Labyrinth

by Jon Land

The emergency meeting of the Committee’s executive board began at ten o’clock at Kreuzenstein Castle.

  “You have landed us in a terrible mess, Mr. Van Dam,” Audra St. Clair snapped at the American representative.

  Present in the dimly lit room were the same five people who had been at the table on Saturday. In addition, the sixth chair, which had been vacant at the last meeting, was today occupied by the British representative.

  Van Dam’s lips trembled. “I had to consider my own security.”

  “And now you have violated all of ours,” the chairwoman said. “Mr. Mandala, please give us an appraisal of the damage.”

  Mandala leaned forward, eyes consciously avoiding the American’s. “Locke arrived at Sanii as we expected. The plan was to have him captured and then allowed to escape so he might lead us to the Dwarf. But a man later identified as Ross Dogan, known in the field as Grendel, rescued him.”

  “He was the one sent out on the sanction, Mr. Van Dam,” St. Clair said.

  “How should I know? I merely gave the order. How it was handled, who was sent out, I don’t know.”

  “I was not phrasing it as a question. Grendel was the man sent out, and we are all aware of his rather unique reputation. There is only one reason I can see to explain why Dogan would have disobeyed his assassination order, and that is he somehow learned that Locke was part of something greater. This is bad for us, Mr. Van Dam, very bad, and you are to blame. Locke is now allied with a top intelligence man and carrying with him all the knowledge we allowed him to obtain thinking it could only end up back with us. That scenario has been altered considerably. We can no longer control Locke’s movements or even chart them. Grendel has replaced us as his guide.” St. Clair turned to the British representative. “How much would Felderberg have passed on?”

  The Englishman shrugged. “Information pertaining to our land deals mostly. Nothing that Locke will be able to string together into any coherent pattern and no hint whatsoever as to the existence of Tantalus.”

  “And what of Grendel? Remember, he now possesses every bit of information Locke does. He could be extremely dangerous to us.”

  “Only if he were aware of our existence,” the Englishman pointed out. “All he has to go on are rumors and vague conjecture.”

  “He will piece the truth together,” St. Clair said. “It’s what men like Grendel specialize in. But it’s not the damage he could personally do to us that concerns me. It is the possibility his suspicions might reach forces high up in the United States government.”

  “That can be dealt with,” Van Dam noted. “I can use Dogan’s failure to obey orders as the basis for a quarantine order. He’ll become an untouchable. That should prevent him from doing us any harm.”

  “Elimination is the only way to assure that,” said Mandala.

  “If I make the quarantine order restricted, it will provide sanction for precisely that. Quite unofficial, you understand.”

  “Yes, I understand, and your assurances mean nothing to me.” Mandala’s eyes darted from one Committee member to the next, locking finally with the chairwoman’s. “Grendel’s reputation and prowess will prevent any average agent from taking him out or even daring to try. He’s extremely resourceful and he likes to kill. I suggest we go along with Mr. Van Dam’s restricted quarantine strategy. I will insure the elimination is handled at the earliest possible time.” Then, with a slight smile: “I have the perfect man for the job.”

  “Of course, we’ll have to find Dogan first,” St. Clair said. “Any ideas on where to start?”

  “Switzerland,” the British representative suggested. “Dogan has many contacts there and its proximity to Liechtenstein makes it a logical refuge. But he won’t stay in one place long. Locke’s information will send him searching for answers.”

  “Then perhaps we can get him through Locke,” Mandala noted. “Finding our college professor should prove a far easier matter. I have the means to insure he cooperates with us fully and knowingly. Once his contribution has been made, I can have him eliminated as well.”

  “Not a wise move,” St. Clair said firmly, “for we must learn if he has contacted anyone else. We will learn nothing from Grendel, even if we are able to take him alive. Therefore, I want Locke kept alive and brought here. Is that understood, Mr. Mandala?”

  Mandala nodded as convincingly as he could manage. He had no intentions of following any of the old bitch’s orders unless they suited his plan. Her reign over the Committee was drawing to a close. His was about to begin. Mandala suppressed a smile.

  “All right, then,” St. Clair continued, addressing herself to all the men before her. “Bring all our intelligence forces to bear. Put out the call to all our contacts in the field, especially Switzerland.” She paused. “It’s a small world, gentlemen. Our quarries will not be out there for long.”

  Calvin Roy pressed his fingertips into his forehead, as if imprinting ten small permanent marks might relieve the frustrations of the past five days.

  “Goddammit, Major Pete, that’s not a whole helluva lot to go on. You’re tellin’ me all we got’s the shit we started out with.”

  “Liechtenstein was slow in responding, but we know now that Locke used his credit card number there to make a long-distance call. He dialed a number in England—Falmouth, to be exact. We’ve got the line tapped and the house under watch.”

  “Any more calls from our renegade professor?”

  “Not a word.”

  “What about to his home?”

  Kennally shook his head. “I’ve covered Liechtenstein with agents. If Locke’s still in there, we can’t find him.”

  “You ever walk across a plowed field at night, Major Pete? You can smell the shit something awful, but the idea is still not to step in it ’cause there’s more places where it ain’t than where it is. But those places where it is, they get ya every time. Same thing with Locke. We just gotta follow his trail.”

  “He didn’t leave one, Cal.”

  Roy seemed not to hear him. “You find any strange occurrences in Liechtenstein immediately preceding Locke’s phone call to England?”

  “There was a murder,” the CIA chief reported, “but the details are sketchy.”

  “Sketch ’em for me.”

  “A financier named Felderberg was killed. The Liechtenstein authorities aren’t saying much but it’s a safe bet there’s nothing to link Locke with the murder.”

  Calvin Roy smiled and scratched his bald dome. “Right now, Major, I got the feeling that Locke and Felderberg are tied tighter together than bull’s balls. What I don’t get is how.”

  “Locke started out following Lubeck’s trail,” Louis Auschmann noted. “And we know Lubeck was in Liechtenstein at some point before San Sebastian. What if Locke’s still following the trail? That would explain why he hasn’t come in yet.”

  “But without Charney to run him, he would’ve needed help for that, Louie. What about our check of Charney’s contacts in England?”

  “A total blank.”

  “That ain’t right. Makes no sense I can see. The connection’s gotta be there. Still got the file, Louie?”

  “In my office.”

  “Bring it over when you get a chance.”

  “You think we missed something?”

  “Maybe,” Roy replied. “We got any notion of where Lubeck went after Liechtenstein?”

  “Florence, if he’s following Lubeck’s trail. But we have no way of knowing who he’s going to meet there.”

  Roy nodded. “Throw our primary field forces into Florence, Major Pete. Heavy concentration. That’s where Locke’s headed.”

  “If he’s still alive,” from Kennally.

  “Least his family still is. You pull them out like I ordered?”

  Kennally hesitated. “There was a … complication.”

  Roy frowned. “Clean the shit off your shoes, Major, and tell me all about it.”

  The woman climbed into the backseat of the idling car and faced th
e big man with the black eyepatch.

  “Our efforts to find Locke have led nowhere,” she reported in Spanish.

  “The old hag’s reputation was excellent.”

  “The bastard Locke will pay,” the woman spat out. “He’ll pay for her death too.”

  “Self-defense,” the one-eyed man offered, “is understandable.”

  “Why are you defending him? You of all—”

  “Something isn’t right here. It hasn’t been from the beginning. I was never comfortable about London. Alvaradejo got off four shots before Locke took him out. And the cabdriver said that Locke was helped by a car crash more than anything else.”

  “Pablo’s throat was cut ear to ear.”

  “You didn’t read the autopsy report. The slice was delivered from low to high by a person barely five-and-a-half-feet tall. Locke is six one.”

  “A helper?” the woman asked, flustered.

  The big man shook his head, fingered his eyepatch. “That doesn’t fit. If Locke was as good as he must be to have been given this mission, others would be superfluous … unless it has all been an illusion.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We were set up. Locke is nothing more than a decoy. We must act fast. It may already be too late.”

  “You think they know who we are?” the woman asked fearfully.

  “Once they discover our identity, they will destroy us.”

  “The corpses, none carried IDs.”

  “They have been using other methods to flush us out all along. They have dangled Locke on a string and pulled him back when we got close. They have distracted us enough to buy themselves time. If they learn who we are, time won’t matter. We will become the hunted.”

  “God …”

  “We aren’t finished yet,” the big man insisted, his one eye narrowed. “Our base in Spain is secure, our remaining soldiers safe. We will turn our attention to the conference and strike at them there.”

  “And then?”

  “If we fail, there will be no ‘then.’ Not for us,” he told the woman. “And not for South America.”

  The Commander laid his newspaper on the table at his regular café on the Champs-Élysées as he addressed the man across from him.

  “You have made an admirable recovery.”

  Keyes grunted an acknowledgment. Words came hard for him. The ruined cartilage along his voice box smothered them before they could emerge. Syllables gurgled from his lips as if he had a mouth full of water, and each one burned the linings of his throat.

  “I would like to give you an assignment,” the Commander told him. “Are you up to it?”

  Keyes nodded.

  “The hand will not impede you?”

  Keyes glanced down at the black glove pulled tight across his ruined hand to hide the twisted damage Dogan had done. Only time could help him now, the doctors told him. Fuck time, Keyes thought.

  He shook his head.

  “I want you to find Grendel and kill him. He has become an outcast and we wish to be rid of him.” The Commander hesitated, relishing the perfect match of the man to the assignment. Word had been passed that a restricted quarantine had been placed on Dogan. But the Commander knew that was not quite sufficient. “I felt you would appreciate the assignment,” the Commander resumed. “Of course, everything is unofficial, no reports to be filed or anything so trivial. Such things aren’t done every day. Thus you will not have to provide explanations for any actions undertaken during the course of this assignment. Do whatever is necessary but do it fast. Understood?”

  Keyes smiled.

  Part Six:

  Florence and San Sebastian,Tuesday Afternoon

  Chapter 19

  LOCKE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT when Dogan presented him with his passport Monday night.

  “A Russian friend of mine retrieved it from the train station at Vaduz” was all he said. “Without it, travel at this point would prove extremely difficult.”

  “I thought you guys had contacts all over the world who could whip one up in no time.”

  “And all of them are being watched hoping I’ll do just that.”

  “So I remain Sam Babbit.”

  “Felderberg was the only one who knew you under that name so it should be safe to keep it.”

  “Burgess knows about it too,” Locke reminded him. “He set the identity up, and you expressed reservations about him before.”

  “But from what you’ve said, I doubt we have anything to fear from him. Besides, we haven’t got much choice.”

  “Then maybe I should call the contact number and fill him in.”

  “No. By now someone has probably linked him to Charney, which means they’ll be watching him. You’ll only throw Burgess into more danger and risk exposing yourself at the same time.”

  Locke lowered his eyes to the ceramic floor of his room’s balcony. “I suppose the same can be said about contacting my family.”

  “Even more so,” Dogan said softly, trying to comfort Locke as best he could. “They would ask questions you couldn’t answer, ask for reassurances you couldn’t give. Worse, contacting them could place their lives in jeopardy.”

  “And what if that’s already the case?” Locke demanded suddenly. “The Committee stops at nothing—you said that yourself. My family are sitting ducks for them.”

  “Only as leverage against you, leverage they didn’t think they needed until yesterday and leverage that means nothing since they have no idea where you are. The Committee stops at nothing, true, but none of its motions are wasted. You can count on that.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t.” Locke sat down wearily. “God, this is crazy. A week ago I hated my life. Everything was falling apart and I would have grasped for anything just for the sake of change. That’s probably what drove me to accept Charney’s offer more than anything else. Now I find myself trapped in a labyrinth, and everywhere I turn there’s another wall. This may sound nuts, but all of a sudden I realize maybe I didn’t have it so bad. Maybe my problems at home weren’t worse than anybody else’s.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  “Do you? Do you have a life back in the States that you’ll probably never make it back to?” Locke challenged, feeling guilty even before the hurt appeared on Dogan’s face.

  The agent looked away. “A family never meant much to me, just something to tie me down. We can’t have that in my profession, can we?”

  “Brian tried. It didn’t work.”

  “It seldom does. The profession has to be everything.” A bitter tone entered Dogan’s voice. “Especially for me because I was the best. But the only thing being the best does for you is set you up as a target, for the opposition and for your own people. And it’s your own people who are the worst. When you’re too good, they start to fear you’ve gained too much control. That’s when you become expendable. You work your whole career to attain something and then they take it away because to them you’re just a machine; no, less than a machine—a number, a number they can delete from the central computer with one touch of a key. Then you don’t exist anymore because maybe you never did in the first place.”

  Dogan was breathing uncharacteristically hard. Locke found himself smiling.

  “Is this the moment we cry on each other’s shoulders?”

  Dogan chuckled, then checked his watch. “Not if I want to make my plane. It leaves for Bogotá in an hour and yours leaves for Rome tomorrow morning. After landing, you’ll enjoy a scenic train route north into Florence. I’ve already contacted the Dwarf’s people. He’s expecting you.”

  “So I just walk right into his office and tell him you sent me… .”

  “Hardly. Something seems to have spooked the little man rather badly and he’s gone into hiding. You can bet it won’t be easy to get into see him. He’ll have you checked out carefully. It may be a long afternoon.”

  “I’ve heard Florence is beautiful this time of year.”

  “That’s good because you might be seeing a lot
of it. Standard procedure in this situation dictates you’ll be run around a bit to make sure you’re alone. Just follow their instructions. The Dwarf takes precautions, but if you cooperate, you’ll see him.”

  “And then?”

  “Back to Rome and the Hilton Hotel, where a reservation for you has already been made. You’ll stay put there until you hear from me. We’ll set up a contact code through the hotel manager. I’ve worked with him before and he’s very reliable. If he doesn’t present a warding-off signal, I’ll know it’s safe to come in. I don’t expect to be in San Sebastian long anyway. I should be in Rome by late Wednesday with any luck.”

  “We haven’t had much yet.”

  “We’re alive, Chris, and that’s a start.”

  Calvin Roy finished going over Brian Charney’s file for the sixth time. The feeling that something was missing was still very strong in him. His eyes tired and bloodshot, Roy started his seventh survey.

  What he sought was there, he felt certain of that. The problem was to find it. Proof positive that a high-security file had been tampered with could confirm his, and Charney’s, greatest fears: Whatever was happening had deep roots in the United States government.

  Roy kept reading.

  Charney would have sent Locke to someone in England, a person who had to be present in the dead agent’s file. The key was there, the answer sure—

  Roy’s eyes froze. He went over the section a second time, a third. He flipped the page over and studied it closely.

  He had found what he was looking for!

  The file had been tampered with, all right. The evidence was quite clear. The question was why? And by whom? Something was very wrong here and somehow an innocent college professor had been thrust into the middle. Roy reached for his phone and hit one button.

  “This is Roy. Put me through to the Secretary on the scrambler, wherever the hell he is.”

  Locke’s train from Rome deposited him in Florence at four o’clock in the afternoon. The trip had been hectic but, incredibly, nothing had gone wrong. He hailed a cab and gave the driver his destination: the Palazzo Vecchio. Chris felt he was prepared for anything.