‘What did you do?’ asked Andrew.
‘Some of our elders live up here in the Kimberley wilderness. They prefer the old ways. They are the custodians of our sacred rock art and keep our traditions alive by passing on the stories and the law. Mungo, my nephew – Pigeon’s favourite uncle – found a way to make a living by combining the old with the new: restoring the rock paintings, and then making copies for sale. He was a talented artist. Soon, his bark paintings became sought after and sold very well. Not only was he able to support himself through this enterprise, he supported the elders as well. He became the go-between linking their world and his.’
‘Where did all this happen?’ interrupted Jack, trying in vain to sound calm.
‘Right here at Never Never Downs.’
‘What happened to the young woman?’ asked Andrew.
‘She went to live with Mungo and the elders ...’
‘Where?’ asked Jack.
‘The elders move from site to site and cover vast distances. Depending on the time of the year, they change camp regularly.’
‘Do you know where they are right now?’ whispered Jack.
‘They return to the same camp every year during the rainy season. It’s a large cave about 300 kilometres from here. That’s where Merriwarra came from.’
‘Is the young woman there now?’ asked Andrew, watching the old man intently.
‘Yes, she is. But ...’ Stopping in mid sentence, Muddenbudden closed his eyes again.
‘But what?’ asked Andrew.
‘I think we better wake Merriwarra. You should hear this from him, not me.’
‘Does this young woman have a name?’ asked Jack, trying hard to stay calm.
‘Yes. We call her Mayannie.’
‘You were going to tell us about the dream,’ said Andrew, anxious not to lose the thread of the story, ‘and what the spirit told you. A great wrong that must be set right, you said – remember?’
Looking suddenly uncomfortable in his chair, Muddenbudden opened his sightless eyes.
‘I will tell you when her mother arrives,’ he stated calmly. ‘Now, please let me wake my brother ...’
57
Broome airport, 6 March
Merriwarra’s disturbing news turned the search for Anna into a desperate race against time. Unable to wait any longer, Andrew took advantage of a brief lull in the storm later in the morning, and took off. He thought it best that only Jack should accompany him on the hazardous flight to Broome to meet the countess. To avoid the worst of Cyclone Leopold, they made a risky detour and skirted around the tail end of the storm.
Watching the dark clouds race past the small window of the plane, Jack pondered how best to break the news to the countess. So close, he thought, and now this!
As soon as Countess Kuragin stepped out of the plane, the heat and humidity hit her like a slap in the face. Looking like a movie star on vacation in her designer suit, she thanked the stewardess for the umbrella and hurried across the wet tarmac to the airport building. Used to turning heads wherever she went, she wasn’t surprised when a white-haired, elderly gentleman fell in beside her and offered to carry her hand luggage. The countess declined with a smile. At the baggage collection carousel inside the terminal, the same man struck up a conversation. Usually, she would feel flattered. Occasionally, she even flirted, especially with younger men. But today she had other things on her mind. Hidden behind a mask of perfect makeup, she was barely able to keep her emotions under control. She had called Nikolai from the airport in Paris and told him about the extraordinary developments and her impending trip to Australia. Always the jaded sceptic, he had warned her about getting too carried away. She knew that he had given up long ago and no longer dared to hope. She, on the other hand, didn’t dare not to.
As she waited for her luggage, the countess made polite small talk with the white-haired man. For the White Wolf, airports were dangerous places. Passengers travelling on their own stand out and are often remembered later. He didn’t like being remembered. A tall, attractive woman left a lasting impression. Next to her, he was almost invisible.
Zoran’s brother, Zac, knew where the CCTV cameras were located in the terminal. The Wizard’s instructions were very specific: ‘Make sure you stay out of CCTV range, leave the terminal quickly and take him to our pub’. Holding a piece of cardboard with the name Collins written across it, Zac was waiting at the exit with the tour operators and hire car drivers meeting the new arrivals. A bespectacled, white-haired man carrying a small duffel bag walked up to him.
‘How’s the Wizard?’ he asked nonchalantly, handing Zac his bag.
‘Still in custody,’ replied Zac. ‘Please follow me and stay close.’
Jack saw the countess first. She was slowly pushing her luggage trolley towards the exit. Approaching from behind, he put his hand on the trolley and said, ‘It’s an awkward contraption – let me help you. Welcome to Broome.’
The countess spun around, let go of the trolley and threw her arms around him.
‘Men like you are rare, Jack,’ she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. ‘You keep your word. Thank you.’
‘Look over there,’ said Jack, pointing to Andrew waiting at the exit. ‘Someone else deserves a hug more than I do.’
Sitting in the small airport lounge after most of the other passengers had left, Jack did his best to answer the countess’s barrage of questions. The weather had deteriorated further, making it impossible to take off. To keep busy, Andrew had gone to check the latest weather forecast. Again.
‘Jack, please answer me this,’ pleaded the countess. ‘Do you really believe that this Mayannie living with Aboriginals in some remote cave could possibly be our Anna? After all these years?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said quietly, reaching for her hand.
‘But we only have these stories to go on. Little more than rumours,’ protested the countess, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. ‘I couldn’t bear it if they were to turn out to be just that.’
‘We do have more,’ said Jack, reaching for the parcel wrapped in brown paper lying on the chair next to him. ‘I’ve brought you something – here.’
‘What is it?’
‘Open it.’
The countess peeled back the paper and gasped.
‘Oh my God,’ she sighed, running her fingertips along the signature on the bark painting. ‘Lucrezia!’
‘Well, what do you think?’
The countess lifted the small gold crucifix she wore on a chain around her neck to her lips, and kissed it. ‘It’s definitely hers,’ she said.
‘Adding a little more substance to the story perhaps?’
‘Oh yes. Thank you.’ The countess squeezed his hand and looked at him intently.
‘Why so glum?’ she asked. Jack shook his head sadly. ‘What’s wrong, Jack?’
‘This silver cloud has a dark lining, I’m afraid.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t told you why Merriwarra, the old Aboriginal I mentioned earlier, came to Never Never Downs in the middle of a cyclone.’
‘Oh?’
‘He risked his life to get help – medical help.’
Fear stabbed at the countess’s heart.
‘Help? Who for?’ she asked, barely able to speak.
Jack decided to be brutally honest – the countess deserved that much. ‘Apparently, Mayannie is very ill ...’
‘Ill? What do you mean?’ the countess said.
‘She has a fever. The elders have tried everything, but it’s not going away. In fact, it’s getting worse. The traditional remedies aren’t working. She needs urgent medical attention. That’s why Merriwarra braved the storm to seek help.’
‘Oh my God! We have to leave at once,’ exclaimed the countess, standing up.
‘We can’t,’ said Jack. ‘There’s no way a vehicle could get through at the moment. We have to wait for the floodwaters to subside before we can make a move.’
‘Bu
t what about the plane? Can’t we get in from the air?’
‘No, there’s nowhere to land. I don’t think you appreciate just how rough this place really is. And how remote.’
‘This is so cruel,’ said the countess, sitting down again. ‘Why am I being punished like this? Surely, there must be something we can do?’
‘There is: hope and wait,’ replied Jack calmly.
‘And pray,’ whispered the countess, touching the little crucifix with the tips of her fingers.
58
Never Never Downs, 6 March
Sitting alone in her room, Cassandra prepared to consult the cards but this time, the divination was for her alone. It was easy to make errors now, driven as she was by fear and concern for her son. The mother in her might dominate the impartial diviner she tried to be. Before opening the wooden box on the table in front of her, she meditated, something she did before every reading.
A new force had entered the search for Anna with the arrival of the countess. Cassandra knew that soon, several fate-lines were destined to touch somewhere in time-space. She also knew that the consequences would be far reaching. But nothing could have prepared her for what the cards were about to reveal.
Her hands were shaking when she opened the wooden box and took out the neat parcel wrapped in blue silk. To ease the tension before beginning, she decided to check the deck of cards for completeness and do a thorough karmic cleansing.
After she had placed all twenty-four Major Arcana cards in a neat row from left to right, she proceeded to place all sixteen Royal Arcana cards – Page to King – in a row below. Looking at the familiar cards calmed her as she ran her fingertips slowly along the rows to double-check that all were present. Satisfied, she gathered up the cards and shuffled them seven times.
Cassandra chose the Arbor Vitae, or Tree of Life, Spread. This, she told herself, was the perfect choice. Feeling better, she placed each card into its required place to resemble the ten centres of the Tree of Life, a Cabbalistic mandala.
When she reached the final four, she hesitated. These were the cards that would provide her with vital insight, letting her see herself reflected in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, she turned over the seventh card, glanced at it, and paled.
Anxious to return to Never Never Downs, Andrew checked the weather forecast every hour. By late afternoon the weather had improved sufficiently to allow clearance for the return flight.
Once they were in the air, exhaustion caught up with the countess. It had been forty-two hours since she’d left Paris. The excitement that had kept her going had given way to uncertainty and fear. How quickly bad news can age a person, thought Jack, watching her sleep with her head resting against his shoulder. Oblivious to the engine noise and the rough weather outside, the countess was curled up like a cat in the cramped seat next to him.
Touched by the intimacy of the moment, Jack remembered that fateful kiss sealing a promise in the chateau kitchen, and began to stroke her hair. It was a spontaneous gesture of affection directed towards an extraordinary woman who dared to hope, had endured so much, and never lost faith. Jack realised that to fail now was unthinkable because it would crush her. You promised, he thought. Pray to God you can deliver.
‘Look, the river’s falling,’ said Andrew pointing down. ‘With a bit of luck, we just might get through in the morning.’
‘I hope you’re right, for her sake,’ replied Jack, glancing at the countess sleeping peacefully by his side.
Standing on the homestead veranda, Cassandra watched the tall, elegant woman climb out of the plane. Tossing back her hair, the countess hurried across to McGregor who was waiting by the Land Rover with Will, and shook his hand.
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Cassandra had dreaded meeting the countess. Still shocked and confused by what the cards had told her, she tried to convince herself that her interpretations were inaccurate. The messages could easily become blurred when objectivity was compromised. What she found particularly disconcerting was the suggestion that there were five fate-lines destined to touch soon, not four. She could clearly identify four: the first two were easy. One belonged to herself, the other to her son, Tristan. The next pair of fate-lines belonged to the countess and Anna. However, there was a fifth line very close to Anna’s that she couldn’t explain. It had nothing to do with Rebecca, Will, Jack or Andrew, as the questions didn’t relate to them.
Something was wrong. The obvious danger radiating from the Wizard was overshadowed by something new and far more potent and sinister.
Cassandra had only caught a glimpse of this new threat through the last card, but it had terrified her.
‘Jack, could you take me to the Aboriginal elders, please?’ pleaded the countess, following Jack into the homestead. She was anxious to hear firsthand what Muddenbudden and Merriwarra had to say. To everyone’s surprise, Muddenbudden insisted on meeting the countess alone.
When the countess looked at the old man sitting by the fireplace, she became acutely aware that she had just entered a different world.
Muddenbudden turned his head in her direction, the stare of his sightless eyes adding to her sense of unease and foreboding.
‘Do you believe in the power of dreams?’ asked Muddenbudden.
‘I believe in the power of prayer,’ replied the countess without hesitation.
Muddenbudden nodded. ‘Good. The important thing is to believe. Please give me your hand. I have to tell you about a dream.’
Everyone fell silent when the countess walked into the library half an hour later. Unable to speak, she covered her face with her hands and stood, shaking.
Not wanting to intrude into this private moment, Rebecca, Will and Andrew looked away. Jack walked over to the sideboard and reached for the scotch. Cassandra, however, recognised the familiar signs: here was someone who had just glimpsed something deeply disturbing. She had seen it all many times before. Cassandra stood up, limped over to the countess and put her arm protectively around her shoulders.
‘Here, sit with me,’ she whispered. The countess shook her head.
‘I would like to go to my room, please,’ she sobbed, her voice barely audible.
‘I’ll take you – come with me.’ The countess looked gratefully at Cassandra and followed her out of the room.
Instead of leaving the countess alone, Cassandra sat quietly on the edge of the bed beside her.
Eventually, the countess spoke. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Andrew told me ...’ She reached for Cassandra’s hand. ‘Strange, isn’t it? We haven’t even met before, yet here you are risking so much to help my daughter. Why is that?’
Cassandra turned to face the countess, a wry smile creasing the corners of her mouth.
‘Destiny,’ she replied after a while, ‘is a complicated web. The pendulum swings, but we have no control over it. What appears to move away from us comes back when we least expect it.’
The countess squeezed Cassandra’s hand. ‘What I’ve prayed for all these years and now yearn for with all my heart is coming closer, yet I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what I may find ...’
‘Muddenbudden?’
‘He spoke of a dream and a spirit ...’
‘Can you talk about it?’
‘He asked me not to.’
‘Why, do you think?’
‘He said the time wasn’t right.’
‘Then let me tell you.’
Surprised, the countess turned her head to face Cassandra. ‘He told you?’
‘No. I’ve never spoken to him.’
‘Then how ...?’
‘I have different ways ... He spoke of another soul close to Anna – didn’t he?’
The countess nodded.
‘Vulnerable and fragile, with a connection reaching back generations.’
‘Yes,’ whispered the countess, ‘the spirit ...’
‘And all the threads of the past are coming together right now?’
‘Yes, but there’s very little time! He said we must hurry. If we don’t reach Mayannie soon, the spark will be extinguished.’
‘That won’t happen – believe me,’ Cassandra reassured the countess. ‘You must rest now. Lie down and close your eyes.’
The countess did as she was told, every fibre of her exhausted body screaming for sleep.
‘I’ll stay with you, and together we’ll see what the new morning brings. Think of Anna ...’ whispered Cassandra.
Images of the Lucrezia painting Jack had shown her at Broome airport came flooding into the countess’s consciousness. Suddenly, she found herself inside the painting. She looked down at the little girl in the polka dot dress standing next to her and smiled. Moments later, she fell asleep.
59
On the way to Djanbinmarra Caves, 7 March
During the night the wind changed direction and blew the last of the storm clouds out to sea. Andrew was woken by the silence just before dawn. Cyclone Leopold had spent its fury, allowing calm to settle over the drenched and battered land. Everywhere, life was coming out of hiding, seeking the warmth of the sun after the tempest.
When Andrew stepped outside at first light, he found Merriwarra sitting on the veranda steps, a worried look on his face. Andrew sat down next to him and together they watched the sun come up.
‘We’re running out of time, mate. Do you think we’ll get through today?’ asked Andrew.
Merriwarra took off his hat, scratched his head, but said nothing. ‘Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?’ continued Andrew.
‘The Djanbinmarra caves are a sacred site – one of the most significant in the region. The location’s been kept secret, handed down by the elders from generation to generation. The rock art in the caves is precious. It’s thousands of years old. It’s our heritage. It belongs to us. If the public gets wind of it, mate, we’ll lose it. We’ve both seen it before.’
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 26