corner, he held up the towel for him to use. The Wizard glared and shook his head.

  ‘Get on with the next round,’ he snarled. ‘Now!’

  Pigeon knew he was in trouble the moment the Wizard’s massive fist connected with his forehead. The cut above the eyebrow would need stitches and the swelling was closing his right eye. With his vision impaired, he had to win the fight during this round. Time was running out – fast. O’Grady, too, realised what was happening. So did the Wizard. The bout wasn’t going quite as expected.

  ‘You’ve got to knock him out quick,’ hissed O’Grady, anxious to protect his pocket. ‘He put up ten grand, for Christ’s sake. This could wipe us out. Work on his ear. That should do it. Ready?’

  Pigeon nodded.

  ‘Stop fucking around,’ bellowed the Wizard, ‘and ring the fucking bell!’

  The crowd cheered. It had a new champ.

  The Wizard pushed O’Grady aside without waiting for the bell and closed in on Pigeon. It was obvious that O’Grady no longer controlled the fight. Pigeon saw the Wizard coming and sidestepped the charge, speed once again giving him the edge. Before the Wizard could turn, Pigeon landed a massive punch on his bleeding ear from behind. Crazed by pain, and with sirens shrieking in his ear, the Wizard stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.

  ‘How about we throw away the fucking rule book – eh Pigeon?’ he asked, wiping the blood from his cheek. ‘This is between us.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ replied Pigeon, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ interjected O’Grady, stepping between the two opponents, ‘you’ll kill each other.’

  ‘No one asked you,’ bellowed the Wizard, lifting O’Grady up by the collar until the old man’s feet were dangling centimetres off the ground. The crowd whistled and cheered. ‘We don’t need a referee.’

  ‘Stop the fight! I won’t allow it! Put me down!’ croaked O’Grady.

  ‘As you wish,’ replied the Wizard.

  He carried O’Grady across to the corner like a rag doll, lifted him over the ropes, and dropped him on the ground outside the ring. Dazed and humiliated, O’Grady tried to get up but couldn’t. Midget came running with a bucket of water which, to the great amusement of the crowd, he emptied over O’Grady’s head.

  ‘That’s the way, matey,’ said one of the spectators – a burly tobacco-chewing drover standing in the front. ‘If that doesn’t wake him, nothing will.’

  Taking off his bowler hat, Midget took a bow. The spectators roared with laughter.

  Pigeon had dabbled in a little kickboxing. With his left eye almost closed, he knew he had to attack. Catching the Wizard by surprise, he delivered a perfect kick into his groin. A second kick landed on the Wizard’s left knee, causing serious damage. The Wizard lost his balance and went down on the other knee. Pigeon saw his chance: if he could land a kick on the Wizard’s injured ear while he was down, the fight would be over. Darting forward, he took aim with his right foot and was about to deliver the fatal blow, when the unexpected happened. Out of the corner of his eye, the Wizard saw his opponent’s foot flash towards him. Ignoring the excruciating pain in his groin and his crippled knee, he rolled with amazing speed to one side, at the same time reaching for the attacking foot.

  Seizing Pigeon’s foot with both hands, the Wizard began to twist the ankle. Pigeon lost his balance and fell, landing on his back. In an instant, his advantage of speed and surprise had evaporated – the tables had turned. The Wizard saw his chance. Letting go of the ankle, he hurled his enormous body on top of his opponent’s. Before Pigeon could react, he found himself pinned to the mat.

  ‘Got you,’ snarled the Wizard, his swollen lips almost touching Pigeon’s face. ‘You should have taken up wrestling, mate, just like I told you to. A fighter like you lying on the mat is useless – see.’

  The Wizard delivered a mighty head-butt straight at Pigeon’s bleeding brow.

  Revived by the water, O’Grady staggered unsteadily to his feet. ‘That’s enough! Stop it!’ he shouted, trying to climb into the ring. ‘You’ll kill him.’

  The Wizard kept head-butting his helpless opponent until he felt Pigeon’s body go limp under him, then got slowly to his feet. The crowd cheered wildly, and the Wizard punched the air with his right fist, letting out a mighty roar as he climbed out of the ring.

  ‘You’re crazy
!’ said O’Grady crawling across the mat to Pigeon who was lying in a pool of blood. ‘He needs help. We gotta do something!’

  ‘I’ll take care of him,’ said the Wizard, looking like a wild beast after a kill, ‘and you can keep the ten grand – but on one condition.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked O’Grady, watching the Wizard.

  ‘You pack up and leave town – tonight.’

  ‘What about him?’ O’Grady pointed to Pigeon.

  ‘Leave him to me. I’ll make sure he gets to a quack.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked O’Grady.

  ‘He and I go back a long way ... The best thing you can do is to stay out of this – understood? Do we have a deal?’

  O’Grady nodded, relieved to find that his money was safe. Loyalty can have a short memory.

  37

  O’Grady’s boxing tent, 8 p.m.

  ‘I reckon we can declare the Wizard the winner, what do you think?’ said Zoran to Jack, pointing to the victor carrying Pigeon out of the tent. ‘Now, as for our little bet ...’

  Zoran was interrupted by loud shouting coming from outside.

  Tipped off by a concerned publican, two uniformed policemen burst into the tent.

  ‘No one leaves!’ shouted one of the officers, a young constable, trying to block the Wizard’s path.

  ‘This guy needs help,’ panted the Wizard, pointing over his shoulder with his bloody chin. ‘I’ll get him to a doctor.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ replied the young constable. Bare-chested, his bulging muscles dripping with sweat, the Wizard towered above him.

  ‘Zoran,’ bellowed the Wizard, his bloodshot eyes darting around the crowded tent like the eyes of an angry cobra, ‘over here – now!’

  ‘Stay where you are, mate, and don’t try anything foolish, or Sladko here will ... you know,’ warned Zoran, patting Jack on the shoulder. Slipping the gun into his pocket, he turned around and pushed through the crowd towards the Wizard still arguing with the policeman at the exit.

  Spooked by the unexpected arrival of the law, the excited punters had only one thing on their minds: getting out fast. No one fancied being questioned, or spending a night in the lockup, or worse. Fuelled by alcohol and panic, the men in front, who were being pushed from behind, fell over the ropes holding up the tent. Others cut through the canvas with broken bottles and left through the back. Within moments the tent was in tatters.

  O’Grady spotted Midget hiding under the ring. ‘Get the cash!’ he shouted. ‘We’re outta here.’

  Andrew made eye contact with Jack and motioned with his chin towards Sladko standing next to him. With Zoran gone and confusion all around them, there was now only one gun they had to deal with.

  Sensing that without Zoran he couldn’t effectively control all the others, Sladko put his arm around Cassandra and kept pressing his gun into her back. ‘Stay close to me, sweetheart,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Safer that way, trust me.’

  ‘We make a move?’ asked Will, leaning across to Jack being pushed towards the exit by the crowd.

  ‘We stay together. Keep an eye on Andrew; he’s closest to the gun. I’ll take care of Rebecca. Here, Rebecca, give me your hand.’

  ‘Don’t lose me, Jack,’ said Rebecca, picking her way through the broken glass littering the dirt floor, the nauseating smell of unwashed bodies, alcohol and fear assaulting her powdered nose.’

  ‘I won’t. Hold on.’

  With the supporting ropes no longer holding, the large post in the centre of the tent teetered, then crashed onto the ring. The roof collapsed onto the screaming crowd like a heavy shroud. Amid the chaos and confusion that followed, Andrew saw his chance. He could just make out Sladko’s hand holding the gun in front of him. For an instant the gun was pointing to the floor instead of Cassandra’s back. Years of dealing with delinquents had taught Andrew to seize the moment. Using both hands he grabbed Sladko’s wrist from behind and twisted his arm with all the strength he could muster. But instead of loosening his grip, Slakdo pulled the trigger, shooting himself in the thigh. With a howl of pain, he dropped the weapon as the panicking crowd stampeded.

  ‘I’ve got the gun!’ shouted Andrew, turning to Jack. ‘Take Cassandra – here. Will, you take Rebecca – run!’

  ‘What about you?’ shouted Jack.

  ‘I’ll take care of this prick. He isn’t going anywhere. Wait at the car. Go!’

  38

  Fitzroy Crossing, 2 March, 10 p.m.

  Standing next to Andrew’s car behind the pub, Jack watched the angry crowd. Jumping into their dusty four wheel drives and utes – many with snarling cattle dogs guarding slabs of beer in the back – the punters were leaving. Pigeon’s fight with the tattooed stranger had already become Outback legend. Rebecca and Will were looking after Cassandra who hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the tent. The heat, even after sunset, was unbearable.

  ‘I hope we aren’t turning into sitting ducks here,’ said Rebecca, scanning the busy street for signs of the Wizard and his cohorts.

  ‘We’ve got to wait for Andrew,’ replied Jack. ‘But you’re right. We should lie low.’

  ‘The danger’s passed,’ said Cassandra, breaking her silence. ‘For now.’

  ‘The Wizard?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘He’s gone. And so’s Pigeon.’

  ‘Here he comes now,’ said Jack, pointing to Andrew hurrying towards them.

  ‘Get in,’ he said and unlocked the car.

  ‘Well?’ asked Jack. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Sladko was arrested and taken to hospital under guard. The bullet went straight through his thigh.’

  ‘And the Wizard?’ interrupted Will.

  ‘He and Zoran got away.’

  ‘How?’ asked Jack.

  ‘You saw the confusion. The Wizard was carrying some injured guy. They let him go to get help.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Will.

  ‘Look, those two constables were rookies. There was no way they could control that crowd.’

  ‘What about their plane?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Don’t worry. The plane’s under guard too. I told the police the Wizard and his mates are suspected drug dealers. They’re looking for them as we speak. At least the Wizard can’t fly away.’

  ‘We have to find them before they kill Pigeon,’ said Cassandra quietly, ‘or we’ll never find Anna.’

  ‘Can you tell us more?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘They’ll torture him until he tells them what they need to know. He won’t be able to resist. The Wizard’s a genius when it comes to inflicting pain ... he makes the Inquisition look like fumbling amateurs.’

  ‘We’ve got a description of their car,’ said Andrew. ‘A black Land Rover.’

  ‘That’s supposed to help?’ asked Jack. ‘We’re in the Kimberley. This is wilderness the size of Germany in one of the remotest corners of Australia. And we have no idea where they’re heading. They could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘It’s a start.’ Andrew shrugged.

  ‘Do you think the Wizard’s looking for us?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘You mean looking for me, don’t you?’ said Cassandra.

  Rebecca nodded.

  ‘I don’t think so. Getting to me ... well, that’s only retribution. Finding Anna is a matter of survival.’

  ‘And to do that, he needs Pigeon,’ interrupted Will. ‘He’s the only one who can lead the Wizard to her. If she’s still alive.’

  ‘The bastard’s holding all the cards: he got away, he’s got Pigeon – and we have no idea where he is. It’s not looking good,’ said Jack.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Cassandra quietly. ‘There is one more thing ...’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘I think I can take you to Pigeon ...’

  ‘Come on ...’ said Andrew, shaking his head.

  ‘Have you forgotten why you engaged me in the first place?’

  ‘Of course not, but ...’

&
nbsp; ‘I’m the same person, Andrew. Trust me. My powers are the same too. Perhaps even stronger ...’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. But first, let’s get away from here.’

  39

  Approaching Bunuba country, 3 March

  Sitting in the front seat of the Land Rover as it crawled through the night, the Wizard was deciding what to do next. Sladko’s arrest and hospitalisation were an unexpected blow, Cassandra slipping through his fingers an embarrassment, and Jack Rogan snooping around with his mates was a nuisance. But, he reminded himself, the most important objective had been achieved. He turned around and looked at the man slumped in the backseat.

  The man who had taunted him for years and had tried to kill him was, at long last, within his power.

  Hovering between life and death – his bruised and blood-smeared face merely an echo of its former, handsome self – Pigeon looked defeated. But his spark of courage and defiance was very much alive.

  Simmering under the battered flesh, it was the real danger the Wizard couldn’t see. Broken bones are rarely a threat. What holds them together often is.

  Having subdued one foe, the Wizard’s thoughts turned to the one that got away. He reached for his satellite phone and called the Undertaker. When the Wizard hung up, a smile spread across his sweating face.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Zoran.

  ‘Cassandra. We’ll fix that bitch, you’ll see.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The rough dirt track, rutted and littered with football-sized rocks, was almost impassable in the dark. And the old black Land Rover had seen better days. With the engine labouring, it lurched and skidded as it crossed a dry river bed, almost rolling as it climbed the steep, sandy embankment on the other side.

  ‘How much further?’ snapped the Wizard, turning to Banjo. ‘We’ve been going for hours!’

  ‘You wanted a safe spot,’ replied Banjo curtly. ‘I’m taking you to one. This is an old stock route. The cops’ll be looking for us by now, that’s for sure. You saw that copper waiting for us at the plane, didn’t you? But don’t worry, those cops are lazy bastards. They won’t try too hard and they’ll never think of looking for us here. This land belongs to the blackfellas. This is Jandamarra country. We’re almost there.’