Labyrinth (36 page)

Shang lifted Thurmond higher. He squeezed harder and a crackling sound filled the room as the cartilage lining the big Brit's throat gave way. When it was over and his feet dangled limply, Shang tossed him away like a rag doll.

Mandala was already moving from the room. He had no time to waste in finding the old bitch.

“Come, Shang, it's over,” he called to the giant. “Nothing she can do can stop us now.”

Vaslov had been up most of the night pursuing some vital information from his suite in the Hotel Du Rhone in Geneva. Still, he looked none the worse for wear and was enjoying a light breakfast when a knock came to the door.

Right on time, the Russian thought, as he moved to answer it.

“Come in, comrade,” he said to the figure standing in the doorway. “It's good to see you alive.”

“I'm full of surprises,” returned Ross Dogan, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 29

“YOU MUST TELL ME
how you managed the trick,” Vaslov said.

Dogan sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Fortune's the residue of design, as they say. I had nothing to do with it. A man named Keyes was sent to dispatch me. He got into the room I was supposed to meet Locke in. Someone was waiting. The killer thought it was me and that was that.”

“Keyes … the man you saved me from in Paris?”

“The very same.”

“How unfortunate,” noted Vaslov with no regret in his voice.

Dogan had called the Russian from Rome as soon as he learned what had happened at the hotel. They had set up this meeting. From the hotel, Dogan had gone straight back to the airport, where he boarded the next plane from Rome to Geneva. He had gotten in just thirty minutes before.

“You're certain our friends on the Committee are not pursuing you, comrade?” Vaslov asked.

“They probably still think I'm dead. Keyes was killed in the dark. We're almost the same size and shape. It's unlikely the killer had ever met me before, and there aren't many pictures of me floating around either.”

“I have one,” boasted Vaslov. “Showed it to my daughter last Christmas. She's quite taken with you, comrade.” His face grew somber. “What of Locke?”

Dogan's eyes lowered. “I can't be sure but I think they got him this time. Their intelligence was too tight for him to slip through again. The body of my contact at the hotel turned up last night.”

“Unfortunate. I would have liked to hear what the Dwarf passed on to our college professor.”

“It couldn't be more than I learned in San Sebastian.”

“Especially concerning this SAS-Ultra group. Last night I discovered that three agents from another KGB Directorate had infiltrated the group in an attempt to influence them toward our politics. It was from these I was able to learn the present location of this man Masvidal.”

“Where is he?” Dogan asked eagerly, marveling at Vaslov's professional prowess. The man was a true master of his craft.

“You're not going to believe it, comrade, but he's here! In Geneva! Staying at …” Vaslov consulted a piece of paper he had scribbled notes on. “… the De la Paix across town. He must be here for the hunger conference, which will begin Monday. Perhaps he has an agenda of his own to present.”

“But he can't go public with what he knows. He's a terrorist.”

“What other choice does he have now, comrade? Perhaps he will have South American diplomats do his talking for him. Better yet,” Vaslov theorized, “maybe he is planning to use his people to disrupt the conference. How ironic that he might be doing exactly what the Committee wants him to… .”

“No,” said Dogan, “we were wrong about that. The Committee never did have a strike planned against the hunger conference. They want it to go on. They want the world's attention drawn to the issue of food, an issue so desperate that the United States and Soviet Union are about to join forces in dealing with it. Unless I miss my guess, the Committee's operation will go into effect early next week to coincide with the beginning of the conference. Suddenly in a world concerned about a means to better feed itself, reports will surface of massive crop destruction in the fields of the world's largest crop producer. A climate of panic will be created.”

“The perfect atmosphere for the Committee to strike… .”

“And the crop destruction will continue unchecked even as the second phase of their operation—planting their rapid-growing crops in South America—gets underway. Within three months, they will be ready to start shipping, effectively taking the place of North America in the marketplace.”

“At the time when the world has no alternative but to turn to them,” Vaslov completed. “Brilliant. But what of the words of that woman you killed in San Sebastian? If there is validity to them, matters might be complicated considerably.”

“There's validity, all right. The woman thought I was part of the Committee, which meant she must have represented a different part. And it's not her words that bother me as much as the presence of her and the other killers in the first place. They weren't dispatched to eliminate us, they were already in the area.”

“Expecting your arrival perhaps?”

“More likely standing guard over San Sebastian.”

“Dead towns do not require guards, comrade.”

“There's something very much alive down there, something I got too close to. And whatever it is, it's tied into the part of the Committee those killers represented.”

“So the Committee has become factionalized. What is it they say, divide and conquer?”

“Except this time we had nothing to do with the dividing and I'm not sure it'll make conquering the Committee any easier. That's why I have to speak with Masvidal. This is a war now and he has access to the troops we need. The problem is we're running out of time.”

Vaslov raised his thick eyebrows. “I may be able to help us there. In the last thirty-six hours, a series of well-timed, brutally elaborate executions of important men have taken place all over the globe. The American Secretary of State was one, a ranking KGB scientific specialist another. The killings cannot be random. There must be a connection.”

“The work of the Committee?”

“If you count killing off its own members, yes, comrade,” Vaslov affirmed. “It's the only possible common denominator among the victims. As you said, the divisions in the Committee are already there. One faction, perhaps, is taking steps to destroy another. An old regime toppling, a new one emerging; we Russians are experts on such happenings.”

“What does that gain us, though?”

“Precisely the question I asked myself last night. If these men were in fact Committee members, they would have had to meet somewhere together on various occasions.”

“Locke said Austria.”

“Indeed, and my computers are at work now, comrade, trying to narrow things down a bit. Men this important cannot simply vanish. There will be clues, references, patterns left to uncover. Mileage on rental cars, vouchers, arrival and departure times—everything is being analyzed. My experts assure me we will have an answer shortly.”

“We'd better,” Dogan told him.

Masvidal returned from breakfast and inspected the electronic seals he had left on the door.

All the seals had been broken, evidence that someone had been or was still inside. Masvidal looked closer. The breaks had been recent. Yes, the intruder was probably still within. Only an amateur would have disregarded all his precautions. Masvidal yanked his pistol from beneath his jacket. Amateurs died the same way as professionals.

He unlocked the door silently and burst into his room in one swift motion, expecting to catch the intruder totally off guard. But he didn't catch the intruder at all because none was present in the room.

“Drop it” came a voice from behind him.

Masvidal considered a quick turn and shot but the voice was too seasoned, too precise to challenge.

“I said drop it.”

Masvidal complied.

“Now raise your hands and turn around slowly.”

Dogan kicked the door closed behind him, as Masvidal turned and met his eyes. For some reason Dogan had expected someone colder. As it was, only the eyepatch gave the SAS-Ultra leader even the semblance of a sinister appearance. He looked more tired than anything, like a broken boxer who's tried the ring a few too many times. His face was littered with small scars and one long one that ran from his left jaw through his chin. His one eye was ice blue, almost hypnotic in its reflective gaze.

“I know you,” Masvidal said, his one eye boring into Dogan. “You were in the lobby this morning. At the front desk. If you came here to kill me, you should have acted while my back was turned.”

“I haven't come here to kill you. I need you to listen to me.”

“Except you have the advantage on me.”

“The name's Dogan. And you can put your hands down. Slowly.”

Masvidal lowered his arms, surprise showing on his features.

“The famous Grendel? I am honored. Who sent you after me?”

“No one. Now kick your gun over here.”

Masvidal did as he was told. “You're free-lancing then. I didn't realize there was such a hefty price on my head.”

“I'm no bounty hunter. I'm here because I need your help. I'm here about San Sebastian.”

The color drained from Masvidal's face, but the long scar glowed red. “You know about …”

“I was there.”

The man's hands clenched into fists. “I swore I wouldn't rest until we had revenge.”

“Forget about revenge. You don't know what you're up against here.”

“I know about a group calling itself the Committee. I know they were trying to destroy South America when we committed ourselves to destroying them.”

“Be glad you got that far, but it goes much deeper. San Sebastian was a field test for two major experiments: rapid crop growth and even faster crop destruction.”

“One of our people witnessed that the day of the massacre. He didn't know what it meant.”

“The beginning of the end of America as a global economic power. Buying up the countries you're fighting for has given the Committee the land they need to take over the market.”

Masvidal looked shaken. Clearly this was beyond anything he had considered.

“I learned about San Sebastian because an American agent also witnessed the massacre and sent a report,” Dogan continued. “Another man was sent out in his place to pick up the trail he uncovered. London, Liechtenstein—am I making myself clear?”

“The man we tried to kill… . I had my suspicions about him from the beginning. His moves were too random to be professional. But he managed quite well to stay alive.”

“Only because it suited the interests of the people actually controlling his movements, the same ones who were behind San Sebastian and the takeover of your lands. They needed to know where the leaks were. With Locke's help, they started plugging them.”

“Were they aware of our commitment to fight them?”

“They must have known some organized group was standing against their interests in South America, and another of Locke's unwitting duties was to show them which. Since you're relatively new, and independent, they had no pipeline into you as they have into other similar groups. I would imagine you had them quite frustrated. But by now, almost surely, they've discovered it's SAS-Ultra who's their enemy.”

“Then why haven't they struck at us?”

“They're waiting for the right time. The Committee never moves on impulse.”

Masvidal's mind worked frantically, trying to assimilate all the information Dogan was passing on. It answered many of the questions that had so frustrated him for months. Still, he wasn't convinced.

“You said you needed my help,” he said suspiciously.

Dogan nodded. “I've got an associate who's just about to come up with the location of a prime Committee stronghold, possibly even their headquarters. I want to storm it. I need men.”

“Why not get them from your own CIA?” Masvidal asked with his one eye narrowed.

“Because all of a sudden someone on the Committee wanted Locke dead and I was assigned to do the job. I decided on my own not to. That got the wrong people pissed off. My own superiors had to punish me for not following orders and the Committee was worried I'd interfere with their plans. So I ended up under a restricted quarantine. My file's been deactivated. I don't exist anymore.”

“How convenient,” Masvidal noted. “Your tale is quite convincing, almost too convincing. You didn't kill me before, Grendel, but if you had, the identities and location of my people would have died with me. So perhaps you concocted a story that would convince me to join you. That way, once my people were out in the open, yours could have us all.”

“I don't have any people.”

“So you say. CIA deep-cover agents rarely come to terrorists for help. You're asking me to take a risk that might threaten the entire existence of SAS-Ultra.”

Dogan shrugged. “If I were in your place, I'd feel the same way. No words will convince you. Maybe this will.” He turned his gun away from Masvidal and tossed it to him. The terrorist snatched it out of the air with surprise. Then Dogan kicked the pistol on the floor back to him as well. “Now the roles are reversed. You have the gun and I am your hostage. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say.”

Masvidal held the gun but didn't point it. “Go on.”

“You're here to attempt to expose what's going in South America at the hunger conference, aren't you?”

Masvidal made no response.

“You'll probably try to do it through diplomats you trust. You'll set up meetings, tell them everything you know in the hope they will bring these horrible injustices to the conference floor. So to expose the Committee you first have to expose yourself, and that's when they'll strike, possibly through the very diplomats you feel you can trust. They'll strike before you have the opportunity to resort to a more active form of disruption. The reach of the Committee extends everywhere. It's the way they work.”