‘Take off your clothes and put them on the floor,’ said the Undertaker, pointing a gun at Jack. Jack did as he was told. The Undertaker picked up the leather jacket and the jeans and examined the pockets. ‘Now turn around.’
‘No wires and no guns,’ said Jack.
‘Just making sure,’ replied the Undertaker. Satisfied that Jack was clean, the Undertaker handed him the jeans. ‘Get dressed and follow me,’ he said.
‘Where is everybody?’ asked Jack. The Undertaker didn’t reply.
Jack knew he was walking a tightrope without a safety net. One slip could cost him his life. Success or failure depended on how accurately he had read the Wizard’s character. And luck of course – quite a bit of it.
Heart pounding like a drum, he followed the Undertaker down the narrow stairs into the crypt. The Wizard was as unpredictable as he was dangerous. Normal rules of behaviour and morality just didn’t apply to him. There were no boundaries and no lines he wouldn’t cross. Not only was he capable of the unthinkable, he seemed to revel in it, and find new ways to surprise and shock even the most callous. But there was one important exception: self-preservation. Powerful, instinctive, predictable. Jack’s plan depended on it. The Wizard knew a police raid was imminent and was ready for it. He would have been extensively briefed by his lawyers on how to handle the situation. Jack’s careful timing of his visit was paying off. The imminent raid was his safe conduct pass. Even so, Jack was realistic enough to understand that it wouldn’t take much for it all to go horribly wrong. Despite all that, he felt strangely elated, the rush of excitement masking the danger signals flashing all around him.
The Wizard sat in his chair at the round table, like some evil emperor mourning an empire lost. The candles flickering in the large lantern on the table sent crazy shadows dancing along the sandstone slabs. Long fingers of light pointed to the Tarot pictures hanging on the walls, making the Pagliacci portrait behind the Wizard look strangely out of place.
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ said the Wizard, rocking back in his chair.
‘What?’ asked Jack.
‘You coming here in the middle of the night. Why this particular night?’ added the Wizard, stabbing his finger at Jack. ‘And when something doesn’t make sense, I get nervous.’
Jack walked slowly around the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down facing the Wizard.
‘It’s quite simple really,’ he said.
‘Enlighten me.’
‘You have something I want, and I have something you need.’
‘Is that so?’ said the Wizard.
Without saying a word, Jack pulled the DVD out of his jacket pocket and pushed it across the table towards the Wizard.
‘Check it out,’ barked the Wizard, passing the DVD to the Undertaker.
‘This is a copy. The original is in safe hands,’ said Jack. ‘And there are certain arrangements in place about the tape and about my coming here.’
‘Arrangements?’ The Wizard looked amused. ‘Not much use with a bullet through your head.’
‘Not much good to you either,’ said Jack. ‘A body with a bullet through the head would need a little explaining when the police raid this joint.’ Jack looked at his watch. ‘In about an hour, I’d say. But your guys would have told you that already.’
Jack noticed a flash of anger race across the Wizard’s face, a sure sign that he had found the mark.
‘We’re wasting time ...’
‘It’s the real thing,’ said the Undertaker, coming down the stairs.
‘So, what’s on your mind?’ asked the Wizard, well aware of the DVD’s devastating potential.
‘An exchange.’ Jack paused, deliberately taking his time. ‘The tape for Tristan.’
The Wizard laughed until his whole body shook uncontrollably. ‘Did you hear that, mate?’ he asked, turning to the Undertaker. ‘The DVD for the boy. The old witch is trying to manipulate us from beyond the grave. Her White Knight is offering salvation in exchange for a vegetable.’
Pigeon
Normally, restless Bunuba spirits like Jandamarra and me wouldn’t leave Djumbud, their spirit country. However, these were exceptional circumstances and we decided to venture outside our comfort zone where the rules were different and we were limited in what we could do.
It was a strange feeling being back in the old place. We had entered the world of the Malngadu, the white people I had once so admired.
Floating through the empty compound with Jandamarra was bringing back memories of a part of my past life I would rather forget. I found it difficult to imagine that not so long ago I had craved to become like the Malngadu, and the man I had admired most, was also the man responsible for all the deception, misery and pain that had destroyed my life. Yet there he was right in front of me, sitting there, laughing. He seemed indestructible in his lair, even without his adoring cohorts by his side.
‘Stop dreaming, Pigeon, and concentrate,’ I heard Jandamarra reprimanding me. ‘There, look.’
‘I’m not sure that the police will find the DVD as humorous as you do,’ said Jack.
The Wizard shot him an angry look.
‘You’ll see the humour in a moment,’ snapped the Wizard.
‘Do we have a deal?’ asked Jack.
‘We have a deal.’
‘I need proof that the boy is okay.’
‘That’s easy. And I need the original tape and guarantees that there are no copies.’
‘That’s easy too. You first.’
‘The boy isn’t here.’
‘I didn’t think he would be.’
The Wizard turned to the Undertaker.
‘Tell him where you took the boy this morning,’ said the Wizard.
‘Back to Bleak House,’ replied the Undertaker. ‘He’s in the best of care, just like before.’
‘Do you see the humour now?’ asked the Wizard.
Jack looked thunderstruck. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his mobile. ‘I need confirmation,’ he said, composing himself.
‘Be my guest.’
Pigeon
Jandamarra noticed it first. Something strange was going on along a disused back road leading to the compound. A group of bikies had pulled up at a bridge nearby. Carrying crowbars, bolt cutters and gas cylinders, they were clambering down an embankment. Hardly something people did at one in the morning without good reason. As the Wizards’ compound was the only habitation in the vicinity, it had to be something to do with that.
We decided to investigate. Floating closer I recognised who they were: a contingent of Warriors, and the huge man at the front was their leader, the Bone Scraper himself.
I remember meeting the Bone Scraper once during a pow-wow between the two rival gangs. A truce was in place and the two leaders were meeting to settle a bloody turf war that had raged for more than a year. I had never seen a man so huge. The Wizard was big, but the Bone Scraper towered over him. His facial tattoos gave him a most frightening appearance which made it impossible to guess his age. The meeting ended with more acrimony than it had started with and was followed by more killings.
The Warriors were on a warpath. Jandamarra and I decided to stay close.
72
Wolf’s Lair, 9 March, 1 a.m.
Waiting for Andrew to call back was excruciating. Jack stared at his phone on the table, aware that the Wizard was watching him intently. Precious time was running through the hourglass. Resisting the temptation to glance at his watch again, Jack felt perspiration trickling down his back. He knew the Wizard was a master of reading body language. Mercifully, the phone rang.
It had taken Andrew only a few minutes to verify the Wizard’s claim.
‘Tristan is at Bleak House; safe,’ he said. ‘Well done, Jack. Get out of there, now!’ Then the phone went dead.
‘Satisfied?’ asked the Wizard. Jack nodded. ‘That’s my part delivered. Now, what about yours?’
Jack knew that the next step couldn’t be rehearsed. Nevertheless,
he had gone over and over it in his mind a hundred times before. It had to appear spontaneous and obvious. He was about to propose something he was desperately hoping the Wizard wouldn’t be able to accept. Everything depended on that, and the slightest miscalculation could be fatal.
‘I can have the original brought here if you like,’ Jack said casually. ‘This is the only copy – I can vouch for that. I’ll stay here until the original arrives. Will that do?’
Jack looked past the Wizard at the garish portrait hanging on the wall behind him. An eternity seemed to pass before the Wizard answered.
‘No. That will not do!’
‘Oh? What do you suggest then?’
‘As of now, the DVD belongs to me, and you will take good care of it until I tell you what to do,’ snapped the Wizard, his mind already on the imminent police raid.
‘I don’t understand ...’
‘I think you do. Now go, and take the copy with you. I don’t want it here ... I’m sure you know why. A word of caution,’ added the Wizard, lowering his voice. ‘Should the DVD fall into the wrong hands, you’re a dead man. Clear so far?’
Jack nodded.
‘You already know what happens when you disappoint me, Jack, don’t you?’
Jack nodded again, trying hard not to show his elation. Used to getting his own way, the Wizard failed to notice that the look on Jack’s face wasn’t fear.
The Wizard stood up and pushed the DVD towards Jack. ‘Take him outside,’ he said to the Undertaker. ‘Our visitor is leaving.’
When he heard the church door close behind him, Jack resisted the temptation to punch the air. Instead, he walked across to his bike and made another call on his mobile.
‘He’s inside with the Undertaker – no one else,’ said Jack. ‘The police are on their way. You’ve got less than an hour.’
‘The boy?’ asked the Bone Scraper.
‘Safe.’
‘And you?’
‘On my bike, leaving. You found the tunnel?’
‘Retribution is on its way! You can count on it,’ said the Bone Scraper and hung up. Jack started the engine and accelerated into the night. Slowing down at the lichgate at the bottom of the hill, he didn’t notice the Bone Scraper’s scout in the bushes, waiting for him to pass.
The Warriors were slowly working their way through the stormwater drain under the bridge. They almost missed the vital turn. Difficult to see, and blocked by another rusty grate, a narrow tunnel was branching out to the left towards the compound. Using a large bolt cutter, one of the men cut through the second grate within minutes. Led by the Bone Scraper, the raiders hurried along the tunnel until they reached a steel door blocking their path. They were now directly below the crypt.
‘Okay, guys,’ said the Bone Scraper. ‘It’s time for a little diversion.’ He pressed a button on his mobile. The scout in the bushes answered at once. ‘Go!’ said the Bone Scraper. ‘Now!’
Having the best men in the business certainly helped. All of them had done time for break-ins or armed robberies of the heavy kind. There wasn’t a building they couldn’t get into, or an alarm system they couldn’t disable. No security door was strong enough to keep them out. They were used to strict discipline and to-the-second timing. And most important of all, they worked as a team.
‘This is it,’ said the Bone Scraper, looking at the steel door. ‘We must be somewhere right under the compound by now. Can you open this?’
‘Sure, but it’ll be a bit noisy,’ replied one of the men standing behind him.
‘What do we do now?’ asked the huge man next to him.
‘We wait, and we listen,’ said the Bone Scraper, and sat down on the ground. ‘When you hear the bang, break down the door.’
The Wizard and the Undertaker sat in the control room monitoring the CCTV screens. They were expecting the police to come charging up the driveway at any moment. The Wizard was going to let the SWAT team in personally, and couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they discovered that the entire compound was empty. He was also following his legal advice to the letter: cooperation without resistance, and full compliance with the bail conditions. His daily report to the police would be made by him in person when they arrived.
‘Who the fuck’s that?’ asked the Undertaker, pointing to one of the screens. A lone biker came roaring up the hill and pulled up in front of the church. ‘Looks like a Warrior.’
‘That’s all we need!’
His face concealed behind a scarf, the rider didn’t get off his bike. Instead, he reached into the saddlebag, pulled out a brick and threw it through one of the church windows.
‘Get the guns!’ shouted the Wizard, seething. ‘We’ll teach that prick a lesson!’
Before the Wizard and the Undertaker could reach the church above the crypt, the bikie had pulled a sawn-off shotgun from the other saddlebag. Taking aim, he emptied both barrels into the church door – sending splinters flying in all directions – and then disappeared into the night.
‘He’s gone,’ said the Undertaker, trying to catch his breath.
‘What’s this?’ The Wizard kicked aside the shards of coloured glass that littered the floor and bent down. ‘This is what came through the window,’ he said and picked up the brick with a piece of paper wrapped tightly around it with string. ‘Ars Moriendi’ read the Wizard. He instantly recognised the message and its author. The Warriors had declared war.
Composed by a Dominican Friar in about 1415, Ars Moriendi – ‘The Art of Dying’ – is a Latin text offering advice on how to die well. It was widely read during the Middle Ages and very popular, especially after the ravages of the Black Death. Fascinated by death literature, the Wizard and the Bone Scraper had studied the text in gaol and had formulated their own Ars moriendi rules. They even made a pact to follow them to the letter.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked the Bone Scraper, jumping to his feet. It was the distraction he had been waiting for.
‘Gunshots,’ answered the man next to him. ‘Break down the door. Now! Let’s go!’
A drive-by shooting with a message from the Bone Scraper? thought the Wizard, shaking his head. Why right now? Coincidence? Hardly. What was the Bone Scraper telling him? Ars moriendi? Here? And what of this exchange? The DVD for the boy, played out by Jack the messenger? Just before the police raid? the Wizard asked himself. Something was wrong here! He had sensed it all along, but still couldn’t put his finger on it. The events of the past hour swirled through his mind – but crucial pieces of the puzzle were missing.
Cassandra’s death had rattled him more than he cared to admit. In awe of her powers during life, he now feared her reach from the grave. It was a new and unsettling sensation for a man who wasn’t afraid of the living.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.
‘What?’ replied the Undertaker.
‘A thump. Downstairs.’
‘There’s no one here.’
Without saying another word, the Wizard rushed back to the control room. All the CCTV screens looked normal. Then, suddenly, one of the screens went blank.
‘There. The strongroom. It’s just gone off!’
‘I’ll go down and have a look. Could be the damp – we’ve had problems there before.’
‘There – another one!’ said the Wizard, pointing to the screen. as a second screen went blank.
‘The crypt!’
The Wizard stood up and checked his gun. ‘I don’t like this. We’ll have a look together. Let’s go!’
73
Wolf’s Lair, 9 March, 2:30 a.m.
The Wizard reached the bottom of the stairs first and was about to turn right to check the strongroom under the crypt when something caught his eye.
The Bone Scraper sat in the Wizard’s chair at the round table, motionless and silent like a statue. Two of his men stood under the stairs, guns drawn, and the others were lurking in the shadows behind the stone pillars. The Wizard’s eyes darted around the room like the desperate eyes
of a cornered animal searching for a way out.
‘Hello Eugene. Got my message?’ said the Bone Scraper. It was more of a statement than a question. ‘Ars moriendi – remember? Can’t say I didn’t put you on notice.’
‘How the fuck did you bastards get in?’ roared the Wizard.
‘What do you think? Back door of course. Great tunnel. Leaving it unprotected like that ... very careless. Not like you at all.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Cassandra ...’
That’s it! thought the Wizard. Jack! Suddenly it all made sense. A set up! Strangely, knowing made him feel a little better.
The Bone Scraper was enjoying himself. ‘Where’s your little mate, the Undertaker?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you ask him to come down? You’ll be needing his services – soon.’
Standing perfectly still in the silent church above the crypt, the Undertaker had overheard everything. Leaning forward a little at the top of the stairs, he could just see the Bone Scraper’s chest through the stone balustrades. Slowly, he raised his gun and took aim.
Sensing danger, the Bone Scraper turned his head. ‘Gun! Twelve o’clock!’ he shouted, struggling out of his chair.
The Warrior standing by the pillar looked up and fired his shotgun.
The Undertaker’s Beretta went off at the same time. It missed. The shotgun didn’t. The Undertaker came tumbling down the stairs like a limp sack of potatoes.
‘Now look what you’ve done. You should have asked him to come down,’ said the Bone Scraper as if nothing had happened. ‘But then, you were never one to listen, Eugene, were you? Failure to listen has a price. So does murder ...’
The Wizard stared at the Undertaker lying at his feet with a large, bleeding hole in his chest, but didn’t reply.
Jack was on a high. He could hardly believe his luck. He’d done it! The plan had worked! He was about to turn into the main road at the bottom of the hill when he passed an overgrown track. Recalling the diagram he’d drawn for the Bone Scraper, he stopped the bike and turned around. This must be it, he thought, looking at the fresh tyre marks in the long grass. Why not?
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 33