Scorpio's Lot (105 page)

‘Um ... relocate as much stock as
you can over the next two nights and then get out. Do what you wish with your
prisoner,’ Powell responded with a callous overtone.

‘Very well, Marcus.’

‘Now what’s this second major
issue you speak of?’

‘To put it bluntly, we have a
traitor in our midst.’

‘And what makes you say that?’

‘Only the inner sanctum of the
southern operation has knowledge of the entrance to these passageways -’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’
interrupted Marcus Powell.

‘So someone has spilled the beans
and betrayed us. I’ve assessed my remaining staff and cannot single out any one
individual, which leads me to ask about Gino Palmero.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘I need to know more about this
person, Marcus,’

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree
here, Piedpiper. How dare you make accusations against Palmero!’

‘Steady on, I’m not making
accusations. On the contrary, I’m trying to clear his name. At the end of the
day we have an informant amongst us and it is my duty and responsibility to
find out who this person is.’

‘Gino Palmero was employed by a
Mafia organisation having similar connections and undertakings to that of
Scorpio. Around four years ago Victor Marlow visited their operation in
Catania, Sicily, where an arrangement was made between the two syndicates to do
an exchange. Victor would send across one of his best men in exchange for
Palmero. It was agreed that both organisations would benefit from the trade by
inheriting some fresh and innovative new ideas.’

‘Were both men willing to accept
the exchange?’ asked the Piedpiper.

‘Most certainly. Palmero was well
educated and spoke fluent English and always had a passion to visit our
country. There was no hesitation on the Italian’s behalf, he simply grabbed at
the opportunity to broaden his experience,’ replied Powell.

‘And what was the agreed exchange
period?’

‘The only stipulation was both
men had to serve a minimum of three years, at which time they were free to stay
on or return to their former employer. Palmero chose to stay on and hasn’t
looked back since. Victor taught him the ropes and introduced Gino to some key
people in the industry. Within the space of two years Scorpio put Palmero in
charge of special projects, a reward for his exceptional talent and loyalty.’

‘Then why would a man of his
calibre be sent to assist us?’ questioned the Piedpiper, who was both puzzled
and impressed with the man’s credentials.

‘It was Gino’s call when Victor
raised the matter amongst a select few. Claims he missed the country life and
decided a short break and change of scenery was just what the doctor ordered.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Hopefully you will now
appreciate why Palmero is above suspicion. I personally would vouch for his
loyalty and honour. Your informant can only come from within Pedley itself,’
insisted Powell.

‘Thank you, Marcus, for being
straight to the point.’

‘I judge the betrayer to be a
bigger threat than Traffik itself. Find this person and deal with it swiftly
and keep me posted on the matter, in addition to the underground problem. In
the meantime consider laying a trap for our informant, whoever that might be.’

‘Yes, Marcus.’ The Piedpiper
wondered what possible trap could be devised to catch the traitor.

‘And what’s this third issue?’

‘I need backup to deal with
Indigo’s threat and to have the numbers to mount a counterattack. We need to
settle the score and wipe out his band of cutthroats once and for all.’

‘I won’t deny that revenge is
sweet, but address your major problem initially. The survival of the southern
operation is first and foremost. The cops will infiltrate the underground on
clearing the Broadbent site, so you’ll need to relocate as much stock as
possible over the next two days. Those reserves reflect a great deal of money
and cannot be simply ignored or left too late to transfer. My suggestion in the
interim would be the farm. It’s far enough removed to draw attention. Once you
have accomplished this and vacated the subterranean, we’ll then destroy Traffik
in one swift assault,’ insisted Powell.

‘Very well, Marcus. Allow me
three days and then I’ll want my backup.’

~ * ~

The
second wave of the curiosity show had gathered at both ends of Covert Road.
Onlookers, possibly totaling two hundred plus, simply stood and stared at the
aftermath. Their presence aggravated Forbes into believing they had nothing
better to do with their lives. Why do people look on tragedy in their spare
time? he thought angrily. Was there some degree of satisfaction to be gained
from all this? Bloody inquisitive fools, he thought. He knew these were the
types that thrived on gossip, who generally exaggerated issues to colour up the
subject at hand. In this instance no amount of misrepresentation could justify
the aftermath. This was undoubtedly the worst exploitation of human slaughter
and suffering that Forbes had encountered throughout his working career.

As forensics went about their
business, Forbes simply stood in the middle of Covert Road and stared around at
the terrible waste of human life. Innocent lives, some too young to even
understand the implications of explosives. It touched Forbes deeply,
particularly the sight of a little girl whose partially decapitated body was
momentarily uncovered by forensics. She can’t be any more than five or six,
thought the detective. How could any sane person involve children, let alone
the rest of these poor souls? He felt distinctly sickened and dispirited at the
sheer scale of the tragedy.

The media now outnumbered
essential services. Recalling a press conference he had held at the Pedley Town
Hall, Forbes began to recognise a number of reporters from that uneventful day.
The conspicuous TLN Television mobile van had set up shop using the devastated
Broadbent site as a backdrop. Rachael McGrath was preparing her last-minute
notes in time for the one o’clock cross. The two city networks in GPT and
Global Network had begun broadcasting live to the nation. Their intention was
to maintain coverage throughout the day, interrupting the regular scheduled
programs with progressive newsbreaks.

Ashley Collins was in his
element, believing the local fraternity had jurisdiction rights over the city
tabloids. His perception couldn’t be further from the truth. No one press
outlet could claim exclusive rights to this catastrophe. Both Geoffrey Hunter
representing the
Kingston Herald
and Jessica Thompson from the
Princely
Gazette
had seized the opportunity to interview Gallagher and Martino, who
were waiting for their superior’s return from Stamford’s Tyres. In the world of
journalism when a case of this magnitude was up for grabs, each reporter
invariably sought their information in the quickest and most productive way.
The police’s appraisal was always a prized scalp.

On his return to war-torn Covert
roadway, Forbes was livid to see two of his men in consultation with a couple
of nosey reporters. He was about to express his disproval when a most
astonishing thing occurred.

From the partial collapse of
Henderson’s furniture store, a young girl of around seven suddenly emerged. Her
once spotless white tunic had been transformed into a mixture of dust and
bloodstained attire. She wore no expression other than her outstretched arms
that begged attention. The extent of her injuries was unknown as she stood in
front of the store looking around at her audience. She had caught everybody by
surprise. The television crews and reporters suddenly focused their cameras in
her direction.

At that very moment the sudden
emergence of this little girl epitomised the shocking aftermath of this tragic
day. Her very presence emphasised the human suffering that was on public
display for all to see. Presumably half-buried in debris, she had somehow freed
herself after a three-hour struggle. No doubt accompanied into the store with a
parent, the detective could only contemplate the furniture store fatality was
that of her mother.

The young girl took a further
step forward, her head constantly moving, which gave the impression she was
looking for someone amongst the crowd. So stunned were the police and
bystanders, everyone momentarily froze in silent observation. The girl looked a
mess with her hair and body encased in a powder-like dust. She continued
forward with outstretched arms. The sight of this small child amidst the
unfolding drama struck deep into Forbes. Why did the young and innocent have to
suffer as well?

So intense was the media focus
that Forbes realised it could have a further detrimental effect. He rushed to
the aid of the little girl. Some cries could be heard coming from the women
standing nearby. The scene was both disturbing and emotional, in addition to
the relief of knowing a young life had been spared. When he reached her side
the child flung her arms tightly around his waist. He didn’t understand how she
could have been overlooked when the search party conducted their earlier surveillance.

‘I am a policeman. What is your
name, child?’ enquired the detective quietly.

‘April Sullivan,’ she replied.
Her face was still void of expression. A deep laceration was noticeable on the
right cheek. She appeared to have no fractures, but was obviously still in a
state of shock.

‘Where’s my mummy?’ she asked in
a frightened tone.

‘We’ll look for her shortly, but
first we need to have a doctor examine you.’

Forbes carried the girl to a
police car. He instructed his team to continue with their delegated work and
said he would personally take the young girl to hospital and then return.
Forbes’ immediate priority was to have young April Sullivan checked out by the
medical staff.

~ * ~

‘The
cops have set up checkpoints on all roads leaving Pedley,’ declared the Traffik
thug who had just returned from an errand up town.

‘Doesn’t surprise me, Martin,’
Indigo replied.

‘Of course, not after all that
bloody mess!’ said another of his lackeys.

‘Would you shut the fuck up,
Dave, and let me think?’ snapped his boss, unable to tolerate the bleeding
obvious being rammed down his throat. He continued after a moment of
contemplation. ‘It makes no difference and it’s all the more reason to lay low
and then strike to eliminate the Piedpiper.’

‘But we can’t just rely on the
Broadbent entrance. I mean the cops will have that roped off and manned for
days,’ claimed a further sidekick called Larry.

‘And we don’t even know the
identity of this Piedpiper fellow!’ added Dave with one of his irritating
jibes.

‘And I won’t leave until their
leader is removed!’ fumed the defiant Indigo.

The normally quiet but
constructive Ivan finally intervened above the bickering. He was the oldest and
possibly the smartest of the five, despite taking orders from the often-irrational
Indigo. His word generally demanded respect.

‘Stop with this bullshit and look
at what we already know. The informant has already told us that three entrances
exist. Although he confesses to not knowing the whereabouts of these
passageways, I suggest we get him on the phone and push the point a bit harder.
There always exists an alternative approach to bring the same result.’

‘I don’t understand,’ confessed
Indigo.

‘Let me speak to him and I’ll
show you what I mean. Have you got his number?’ asked Ivan in a quiet but
influential manner.

Indigo hit the memory key and
passed his mobile. The dial tone ceased and was replaced with the voice of the
informant.

‘Ivan speaking. Is it safe to
talk?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s reasonable to assume the
underground entrance via Broadbent is off limits for a number of days.’