Dark Revelations (23 page)

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Authors: Duane Swierczynski,Anthony E. Zuiker

BOOK: Dark Revelations
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This wasn’t personal, Shane Corbett. Plenty of others in your line of “work” have similar vices. Is it an accident that the most corrupt, vile men run one of the most corrupt and vile industries? An industry that clearly has no right being in private hands?
But rejoice, Shane, because I’ve made you a part of the solution. It may have hurt, but in the end you’re making the world a better place. You won’t be around to see it . . . but you can die knowing that you got in on the ground floor.
chapter 40
 
DARK
 
“
T
hink I’ve got a contender here,” Natasha said.
She’d been hunched over her tablet computer and cell phone for a solid thirty minutes while Dark continued to examine the riddle and clues. Now he looked over her shoulder at the image on her tablet screen, which displayed DMV info for one Shane Wesley Corbett, twenty-eight, who had a penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side as well as a six-bedroom home in Scarsdale. Smug, handsome, fit, clean-cut.
“Who is he?”
“Corbett’s a Wall Street liaison to the U.S. Federal Reserve—one who brokered the bailout of a commodities corporation that built the system with cooked books and bilked their investors and the public out of billions. But because a total collapse would have been catastrophic to the economy, the Fed had no choice but to help. Corbett was the inside whiz kid who helped broker the deal. His name was never made public. So the only people who knew he was involved were the other insiders, of course, and my friend at the SEC.”
“Labyrinth’s good at knowing people’s dirty secrets,” Dark said. “That just doesn’t sound dirty enough. Hell, there are probably dozens of assholes who fit that description.”
“I agree. And that is not Corbett’s dirtiest secret.”
With Deckland O’Brian’s help, Natasha found that Corbett also had a set of juvenile criminal records dating back thirteen years, to when Corbett was still a sophomore in high school. Sealed by the court, but Natasha had encountered sealed records before. Seals had a funny way of opening when Global Alliance made the request.
“Twenty-seven counts of statutory rape,” Natasha said. “You were right about keeping things in the dark.”
“And Labyrinth knew about this, too. Damnit. Can we find out who else may have cracked open these records?”
“That’s O’Brian’s department. He’s doing some more digging on the plane back from South Africa.”
“Let’s find Corbett now.”
“One thing in the riddle makes sense now.”
“What’s that?” Dark asked.
“The riddle talked about ladies’ blood. Well, according to victim testimony, Corbett had a thing for virgins. It was a fetish with him. He only raped virgins, and never raped the same girl twice. One victim said he got off on looking at his own penis after the act, when it was slick with his victim’s blood.”
chapter 41
 
DARK
 
A
call to Corbett’s secretary—along with the threat of immediate arrest—yielded Corbett’s top-secret lunch plans. He was meeting a potential client at the Epoch Hotel, directly across from the World Trade Center site. Dark and Natasha took a cab to the hotel lobby, where a confused hostess said that yes, Mr. Corbett had been here, in fact she still had his umbrella—but he disappeared after sitting down.
Natasha said, “Time’s almost up, Dark. Where is he? Where did he go?”
“He’s gotta be somewhere in the hotel,” Dark said, then ran toward the front desk, showed the nervous clerk the Global Alliance badge on his cell phone, then moved around to the back and commandeered the registration computer. Dark wished O’Brian were here—computers were not his strong suit.
“Can I help?” the clerk asked.
Dark nodded.
“Do you keep records of guests who asked not to be disturbed?”
“The maids might know. They keep a cleaning schedule on their carts.”
Within minutes Dark and Natasha were in touch with the head of housekeeping, who in turn was compiling a list of rooms that had not been made up yet. Dark reasoned that Labyrinth would choose the biggest rooms available, so they narrowed down their search to suites, starting with the top floor, knocking on some, bursting through others to find either confused occupants or empty rooms.
“Is it possible he took him somewhere else?” Natasha asked.
“Possible, but why meet in a hotel?”
The search continued until something in Natasha’s bag
ding
ed. A new push notification. She pulled her tablet out and looked at the screen.
Natasha said, “There’s already a new video posted.”
 
Open on: high school yearbook photo of Shane Corbett. A voice tells us: “This is the man in charge of the American economy.” Cut to: Corbett now, in the hotel room, being confronted by the trio of angry women. “Shane Corbett. He’s a man overcome with lust. For money. For material possessions. For even the most intimate of possessions.”
 
 
Cut to: a woman, blond, twenties, slicing the adult Corbett across his outstretched palms. Blood begins to seep from the wound as he screams.
 
“Shane Corbett thought he could take it all . . .”
 
Cut to: another woman, brunette, stabbing Corbett in the back with a broken champagne glass. Corbett falls to his knees, pleading for his life, trembling.
 
“Witness the corruption of business. It is easier for a rich man to walk through the eye of a needle than to enter the kingdom of heaven. The politicians sold you out . . . to men like Shane Corbett . . .”
 
Dark and Natasha watched the video in the hallway of the thirty-sixth floor, with Natasha rewinding the footage whenever a new detail appeared.
“Look at the digital clock on the bedside table,” Dark said. “This video was shot just a few minutes ago.”
“He uploaded it from his camera,” Natasha said. “Must have prerecorded the yearbook photo, but he’s doing the narration almost live.”
The women, Dark thought, must be the women Shane Corbett raped in high school. The ones who promised their silence in exchange for a payoff. Somehow Labyrinth had found them, just like he found his other delivery boys and stand-ins. Found them and messed with their minds and brought them to this hotel—where they could exact their revenge upon Corbett as Labyrinth taped it.
But where were they?
Was Corbett still alive? And could he identify Labyrinth?
“Look,” Natasha said, freezing the image. Behind the mayhem you could see the outline of a building. Construction on the new Freedom Tower, still under way across from the Epoch Hotel. Which meant the room was facing west. And though the sun was bright through the window, almost blotting out the details, you could still make out some beams and half-finished floors. You could pinpoint the position of the room.
“Let me see that for a minute,” Dark said. Natasha handed over her tablet, then Dark put a boot through the nearest doorway and ran to the window, much to the shock of the occupants of the room, who were engaged in an act you might describe as biblical.
“Sorry,” Natasha said, then followed Dark to the window. He drew back the curtains, looked out on the construction scene, down at the tablet, then back at the construction scene again.
“Who are you people? What are you doing in here? I’m going to call security.”
Natasha, with her back to the bed, tried to calm them down.
“We’re the police, there’s been an incident, just stay where you are.”
“Police? You can’t just kick down the door, this is America!”
Dark grabbed Natasha’s arm and said, “I know where they are.”
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”
 
They were two floors up, three rooms down. By the time Dark kicked down the door and drew his gun, it was too late. Shane Corbett was on the floor, bleeding out from countless gashes and wounds, the worst of which centered on his groin. Dark kneeled down to check the vitals, but already his skin was cooling. His body felt like death. Your fingertips know it better than your brain. They immediately sensed that something was . . . missing. Blood splattered the carpet in every direction. On the bed and the couch were the women, dazed, looking out at the construction.
Natasha ran to the nearest one—a blonde—and eased the half-broken champagne glass out of her hand before asking, “Where is he?”
“He’s dead.”
“No, the man who brought you here. Where is he?”
“I came here to take it back.”
“Listen to me. A man brought you here. Checked you and the others into this room. He had a camera. Where did he go?”
Dark knew it would be no use. Whenever Labyrinth used a stand-in, he messed with their heads and their memories. Confused them into believing they were in some alternate reality, one that Labyrinth himself controlled.
They’d come within minutes of catching him—but as usual, Labyrinth had left just enough time for himself to escape.
Of course, that was assuming it
had been
Labyrinth in the room, recording the brutal murder of Shane Corbett.
The monster himself might be thousands of miles away, preparing his new package.
chapter 42
 
Brussels, Belgium
 
S
econds after the phone rang, Alain Pantin realized he had fallen asleep in his office.
He’d been so keyed up the night before, surfing Labyrinth clips and videos deep into the night, wanting to prepare for the next morning’s wave of interviews and appearances. People were already starting to build elaborate Labyrinth-related Websites, including a Wikipedia rundown of his victims, linking to documents that “proved” their guilt. Other sites expanded on Labyrinth’s nuggets of “philosophy” from his YouTube video clips. There were also sites dedicated to guessing Labyrinth’s identity, and Pantin was more than a little amused to see his own name floated as a possibility.

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