Dark Revelations

by Duane Swierczynski

  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

  For 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.

  Himself—or one of his avatars.

  Damien Blair had followed through on his word. He relinquished Global Alliance command to Dark, who directed Natasha and O’Brian as the three searched the facility.

  But there were no weak spots.

  No hidden assassin’s perches.

  Everyone inside the building had been cleared through the security checkpoints.

  There were radiation and gunpowder detectors for every ten people in the auditorium.

  Guards everywhere.

  Security was, Dark had to admit, top-notch.

  Still, something nagged at Dark’s mind. Something felt off . . .

  chapter 49

  DARK

  After a few hours of speeches and pleas and even stretches of downright incoherence, the moment viewers had been waiting for had finally arrived: the Q&A session with world leaders. First up: the representative from the United States—powerful Senate Majority Leader Edah Ayres (R-Mo.). The elder statesman, with a big, slightly bucktoothed smile, trimmed beard, and full head of gray hair, took the dais and thanked his hosts.

  The conference was being carried live across one global news network and dozens of Internet-based news orgs, and suddenly the media perked up. The rows of camera operators and photographers and reporters down in the media pit roused themselves. Here, finally, truth would speak to power. And they all knew that if they were lucky, they’d catch Senator Ayres red-faced in some misstatement or poorly chosen turn of phrase. Something that could feed the news cycle for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, ideally.

  “Thank you so much for having me here, with all of you,” Senator Ayres said. “I’m blessed and humbled to be with you in this beautiful country.”

  Dark and Natasha were positioned in the rear of the amphitheater to give themselves the widest possible view; O’Brian, meanwhile, was down in the media pit, just in case Labyrinth had a puppet mixed among the press corps.

  “I don’t believe this.”

  Natasha nudged Dark, holding up her tablet. The video image on the screen showed what everyone in the room could see live: Senator Ayres addressing the delegates. But the news feed that Natasha was streaming had something that the live viewers could not see.

  An on-screen lie detector.

  As Senator Ayres spoke, a single word, in bold, red seventy-two-point Helvetica type suddenly appeared on the screen:

  LIAR

  The small meter in the lower right-hand corner twitched into the red, too.

  “Where’s that coming from?” Dark asked. “That one site? Is that a parody site, maybe?”

  “No,” Natasha said, swiping the screen to the next feed. Same lie detector. She swiped again, to another, notoriously conservative news network. Same lie detector, superimposed over their own borders and news crawl.

  “How is he doing this?” Dark asked.

  Senator Ayres, who of course had no idea his words were being monitored for veracity, continued his opening remarks. “We believe in spreading freedom so that all may enjoy it.”

  And on-screen, in even larger point type:

  LIAR

  By now some of the reporters and camera operators—checking their own monitors—realized what was happening. Murmurs erupted, cell phones were plucked from belt holders. Senator Ayres glanced down at the media pit briefly, unable
to ignore the slight commotion, but then remembered where he was, what he was doing, and his bucktoothed smile flashed and his attention returned to the delegates.

  “And part of the pursuit of freedom is guaranteeing food security and safe water for all. Over thirty-five thousand people die each day from malnutrition-related illnesses, and this is why my administration has fought from the beginning to better understand the causes and consequences of hunger . . .”

  LIAR

  The word had spread throughout the hall—the modern media hive mind operating at full speed. Delegates looked at one another confusedly. Camera operators, loathe to turn their equipment away from Senator Ayres, tried sorting through wires to see if there was anything plugged in that shouldn’t be. And now the senator’s aides had caught wind of what was happening, and a pack of three young men in charcoal gray suits began to hunch-walk toward the dais to interrupt the senator as discreetly as possible.

  “Shit,” Dark said. “It’s coming.”

  “What?” Natasha said. “Do you see something?”

  “No. I feel it.”

  With that, Dark started running down the center aisle of the amphitheater, guided by the gnawing sense of danger in the pit of his stomach.

  He was halfway down when the explosion sounded, echoing off the walls of the entire hall.

  And Senator Edah Ayres’s face blew apart in a messy red spray.

  chapter 50

  Alain Pantin watched the attack happen from the wings, and then even he couldn’t believe it.

  An assassination, live, right before his very eyes.

  My. God.

  As a history student Pantin used to idly wonder what it would be like to witness a major historical moment—a military victory, a landmark speech, an act of terrorism. Now that Pantin was caught up in the actual thing, and not from behind the safety of a television screen, he felt nothing but icy numbness.

  Look at that poor man up on that stage, face dripping with bright red blood that looks positively unnatural, surreal, under the bright lights. Stumbling back, still on his feet, hands shaking, not even able to fall down and die properly. It was a horror show. This maniac had waited until the whole world was watching, and then he’d treated it to a snuff film....

  Pantin’s cell phone buzzed. It was Trey.

  “Don’t panic,” he said. “This is extremely important.”

  “Are you watching this?” Pantin asked quietly. He felt goose bumps across every square inch of his flesh.

  “Breathe. Keep yourself together. And listen to me.”

  “Listen to what? Jesus Christ, Trey, are you watching this?”

  “Alain, the world’s going to want to know what to think of this latest attack, and you are going to be the one to explain it to them.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, Trey. How am I supposed to explain it to the world?”

  “Focus on why Labyrinth targeted Ayres. He’s only lashed out against people who were hiding something. The world will be reassured to know that he’s just like the other targets. Guilty of something.”

  “Fuck, man . . . You want me to assassinate the character of a man who’s just been assassinated?”

  “You don’t have to make any allegations whatsoever. You should damn this deplorable attack, and invite Labyrinth to air his grievances. Remember to stay focused on the message, not the act.”

  Pantin hesitated. He watched as pandemonium gripped the room. Several people were rushing the stage, others looking around for assassins’ perches.

  “Don’t give up now,” Trey continued. “You’re the most tenacious man I know. This is why I’ve supported you. It may not seem like it now, but this will truly be the moment that defines you.”

  Pantin cleared his throat, said okay, then put the cell phone in his pocket. After a deep breath, he straightened his tie, wiped his sweaty brow with the side of his right index finger, then made his way toward the stage—toward the sea of reporters falling over one another to capture the moment.

  The world will want to know what happened.

  I must explain it to them.

  chapter 51

  After an assassination—successful or otherwise—a certain percentage of any crowd will run for cover, concerned for their own lives. But a surprising majority spring into action. This was the case now. Security, as well as other ambassadors and attendees, began to shout at one another, looking for the shooter.

  Dark knew there was no shooter. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. The shooter was Labyrinth, and he had struck from a remote location.

  But from where?

  How, in a highly secure room where even the security personnel carried nothing more powerful than a Taser?

  Dark scanned the room, tracing the velocity of the projectile that had struck. If he had more time, he could use lasers and tape to pinpoint the exact origin of the shot. But he didn’t have time. Every second that passed meant that Labyrinth would be speeding away to his next victim.

  “Dark.”

  Natasha had raced up behind him and was now showing him the tablet. A new message was superimposed over the chaos that had broken out:

  DYE , SENATOR , DYE

  “What does that mean?” Natasha asked. “Labyrinth doesn’t misspell things.”

  A security detail had reached Senator Ayres and was quickly escorting him from the dais and out of the main hall. The politician’s arms were pinwheeling around. He was in pain, but he wasn’t dying. Not by any stretch. Dark pushed his way through the crowd for a better look. The blood on the senator’s face . . . it wasn’t blood at all.

  DYE, SENATOR , DYE

  Labyrinth was being literal. And his promise to Jane Talbot had been kept. He hadn’t killed anyone since his appearance on South African TV. Instead, he’d arranged it so that a blast of red dye had struck the lying senator right in his distinguished face in front of millions of viewers. And by the time it was rebroadcast and uploaded and sent around via social networking sites, it would be seen by millions more. Anyone with access to a screen.

  The politician had been caught red-faced, after all.

  AP News

  Breaking: Sen. Ayres attacked with “exploding dye” at Scotland summit; reportedly in serious but stable condition.

  CNN

  Breaking: Suspect “Labyrinth” on air now.

  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 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 ago

  Don’t know wether to laugh or go hide under my bed.

  2 minutes ago

  Well, at least he didn
’t kill him. He did promise Jane Talbot, you know.

  2 minutes ago

  The politicians lie to us. I do NOT lie.

  1 minute ago

  chapter 52

  DARK

  Deckland 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.”