Jack turned to Rebecca and reached for her hand. ‘It’s not quite as crazy as it sounds. It’s not finished until it’s over, and this is far from over. After all Cassandra has done, we can’t just abandon her boy. Both of us have made a promise. We can’t walk away – you and I couldn’t live with that. And besides, the bastard burnt my house down. I liked that house ... and Will ...’
Rebecca leaned across to Jack and kissed him on the cheek.
‘The door is open wide, what did she mean by that?’ asked Jack.
Biting her lip, Rebecca turned away and looked out the window.
Illuminated by the late afternoon sun, the striking colours of Outback ochre and red were beginning to melt into the afternoon shadows ten thousand metres below.
‘Cassandra thought that I was like a caged bird yearning for the blue sky, not realising that the door was open wide. Afraid ...’
‘Afraid?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of what?’
Rebecca looked at Jack. ‘Of love.’
‘And?’
‘Thanks to Cassandra, for the first time in my life I’ve spread my wings and left the cage.’
‘What’s it like outside?’
‘A little frightening.’
‘Could I help?’
‘You could.’
‘How?’
‘A little kiss would be a good start.’
Jack brushed his lips ever so gently across Rebecca’s cheek. ‘Does this help?’ he asked.
‘A little.’
‘There’s more ... if you like.’
‘You mean it?’
‘Absolutely.’
For a while Rebecca and Jack sat in silence, trying to pierce the cruel veil hiding the future. Rebecca felt a level of happiness she had never dared to hope for, while Jack experienced a glow of intimacy he hadn’t felt for a long time. The raw wound left behind by Will’s tragic death was beginning to heal.
‘We’ve both lost someone very dear to us,’ said Rebecca, breaking the silence. ‘It’s a wakeup call, telling us what really matters. And you know what’s particularly scary?’
‘What?’
‘The speed and finality of it all.’
‘Death?’
‘Yes. We think we’re invincible, but ...’
‘You’re right.’
‘Jack, be careful.’
‘Always.’
‘Convince me. Tell me again how this is supposed to work.’
‘It’s all based on sound principles. Fear, pride, hate, revenge to name but a few, are all part of the strategy.’
‘Be serious.’
‘I am. We’ve got to find out what happened to Tristan – right? And if he’s still alive, we have to help him. It’s that simple.’
‘And how exactly are you going to do that?’
‘I’ll talk to the Wizard.’
‘What makes you think he’ll talk to you?’
‘Oh, I think he will.’
‘Just like that – eh?’
‘Yes. That’s where fear comes in – the first principle. A powerful one at that.’
‘You’re going to threaten the Wizard?’
‘In a way, yes. Or more accurately, I’ll show him a way out.’
‘I was right; this is crazy. How?’
‘Okay, I’ll tell you. Sit back and listen.’
Sitting two rows behind them, Andrew scribbled away on a writing pad, preparing a timeline. Reluctantly, he had agreed to Jack’s daring plan, but only on one condition: the original DVD had to be handed to the police immediately. It was crucial evidence that could bring the Wizards to justice. Andrew realised that the DVD in his briefcase was a ticking bomb and he was keen to be rid of it. Wasting no time, he had made arrangements to hand it over to the officer in charge of the new task force – an old friend, who would be waiting at Sydney airport.
Andrew knew exactly what would happen next. First, the DVD would be used to obtain a search warrant. After that, the police would raid the Wizards’ compound. With the announcement by the Western Australian Police due within the hour, Anna’s story would go public that afternoon. Under pressure from the politicians in Canberra, the police would act quickly. With the eyes of the world about to turn to Broome, some kind of positive result in the Popov case was vital – an arrest would be even better. That would give Jack about twenty-four hours, at best.
Andrew shook his head. This is very tight, he thought, and damn dangerous. But he might just pull it off.
The plan was as daring as it was ingenious, but Jack had done pretty well so far, Andrew had to admit. Andrew knew that by allowing Jack to copy the DVD he was sticking his neck out big time. But if Jack was prepared to risk that much himself, the least he could do was to help him.
And if Jack did succeed, it would all be worth it. If not, at least Tristan had been given a chance. Cassandra and Will deserved that much – and more. Andrew finished the timeline and went over the sequence of events that had to follow each other in strict order, making sure it was accurate. Satisfied, he sat back in his seat. Jack was right – it all came down to timing.
What Andrew’s timeline failed to take into account was the riskiest part of the plan – the bit that Jack had kept to himself. Since he wasn’t sure how it would work, he thought it best to leave that part out altogether. Jack was used to doing things on the run. To him, improvisation was the mother of all solutions. He was afraid that had Andrew been told about the Bone Scraper and the tunnel, he would have pulled the pin and walked away. And without Andrew’s help, the plan could not succeed.
70
Warriors’ clubhouse, 8 March, 10 p.m.
‘That’s one hell of a way to break with the past,’ said Jack, looking at the ruins of his house. The police had cordoned off the area and erected a temporary hoarding. Apart from the stone chimney and sections of the outer sandstone walls, there was nothing left. A dank smell of burnt timber hung in the air.
‘The last time I saw something like this was in the Blue Mountains a couple of years ago,’ continued Jack, ‘with Will. It was the beginning of an extraordinary story ...’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rebecca, putting her hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t deserve this. All your beautiful things ... This is horrible.’
Jack shrugged. ‘It’s just stuff. All part of another story, I guess ... and we’re about to witness the final chapter,’ said Jack, reaching into his pocket. ‘Listen.’ He pulled out his mobile, put in on speaker, and dialled. ‘Hello Eugene. Guess where I’m calling from.’
‘Who is this?’ demanded the Wizard gruffly.
‘It’s Jack ...’
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve.’
‘You don’t want to know where I am?’ continued Jack undeterred. ‘I’ll tell you anyway. I’m standing in front of my house. What’s left of it, that is.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘What do you want?’
‘We have unfinished business. We need to talk; face to face.’
The Wizard laughed. ‘You want to meet me?’ he asked. ‘You’re out of your mind, you crazy bastard. This conversation’s over.’
‘Before you hang up,’ said Jack calmly, ‘there’s something you should know ...’
Something in Jack’s tone made the Wizard stay on the line.
‘I have something of yours that may interest you ...’ Jack paused, letting the tension grow. ‘Something from the past – your past.’
‘What bullshit is this?’
‘You’re still there? That’s good – lucky for you. It’s a DVD, Eugene. CCTV footage recording a particular incident that took place at a remote farm near Bathurst a few years ago ... Two girls, a group of naked men wearing masks ... Do you want me to go on?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ snapped the Wizard.
‘Oh? Well, in that case, there’s no point in meeting, is the
re?’
‘You know where to find me,’ interrupted the Wizard. ‘Come, if you’ve got the balls,’ he added, and hung up.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Jack, grinning. ‘We’re in!’
‘You’ve got him hooked,’ said Rebecca.
‘We’ll stay in Will’s house tonight.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘I do. I’ve lost my home. He would want it that way. And besides, I’ll have to use his bike to ...’
‘Oh, no, Jack,’ interrupted Rebecca, holding up her hands. ‘Not the bike. I said never again – remember?’
‘Don’t worry. This time, I’m going alone. You have to stay in the house and keep in touch with Andrew. He’ll be with the police all night and let us know what they’re up to. You and Andrew are my backup. We’ll do this as a team. Timing, remember? It all comes down to timing.’
Jack knew he was late. He switched off the bike and looked around. The derelict panelbeating shop appeared deserted in the dark. Most of the windows were broken and the doors were boarded up. Two rusty car bodies without wheels were blocking the driveway, their headlights staring at Jack like eyes of guard dogs watching. Jack was about to check the address again to make sure he was in the right place when he heard sounds coming from somewhere out the back – the clinking of iron against iron, and a slapping sound. Weights and punching bags, thought Jack. A gym.
As he walked past the car bodies, Jack saw something move. A dark shape materialised out of the shadows in front of him.
‘Looking for something, mate?’ it asked, coming closer.
‘Yes – the Bone Scraper,’ replied Jack.
‘Wait here.’
Suddenly, floodlights came on above him, illuminating a large yard. Momentarily blinded, Jack closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was looking at two huge men, both Maoris, standing directly in front of him.
‘Turn around and hold up your hands where I can see them,’ said one of the hulks. Jack felt a pair of hands running down his back and legs.
‘Clean,’ said the man behind him. ‘Come with me.’
Jack followed the man across the yard, past rows of gleaming bikes to an open steel door. Inside, he could see several men lifting weights so heavy, they made the steel rods bend. The two fans turning lazily overhead did little to stir the stale air heavy with the acrid smell of sweat and diesel.
‘That’s him over there,’ said the man pointing to a wrestling mat in the middle of the room. ‘The one on top.’
Wearing only loincloths, the two men on the mat reminded Jack of Sumo wrestlers, only taller and more muscular. Each had his long black hair pulled back and tied into a knot. The man on top had his opponent pinned to the mat.
‘Concede,’ he barked.
Barely able to breathe, the man lying face down on the mat nodded. The bout was over. The winner disengaged, rolled away with surprising agility and stood up. Towering over Jack, he picked up a towel and looked at him. His massive arms, buttocks and back were heavily tattooed with Maori motifs, but most striking of all was his Moko. In the old days, the Moko – the traditional Maori facial decoration – was applied with a chisel that left grooves in the skin. In more recent times, the tattoo needle had replaced the chisel, leaving the skin smooth. Delicate scrolls, dots and fine lines – especially around the mouth and forehead – accentuated the prominent features of the Bone Scraper’s face, making him look like a carving of a Maori god come to life.
‘A bout like this is better than the haka,’ he said, wiping his face. ‘The haka only intimidates, this ends in victory or defeat. That’s why I like to wrestle – it prepares you for the real thing. You’re the journalist whose house burnt down?’
Jack nodded. He hadn’t mentioned anything about this on the phone.
‘I know how it feels.’
‘Cassandra’s dead,’ said Jack.
‘I heard. Why are you here?’
‘I made a promise. On her deathbed.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Jack followed the Bone Scraper around the gym and explained why he had come and what he had in mind. Listening carefully, the Bone Scraper was evaluating Jack’s proposal. He was used to making quick decisions and taking risks. If there was a chance – however remote – of getting even with the Wizard, he was in. The only real question was the commitment of the man standing in front of him, and the accuracy of the intelligence he was providing. Without that, this couldn’t work.
The Bone Scraper’s own sources had already confirmed most of what Jack was telling him, but there was something new that could change everything: a tunnel. The Wizard was obsessed with security. The compound was built like a fortress, with sophisticated round-the-clock electronic surveillance and security systems covering every square centimetre. It was impossible to enter the place undetected, unless Cassandra was right about the tunnel. But what really tipped the scales in favour of the daring plan was the fact that the man telling him all this was taking most of the risk and had a hell of a lot to lose. This was the kind of insurance the Bone Scraper liked.
‘Do you understand what you’re proposing?’ he asked, watching Jack carefully. ‘This is war. Once you start, there’s no turning back, for us or for you.’
Jack nodded.
‘It’s like breaking my opponent’s neck here on the mat a moment ago, rather than letting him go. Are you prepared for that?’
‘Yes.’
‘When’s all this supposed to happen?’
‘Tonight. After I leave here, I’m going to see the Wizard. He’s kind of expecting me. The police will raid the compound in a few hours. I’ll know exactly when. That gives you a small window ...’
‘Something puzzles me,’ interrupted the Bone Scraper.
‘What?’
‘Why isn’t the Wizard leaving with the others? What makes you so sure he’ll be there, virtually alone? Waiting for the police, and for you?’
‘That’s been troubling me, too. You know the Wizard better than most. I believe the answer is right there in his character: arrogance, pride and bravado. He likes to taunt and to show off. He believes he can beat the system, and to do that, he mustn’t violate his bail conditions. He has to remain at the compound and report to the police daily. He can’t abscond – pride won’t let him. And besides, the police will find nothing incriminating. He’s already made sure of that. Bravado. That’s why the compound’s been evacuated. As usual, his police contacts have tipped him off, giving him plenty of time to cover his tracks. It’s the same with this tunnel.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His obsession with security is both a strength and a weakness. The whole place is protected like Fort Knox. But he has to have a secret escape route only he and a couple of his close cronies know about. That’s why there are no alarms, no surveillance, nothing. Arrogance. He kept it all to himself.’
Impressed, the Bone Scraper nodded. ‘And the boy?’ he asked. ‘If you’re right, he won’t be there. Not with the police coming.’
‘No, but the Wizard will know where he is.’
‘The boy may be dead.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘How come?’
‘The moment Cassandra died, the boy became worthless. Why kill him? Why take the risk? Especially now, with the spotlight of the law on the Wizards. No, the boy’s alive and I’m going to find him.’
‘But you don’t need me for that, do you? You have your own ways ...’
This was the one question Jack had been dreading. It was the one flaw in his argument and it hadn’t taken the Bone Scraper long to find it. It was time to come clean.
‘Strictly speaking, no. But there were two parts to my promise.’
‘Oh?’
‘The boy, and ...’
‘And?’
‘Retribution. Cassandra said that you of all people would understand; and act. Your own brother ...’
The Bone Scraper traced one of the tattoos on his chin
with his index finger. The finger went round and round, following the intricate scrolls engraved onto his skin. He always did this when he was about to make an important decision. Suddenly, the finger stopped.
‘You don’t know, do you?’ he said after a while. ‘About Tiki Joe?’
‘What about him?’
‘You don’t know who he was, do you?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Jack, looking puzzled.
‘You’ll find out. Another time.’
‘Are you in, Parema Te Pahau?’ Cassandra had briefed Jack well.
The Bone Scraper looked up, surprised. Just like the Wizard, he was very superstitious. How come this Pakeha knows my true name? he thought. Is it a sign?
The Bone Scraper claimed to be a direct descendant of Parema Te Pahau, a famous Maori chief who lived in the late 1800s and was one of the last cannibals. The Bone Scraper had used Charles Goldie’s splendid portrait of the chief hanging in the Auckland Museum as inspiration for his own Moko.
‘I’m in,’ he said.
‘If the Wizard lives, we’re both dead,’ said Jack, holding out his hand.
Finally convinced that Jack understood what he was in for, the Bone Scraper relaxed a little.
‘You well before me, mate,’ he said, and shook Jack’s hand. ‘Now, tell me more about this tunnel.’
71
Wolf’s Lair, 8 March 11:30 p.m.
‘I was wrong,’ said the Wizard pointing to the CCTV screen in front of him. ‘Look who’s coming to visit us – alone.’
‘He’s got balls,’ replied the Undertaker. ‘Now we know.’
‘Crazy bastard. Bring him down to the crypt.’
Jack turned off the engine, got stiffly off his bike and stretched his back. The place looked deserted. Gone were the bikes and the sentries. There was no thumping music, no tattooed girls, no lights, and the church door looked firmly bolted. But most unsettling of all was the silence.
Everything around him seemed to be telling him to stay away. Certain he was being watched, Jack walked slowly up the stairs. The door opened all by itself.
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 32