Labyrinth (12 page)

“The best I've been able to gather is that it's an international organization dedicated to bringing control of the world to the private sector through economic manipulation.”

Vaslov nodded. “Their
own
sector, actually. It all comes down to vulnerability again. If they understood ours sufficiently, they could use it against us with greater results than any bomb.”

“That would certainly fit the pattern. The Committee, some say, has bankrolled terrorist and other subversive activities in the hope of destabilizing governments and weakening their economic structure. Then they move in and take over the marketplace. Eventually they control the entire country.”

“And the rest will tumble, one at a time. Like dominoes, comrade?”

“Doubtful. Assuming the Committee really exists, they would have found the process too long and unfulfilling. You can't take over the world a little piece at a time because the little pieces don't mean shit.”

“Ah, but what of the big pieces? What if the Committee had discovered a means to successfully cripple the countries it needs to the most?”

“The United States and the Soviet Union?”

“Precisely, comrade. The Committee is patient but you're right, dominoes do take a long time to tumble. The world is changing fast these days. Something might fall in the path of the dominoes and block them. So the Committee had to find a way to strike at our nations directly.”

“You just switched to the past tense.”

“Because I believe they have already found this way.”

“Why?”

“There is talk. People have been disappearing conveniently. Funds, massive funds, have been mobilized. Money is changing hands in amounts too vast to contemplate. And all of this I think has to do with a simultaneous strike against both our nations.”

The breeze caught part of the fountain's spray and whipped it out at the two men. Dogan didn't bother to wipe his brow.

“Nuclear?” he posed.

“To provoke a war between us, Grendel? No, a war-ravaged world would not be what the business-minded people who make up the Committee would want. Their ideals have been shaped in the marketplace. They seek to control the world by controlling its resources. That is where the weapon will come from.”

“Which doesn't tell us a whole hell of a lot.”

Vaslov thought briefly, choosing his words carefully now. “Whatever strike they are about to initiate will be against something we hold in common, something that can damage us both equally. The two superpowers are what truly stand in their way. If they are to obtain global domination, our power must be neutralized. We are not vulnerable militarily, either of us. The way to strike is economically, where our shortsighted leaders have opened the door to any number of strategies.”

Dogan found the inside of his mouth was dry. “Hell of a scenario. But everything's too vague.”

“That is how the Committee works, comrade. This time, though, they may have left one of their stones turned up. It will lead us to them. Our weapon will be exposure. Once in the open, they cannot function.”

“Where is this stone?”

“Colombia. A town called San Sebastian.”

Part Three:
Cadgwith Cove, Friday Morning

Chapter 10

THE TRIP TO
Cadgwith Cove and Bruggar House, the residence of Colin Burgess, took Locke a good part of the night and left him exhausted. After leaving the Dorchester, he had found a cab, which took him to Paddington Station. There he boarded a train traveling south for the English countryside. The journey was long to begin with and the train's many stops—at Reading, Somerset, Taunton, Exeter, and Newton Abbot—had Locke's nerves even more frazzled. Rest was impossible, especially during the rocky segment between Exeter and Newton Abbot as the train passed into the wilds of Dartmoor over ancient track beds. Finally it arrived in Plymouth, where Chris boarded another train for Cornwall, disembarking at the station in Truro. A single cab waiting outside then took him the final hour-long stretch through Helston onto the Lizard and ultimately into the remote village of Cadgwith Cove.

It was two
A.M.
when the taxi rumbled up the pebble drive of a stately, ancient manor known as Bruggar House. Locke could hear the hard sea breaking on the rocks below and could smell the thick, salt air as he climbed out of the cab and paid his fare. The man drove away and a chorus of barks started up immediately inside the house.

Locke headed toward the front door, feeling as if he were stepping back in time. Bruggar House had been erected several centuries before. It was a massive, granite-stone structure rising majestically over the cliffs with a single center tower poking up at the night sky.

Locke could only hope that the worst part of his journey was not yet to come. What if Burgess, a perfect stranger, turned him away? Worse, what if Burgess wasn't at home?

Locke reached the front door. He rapped three times with the heavy brass knocker. Angry snarls and barks followed, then the sound of the dogs rushing at the door. He had lifted the knocker to rap it again when he heard the latch being undone inside. The door creaked open.

“Yes?” came a crusty, tired voice. Locke could see a hulking body just beyond the crack.

As it had turned out, the rest had been easy. All Chris had to do was mention Brian Charney's name and the door was opened wide. Flanked by growling dogs at every angle, he started his story still standing in the foyer. He didn't say much but it was enough to convince Burgess of his desperation brought on by the brutal murder of their mutual friend. The burly Englishman refused to hear more until morning. Locke was exhausted to the point of being incoherent. A good night's sleep was in order. In the morning, things would seem more clear.

Locke fell asleep as soon as his head struck the pillow, a deep rest that ended with the barking of Burgess's dogs as the mail arrived late the next morning. Chris rose, climbed back into his only clothes, and descended the staircase. The massive house was filled with the smell of strong coffee.

“I thought I heard you milling about,” Burgess greeted. “Trust you slept well.”

“Incredibly, yes.”

“Not so incredible, lad. The body knows best what it needs. Take it from an old soldier.”

“I owe you a great debt.”

The Englishman's face grew bitter. “And I owed Brian Charney an even greater one.”

Locke figured Burgess to be in his mid sixties. He had a thick crop of white hair and a face creased by experience as well as time. There were several scars too, the most prominent of which ran down his forehead through his left eyebrow. His fingers stroked it constantly. They were huge fingers, coated with a crust of farm dirt, yet they possessed a gentleness Locke could feel in Burgess's ice-blue eyes as well. They were the eyes of a man who had lost his youth but none of its ideals. His frame had sagged, though only slightly. He must have once been a mountain of a man, Locke reckoned; was still a mountain, but one that had weathered many storms. His great bulk covered the chair he sat in. He rose slightly to pour the American a steaming cup of coffee, then settled back down. His eyes were hard yet sad as well.

“Whoever got Brian will hear from me, laddy. I can promise you that much.”

“He was my friend too.”

“Then we'll hunt the bastards down together, we will!”

“Right now all I want to do is get home.”

“You mentioned Liechtenstein last night.”

Locke sipped his coffee. It was astonishingly refreshing.

“Liechtenstein is where I'm headed first,” he said. “Brian thought you could help me get there.”

“If the country's still on the map, lad, I'll get you in. Bring you right to the damn border and kill anyone who gets in our way, I will. But I'd like to know what you're on to, the thing that Brian died for.”

“I wish I could tell you. I'm just not sure.”

“You know more than you think, lad. It's just a matter of putting things together in the proper order. Let's talk things out, shall we? Tell me what got you into this.”

Locke told him everything: from accepting Charney's offer, to the encounter with the bogus Customs agent, to his meeting with Alvaradejo, which had ended in death and its equally bloody aftermath in the streets; from his desperate rendezvous in the park with Charney, to his friend's murder and as many of his final words as Locke could recall.

“Does it make sense?” Chris wondered at the end, confused and frustrated once again.

“Enough, lad, and the sense it makes is not pleasant at all.”

Locke hesitated, feeling the need to purge himself further. “He would have sacrificed me. That was his plan from the beginning.”

“It wasn't his plan, just a risk he undertook. He had faith in you, laddy. You went through the training.”

“Twenty years ago and I never finished.”

“But what you knew came back to you yesterday, didn't it? Pros like Bri and myself, laddy, pride ourselves on being able to size up a man's capabilities. The fact that you made it here shows Brian was a pretty good judge of yours. He was just doing his job, lad, and it doesn't make him any less of a friend. I worked with Bri all through the seventies. Never met a man who loved his country more.” Burgess swabbed at his watery eyes with a shirt sleeve. He cleared his throat. “Now let's try to put together the events of yesterday from the beginning. The man from Customs issued you a gun, you say.”

“On orders from Brian, he claimed. Except Brian knew nothing about it.”

“And this Colombian was your first contact and your friend Lubeck's first contact.”

Locke nodded. “Alvaradejo was the first step of the trail.”

“And Lubeck died in Colombia.”

Another nod. “A town called San Sebastian.”
The souls of San Sebastian will be avenged… .
“Lube witnessed the massacre.”

Burgess shook his head, squeezing his lips together. “We are dealing with true animals here, lad, men who have nothing to lose and obviously much to gain.”

Locke flinched. How often had he heard the word “animal” shouted at him yesterday?

“The people of San Sebastian were witnesses to something,” Burgess went on, “and had to die to keep it secret. Lubeck was killed almost surely for the same reason.” His eyes flashed. “Did the diplomat initiate contact with Lubeck?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Let's assume he did then, lad. Obviously he knew something, had heard something, and alerted Lubeck to whatever it was that took him to Liechtenstein. The animals knew he had followed a trail to San Sebastian but they didn't know what it was. Then you ventured into the scene, lad, assigned to pick up that very trail.”

“Wait a minute,” Locke interrupted. “How could they have known about me? My assignment was deep cover.”

“Such assignments must go through channels, lad, and all channels have leaks. These animals seem capable of anything.” Burgess leaned forward, resting his huge forearms on the table. “You venture in and the animals see a marvelous opportunity to fill in the trail Lubeck uncovered by using you as the shovel. Somehow they leak word to the Colombian that the men who butchered this town and killed Lubeck are on to him and are sending a killer.”

Locke nodded. “Me.”

“Then these animals of ours arranged for you to be given a gun, knowing you would be forced to use it in self-defense.”

“And Alvaradejo obviously thought I was part of something bigger because he addressed me in the plural. But what if I had failed?”

“Then you'd be dead and the animals would have dealt with the Colombian themselves and devised another way to come up with the rest of Lubeck's trail.”

Locke thought briefly. “But Alvaradejo must have been part of something bigger too. The men who chased me spoke Spanish as well, shouted the same phrases and accusations he did.”

Burgess fingered his scar. “Then they must be organized. The bit with the taxi driver was not an easy stunt to pull off.”

“So we're dealing with two forces here.”

“At least, lad, but the animals are our prime concern. These others—Alvaradejo's people—are dangerous yet not nearly as professional; professionals do not shout in the streets.”

“And what about Brian?” Locke asked with a lump in his throat.

The Englishman's stare went rigid. “Between your desperate phone call and meeting in the park, he went searching for answers. Apparently the answers found him first.”

They‘re everywhere, everything… .

“He said they were everywhere, that the world would be theirs unless they were stopped,” Locke muttered. “Christ, they could have killed me at any time.”

“But instead they chose to use you, lad. Your friend Lubeck uncovered a trail that died with him. But it can still do the animals great harm if someone else uncovers it. Alvaradejo was the first step, Liechtenstein the second. By following you, they cover their tracks.”

“Then who was waiting for me in the hotel?”

“More of the Colombian's friends probably. It was the animals that killed Charney, though, because he got too close to them.”

Locke drained a hefty gulp of his coffee. The caffeine was recharging him, but as Burgess dug deeper into his story, his fear deepened along with his sense of helplessness.

“So by going to Liechtenstein,” he concluded, “I'll be aiding the cause of those Brian said had to be destroyed.”

Burgess shook his head. “Before, maybe.” He tapped his still-massive chest with an index finger. “But now you have me. I'll show you what you need to know to stay one step ahead. They will keep you alive so long as you fill a need. We must use that to our advantage, lad. Also they have no idea now where you're headed next. Time is on our side and we must take advantage of that too.” Burgess leaned back and crossed his arms. “You said something about Brian drawing a connection between the events.”