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.

 

[CraftyLion3D]

Chapter 2​

It was just past ten o’clock. Steve glanced at his gold watch as he trotted up the stairs to his office, wondering how Ally had managed to talk him into staying in bed an hour later than they normally did. Then again, his wife could be extremely persuasive when she wanted to be. He frowned thoughtfully as he opened the door to his office. What did the Federal Police want with his wife? He knew that her methods were highly unorthodox but he didn’t think she would’ve have done anything that was illegal enough to attract the attention of the Federal Police. He sat down at his desk and stared at the folder in front of him. For some reason, he couldn’t concentrate on the case he was working on. His mind wandered off, reflecting on whether or not Ally would inform him if she ever did get arrested by the Feds.

‘Steve ...’ a voice echoed in the background. ‘Steve? Oi! Steven Winsdor!’

Steve blinked and came back to reality. Kathryn McLaren stood in front of his deck, smiling in amusement. The young law graduate had been working under him for nearly a month and had heard rumours about his unconventional wife. When Steve stared out into space, he was usually worrying about Ally.

‘Was there something you wanted?’ Steve asked, regaining his composure once more.

Kathryn placed a closed manila folder on the immaculate desk in front of him.

‘The information you requested from the archives,’ she answered before pausing slightly. ‘Your wife making your head spin?’

Steve looked straight into the graduate’s green eyes.

‘Was it that obvious?’ he queried, although he already knew the answer to that question.

‘Lets just say that if you were caught with that expression in the courtroom, I doubt the magistrate would take too kindly to it,’ Kathryn grinned. ‘Would I be too intrusive by asking what she’s done to zoom you out of your mental focus?’

Steve debated whether discussing his marital affairs with the younger associate was a wise move. However, on reflection, it wasn’t really a martial problem. So far, neither couple had argued with the other nor had they shunned the other from personal issues. Mind you, Ally had a strong tendency to do that although she always seemed to reason that it was purely to save them from a marriage breakdown. At times, Steve wondered just what he saw in her. She was rebellious, Risk-taking and highly unpredictable. Something that, as a child, he certainly didn’t expect as being part of a traditional marriage. He soon realised that her strawberry-blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes had hypnotically drawn him into her arms.

Admittedly, their initial meeting hadn’t exactly been love at first sight. In fact, their very first meeting had been in a courtroom more than five years ago where Steve had defended a well-known criminal that Ally had been prosecuting and he had won the case against his client. He remembered Ally avoiding him for weeks after that until they met once again, by chance, in a cafe on King William Street. Ally hadn’t been too welcoming towards his presence and their interaction had been awkward to say the least. She had apparently been rather determined to convict his client in the courtroom showdown and was still effected by her failure to do just that. Steve knew that, like himself, Ally hated loosing. The cafe had been rather busy with lunchtime customers and Ally had - quite reluctantly - invited him to share a table with her. The next half an hour had proceeded with apologies on both sides and a truce had unexpectedly been created.

In the next few weeks that had followed, they saw more and more of each other and it wasn’t just in courtrooms either. Ally had apparently taken a shine to the raising young lawyer as he her and they eventually cemented their relationship towards each other on Valentine’s Day. Steve clearly remembered calling her on her mobile and asking her out to dinner for the first time since they had met. He recalled being half afraid that she might reject his offer but the unpredictable detective had done something anyone would have done in her shoes - she accepted. One thing led to another and the rest was now history.

He looked up at Kathryn and sighed. No, he couldn’t confide in his younger associate. Firstly, he didn’t know if there was anything to worry about. For all he knew, Ally could just be doing business with them. Given that she had taken up the occupation of private investigator, that was a very high possibility. Secondly, he didn’t think it was any of Kathryn’s business to know the details of Ally’s case. It would be a breach of confidentially. If Ally was working for the Feds, then the information she would be asked to keep would most likely be extremely sensitive. The last thing he wanted was to place his wife’s life in jeopardy because he discussed the situation with his law associate. He gave a thin smile.

‘I’d rather not mention it,’ he replied, looking straight into her eyes to cement the reply.

Kathryn returned the gaze and nodded. ‘Just curious,’ she shrugged.



I alighted from the bus on Grenfell Street in the city, near the Federal Police Headquarters. It was quarter to twelve and the lunch-time traffic was disgraceful. Having stopped opposite the Adacco building, extreme care had to be taken when crossing the wide busy road. I looked around and witnessed several people jay-walking towards the Academy cinema despite the fact that the traffic lights were less than ten metres away. It seemed to be a common practice these days, even though the Federal Government had introduced new nationwide roads rules two decades previously condoning it. Considering the Federal Police Headquarters was just up the road, I was surprised not more people were caught breaking the law. Somehow, I didn’t think many people actually realised where the Headquarters was. I had done so many times in the past myself but, since I was going to be working with the Feds for the next couple of days, I figured I probably should do the right thing and cross the road at the traffic lights.

Once I reached the front of Academy cinema, it was another five minute stake to the federal building. The automatic front doors gracefully slid open as I approached it and I headed straight for the reception area. A young senior constable sat at the front desk with a communicator headset glued to his ear. The front foyer was fairly quiet as several well-dressed agents walked past me and stopped by the elevator door. The senior constable finally got off the communicator and looked up at me.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Ma’am,’ he apologised politely. ‘How can I help you?’

‘My name is Alison Windsor,’ I introduced as I produced my private investigator’s licence for his inspection. ‘I’m here to see Commander Bentley. I have an appointment with him at noon.’

He examined my licence then returned it to me before holding up a finger. He then recited what appeared to be an internal number to the headset. He waited for some seconds before speaking into the mouth piece.

‘Commander, I have an Alison Windsor here to see you. She claims to be a private investigator who has an appointment with you. Her ID checks out.’ There was a pause. ‘Yes, Sir.Straight away.’

With that, he hung up. He then turned around to an office at the back and called out to someone.

‘Tracy!’ A curious young constable soon emerged from a doorway which seemed to lead to a back office. ‘Tracy, this is Mrs Alison Windsor. She has an appointment to see Commander Bentley. Could you direct her to his office please?’

‘Sure,’ Tracy agreed cheerfully and opened an authorised door into the building to let me in.

‘Thank you very much, Senior,’ I replied to the other officer and followed the young constable.

Detective Commander Caleb Bentley was sitting behind his desk when Tracy knocked on his office door and announced my arrival. The office was well-furnished which included a nice big desk complete with the latest computer technology. To the left was a stylish mock leather sofa which seductively enticed visitors to rest their tired legs. The commander stood up and held out his hand, warmly.

‘Mrs Windsor!’ he greeted as if we were long-time acquaintances. ‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ I returned shaking his hand. ‘But please, call me Ally. Mrs Windsor makes me sound like an old hag. I haven’t even turned 30 yet.’

The commander laughed and nodded in agreement. He directed me to a leather chair opposite his desk before sitting back down again. The chair didn’t look quite as alluring as the couch did but I surmised that it would probably be sufficient for now.

‘Very well,’ he smiled. ‘Perhaps we can stay informal. Ease the tension a bit. You can call me Caleb.’

I just smiled and accepted his invitation to sit but refused to comment.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Caleb replied, leaning back in his leather chair. ‘Very ... unexpected. Like a scorpion, you could say.’

‘A scorpion?’ I repeated.

‘Please don’t take offence,’ he apologised. ‘I meant it as a compliment. A scorpion traps its victim with its claws before disabling it with a final sting. I believe that’s very much the way you work. Am I correct?’

‘Well, I ...’ I began, suddenly caught off-guard. ‘I suppose so. I never really compared myself to an arachnid before.’

I could feel my face burning up in slight embarrassment. What exactly had Helen told him about me? Caleb chuckled.

‘Helen also tells me you’re a Army Reserve Military Police Officer and that you used to be in the police force. Reached the rank of Sergeant.’

‘Yes, I’m a Captain with the Army Reserve and I did use to work for the state police. I left about three months ago.’

‘Then you’d know the rules of the game,’ he nodded, before looking at me carefully and touching his fingertips together. ‘We have a rather delicate matter on our hands and I believe you would be an asset to the operation.’

‘Whoa! Time out for a second!’ I suddenly replied forming a T shape with my hands. ‘Before I agree to anything, I’d like to know how I will be rewarded when this is all finished.’

‘I’m assuming you’re talking about financial benefits?’ he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Helen warned me about your methods. I’ve agreed to pay for your expenses in full.’

I relaxed. That was one thing sorted out.

‘Okay, so what’s the problem? Helen said it had something to do with catching the baron off-guard.’

‘Yes, there’s been a slight problem on our side of things. He seems to know exactly when we’ll strike. The problem is we can’t do anything to him without him putting in a complaint of police harassment.’

‘Yeah, police harassment,’ I repeated thoughtfully. ‘He’ll get up-tight if he knows you guys are going to be watching his very move. How complicated is your surveillance operation on him at the moment?’

‘We have two teams on the outlook for her every shift. Three rotations every day.’

‘Well, if you gave me photos of him, I’ll take it from there. Oh, and it may help to take the team off him. It may be why he’s acting so guarded. I’ll take care of that.’

‘I hope you’re not expecting to take over the operation.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I smiled.

 

[CraftyLion3D]

Chapter 3​

Helen’s mind was pre-occupied as she drove into work that morning, justifiable given that she had less than four hours sleep the night before. It had been six years to the day and she wasn’t feeling any more comfortable about what had happened. For every anniversary, she dreaded the unlikelihood that someone would upset the apple cart. She knew the probability of such an occurrence was doubtful but a niggling feeling within her constantly remained. There were for too many malicious individuals on the outset to be too insouciant. Unfortunately, as the old saying went, everything that could happen would and today was one of these days.

As she turned the corner into the police car park, her communicator bleated for attention. Almost instinctively, she parked her car, flipped open the casing and answered it.

‘Mitchell,’ she greeted in her usual authorative flare.

There was a short pause for a moment before a heavily modified voice replied on the other end.

‘I know your secret,’ it claimed though Helen couldn’t be sure if it was a male or female.

Helen froze in mid-thought. The situation wasn’t assisted by her current musings which were a direct reflection of the call’s objective. The fact that someone other than herself had knowledge of her shameful past skyrocketed her anxiety, causing her defensive barriers to shoot up instantly.

‘Who is this?’ she demanded.

She was answered with what she thought was a menacing chuckle. It sent a small shiver up her spine but she was determined not to be outdone. Fed up with childish pranks, she was about to hang up when the voice spoke again.

‘Oh, come on, Helen. Did you really think that no one would find out?’ it asked. ‘I can still keep it secret if you want but I’ll need a small favour in return.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Helen insisted defensively.

She knew exactly what the person on the other end of the line was referring to but refused to let them gain the upper hand. She was more than a little irate when the same chuckle travelled down the line once more. This continued for some time before it eventually died down.

‘Surely you haven’t forgotten the jailing of a certain someone over the murder of your ex-boss,’ the voice spoke knowingly. ‘I thought you’d be the last person to forget.’

Helen was fuming. Of course, she hadn’t forgotten. She couldn’t forget it if she tried. The voice didn’t wait for her response however.

‘You know what they say - the higher up the ladder you are, the harder you fall,’ it continued calmly. ‘You wouldn’t want that now, would you?’

‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’ she growled. ‘Because if you are, I’ll-’

‘You’ll what?’ the voice interrupted tauntingly. ‘You’ll arrest me? Do you have a death wish, Inspector? You don’t really want me to tell everyone, do you?’

Helen knew she was fighting a loosing battle. No, she couldn’t afford for anyone to find out the truth. Admittedly, the truth the person claimed to have knowledge of was something of a fragmented version of what truly happened. Nevertheless, the facts, if challenged, would leave her no better off than her current predicament. In fact, it could very possibly make things much worse. No, she couldn’t risk it. Not if she wanted to keep her reputation - and career - in tact.

‘What do you want from me?’ she asked, trying to maintain some form of composure.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the voice dwindled. ‘I do need someone to deliver a package for me.’

‘Forget it,’ Helen responded automatically.

She could just imagine what the package would contain. No doubt it would contain something highly illegal. Inwardly, however, she knew that she didn’t really have much choice.

‘Alternatively, I do have the number of a local journalist,’ the voice replied, thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure he’ll be very interested in the story.’

Helen took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Screaming and threatening the other person wasn’t going to keep the secret quiet. She had to play along or she could loose the lot.

It had been a truly gruesome murder. Helen had remembered looking down at the corpse of her boss, Superintendent Alex Lynch of the New South Wales Police Service in shock. While she had no recollection of the night before, her colleague and fellow detective, Michael Templar, had told her in confidence that she had blurted out Lynch’s demise at the local pub. She recollected being tempted to admit her intoxication but was strongly advised against doing so by Templar who suggested she check her bank account for missing money. As feared, Helen discovered that nearly fifty thousand dollars had been transferred from her account to Templar’s, effectively ending her plans to admit to her naivety.

As the investigation progressed, it became more and more evident that her daughter, Fiona, was being set up to take the blame. Unfortunately, the electronic transactions of her bank account made it impossible to defend her own daughter without the killing being exposed as one of a professional nature under her name. In the end, Fiona had been convicted of first degree murder and jailed for six years.

It had taken her at least three months before she had enough courage to pack her bags and move to Wallaby Bay permanently. It had been her reasoning at the time that no one would find out about her past in such a small city. Unfortunately, she didn’t bargain on her past ever coming back to haunt her.

‘What sort of package are we talking about?’ she asked, truly hating herself for getting herself in this precarious position in the first place.

‘Now, now. Beggars can’t be choosers, can they, Helen?’ the voice returned. ‘I’ll contact you with further details. It’s been nice doing business with you, Detective Inspector Mitchell.’

With that, the person hung up. Helen stared at the communicator for a minute then did the only thing she could think of doing at the time - she swore.



Kings Cross, Sydney, Australia

The caller hung up the communicator, placed it on the receiver and smiled to herself. The victim had no idea how resourceful he could be. Now, Senior Sergeant Michael Templar lay dead on the floor in front of her with a bullet between his eyes. The perpetrator had been careful not to have been followed to the corrupt officer’s flat for it wouldn’t do to have witnesses placing her at the scene of the crime.

She thought about what impact this would have on Helen Mitchell and gave a blissful sigh of pure ecstasy. It felt so good to finally have the upper hand on both Templar and Mitchell. Now, with Templar dead, she could play Mitchell any way wanted and she couldn’t do a thing. Served her right too - especially after having Alex killed.

She tucked her firearm and its silencer in the inside of her jacket and causally strolled out of the building.



Espial Headquarters, Wallaby Bay, Australia

Skye Murphy was waiting patiently outside my office at the Espial about an hour later. A slim five foot niner, she was the only other person in the building who also had police experience. My other four investigators were either defence force personnel, former intelligence officers or school-leavers. Skye was wearing a cream-coloured trouser suit with black laced-up business shoes.

When I left the police force, I immediately began setting up business in the private sector. I had already gained my licence several years ago during one of my numerous annual leaves and it was pure coincidence that the building had been up for auction at the time of my departure from the police force. A former state police officer who specialised in electronic surveillance, Skye had been the second person to apply for a position here after Simon Carter.

‘Ally,’ she greeted me, pushing herself off the wall she was leaning against as I opened the door to my office, ‘You’ll be please to know that I’ve update the LRSD to five ks.’

‘The LRSD?’

‘Long Range Surveillance Device. The ring I made for you last month to track Harvey and Poulos down,’ she replied as she took a seat opposite my desk.

I glanced at the ring on my right middle finger and grinned. How could I forget it?

‘It’s not exactly long range yet, but I’m working on it,’ Skye continued.

‘Five ks is long range enough for the time being,’ I told her then took out the photos Caleb had taken of our drug baroness and showed them to her. ‘Anyone you recognise?’

She took the one of the photos and examined it carefully. Placing it down on the desk again, she shook her head slowly.

‘No, should I? Who is she?’

‘The name’s Sergei Milosevic. Former Russian KGB officer,’ I informed her, sitting down myself and leaning back in my chair. ‘The Feds want me to find him and prove that he’s an international drug baron.’

‘Do you think he is?’

I shrugged.

‘How should I know? Apparently he arrived at the Wallaby BayInternationalAirport about a week ago from Shanghai via Sydney.’

Skye raised her eyebrows, impressed.

‘A well travelled baron then. Let me guess. You want me to place a tracer on him once you find him?’

‘Is it possible?’

‘Find him first and then I’ll tell you. Oh, by the way, I reckon you should go with the Scorpion,’ she told me as she stood up leave, forcing me to look directly at her.

‘How did you-?’

‘You forgot to turn off the LRSD,’ she chuckled. ‘He’s right, y’know. You do work like a scorpion and you are a Scorpio, after all. Maybe you can use it as a tradename or something.’

‘Well, thank you for the suggestion,’ I grunted purposefully as I turned the ring off. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘Why not?’ she shrugged casually. ‘Erica said they used to do it all the time in ASIO. Guess what her was? The Spider.’

‘The Spider?’ I repeated, curiously.

‘Not what you expect. It’s got nothing to do with the arachnid.’

I was beginning to wonder what sort of personnel I had employed.

‘I hate to ask,’ I ventured.

‘Think of ice cream and soft drinks,’ Skye grinned with a twinkle in her eye as she opened the door of my office.

‘Anything to do with cravings?’ was my next guess.

‘Oh, yeah.’

With that, she stepped out and shut the door quietly behind her, leaving me to stare at the closed door in a state of bewilderment.

‘Okay,’ I muttered to myself, wondering if I really wanted to know the full story.

Almost like some invisible and unexplained force, I found myself thinking about what Skye and Caleb had said - that I worked a lot like a scorpion and that my star sign was Scorpio. They were right. It was probably time I had some sort of tradename. That didn’t mean I should disregard the name I had - just not tell anyone what it was. That way, it acted as a security measure in case someone decided to use Steve or my sister, Janet, as revenge against me. In truth, the more I thought about it, the more appealing it sounded.

Picking up a nearby pencil, I began to draw. I’m not sure why I did it but something told me that having a logo drew more attention than not having one at all. Whether it was going to work was another matter entirely. After several minutes of doodling, I held my work up and began studying it. It was a rather simple drawing of a scorpion with its tail hooked up above its head and the words ‘The Scorpion’ written below it in old-fashion cursive.

As I put my drawing down, I realised I had forgotten about the photos of Milosevic. There was one thing I could do to start the ball rolling. I placed one of the photos into my scanner and opened the picture onto my computer. I then hooked up my modem and connected to the Internet. Opening my email server, I logged into my account and clicked on the ‘compose’ icon. I addressed the message to all the people I could think of, including Helen, Janet and Steve, and typed in my message.

‘As you all know, I am now a private investigator. I’ve been contacted by a client who has asked me to track down a particular person. Acts of confidentiality prevent me from explaining the situation but if you see the following person, could you please contact me on my mobile? Ally.’

Having written my message, I attached the picture of Milosevic to the message and clicked on the ‘send’ icon. Surely, Milosevic would have to leave her hideout sometime. The Feds had dismissed the idea of giving her photo to the media knowing that once the newspapers published the photo, Milosevic herself might see it and change her appearance. My main purpose was to catch her off-guard and that wasn’t likely to happen if she was changing her appearance once every couple of days.



Senior Sergeant Janet Hatfield decided to spend her lunch break in the mall that afternoon. She used to go to Chinatown iseveral months ago before she and her colleagues moved to the main street and occupied the former Motor Registration building opposite the fire and ambulance station. She wondered why the State Government felt the need to ship police officers out of their headquarters just so that they could extend the court building. On hindsight though, she had to admit that having the three emergency services stationed on the same street within close proximity of each other wasn’t such a bad idea.

At 34, Janet had a reputation in the force for being cool, calm and collected. Several inches shorter than Ally was, what she lacked in height she made up in ambition and authority. Many people saw her as being mild-mannered and level-headed. Of course, being her sister, Ally tended to see a completely different side to her. Stubborn as a mountain goat, she also had the tendency to stray from conventional methods, although she managed to achieve that talent somewhat more subtly than Ally did.

Her main specialty, however, was in the branch of artificial intelligence. Before joining the force, she had undertaken an undergraduate degree in Computer Systems Engineering. Hence, when she joined, she became a valuable member of the law-enforcement organisation.

The Mall, as always, was full of people from all walks of life during the lunchtime period. The pleasant mixture of musical performance from nearby buskers and the general public chatter lit up the sunny atmosphere in typical vibrance. As she walked down the mall towards the Mayer Centre, she gradually became aware that she had become the subject of several conversations. At first she wondered what everyone was so interested in, then remembered she was still in uniform. She was passing the Mall Balls - two huge hollow metallic balls resembling a silver snowman - when she recognised a familiar sight. Two members of the Bicycle Patrol were wheeling their bicycles towards her, heading the other way.

‘Afternoon, Sarge,’ one of them greeted her, cheerfully. ‘Enjoying your lunch break?’

‘I am,’ Janet replied, nodding to them in greeting. ‘Much trouble on King William Street, Senior?’

‘No, Ma’am,’ the senior constable replied. ‘The mall seems to have the most activity at the moment.’

His junior partner grinned.

‘I suggest you watch your pockets, Sarge,’ she warned. ‘We’ve had several people complain of cash being stolen.’

‘Somehow I don’t think pickpockets would be game enough to steal from a cop, Constable,’ Janet chuckled.

‘Well, some people are stupid enough to try anything,’ the young constable shrugged just as a screech rang out.

All three officers turned towards the direction of the sound and sighted two men in their early twenties running towards them. Janet and the two junior officers sprang into action and darted towards them with the junior officers climbing onto their bicycles. The men stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the police heading towards them and turned around, racing the other way. Orders of ‘Police! Stay where you are!’ were predictably ignored as the men headed towards the Myer Centre. Fortunately, they were overtaken and blocked by the two Bicycle Patrol officers and eventually apprehended as the officers arrested them. Janet picked up one of the numerous wallets found on one of the men and looked at the driver’s licence. Patrick Mayfield. She would have to reach her somehow and return the wallet to him.

‘I see you’ve caught them, Senior Sergeant,’ a crisp voice suddenly replied. ‘Congratulations.’

Janet looked up and found herself standing in front of Patrick Mayfield. Talk about bringing the mountain to Mohammad. Janet smiled and headed him the wallet.

‘We try to do our best. I believe this wallet belongs to you.’

Mayfield carefully inspected the wallet and nodded in confirmation. He then glanced at the two men who were still trying to wrestle free from the junior officers.

‘I want them to be convicted to the full extent of the law,’ he replied with great importance.

Janet wondered what it was that made him feel so significant. He certainly wasn’t anyone Janet knew professionally and Janet knew several high-profile members of the Wallaby Bay community. She had begun to take an instant dislike to the man.

‘In that case, perhaps you would like to accompany these officers to their appointed station,’ Janet advised and looked up to find several more officers heading towards them. ‘They will take your statement in due course.’

Janet greeted her colleagues when they arrived and promised to hand in a copy of her report of the incident at the appropriate time. She then headed off to have her lunch at the Myer Centre Food Court. She returned to her office an hour later to find several new messages waiting for her on her email account. One was from Ally which she decided could wait until later. The other was a memo from someone in the Australian Federal Police by the name of Bentley and was marked with high-importance. She opened that message first.

‘It has come to our attention that one of our targets seems to be hiding within the city. We are asking for your assistance in locating a Mr Sergei Milosevic of the Russian Federation. He is wanted by GlobalPol in several countries on drug-trafficking charges. We would greatly appreciate any information regarding his whereabouts. Thank you.’

Janet frowned and clicked on the email attachment. To her surprise, she found her herself staring straight at the photograph of Patrick Mayfield. She closed her message and went back to her inbox, still in thought. What should she tell Bentley regarding her discovery? As she debated the issue, she glanced at the heading of Ally’s message - Locating missing person. Helen had informed her earlier that Ally had taken an offer with the Feds but hadn’t disclosed details of her new employer. Surely, that had to be more than just a co-incidence. She clicked on Ally’s message and began to read.