Scorpio's Lot (103 page)

Forbes and Marsh stepped forward
to take a closer look at this unfortunate person. Marsh then realised who they
were looking down on.

‘It’s young Danny Murdock!’

As he was carefully being placed
on a stretcher the young man raised his right hand on hearing his name.

‘My god, you’re right,’
acknowledged Forbes.

‘Hang in there, Danny. You’re in
good hands now.’ Marsh was clearly upset at seeing the extent of the young man’s
injuries.

Contrary to Marsh’s encouraging
words, the danger was still very much present. Unbeknown to the rescue team a
further crisis was about to unfold. Up ahead and directly in the paramedics’
path, an exposed and live power wire lay in wait to inflict its fatal blow.
Step by step the medics carried young Danny closer to the lethal cable. Within three
paces from probable electrocution, a spark instantaneously lit up the
surrounding area. A distinct crackling noise accompanied the electric spark,
making the ever-alert Marsh look toward the sound.

Realising the immediate danger,
he roared at the top of his voice, ‘Stop! No one move!’

Shocked by the detective’s sudden
outburst, the two paramedics immediately obeyed the command. The front medic
carrying the stretcher then realised the importance of the Marsh’s warning. The
darkened cable blended well with its surrounds, making the exposure almost
impossible to detect. Both paramedics then noticed a sudden snake-like movement
impelled by an unexpected power surge. The two men retreated a few steps with
the stretcher to analyse a different route. Finally and with a great deal of
care, safe passage to the roadway was invariably found. Forbes was immediately
on the phone to the power company to have the problem resolved.

~ * ~

Emily
had phoned me with the terrible news. She had looked on the destruction in
utter horror, for never had a scene reflected so much despair.

‘It’s shocking, Tom. There are
dead people lying around and some of the buildings have been destroyed.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. It’s as if a bomb’s
exploded.’

‘Where are you now, Em?’

‘I’m standing in Covert Road just
up from the Pitt Street intersection.’

‘Don’t move. I’m coming straight
away!’

‘Hurry, Tom.’

I had finally caught up with
Emily, having parked my car three blocks away in Elm Street, near St Patrick’s
Church. The walk up Bridge Street had attracted a fair crowd, all ambling in
the same direction to see what the commotion was all about. On sighting my wife
I detected a tear gathering momentum down her left cheek. She looked a thorough
mess.

‘Oh Tom, I’m so glad to see you.
This is simply terrible!’ she declared, hugging me tightly as if there were no
tomorrow.

I looked on the Covert Road
massacre and devastation in total disbelief. All the essential services were
here scrambling around in organised chaos. An ambulance had just departed with
two survivors, while a second was arriving to take a further couple to
hospital. Firefighters continued to assess the building structures and assist
the paramedics wherever possible. I counted at least four bodies lying face down
on the road, let alone others who may have perished inside the buildings.

Four people had come forward who
were delegated with the body pick-up operation. I noticed Forbes rush to their
side, issuing orders not to have the bodies removed. Subsequently the four
corpses were draped to shield their presence from the gathering public. After
all, forensics had a role to play prior to their release. Two of these men
plunged into deep shock on seeing the ghastly devastation and mutilated bodies.
I could only contemplate that the horrors they face must be very disturbing.
Fighting to overcome shock would be a massive problem for the body pick-up
teams. I envisaged some government body sending in a group of specially trained
psychiatrists to help this operation cope with the consequences. I also
believed those who worked on the body collection didn’t fully comprehend the
tragic aftermath and what this would likely lead to in the future.

Inevitably the media had arrived
in droves. Many of the journalists had remained in Pedley following the hill
atrocity, in addition to preempting that arrests would soon follow. The renewed
interest and fascination with the subterranean passageways had persuaded others
to extend their stay. The case still drew national coverage and most of the
media representatives were under instruction to remain in Pedley until the
matter was resolved. This latest deplorable act was giving the media fraternity
a field day.

I saw Ashley Collins from the
Advertiser,
who was not one to miss an opportunity, interviewing some bystanders on the far
side of Covert Road. For better or worse, it suddenly occurred to me that I
would be seeing more of this reporter, given he had just been granted a seat on
the local committee which I was scheduled to chair tomorrow night.

I noticed Forbes and some of his
men were doing their site inspections having just returned from Broadbent’s. To
say I was astonished to see this extent of damage would be an understatement.
The blast, assuming it to be of nitroglycerine mixture, was extreme to say the
least. I could only imagine the people responsible must have planted an
exceptional and unnecessary large amount of explosives. The damage caused to
Broadbent’s adjoining neighbours only reinforced the idea.

~ * ~

Forbes
walked across to assess the inside of Maxim’s having seen numerous paramedics
enter its premises. The scene was reminiscent from previous sites, but in this
instance there were more demands placed on the medics. Four elderly men were
being treated for multiple injuries, the most apparent being broken limbs.
Forbes observed their attire to be outdoor bowls. Despite their apparent
discomfort and grief, all four men appeared to have survived the ordeal.

Not so lucky was a young girl who
was pronounced dead as a result of the large piece of glass embedded in her
skull. A friend covered in glass fragments and bleeding profusely was
determined not to leave the young girl’s side. She could not accept that her
friend lay dead beside her. Understandably the paramedics were having a
difficult time convincing her that an ambulance was in waiting. The remainder
of Maxim’s patrons appeared to be void of life threatening injuries. Although
in need of treatment, their wounds appeared to be only superficial with the
likelihood of an ambulance taking them to outpatients for assessment.

Forbes gazed on the people
throughout the coffee lounge, totally dismayed with what he saw. As if there
hadn’t been enough carnage already. The
Molly Bloom
disaster and Pedley
Hill atrocity was bad enough, but this catastrophe was beyond belief. This was
totally unexpected and unacceptable. He was fully aware this was the work of
Traffik in an act of retaliation, but to shamelessly involve innocent people
was inexcusable. Finally the inevitable statistics were about to be revealed.
Forbes’ worst fears were to be confirmed. His detective approached with the
dreadful news.

‘Twelve fatalities, boss. Four
from Broadbent’s, five located on Covert Road and one each from Stamford’s,
Henderson’s and Maxim’s Coffee Lounge. With respect to casualties our last
count puts the figure at seventeen,’ declared a shaken Parnell.

‘My god,’ said Forbes, unable to
express his reaction in further words.

‘The paramedics will have the
last of the survivors in their ambulances within ten minutes,’ Parnell added.

‘Obviously this is not the work
of amateurs,’ Forbes said. ‘It’s a deliberate effort to kill, maim and cause
maximum damage and disruption. This has to be my blackest day and I’ll get
these bastards if it’s the last thing I do. I’m appalled at the sheer number of
innocent bystanders. To put it bluntly, this is nothing short of evil and this
gangland retaliation has got to stop before we see further reprisals. Today has
taught me they will stop at nothing and are oblivious to who they kill along
the way.’ Forbes’ initial shock was now replaced with anger. ‘Contact the usual
forensic team and have them arrive here by this afternoon.’

~ * ~

I
continued to comfort Emily as we stood watching the unfolding events. A woman
rushed passed us in a frantic state. The police allowed her entry and we could
only assume a loved one had been caught up in the carnage. An elderly man to
our left had left his pocket radio on, enabling the people in the immediate
vicinity to hear a broadcast flash.

‘We interrupt this program to
bring you an emergency announcement. Confirmed reports state that a large
explosion has erupted in Pedley. Sources have not ruled out sabotage with
possible drug connections. It is alleged that explosives were used to create
widespread destruction. One building has been gutted, with a further five sites
subjected to varying degrees of structural damage. Reports indicate fatalities
with numbers unknown at this point in time. Further updates will be broadcasted
as they come to hand.’

The announcer then gave the
number for the emergency centre at the Pedley Shire offices.

‘Bloody hell, news travels fast,’
I said. ‘The shire has already set up an emergency centre.’

‘Tom, I can’t handle any more of
this. I don’t feel up to walking home so please drive me back now,’ insisted
Emily.

‘Of course.’

Seeing the strain on her face, I
decided to phone Darren Burke at a later stage to get a rundown on the bombing.

~ * ~

At
the time of the explosion, in the confines of the underground network, the
release of energy had a devastating effect. The shockwaves of moving air
pounded the ground with such force and velocity, the immediate vicinity beneath
Broadbent’s collapsed like a deck of cards. Diesel fuel stored nearby ignited
instantaneously and the air itself soared to unimaginable temperatures. A roar
like a deafening jet engine pounded everything close at hand. Smoke and fire
were billowing throughout and solid stone structures collapsed with ease. The
blast and its initial impact lasted no more than twenty seconds.

From a hundred metres further
along the subterranean passageways, four men literally got the shock of their
lives. Fortunate to be at a tolerable distance and within the confinements of
the bluestone chambers, they escaped the shockwave and fireball that tore down
the central main corridor. Like children peering from around the corner of a
school shelter shed, the trio of Sol, Charlie and Gino Palmero simultaneously
and cautiously looked down the passageway, half-expecting to see a repeat of
the spectacle. Smoke now hung in the air, irritating their lungs and inducing a
series of coughing attacks.

Realising their captive, Arthur
Simpson, was sheltered only two rooms further down, Sol decided to quickly
check on the old-timer before inspecting the source of the problem. He opened
the cell door to see his prisoner looking white and shaken. Confused and
frightened, Arthur asked the obvious.

‘What in God’s name was that?’

‘I’m about to find out. It
sounded like a bomb coming from Broadbent’s,’ claimed Sol, who started to
retreat.

‘You can’t leave me here!’
pleaded Arthur, who was desperate to leave this place.

‘It’s for your own good. I’ll be
back later, old man.’

Sol started running down the main
corridor. Both Charlie and Gino had already gone ahead, unable to wait any
longer for their accomplice’s return. Up ahead, one hundred metres or so, the
realisation and magnitude of the destruction quickly became apparent. Directly
beneath Broadbent’s the sight was catastrophic. The immediate vicinity had been
blown apart. It was in total ruins. The smouldering debris stood nearly four
metres high, almost reaching the curvature of the corridor overhead. The main
thoroughfare was impenetrable and only one known exit remained.

Sol stood beside Charlie and Gino
staring at the sheer scale of destruction. The blast had created a hole the
size of a two-car garage, but the rubble that had accumulated from within and
above ground had all but filled the entire area. To clear a pathway to either
climb or descend would take many man-hours to accomplish.