He is perhaps the best here, and I absolutely hate him.
Nothing about my mission is personal . . .
Well, except for this.
(I worked it in.)
The man looks up, confused, but smiling. Says,
My God, I had no idea you were visiting! Would you like an espresso, or perhaps something from the bakery down the—
I interrupt him to ask,
The rope or the gun?
He blinks.
Beg your pardon?
I tell him,
It’s not my pardon you should be begging.
He says,
Trey, come on, what’s this all about?
Then I show it to him—the pistol I have in my jacket pocket, because perish the thought that security would even consider frisking me, one of their most generous clients, but even if they’d found that, I could have produced a (fake) legal permit to carry such a weapon, considering my (fake) diplomatic status in this country, and even if they’d given me trouble with that, there’s of course the length of hemp rope inside my briefcase, though I would have been disappointed not to be able to offer my lawyer the choice,
The rope or the gun.
He screams,
OH MY GOD.
I shoot.
His office is in the corner, and well insulated from the warren of cubicles outside. The blast of the shot is muted. Could be a car or could be someone popping a piece of packing material.
My lawyer’s face scrunches up and he stumbles backward, almost tumbling into his own desk.
I catch him by his necktie, pull him forward, tell him,
How about both?
And he is helpless, blood seeping through his trembling fingers, as I hold him steady with one hand and reach for the rope with the other.
My lawyer’s eyes go WIDE as he sees the hangman’s noose.
I don’t have to worry about finding a place to secure it, as I’ve been in his office many, many times and know where the central support beams are, above the drop ceiling and harsh fluorescent lighting fixtures.
I hang him.
Then I stay to record some video.
Upload it.
I’m not in any rush to leave, even though I have a plane in two hours.
I know I’ll be able to exit this building unmolested.
These people are my lawyers.
Even if I’m caught—I’ll no doubt beat the rap.
Reuters
Breaking: Lawyer shot dead, hung—Scotland Yard confirms there are links to “Labyrinth.”
AP News
Breaking: Copycat Labyrinth crimes reported in San Francisco; vandalism at law offices on Market Street.
Montreal Gazette
Breaking: Two lawyers shot near rue McGill—student shooter claims he is “Labyrinth.”
chapter 71
Brussels, Belgium
“Alain.”
Pantin could hear the concern in the man’s voice.
“Trey? What is it?”
“You’re going to see something in the news about me. I want you to avoid judgment and instead focus on the conversations we’ve had. I think you know me well enough to know that I’ve never led you astray.”
“What are you talking about, Trey? What’s wrong?”
“Everything we’ve discussed has been leading up to this. I chose you because you’re the man best suited for the task at hand.”
“What task?”
“To put the world back together again.”
Pantin was confused. He’d never heard his mentor Trey Halbthin talk like this before.
Then again, over the past few days the world Pantin knew had been turned upside down.
Chaos and revolution were on everyone’s minds, with acts of protest and vandalism and acts of violence springing up in all corners of the world—not just the usual tinderboxes. You didn’t have to be a political prophet like Trey Halbthin to understand that the winds of change were blowing hot, spurned on, no doubt, by Labyrinth’s systematic attacks on big business and politics and even religion.
And Pantin found himself at the center of the maelstrom.
“Trey, what are you talking about?”
“Labyrinth has had a serious effect on the world, Alain. After being asleep for so long, people everywhere are waking up to the fact that they’re being manipulated by the tyrants. People in the West think they’re free, but they’re not. They’re enslaved by the same institutions, only they have better toys and dental care. It’s the same manipulation, all over the world.”
The realization started as a tiny cold ball in Alain Pantin’s stomach. The more his mentor spoke, the more he realized what he should have seen from the beginning.
“There’s a sign coming, Alain. A big sign. Unmistakable. I’ve chosen you to take the lead when this sign comes.”
“Tell me what you’re planning,” Pantin said quietly.
“You’re the doer, Alain. I’m merely the man behind the scenes. It’s been about you this whole time. It doesn’t matter what I do. What matters is what you do with it.”
“I can’t. . . .”
“You will, because no one else can.”
Alain Pantin leaned back in his chair and looked out at Leopold Park. The weather was unusually warm, and people were taking advantage of it. Couples. Children playing—many of them the sons and daughters of his fellow Europarl members. They had no idea what was awaiting them. The new world that was slowly coming into being all around them. History not just in the making, but forced into being by the act of sheer will.
His will, if he wanted.
Once again, Trey Halbthin was right. Whatever horrible acts he’d committed to create this revolutionary moment didn’t ultimately matter.
It was up to Alain Pantin to turn it into something meaningful.
chapter 72
DARK
Global Alliance HQ / Paris, France
O’Brian found the connection mere seconds before the news broke.
“Long shot here, but Timothy Porter—he’s based in London, and over the years he’s given many lectures on the Magna Carta, even going on tour with one of the copies. Could that be it?”
Natasha said, “It’s definitely him.”
“How do you know?”
“According to Reuters, he’s just been found dead in his office.”
“Fuck me,” O’Brian said. “Another hour on the clock and we could have . . .”
“That’s how he plays,” Natasha said. “There’s never enough time, with him just out of reach.”
“So was he shot or hung?” O’Brian asked.
“Both,” Natasha said.
Within minutes, the now-familiar Labyrinth video was uploaded to the usual mirror sites, spreading and trending globally within minutes. A dead criminal lawyer? This promised to be the most-watched Labyrinth video of all—a virtual snuff film starring the world’s most hated profession.
Within minutes . . . Dark had a feeling that this, too, was a hands-on operation. Labyrinth had used one of his puppets to deliver the package, possibly even watching from a safe distance.
Dark, feet on the table, staring at the ceiling, said, “Can you get me a list of Porter’s clients?”
“Why?” O’Brian asked. “Do you think you’re going to spot someone named L. Abyrinth, or something?”
“Can you do it?”
Of course O’Brian could do it. And when Dark compared the list with the list he’d received from the NYPD, one name popped out: “Trey Halbthin.”
Halbthin had been there, at the Epoch Hotel, in New York City, and was even interviewed by the police. The man presented diplomatic credentials, and explained he’d been there to meet “an old friend for coffee.” Nothing about him aroused suspicion; diplomats in New York City were common. And Trey Halbthin was also a longtime client of Timothy Porter’s, going back at least five years. Why would he kill his own lawyer?
“We might be dealing with another one of Labyrinth’s
puppets,” Natasha said. “O’Brian, dig up everything you can on this Halbthin guy.”
“Already on it.”
“I think it’s him,” Dark said quietly, sketching with a pencil on a legal pad.
“Why? Why would he risk putting himself out there where he could risk capture?”
“I don’t think he’s worried about being captured anymore,” Dark said. “He’s headed for his endgame. And he’s practically announcing his identity.”
“How?”
Dark turned the legal pad toward Natasha. He’d written, in block letters: TREYHALBTHIN
And then directly below it:THE LABYRINTH
“An anagram,” Natasha said. “Another fake identity.”
“Well, if this identity is fake,” O’Brian said, reading from his monitor, “then it’s the best and most elaborate identity I’ve ever seen. It’s legit as legit gets, and goes back deep. This isn’t some schmo who filed a fake driver’s license application. And you want to know something else?”
“What?” Dark asked.
“He’s just cleared security at Heathrow, and he’s about to step onto a plane.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Okay, we need a virtual army platoon to intercept that flight when it lands,” Dark said. “I want a complete clampdown on the crew and passengers until we get there and sort through them one by one. Where’s Blair?”
Blair was in his office, staring at the images of Trey Halbthin that his team had pooled from a variety of databases around the world.
He looked at the chin, and the skin around the eyes, the shape of the ears.
My God.
It was him.
Once you trained your eyes to look past the plastic surgery and the makeup and the false hair plugs and everything else a trained agent uses to change his appearance, you could see it.
After all of these years of searching, Blair thought, there you are, right in front of me.
Why are you flying to Philadelphia?
What endgame do you have in mind for us?
Are you waiting for me to stop you?
Or do you want me there to watch as you stop the world?
chapter 73
LABYRINTH
Right now at Philadelphia International Airport there are many men in ill-fitting suits who I can only assume are a conglomeration of federal agents meant to detain me. They are looking for a man matching Trey Halbthin’s precise description, and right now I look nothing like Trey Halbthin.
Then again, I’m not even on the flight they’re tracking.
My “Trey Halbthin” identity did take that flight, but that was a matter of some simple hacking (airlines, like most American industries, leave gaping security holes in the most astonishing places) to attach that name to another individual who fit the general height, weight, hair, and eye color.
An individual who, sadly, will probably spend the better part of the next month in a stuffy conference room as Homeland Security agents pick apart his life by the seams.
But one small pawn in a game this large means nothing.
It’s important that Blair and his team will be there for the end.
I arrive in Philadelphia via private jet under the cover of another identity.
It was a comfortable flight.
Spent most of it with my eyes shut and my mind preparing my final gifts to the world.
Hello, Damien.
Are you thinking about me?
Snow is falling on downtown Philadelphia as I make my way across Spruce Street and through the doors of Pennsylvania General and to the welcome desk.
I ask,
Can you help me?
They say (of course),
Yes, what can we do for you?
Of course they want to help me. I am smiling and wearing a suit and I am clean and well coiffed and white so of course they direct me to the president’s office down a hall and across a gorgeously manicured pathway.
Pennsylvania General was the first hospital in America. It is about to achieve another first.
Ground Zero of the New Order.
I do hope my pupil, Alain Pantin, is paying attention. He holds the key to everything. I simply need to show him the lock.
I hold the package close to my chest.
Inside my package is another riddle, of course, along with a cell phone with a timer app, ticking down the seconds until it all begins.
I’ve also gifted the hospital president with a small hand-carved wooden box packed with grave dirt. I’m a little disappointed that they won’t be able to pore over these clues like the others, because I spent a long time filling that little box with a few ounces of soil from Mount Vernon and Quincy and Charlottesville and Montpelier Station and Richmond and the Hermitage and Kinderhook and North Bend and Louisville and Buffalo and Concord and Lancaster and Springfield and Greeneville and New York City and Fremont and Cleveland and Albany and Princeton and Indianapolis and Canton and Oyster Bay and Arlington and Marion and Plymouth and West Branch and Hyde Park and Independence and Abilene and Stonewall and Yorba Linda and Simi Valley and Grand Rapids where I have even sometimes opened the caskets and looked at those dead presidents. Sometimes I touched their decayed faces. Sometimes let my touch linger for a while.
They were touchable when alive and they are even more touchable now.
I could have done anything to their bodies, absolutely anything I wanted, but instead I just gathered soil for my little box—a gift of presidents for the president.
It will go unappreciated.
Perhaps someday my biographers will try to unpack the mysteries of the coffin dirt, and perhaps they’ll team up with an expert or two and start the laborious and time-intensive task of separating the samples and tracing them back to their places of origin and once the familiar towns and cities start to register there will be a moment of shock.
But not now.
Not with less than an hour left on the timer.
As the President of the First Hospital in America shall soon see.
Look at him.
He’s smiling at me.
And I smile back.
I say,
Hello.
chapter 74
DARK
Paris, France / Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Damien Blair had the GA jet fueled and ready for the team’s arrival. Takeoff happened sixty seconds after the team’s van pulled onto the tarmac. Still, the plane lagged behind Trey Halbthin’s private jet by about an hour. Dark and the rest of the Global Alliance team landed in Philadelphia and was transported by another van up to Pennsylvania General, where the hospital president was already in a conference room with the local FBI field office.
Dark showed the president photos of Trey Halbthin that O’Brian had dug up from his identity search—passports, driver’s licenses, bank cards. The hospital president confirmed that yes, that was the man who delivered that package.
“Any idea where he went?”
“Not at all.”
“We want to evacuate the hospital,” the special agent in charge told Dark.
“No. That could just speed up the clock,” Dark said. “Even if he didn’t, you could spark a citywide panic. What was the timepiece in the package?”
“A digital timer on a cell phone,” the SAC said. “Twenty-three minutes left.”
“There was also a small toy coffin with dirt inside,” the hospital president said. “What does that mean? Is this a death threat against me personally?”
They already had the riddle projected onto a wall:THE MAKER DOESN’T NEED IT,
THE BUYER DOESN’T USE IT.
THE USER USES IT WITHOUT KNOWING.
WHAT IS IT?
LABYRINTH
“Now we know what our suspect looks like,” Dark said to the FBI brass. “Let’s start thinking like him—grand, symbolic. He’s not going to just mow down a bunch of nurses in the hospital cafeteria. He’s making a statement, so he’ll want a stage
.”
The special agent in charge nodded.
“Anybody have the answer to Labyrinth’s riddle yet?” O’Brian asked. “Hans, you want to jump into the game, maybe?”
Roeding just stared at him.
“Now there’s the intellectual response I’d been hoping for—thanks, Hans! Anybody else want to—”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Roeding said, wicked smile breaking out on his face. “The answer is a coffin. Maker doesn’t need it, buyer doesn’t use it, user doesn’t know he’s using it. Just like you won’t know when I put you into the fucking ground, you Irish bastard.”
Natasha sighed. “Save the bromance for later—let’s find this son of a bitch.”
Pennsylvania General was immense. What began as a single building has spawned a dozen others spanning multiple city blocks. If it was a medical procedure, it could be performed here, in one of the multiple centers and clinics, many of them world renowned.
Twenty-one minutes left . . .
The four members of Global Alliance split up—no time to coordinate a plan of attack when Labyrinth could be virtually anywhere. The best thing to do, Dark reasoned, was for everyone to put their own best skills to use and follow their gut instinct. Any sign of Halbthin, they’d hit the panic button and everyone would come running.
After breaking away from the team Dark found a plastic hospital map mounted on the wall. He studied it not as a cop but as a performer like Trey Halbthin. A man who liked symbolic places and grand gestures.
Within a few seconds Dark realized where Halbthin would be.
Dark Revelations Page 20