by Ray Smithies
‘We’ll start with the club building, if you would please follow me,’ gestured the RSL manager.
With their departure from the spacious lobby entrance, Alex McLeod led the police contingent through to the games room, a sizable area comprising fifty poker machines and a smoker’s room tucked away in the far corner. A near full-length bar was stretched along one sidewall and a cashier was attending to a patron from her centrally positioned, caged-box counter.
The room, which measured twenty-five metres across, was an open space with no internal support columns. The detective envisaged the overhead beam to be of massive structure and possibly one that had been installed during renovations in latter years. Forbes contemplated over the foundations being modified to address this excessive weight factor. He decided to ask their tour guide.
‘When was this room previously upgraded, Mr McLeod?’
‘There was a major renovation back in the eighties, but it was before my time, detective.’
‘Were excavations carried out to support a room of this size?’
‘I have no idea, but I’m sure engineering drawings exist, and if not, they would certainly be archived at the shire offices,’ he replied.
‘Fair point,’ acknowledged Forbes.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’d think a concealed passageway would’ve played havoc with excavations, if one was to be found beneath this spot,’ Forbes responded.
Other than the overhead beam, which begged an explanation, there was little else to get exited about, unless some secret passageway led its course beneath the concrete floor. McLeod pressed forward with his excursion. He directed the group through to a lounge area, an agreeable sort of room which had a more laidback atmosphere to idle the hours away. A large, digital, widescreen television was mounted on a predominant wall, while a series of smaller screens reflected bingo results and some choice horseracing events. Comfortable chairs were strategically placed throughout the room and free hot beverages were offered from a nearby servery. The area was considerably smaller than its predecessor, but again access to the subterranean world could only be deemed possible from under the concrete base.
Escorted through to the dining area, the architecture took on a surprising different mood from the previous two rooms. Exceptionally wide central pillars supporting the overheads looked distinctly out of place, almost to the point where they could be considered a hindrance if one wasn’t watching one’s step. Tables were positioned on all four sides of the pillars and dim overhead lighting was used to give an intimate presence to the room. Walls were decked out in a combination of brass-like materials, draped either side with full-length cloaks that resembled stage or theatre curtains. The occasional van Gogh hung strategically in place. The room was totally out of character with the remainder of the club.
Forbes was so surprised with the decor he couldn’t resist asking, ‘Why a dining room of this extent?’
‘We refurbished around six months ago and it’s been an instant hit. The room prior to the transformation resembled that of a cafeteria and wasn’t patronised very well. We chose an extreme theme and employed the services of an excellent city chef and haven’t looked back since,’ stated McLeod with an air of pride.
‘I’m flabbergasted. Perhaps I’ll try the cuisine one evening,’ declared Forbes, who was a sucker for fine food in comfortable surrounds.
‘You’d be most welcome, detective.’
‘Now tell me, why such wide pillars?’
‘They weren’t always this size, but to answer your question they do seem bizarre since there’s no second storey to warrant so many. When the designer came to evaluate some refurbishing themes, she decided to use the columns to advantage by increasing their size to accommodate tables to all four sides. The effect has been remarkable, for it adds a privacy aspect to the individual settings,’ stated McLeod.
Forbes could envisage a secret passageway leading from one of the columns. In their present width an entrance was quite feasible, but logic told him his intuition would need to be based on the size prior to refurbishing.
‘How big were the original pillars? he asked.
‘They would’ve been under a metre across.’
Forbes immediately dismissed the idea.
The guided tour wound its way through to a small public bar. It was a typical two-way counter arrangement that served patrons from both the lounge direction and the passing trade off Kelvin Street. The area was quite compact, providing sufficient working space to accommodate no more than two barmaids. A cellar was accessible from a trapdoor situated within the confines of the bar floor. To be expected, it was Forbes who requested a closer look at the basement.
McLeod held the entrance door ajar for the constabulary to descend the sharp staircase, but asked that no more than four officers accompany him given the space restraints. Some fifteen steps down into the cellar the room resembled a long and narrow construction, the far end serving as means to offload the nine- and eighteen-gallon barrels from beneath the Kelvin street footpath. The area was entirely bricked where beer and spirits sat stored on a concrete base. With five men surveying its full length, there wasn’t much room to swing a cat and the air was distinctly cooler, to the point where Forbes had started his shivering routine.
The brickwork and mortar looked relatively new with no sign of impairment. Similarly the concrete floor showed no ageing defects, with no visible evidence of cracks or movement. The entire area had been constructed by a master of his trade. If this location was to become the elusive entrance point then it was indeed well camouflaged. On their return to the public bar, Parnell questioned the manager with regards to the age of the basement.
‘I would say it was possibly excavated as part of the original building. The bar area has always maintained its same locality throughout the decades, which makes good sense when you consider the convenience of the basement. It would be reasonable to suggest the cellar was upgraded at some point, but as to when would be anybody’s guess,’ declared McLeod.
‘We’re talking about a basement erected many years ago and yet the brickwork looks relatively new, don’t you think?’ Parnell persisted.
‘Yes, but that could be deceiving since the area is not exposed to any climatic changes. I’m no expert on the matter, but it could be said the walls are as good as the day they were erected,’ claimed the RSL manager.
‘Anything further to see in this main building?’ asked Burke.
‘No, other than my office, a conference room, the kitchen and toilet block.’
Following a brief visit to these remaining areas, the entourage then made its way outside to survey the grounds. In looking around there wasn’t much to get Forbes excited about, for the land was primarily flat throughout the entire site. A sealed driveway and car park provided little clue, but the sight of a bricked structure to the far corner stirred the curiosity level. About the size of a two-car garage, it stood inconspicuously behind the parked vehicles and a row of silver birches, which partially hid its redbrick exterior.
The structure looked particularly old and was quite possibly erected in conjunction with the main club building. Forbes decided this warranted further investigation. He couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.
‘What is this building used for, Mr McLeod?’ he asked.
‘Primarily for storage and archive records, but we also keep garden tools and a lawnmower here for convenience. It also contains a cellar that was once used by the club for preserving wine. It may look slightly dilapidated, but it’s waterproof and serves as an excellent stand alone storage facility.’
‘We need to look inside.’
‘By all means. I have a key with me.’
Forbes and his men peered into a darkened and tainted windowless room. Deprived of ventilation, the trace of stale air was apparent. The manager immediately turned on the light. The room was as McLeod had described. Garden utensils and an array of tools leaned against a brick wall in no apparent orde
r and an old Rover lawnmower sat beside the entrance. Numerous cardboard boxes, presumably filled with archive records, were stacked three high in one corner. The odd disused item or two lay scattered around the floor. Everything sat squarely on a concrete base.
The room gave the impression it had stood untouched for two lifetimes, complete with its fair share of cobwebs which still maintained their stranglehold on the rafters and contents alike. The smell of dust and mildew was very evident as the men rummaged around the room. Other than relocating some loose items to expose any underlying suggestion of a passageway, there was little to indicate that the storage area contained any possible access to the underground.
Growing impatient, Forbes was of the opinion they had exhausted all avenues. There was simply nothing here to suggest otherwise. It was time to investigate the basement.
‘Where’s the entrance to the cellar?’ he asked in a sharp tone that suggested he was becoming restless with these endless letdowns.
‘To the far end via a trapdoor,’ advised McLeod, searching for a light switch as they reached the hatchway.
A wooden doorway was immediately drawn back, exposing a descending circular staircase that looked almost medieval in its architecture. The initial depth appeared to be around five metres, forever spiraling its course to the basement below. The stairwell and descending walls were made from local bluestone, reminiscent of what Doyle and Carpenter had described below Broadbent’s.
With McLeod leading the party he flicked on a further light on reaching the basement level. The cellar room was oblong in shape and constructed entirely of bluestone, including a noticeably uneven floor. The ceiling was semi-circular, possibly built this way to counteract any weightbearing factors. The area measured about eight by five metres, an adequate size to store the once-prized collection of wine.
Forbes and his men gazed on this relic from the past. The overall condition of the cellar had deteriorated over the years and this was particularly evident around the base of the walls and indeed that of the floor itself. The mortar had crumbled and broken away in numerous areas, suggesting neglect had been the chief offender. With the exception of some abandoned and insignificant items lying around, the room was empty.
On further inspection, Parnell detected evidence of a past seepage or condensation problem, for the walls in one area could not hide the watermark trails the infiltration had caused. A faint musty smell could be detected in this very area, which beckoned the question as to why?
Forbes was convinced this room contained more than what the eye could see. It simply cried out for further investigation and therefore a return visit with the appropriate equipment would be shortly arranged. From what Doyle had described, the uncanny similarities to Broad-bent’s was more than coincidental, giving the impression that bluestone could be interpreted as being the common material used for all three entrances.
~ * ~
P
repared to accept the informant’s sworn admission that Scorpio’s underground network was accessible from within Broadbent’s, Indigo declared the warehouse was the target where he would commence his reign of retaliation. His source had proven to be reliable and there was no reason to start casting doubts about the man’s advice.
Whilst the whereabouts of the passageway had remained an unknown factor, its obscurity had not perturbed Indigo in the least. In his mind the destruction of Broadbent’s would expose the entrance, bringing with it the infiltration of Traffik or the police to destroy the southern operation.
With the arduous preparation and choice of ammunition finalised, the time was now imminent to attack Scorpio with maximum venom. Having a variety of weaponry at their disposal, explosives were decided as being the most appropriate to deliver the potent result. Indigo had initially contemplated the use of near-pure nitroglycerin, but with the unstable chemistry being prone to physical shock, the risk of transport was considered too dangerous. As a result he decided to compromise with the safer use of dynamite.
All was in readiness as Indigo and his men synchronised their watches, with the hour hand approaching three. Given the nature of explosives and the need to separate the formulas during transportation, it was mutually agreed that separate vehicles were in order. Entry to Broadbent’s was set down for three-fifteen am, a relatively simple task due to the Scorpio informant planting a key for Indigo’s collection. The wheels were in motion and the short journey to the warehouse had commenced.
On their arrival in Covert Road, the Traffik group moved with the precision of a professional and well-drilled unit. The key was retrieved and the roller door raised in the space of twenty seconds. According to the informant, no alarm or detection system operated within the premises. Following the unloading of explosives, Indigo and two of his lackey’s hastily drove the cars to a nearby street. The Broadbent’s entrance was lowered and the remaining two men commenced rechecking and sorting their lethal supplies. With careful and meticulous precision, the initial exercise was completed in less than two minutes.
Inside with only the use of torches, the men then quickly assessed the internal structure. The building was primarily a shell consisting of four brick walls and a wrought-iron roof. Five heavy-duty overhead beams were strategically placed; the internal construction reflected the dominant use of porous materials. It was not what the blasters considered one of their more challenging tasks. More important was the placement of explosives, for the strict order was given to have the dynamite cartridges and blasting caps well hidden from sight.
Indigo had chosen the blast to be detonated by a remote electronic system, which would send a digital pulse to a computer chip embedded in the explosive blasting cap. This would be carried out during daylight business hours to gain maximum destruction and loss of life. With further assessment the two men then realised the demolition of walls and pillars presented some limitations with respect to the placement of explosives. Without the aid of a demolition chamber and the emphasis on hiding the evidence, only three choices prevailed. It was decided either the charges would need to be placed at ground level, above ground level or beneath the surface.
Finally choosing the above-ground option, the men realised that elevated charges would be more effective if distributed at equal distance from each other. In this way they would obtain maximum thrust from the shockwaves of the blast. Additionally, the roof would immediately fall victim to the sudden impact.
With their decision made the Traffik pair reached inside a metal box for the numerous sticks of dynamite, each in the shape of a round cartridge of around twenty by four centimetres in size. The sticks had been modified by removing the explosive oil and replacing it with ammonium nitrate to increase the explosive strength. A paraffin enclosure had been encased to serve a dual purpose, for protection against moisture and to act as a combustible hydrocarbon that would also contribute to the explosive reaction.
The two men carefully chose to camouflage the dynamite cartridges some two metres from the floor, pressing them up hard behind some produce and weightbearing boxes that rested against the walls. The blasting caps followed and were now in position to act as a primary explosive, so as to assist with denotation of the larger charge from the secondary explosive. The completed job was a neat and methodical arrangement and all was finalised in under half an hour. It was time to phone Indigo and have the cars brought around to the front entrance.
With the roller door secured and locked, the two vehicles quietly disappeared into the winter night, leaving behind no visible evidence of entry. The first stage of addressing retaliation had been completed on cue. Tomorrow Indigo would choose the moment of detonation. He smiled inwardly at the mere thought of what the Piedpiper s reaction might be.
Revenge would be sweet.
~ * ~
On Thursday morning the sun rose over the Ripley Shire horizon to reveal a beautiful late winter’s day. The skies were blue and the warmer than normal temperature indicated that spring was just around the corner. It was nine o’clock
and the occasional commuter could still be seen rushing toward work. The activity of the day had already picked up momentum, with couriers hastily doing their rounds, the search for car parking bays all but exhausted and people in general going about their business. It was your usual Pedley introduction to a typical working day. Despite its modest population on the low side of ten thousand, the township of Pedley boasted a bonanza of employment opportunities, which drew a workforce from near and far.
On this particular morning the activities at Broadbent’s warehouse were no exception. Grocery lines and beverages were being transferred into two vans, both parked in their respective front-loading bays destined for the local supermarkets.
Neville Bradbury and his men had worked tirelessly to achieve a deadline, for the Murphy and Prendergast stores were expecting their deliveries to arrive no later than nine thirty. With the two couriers having departed and prior to the next customer onslaught, the manager decided his staff deserved to take a ten-minute tea break.