Pawn

[CraftyLion3D]

Prologue​

Redfern, Sydney, Australia, 2029
Michael Templar sat in the corner of the pub, watching her every move. He didn’t think there wasn’t anything altogether spectacular about the way she moved, however. He was more interested in how she was currently behaving as it was certainly a side that he had never witnessed before. Helen Mitchell was sitting alone at the bar, drinking a glass of beer. It wasn’t her only glass either. He had been watching her from some time now and had counted at least five other glasses that had been downed by the Senior Sergeant. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have cared less how many beers his boss drank. Her consumption of the alcoholic beverage was her own business but he could now see how intoxicated she was getting.

Templar smiled. The normally alert Helen now had her guard down. This was an opportunity Templar just couldn’t resist. He had a long- standing dislike for the older woman who appeared not to notice anyone else in the pub. In fact, she was the type of woman that Templar loved to hate. She was his superior officer, intelligent, ambitious - and worse of all - she was female. There was nothing worst than having to answer to every request made by a manipulative, self- righteous vixen such as herself under duress. He wondered what depressed her so much that she had to drown herself in her sorrows has viciously as she was currently doing. Not that he cared a great deal but this was an occasion that he could not afford to let slip. Getting up from his seat, he lumbered over to the blonde detective and sat down on the stool beside her.

‘Penny for your thoughts, Sarge?’ he offered lightly.

He didn’t want to sound too nosy or she might get suspicious of his motives. Then again, she seemed so drunk that Templar wondered if she’d even remember this the next morning.

‘Don’t sell yourself cheap, Senior,’ Helen slurred slightly, without leaving her eyes from her glass and taking another mouthful. ‘Nothing comes free these days.’

Templar made a point of shrugging. He had never made any effort to show concern for her wellbeing but decided that this was an exceptional circumstance. As far as he knew, the most Helen even drank in one sitting was two glasses. Something must have really depressed her to warrant six.

‘Drinking alone doesn’t solve anything, Helen,’ he told her. ‘Trust me. I’m speaking from personal experience.’

Helen chuckled and then swung around to face him. Templar noted her glassy, unfocused eyes for the first time and realised just how intoxicated she had become.

‘No man ever speaks from personal experience,’ Helen gave a lopsided grin and lay her head down on a supported arm on the bar. ‘That’s from my personal experience.’

‘Shit day at work, eh?’ Templar offered conversationally to which Helen just nodded.

She let her arm fall and pushed her head back up straight again. Templar noticed how much effort it took her just to do that. He knew the pressures of work all too well and was beginning to suspect that a certain someone was making it all the more difficult for all of them.

‘It just gets shittier and shittier,’ Helen was beginning to slur worse now yet she still took another swig of her glass in front of her. ‘Lynch isn’t making it any easier. I wish he’d just get off my back and crawl under a rock and die or something ...’

Templar pretended to raise an eyebrow and slapped Helen lightly on the back. He was formulating a plan that could bring about her downfall but he had to do it very carefully.

‘Well, I’m sure it’ll get better, Sarge,’ he began but was interrupted by someone else who appeared to have been listening in on their conversation.

‘I think she’s had enough to drink,’ Charlotte Hassett decided, slowly beginning to lead Helen away from the bar.

Helen wasn’t very impressed by the gesture and tried to hit out at Charlotte but her point of focus had been altered so severely she completely missed her mark and Charlotte easily ducked from her friend’s attempted swipe.

‘But I still haven’t finished my glass,’ Helen protested, her slur getting worse. ‘It’s still on the ...’

She tried to reach out for the glass but accidentally knocked it on the floor instead. Hearing the glass shatter on the floor, she stopped struggling from Charlotte’s grasp and looked down at the mess she had created with a curious frown. She then turned her attention to Charlotte for an explanation.

‘Why is my drink on the floor?’ she queried but Charlotte just smiled gently.

‘Come on, Helen. I’ll take you home.’

With that, she led the fellow detective out the pub, looking back briefly at Templar in a farewell gesture. Templar just nodded in response but said nothing. He was thinking about Helen had said. So, she wanted Alex Lynch off her back, did she? Well, he could arrange that but he decided that the gesture had to come at a price. No favour anyone asked him ever came free of charge and he knew just the person to help him achieve his goal. He pulled out his communicator and made the call.


When Angela McKenzie initially received the call from Templar, she was suspicious. Templar wasn’t exactly one of her more trusting accomplices but when he explained the situation to her, she decided that to bring down Helen Mitchell would be worth it. Mitchell was one detective she could not stand and had long desired to pull her down more than just a few pegs. Unfortunately, the person Templar wanted her to get rid of was a trusted accomplice but Angela soon came to the conclusion that to achieve what she wanted she would have to sacrifice him and so it was done.

She had gone to the home of Superintendent Alex Lynch on the guise of delivering him information. Armed with nothing but a small army knife, she had put on enough charm to trick him into sharing a glass of red wine where she then proceeded to get him so intoxicated that his defences were nowhere alert enough to know what she was doing. The deed was simple. She had flicked open the knife and jabbed it straight into his femoral artery. She then stepped back and watched silently as his life withered away right in front of her. It was a quick easy death. Nothing spectacular. The fact that she would have preferred one of slow painful agony wasn’t up to her but she didn’t mind. Lynch was dead and she now expected her payment in full.

Lynch’s death didn’t stop there. Angela’s hatred for Mitchell ran deeper then anyone would ever know. Why this was so was never quite established but it was increasingly evident that over the next six years, she embarked on a dangerous journey of blackmail and deception.

Nor was it established how the army knife got into the possession of Helen’s daughter, Fiona, or how her partial fingerprints ended up scattered all over Lynch’s apartment. One could only speculate that Angela had embarked on some intense research of her hapless subjects before the call was even made to her. All she seemed to care about was the downfall of Mitchell and those around her - including her husband who mysteriously disappeared the day Lynch was killed.

In fact, it appeared that Angela’s hatred ran so deep, she was prepared to pit mother against daughter in the ultimate showdown. She knew, however that this had to be planned well for its perfect achievement. Firstly, she had to give Fiona a reason to abhor her mother then let it brew to a perfect blend of hatred and complete disregard for Helen’s well-being. She was well-aware that this could take months, or even years, but was prepared to wait. She surmised that the perfect place for the abomination to simmer was in a maximum security prison and so began the demise ...

 

[CraftyLion3D]

Chapter 1​

Wallaby Bay, Australia, 2035

The cafe was fairly busy for that hour of the afternoon. He looked at his gold watch and come to the conclusion that the hustle and bustle of the establishment was due to the warm weather. The wind had picked up slightly and there was quite a bit of cloud cover, creating a beautiful cool summer breeze. He skimmed across various tables within the busy cafe until he caught sight of her in a private little alcove, sitting with a cup of coffee in front of her. Smiling, he made his way purposefully towards her.

‘Good afternoon, Detective Mitchell,’ he greeted, causing the latter to turn and look up at him.

‘Caleb!’ she exclaimed, standing up to greet her friend. ‘Did you have trouble finding the place?’

‘Not at all. I come here all the time,’ Caleb told her, giving her a light peck on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m a tad late. I was held up at the office.’

They both sat down at the table and Caleb ordered himself a cappuccino.

‘So, Commander Bentley, What’s it you need so much help in?’ Helen Mitchell began, getting straight to the point as she always did. ‘I thought the Feds never need any help.’

Caleb laughed merrily and took a sip of his drink.

‘Yes, we’re God’s gift to law-enforcement,’ he teased, then turned serious. ‘We actually need a bit of help finding a drug baron.’

‘So, you decided state police might give you a helping hand?’

Helen and Caleb had known each other for years. The teasing between them had become something of a trademark amongst them in the eyes of their family and friends. Caleb smiled sheepishly.

‘Well, yeah. I was hoping if you could help us. He’s been categorised as an international target and seems to have gone into hiding somewhere in the city.’

‘What happened?’ Helen wanted to know.

‘By the time GlobalPol informed us that she was coming, she had already entered the country,’ Caleb sighed. ‘It was only by chance that some informant at the other end mentioned he was coming here.’

Until 2019, each country had its own federal police force as well as its own federal laws. This meant that laws that applied in one country could only be reapplied to countries using similar law-enforcement systems. If a criminal were to leave one country and commit a crime in another, they would be under the jurisdiction of two federal law enforcements. This involved using tax-payers money to bring the person to a federal court - money that could be utilized in other more beneficial areas.

During this period, international crime was monitored by an organisation called International Police Organization [or InterPol], consisting of more than 150 member countries. Each member country worked in conjunction with the other but still penalised criminal suspects under their own federal law. In 2030, given the different federal systems in each country, global police ministers came together and decided to rename InterPol as GlobalPol. The change meant that the federal police services across the globe were now working under a common international law.

Helen thought for a moment then began to smile slowly. Should she? How would the person in question react if she found out? What the hell, she would probably be grateful to be given the challenge. Helen’s grin widened.

‘Well, our resources are stretched to the limit at the moment but there is someone I know who can help you,’ she informed her friend, who suddenly sat up with interest. ‘But she’s not too interested in following instructions.’

‘But she can help us find our target?’

‘Oh, yeah. She can certainly do that,’ Helen smiled knowingly. ‘In fact, she used to be a police detective who worked with me. She’s rather unpredictable but one hell of a law-enforcer.’

‘What rank was she?’ Caleb asked curiously.

‘Sergeant. She’s also a military cop with the Army Reserves,’ she stopped, taking a moment to think. ‘She’s the type of person who traps her suspect and makes them suffer before turning them over to the cops.’

‘Sounds like just the person we need in the Feds,’ Caleb commented with a grin. ‘What’s her name?’

‘She won’t listen to orders,’ Helen warned. ‘And you’ll need to pay her for her assistance. Are you still interested?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Her name’s Alison Windsor,’ Helen informed him before taking out a pen and scribbling on a napkin. ‘She runs an investigative company called the Espial. She’ll be probably have my guts for gutters for giving you this but here’s her home number. Give her a call.’

She then handed Caleb the napkin. Caleb took one look at it and grinned.

‘I certainly will. I look forward to hearing more about her.’



There was always a disadvantage to having your bedroom facing the east side, least because of the sunrays glaring into the room through the slits of the Venetian blinds at the crack of dawn. Unfortunately, if you had a rather stubborn other half, persuading them not to buy a residence with that architectural aspect could certainly have its highlights. I personally wasn’t one to oppose the warmth of the summer sun, even if it was glaring in from the east and on this particular morning, the sun was the least of my worries. The purring of the mobile communicator, or Com as people preferred to call it, shattered the morning peace and jarred me out of my blissful slumber at approximately 8 o’clock. I wasn’t particularly keen on answering the offending object and neither, it seemed, did my husband, Steve, who was snoring gently beside me. Unfortunately, I was a rather light sleeper and knew that if I didn’t answer the communicator, my mind would never be kept at rest. Half asleep, I reached out and flipped open the casing.

‘Windsor,’ I greeted, rather sleepily as I blinked violently to allow my eyes to adjust to the suddenly bright light shining through the bedroom window.

‘Good morning, Mrs Windsor. My name is Commander Bentley from the Australian Federal Police,’ a male voice formally boomed through the ear-piece.

I was now suddenly wide awake. What did the Feds want with me? As far as I was aware I hadn’t done anything illegal that jeopardized the security of the Commonwealth and wondered how the hell they had gotten hold of our silent number. There were only a handful of people who had my number - my best friend Helen Mitchell, my sister Janet Hatfield and a few selected work colleagues. This was mainly due to the numerous threatening calls I had received before I quit the police force nearly four months ago. A million questions zipped through my unregistering brain like a pinball machine.

‘How did you get hold of my number?’ I asked curiously, struggling to sit up.

‘Ah, yes. I hope you don’t mind but Inspector Mitchell passed it unto me,’ he replied and I could almost feel him smiling into the communicator. ‘She speaks very highly of you, I might add.’

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Helen spoke highly of me? I didn’t think she would have wanted to share me around with other authorities. Ever since we agreed that I become a personal investigator for her, she had pretty much kept me to herself.

My job, in short, was to do her more undesirable tasks and operate undercover to see what information I could unearth for her. I didn’t mind it that much. It made me feel like I was actually contributing something to the wider community. Besides, Helen was a fair employer and happened to be one of my best friends. Initially, I’d wondered why she was so willing to retain me as her employee. Helen often found herself a scapegoat for lax police procedure in the past and wasn’t particularly inviting to my unorthodox techniques. She never had been. We used to spend hours over a few drinks, arguing the merits of the good cop/bad cop approach. Not that anything came of it, of course - I still bent the rules and played the game my own sweet way, giving her more than a few headaches. I won the philosophical debate in the end, though. I was victorious in obtaining results and she knew it.

What exactly had Commander Bentley told her that made her refer him to me? I was about to find out.

‘We need your help,’ he continued.

‘My help?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘What exactly is it you want help with and why have you chosen me?’

I was beginning to feel like some sort of honourable spy out of a James Bond movie.

‘Perhaps we could discuss it in person. Preferably in a more secure environment. It’s a rather delicate matter.’

‘Um, okay. Where exactly did you have in mind?’

‘The Federal Police Headquarters at about noon would be the ideal venue. That way all details will be kept within the premises.’

I agreed and hung up. Steve rolled over and groaned as I lay back down on the pillow in thought.

‘Who was that?’ he inquired, still not quite awake.

‘The Feds.’ He opened one eye and looked at me expectantly. ‘Don’t ask. I’m just as buggered as you are.’

Steve and I spent another hour in bed before we both managed to crawl out. Steve was in no real hurry to go to work with the Department of Public Prosecutions. He wasn’t due in court until the afternoon and he was sure his associates didn’t mind him spending some quality time with his wife. However, by ten o’clock, he eventually decided he should to go in order to catch up with some reading and kissed me goodbye. I sat alone at the kitchen bar staring into space about five minutes after his departure and soon decided to get some background information on this case with the Feds. I rang Detective Inspector Helen Mitchell at the police station.

‘Mitchell,’ she greeted in her usual tone.

‘It’s Ally,’ I greeted in return then went straight to the point. ‘What was it that Commander Bentley said that made you want to publicise my talents?’

‘Gee, you certainly know how to greet people, don’t you?’

‘Well, you know me,’ I shrugged into the communicator.

‘Something to do with an international drug baron, I think.’

‘You think?? Um, Helen, I may have helped you put Harvey and Poulos behind bars but this is a little out of my league,’ I reminded her. ‘You of all people should know that.’

Harvey and Poulos had been two men I had assisted Helen in convicting during my pervious case with her. They had been suspected working together on the bombing of three women in Wallaby Bay’s western suburbs. It had been Helen’s idea that I posed as a corrupt police detective allowing them misconstrue.

‘Look, I don’t know the full details,’ Helen replied. ‘But Caleb reckons she’s living here in the city.’

‘Okay,’ I nodded, trying to get my head around it all, ‘So why ask me? Why can’t they just arrest him themselves? They are Feds, after all. They’re supposed to have all the high-tech equipment to deal with this kind of thing.’

‘Like I said, I don’t know the full details. Apparently she’s gone underground and no one can find her. You’ll have to ask Caleb.’

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling emotionally exhausted. Suddenly, I wished I had never crawled out of bed that morning. I was comfortable apprehending misfits of society on home-soil with the help of my former police colleagues but this was a whole new ball game.

‘Why me?’ I asked again.

‘I like the way you work,’ was the short reply.

‘Yeah, that’s why you’re always trying to stop me from going all the way,’ I snorted sarcastically.

‘Hey, I said I liked the way you work, not the way you liked committing suicide,’ she retorted. ‘Besides, he seems to think you’re just the type of person they need in the Feds.’

‘If Commander Bentley is as methodical as you are, I highly doubt it.’

‘When are you meeting him?’

‘Who says I am?’ I shot back.

‘I just had a hunch you would,’ she replied smugly.

Her and her bloody hunches! She knew me too well. That was her problem.

‘Noon,’ I sighed.