Dark Revelations

by Duane Swierczynski

  LAB GOES CUCKOO

  Targets Five Religious Leaders with New Threat

  EXCLUSIVE—The global mastermind who calls himself “Labyrinth” has a new target: major world religions.

  Sources tell us that select leaders from five major world religions—Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Judaism—have reportedly been sent a new riddle along with two objects, one of which is rumored to be a small, impeccably crafted cuckoo clock.

  Authorities would not say if a deadline had been given, or divulge the contents of the riddle or the third object.

  Labyrinth’s packages typically contain one riddle and two objects, the combination of which pinpoint his next victim—or victims....

  Blair gathered the Global Alliance team in the conference room and presented images and scans of the contents of those packages—just in from law enforcement agencies around the world: The Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City. The Saudi Arabia Police. The Indian Police Service in Allahabad. The Indo-Tibetan Border Police Force. The Israel Police.

  “The rumor about the clocks is true—we’re receiving photos of them now,” Blair said. “They appear to be early Black Forest clocks dating back to the eighteenth century, all carefully restored to perfect working order, even though the original life span was thought to be no more than one generation—about thirty years, more or less.”

  “More antiques,” Natasha said. “Just to show us how special he is. Or how rich he is.”

  Deckland O’Brian chewed a toothpick, asked, “How much time before the little birdies sing?”

  “Not much. Four hours.”

  “Well, fuck me.”

  Natasha brushed hair out of her eyes. “What else?”

  “Each package came with a religious relic.”

  Hans Roeding raised a beefy hand. “You mean like a cross or a Bible?”

  “No,” Blair said. “In this case, relic means a piece of flesh from a deceased saint or spiritual leader.”

  “Guess you weren’t raised Catholic,” said O’Brian. “They once brought a relic of some obscure saint to my local church—I was something like eight years old, and excited as fuck. That is, until I kneeled down and took a gander through the murky glass and saw something that looked like it had shot out of someone’s nose. Absolutely disgusting.”

  “Thank you for that useless detail, O’Brian,” Blair said. “What we have are multiple targets spread throughout Asia and Europe.”

  “What’s the riddle?” Natasha asked.

  Blair read it aloud:

  IT’S MORE POWERFUL THAN GOD. IT’S MORE EVIL THAN THE

  DEVIL. THE POOR HAVE IT. THE RICH NEED IT. IF YOU EAT IT YOU

  WILL DIE. WHAT IS IT?

  LABYRINTH

  “Well that’s creepy, isn’t it,” O’Brian said.

  Blair ignored him. “We have to assume he has other agents working for him. Even Labyrinth can’t be in five places at once. I consider this good news. If he has a network, then it stands to reason that there are going to be weak links in his network, so we should choose the four most likely . . .”

  There was a noise from the other end of the hall—someone was entering the HQ. Instinctively, Hans Roeding withdrew his pistol from a leg holster and pointed it down the length of the room.

  Tom Riggins appeared in the door, hands up in the air, flanked by Global Alliance guards—the same who had escorted him to Steve Dark’s hospital room.

  “Don’t shoot,” he said.

  chapter 62

  “You have no right to be here,” Blair said sternly. “Escort him out of here, please.”

  Riggins lowered his hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Hey, thanks for the warm welcome. I’m touched, really. Look, Steve Dark sent me. I’m with Special Circs back in—”

  “We know who you are, Agent Riggins. That doesn’t change anything.”

  Natasha’s eyes widened. “Dark’s awake? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, Dark’s awake but in no condition to move. I think I can help you guys—if you’ll let me.” Riggins pointed to the armed escorts. “I wouldn’t be standing here unless he gave Mutt and Jeff here orders to bring me down to your special little clubhouse.”

  O’Brian smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, I like this guy. I really do.”

  “What makes you think you can help?” Blair asked.

  Riggins smiled. “You’re chasing the type of guy we call a Level 26 killer. Off the charts in terms of skill and resourcefulness and, for lack of a better term, downright fuckin’ evil. So . . . everybody in this room—and I’m just curious now—how many of you have personally bagged a Level 26 killer? Huh? How about it?”

  Blair looked down at the conference room table. “Agent Riggins, we don’t categorize the people who interest us . . .”

  “You, Damien? How about you—you’re O’Brian, right? Dark told me about you. Thought we’d get along for some reason. Natasha I’ve already met. And you—oh, you must be Hans Roeding. I can tell by the way you’re stabbing me in the balls with those daggers comin’ out of your eyes. How about it, Hans? Ever taken down a Level 26er?”

  Nobody in the room said a word. They were all waiting for Blair to respond.

  “Look, you wanted Dark to be a part of this little group, right?” Riggins asked.

  The team nodded.

  “Well, I’m the one who trained him.”

  Once Riggins was brought up to speed on the riddle and the contents of the packages, he couldn’t help but attack the problem like a cop. He thought about the five potential crime scenes, and the five stolen objects—the relics. Like Dark had said: This freak was going for the headline grab. He didn’t want to be stopped; he wanted his work to be discovered. Was it a coincidence that there were five members of Global Alliance, including Blair? That it would take all five members, split up, to properly investigate those five crime scenes?

  “Five of you, five packages,” Riggins said.

  “Your point?” Blair asked.

  “Labyrinth knew a lot about Dark,” Riggins said. “When they fought, he got personal. So you all have to assume he knows about all of you, too. Your skills as well as your weaknesses.”

  “That’s impossible,” O’Brian said. “Very few people even know we exist, let alone our identities. Blair, back me up here. I mean, that’s the whole point of this, right—that we operate in secret so no one can see us coming? Otherwise, I vote we move out of the bloody catacombs and into some penthouse.”

  Blair shook his head. “Agent Riggins has a point. If he knew about Dark, then we have to assume our identities are compromised as well.”

  “I’d bet he was at the scene of many, if not all, of his attacks,” Riggins said. “You see that all of the time. Psychos hanging around, watching the forensics teams work. They get off on it. So it’s no stretch to think that he spotted you guys early on.”

  A chill went through Riggins as he spoke those words—because then he realized how Labyrinth had found him. New York—the Shane Corbett murder. Goddamnit. He’d been in the lobby with Steve Dark and Natasha Garcon. And somewhere in the same room had been Labyrinth.

  “Forget ourselves for now,” Blair said. “Dark said the key to catching Labyrinth was predicting his next move. Any ideas?”

  “I think he’s playing with you now,” Riggins said. “He wants you to play along with the game, go hopping around the world, scooping up his bread crumbs. That’s why I’m thinking these packages were meant specifically for you. Maybe he wants to waste your time. Or maybe he wants you separated, and then he’ll pick you off, one by one.”

  “Damn,” O’Brian said. “You really did train Steve Dark, didn’t you? You sound just fuckin’ like him.”

  Natasha said, “So what do we do? Do you have an idea about where he might strike next—beyond this current threat?”

  “Dark told me that it usually spins out of the answer to the previous riddle,” Riggins said. “So how about it? You guys come up with an answer yet?”<
br />
  O’Brian said, “I was raised Catholic, y’know, so this one came to me pretty easily. The answer is . . . nothing. Because nothing is more powerful than God, nothing more evil than the devil. The poor?

  They have nothing. The rich? They need nothing. And if you eat nothing, you’ll die.”

  Riggins nodded. “Pretty good.”

  “So what—we wait and do nothing?” Blair asked.

  “No. You coordinate with the five police organizations who were sent the packages and have them investigate. Tell them to follow the evidence—starting with the stolen relics—just like you would have. And we all start thinking ahead to what he’s going to spring on us next.”

  “You think he wanted to divide us, split us up all over the world?” Natasha asked.

  “That’s exactly what he wanted,” Riggins said. “And won’t he be surprised when we catch his sorry ass before he springs his next PR stunt.”

  Within an hour, the reports began to come in from holy sites, starting with Rome.

  The victims were already dead.

  Had been for weeks, according to initial forensic analysis.

  “At least he didn’t lie to Jane Talbot,” O’Brian said. “He hasn’t killed since he promised he wouldn’t on live TV.”

  “Yeah, that’s great,” Riggins said. “Hell of a guy.”

  In each case, holy relics had been stolen from specific shrines or sacred places. In Rome, Labyrinth had somehow plundered the Santi Vincenzo e Anastasio a Trevi, notable for being the resting place of the embalmed hearts of twenty-five medieval popes. Once they pried open the resting place, they found the body of a man identified as Lucas Gregory—an American who claimed to be the “true pope,” descended from a secret line of authentic popes starting with Saint Peter. No one took Gregory seriously, especially after his numerous predictions for the supposed rapture—when God would call his faithful home, leaving the damned behind—came and went.

  “He was no threat to anyone,” Natasha said. “Why target him?”

  “What was the COD?” Riggins asked.

  “Cause of death, they’re reporting starvation,” Blair said. “In other words, they died from eating nothing.”

  “These religious nuts were spewing nothing—and received nothing in return,” Riggins said.

  chapter 63

  DARK

  Dark came up out of a fuzzy nonsensical dream to see that someone had left behind a meal on a plastic tray. No idea if it was morning or night. He lifted the lid and saw scrambled eggs, a triangle of dry toast, and a small cream-colored envelope resting on top of an empty plastic container. Dark opened the envelope with slightly numb fingers and pulled out a card with familiar block printing on it.

  I STOPPED BY

  YOU WERE SLEEPING

  WE’LL CATCH UP LATER

  LABYRINTH

  Supposedly there were only five people who knew that Dark was in this secret government care facility. The four members of Global Alliance—Blair, Natasha, O’Brian, Roeding—and, of course, now Riggins.

  This was another riddle, Dark realized. With Labyrinth, you always had to look for the hidden meaning behind the words.

  In this case, Labyrinth’s hidden meaning was perfectly clear.

  I am a member of your team.

  Or at least that’s what Labyrinth wanted Dark to think, wasn’t it? A man with Labyrinth’s resources could probably find a way to dig up a list of supposedly “secret” hospitals near the accident site. From there, some simple, old-fashioned bribery could have yielded Dark’s location, as well as entrance to the floor. Dark knew better than to believe that anything was secure.

  The larger implications troubled him. Labyrinth’s attention had turned, and he was targeting the team specifically. Presumably, other members of Global Alliance had received similar notes. Labyrinth was trying to sow seeds of doubt within the only organization equipped to stop him. GA had stepped up onto the playing field, and Labyrinth was eager to play with them.

  Dark pushed aside his scrambled eggs. He wasn’t hungry. The smell of them made him nauseous. There was also the fact that a monster could have easily poisoned his breakfast—could have easily killed an unconscious Dark, for that matter.

  That’s when he saw the edge of the second envelope, hidden under the plate.

  This one was pure white, business-size.

  Dark opened the flap and removed the piece of paper inside. He recognized the form immediately—a standard Special Circs blood analysis report. The typed name at the top, however, is what stopped him.

  SQWEEGEL

  When he’d pulled off the mask during their final confrontation, Dark had been surprised by Sqweegel’s true face. It had been perfectly . . . unremarkable. Dull black eyes. Shaved bony head. Narrow forehead devoid of eyebrows. Bad teeth. Mottled skin. A geek grown-up. An abused boy.

  His brother.

  This was the blood test that had confirmed it—seven of eleven alleles matching Steve Dark’s DNA.

  Labyrinth hadn’t been bluffing. And now he wanted Dark to know that.

  But there was something even worse at the bottom of the page. An insignificant detail that would have been overlooked by most people, because most people haven’t had to fill out these kinds of forms. But to Dark, the detail meant everything.

  The typed initials: TR.

  Tom.

  Riggins.

  Nothing, Riggins had said, five years ago. No hits. Fucker was a real nowhere man.

  But the blood test had been run by Riggins.

  He knew.

  chapter 64

  DARK

  “Knock knock,” Riggins said, flanked by two armed guards.

  Dark had been sitting up, waiting. Natasha had briefed him on the killings of the religious fundamentalists—all of whom turned out to be outcasts and heretics of the five religions targeted. All had been captured and stashed in various vaults and tombs and antechambers at the same time Labyrinth had stolen the relics for his packages. Stashed . . . and left to starve to death. It was clear that Labyrinth had killed these men long before he’d sent the first package to LAPD headquarters. Natasha also told him that Riggins was on his way over—he wanted to kick around the riddle with him a bit more.

  “Tell him I’m looking forward to it,” Dark said.

  Natasha could hear the strange bitterness in his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”

  Now Riggins was here with a computer tablet in his hand. Dark couldn’t think about the case. He wanted to jump out of bed and throw Riggins against a wall.

  “You look like hell,” Riggins said. “You feeling okay?”

  “You fucking knew,” Dark said.

  “Huh? Knew what?”

  “You knew, all of these years.”

  When the realization finally hit Riggins, he looked like someone had just pulled a rubber plug somewhere on his body; the man deflated. He shuffled over to the nearest chair and fell into it, leaning back his head and covering his eyes with his hands.

  “Yeah, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Riggins removed his hands and looked at Dark. He was almost wincing as he spoke.

  “Dark, when I found out, you’d just lost Sibby. What, was I supposed to compound your grief by taking away your identity, too? Tell you that a blood test showed you were related to that weird little fuck? No. I couldn’t do that to you. You didn’t deserve to hear something like that, after all you’d been through. So I took it upon myself to keep watch over you.”

  “What, in case I went into the family business?”

  Riggins shook his head. “I’ve always known that there’s a fine line between us and them. Reason and chaos, good and evil, yin and yang, whatever. It takes a particular kind of mind to be in this game, no matter what side you’re playing for. You chose the path of good, and that’s all that matters.”

  Dark considered this. He’d often thought the same thing. What made the best manhunter often made the best sociopa
th. But that was academics; this was his fucking life. His family. His daughter.

  “How did he find out?”

  Riggins exhaled and told him about the attack from the previous week. How he suspected that Labyrinth himself was in the lobby of the Epoch Hotel, watching them all. And how he must have followed him all the way back to D.C., found out where he lived, and . . .

  “And what?” Dark asked. “Did you do a couple of shots together and say, ‘Hey, you’re never going to believe this, this is the craziest thing ever . . .’”

  “That motherfucker pulled it out of my skull,” Riggins said, his words burning with rage. “I don’t know what he shot into me, but it was like I was running off at the mouth, saying whatever popped into my thick head. And he was just fuckin’ toying with me, giving me little nudges, to get what he wanted. If I had the use of my hands I would have squeezed his neck so hard his head would have popped off.”

  “Did you at least get a look at him?”

  “No.”

  Dark and Riggins sat in silence for a while.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Riggins asked.

  More silence.

  “Look,” Riggins said at long last. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that blood doesn’t ultimately matter. It’s what you do that counts.”

  “That’s a nice sentiment,” Dark replied, “but I don’t think you believe that. I think it’s best if you go back to D.C. now. You’re compromised, just like me.”

  “Steve, look, whatever this is—”