The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

Jack looked thunderstruck. ‘How?’

  ‘You asked someone else for help as well, remember?’ said Isis.

  ‘Yes, I spoke to Katerina from New York, and told her all about my newly found mother and her predicament.’

  Isis turned to Lola. ‘Tell him what Countess Kuragin has been up to during the past twenty-four hours.’

  ‘We all know how well connected she is in government circles, right to the top,’ said Lola. ‘She called someone who called someone else who spoke to the person close to the French president who could make it all happen.’

  ‘Make what happen?’ asked Jack.

  ‘You told us your mother was a French citizen when she disappeared somewhere in the Sudan all those years ago. Apparently, the French Government made enquiries at the time after National Geographic reported her missing,’ continued Lola. ‘There’s actually a record of it all.’

  ‘Correct. I found it.’

  ‘That certainly helped. And now we know what happened to her. She was captured by slavers, her name was changed, and she was sold on the black market in Khartoum.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And bought by a South American arms dealer who took her back to Colombia where she was kept – we say against her will – right up to the present day,’ said Isis.

  ‘Yes, by Hernando Cordoba, the notorious drug baron.’

  ‘And he was recently killed in the bloody turf wars between feuding cartels, which finally set her free. Show him, Lola,’ said Isis, smiling.

  Lola stood up, walked over to Jack and placed some official-looking papers with stamps and signatures on the table in front of him.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Jack and picked up the papers.

  ‘Temporary travel documents issued by the French Government to Natasha Petrova, which allow her to enter France.’

  ‘Incredible! That was her maiden name, although she wrote under a nom de plume for National Geographic – Natasha Rostova. That’s what made tracing her so difficult and confusing.’

  ‘Luckily the French kept good records,’ said Isis.

  ‘You can say that again. But what about Agabe? We can’t just leave him behind. Not after what he did for my mother.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Isis, enjoying herself. ‘He’ll come with us and will apply for asylum in France.’

  ‘Good God!’ said Jack, feeling dizzy. ‘And you did all this for me?’

  ‘You asked your friends for help and they responded, that’s all,’ said Isis. ‘We all know what you did when Rebecca asked for your help to find her brother, and what you went through when Katerina asked for your help to find her lost daughter in Australia. And I know what you did for me and my family. It’s your turn, Jack, and we are ready, isn’t that right, Lola?’

  ‘Sure is. Pegasus is fuelled and standing by.’

  ‘When are we leaving?’ asked Jack, rubbing his tingling neck. ‘Every hour counts here.’

  Theatrical to the core, Isis lifted her glass of champagne. Jack did the same and they touched glasses. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ said Isis. ‘Let’s drink to that, shall we?’

  59

  Bogota: 23 July

  ‘All right, guys, put on your seatbelts please,’ announced Lola over the loudspeakers. ‘El Dorado airport is just down there. We are about to land.’ The twelve-hour flight from London had been exhausting, but Lola had taken turns with the two other pilots on board to fly the jet. Lola loved to fly. Pegasus was her baby and she used every opportunity to get behind the controls.

  ‘She’s all yours, boys,’ said Lola and climbed out of her seat. ‘I’ll see how our passengers are getting on.’

  Jack had approached the trip with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was overwhelmed by the generosity of his friends and grateful for their help. On the other, he was deeply concerned about the daring plan to get his mother out of Colombia. He was afraid that the project had been put together in too much haste and with not enough attention to detail. Caught between the tyranny of the urgent, and common sense that counselled caution and patience, Jack had only managed a few hours of restless sleep. As they prepared to land and enter Colombia, Jack realised that events were about to overtake him. The only thing to do in a situation like this was to go with the flow, stay alert and improvise, but most important of all, to be very careful.

  Just before leaving London, Jack had spoken to Celia Crawford at the New York Times to give her advance notice of Isis’s plan to make a surprise announcement in Bogota about a South American concert tour. Isis was very fond of Celia and trusted her completely. She had worked with her before on the forgotten Monet matter involving the enigmatic Emil Fuchs and his forgery.

  Resisting Celia’s pointed questions was never easy, but Jack had remained tight-lipped and hadn’t said a word about the real purpose of their visit, nor had he mentioned his mother. Once again, Celia and the New York Times had landed a coup and were about to break the sensational story of Isis’s upcoming concert tour, and Celia was already on her way to Bogota to cover the event.

  After several failed attempts, Jack had finally managed to speak briefly to Agabe just before leaving London and alerted him to what was about to come. After a few moments of silence, a surprised Agabe assured Jack that Rahima was well enough to travel as her injuries weren’t serious. Jack told him to get ready to leave the monastery, but to say absolutely nothing to anyone. As Agabe was used to danger and working under pressure, Jack knew he was the right man for this delicate task.

  Jack looked at Isis sitting opposite. She looks so happy, he thought. Dressed in a stunning, insanely tight Aztec-style costume covered with feathers – the same one she had worn during one of her concerts in Mexico – Isis was putting the finishing touches to her theatrical make-up.

  ‘Thank Christ I still fit into this. What do you think?’ she asked and held up a mirror.

  ‘Guaranteed to wow,’ said Jack.

  ‘I hope so. Announcing a tour like this is always tricky. It’s a balancing act. If you say too much, you leave no room for surprises; if you say too little, you kill the anticipation and everyone goes home, bored.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage.’

  ‘I’m a little rusty. It’s been a few years.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s in your DNA.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What’s in her DNA?’ asked Lola as she walked into the cabin and buckled herself into the seat next to Jack.

  ‘Performing.’

  ‘You can say that again. Just look at her. She’ll be on all the South American magazine covers by the end of the week.’

  ‘Now that we’re together, I want to say something before we land,’ said Jack, looking serious. ‘I can’t tell you what this means to me, but are you absolutely sure about this?’

  Lola put her hand on Jack’s arm. ‘Do you really have to ask? You know we are.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Jack,’ said Isis. ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll get her out, you’ll see.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Jack asked again. ‘Have you considered the risks?’

  ‘We have. Don’t worry; we have a lot of friends here we can rely on,’ said Lola. ‘And one of them is sitting right over there.’ Lola pointed to Boris, peacefully asleep in his seat.

  ‘I hear you, but this is a dangerous place, especially after what’s just happened. The authorities are very nervous, especially the military.’

  Isis shot Lola a meaningful look. ‘You must admit, Lola has done a marvellous job in such a short time,’ said Isis, changing the subject to distract Jack and put him at ease.

  ‘She sure has.’ Jack turned to face Lola. ‘I can’t imagine how you managed it all, and so quickly. The press, the band, the venue.’

  ‘To persuade the TV station to secure the Santamaria Bullring for the formal announcement tomorrow was quite a coup. It will make headlines around the world. I’ve performed there before, you know,’ said Isis. ‘It was
a triumph.’

  Jack smiled. ‘No doubt.’

  ‘We’ll use the glass coffin for my entry,’ continued Isis, becoming excited. ‘The fans will love it and so will the press. We won’t have all the usual props of course and we’ll use a local band instead of the Time Machine, but it’ll do the job.’

  ‘I’ve seen your coffin entrance. It’s gobsmacking!’ said Jack.

  ‘Of course, in Mexico just after we met. It was Lola’s idea to bring it along for this gig,’ said Isis.

  Apart from a couple of spectacular costumes, Lola had also brought along Isis’s signature glass coffin, securely stowed in the hold of the jet. The coffin was used for Isis’s spectacular entrance at the beginning of her concerts.

  ‘I did that for a reason,’ said Lola. ‘And it has nothing to do with Isis’s opening entrance.’

  ‘Oh? What else then?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I think it could be a way to bring your mother on board the plane safely and unnoticed. I already discussed this with Boris and Isis.’

  ‘Quite so,’ interjected Isis. ‘We’ve actually used the coffin to get me safely off the stage without being mobbed, and past screaming fans back to the safety of my dressing room. It worked a treat every time.’

  Jack looked at Lola, shaking his head. ‘You never cease to amaze me. Obviously you have a plan?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Are you going to tell us about it?’

  ‘Later. What I want to talk about now is how we are going to manage the press. Obviously they will meet us at the airport and so will some fans. They may also be waiting at our hotel. You can’t keep any secrets around here. We are staying at the Four Seasons Casa Medina, not far from the airport. You’ll love it.’

  After a smooth landing, Pegasus taxied to a designated bay reserved for the aircraft of visiting dignitaries, next to the main building. The first thing Jack noticed as Isis and her small entourage walked along the corridor leading to immigration and customs was the rather intimidating security presence of heavily armed police and military. As they approached the exit to Arrivals, Jack could hear the hum of loud voices, reminding him of excited crowds at a soccer game cheering on their favourite team. While this should have been an indication of things to come, nothing could have prepared them for what was behind those doors.

  As soon as the doors opened and Isis stepped into the hall, a deafening roar greeted them and they could see a cordon of security guards trying to hold back the excited crowd pushing towards the doors. Isis, the consummate performer, stopped and slowly lifted her hands to her lips and then blew kisses to her adoring fans, the gesture sending them wild.

  ‘We didn’t quite expect this, did we?’ said Jack to Lola, who was walking next to him.

  ‘Too much of a good thing can be a problem, but then this is Colombia and Isis is revered here like a goddess. We are supposed to have a brief chat to the press over there with a photo opportunity, and then go directly to our hotel. Let’s see how we go.’

  Lola pointed to a small group of journalists madly taking photographs, huddled in a corner and surrounded by security guards holding back the cheering fans. Used to crowds and the press, Isis walked confidently up to the press and began to chat with them and answer questions. After a few moments, Isis held up her hand and called out something to the crowd. Suddenly, the crowd became almost silent.

  ‘Amazing,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t know how she does it. She completely controls them.’

  ‘That’s Isis. Being fluent in Spanish helps,’ said Lola. ‘Watch.’ After a few minutes, Isis stepped away from the journalists and someone brought a microphone over to her.

  ‘See you all tomorrow at the Plaza de Toros de Santamaria. You are all invited!’ said Isis, her voice booming through the packed hall.

  An excited roar rose up from the cheering crowd, followed by spontaneous applause. ‘But now I need my beauty sleep, otherwise no performance tomorrow!’ More cheering followed as Isis – surrounded by security guards – blew kisses and walked towards the exit.

  As Jack walked past the group of journalists still taking photographs, he could see Celia, waving. Jack stopped and waved back. Celia pushed through the crowd to get closer to Jack. ‘See you at the hotel; Casa Medina. Call me!’ shouted Jack.

  A smiling Celia gave him a thumbs up just before he disappeared behind a cordon of security guards pushing him towards the exit.

  Celia called Jack a little later, and they agreed to meet in the hotel bar at ten pm. By then, the police had dispersed the fans, who had gathered outside in the dark hoping in vain to catch a glimpse of their idol. Heavy security presence inside the hotel made sure that no unauthorised persons gained access and it was only after Lola had arranged for Celia to be admitted that she was allowed into the hotel to meet Jack.

  ‘You do get around, Jack,’ said Celia, giving Jack a hug. ‘Never a boring moment with you, that’s for sure.’

  ‘It’s been quite a rollercoaster; you don’t know half of it. Vodka martini?’

  ‘You remembered. I could certainly do with one.’

  ‘I’ve travelled more miles in the last two weeks and experienced more excitement than most people come across in a lifetime.’ Jack paused as the waiter put two martinis on the table. ‘It’s a bit of a miracle that I’m here at all. Cheers!’

  ‘I can imagine.’ They touched glasses.

  ‘I don’t think you can.’

  A seasoned journalist, Celia knew there was a time to ask questions, and a time to listen. She sensed this was a time to listen as Jack clearly wanted to talk.

  ‘Everything I’m about to tell you is strictly off the record, understood?’ continued Jack, beginning to relax and enjoying the soft jazz playing in the background.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Celia, feeling the excitement building in her. Conversations like this were every journalist’s dream. These were the rare career gems that only came along occasionally and in the most unexpected ways, if at all.

  Because Jack trusted Celia completely, he told her everything that had happened to him since their last meeting in London a month ago. Celia listened in silence as Jack spoke about his abduction in Florence, and lying naked on the operating table on the Caritas in Malta just before Teodora shot Fabry, and thus saved his life. He then spoke about his time with Stolzfus and Agabe on the Coatilcue and his arrival in Bogota.

  Having finished his second martini, Jack paused. He was wrestling with what to say next. Should he tell Celia about finding his mother, and what happened on that deserted beach during the storm when Alonso was exchanged for Stolzfus, just before the US air strike that obliterated the Cordoba compound? Should he tell her what really happened?

  Celia sensed Jack’s unease and reached for his hand. ‘They spoke to me too, you know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The CIA ...’

  ‘Wow. Did you sign something?’

  ‘I did.’

  Jack looked at Celia, surprised. ‘So did I.’

  ‘I thought so. Don’t risk it, Jack.’

  ‘I never cared much for bureaucracy and cloak-and-dagger stuff. I’ve always followed my gut feelings, my instincts. Trust and legal obligations are two separate things. For me, trust always wins. That’s who I am. What makes me tick. That’s why I’m having trouble with this.’

  ‘I know, Jack. But there’s a time and a place for everything, and I don’t think this is the right time ...’ Celia reached across to Jack and gently touched his lips with the tip of her index finger.

  ‘You’re right. So, let’s leave it there for now. Let’s have another drink and I’ll tell you about things the CIA doesn’t know about – yet.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Isis and her upcoming South American tour. And this is definitely for the record.’

  ‘What a great idea! After all, that’s why I’m here,’ said Celia cheerfully, relieved that Jack had decided to stay silent and so avoid compromising them both.
/>   ‘Tomorrow at the bullring, Isis will make an announcement. A statement would be a better way to put it. She will talk about the plight and suffering of the Venezuelans next door and dedicate the tour to a cause.’

  ‘What cause?’

  ‘To rid Venezuela of a ruthless dictator who’s bleeding the country dry and causing untold hardship and misery to its people. She’s even given the tour a name – VenezuelAid – VA for short.’

  ‘I love that,’ said Celia, reaching for her notebook and pen.

  ‘You know Isis supports many charities and has donated millions to various causes. Well, she will donate a million US dollars of her own money to the soup kitchens providing meals at the border to the tens of thousands of refugees pouring across from Venezuela every day. But that’s not all. She will donate another million to help pregnant woman give birth here in Colombia because in Venezuela, medical services have broken down, and one in two newborn babies dies.’

  ‘This is amazing, Jack! Can I run with this?’

  ‘Absolutely. Isis knows I’m speaking to you tonight. For obvious reasons, she can’t be seen talking to you right now, and certainly not in public, but we want you to be the one to break the story.’

  ‘I understand. Thanks, Jack! My editor will be happy.’

  ‘I bet. But wait, there’s more.’

  ‘There is? Tell me!’

  ‘Apart from this announcement, Isis will perform a couple of her legendary songs. No doubt this will send the crowd wild, and it will also send an important message to the Venezuelan dictator. Isis intends to unite South America with her concert tour and create a movement to oust him. The Americans will be pleased and support this all the way. The entire concert tour will be dedicated to this cause.’

  Celia was scribbling furiously, her cheeks aglow with excitement. ‘This is fantastic, Jack. What a brilliant idea! This is history in the making.’

  ‘It sure is, and it will give Isis a new lease on life, especially after all she’s been through.’

  Suddenly, Celia stopped writing and looked at her watch. ‘How can it be this late?’ she said and stood up. ‘I have to get this to my editor right now or I’ll miss the deadline. Sorry Jack, must dash!’