Dark Revelations (20 page)

Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker

The public shaming of Jane Talbot nailed it for Dark. So far, Labyrinth had tackled the entertainment industry, then the oil industry. With Jane Talbot, he’d tackled the media and the education system—a two-for-one deal that was already dominating headlines around the world.

The next industry, and most obvious: the financial.

Labyrinth would try to strike at the very heart of it.

“What about the riddle made you think of New York City?”

“The imagery. The birds flying, the shadow over the water. What came to mind repeatedly was 9/11—the last time someone attacked the financial heart of the world.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Natasha asked. “There are many financial centers in the world. Not just New York.”

“But think about Labyrinth’s targets so far. He has a thing for America—or what he perceives as the American empire. He kept hammering her on the word
business
, and that was no accident. What’s the heart of the American empire? Wall Street.”

“So why Jane Talbot in South Africa?”

“She was the ideal target. Labyrinth discovered that she was hiding something. He wants us to believe he’s only targeting the guilty, remember? People won’t jump on his bandwagon if he starts targeting people believed to be innocent.”

Natasha said, “You stay here and chase shadows all you want, but I’m off to Johannesburg. We’ve got a suspect in custody. Even if he’s not Labyrinth, he’s obviously part of this. That’s the best chance we have.”

“I’m going to go find something to eat,” Dark said. “A beer would be great right about now.”

Natasha just stared at him, but after a few moments, she followed him down the terminal to a bar catering to weary travelers who wanted to numb their senses with enough booze to last a long flight.

Dark ordered beer for both of them. Natasha said she didn’t drink beer. Dark said fine, he’d have hers. The bar was practically empty, as it was the middle of the morning, and only the heartiest travelers would consider an alcoholic beverage at this hour.

“Why do I have the feeling you know more than you’re letting on?” Natasha asked.

“You think I’m Labyrinth?”

“No,” she said. “You’re even
more
cryptic.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m being serious. You seem so dead sure that Labyrinth’s going to strike here, and your reasoning doesn’t exactly seem logical.”

Dark took a long pull of beer, then eased back into the booth. “Blair sees Labyrinth as this ultimate nemesis. Back in Special Circs, we had a category for killers that went off the charts in terms of depravity and skill and general inhumanity.”

“Your so-called Level 26 killers,” Natasha said.

“Right. I know what it’s like to go up against the worst. I also know how easy it is to follow one of these monsters right down into the darkness to where you’re blind. That happened to me years ago.”

“You think this is happening to Blair?”

“I
know
it’s happening to Blair. He’s got a hard-on for this killer, and it’s very familiar.”

Natasha smiled. “You know, he was incredibly excited about you joining the team. You were all he talked about for weeks.”

“I’m just the new guy. And the honeymoon’s over.”

“No, it’s not that. I’ve been with Global Alliance since the early days, and Blair was never like this with the others. He sees you as a kindred spirit. And he was relieved that you were on the scene from the first Labyrinth package.”

“He likes me, he really likes me.”

Natasha frowned. “Now you’re being an ass.”

Dark looked mock-hurt for a moment, then took another pull of beer. Natasha reminded him of Constance Brielle, his former partner at Special Circs. Knew how to deal with people just as well as she did forensic evidence. He wasn’t sure if she was sitting here in this booth to humor him or to report back to Blair that he should be dismissed from Global Alliance.

“What do you think?” Dark asked. “Is Blair thinking with a clear head?”

She averted her eyes for a moment, then said diplomatically, “I think he’s been focused on the hunt for Labyrinth for a long time.”

“So are you going to stay here in NYC and help me catch this guy?”

“Are you going to stop drinking beer at nine thirty in the morning?”

“Pretty sure I’m still on California time. Which makes it six thirty.”

“Which is even worse,” Natasha said. “Come on. Blair has a Global Alliance safe house downtown.”

“Really?”

“We’ve got places everywhere. You’ll never have to pay for another hotel room ever again.”

She reached out, took the beer from his hand, and put it down on the table. Then she rubbed her thumb across his bottom lip and smiled.

“Shall we?”

chapter 35

Brussels, Belgium

A
lain Pantin obsessively flipped through all of the Labyrinth footage he could find online. The reaction to the latest attack was stunning. It wasn’t a violent attack at all; instead, Jane Talbot was given a public shaming.

And if the public seemed shy about embracing Labyrinth before, the shyness was quickly forgotten.

The news orgs were full of essays about Labyrinth and Jane Talbot, with the majority of them expressing more shock and outrage at Talbot rather than the diabolical killer. “Yes, we already knew
he
was bad, but Jane Talbot?” seemed to be a running theme.

There were pro-Labyrinth looters running wild in Johannesburg, smashing bricks through the plate-glass windows of various businesses and institutions that Jane Talbot had supported and promoted over the years. The graffiti was clear: JANE THE LIAR.

And all around the world, reports of street taggers spraying Labyrinth’s earliest messages on the sides of banks and government buildings:

I WILL
HELP YOU
OUT OF THE
LABYRINTH

And

THE WORLD
IS NOT
BEYOND SAVING

Trey had given him no time to rest. Pantin essentially halted the business of his office for a full media cycle, granting print, phone, and on-camera interviews about Labyrinth.

The message now: Uncover the phonies.

Pantin told one CNN reporter, “No, you don’t have to hold someone hostage to make them confess to their sins. We need more accountability in all areas—I’m talking government, media, education, business.”

He told someone from
The Guardian
: “This is a bad time to be a public figure with something to hide. Sure, Labyrinth’s actions are deplorable. But it makes you think about accountability, doesn’t it? The need for a higher standard among the people who claim to want to lead us?”

By the end of the day Pantin was so punch-drunk from the endless stream of interviews that he started to fantasize about someday meeting Labyrinth, shaking his hand, maybe even convincing him to turn himself in for the greater good, and then going about his public rehabilitation in a series of concert and lecture tours....

Stop it,
Pantin told himself.
You are talking about a killer here.

But a killer who’d breathed new life in his political career. You couldn’t ever forget that.

As he stared out at Leopold Park, mind fuzzed over and adrenaline still racing through his blood, a push notice sounded on his cell phone.

AP World

Breaking: Sources claim “Labyrinth” is in custody in South Africa.

chapter 36

BLAIR

Johannesburg, South Africa

T
he bomb squad techs offered Damien Blair everything from a blast suit to a Kevlar vest, but he waved them away. Instead, he asked to be taken directly to where they were holding Labyrinth—the humid, rusted-out police vehicle bay. As he was led down a too-bright corridor, Blair quietly yet sternly informed his hosts that he was to see the suspect completely alone. No guards, no other police officials. Some of the officers began to protest, but their commander knew better. The man was a career politician on the force, and he knew who backed Global Alliance—more important, knew better than to get into a turf war with the rest of the world. The commander told his men that Blair would be allowed access, exactly as requested.

Blair stepped into the room, heard the door lock behind him, then walked to the gurney where the suspect had been triple-strapped. He was positioned at a forty-five-degree angle. Wordlessly, Blair approached, took the suspect by the chin, and turned his head
this way
, and then
that
, before crouching down to look into his eyes.

“Are you looking into my soul, Damien Blair?”

“You’re not him,” Blair said quietly.

“Of course I am,” the suspect said. “But are
you
the real Damien Blair? They didn’t send down a body double, did they? That would be so disappointing, because I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time. Your handsome mug don’t show up much in the newspapers. In fact, not at all. Where’s the rest of your team? Your
Global Alliance
?”

“I want you to tell me everything about Labyrinth.”

“I am Labyrinth.”

“No, you’re not. This is your only, and final, chance to cut a deal.”

“Can’t we just talk a little? What’s the American expression—shoot the shit?”

“I don’t think you understand your position,” Blair said, then took a Glock out of his jacket pocket and aimed it at the suspect’s heart. “My organization is one of the few international police agencies that has the power to accomplish things. Interpol? They investigate, make recommendations. We’re different. We act. We investigate and remove threats. Dozens of signatory nations give us three things—funding, secrecy, and autonomy. They trust us to do what is right.”

“That’s good, that’s really good.”

“That means I could shoot you now and nobody would even blink.”

“You’ve been chasing me for years. You’re not going to kill me now. You’re going to want answers. Explanations. Rationales. You’re going to want me to show you where all of the bodies are bur—”

Blair lowered the gun, almost casually, as if he couldn’t care less about what he hit, and squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed through the vehicle bay, followed by Labyrinth’s screams. Loud. Pitiful. Confused. Blair had been aiming, after all. A precision strike: The bullet ripped through the prisoner’s Achilles tendon, which caused his foot to curl up in a hideously painful way, as if his entire leg were trying to roll itself up into his torso.

“I’ll take you apart,” Blair said, “one bullet at a time. The tendon’s just for starters.”

“NO!” the suspect shrieked. “T-t-that’s not how it works. You’re a c-c-c-op . . .”

“No,” Blair said, “I’m not.”

Then he positioned the Glock directly over the suspect’s scrotum.

“Please, NO!”

“Where is he?” Blair demanded. “The next bullet takes away your manhood.”

“I don’t know I don’t know please believe me oh God I don’t know!”