Labyrinth (31 page)

“The Committee's no ghost. Nobody can see it because that's the way it functions. But you've heard of it, haven't you?”

“Rumors, just rumors.”

“That's the way they want it, damn it! That's how they've been able to go undetected for so long.”

Burgess looked back at him. “And what is it they're about to do now?”

Locke hesitated. Burgess seemed to read his mind.

“Wondering why you should trust me, right? What if I'm the imposter and the other Burgess was the real thing? Here, check my ID again. I've got a flashlight somewhere in the front to let you study it letter by letter.”

Burgess started to reach into his jacket but Locke stopped him.

“Don't bother. Fake identifications must be child's play for the Committee.”

“Then I'll have this car take us straight to Whitehall in London, right to MI-6 headquarters. Or would you prefer Downing Street and the Prime Minister herself? Afraid they might have built a replica of her house, mate?”

“I wouldn't put it past them, not after what I've seen and heard this past week. I trust you because everything finally makes sense. They had to be aware of my movements while keeping me isolated at the same time. The other Burgess had to be one of theirs, I see that now. Otherwise, they never could have arranged for Felderberg's death so conveniently and left me holding the bag.”

“Felderberg was connected with this?”

“Indirectly. He acted as a middleman for the Committee without realizing whom he was acting for.”

Burgess was nodding feverishly in the half light. “Yes, yes, that fits. He was killed the same day you were placed in Liechtenstein. Go on. Go on!”

“He confirmed the key to the entire operation was food—crops, to be specific. The Committee was buying up huge amounts of land in South America.”

“Why—”

“I'll explain the details later. What Felderberg didn't grasp was the significance of these investments. He sent me to the Dwarf in Florence. The Committee would have followed me to him as well if it wasn't for Dogan.”

“Dogan!” Burgess roared. “How does Grendel enter into this?”

“Apparently he was assigned to kill me but realized I was the wrong target. He went to South America to check out a lead that started this whole thing.”

“My Lord,” Burgess sighed, “what did Brian drag you into?”

“I'm not sure, not of all of it anyway. It's all centered around something called Tantalus, some sort of plot to destroy the U.S. economy.”

“Did you say ‘destroy'?”

Locke nodded. “And when it's done the Committee plans to replace us as the number-one crop producer in the world. I was at a plant in Liechtenstein where they've come up with a way to drastically speed up crop growth. I
saw
the results.”

“And this Tantalus?”

“Still bathed in darkness, unfortunately. But Dogan should be returning soon with more answers.” Locke felt his muscles stiffen. “We'll have to get to him. The plan was for him to meet me in Rome. But the Committee penetrated my cover. The other Burgess obviously passed on the false name I was traveling under.” Chris held the real Burgess's weary eyes. “All the more reason for me to trust you.”

Burgess nodded. “I didn't get myself assigned to this detail for nothing, mate. I knew you held the key to finding Brian's killers. Now we'll bring the bastards down. I'll have the wheels in motion by tomorrow morning, even tonight. Just let me get everything straight.”

“You can't destroy them. They're too big.”

“Exposure will do for a start. It'll give us time to operate.”

“What about Dogan?”

“Leave that to me.”

Chris touched his mangled fingers. “They'll spare nothing to find him … and us.”

Burgess glanced down at the bandage. “Broke your fingers, did they, mate?”

“How did—”

“Simple. It's a crude torture and usually quite an effective one when used on amateurs.” He regarded Locke closely. “It seems they underestimated you.”

“I got lucky.”

“In this business there's no such thing as luck.”

They were almost to Plymouth. Locke rested his head against the back of the seat.

“The other Burgess told me he—you—were responsible for my mother's capture. Is …”

Burgess nodded. “Yes, mate, it's true. I caught her, all right. Those were difficult times. A man wasn't always able to be a gentleman.”

“I understand,” Chris said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “She deserved to die for what she did.”

Burgess's eyes went blank. “She escaped.”

“She
what
?”

“You heard me. We hanged someone else in her place. Too much publicity to do otherwise, you understand. Morale in the country was low enough as it was. We couldn't let on the truth. There were only a few of us who knew it anyway. I authorized the switch. It wasn't a public execution, so there were no witnesses.”

“You're saying she escaped England
alive
?”

“No. I'm just saying she wasn't hanged. Our people caught up with her again at a farmhouse the Germans had been using as a pickup point. It was quite a battle. No survivors on their part. We used explosives in the end. Whole house burned. Not a board left standing by the time it was over.”

“Her body?”

“Nothing left, like I said. I'm the last one left alive who knew the truth. I figured you deserved to hear it.” Burgess closed his eyes. “Those were bad days, awful ones. I thought when they were over I'd seen the worst.” The eyes opened again. “Now you've made me wonder.”

Locke felt more secure almost as soon as the two cars passed into Plymouth. Somehow returning to a big city comforted him, especially when they approached Holiday Inn's familiar logo. He almost felt at home.

Though not comparable to the Dorchester, Armada Way's Holiday Inn was Plymouth's finest hotel. Burgess explained that Locke would go through an initial debriefing period there. The risk of moving him at this stage had become too great. The involvement of the Committee in what was going on merited a change in strategy.

Two of Burgess's men stayed outside while the other two accompanied Locke and the MI-6 man across the lobby into the hotel's finest restaurant. The lighting was bright and there were plenty of windows looking out at the darkened city. They were ushered to a table against a wall in the rear, similar in placement to the one Charney had chosen in The Tombs a week before. Locke noticed that it was impossible for shots fired from beyond the windows to reach them. And Burgess left two men on guard at the restaurant entrance.

The MI-6 man sat down with his back against the wall and signaled Locke to take the chair adjacent to instead of across from his. Burgess waved an approaching waiter away and leaned across the table.

“I want to hear everything now, mate. From the beginning.”

Locke told the story yet another time, sparing none of the details and focusing especially on the information passed on by Felderberg and the Dwarf. Burgess interrupted occasionally with questions, and it was a half hour before Chris had brought him up to the moment the cab had dropped him around the corner from the girl's house in Falmouth.

“Who was she?” Locke wondered as Burgess finally signaled for the waiter to come over and take their order.

“Nobody. Just someone … the Committee set in place to back up Burgess's cover, the fake Burgess, that is.”

“Why not just use him as the contact?”

“Too direct.” Burgess ran a hand through his thinning silver hair. There were bags under his eyes. “They didn't want you able to contact the imposter at every whim because that would have meant more questions, and sooner or later doubts might have sprouted in your mind.”

“They protected me for as long as it suited their needs.”

“But something made them change their minds rather abruptly, as your hand there indicates. Something unexpected, I would guess.”

“Dogan,” Locke surmised. “He pulled me right out from under them, in effect replacing Burgess as my guide. They hadn't figured on his presence, or of anyone helping me or believing me for that matter.”

Burgess nodded somberly. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Word has been put out—very subtly, you understand—that Grendel is an outcast and not to be trusted. His credibility is gone. His own people have disowned him. In our line of work, it's called a quarantine order, restricted status in this case.”

“There's got to be somebody he can go to.”

“There weren't many people to begin with. Dogan's assignments were strictly deep-cover field operations through something called Division Six… .”

“He told me.”

“Well, officially, Division Six doesn't exist and neither does Grendel. If he walked into the CIA tomorrow, no one besides the director would know who he was.”

The waiter arrived again and Burgess ordered for both of them, Chris just nodding his acceptance.

“I, on the other hand,” Burgess went on after the waiter departed, “have the backing and support of an entire government at my disposal.”

“It isn't enough.”

“To bring down one criminal organization? Think again.”

“The Committee is no ordinary organization. They've remained undetected for this long by eliminating anyone who had the potential to do damage.”

Burgess smiled confidently. “They never dealt with the power of MI-6 before, mate. I could have a squadron of Special Air Service commandoes standing by with one phone call.”

“And send them where? To do what? The enemy's invisible, a ghost, remember? You can't destroy what you can't see.”

“That Chinese giant who ruined your fingers was visible enough and so are the rest. The Committee's just people, and people can be killed. If all else fails, that's what necessity will dictate.”

“You'll have to find them first.”

Burgess nodded. “You've given us plenty of places to start looking: Felderberg was right about Austria; it sounds like their base of operations all right. We'll just have to narrow things down a bit. The clues will be there. They're probably in your words and I haven't caught them yet.” He leaned over closer to Locke. “I'm going to put in a call to London now. An hour from now this hotel will be swarming with my people. We'll begin our assault from here.”

Burgess started to stand up. Locke grasped him on the forearm.

“What about my son?”

Burgess shrugged. “That's a tough one, mate. He's the only leverage they've got over you, which should keep him alive.”

“Leverage to insure what?” Locke demanded. “That I don't talk, right? Well, I've done that. I've told you all I know, which means the leverage doesn't mean shit anymore. It's superfluous and so is the life of my son!”

The MI-6 man sat back in his chair. “Calm down. They can't know we've made contact.”

“Unless they were watching the house, waiting for me just as you were. They killed the girl, Colin. They knew that's where I was headed and they killed her. Maybe as a warning, I don't know.”

“You're giving them an awful lot of credit.”

“Brian said they were everywhere. I think I'm beginning to understand him. They've penetrated important levels of governments everywhere and that's just the beginning.
Nothing
is beyond their capabilities.”

Burgess stood up quickly this time, looking shaken. “I'm going to make that phone call now, and I'm going to pray you're wrong. But even if you're right, I know the right people to marshal a force against them. We'll beat them, mate, you'll see.”

The MI-6 man moved from the table, then out of the restaurant into the lobby. His two men held their positions on either side of the door. Locke gulped his water, reached over and drained Burgess's as well. His mind was racing. The Committee could not be destroyed through normal measures but it was vulnerable. Otherwise, the dark man and Shang would not have appeared in his hotel room. The Committee was effective only when its control was total. That, though, was no longer the case. Locke had slipped from their grasp and Dogan had entered the scene, and they certainly seemed scared of Dogan. They
could
be beaten, especially if Burgess reached the right people in British intelligence. His phone call would not take long. He would be returning shortly and—

Locke glanced up toward the restaurant entrance. The two guards were gone from their posts. He felt the rise of anxiety in his stomach and fought to steady himself. Perhaps they had followed Burgess into the lobby. Their job was to protect him, not Locke. That must be it.

Chris waited. He'd give it another few minutes and then check the lobby himself.

The waiter brought their salads, set Locke's down in front of him and Burgess's before an empty chair. Chris turned a fork through the lettuce. Still no Burgess. He strained his eyes, trying to see further into the lobby, feeling the grip of panic seize him tighter.

Locke lowered his head and massaged his eyelids, trying to keep calm. He opened his eyes again and looked at the restaurant entrance.

A girl was approaching. He recognized her. Blond hair, dressed in jeans. It was Nikki!

“Hey, fancy meeting you here!” she said when she reached his table.

“Look, I—”

“Keep quiet,” she said in a suddenly serious tone. Her face had taken on a new expression, which made her look totally different. Older somehow.

“Who are—”

“I said keep quiet. Just listen. Your friend and his men are finished. They got them. But we can still get out if we move fast. Through the kitchen. Don't move until I tell you to.”

“Tell me who you are.”

“Your fairy godmother. I've saved your life twice already, three times now. You really should be more careful.”