Labyrinth (34 page)

The leader knew he was dying but managed to raise the pistol toward his captive, pouring all his remaining strength into the effort required to pull the trigger. He started to squeeze.

“NOOOOOOOOO!”

The leader never heard the drawn-out scream as the intruder rushed into the room, machine pistol blasting away. He felt his own trigger give, heard the blast as life was stripped away from him.

Locke kept the Mac-10's barrel tilted at the sprawled body. The trigger clicked empty as he moved through the room.

Please let me be on time. Oh, God, please …
.

Tied to a chair in the rear of the room was Greg, head slumped on a filthy blue T-shirt. Chris's heart sank in his chest as he crept nearer. The boy was dead. He had been too late.

Then he realized the T-shirt was moving, expanding regularly with Greg's breathing. He was alive!
Thank God!

Chris hugged him tight, feeling with disgust the ropes that bound him.

“Greg,” he said softly, almost sobbing, “Greg, can you hear me?”

The boy's face fell limply to his father's shoulder. He was unconscious, but he was alive. The beating of the boy's heart against his own chest was the most welcome sensation Locke had ever felt.

The tears of relief started to come and Chris let them.

Darkness was Shang's friend. His training en route to becoming the most dangerous man in China had dealt plenty with working in it, and now the giant almost preferred it to light. His eyes could adjust quickly and see things no other man could, which made the darkness his ally.

He huddled inside the door and waited. He had been waiting for some time now but the training had taught him infinite patience. He would kill the famous Grendel with his bare hands in the darkness.

A key turned in the lock outside. Shang tensed with anticipation. A wave of peace swept over him as the door started to open. Dogan's figure was entering the room now, his key still protruding from a gloved hand. His fingers felt for the light switch. Shang acted.

He grabbed his victim from behind at the head, hoping to snap the neck quickly and simply. But suddenly Grendel's hands came up hard, acting as a barrier as he twisted for a counter-move. They faced each other in the darkness, each searching for an advantage on the other. A slight edge was all that was required to turn the tables.

Shang felt Grendel go for his eyes, a foolish move really because it forced him to overreach and allowed the giant to come under and find his throat. Shang shoved him viciously backward until Grendel's head smacked against plaster. Then, as Dogan writhed and clawed desperately, the giant joined both his hands beneath his chin and jammed it upward and back.

There was a crunching snap, Dogan's body going first rigid and then limp, his head sliding toward the middle of his back.

Shang let the American's frame slip down to the carpeting. Then he twisted the neck one last time just to make sure the job was done.

Chapter 27

“MAJOR PETE'S GONNA BE
a little late, louie,” Calvin Roy told deputy National Security adviser Louis Auschmann. “Some kind of emergency came up. We'll get started without him. You read my memo?”

Auschmann nodded. “You really think it's the Secretary?”

“Back where I come from, son, they say a bull carries his brains in his balls so it's pretty easy to tell what he's got for smarts. Same way with Van Dam. It all fits. Locke got himself fingered 'fore he even left Washington, way I figure it. And Van Dam was the only one in the department besides me and Charney who knew about the deployment.”

“That's not a lot to go on.”

“It got me started thinking, though, and when Charney's file got tampered with, I got downright pissed. Only somebody with control of a lot of strings coulda pulled that one. It was done too clean and all evidence of the tampering was knocked off the computer. That takes high-level clearance, Louie, the highest. It had to be Van Dam.”

“Then you took a hell of a chance laying everything out for him.”

“'Cause he's part of somethin' much bigger, and if I'm gonna trap the rest of the maggots, I gotta have bait. This whole mess has been too clean from the beginning. Charney gets himself killed and Locke takes off all over Europe leaving bodies everywhere without getting himself caught or killed. He couldn't have gotten that far unless somebody wanted him to.”

“Why?”

“That's what I'm hoping the Secretary will tell us … one way or another.”

“What do you make of MI-6's report on picking up Locke?” Auschmann wondered.

“Shit stains don't wash out too easy, Louie, and that's what their story's got all over it. They had Locke and lost him. That somebody is tryin' awful hard to see he ain't caught.” Roy started tapping a pen against his desk blotter. “They yanked his son and the boy's probably good as buried now, and I got me a feeling lots more people are gonna be joining him unless we get some answers real soon.”

Auschmann thought briefly. “Van Dam won't talk.”

“Yeah. So I already got the President to approve a detailed investigation into his movements in the last few months. Way I see it, he musta made a few stops on the sly at wherever this mess is centered.”

“Those things take time.”

“We're movin' extra fast. We've also got a tap on his private line and a couple men watching every move he makes hoping he leads us to the rest of the maggots.”

The phone rang. Roy picked it up.

“It's Kennally, Cal,” the head of the CIA said over the private line. “You'll be hearing from the President soon enough, but I figured I'd let you know first under the circumstances. You just became Secretary of State. David Van Dam's dead.”

Roy wasn't surprised at all. “Shot himself, did he, Major Pete?”

“Not unless he held the trigger long enough to empty a dozen bullets into his gut. Somebody just assassinated him.”

“Chris, we've got to get out of here.”

Nikki's voice lifted Locke from his trance. He eased the still-unconscious Greg away from him and his eyes fell on the blood-caked bandage enclosing his left hand.

“Whatever happens, I'm not leaving the boy,” he said. “Not again.”

Her voice way strangely calm. “He needs medical attention and a safe refuge. We can't provide either.”

“I'm not leaving him,” Locke persisted.

“There's a doctor in the Devon countryside. I've used him before. He's reliable … and trustworthy.”

Locke started working the ropes free. “Fine. Let's go visit him. But I'm staying with Greg the whole time.”

“Then you'll be taking the very real risk of leading the Committee back to him. I can't protect you forever.”

“Just another few days is all I ask, long enough to get us back to the States.”

“You can't run from them, Chris. It's too late.”

Locke swung toward her. “Wait a minute, you're part of the damned Committee. Or are you?”

“Yes. And no. Everything's changed. There's a splinter faction led by the man who kidnapped your son and tortured you. He's out of control. We're trying to stop him, but it's got to be done our way.”

“Great. Be sure to send me a postcard and let me know how things turn out.”

“His only chance to stay alive is if we win, Chris. Yours too. We need you.”

“Why?”

“I … can't explain now. Just trust me. We'll take the boy to the doctor in Devon. He'll be safe there.”

Chris felt himself wavering. “I want guards around him, lots of them.”

Nikki shook her head. “No. The more men we alert, the greater the chances that your son will be found. The doctor will handle everything. He's well versed in these matters. You've just got to trust me,” she repeated.

“You still haven't explained why.”

“Everything will be clear in the morning.”

“In the morning?”

She nodded. “We're going to Austria.”

The doctor's house was nestled comfortably in the countryside of Devon, totally isolated from civilization. The doctor was an old man with a wizened face and flowing white hair. Greg hadn't regained consciousness when they arrived, nor did he during the old man's initial examination. He was a survivor of a German concentration camp, and he understood pain and the people who brought it. He would protect the boy with his life, he promised staunchly, and with the lives of his sons: a pair of brawny youths turned hard and strong by years of living off the land. Both handled guns quite well. Greg would be safe there and could remain as long as necessary.

Chris left detailed instructions on what to do with the boy if he failed to return. The doctor said not to worry, he would handle everything, though he said he could tell by Locke's eyes that he would return. Nothing was going to stop him, the old man claimed, he could tell from experience.

Chris and Nikki's next stop was a country inn ten miles up the road. They were both exhausted and in need of food. They registered as a married couple, and a large tip to the sleepy clerk who doubled as a cook gained them four sandwiches, which they gobbled gratefully. Nikki grasped Locke's arm tightly on the way to their room, resting her head tenderly against his shoulder. The facade ended as soon as they were inside.

“We can't take any chances,” she explained. “We're sitting ducks here if anyone makes us. We've got to play the part of the married couple to the fullest. I know how the men after us work. We might be watched anywhere, anytime.” She looked toward the room's single bed. “That means we sleep together.”

“At last, the light at the end of the tunnel… .”

“That's as far as it will go,” she snapped.

“Just joking, young lady. Christ, you're young enough to be my daughter. And this may surprise you but, that luscious body of yours aside, sex is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“I didn't mean it that way,” she apologized softly. “You just don't understand.”

“
What
don't I understand, Nikki?”

She looked away, saying nothing.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“I'm not talking about names. I want to know who you are. Your accent's clearly American but I've got a feeling you're not exactly a citizen.” When Nikki made no response, Locke continued. “Those
Kukhri
knives you're so adept with, you know how the Gurkhas used them in World War II, don't you? They were great warriors, almost mystical, I've heard. They used to sneak into German camps at night, right into a tent where two soldiers slept. They'd cut off the head of one—just one—so the other would wake up in the morning to see his buddy's head looking at him from his chest. Played hell with German morale, not to mention their sleeping habits. Anyway, no matter what steps the Nazis took, the Gurkhas still made their mark. You know when I knew the Falklands War was over? When it was announced the British were sending a boatload of Gurkhas into the battle.” Locke hesitated. “I guess I'm telling you this because you're like a Gurkha, aren't you? Cold and deadly. Nothing can stop you, or change you. I'm right, aren't I?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“I think it does.”

She turned toward him suddenly. “Would you like to hear about all my years of training? Would you like to hear what I was doing while most girls my age were going to finishing school and worrying about boyfriends? I was fifteen when it started, almost twelve years ago. Training camps in the Soviet Union and Libya—that's where it started. Then came individual instruction from masters in some rather unique disciplines.”

“Deadly as well as unique, it seems.”

“Yes, deadly!” she said, eyes narrowing. “It was a question of beliefs. I felt what we were doing was right. I grew up with the ideals. Our actions were necessary. Sacrifices had to be made.”

“Sacrifices? Listen, lady, who the hell do you think you are? My son almost died today and as it is he's going to go through life with one less finger than everyone else. So don't talk to me about your damned sacrifices. More than two hundred people died at San Sebastian and lots of them were children too. Thanks for saving my life, but the people you work for are still animals. Only animals kill children.”

“I agree,” Nikki said softly. “Times changed and we thought it was necessary to change with them. We went too far. We recruited a man who was a specialist in organized terror and violence.”

“Good-looking dark guy with a Chinese ape for a pet?”

Nikki nodded. “His name's Mandala.”

Chris held up the hand Shang had worked on. The bandage had slipped off and hung filthy around his wrist. The enlarged, poorly set fingers looked even worse than the day before.

“I've had the pleasure, remember?”

“Mandala, we believe, has moved out on his own,” she told him. “He's taken Tantalus and changed it to his own liking. We're just starting to put things together now.”

“The best strategy would seem to be canceling the operation altogether.”

“It's too late. The operation's already reached the stage where Mandala was to take over. So we're going to try to beat him and salvage it at the same time. To abandon the operation now would have catastrophic consequences.”

Locke jumped from the bed and walked to the dresser, his head starting to pound. “I don't believe I'm hearing this. You sound like your people are out to save the world, pure philanthropists. Well, that's bullshit. I've seen too much, heard too much to buy it. The Committee's only out for itself. We're talking about self-interest in its purest form.”

“We're offering the world order.”

“That's what the Nazis said, my girl.”

“You don't understand, you're not even trying. Look around you, Chris. The world's being horribly mismanaged. People live only for today with no thought of tomorrow or the day after. Leaders are transients; their rushed, ill-conceived policies are never given a chance to work. People are poor, hungry, frustrated, and it's getting worse. In twenty years half the countries on Earth will have their own hydrogen bomb, and tell me somebody won't use it when the supply channels finally dry up and their people demand action. Tell me the time isn't right for the stability we promise.”