Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker

Dark Revelations (26 page)

BOOK: Dark Revelations

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“They need to stop screwing around and just open the damned thing,” Dark complained bitterly.

“It’s procedure,” Natasha said, eyeing the Scottish police, who in turn were eyeing Dark.

“We’re wasting time.”

At long last, the Lothian and Borders police removed another riddle. Same hand printing, same block letters, this time on U.S. Congress letterhead. The image was scanned and projected onto a flat-screen TV.

A MAN WALKS UP TO YOU AND SAYS, “EVERY THING I SAY TO YOU IS A LIE.” IS HE TELLING YOU THE TRUTH OR IS HE LYING?

LABYRINTH

“Good, another twisty little mindfuck,” said O’Brian.

“Remember, the riddle’s only part of it,” Dark said. “Let’s see what else he’s thrown into the box.”

Next, the police removed a modern digital stopwatch—black plastic, common brand name, nothing remarkable about it at first glance. Again it seemed like the Scottish police were moving in slow motion, despite the fact that clearly, nothing had gone
boom
.

“Fuck this,” Dark said. “I need to see it up close.”

When the door remained shut after a few frenzied knocks, Dark sighed, took a step back, then smashed his boot against it, right near the knob. Wood split and burst. Dark moved into the room, shouldering his way past the hazmat-suited experts, and plucked the stopwatch from the robot arm that was holding it.

“Less than five hours,” Dark said, reading the display. “When does the summit begin?”

Natasha, who had followed him into the room, said, “Within the hour.”

Dark pushed aside the robot arm and removed the remaining item from Labyrinth’s package: a sheath of yellowed parchment paper, incredibly brittle, sealed in a plastic bag.

“What is it?”

The top page looked familiar to Dark, but he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. The yellowed, brittle paper. The jagged scrawls. You’d need an expert to authenticate it, of course, but almost anyone could easily identify it.

Did Labyrinth actually just FedEx an early draft of the U.S. Constitution to Scotland?

A historic document expert from nearby University of Edinburgh was rushed down to St. Leonards Street station. The woman blinked as if she’d just woken from a five-year nap, but she tentatively described the document as authentic to the era (late 1780s)—but quickly added this version of the Constitution couldn’t be real.

“Why?” asked Dark.

“Well, there is an urban legend going around my circles that there was an early, far more radical draft of the U.S. Constitution debated by the American founders,” the expert said. “One that allegedly put much more power in the hands of the executive branch, with ordinary citizens having very few of the rights eventually granted. It was also rumored to have had proslavery elements—instead of the tacit approval given in the eventual version. This, of course, is no doubt an invention of conspiracy theorists, much like this document.”

“But the paper and ink check out?”

“Well . . . yes. But there’s no way this can be real.”

If such a document existed, Dark knew, it would no doubt sell for untold millions on some secret, black market. Yet Labyrinth had found a way to put his hands on it. And he’d sent it, uninsured, by overnight delivery. Almost casually. This was as important as the message itself, Dark thought. He wanted to let them know his wealth was unlimited, and there was nothing he couldn’t touch.

Not even the tender heart of the United States of America.

Lothian and Borders did their best to keep the examination of the latest Labyrinth package from the press. But the reporters seemed to know anyway—anonymous tips had armed them with just enough to turn them rabid. They pressed at the front doors of the St. Leonards Street station as Dark and the rest of the team emerged.

“He’s tipping them off,” Dark said. “Raising the game. It’s only fun for him if everybody knows what he’s up to.”

They walked across the street to the black van that had been transported from Paris. Fully equipped with computers, bug detectors, weapons, a mobile forensics lab, and everything else the team could possibly need. As always, with Blair, money was no object.

“So we’ve seen the clues,” O’Brian said. “We’ve got a copy of the Constitution and a stopwatch and another riddle.”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh come on. You must have
some
idea. Some kind of crazy leftfield thinking. That’s your trademark, isn’t it?”

“Deckland, shut the fuck up,” Natasha said. “We’re going to have some help, anyway. Blair’s already on the scene.”

Dark’s eyebrow lifted. “He is?”

“These are his people, after all. Aristocrats, the hoi polloi, that whole set. He’s smoothing feathers and scoping the scene.”

Dark was the product of a foster home and a humble middle-class upbringing. No wonder Blair seemed like an alien to him.

“I thought he never went out into the field,” Dark said.

“He seems to have changed his mind,” Natasha said.

“Let’s go,” O’Brian said. “I’m driving. I’m still motion sick from Roeding’s driving in J’burg.”

The team walked to the van, at which point Dark separated himself.

“Got my own ride,” Dark said.

“What do you mean, your own ride?” Natasha asked.

Dark said, “In case you were wondering—yeah, you can pretty much order anything from Blair’s little shopping site.”

Anything, in this case being a Ducati Desmosedici GP12. Liquid-cooled V4 engine, race-quality, and nowhere near street legal.

He trailed behind the van for a while until he was sure the rest of his team could see him—then he shifted and blazed past them. O’Brian smirked and gave him a one-finger salute as he passed.
Brilliant,
he mouthed. Or at least, that’s what Dark thought the man was saying.

To be honest, it was all one vague blur.

chapter 48

DARK

F
or a meeting devoted to ushering in a new era of global understanding, there was an insane amount of security.

A lot of that had to do with the threat from Labyrinth, of course. But some of it was planned well in advance. All participating nations agreed to a strict no-weapons policy. Even the security guards inside the building were allowed to carry nothing more lethal than Tasers, mace canisters, and rubber batons. The credentials that Blair had sent to each member of the team were successful in getting them past the outer security perimeter surrounding the Scottish Parliament Building, but they were still subject to intensive pat-downs before they were allowed access to the main hall.

Each entrance, no matter how modest, was outfitted with next-generation full-body scanners as well as highly sensitive detectors looking for even trace amounts of explosives, gunpowder, chemical or biological agents—even radioactive matter. Blair had been sent the specs on everything and briefed the team in advance. But they hadn’t realized how slowly the lines would move, and that even their Global Alliance credentials could do nothing to breeze them past the security checkpoint.

“More wasted time,” Dark said.

“The harder it is for us to get in,” Natasha said, “the harder it will be for Labyrinth.”

“Is that what you really think? He’s already here. Or one of his puppets. And his weapon of choice has no doubt been here for a long time, too. Maybe even when they built this monstrosity.”

“Not possible,” Natasha said. “Agents have been sweeping every inch of this place for days. And that’s on top of the normal security checks. It’s clean.”

“As clean as a house of politicians can be, anyway,” muttered O’Brian.

“Careful,” Dark said. “You’re beginning to sound like him now.”

“Well, this attack may be one I actually agree with. Kill them all, I say.”

These words came tumbling out of the Irish hacker’s mouth just as they approached the checkpoint. The security detail’s eyes turned icy, suspicious, even after Natasha approached and showed them her credentials.

“Whoops,” O’Brian said.

There were only three of them. Hans Roeding refused to be weaponless, opted to wait out in the van, parked across the street near Holyrood Palace. This itself was a security breach, but Blair had managed to clear it. If the hunt for Labyrinth did take them back outside, then he wanted Roeding ready to neutralize him immediately.

Back inside, Deckland O’Brian perched himself in a corner with a netbook to scan Internet chatter about WoMU. Labyrinth liked to tease things in advance—there was a chance he’d let a detail slip.

Which left Dark and Natasha to sweep the main hall of the Scottish Parliament Building—thousands of square feet of possible danger.

“What do you make of the riddle?” Natasha asked.

“About the man who tells you everything he says is a lie? Well, he’s lying. Even though he’s lying when he says that everything he says is a lie, some of the things he says can be a lie. This is one of them.”

“I’ll take your word for that. So what does this have to do with the threat? Because the method is always hidden in the riddle.”

Dark shook his head. “I’ll let you know when I see it.”

WoMU was purported to be an international “town hall,” where new ideas could be discussed minus the politicking and reprisals from hostile governments. An open exchange of ideas for the betterment of all humanity. No idea too great or too small—all were promised an equal forum. The topics: Hunger. Renewable resources. Economic disparity. And more important, the organizers promised a follow-up report and action plan, delivered to world governments everywhere.

But at the same time, delegates could address some of the most powerful world leaders directly, live, after they made a few remarks.

Dark thought that was nice, but he didn’t care about any of that right now.

All that mattered was that Labyrinth would consider this to be the perfect stage.

He was here somewhere.

BOOK: Dark Revelations

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