Dark Revelations

by Duane Swierczynski

  Global Alliance gathered in the conference room, everyone bleary-eyed except for Dark, who hadn’t been asleep anyway.

  “We headed to South Africa, then?” O’Brian asked.

  Blair shook his head. “We don’t go anywhere until there’s confirmation.”

  O’Brian chased down the rumor online, trying to find its origin. They all agreed that it was more than possible Labyrinth himself was starting the rumors, fanning the flames before actually delivering his package. Meanwhile, Hans Roeding prepared the plane and loaded his weapons. The man was a natural born hunter who smelled blood in the air. Natasha monitored the South African media closely, looking for any suspicious thefts or missing persons reports that could give them an early lead.

  Dark, meanwhile, brooded in his unlit room, attempting to fit the pieces together. From Los Angeles to Dubai to South Africa—what was the pattern? He couldn’t help but feel like they were being nudged to jump through another hoop.

  He’d dealt with killers who used geography as a chessboard, and patterned their crimes from a God’s-eye point of view.

  Was Labyrinth doing the same?

  No . . . he’d be using a maze.

  With himself at the center, like the Minotaur of ancient myth. All roads would lead to him. He would delight in seeing everyone else stumble around the musty corridors lost, unable to see the pattern he could so clearly discern....

  Within hours, the rumor was revealed to be real. A new Labyrinth riddle, written in Afrikaans, had been delivered to a police station in one of the most crime-ridden neighborhoods in Johannesburg.

  Blair stood behind Natasha as she took notes from the South African Broadcasting Corporation’s news report while waiting for her call to her police contact to be patched through. Two objects were said to have been included with the riddle, but government officials were refusing to detail them until further investigation.

  “I’ve got it,” Natasha said, after a short conversation with her liaison. She typed quickly and put the riddle on the first of three huge flat screens mounted on the conference room wall:I’M THE PART OF THE BIRD THAT’S NOT IN THE SKY.

  I CAN SWIM IN THE OCEAN AND YET REMAIN DRY.

  WHAT AM I?

  LABYRINTH

  “What were the objects?” Blair asked.

  “The police are sending us digital images, and they’re downloading right now,” Natasha said, “but it appears to be a book and a sundial.”

  “What kind of book?”

  “Early edition of a British school primer. At least a hundred years old, in mint condition. An old-timer there says it was one of the first to be distributed under British rule. They’re analyzing it for hidden messages, explosives, toxic substances . . . everything.”

  “The objects aren’t the murder weapons,” Dark said. “They’re wasting their time.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look. Dark stood in the doorway, eyes transfixed on the three screens as the images on the second and third began to appear.

  Blair said, “We know that—but they’re playing it safe, considering what happened in L.A.”

  The image on the second screen began to materialize: the sundial.

  “Can you sharpen the resolution?”

  Wordlessly, Natasha tapped the touch pad and zoomed in closer on the image.

  “What’s that?” she asked. “Is that . . . blood?”

  “Tell the South African police to bring it outside,” Dark said. “That’s the only way we’re going to know how much time we have left.”

  “He really likes to change up his timepieces,” said O’Brian. “Gold watches, sundials . . .”

  “He wants us to know he’s thought of everything,” Dark said. “And that he’s adaptable. Take away his tech, and he can still get at us, with something as primitive as a printed book and the oldest timepiece in the world.”

  Natasha relayed the message to the South African police. Sundials depend on global positioning—adding minutes here and there, depending on your location. But soon word came back:

  They had approximately ten hours left before Labyrinth struck again.

  chapter 27

  DARK

  Blair wasted no time springing his team into action.

  “You’ll be headed to South Africa immediately. According to Dark, we’ve got ten hours; the flight will take half that time. Local authorities will be uploading a complete set of photos and 3-D imaging of the contents of the latest package. In flight you can analyze those contents so that when you land, you’ll be ready to pounce. He’s daring us to catch him. So let’s oblige him.”

  “It’s a mistake,” Dark said.

  Blair blinked. “Excuse me?”

  The three other team members stared at Dark. Apparently they were not used to hearing someone question the powerful and almighty Blair. But Dark didn’t care. He’d spent the past few sad years of his Special Circs career following someone else’s orders instead of his gut.

  “A mistake,” Dark repeated. “Labyrinth sets the cheese, and we all go scurrying after it like mice. Is that how we’re supposed to catch this guy? By following his little maze, just the way he’s set it up?”

  Blair smiled ruefully. “He’s testing us. He wants to see if we can operate on his intellectual level. The only way to catch Labyrinth is to play his games and then outthink him before the deadline passes. He thinks he’s smarter than us, and I know he’s wrong.”

  “Here’s what bothers me,” Dark said. “Can it be coincidence that he’s given us just enough time to reach the scene and watch another person die?”

  “You make it sound like this is personal. Labyrinth has no reason to know of our existence. For all he’s aware, we were ordinary outside investigators, called in to assist the Dubai Police. We operate in secret.”

  “I have a feeling he knows,” Dark said. “A sick fuck like this guy will be paying very careful attention to who follows him. That’s what the whole game is about.”

  O’Brian laughed. “So . . . what, Dark? What’s your answer? We just let this monster kill someone else? We don’t even try? Is that your solution?”

  “No,” Dark said. “We focus on the next package. The one he hasn’t sent yet.”

  Natasha’s eyes brightened. “Have you picked up a pattern? Something we’re missing?”

  Everyone turned to look at Dark and waited expectantly.

  “No. Not yet.”

  Blair stepped forward. “You know the answer to the riddle, don’t you?”

  Dark replied, “Yeah, a shadow.”

  Blair says: “So you have the pieces. Why not work with what we were given?”

  “For that very reason,” Dark said. “We were given it. Spoon-fed. It’s not this riddle I’m concerned with. It’s the next one that interests me. He’s already planned this fucking thing so far out in advance, if we stick to the riddles at hand we’ll always be chasing behind. The items he’d sent had to have been stolen or purchased long in advance, and there’s no reason to think that he’s not thinking ten or twelve moves deep at this point.”

  Blair strolled the room, seeming to think it over.

  “Fair enough. O’Brian, I want you and Roeding to lead the investigation in South Africa. Dark, you and Garcon stay here and game out Labyrinth’s next move. Let’s see if there’s anything to Dark’s theory. At the same time, I want you both working on the current package, and share everything with O’Brian and Roeding. Understood?”

  The team nodded and split up. As Dark made his way to the door, he found Natasha blocking his path.

  “I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

  chapter 28

  LABYRINTH

  The cheerful assistant stops Labyrinth in the hallway, touches his arm as she asks,

  Can I help you?

  In that lovely South African accent.

  Labyrinth says,

  Why, yes, you can help me.

  Labyrinth has a face that people trust, as well as a demeanor that disa
rms them. Which was why the assistant doesn’t even flinch as he reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and removes a sealed plastic bag containing a human finger. Her mouth opens slightly as he tells her,

  My name is Labyrinth, and I want to confess.

  Oh look at her.

  She knows the name. She’s read the news stories. She’s watched the footage on cable news. She’s media-savvy. She knows that even if this man is not the real Labyrinth, then he is most likely some nutter and that might be just as bad.

  Not so eager to be helpful now are you?

  Eyes

  Mouth

  Muscles

  Tits

  Cunt

  All tense.

  Come on, keep breathing, young thing, you can do it, it’s not like it’s your finger in the bag.

  And it’s not her finger, of course.

  If you were to take a fingerprint from the severed digit, a subsequent fingerprint analysis would reveal that this ring finger used to be attached to the hand that used to be attached to the rest of one Mr. Charles Murtha.

  Labyrinth tells her,

  Let’s go talk to your boss.

  chapter 29

  Brussels, Belgium

  Alain Pantin was known for being good with reporters. Trey had given him a set of tips that had served him well since his first campaign: Answer only what you want, no matter the question. Make sure you insert your viewpoint at least three times, no matter the question. Smile, no matter the question.

  With the Labyrinth case, a slightly different strategy was necessary: Say something a little shocking . . . then insert your viewpoint.

  Trey contacted (anonymously, of course) an American reporter named Johnny Knack and hinted that some influential European politicians had a surprising take on the case. Knack had asked for a name; Trey quietly mentioned Alain Pantin.

  Pantin had been briefed on Knack’s background—the reporter had been involved in a case involving a pair of serial killers, and was currently writing a book about it. So it was important to appear to be anti-Labyrinth, of course, while at the same time changing the focus to the man’s message.

  Pantin thought he did a good job.

  That is, until he read the story.

  [To enter the Labyrinth, please go to Level26.com and enter the code: politics]

  TheSlab.com

  Alain Pantin, European Parliament Member, says,

  “Labyrinth has the right idea.”

  Alain Pantin, a young rising star in the European Parliament, says that the postal-happy international killer/terrorist calling himself “Labyrinth” has the right idea.

  Well, not in so many words. But you get the idea that he’s not spilling any tears over the death of Charles Murtha.

  “America can’t treat the rest of the world like its personal sandbox,” said Pantin, known in Brussels for his tireless work ethic—as well as his provocative statements. “Sooner or later, you’re going to piss off the wrong person.”

  Pantin tried to qualify his statements, of course, by expressing sadness at the death of Murtha. “No one deserves to die like that—not the greatest or the least of us,” he said. “I prefer to think we can work things out with peaceful discussion. But this individual, whoever he is, seems to think we’ve exhausted peace options. And I can’t disagree with him in the current climate.”

  Last year Pantin applauded the release of classified intelligence documents, even going so far as to donate money to hosting Websites and offering whistleblowers safe haven.

  But an international leader lending support to a cop-killer?

  Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Knack destroyed me.”

  “No,” Trey said, “he did his job. In exactly the way I thought he would.”

  “You’ll need to explain that to me. Because last I checked, my in-box was flooded with outraged people calling for my resignation.”

  “They can outrage all they want. You’ve just earned yourself a reputation as an independent thinker, a man not afraid to express the opinions on the outliers of the conversation. Forget what’s being written about in the mainstream press. Look at the reactions from ordinary citizens, all around the world.”

  Pantin knew what he was talking about. The Labyrinth case, it seemed, had sparked parallel global conversations. On the surface, it was all about condemning his acts of terrorism and calling for his immediate capture. There was the usual hand-wringing and sensationalist TV news pieces that followed in the wake of killers like Zodiac, the Unabomber, and even Sqweegel.

  But beneath that conversation was another—a bigger, secret groundswell of support. You saw it on the Twitter feeds and Facebook status updates and YouTube comments on the alleged “Labyrinth” videos.

  They liked what Labyrinth was doing.

  Who he targeted, and why.

  He was providing secret-wish fulfillment for the thousands—probably millions—of people who weren’t in positions of power, who didn’t have the opportunity to speak into a microphone, who didn’t have a platform.

  “In other words,” Pantin said, “you’re saying I’m the first to speak aloud what everyone else is thinking.”

  “I knew you’d come around to it. And the support you’re about to receive is going to be huge. People will remember your name, and pay attention to what you’re saying. Even if they don’t admit to it at first.”

  Trey’s genius was that he could show you the way while convincing you that you would have found it on your own, given the right nudge.

  “So what should I do next?”

  “Take every interview request you can, condemn the killer but stress the importance of giving voice to his grievances.”

  “And?”

  “Pay attention to South Africa, because I believe our friend is about to surprise us again.”

  chapter 30

  DARK

  After Blair left, a team of guards escorted O’Brian and Roeding back to the jet. Natasha set up shop at the workstation—coffee, Turkish cigarettes, mint pastilles to mask the smoke-tinged breath—and began to download the files from the South African police. Everyone so, so busy. Meanwhile, Dark strode off to his quarters. “These will be ready in just a moment,” Natasha called after him, but Dark seemed to ignore her. In turn, Natasha ignored him and kept at it, popping a mint pastille every minute or so. When Dark returned to the workstation he was wearing a leather jacket—something he’d ordered, just to see if Blair was true to his word. Blair had not been kidding. The tailored jacket had arrived within the hour.

  “Are you cold?” Natasha asked.

  “Not particularly,” Dark said.

  “Come here and take a look at these scans of the school primer,” Natasha said. “The detail and print quality is amazing for a hundred-year-old book. . . .”

  “That’s fantastic. Really, top-shelf work. Keep me posted,” Dark said before turning to leave the room.

  “Wait—where are you going?”

  “To stop Labyrinth.”

  Natasha stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here?”

  “I have a feeling I know where he’s going to strike next,” Dark said.

  “Yes. Johannesburg. We all know that.”

  “No. I mean after this one. He’s got the next threat planned out already—you know that, right? He’s methodical. He’s been working on this for years.”

  “I believe you,” Natasha said flatly. “He’s got something lined up after Johannesburg, no doubt about it. So where would that be?”

  “I’ll let you know when I have him in custody.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “You can join me, if you like. I’ll buy another ticket on our way to the airport.”

  “That isn’t how it works,” Natasha said. “You’re not a lone wolf anymore. You’re part of a team. If you leave without Blair’s approval, you’re gone.”

  Dark said, “And that would totall
y ruin my day.”

  While Blair’s resources were impressive, Dark knew that money or planes or a strike team weren’t going to catch this monster. Dark needed to do it the way he’d always done: by tuning in to the freak’s wavelength and following his gut. If he had to run every instinct or decision past Damien Blair, then he might as well be back at Special Circs, under the fat thumb of Norman Wycoff. The team didn’t matter. For Dark, it was all about catching Labyrinth. Blair could scold him later.

  “So where do you think he’s going to be?” Natasha asked.

  “Look, it’s kind of a crazy hunch, but it’s feeling right, the more I turn it over in my head.”

  “Are you going to make me guess, or tell me?”

  “New York City.”

  “Why do you think he’s going back to America?”

  “Because of the riddles. I have a feeling they don’t simply point to the current threat—he’s including a little preview of the next one, too. Remember the first riddle? About a photographer, hanging her husband out to dry? That referred to the actress and her producer, but it was a nod to the oil executive, too. A husband, one Charles Murtha, literally hung out to dry.”

  “It’s a stretch,” Natasha said. “What about the second riddle?”

  I CAN RUN, BUT NEVER WALK,

  OFTEN A MURMUR, NEVER TALK,

  I HAVE A BED BUT NEVER SLEEP,

  I HAVE A MOUTH BUT NEVER EAT.

  WHAT AM I?

  “The literal answer?” Dark asked. “A river. But I think it’s also referring to the victim. Someone who also fits that description. Maybe even a flip side of it. Someone who deserves to be punished for talking too much. Or eating too much. Or maybe falling asleep at the wheel. I have a feeling it’s someone prominent. So far Labyrinth has targeted celebrities and symbols of particular industries.”