Dark Revelations (28 page)
Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker
Within seconds every broadcast had been hijacked.
A man, draped in just enough shadow to obscure his identity, appeared on screens everywhere.
Murmurs throughout the crowd. Shrieks of panic, too.
The figure stepped forward into the light and revealed his face.
The mask was a joke—a plastic Halloween likeness of Richard Nixon. The choice of bank robbers all over America.
“Government is built on and run by liars,” he said, his voice distorted mechanically. “Politicians who are out to get as much as they can for themselves, rather than help the people. Politicians who lie about everything. I want a politically free society. Every representative is for the people. Benefits all equally. Not just rich.”
Dark stared at the image. There were no more coy videos being uploaded. Labyrinth was speaking to the world, because now he knew the world would be listening. The Jane Talbot “appearance” was a test run. This was another test. Another step into the light. He was teasing the world. Giving them just enough to speculate, to ponder, to wonder.
What’s your true face?
Dark wondered.
When are you going to show us? When it’s far too late?
Dark wondered.
When are you going to show us? When it’s far too late?
Dark watched his body language and had the unerring sense that this was no puppet, no stand-in. This was Labyrinth himself.
And he was still here, in Edinburgh.
I’m seeing RED now. RT: Breaking: Sen. Ayres attacked with “exploding dye” at Scotland conference; reportedly in serious but stable condition.3 minutes agoDon’t know wether to laugh or go hide under my bed.2 minutes agoWell, at least he didn’t kill him. He did promise Jane Talbot, you know.2 minutes agoThe politicians lie to us. I do NOT lie.1 minute ago
chapter 52
DARK
D
eckland O’Brian was already picking through the remnants of the exploded camera by the time Dark and Natasha forced their way down into the media pit. He was squatting and probing the red dye–soaked chunks of metal and plastic with his bare fingers.
eckland O’Brian was already picking through the remnants of the exploded camera by the time Dark and Natasha forced their way down into the media pit. He was squatting and probing the red dye–soaked chunks of metal and plastic with his bare fingers.
Dark said, “Tell me you’ve got something, Deckland.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve found it—” O’Brian shrieked and pulled his hands away from the smoking components. “Ouch! Jesus fuck! Bloody thing’s almost melted!”
“What is it?”
“Well, there’s no way to wipe the embarrassment off the good senator’s face. But I think we can trace Labyrinth through this wireless triggering mechanism. He’d had to be able to detonate this thing from off-site, and from the looks of this half-melted component here, he can’t be too far away.”
“So can you trace him?”
“I can try. If I can shock this wee bugger back to life and reestablish a signal, it just might lead us back to our good friend Labyrinth.”
“I’m off,” Dark said, tapping his earpiece. “Update me on the road.”
“I’m coming with you,” Natasha said.
“No. I need you to trace the network feeds. Labyrinth didn’t just upload a video anonymously this time. He’s hijacked the major news networks, and I’m sure they’re going to be seriously pissed about the whole thing. Maybe we can trace him that way. I’m sure they’re already trying to figure out where he’s broadcasting from.”
Natasha nodded, then touched his face. “Be careful.”
“I’m going to end this thing. Tonight.”
Dark pushed his way through the crowds, flashing his cell phone badge when necessary, and pushing people out of the way when that didn’t work. Once he finally made it outside the Scottish Parliament Building, Dark ran across the street to the Global Alliance van and Hans Roeding, who saw him coming and rolled down his power window.
“Where are we headed?” the burly ex-soldier asked.
Dark didn’t want the extra weight. He needed to be able to move quickly, nimbly. Which is why he didn’t want Natasha to tag along either.
“I’m just following a hunch. Stay here in case I’m wrong.”
“I can help.”
“I know. By staying here.”
Roeding didn’t say much. He merely broke eye contact and grunted. The soldier had been trained to follow orders, even if he hated the guts of the person giving said orders. And Blair had made it clear: Dark was in charge of this op.
“I need a gun.”
Roeding frowned, then plucked a Glock 19 from a console inside the van. He knew that the so-called plastic semiautomatic was Dark’s weapon of choice. As Dark tucked it into his waistband, he saw Roeding pull another gun from the console—a silver Derringer. Without saying a word, he handed it over to Dark.
“What’s that for?”
“I carry a backup. You should, too.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Dark tucked the extra piece in the small of his back.
Evening Mail
Breaking: U.S. senator stable, but doctors fear the dye will leave him blind; skin permanently stained.
Guardian
Breaking: MEP Alain Pantin says that Labyrinth attacks may not stop until “real conversations” start to happen; urges for a new forum.
A few moments later, on his brand-new Ducati, Dark was racing up Canongate, the oldest street in Edinburgh. If Dark followed it all the way he’d end up at the foot of the castle. The ground was wet and the air was misty. Dark could feel the tires almost slipping on the granite sets. But being in charge of his own vehicle was a refreshing change after days of planes and cabs and vans. Nothing worse than relying on someone else for travel.
Just like you, Labyrinth.
You’re a man who travels by his own steam, aren’t you? Untraceable. Able to slip borders with ease. You’re someone practiced at the art of travel. Otherwise, you wouldn’t spread your attacks all over the world. You’re at ease anywhere. Maybe that’s how you were trained. Maybe you’re former military or part of a diplomatic security detail. Someone who was always on the move.
O’Brian’s voice was in his ear: “Are you there, Dark?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I see you. Looks like the signal’s coming from further up the road, almost near the castle.”
Dark’s motorcycle raced up the main street. There were people everywhere—on the sidewalks, in the street, not to mention other vehicles. WoMU had sparked impromptu gatherings and parties. Scotland was the focus of the world right now; the Scots were enjoying the chance to preen. The attack on the American senator, of course, had cast a sudden pall on the festivities.
“Stop. You’re close.”
Pulling to the side, Dark parked the Ducati and checked his Glock. “Tell me where to go.”
There was a row of three-story buildings along this side of the street, most of them dating back centuries. Edinburgh’s early days were all about building vertically—up a few stories, which was as high as architecture would allow back then. And when the city ran out of room, they’d dig more stories below, a dizzying complex of subterranean levels. The similarities to Paris, and Global Alliance, couldn’t be ignored. Dark had never encountered so many labyrinths before.
All at once Dark realized that of course this was it—if Labyrinth were going to hide anywhere, he’d do it in some kind of underground maze.
“Okay, I’m using your phone to lock on your position, and I’m following the signal from the camera.”
Dark said, “Just tell me where to go.”
“Is there a gate to your right?”
There was. An arched stone doorway with a sign marked BUCHAN’S CLOSE. A gate blocked the entrance almost all the way to the top.
“Go through there.”
“It’s locked.”
“Figure out a way to go through it anyway. There’s no other way in, except the long way, on the other side of the block. Which would involve scaling a fifty-foot wall.”
Dark pulled his Glock, aimed it at the padlock and chain . . . then hesitated. No. A gunshot might spook Labyrinth if he was still inside. He put the gun away, looked at the drainpipe running alongside the stone building. Dark gave it a tug to test its stability. Seemed okay. Able to hold his weight. Quickly, he ascended the pipe, hand over hand, boots guiding him up the side of the building, until he reached the top of the gate. Right hand, then left—and then he was over, jumping down into the darkness, landing, drawing his Glock.
“I’ve got a better fix on the signal,” O’Brian said in his ear. “It’s coming from the roof.”
“Check,” Dark said, but he knew Labyrinth wouldn’t be on the roof, or even the top floors. He’d be down below. Inside the maze of rooms below street level. Somewhere along the narrow streets with modest subterranean tenements on either side.
Gun leading the way in a two-handed grip, Dark descended the stairs, listening for his quarry.
Monsters liked to hide in basements.
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