Scorpio's Lot (128 page)

‘I’ve been looking for a credit
card which I lost on my way to the gallery yesterday.’

‘And you expect me to believe
this crap?’

‘Hang on a moment. In your office
this afternoon I overheard you say the traitor was holding something that
contained the name of the Piedpiper. I’m trying to find the damn card because
my name’s on it, which understandably is incriminating. It fell from my jacket
pocket when I stumbled across Helen O’Neill in one of the passageways.’ I was
determined to justify my presence.

‘So you conveniently lost it in
the vicinity of the gallery,’ taunted Forbes.

‘Excuse me.
Leading
to the
gallery, detective, not within its vicinity. I was retracing my steps when you
found me.’

‘And you can’t remember which corridor?’
he persisted.

‘No. It becomes confusing when
the passageways all look the same. I think it’s on this level or perhaps the
lower one.’

‘Why didn’t you declare this lost
card in my office earlier?’

‘Because you would’ve jumped to
conclusions and declared me guilty. You’ve always held a grudge against me
since the Peterswood incident. I had no choice but to retrace my steps and
retrieve the card.’

‘Describe the credit card.’

‘Imperial Bank with a Visa
facility. Has a blue background with an expiry of February next year,’ I
answered without hesitation.

Forbes paused and I realised he
was considering my story. He then grabbed me by the jacket sleeve and shoved me
to one side, away from the remaining constabulary. His expression now reflected
the look of hatred. Was this little demonstration to become our private and
ultimate confrontation? How he must have loathed my very existence.

I continued to justify my
underground return, pointing out that it was necessary to clear my name of any
wrongdoing. Forbes scoffed, stating that my actions were a mixture of
stupidity, ignorance, doubt and carelessness. A trading of words followed.
Marsh tried to intervene but was promptly ordered back. Eventually, after a
great deal of convincing, Forbes conceded that there was a degree of
credibility in my story. He acknowledged that I had not gone to the balcony in
search of the paper and was in fact retreating at the time of capture. My
actions were in the reverse.

Forbes’ premature bitterness and
rage finally succumbed to composure and levelheaded reasoning and he seems
satisfied that I held no threat. He called out for the benefit of his task
force to hear, ‘I’m a reasonable man, Harrison, so I’ll give you the benefit of
the doubt, but only for the moment. You’ll remain handcuffed and if a second
person doesn’t front tonight and no credit card can be found, I will formally
charge you with murder,’ declared Alan Forbes.

‘What second person?’ I asked.

‘You can’t be that naive. The
arrival of the Piedpiper, that’s who. Should he grace us with his presence, do
you have any idea the risk you’ve taken in coming here tonight?’

‘But I thought he was safely
behinds bars.’

‘You thought wrong.’

Forbes then quickly retreated and
issued orders to some further reinforcements standing in the background. Their
light-bearing helmets picked up the police chief pointing towards a couple of
gallery outlets. He appeared slightly agitated with the instruction. On his
return I was none the wiser of Forbes’ intent.

‘Okay, we must act now with no
further delay. Everyone back to their positions and turn your lights off. Mr
Harrison, you will be seated beside me in absolute silence. My one concern is I
hope this little performance hasn’t scared off our pending visitor.’ Forbes
gave me the evil eye.

The faint illumination from
camphene burners mounted on the gallery walls was our saving grace; otherwise
the place would have been transformed into an oppressive and eerie darkness.

~ * ~

An
hour had elapsed with no sign of this elusive second person. Was the Piedpiper
to materialise or had this been a waste of time? It was becoming increasingly
difficult to maintain patience and Forbes, with his constant body
readjustments, would be the first to call it quits. One hour became two, seemingly
like an eternity in this appalling environment. At times it was difficult to
maintain a total silence.

With the wait seemingly destined
for failure, the first detection of a presence suddenly became apparent. It was
a fleeting glance of a light source bouncing off the corridor walls from the
far side. Presumably a torch, the advancing beam was then extinguished. Ears
were strained to pick up the slightest sound, but silence reigned and no
approaching steps could be heard. Around a minute later the light reappeared
and was now considerably closer to the gallery

Forbes was satisfied with the
placement of his men, for the troopers were stationed either side of the
relevant passageway. The beam of rays grew distinctly brighter as they danced
their path on each advancing wall. The infiltrator was now decisively close.

The bearer of the torch had now
arrived at the gallery entrance. Again the light source was turned off. The
awaiting entourage could only surmise this individual was playing a very cautious
arrival. In all high probability of being the Piedpiper, it then dawned on
Forbes this person was in familiar territory. He was in his own backyard so to
speak and therefore would be expected to have a bag of tricks up his sleeve.
This was no Lou Hanna who surrendered relatively easy to Traffik, but rather,
the supreme regional head who must demand respect and considerably more
caution. Again silence reigned and the tension was mounting.

What in the hell was this person
playing at with the torch being regularly switched off? And would the attempt
be made to retrieve the note or did the infiltrator detect a danger? The
constabulary continued to focus on the passageway entrance. The subdued light
made it difficult to see across the vast expanse of the gallery. No vague
outline or pending sound could be detected. Where’s the blighter gone? thought
Forbes. Their positions had to be held; otherwise any movement to investigate
would turn the man away. The troopers positioned some ten metres to the rear
could not pick up the slightest movement, their heat detection equipment
proving to be ineffective. The reflective screen of green images could only
produce stone structures in return, for the infiltrator had the luxury of
camouflage in abundance.

At what seemed around a lapse of
three minutes, the light reappeared but from a different location. On this
occasion the bearer of the torch had moved two passageways around the gallery.
The resultant transition was having a baffling effect. To Forbes’ surprise the
light beam was not concentrated on the balcony floor, but rather, to the side
gallery wall. Across the bluestone face the beam weaved its path, zigzagging
with repetitive motion as if in search for something. Predictably the light
source was then suppressed and near darkness had once again prevailed.

By now Forbes was utterly
confused and had no idea where this little game was heading. He realised
patience had to be maintained. Having persevered for so long, any last-minute
mistake to scare away the offender would be nothing short of a disaster. He
desperately hoped his men would not become careless, for the lure to retrieve
the hoax note continued to lay in wait.

The mystery person had
demonstrated he was a master of silence and deception. Not the slightest sound
could be heard to disclose his whereabouts. The blighter seemed to be playing a
cat and mouse game. The SOG troopers continued to scan the entire gallery
perimeter with heat sensing units, but their efforts still proved futile.

Suddenly the torchlight
reappeared a further two passageways to the right, its beam concentrating on
the wall directly across. To everybody’s astonishment something totally
unexpected transpired, catching the constabulary completely off-guard. The
light source from the torchbearer had found its chosen target. The projecting
beam caught an inconspicuous mirror mounted high on the opposite bluestone
wall, transcending the beams to further strategically placed mirrors throughout
the gallery. As each path of light bounced off the trail of reflections the
transition was nothing short of spectacular. In an instant the light source had
gathered up all its intended destinations, transforming the balconies and
gallery into a well-lit conservatory.

The sudden presence of brightness
seemed to emphasise the sanctum was from a bygone era. Bluestone walls set
amidst darkened mortar stood solid and majestic, offset by a mixture of granite
and sandstone applied to the surrounding balcony. Entrances leading into the
recessed passageways were arched in monolithic rock and occasional quartz, the
contrast accentuating a degree of artistry by the craftsmen of the time. The
transformation was impressive. Although bold and serviceable in its theme, it
was nonetheless quite grandeur.

The awaiting entourage still
remained undetected given their camouflage from within the many exiting
corridors. Forbes looked across to the immediate balcony and could see the
incriminating paper resting on the stone floor. He was confident of the correct
location, remembering well from where the traitor had yelled his obscenities.
Providing the offender maintained the influx of light, it would also serve well
to assist with identification and arrest.

Forbes knew it was only a matter
of time before the culprit was revealed. But from which corridor would he
emerge? Logic told him the passageway from where the traitor had appeared, for
this was the quickest route to redeem the document. Forbes purposely had no one
posted within this pathway, enabling the Piedpiper to arrive at the balcony
none the wiser of his threatening surrounds. The torch continued to throw its
light, not once deviating from the initial mirror. Forbes could only assume it
had been laid to rest on some ledge, allowing the intruder freedom to move
around. So close and yet so far, the inevitable could only be a moment away.

True to the detective’s word, a
lone and unfamiliar figure cautiously emerged from the anticipated corridor.
Wearing a balaclava and sporting a near full length overcoat, the identity was
still a mystery. The physique appeared to be of average build, perhaps made
larger by the sheer size of the trench coat. Height was more difficult to
assess, possibly a tad short of six foot. The person paused appearing to
hesitate and then casting an eye to both sides of the balcony, walked across to
the railing and peered down on the gallery. Satisfied there was no imposing
threat, the ominous figure then turned to where the note lay in wait. Five
steps forward and the impending arrest seemed like a formality.

Cautiously, but deliberately, the
person proceeded to pick up the incriminating document with his left hand,
while the other remained firmly entrenched inside the coat. Unfolding the paper
to read the apparent contents, the reaction was initially one of shock and
obvious exposure. This was payback time for Forbes, having purposely written
the intimidating message. Your game’s up, Piedpiper, he said to himself.

Dropping the piece of paper, the
hooded figure then looked up in the direction of the voice. Forbes had come
forth to reveal his presence in announcing the warranted but overdue decree.

‘You’re under arrest, Piedpiper!’
Forbes shouted.

The criminal’s right hand aimed a
gun directly at Forbes from within his coat pocket. Arrest may have been imminent,
but the policeman instead chose the direct and exposed approach, much to the
surprise of his men.

This was the moment Forbes had
longed for, but it was not the time to apprehend without first checking what
weaponry the regional head maybe carrying. Despite being armed in his approach,
Forbes had suddenly become vulnerable should the Piedpiper decide on the
ultimate exchange. It was a foolish act and a gross underestimation of his
nemesis.

‘Reveal yourself!’ he called. He
had no sooner declared his intent when he noticed the conspicuous shape from
within the Piedpiper’s coat pocket.

The two now faced each other
directly, both poised with their respective armory in a stalemate. Forbes
raised his hand to the constabulary indicating that all firearms remain
visible, but held pending a further order. The men above instinctively knew
that any hasty exchange would more than likely result in their superior being
gunned down. None were more aware of this than the SOG troopers themselves.
Patience and opportunity would invariably become their guiding judgment.