Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker
Dark Revelations (21 page)
The suspect talked, of course. At great length, especially after he’d been given enough painkillers.
He continued to insist that he was Labyrinth, that’s the only name he’d ever known, swearing on the lives of his mother (who he didn’t remember, either), and begging to be believed. He didn’t know about any other attacks—God, he wouldn’t kill anybody! Didn’t they understand that? Blair was good at reading people and was surprised to find himself believing the suspect. That this man truly thought he was a mastermind avenger who called himself “Labyrinth.”
The man’s been turned,
Blair thought to himself.
Turned so deep that he’s lost all traces of his former self.
Blair thought to himself.
Turned so deep that he’s lost all traces of his former self.
Still, when a fingerprint match came back with the name Anthony Biretta, and Blair spoke the name aloud, you could see the pieces begin to shatter behind the suspect’s eyes. Yes, that name was familiar. Why was that name familiar? The suspect shook his head, as if that would assemble the pieces into the right order. Why
was
that name familiar?
was
that name familiar?
Gradually the full story would emerge, but Blair could already fill in the gaps. Biretta was probably an aspiring actor who was granted the role of a lifetime. Labyrinth would have spent a long time with him—months, maybe even years, for this single performance.
But during all of their time together, the real Labyrinth wouldn’t have shown his face, or given any indication of where he lived, how he behaved, even what his voice sounded like. In Anthony Biretta’s shattered mind, there would be only fragments of his past life. For him it would be like waking from a long dream, and the horrible idea that his real life, the one he would have sworn was
tangible reality
, had been contained in that dream. And he could never return to it.
tangible reality
, had been contained in that dream. And he could never return to it.
“Get his leg fixed,” Blair told the police on the way out.
chapter 37
DARK
T
he area around One Police Plaza had been locked down since 9/11, much to the long-term dismay of nearby residents. The police argued that it would be far too easy for someone to roll down the four-lane Park Row in a white van packed with fertilizer bombs and take out the central hub of the NYPD. Residents complained that blocking Park Row turned an already insufferable traffic headache into an eternal nightmare—not to mention their feeling like they were living in a demilitarized zone.
he area around One Police Plaza had been locked down since 9/11, much to the long-term dismay of nearby residents. The police argued that it would be far too easy for someone to roll down the four-lane Park Row in a white van packed with fertilizer bombs and take out the central hub of the NYPD. Residents complained that blocking Park Row turned an already insufferable traffic headache into an eternal nightmare—not to mention their feeling like they were living in a demilitarized zone.
The Park Row blockades didn’t stop bike messengers, of course. Specifically, one bald messenger with a bushy beard that nearly reached his gut. He stopped out front of One Police Plaza, locked his bike, then raced toward the front doors—where he was immediately intercepted by a new delivery detail. What happened in L.A. had sent shock waves through police departments around the world, and the NYPD refused to take any chances. The bald messenger, whose T-shirt read ALABAMA CORN SNAKE, seemed bemused by it all . . . until the security office looked at the name on the return address (Bryan Hilt) and the team was slamming Mr. Corn Snake down to the concrete, Glock at the back of his head, another Glock at the base of his spine, cuffs cinching around his wrists before he even had a chance to expel the air he’d sucked in on the way down.
The security team had been prepped: Anything that even remotely seemed like it could come from that nutcase Labyrinth—pounce now, let lawyers sort it out later.
And “Bryan Hilt” was on a short list of possible anagrams for the name “Labyrinth.”
Instant red flag, motherfucker.
The box was immediately transported by armed guard down to a police warehouse near the Brooklyn Bridge for inspection.
Mr. Corn Snake could only sniffle blood and watch as his entire life was ripped apart, from his shitty apartment up in Jamaica, Queens, all the way back to Alabama, searching for a connection to the package’s sender.
Dark and Natasha keyed into the Global Alliance safe house in the West Village. The place was well stocked, modern, with several bedrooms around an open living room. The loft was full of the latest technology, flat screens and computers everywhere. Much like the plane, it seemed that Global Alliance HQ could be anywhere Blair needed it to be. As Natasha fired up the computer systems, Dark—still very time dislocated after so many days of travel—thought a shower sounded like a good idea.
“Hey,” he said. Natasha looked up and locked eyes with Dark.
“I’m, uh . . . I’m gonna find a shower,” he told her.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay.” He pulled his gaze from hers. What was that?
Natasha watched and smiled as Dark awkwardly found his way to the bathroom.
Dark peeled off his clothes and fired up the hottest shower he thought he could stand. Under the intense spray in the tiled shower stall, Dark allowed himself to linger in the moment, just letting the water do its job. He was surprised to find that when he got his mind off Labyrinth, he thought about Natasha, could not get that look out of his head. It’s not to say he had sworn off women since he lost his wife, but he also hadn’t been looking. His life was work and Sibby. But now, like any normal man, Dark was thinking about the incredibly beautiful woman in the other room, wondering what she might be doing. He was about to shrug off the thought when he heard the shower door open.
Dark turned as Natasha slipped inside the shower stall next to him, completely naked. He had to wipe his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Then, she stepped up to him, put her hands on his chest, and looked up at him expectantly.
“I thought I annoyed you,” Dark said.
“You do,” Natasha replied, running her fingers down his chest and farther still. She kissed his neck and his chest. “You really, really annoy me.”
“So why are you here?” he said playfully.
“Would you rather I not be?” she said as she nibbled on his ear. “Do you need a reason other than we’re both here?”
Dark did not. Dark pressed her against the warm tiles of the stall, arms pinned to her sides. She climaxed with a muted cry and then slammed Dark back into the wall and began to exact her revenge, her hips slamming into his with an aggression that only aroused Dark even more.
He refused to give in easily, though, and reversed positions once again before deciding that they were clean enough and there was a bed in the safe house and it would be a shame to not use it.
Afterward, as they lay in bed, heavy breathing punctuating the silence, Dark couldn’t believe this had happened . . . in a good way. Natasha stretched her naked body, giving Dark an amazing view, and then rolled over next to him.
“I—um . . .” Dark stammered. Then turned to Natasha and laughed. She smiled . . . an amazing smile. Then saved him from himself.
“It’s not easy . . . to meet people doing what we do,” she said. “We all have needs.”
“So it was just about fulfilling needs then?” he asked.
Natasha hesitated.
“You’re a good guy, Dark. I like you.”
“But . . . ?”
“But let’s not let this be the last time, okay?” Natasha smiled and then slid off the bed, grabbing her clothes. “Oh, and for the record, you still annoy me.”
Dark was about to retort when a dual
ping ping
emitted from both their phones.
ping ping
emitted from both their phones.
New York PostBreaking: Inside sources claim the NYPD has received a package from “Labyrinth”; city braces for attack.
“Please don’t be the I-told-you-so type,” Natasha said, gathering her clothes from the floor. She didn’t put her clothes back on right away, however. Instead she recovered her cell phone from the counter and started to type.
“I’m messaging one of my NYPD sources right now,” she said.
Dark took the opportunity to dress and, he wasn’t ashamed to admit, wondered if they could have gone again if their cell phones hadn’t interrupted.
“It’s legit,” Natasha said.
“When did the package arrive?” Dark asked.
“Looks like ten minutes ago.”
“And it’s already out there, in the media. Labyrinth’s tipping off reporters just to make sure nobody misses his messages.”
“Let’s go,” Natasha said. “I’ll coordinate with my NYPD contact on the way over.”
“You may want to put on a shirt,” Dark said, turning his back in faux modesty.
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