Scorpio's Lot (110 page)

Breaking open the tube the
immediate observation was that of a whitish-yellow liquid that ran quickly
around the bluestone and disappeared between the cracks. The remaining contents
bled beads of silver about the size of pinheads. If I wasn’t mistaken, the
light source derived from mercury combined with some clever liquid that
accentuated the glowing effect. I couldn’t help but admire the ingenuity of our
ancestors. Who needed electricity down here?

Despite his swollen cheek and
dented pride, the publican was growing impatient with all this sudden interest
in light source. This was fast becoming a Sunday walk in the local park. The
group had been informed of Indigo’s vendetta against Scorpio, but at this rate
their southern headquarters would never be discovered. The sooner this Traffik
leader could get back on track, the sooner they could all leave this
godforsaken place. He decided to question Indigo’s navigational skills.

‘Do you have any idea where you’re
leading us?’

The drug leader simply glared at
Johnson, paused and then let fly with an extraordinary reply. In particular,
Darren seemed astounded by this sudden newfound knowledge.

‘If time had been more favourable
these subterranean passageways would have been infiltrated long before now. For
what I detect as being sheer ignorance on your behalf, Mr Johnson, technology
today provides us with two means to locate places such as these. First there is
detection by way of sophisticated seismograph and ground-penetrating equipment
that can accurately pinpoint a precise location. Should these tools prove difficult
to acquire, then do what the Egyptians have been using for the past few years,
employ the services of a probe -’

‘What do you mean?’ interrupted
Johnson.

‘Egypt, for example, has
successfully been using satellites to identify burial sites beneath Giza. Let
me tell you these tracking systems have located numerous unexcavated sites over
the years. We’re talking about space surveillance that is so powerful it
identifies tunnels, chambers and even the entrances to these sites.
Unfortunately I’ve only been privy to these passageways over the past few days
and therefore time has not allowed me to conduct my research in a more
sophisticated manner. To answer your question, Mr Johnson, the correct path is
to be determined by instinct alone. By keeping to the main corridors I’m sure
something will unfold eventually,’ claimed Indigo.

Ivan and Martin proceeded to lead
the way Further network tunnels emerged from either side of the main
thoroughfare. It was reminiscent of latticework on a grand scale. Unbeknown to the
remainder of the party, Indigo had been chalking the stone walls with every
notable corner turn. He had no intention of losing his way amidst this maze of
bluestone obscurity. A hovering stench in the air was now more apparent,
forcing many to reach for their handkerchiefs. Side chambers were now becoming
commonplace, each bearing some ornamental relic that aroused little interest.

The constant smell in this
particular vicinity was proving difficult to take. The stale air coupled with
mildew and seeping water droplets contributed to the stench. It was hoped the
dampness and unpleasant odor would quickly disperse. Unexpectedly two short,
startled cries could be heard from both women.

‘Oh my god!’ called Martha.

‘What on earth ...’ Helen said.

The group was totally unprepared
from what emerged around the next passageway corner. The sudden appearance of a
subterranean cemetery had caught everybody by surprise. Recessed within a
series of larger than normal side chambers were the remains of human skulls. Each
had been carefully stacked on the other to form a pyramid shape. The
accumulation of skulls must have tallied many hundreds and within each chamber
were three such piles of perfectly structured mounds. Behind these skulls were
further mercury-filled tubes, illuminating the immediate area in a somewhat
eerie mise en scéne.

Indigo stepped forward to take a
closer look at this catacomb arrangement. He prodded and felt the skulls
without disturbing the formation. Throughout his absorbing cranium study I noticed
each of the mounds were dated by year, but lacking in any uniform sequence. The
chamber I happened to be looking at reflected the years 1802, 1805 and 1807. I
could only envisage this period in history to be that of the convict years
Arthur had spoken about and these poor buggers were indeed the slave remains
from that era.

In a further chamber a tomb had
been erected from what appeared to be of sandstone base. The poorly attempted
markings were of unknown origin and the colours reflected a mixture of dirty
brown terracotta and a dark hue. I imagined the burial of this individual
possibly held rank or position back in those days. Pleased to see the drug
leader had finally satisfied his curiosity, the party could now recommence
their expedition.

Deeper into the subterranean
network we travelled. Our pace remained fairly constant, with Indigo
occasionally stopping to peruse some past relic. The network continued to
enlarge with the introduction of multiple prominent arterials. Intersecting
passageways and chambers were now in abundance and I had the absurd thought
that a detailed map wouldn’t go astray.

Excluding Johnson, I sensed the
rest of the committee members were becoming a bit nervous. There had been
little discussion between the group to break the monotony and I was beginning
to wonder what might become of us if we should confront the Scorpio operation.

~ * ~

Looking
at her watch, which signaled eleven-fifteen pm, Emily Harrison was becoming
worried about Tom’s return. Normally his meetings would conclude around ten and
with more than an hour having transpired, her intuition told her that something
was wrong. It was unlike Tom not to phone and explain the reason for his delay.
She was also aware both Martha Kellett and Helen O’Neill served on this committee
and the thought had crossed her mind if either or both women had returned home.

Somewhat restless, she decided to
venture outside and look across toward Martha’s place. A now clear sky and
near-f moon threw sufficient light on the row of houses perched beside the
cliff edge, but no sign of life could be detected. Not a single light could be
seen to indicate that someone was still up. Growing anxious she wondered what
next to do. In her flustered state Emily decided a call to the RSL Club seemed the
next logical step. Venturing back indoors, she fumbled through the office
teledex in search of the number and then commenced dialing.

A rather forceful voice answered
her call. ‘RSL Club, Tracy speaking. Can I help you?’

‘My name is Emily Harrison. My husband
Tom was attending a community meeting at your club this evening and has yet to
arrive home. Could you tell me if their meeting has finished?’

‘One moment.’

A wait of around a minute had
transpired when the same voice responded with the anticipated answer. ‘One of
our staff checked the conference room around ten-fifteen and found all the
committee members had already left,’ she advised and then added, ‘But something
odd was observed at the time.’

‘Oh, and what was that?’
questioned Emily.

‘All their personnel belongings
were left behind.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Briefcases, mobile phones,
committee notes, pens and five sets of keys remain on the table.’

‘Have they since been collected?’

‘No, I checked just before. It’s
quite weird.’

‘Well, car keys left behind can
only mean one thing. Could you please check the car park while I hang on,’
asked Emily.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Harrison, but it
would be a waste of time because no one here would recognise their vehicles,
and besides, we still have a number of patrons at this late hour,’ Tracy
claimed.

‘Thank you for your time. I’ll
drive down shortly to check the car park myself,’ Emily informed her and then
hung up.

Emily Harrison now had good
reason for concern. In realising that Tom was not alone in this bizarre set of
circumstances, she decided to phone Brigit O’Neill, who may have knowledge of
her stepmother’s whereabouts. Additionally, she would call Hamish, more out of
reassurance in venturing outside at this hour of night.

‘Brigit, it’s Emily Harrison
speaking. I’m sorry to phone you at this hour, but I’m rather worried about
Tom. He hasn’t arrived home from tonight’s meeting at the RSL. Have you by any
chance seen Helen?’

‘No, Emily. I’m also becoming a
bit uptight.’

‘I’m about to phone Hamish and
have him take me to the RSL. Do you want to be picked up on our way through?’

‘Yes, Em. I won’t rest until this
matter’s over,’ responded Brigit.

Emily had awoken Hamish from a
deep sleep. Concern for Tom and Helen’s wellbeing had replaced any respect she
would normally have for the Irishman’s slumber. Whilst not jumping to
conclusions, this was no time for courtesy and politeness given the obscurity
of the matter. Emily came straight to the point. As to be expected, Hamish s
reaction was one of full cooperation. His mate and Brigit’s stepmother had
momentarily disappeared and he felt duty-bound to assist.

Within five minutes his car tore
down Finch Street and turned right into Market en route to the O’Neill
residence. Brigit was waiting on the front verandah as Hamish turned sharply
into the driveway. The mood was tense and quiet as they proceeded toward the
RSL Club and on arrival Hamish immediately drove around to the rear car park.
Given the information Emily had been told over the telephone, the sight of so
many vehicles hadn’t come as a surprise. After all, someone called Tracy did
mention a number of people were still patronising the premises at this late
hour.

The two cars belonging to Tom and
Helen were instantly recognised amongst the row of late night-revellers. Emily
and Brigit immediately walked across to conduct their respective checks and
were now both adamant that something was drastically amiss. With sufficient
lighting to view through the windows, the interiors of both vehicles suggested
nothing out of ordinary. There was a high probability the cars had not been
entered during the entire evening. Frustrated and puzzled, the two women
returned to Hamish who was waiting in the middle of the car park.

In her approach to Hamish’s side,
Brigit caught the reflection of something lying on the ground. The car park
lighting accentuated the conspicuous item, which would’ve otherwise gone
undetected. She lent down to pick up the metal looking object and on closer
examination was aghast as to its origins.

‘What’s that thingamajig you’ve
found?’ Hamish asked.

‘I can’t believe it! It... it
belongs to Helen. I’d recognise this bracelet amongst a hundred others. What on
earth is going on here?’

‘Are you sure, Brigit?’ Emily
wondered if the occasion may have distorted her judgment.

‘I’m positive it’s hers. She wore
it a lot, but I don’t get it because Helen wasn’t the type to lose her
jewellery.’

‘You may’ve underestimated Helen,’
declared Hamish to Brigit’s astonishment.

‘What do you mean by that remark?’

‘I can think of two
possibilities. Either she lost it unintentionally or purposely left it there to
be found,’ he suggested.

‘Left it there on purpose. For
goodness sake, Hamish, get a grip on yourself.’

‘Think about it. A number of
people have suddenly disappeared. Presumably all their cars remain in this car
park, so what might that imply?’

‘What!’ Brigit snapped.

‘They were possibly abducted and
Helen has purposely provided something tangible to go on,’ called Hamish.

‘Shit, maybe you’re right.’
Brigit was now beginning to understand the bigger picture.

‘I believe the time has come to
contact the police. We can’t delay this matter any longer,’ insisted Hamish.