by Ray Smithies
‘Nothing too serious, just orders to take it easy over the next two days.’
‘A good excuse for Emily to pamper you for a while.’
‘Only to a point. He certainly won’t get breakfast in bed,’ declared Emily with a broad grin.
‘You guys have taken a hammering over the past twenty-four hours. How’s the head?’ I asked Darren.
‘We’ll survive. Some rest then light duties when we return to the station. I think we’ve all had our fair share of excitement for a while.’
Following my discharge Emily and I shared a quiet drive back to the house. I could sense she was holding off with her abundance of questions until we were both seated in the comfort and privacy of our living room. It had been the most difficult day of my entire life, but I wasn’t about to grovel in self-pity. Brigit’s dilemma and ultimate fate rested squarely on my mind. What could possibly be done to rescue her from the clutches of these assassins?
As anticipated, Emily reeled off a succession of questions, each bearing a similar answer to the previous. She was stressed and concerned and was not aware her remarks were becoming repetitive. Finally deciding to intercept this merry-go-round of interrogation, I responded with a fairly accurate account of the unfolding drama. Our roles reversed, for now it was Emily who appeared to be in a state of shock. Forbes had only given her an overview of the crisis and not a detailed description.
‘These people are sick!’ she said. ‘Thank God you’re safe, but what will become of Brigit?’
‘I can’t seem to get that off my mind. These bastards are ruthless but Brigit has no inside knowledge of their operations and that may be her saving grace.’
‘But why murder these innocent people? They didn’t have any inside information.’
‘Unfortunately, Em, that’s the make-up of these bastards. They’ll go to extremes to prove a point.’
‘Tom, you do realise that in assisting Brigit you’ve now placed your own life in jeopardy and possibly mine for that matter.’
‘I’ll call in to the police station tomorrow about arranging some protection. Anyway that’s enough for tonight. I need sleep after what’s happened today. We’ll talk further in the morning.’ I retreated to the bedroom before Emily could muster up another question.
~ * ~
It was nearly nine pm, time to transfer Brigit O’Neill from her temporary arrangement to the more secure and convenient location of the underground network. The syndicate had concealed her whereabouts at a farmhouse five kilometres out of Pedley, an interim measure only until the night provided its darkened backdrop and the hype of the afternoon had subsided.
Two hours earlier Brigit had awoken from the effects of chloroform. Her right arm had since been untied and a plate of braised steak and vegetables had been left by her side. Still feeling light-headed and stressed, she picked away at her food in the confines of her obscure and quiet surroundings.
With the turn of a key, two men entered the room and placed a black hood over her head. Her right arm was again secured. She had not seen these two before and wondered if they were Charlie’s men sent to do his dirty work. No words were exchanged as they led her to an awaiting vehicle. Brigit could sense she was somewhere in the country, for she could not detect the sound of passing cars, nor the general noises one becomes accustomed to in built-up areas. In her blindfolded state, certain sounds had become more evident. She could hear a cowbell in the distance, and a breeze hitting a row of nearby trees. Perhaps they were planted to serve as a windbreak, she thought. The most distinct sound was that of running water, coupled with the creaking noise of some rotating piece of machinery. Yes, this was definitely the bush. It even felt and smelt like the countryside.
The journey to an unknown destination began. Brigit sensed there were three other people on board, namely the two men who had blindfolded her, plus the driver. Their discussions were always brief and deliberate, never once making any direct reference to the syndicate’s location or operations. Nervously she sat wondering what fate awaited her. After around ten minutes the car came to a halt.
With her hood still secure, she was led some twenty steps forward and ordered to stand still. Immediately following the command she could hear a voice she hadn’t detected back at the country location. She had the impression the voice belonged to someone of authority. But who was this person? The people who had delivered her to this site were now retreating to their vehicle and with the turn of the ignition key they were gone.
Silence prevailed for around thirty seconds. Suddenly the sound of a mechanical device could be heard opening a door of some description. The straining noise suggested something weight-bearing was being shifted to enable entry. The noise then ceased and a hand grabbed hold of Brigit’s coat, forcing her to start walking. Twelve steps forward and the same hand indicated to stop. She heard the sound of a second person readjusting the controls, and the straining noise recommenced, which could only mean the door behind her was closing.
To Brigit’s surprise the roles were now reversed. Upon the removal of her hood she saw that her two abductors were wearing balaclavas to shield their identities. She stood on a platform looking down at a staircase that may have been as deep as a three-storey building, perhaps deeper. The darkness below gave little clue. With the aid of torches the three commenced their descent, never pausing for a stop at each of the two landings en route to the bottom. It was a straight descent all the way down and Brigit was relieved that a safety rail had been provided. With each descending step she wondered where in the hell she was going.
The stairway was completely surrounded by bluestone and granite, with reinforced concrete applied to various crevices. Time had obviously brought some form of deterioration. She heard the echoing sound of water droplets as they danced upon the collective pools embedded in the rocky terrain. The air had a distinctly unpleasant, musty odour and the walls at times reflected a penetrating dampness that had seeped through from the surface. The whole place reeked of an offensive smell as if some cracked sewerage pipeline was running close by.
They arrived at the basement and the immediate surrounds astonished Brigit, for the place was a network of tunnels that had probably been excavated many generations ago. Somewhat reminiscent of the early catacombs, the basement gave the impression that it had been used as a subterranean cemetery. The side recesses still had the remains of carefully stacked skulls that had been labelled according to their year of burial. Possibly convict labour brought to the mainland, Brigit thought.
The sight of these deposits sent shivers down her spine and she could only imagine this eerie walk would contain further examples of convict suffering. But where was this basement located? She had no immediate answers, but if it were beneath some township why hadn’t the authorities or public discovered this underworld long before now? She wondered for a brief moment whether this place could be known by certain fraternities. If it had or was to become public property, then the place would undoubtedly become a refuge for enterprising souls such as drug dealers, addicts, eccentrics, and those into secret meetings or unusual parties.
From where she stood there were three immediate passageways, all leading in different directions. The two men pointed toward the chosen route. Turning a corner, she could immediately see a major junction up ahead comprising five passages leading from this central location. The tunnel leading to this junction contained further recesses, each displaying their collection of skulls from a specified year. Brigit counted hundreds in passing and wondered where such a vast number could have come from.
Unbeknown to Brigit, this district at one time had suffered from contamination caused by poor burials and mass graves in churchyards that spread disease in the area. The authorities decided to move the bones and place them in underground passageways. It was unclear why only the skulls had survived.
The tunnel they now walked through provided wall lights situated every ten metres, with sufficient illumination to eliminate the need for torches. Acutely o
bservant, Brigit was aware that both the stench and dampness had disappeared and the tunnels were increasing in size. The sudden presence of this subdued light presented her with the opportunity to study her two abductors in more detail. Carefully and inconspicuously, she looked on these men in hope there would be some noticeable feature like a birthmark, a scar or perhaps even a tattoo on display. Unfortunately no distinguishing marks were to be found, since the wearing of full-length overalls complete with balaclavas provided little or no hope of uncovering such a find. Additionally, both men were of average height and build. The whole identification process was a waste of time, she thought. It was frustrating not being able to come up with at least some minute detail.
To one side of the pathway a series of chambers now stood in a row, each erected in the theme of bluestone and granite. Brigit considered that maybe prisoners or even convicts from a past era were housed in these rooms that weren’t much bigger than a garden shed. If this were true then how inhumane the authorities of the time must have been.
Reaching their destination, Brigit was placed in a room of generous size that provided various furniture pieces, including a bed and sanitary facilities. A small collection of books sat on a shelf and a bowl of fruit with various drinks were provided upon a central table. It wasn’t exactly the Hilton, but at least it appeared clean and the bed looked half reasonable. Tiredness had now overtaken the trauma of being in this underground world of subterranean passageways. The door was closed and she was advised to rest. Someone would see to her later.
~ * ~
Following Brigit’s abduction and her eventual transfer to the underground network, the Piedpiper requested an update via the landline with a loudspeaker to enable extended communication amongst its participants. This would include Neville Bradbury, Charlie, Sol and Brad Morgan.
At precisely ten pm Bradbury placed the call and commenced the briefing.
‘We have Brigit O’Neill in our safekeeping and she’s now resting in an adjacent room.’
‘Good, at least one part of my instruction was carried out. How is her condition?’ replied a stern Piedpiper.
‘Stressed but otherwise okay.’
‘Charlie and Morgan, would you please explain and justify your actions on the Molly Bloom.’
It was Morgan who decided to offer an explanation. ‘Some passengers defied orders so there was need to take appropriate action.’
‘Under whose orders, may I ask?’ came the angry response.
‘It was necessary to carry out these executions to keep control of the situation,’ Morgan claimed.
‘Do you have any idea what you’ve created by your stupidity?’
With no response from either man the regional head continued.
‘You have managed to attract unprecedented attention to an otherwise simple task that should have been carried out both quietly and efficiently. They were my orders, but you have both chosen to ignore my instructions. Your actions today have prompted national media coverage, with the country now focused on Pedley. The police presence will be intensified and journalists will start poking their noses into every conceivable thing that moves.’
‘But you would understand that our actions were appropriate had you been on board,’ insisted Morgan, trying to defend their actions.
‘Listen to me and stop with these pathetic justifications! Tonight I received a phone call from the Keeper asking for an explanation following the evening news. Every man and his dog is now demanding answers and understandably the public is expecting swift action and arrests.’ The Piedpiper was clearly livid at their shortsightedness.
‘What’s done is done, can’t turn the clock back now,’ volunteered Charlie in his typical absurd approach.
‘For Christ’s sake, shut up Charlie if you have nothing sensible to offer,’ the Piedpiper said. ‘Do you realise the effect this will have on our southern operation? The police will now have their ears and eyes everywhere, making the task of moving consignments more difficult. The pressure placed on our logistics team to maintain supply and demand has quadrupled.’
‘Yes,’ said Morgan unconvincingly.
‘It is my understanding that three men and a dog were eliminated.’
‘Two men, boss. The third was thrown overboard. The dog was silenced because it threatened us,’ declared Charlie.
‘Spare me the details. Tell me, who was the gun-happy culprit?’
With no volunteers coming forward, the regional head persisted. It was important to establish the guilty party since the Keeper had requested a full report by midnight.
‘Come now, you’re both grown men. Time to own up and be accountable for your actions.’
‘I used me trusty blade when it was necessary,’ offered a nervous Charlie.
‘Thank you, Charlie, but it was the gun I was referring to.’
‘It was me. But to repeat myself, the situation justified the use of arms,’ declared the arrogant Morgan.
‘Don’t begin to play games with me, Morgan, or I’ll have your head for this stupidity. To put it bluntly, there’s no justification for running amok with your trigger-happy behaviour that now has the whole damn country in the know. By your thoughtless actions and clear disregard for orders, you have both potentially put our southern operation back twelve months!’
The Piedpiper was, nevertheless, relieved to hear that the main instigator was Victor Marlow’s subordinate. There was silence following this unexpected outburst. The regional head then continued on a different subject.
‘On another matter, I hope the O’Neill girl didn’t see our drug operation this evening.’
‘No, boss,’ Charlie answered promptly.
Neville Bradbury, who had remained quiet throughout this discussion, unexpectedly brought up some further information he thought should be conveyed to his superior.
‘By the way, the police called into Broadbent’s this afternoon. It was Sergeant Carpenter, asking for some food and drink supplies for a forthcoming police function. He selected a couple of dozen bottles from the cellar, but I’m certain he wasn’t suspicious. It all looked reasonably legitimate, and even if it wasn’t there was nothing to suggest the warehouse had a multiple function.’
‘No harm done, but I’m curious as to why he would approach Broadbent and not the local supermarket,’ pondered the regional head.
‘Something to do with saving a few dollars, he claimed.’
‘It’s not a priority, but when you have some spare time do a routine check and establish if this so-called police function is factual.’
‘Certainly, Piedpiper,’ acknowledged the ever-obliging Bradbury.
‘The present situation is of concern. We need to be extra careful and on guard at all times. In light of what’s transpired this afternoon, it’s highly probable our resident detectives will now receive a backup team from city headquarters. Their extra resources will undoubtedly put a strain on business, but these are circumstances we’ll all have to live with. Above all, I insist that no one engages in any further foolish behaviour that attracts attention. Given today’s events it will most likely result in a downscale of operations, which hopefully will only be a temporary measure.’
Without warning the Piedpiper hung up.
~ * ~
Under instructions to phone the Keeper, Victor Marlow, later that night, the Piedpiper had compiled some notes in readiness of the expectant issues for discussion. Pressure had mounted to address and resolve the backlash directed at the operation following the Molly Bloom fiasco. The regional head was adamant the blame did not rest squarely with the southern organisation, since Morgan, the prime instigator and loyal henchman to the Keeper, must be held responsible for his actions. The conversation was tense.
‘Have you interrogated the O’Neill girl yet?’ Marlow asked.
‘I was planning to do that tomorrow, primarily to give her a chance to recover. She’ll be more alert following a night’s rest,’ replied the Piedpiper.
‘Very well,
then. And what is her present condition?’
‘As well as can be. She’s being held in cell one.’
‘And how do you propose to interrogate her?’
‘By using a polygraph machine. I happen to have one here.’
‘What, a lie detector test?’
‘And why not? They’re reliable and give a quick result.’
‘But are they accurate?’ Marlow never bothered about using the more humane tools of the trade.
‘Of course.’
The Keeper pondered over his regional head’s proposal. Being a sceptic by nature, Marlow had doubts about the concept. He envisaged their subject manipulating the test to suit her needs and make a mockery of the situation. He was in need of further convincing.
‘How do these bloody contraptions work?’
‘By monitoring breathing, pulse and skin response. It’s widely supported that very few people can control all three functions at the same time