Scorpio's Lot

by Ray Smithies

  ‘We’re talking about a sizeable area with each level, sir.’

  ‘So be it.’

  ‘I’m suggesting their headquarters are situated above the hole. I counted around six levels of passageways over that massive opening. Let’s face it, why the need to go beyond that depth,’ said Marsh.

  ‘Seems logical to me. The Scorpio syndicate would have all the area they need for storage and the convenience of being close to Broadbent’s,’ said Forbes with a gleam in his eye.

  The four men commenced their return, a testing and harder task given the uphill climb. Fatigue would now become a considered factor if their ascent was carried out too hastily. Forbes was well aware of this danger, but the checking of each floor level would at least break the monotony of the climb.

  ~ * ~

  U

  nbeknown to Indigo and his lackeys, the Scorpio traitor lurked in the background. He purposely remained at a respectable distance so as to avoid possible detection. An opportunity to experience the underground at first hand was not to be missed. The turncoat had carried a grudge for sometime against his peers and with the introduction of Traffik on the scene, destiny would now prevail. He was rarely given recognition for his services and furious for always being denied entry into the subterranean passageways. It was now payback time to witness the confrontation between Scorpio and Traffik.

  He had followed the syndicate to the RSL, realising it was Indigo’s intention to use Tom Harrison to gain entry into the underground. He waited patiently in his car while the Traffik thugs made their rendezvous with the committee members. Some fifteen minutes later he witnessed the assembled group enter the utility shed behind the clubrooms. Careful not proceed too eagerly, he waited a further quarter of an hour before making his approach to the standalone brick structure. A faint distant pounding sound of a sledgehammer could be heard, undoubtedly the tool being used to break the entrance seal. Ten minutes after the hammering had ceased he made his move.

  Satisfied the thirteen would not reappear, he entered the dark and obscure confines of the shed. With his torch ablaze he shone the beam in a constant sweep amidst the accumulation of tools and archives. His light source caught the outline of a trapdoor at the far end of the shed. Realising the hatchway provided the means to enter the basement and ultimately the underground network, he proceeded to open the cellar door. Confronted with a steep spiral staircase, he descended to the basement and immediately could see the destruction the sledgehammer had caused.

  How convenient, he thought, as he lowered himself down on the landing. The traitor had only ventured a short distance, when he quickly observed the party ahead had advertised their route by chalking the walls. He realised the progress of thirteen persons within these passageways would be slow and tedious. His own headway would need to be carried out with both patience and vigilance, for he was uncertain how far ahead the group had progressed.

  In particular there had to be caution with the use of his torch, for any detection of light in this dark environment would be instantly recognised. In sensing the vulnerability of his torch, he shone the light directly on the ground rather than ahead. He had now travelled the descending passageway for some ten minutes, but no sign of the advancing party could yet be detected.

  The traitor was disappointed in what he had seen to this point. The underground network was no more than a collection of narrow winding passageways that led in a hundred directions. He had high hopes of seeing something far more spectacular, but in the end he had to be content with these boring repetitive stairways that stunk to high heaven and offered no curiosity factor. Little did he know the subterranean system ahead would begin to change, a transition that would undoubtedly leave him spellbound when he eventually witnessed its grand attraction. After all he did choose the back door servant’s entrance to begin his quest.

  Like his predecessors before him, the traitor had stumbled across the tubes of lights recessed amidst a series of side chambers. He paused to observe their haunting glow accentuating the immediate surrounds from within the crypt. Fascinated by their hypnotic effect, he simply stood and gazed without venturing further. Given the medieval milieu and captivated mood of the moment, he half-expected Gregorian to break out in chant with ‘The Sounds of Silence’. Unaware of their source power, he gathered that some underground dweller periodically lit the wicks or encased fluid. In the mind of the traitor he sensed there were further persons to be wary of, other than just the party ahead and a collection of Scorpio has-beens.

  Some two minutes further down the chalked main arterial, the sight of a subterranean cemetery took the traitor by complete surprise. The carefully stacked mounds of skulls appeared to be unashamedly flaunted, with the inclusion of numerous tubes transmitting their infinite glow from behind. He was literally astounded by the sheer number of human skulls that had been accumulated in such a confined area. He couldn’t begin to contemplate where they had all come from.

  He ventured on, believing Indigo and his cronies were within his reach. Having travelled down these pathways for a further ten minutes the gap would have to be closing. From around each corner he half expected to hear the advancing party, or at least the sight of a distance light to indicate he had arrived. He approached with caution, not wanting to declare his presence. In a brief moment of carelessness the traitor was suddenly distracted by the sight of a gothic statue, which appeared from nowhere. He was startled into seeing this winged demon-like creature staring down on whoever dared to pass. Annoyed with himself for allowing some mythical devil to gain the ascendancy, he momentarily had allowed his torchlight to shine directly ahead.

  The damage had been done. His presence was immediately detected. Voices could be heard in the distance, perhaps some fifty or sixty metres away. A distinct cry was heard, unquestionably female. One of Tom Harrison’s committee members, thought the traitor.

  The agitated sound of male voices quickly drowned out the woman’s distressed cry. Approaching torches and echoing footsteps on the blue-stone was soon apparent. Perhaps light travels around corners after all, thought the traitor. He had to quickly retreat and find a suitable refuge, but where in this world of bluestone and limited havens would he find such a place? There was the choice of declaring himself, but this was a risky option, given Indigo would more than likely view his presence as a threat. Friend or foe, he couldn’t afford to take his chances. He had to quickly think with what the immediate surrounds could possibly provide.

  The main passageway and nearby intersecting corridors were out of the question. Five Traffik members on the prowl would soon capture their man. He anticipated that all five would come searching since it was highly unlikely Indigo would provide the remaining group with a torch. The traitor was now in panic mode for his options were indeed scarce. The last resort was to hide in one of the recessed chambers. He quickly assessed the most suitable, desperate to find a crypt that housed a large enough statue to hide behind. Surprisingly, most of the chambers provided adequate coverage with their variety of large to mid-range stone figures. Ironically he chose a demon-like creature that was similar to the one that had forced the issue.

  Kneeling behind the grotesque sculpture, more out necessity than choice, he switched off his torch and waited for the inevitable. Voices grew distinctly louder and a willful determination appeared to have taken precedence over screaming abuse. The sound of Indigo giving instructions could clearly be heard above the scuffled noise of leather-soled shoes on the stone floor. Nervously he continued to wait ensuring no piece of his clothing could be detected from the main arterial.

  Torches now shone their beams of light in the same passageway that housed the fearful traitor. Step by step they approached forever closer, their crisscrossed beams directed toward the chambers from both sides. Randomly they chose to inspect the recesses, an intimidating process that was now testing the nerves of their prey. The situation was tense, his heartbeat forever increasing and the traitor was beginning to break out in a sweat. Suddenl
y he heard the voice of Indigo issuing a further order.

  ‘That Scorpio jerk could be anywhere. We need to break up and search these side passageways in case he’s made a run for it. No point in the five of us being here. Larry, you continue to look around the chambers and you four come with me,’ instructed their leader who was beginning to run out of patience with these endless chambers.

  With the absence of his superior, Larry’s surveillance became less thorough, much to the relief of the traitor. His random selections had all but drawn to a close, giving the impression he wanted to return and press on in pursuit of the Scorpio headquarters. The turncoat continued to remain still, sensing the Traffik thug was still in the immediate vicinity. This was not the time to take an unnecessary risk, for these men would shortly be on their way to catch bigger fish.

  The traitor’s intuition had proven to be correct, for at that precise moment the beam from Larry’s torch scanned the very same chamber. The light swept across the crypt, bounced off the demon creature and continued clockwise to the next chamber. He could hear Larry react at the mere sight of the devil from within. For a short period the man’s torch repeatedly zigzagged in the neighbouring recess, suggesting his surveillance had suddenly become more meticulous. He was relieved the same ritual had excluded his somewhat vulnerable refuge. But the traitor’s belief that all had passed was short-lived, for suddenly the torchlight returned to further inspect the preceding chamber. He drew a knife from a side pocket in anticipation that a thorough search was about to occur.

  Larry stepped forth into the crypt, his light repeating its circular sweep of the darkened recess. With only the camouflage of a demon creature as his one saving grace, the traitor knew the time had arrived to take the offensive. To wait for the inevitable would only encourage the Traffik felon to yell for help. The time had passed for explanations, truces or compromises. The risk was extreme with Indigo in mind, given their leader would most likely shoot on sight. Having run out of options, Traffik had unintentionally become the traitor’s foe and further burden.

  The man stopped and shone his torch across the hellish host. The direction of light indicated the pursuer stood to the left of the sculpture. Knowing the element of surprise was to his distinct advantage, the traitor raised his knife in readiness for the assault. The attack would need to be swift and with penetrating accuracy. He could not allow for any undue sound that would ultimately bring the remaining lot running to his assistance.

  The traitor lunged from behind the statue. In a frenzy of multiple stabbings he inflicted several shocking wounds. Caught totally off-guard, Larry stood no chance in mounting a defence let alone call out to his colleagues. He was repeatedly stabbed in the upper part of the body. The blade initially entered the man’s forehead and then progressed to the torso, cutting him severely around the rib cage, including a fatal lunge to the heart region. The torch now lay on the bluestone floor, its low beam casting an obscure light across the victim’s body. The traitor then unmercifully returned to the head region. Having thrust his knife into the man’s mouth, he drew it clean through the face and across to the ear, severing his tongue and laying the cheek completely open. The blade then caught the man’s right arm, dividing the main artery as the traitor lunged across, slightly losing his balance. The last injury was of little consequence, for Larry was already dead.

  Blood lay splattered in all four directions as the traitor dragged the body behind the statue. The torch was extinguished. He now had to quickly find an alternative refuge and hope that he would pass an occasional phenomenal lamp to assist with his passage. His chance of escape was at least half reasonable, since the attack was carried out in near silence. Death was swift, but he knew his hasty retreat was equally significant. The traitor then withdrew and disappeared into the obscurity of a darkened passageway.

  Some five minutes later the sound of Indigo’s voice could be heard in the distance. On discovering his colleague’s body he let his feelings be known.

  ‘You bastard, I’ll get you for this! We’ll destroy your fucking operation ... we’ll hunt down every piece of Scorpio shit... ya can’t escape ... ya hear me, prick!’

  ~ * ~

  Fifteen minutes prior to the RSL closure, two vehicles driven by Hamish and Neil Carpenter pulled into the club’s rear car park. Five people immediately proceeded to the lobby in hope that either the manager or Tracy was still on duty. The tall bluish-green eyed blonde was counting the evening takings as the police stepped forward to the reception desk. Emily, Brigit and Hamish remained in the background while Carpenter and Martino conducted their initial enquiries.

  ‘Would your manager be in?’ asked Carpenter.

  ‘Alex McLeod left around half an hour ago. If your visit is in relation to the missing committee members, then I’m sure I can help,’ she offered.

  ‘Very well. For the record, when were they last seen?’

  ‘That’s difficult to say because they all arrived at varying times. Their meeting was scheduled to commence at eight, but I’m aware of at least one person who arrived late,’ she replied.

  ‘And who might that be?’ questioned Martino, looking at the list of people that Emily had handed him.

  ‘Ben Johnson, the publican. Unpleasant man, that one. It wouldn’t worry me in the least if he doesn’t resurface.’

  ‘And when were they found missing?’ asked Carpenter.

  ‘A staff member checked the conference room at ten-fifteen to find them gone.’

  ‘So in theory these eight people could have left anywhere between eight and ten o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘Technically correct, but highly improbable,’ claimed Tracy.

  ‘Oh, and why is that?’

  ‘Because just after nine o’clock I walked past the room and overheard an argument.’

  ‘An argument over what?’ persisted Carpenter.

  ‘Some land subdivision. In that short amount of time you don’t pick up too much, but I’m sure it was something to do with land. I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping, sergeant,’ she responded.

  ‘Could we see the conference room?’

  ‘Certainly, this way please. Nothing has been touched. Everything in the room remains as it was earlier.’

  The party of five followed the tall blonde through a series of left- and right-hand turns.

  On reaching the conference room Carpenter gave explicit instructions not to touch anything. The immediate observation was what Tracy had described. Briefcases, mobile phones, some unfinished notes and five sets of keys, presumably car keys amongst them, sat conspicuously on the table. The room reeked of something amiss. Why would eight people suddenly get up and vacate the premises? To leave unfinished work behind didn’t make sense.

  Carpenter recommenced his routine questionnaire. ‘Without touching anything, can you identify any of these personnel belongings?’ he prompted, turning to Emily and Brigit.

  ‘The brown leather briefcase and silver mobile phone at the far end belong to my husband Tom,’ declared Emily.

  ‘And the light blue one looks like Helen’s, my stepmother,’ added Brigit.

  ‘What about the remaining items?’

  ‘No idea, I’ve never seen them before except to say the red mobile looks familiar. I recall Martha Kellett having a similar one,’ offered Emily.

  Carpenter and Martino commenced their rotation around the conference table. Occasionally stopping, they briefly checked the contents from various notepads and then continued on, circumnavigating the large piece of oak furniture. Following four such revolutions, Carpenter suddenly noticed a small piece of paper lying on the carpet at the far end of the room. He bent down to retrieve the scrap and checked its contents.

  ‘What’s this?’ he questioned, reading the scribbled attempt out loud. ‘T R A ... what does that mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what it means, sarge,’ Martino said.

  ‘You do?’ said Carpenter in a surprised tone.

  ‘Judging by what lies on the tab
le down the far end, it’s a fair bet that very seat was occupied by Sergeant Burke. He’s attempted to write the word Traffik would be my guess. He hasn’t completed the word in fear of being caught,’ he assessed.

  Four people, including the resident Tracy, simply stared at young Martino as if in a frozen moment of time. The implication was straightforward, the consequences catastrophic. Eight people had possibly been kidnapped by a notorious drug syndicate, their fate to be determined by the infamous Indigo.

  ‘Isn’t that the mob responsible for the Covert Road atrocity?’ announced an unthinking Tracy, a comment which didn’t sit well under the circumstances.

  ‘The same, unfortunately,’ replied a despondent Carpenter, who now held grave fears for his colleague.

  The predicable reaction was one of anxiety and gut-wrenching emotion. Brigit had to sit down, her face buried with both hands as she lent forward in despair. Emily, forever the one to openly express her feelings, was reduced to tears. Hamish appeared tormented, a mixture of anguish and resentment, while the two policemen were simply stunned with the realisation that Burke was in terrible danger. A short moment of solitude seemed appropriate to allow everyone to recompose themselves.