Dark Revelations (35 page)

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Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker

BOOK: Dark Revelations
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O’Brian smiled. “Look, I’ll save everyone some time here. Labyrinth is actually me. Yeah, I thought things were getting a little boring around here, so I decided to create this amazing supervillain just to liven things up.”
“Don’t joke,” Roeding said. “Not funny.”
“And see, I would suspect that you are Labyrinth, big guy, but you’re really shitty at riddles. Unless . . .” O’Brian narrowed his eyes in faux suspicion. “Unless that’s just a cover, and you’re going to kill us all!”
“Shut up.”
Blair interrupted. “This means nothing. None of you are Labyrinth.”
“Sure, easy for you to say,” O’Brian said. “For all we know,
you
could be Labyrinth. You’ve set up this entire operation just to catch yourself.” He looked around at his teammates. “That’s it, isn’t it? Holy shit, paranoia is such an intoxicating drug.”
“This means nothing,” Blair said, “because I’ve been receiving taunting messages from Labyrinth like this since the beginning.”
“What?” Dark asked. “And you didn’t share them? Do you fucking understand how investigations work, Blair? No clue is too small.”
“Like you, I was keeping that close to my chest,” Blair said, “knowing that he was simply trying to undermine the team. Sharing that with you would have been disastrous for this investigation. I’ve ignored the messages, so now it seems he’s reached out to you.”
“How does he even know who we are?” Natasha asked.
“Unless,” Roeding said, “he is sitting in this room with us right now. Who is the only person who has claimed to have seen Labyrinth in the flesh?”
Dark said, “You think I faked that fight and threw myself out of a fucking window?”
“It’s a good cover, you have to admit,” said O’Brian.
“Dark isn’t making that up,” Natasha said. “I have proof.”
“What proof?” O’Brian asked. “The two of you could be in league . . .”
“
Enough
,” said Blair. “Labyrinth is not a member of this team. I’ve had each of you investigated and background checked to within an inch of your very lives. Which is why I trust the people in this room utterly and completely. He’s trying to play us against each other, and I’m not going to let that happen.
None of you are Labyrinth.
End of discussion.”
chapter 70
 
LABYRINTH
 
I
walk through the halls of the most prestigious law firm in all of London. It’s a short trip from Edinburgh. Lovely trains, too. I like the sandwiches they serve.
At the office, no one tries to stop me—they smile and nod, even.
They know me, after all.
I’m very familiar with the work of this firm, as I’ve employed them in the past.
They’re superb lawyers.
They’re especially good at springing criminals out of investigative and legal traps.
Like the serial rapist who was set free last week, who even winked at one of the victims who’d had the courage to testify against him in open court.
But their specialty is white-collar criminals.
Like the embezzler who happens to be a relative of a prominent member of Parliament. Picked the pockets of a national antipoverty agency and used the proceeds in the most brazen manner possible . . . and wouldn’t have to return a dime. Ever.
It’s the reason I retained them years ago to handle some of my affairs.
 
Finally I glide across a plush rug to a corner office, where a lawyer in a bespoke suit is reading over documents.
My own personal lawyer.
Handsome.
Neatly groomed.
The latest stylish cologne from the pages of
GQ
UK rising from his flesh.
He is perhaps the best here, and I absolutely hate him.
Nothing about my mission is personal . . .
Well, except for this.
(I worked it in.)
The man looks up, confused, but smiling. Says,
My God, I had no idea you were visiting! Would you like an espresso, or perhaps something from the bakery down the—
I interrupt him to ask,
The rope or the gun?
He blinks.
Beg your pardon?
I tell him,
It’s not
my
pardon you should be begging.
He says,
Trey, come on, what’s this all about?
Then I show it to him—the pistol I have in my jacket pocket, because perish the thought that security would even consider frisking me, one of their most generous clients, but even if they’d found that, I could have produced a (fake) legal permit to carry such a weapon, considering my (fake) diplomatic status in this country, and even if they’d given me trouble with that, there’s of course the length of hemp rope inside my briefcase, though I would have been disappointed not to be able to offer my lawyer the choice,
The rope or the gun.
He screams,
OH MY GOD.
I shoot.
His office is in the corner, and well insulated from the warren of cubicles outside. The blast of the shot is muted. Could be a car or could be someone popping a piece of packing material.
My lawyer’s face scrunches up and he stumbles backward, almost tumbling into his own desk.
I catch him by his necktie, pull him forward, tell him,
How about both?
And he is helpless, blood seeping through his trembling fingers, as I hold him steady with one hand and reach for the rope with the other.
My lawyer’s eyes go WIDE as he sees the hangman’s noose.
I don’t have to worry about finding a place to secure it, as I’ve been in his office many, many times and know where the central support beams are, above the drop ceiling and harsh fluorescent lighting fixtures.
I hang him.
Then I stay to record some video.
Upload it.
I’m not in any rush to leave, even though I have a plane in two hours.
I know I’ll be able to exit this building unmolested.
These people are my lawyers.
Even if I’m caught—I’ll no doubt beat the rap.
 
Reuters
 
 
Breaking: Lawyer shot dead, hung—Scotland Yard confirms there are links to “Labyrinth.”
 
AP News
 
Breaking: Copycat Labyrinth crimes reported in San Francisco; vandalism at law offices on Market Street.
 
Montreal Gazette
 
Breaking: Two lawyers shot near rue McGill—student shooter claims he is “Labyrinth.”
chapter 71
 
Brussels, Belgium
 
“A
lain.”
Pantin could hear the concern in the man’s voice.
“Trey? What is it?”
“You’re going to see something in the news about me. I want you to avoid judgment and instead focus on the conversations we’ve had. I think you know me well enough to know that I’ve never led you astray.”
“What are you talking about, Trey? What’s wrong?”
“Everything we’ve discussed has been leading up to this. I chose you because you’re the man best suited for the task at hand.”
“What task?”
“To put the world back together again.”
Pantin was confused. He’d never heard his mentor Trey Halbthin talk like this before.
Then again, over the past few days the world Pantin knew had been turned upside down.
Chaos and revolution were on everyone’s minds, with acts of protest and vandalism and acts of violence springing up in all corners of the world—not just the usual tinderboxes. You didn’t have to be a political prophet like Trey Halbthin to understand that the winds of change were blowing hot, spurned on, no doubt, by Labyrinth’s systematic attacks on big business and politics and even religion.
And Pantin found himself at the center of the maelstrom.
“Trey, what are you talking about?”
“Labyrinth has had a serious effect on the world, Alain. After being asleep for so long, people everywhere are waking up to the fact that they’re being manipulated by the tyrants. People in the West think they’re free, but they’re not. They’re enslaved by the same institutions, only they have better toys and dental care. It’s the same manipulation, all over the world.”
The realization started as a tiny cold ball in Alain Pantin’s stomach. The more his mentor spoke, the more he realized what he should have seen from the beginning.
“There’s a sign coming, Alain. A big sign. Unmistakable. I’ve chosen you to take the lead when this sign comes.”
“Tell me what you’re planning,” Pantin said quietly.
“You’re the doer, Alain. I’m merely the man behind the scenes. It’s been about you this whole time. It doesn’t matter what I do. What matters is what
you
do with it.”
“I can’t. . . .”
“You will, because no one else
can
.”
 
Alain Pantin leaned back in his chair and looked out at Leopold Park. The weather was unusually warm, and people were taking advantage of it. Couples. Children playing—many of them the sons and daughters of his fellow Europarl members. They had no idea what was awaiting them. The new world that was slowly coming into being all around them. History not just in the making, but forced into being by the act of sheer will.
His will, if he wanted.
Once again, Trey Halbthin was right. Whatever horrible acts he’d committed to create this revolutionary moment didn’t ultimately matter.
It was up to Alain Pantin to turn it into something meaningful.
chapter 72

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