The SPECTRE Of The VATICAN ©

Chapter 1 - The Meeting.

Time: Modern Day
Location: Sydney, Australia

Carter Cheval strode purposefully up MacQuarie Street to the Italian restaurant on the corner. It was quite a warm night; he could do with a drink. He was to meet someone who had promised that they could shed some light on the previous day's story.

It wasn't clear whether he was to meet with a man or a woman. The text message was from an unknown source and said they would know him when he arrived.

Most people would recognise him as one of the co-hosts of the popular current affairs TV programme, After Dark. He had hosted the show, as the male anchor, for a year now. His partner in crime was Carrie Fisher, a New Zealander, attractive thirty something, with a big mouth and an ego to match. They were an effective team. If he hadn't already been involved with Layla he may have been tempted to go there, but their partnership was mutually professional.

As he approached the entrance to the sidewalk dining area he noticed something unusual. A biker was perched on his bike, parked on the footpath, to the left of the rosemary covered archway. He was smoking weed. Carter instantly recognised the colours, a skull with ruby red eyes blazoned on his jacket; he was with the Sons of Chaos motorcycle gang. They were thought to be a moderately bad mob rumoured to be involved in gun running and low level drug trafficking.

He had done an exposé on them last August. He hoped upon hope that this wasn't who he was supposed to be meeting. It was unlikely, though, that a biker could have intimate information about a land deal scandal in the city.

His mind drifted back to last night's show which had headlined the day's top story about an accusation of corruption at a high level. It revolved around a whistle blower's call to the Rumour File, a daytime talkback radio segment on a sister radio station of the network. The caller had alleged that the Mayor, Jack Myer, had secretly acquired tracts of land earmarked for redevelopment into a new multi-million dollar Fisherman's Wharf like development. It was to be positioned at Potts Point, a harbourside suburb currently home to misfits, prostitutes and pimps.

Carter savoured the sweet, fresh smell of rosemary as he entered the restaurant. He passed the throng of trattoria diners who were contributing to the general hubbub of the busy restaurant. It was Friday night and the crowd was in a party mood, excitedly chattering away about the events of the coming weekend. Who would win the football and what horse would win at Randwick and even who would get laid.

Carter thought about joining them for a minute but then wheeled around and entered the main restaurant. He asked the balding proprietor for a seat near the window so he could watch people approaching. He liked to analyse people's behaviour. He got a kick out of guessing if they were gay or not; if they were meeting a lover or having an affair, or having a boring business meeting like he was.

Most people, meeting at these particular types of restaurants, were usually there for one or more of these reasons. He could see the biker was texting away madly. Funny how technology had bridged all social boundaries.

His musing gaze was interrupted by an intruder. A middle aged man with a shock of dishevelled brown hair was staring at him through the window. Ken Murray entered the restaurant and came right up to him with his hand extended in a gesture of friendship and greeting.

"Mister Cheval? Hi, I'm Ken Murray. I'm the man you are supposed to talk to. May I?" he said gesturing to a vacant chair opposite Carter. Carter waved him to sit down. Carter took over now.

"I believe you have some information for me about the land deal in Potts Point. Are you the whistleblower?"

"No, on both counts!" Ken replied.