Labyrinth

by Jon Land

  People began squeezing from the station and Peale waited for his target. He had spoken barely thirty minutes ago with his people in Vaduz to learn that Locke had eluded them at the station there. Peale had expected as much. He held the pistol tighter, hunching lower in the darkness.

  Locke emerged from the station, eyes nervously searching for a taxi. There were none to be found immediately. He started walking. Peale noticed his limp, glad for it because it would assure him of more than one shot if needed.

  Peale focused his eye, ready to pull the trigger.

  There was a scratching sound behind him and he swung quickly. A dark figure whirled before him. Something glimmered and Peale felt a tingle in his wrist as he spun away and tried to refocus in the darkness.

  Long blond hair danced before him.

  God, it was a woman!

  Peale started his gun up to finish her, found it was gone, and looked down to see his hand was … gone too.

  He realized the tingle had been the sensation of a blade slicing through his flesh. He screamed horribly as it came for him again. He dodged but it ripped into his shoulder on the side already missing the hand.

  Now his mind accepted death as inevitable, but the woman had to be taken too. She came at him again but he rolled free, noting that she actually held two knives, one in each hand. They were Kukhri blades, weapons of the Gurkha soldiers from India.

  Peale’s roll had taken him to his lost gun, still clenched in his severed hand. He tore it free and lurched to his feet, screeching to fuel his fury and deaden his pain.

  The Kukhri knives came down together, meeting in his chest and carving it in two before he ever found the trigger. Peale’s last sight was of his killer, blond hair waving about the coldest eyes he had ever seen.

  He took their memory with him into eternity.

  Chapter 15

  THE MEETING STARTED LATE, much to the distress of the participants who had traveled far and wished above all not to have their absences from the places they were supposed to be noticed and recorded.

  They had come from several corners of the globe to the small Austrian village of Greifenstein on the bank of the Danube. From there they were driven up the narrow mountain road to Kreuzenstein Castle, which had been bought and refurbished several years before by the woman who was their leader. The ancient castle had become their symbol, its regal towers and steeples reminding them of the nations they represented and sought to destroy. Kreuzenstein had stood for eight hundred years and had needed to be rebuilt only once, after being destroyed by the Swedes during the Thirty Years War. It had weathered many storms and sieges, had been a refuge from the Black Death and a strategy center in World War II when bombs had exploded everywhere but within its walls.

  The members of the Committee looked on that as divine providence. The choice of the castle as their headquarters had not been random.

  There were four of them present that day, all members of the executive board, with only the British representative missing. They met in a huge room that years before had been used by kings and princes for lavish balls to entertain visiting royalty. The hard oak table, easily long enough to accommodate the Committee’s one hundred direct representatives, was being used that day because the woman who had orchestrated the most daring operation they had ever undertaken preferred it for reasons of tradition.

  They had been speaking quietly among themselves for nearly twenty minutes after the sun had set beyond the windows when the double doors opened and Audra St. Clair strode majestically in. The four men rose out of respect as well as etiquette.

  Audra St. Clair was past seventy now but she looked a full twenty years younger. Her silver hair was styled traditionally, and the gray hat she wore was a perfect complement to the tweed dress that elegantly covered the fine lines of her body. Her face was remarkably free of wrinkles and other marks of age, as if her power could overcome time along with nations.

  “We have much to discuss, gentlemen,” she announced, taking her customary seat at the head of the table. “I apologize for my lateness but I’ve just received a report from the agent I dispatched to Liechtenstein to clean up the mess Mr. Mandala has gotten us into. Let us begin today’s agenda by considering this poorly handled threat to our security.”

  Mandala leaned forward. His features were strikingly dark, as though perpetually tanned. His hair was combed neatly off his forehead to cover the tops of his ears, and his long, radiant teeth sparkled like daggers. It was his eyes that were most striking, liquidy black and piercing.

  “I was simply doing as ordered, madam” came his response. “I offer no excuses.”

  “And I’m not looking for any,” St. Clair snapped. “Excuses are meaningless to the Committee.”

  Mandala leaned back and held his tongue. He was not used to being chastised. Men, as well as women, had died for far less than the old bitch’s words. But at this point he didn’t dare cross her. His time was coming. He flashed the smile that had won him friends, influence, and women, suggesting his acceptance of St. Clair’s criticism.

  “I also believe your handling of San Sebastian was rash and overdone,” the Committee’s chairwoman continued. “You jeopardized everything for the elimination of that town.”

  “All the same,” began the American representative, a silver-haired man who, with the Committee’s help, had risen to an extremely high position in U.S. government, “if it wasn’t for the unexpected presence of the American agent, the massacre wouldn’t have become a factor.”

  “The fact is that it happened,” said St. Clair, “and it forced us to realign our strategy.”

  “For the better in many ways, I think,” noted Werenmauser, the German, a large, heavy-lipped man with bulging cheeks. “Thanks to San Sebastian, Locke was drawn in. And thanks to Locke, we are eliminating the only holes left in our very long trail.”

  “In addition to encountering our mysterious enemy face to face for the first time,” added the curly-haired Russian, Kresovlosky. “An enemy who has been doing its utmost to subvert our efforts in South America for some months.”

  “Not exactly face to face,” said St. Clair. “We still don’t know who they are.”

  “The identity of the man your agent disposed of in London should help us find out.”

  “He carried no identification,” the chairwoman reported. “No papers or clues of any kind. We will learn nothing from his corpse, I’m afraid. We must rely on Locke at this point to lead us to them.”

  “But leaving Locke alive presents too much of a risk,” argued the American nervously. “He has become too dangerous to be considered an asset any longer.”

  Audra St. Clair leaned over the table. The flickering light from the chandelier danced and darted across her face. “He is simply a puppet on a string we pull. We can direct him any way we desire. Cutting that string now would be a gross error.”

  The American shook his head. “I don’t think you understand my position. For the rest of you membership on the Committee is a simpler matter to conceal than it is for me. My movements are scrutinized constantly. I am taking a terrible risk by being here now. If Locke slips from our grasp and gets too close, I’ll be the first one exposed.”

  “Apparently it’s you who doesn’t understand, Mr. Van Dam,” the chairwoman said firmly. “Locke is the only thing standing between us and a rather significant force potentially capable of bringing harm to Tantalus. We will continue to monitor his movements, filling in the holes he shows us, and ultimately he will lead us to our unseen enemy.”

  “Where exactly is he now, can you tell me that, madam?” Van Dam said sharply. “Well, there’s a man named Calvin Roy in the State Department with the nose of a bloodhound. He authorized Locke’s deployment in the first place, and sooner or later he might sniff out our puppet and yank him beyond our reach.”

  “It would have to be quite soon, Mr. Van Dam. Tantalus will be activated eight days from today.” Audra St. Clair turned to the Russian. “Mr. Kresovlosky, your
report please.”

  The Russian cleared his throat and opened a manila folder on the table before him. “Production of canisters will be completed on schedule by the middle of this week. Arrangements have already been made for shipping to Target Alpha for dispersal. The canisters have been fitted to the exact specifications Mr. Mandala requested.”

  “I am in the process of retaining all necessary equipment and personnel.” Mandala picked up on cue. “To guard against the possibility of early discovery and potential countermeasures, I have also retained a rather large and well-equipped security force. Everything will be in place plenty of time before final activation.”

  “And the timetable for appreciable results?” St. Clair asked Kresovlosky.

  “Based on data collected from our experiments in San Sebastian, I would say four days for Area Mary, a week for Areas Peter and Paul, ten days for Mark and Matthew, and up to two weeks for Luke.”

  Audra St. Clair simply nodded. “Let us turn now to Mr. Werenmauser.”

  The German rubbed his huge cheeks. “We are ready to go at my end. Final experiments are taking place in Schaan this week to determine optimum packaging. I estimate shipping can begin to Targets Delta, Gamma, Sigma, and Zeta within ten days. I expect no difficulties or complications.”

  “What about our crews?” the chairwoman asked.

  “We would be best off not to move them in until after the effects of Tantalus have begun to surface in America. We can use the resulting chaos as camouflage for the sudden influx of personnel into South America that might otherwise cause a stir and lead to many questions. By the time the true answers are made known, we must be sure Tantalus has reached its full effect and the world is powerless to do anything about the follow-up portion of our plan.”

  St. Clair settled back in her chair. “It appears, gentlemen, that from a technical standpoint, matters are proceeding very smoothly indeed. My concern now is for security.” Her eyes dug into Mandala’s. “What conclusions have you reached regarding our unseen enemy?”

  “They are organized, but not powerful or overly strong in number” came Mandala’s precision response. If his own plan was to work, he couldn’t risk becoming the target of the old bitch’s wrath … and suspicions. “They must not represent any government or accepted body of another sort. Otherwise they would have exposed us instead of engaging in this foolish cat-and-mouse game.”

  “The game may be foolish,” the chairwoman told him, “but it has brought them closer to us than any other group has come in a generation.”

  “A problem soon to be rectified. I could accomplish this just as easily without Locke. I suggest we take him out while we are still in control of his movements.”

  “No,” Audra St. Clair ordered staunchly. “Locke is to be kept alive until I direct otherwise.”

  “That seems to me to be a clear violation of your own security precautions,” Mandala said, “as well as the Committee’s.”

  The chairwoman leaned forward over the table, eyes narrowed into slits of anger. “Do not lecture me on Committee policy, Mr. Mandala. You are a killer and little more. We have existed for more than twenty-five years by steering clear of your kind and choosing more subtle measures.”

  “And look where those subtle measures got you, while mine have put you on the brink of achieving your greatest goal.”

  “You are a soldier to us, a mercenary, nothing more.”

  “It took a soldier’s insight to make operational a great plan you could only conceive in raw form.” Mandala glanced around at the elegantly appointed conference room and smirked. “You call me here and expect me to be overwhelmed by your furniture and paintings? Hah! While you were holding meetings in air-conditioned rooms all those years ago, I was sweating in fields that stank of death, fighting to destabilize the world you wanted to control. Then when you needed someone to carry out your plans in the field, you came to me. And you have turned to me repeatedly whenever you didn’t want to get your hands dirty. Fine, but don’t criticize me because mine are not clean.”

  “We tolerate your methods, Mr. Mandala,” St. Clair said in a softer voice. “We do not accept them.”

  “Let’s not be naive, madam. We have thus far discussed Tantalus only up to its activation and immediate effects. What about after? The world will be at its most vulnerable. That is the time to increase destabilization and disruption strategies. We can bring the entire world to its knees, not just the United States.”

  “People cannot reach bank tellers’ windows on their knees, Mr. Mandala. We are an economic body, not a political one. Politics is useful to us only when it functions as a vehicle for our economic plans. Tantalus will bring the U.S.—and the world—to their knees. But we will leave them able to regain their feet, with our assistance.”

  “Power lies in controlling people, madam, not their bank accounts.”

  “People are their bank accounts, Mr. Mandala.”

  “We have the capacity to create total chaos and turn ourselves into the sole voice of order.”

  “Precisely what we are doing. Economically.”

  “Politically we would be far more effective and far reaching.”

  “You’re missing the point,” St. Clair told Mandala. “Economics and politics are inseparable. People respond based solely on how full their wallets are. Tantalus will give us the ability to control that factor as we see fit.”

  Mandala just nodded. It was not the time to say anything that might make the old bitch suspect the plan he was about to undertake.

  The people in the room were used to silence. Meetings were often dominated by it.

  “Let us return to the issue of this Locke,” Van Dam said finally. “If we are not going to kill him, we must have a backup means for controlling him ready should anything else go wrong.”

  “I am in the process of arranging just that now,” Mandala said.

  “And what if it isn’t good enough?” Van Dam demanded. “If Locke reaches someone powerful without our knowledge, what then? I believe Charney discovered my identity. He may have told Locke or left him some clue. Every minute he’s allowed to live increases the chances of my exposure. You must understand my position,” he pleaded, mostly to the woman at the table’s head. “I-I didn’t realize how important he was to our plans. I thought he had completed his usefulness. I couldn’t take the chance. I couldn’t!”

  “What have you done?” St. Clair asked him.

  “I ordered a man sent to erase Locke.”

  The chairwoman’s features sank. “Recall him, you fool.”

  “It’s too late,” Van Dam said.

  Part Five:

  Schaan, Monday Morning

  Chapter 16

  “WE ARE NOW passing into the section where Sanii technology has discovered new ways of taking soil samples from other planets,” the tour guide’s voice droned as Locke’s eyes wandered.

  Saturday night he had found an unpretentious mountain inn where a room was available. Chris’s first thought was to pay someone to go out and get him some new clothes, but the sight of the desk clerk gave him another idea. The man was just a little smaller and stouter than he was. His clothes wouldn’t be a great fit yet they’d certainly pass, and he accepted Locke’s cash with no questions. A bit more money gained Chris bandages and antiseptic for the hand chewed by the hag, and a hearty dinner. And, since on Sunday the offices of the Sanii Corporation would be closed, he had an entire day for much-needed rest and healing.

  He slept past noon on Sunday. He found out from the desk clerk that regular tours of the Sanii Corporation plant began Monday at ten A.M. Sanii was one of the very few major corporations to have large facilities in Liechtenstein and was thus quite an attraction. It specialized in futuristic high tech, which meant there would surely be an agricultural experimentation section. There he might find a clue to what lay behind the South American land deals Felderberg had been a party to.

  “It is now possible,” the tour guide explained as the group peered thr
ough glass at miniature displays of bizarre machines working on soil, “to program robot probes to travel millions of miles away and actually land on foreign bodies to collect samples and then return home. Sanii scientists have discovered a means to …”

  Locke’s eyes wandered again. He was in the right area, he could feel it. This section dealt with soil. Agricultural experimentation couldn’t be far away.

  He had arrived there in plenty of time for the tour and was impressed by the size of the Sanii site. There were four separate buildings: one giant one that ran across almost the entire length of the site, a smaller one near its right flank virtually hidden in the shadows, and a third at least half the big one’s size extending beyond its end to the site’s far left. The fourth was a mirrored building that probably contained offices. The tour began in the giant structure, which announced SANII in huge red letters on its sloping roof. The roof did have one large flat spot, and Locke could hear the exhaust from powerful compressors that would regulate atmospheric conditions for the experiments inside.

  The tour guide had completed her description of collecting soil samples from foreign bodies when Chris raised his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “I am curious about agricultural experiments closer to Earth. Are any conducted here at the plant?”

  The tour guide looked puzzled. “We do have a very standard agricultural section but it’s located in the smallest building and contains little of interest. Now, if you’ll all follow me …”

  That was it! Locke had his answer, at least a place to start. When the tour group swung around the next corner he slipped away and made his way back to the entrance. The security guard quizzed him and he complained of nausea, saying he needed some fresh air. The uniformed man wished him well, took back his guest pass, and held the door open for him.