Labyrinth

Chapter 3

Annja tried to blink and realized something had been tied around her head, over her eyes. A blindfold. Had she passed out during the trip? She felt strangely rested, but she could also tell there were some lingering effects from the drug Greene had shot her with.

Her legs ached and Annja tried to stretch them out. She kicked something solid.

“So, you’re awake.”

Annja propped herself into a sitting position. “Can I take this off?”

“Your hands aren’t tied. You can do whatever you like.”

“In that case, I want to go home,” Annja said. But she reached up and pulled the blindfold off. The interior of the van was still dark. Judging from the hum of the engine, Annja figured they must have been cruising along at about seventy miles per hour. Fast enough to get to their western Massachusetts destination within a few hours, but slow enough not to provoke any police they’d be passing on the highway.

Smart.

In the darkness, she saw a match flare followed by the red glow of what had to be a cigarette. Greene’s face was briefly illuminated before it went dark again. He was sitting in the backseat with her.

Annja stared. “You smoke cigarettes?” Somehow that seemed directly contradictory to Greene’s avowed mission of saving the planet.

Greene inhaled deeply. “This is not a cigarette.”

And a second later, Annja caught a whiff of the smoke. Marijuana. “You smoke pot?”

“Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

Annja coughed. “Aside from suffocating on your passive smoke, no. I’m curious how you justify it, though.”

Greene shrugged. “What’s to justify? It’s not like I’m buying into the massive health conspiracy that was covered up by the tobacco companies.”

“Yeah, but you’re still smoking.”

Greene laughed. “I don’t think your argument is going to prove convincing, Annja. I’ve been smoking pot for a number of years now. And I quite happen to appreciate the efficacy of the cannabis herb. It’s wonderful stuff.”

“I just wouldn’t have expected that sort of thing from you. I mean, I imagine you’re pretty healthy—what, a vegan?”

Greene shook his head. “Vegetarian, yes. Not vegan. That’s too strict for me.”

“And fit, too. You work out a lot. Someone trained you somewhere at some point in the past.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you put that carcinogenic substance in your lungs. I don’t get it.”

Greene leaned over and blew a puff of smoke into Annja’s face. “Yes, well, perhaps you don’t deserve to get it. Ever think of that, Annja? Or are you so presumptuous to believe that you have a lock on the workings of the universe?”

Annja waved the smoke away. “I’m not presumptuous.”

Greene leaned back. “That remains to be seen.”

Annja looked at the front windshield. The wipers flicked intermittently, scattering the small accumulation of drizzle. “Where are we headed?”

“Springer Falls. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No. I don’t get up here all that much.”

Greene nodded. “I’ve had a chance to read up on some of your exploits. You’ve been all over the world recently.”

Annja sighed. “It feels like I’ve been away forever.”

“But never to Springer Falls. Maybe this trip will be a departure—a chance for you to enjoy yourself,” Greene said. “And maybe afterward we could find a way to work together, you and I.”

Annja smirked. “I’ve seen how you work, Greene. You drop people without even thinking about it. Why in the world would I work with you? I’d never feel easy with you around.”

Greene inhaled and let out another stream of marijuana smoke. “I’m decisive. Ask any successful person and they’ll say attitude is absolutely necessary for achieving your goals.”

“By decisive, they were probably talking about something a little less extreme than, say, murdering people.”

“You interpret it your way,” Greene said. “But I happen to believe I have a better handle on it than you.”

Annja waved her hand again to dispel more of the smoke. “I hope we don’t get stopped.”

Greene hefted his pistol. “I hope so, too. For the trooper’s sake.”

Annja shook her head. “You planning on leaving a trail of bodies in your wake, Greene? Sooner or later they’ll track you down and give you the death penalty for your crimes.”

Greene sniffed. “If I was scared of dying, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.”

“A murderous, pot-smoking lunatic?” Annja sighed. “Some man. What sort of greatness have you achieved?”

“Greatness is measured in many ways. My exploits may not make sense in your limited world view, but some day, my supposed crimes will be seen for what they truly are—revolutionary.”

“Ecoterrorism,” said Annja. “You can phrase it however you’d like. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a killer.”

“Potato, potahto. Your judgment doesn’t concern me in the slightest.”

“Apparently.”

Greene inhaled again. “Do you know what it’s like to watch the planet being ravaged and destroyed right in front of your eyes?”

“I’ve been around the world,” Annja said. “I’ve seen abject poverty, environmental disasters. And, usually, they’re caused by people like you who con themselves into believing their cause is just. Except justice is a facade. You’re all after power or money. Greed drives you and others like you. You can try to spin it, but it doesn’t change that you’re out for yourself.”

Greene slapped her so suddenly that the shock of it sent Annja reeling. She tasted blood in her mouth and took a breath.

“You don’t know me, Annja Creed. And you have no right to criticize the work I’ve done.”

Annja wiped her mouth. “You were the one who kidnapped me, Greene. I don’t want to be here. But you gave me no choice. So, as far as I’m concerned, I have every right to comment on your petty little world vision. Don’t like it? Then you can drop me off here.”

“Or I could just kill you.”

“Nah, you need me. Reginald’s waiting, remember?”

“I told you I could find another way if it became necessary.”

Annja smirked. “Yeah, you said that. But I don’t believe you. If there was another way, then you probably wouldn’t have driven to Brooklyn to kidnap me. But the fact you drove down to New York tells me you’ve run out of options.”

Greene sat smoking quietly for a few moments. “All right, I’ll be honest. I do need you. But would you prefer to do this in relatively decent health or in a world of pain?”

“You’re into torture, too? Well, there’s another character trait to be proud of.” Annja shook her head. “You’re just full of greatness, aren’t you?”

Grudgingly, Greene laughed. “Compliments will only get you so far, Annja.”

She could, of course, use the sword to kill Greene and his associate behind the wheel. But what would that achieve, except her freedom? Annja would never find out what Reginald Fairclough wanted with her. Or how he even knew her.

She racked her brain but the name still didn’t ring any bells. Of course, it was a little tough thinking when she was feeling the secondhand effects of Greene’s marijuana.

Her head swam, but Annja blinked the dizziness away. “Tell me more about the book dealer.”

Greene eyed her. “We have a detente?”

“We don’t have anything, Greene. You’ve got a captive—for the moment—and my piqued curiosity. I don’t think I know Fairclough, yet he wants to see me. That intrigues me.”

“Lucky me,” Greene said. “I’ve piqued your curiosity.” He chuckled quietly and then coughed. “Fairclough is one of the most renowned experts in early history texts. I don’t suppose you know much about that, do you?”

Annja shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure.”

“Fairclough apparently thinks I’ve got some value.”

Greene mercifully stubbed out his cigarette and regarded Annja. “He’s bordering on insane.”

“Well, good, then you two will have a lot to talk about.”

“He’s also dying right now. As we speak.”

“From what?”

Greene smiled. “I’ve got him hooked up to a slow IV drip. It’s currently leaking a motley assortment of narcotics into his bloodstream. I’d give him about thirty-six hours before he’s dead.”

Annja looked at Greene. “Why in the world are you killing him?”

“He’s got something I want. I thought I told you that earlier.”

“You mentioned that. But you didn’t tell me what it was you’re after.”

“I want a certain book in his collection. It’s very old. Ancient, in fact. Fairclough acquired it a few years ago. It’s his most prized possession.”

“Well, I don’t blame him for not wanting to give it to you. A manmade book? You’d probably just burn it.”

“I will do no such thing,” Greene protested. “In fact, I want to study it and learn what it has to teach.”

“What’s so special about this book?”

“It’s an ancient account of the history of the world. The tome used to be in the library at Alexandria. Of course, the history ends with the destruction of the library.”

Annja narrowed her eyes. “I thought the texts in the library were incinerated during the fire.”

“They were.”

“But not all of them.”

“Not all of them,” Greene agreed. “And Fairclough got his hands on this text. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Maybe.”

“The Tome of Prossos, the ascetic.”

“What do you hope to learn from it?”

Greene shrugged. “It might tell me a lot about how the world used to be before we all got into the business of destroying our home.”

Annja waited for him to continue. When he didn’t she prodded, “Is that it?”

“Does there need to be more?”

“I guess not,” Annja said. “But I don’t think you’re being honest with me. Whatever. I’ll talk to Fairclough. But don’t think for a moment that I’ll help you get it back from him.”

“You might change your mind once you meet him. He can be quite persuasive.”

“Does he kill people to get his point across?”

“Not that I know of.”

Annja nodded. “Well, there’s a big point in his favor already.”

Greene leaned back and looked through the windshield. Annja felt the change in the engine’s thrum. They were slowing down. Greene’s associate took an exit off the highway, and she watched as they drew into what looked like a small town.

“We’re almost there,” Greene announced.

“Good,” said Annja. “I’m dying to get out of this van. It reeks in here.”

Greene eyed her. “I’d be very careful of judging what you don’t fully comprehend, Annja.”

“I don’t know how much is left to comprehend,” she said. “You want a book that Fairclough owns, and he doesn’t want to give it to you. I don’t blame him. And for some reason, he wants to talk to me. So fine, I’ll talk to him.”

Greene watched her for a moment and then looked down at his gun. “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Fairclough lives on the outskirts of town in a rather large estate.”

“Is he retired or actively still in the business?”

Greene shrugged. “The internet allows him to work from the comfort of his home.”

“Technology’s not all bad.”

“That remains to be seen. Maybe when this…meeting…is over you’ll understand that.”

“Or maybe not,” Annja said.

Green hefted the pistol. “Maybe not. Indeed.”

Annja leaned back and waited for them to arrive at Fairclough’s mansion. She had her own ideas on how to resolve this situation.

Chapter 4

Fifteen minutes later, the van rolled to a stop before turning left down a long winding gravel road—to Fairclough’s estate, presumably. Annja tried her best to pick out details as the van rolled in, but the cloudy evening sky cast long shadows across much of the landscape. Still, Annja could see sprawling lawns, well manicured, and shrubs perfectly coifed, creating the idea of an English country estate. As they drew around the corner hedged in by a massive rhododendron, Annja could see Fairclough’s house for the first time.

Floodlights aimed at an angle to the brick and stone exterior displayed the full magnificence of the mansion. Light poured out of the massive windows and ivy crawled over one entire side wall.

“Impressive,” Annja said.

Greene sniffed. “It’s horrendous. A grotesque stain upon what would otherwise be a beautiful landscape.”

“You’d deny him his right to own a home like this? It’s not like he got his money from poisoning kids or burning down forests.”

Greene shrugged. “Money is greed. Its only real value is in bringing our planet back closer to the purity of its origins. Does it look as if Fairclough cares about anything but his own personal pleasure?”

Annja shook her head. “His bank account is his own business. As far as I’m concerned, Fairclough got his money doing something good—promoting the value of books. I think a lot more people could use a reminder of how great books are. No one reads much these days unless it’s an easy-to-digest sound bite. Just take a look at the last election cycle.”

Greene cocked his head to study her. “I don’t vote.”

“Then you’ve got no right to complain.”

He laughed. “You’re pitifully naive, Annja. You think your vote matters?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a right and a responsibility, so I take it seriously. Not that I’m around much during elections.”

“You’re allowed to vote only because the corporations—those with the real power in the world—let you. This is how they manipulate you into thinking you have some measure of power, when you don’t. None whatsoever.”

“What paranoia.”

Greene raised his eyebrows. “Think about it—what happens if one party gets too much power? Next election, the other party gains more power to balance it out. In recent years extremism has become mainstream with the advent of the Tea Party. I mean, really, look at that swath of candidates who came to power last year. Idiots, racists and people who wanted to destroy the Constitution they claimed they would die to protect. And you all fell for it. Pathetic.”

“So, what would you do—kill them?”

Greene shrugged. “Well, it’s not a perfect solution. But for the time being, it works pretty well.”

“Can I get out of this van now and get some fresh air?”

Greene nodded.

Annja grabbed the side panel door release and jerked it back on the rails. As it slid open, a rush of fresh air greeted her and she breathed it in deeply. It felt good to flush her lungs.

The air outside was heavy with moisture and she could see droplets of water on the grass. She stepped out and felt the gravel beneath her shoes.

Greene emerged behind her and she heard the driver’s door close with a slam. She glanced and saw Greene’s associate come around the hood of the van.

Greene waved him over. “Annja, you haven’t been properly introduced to Kessel yet.”

Kessel stood in front of Annja and folded his arms. He said nothing.

Annja looked him up and down. “Does that pose go over well with the ladies?”

Kessel said nothing. Annja glanced at Greene. “Real conversationalist you got yourself here.”

“His tongue was cut out during the first Gulf War by the Iraqis when he was captured and tortured for information.”

“Why would they cut his tongue out if they wanted him to spill?”

“Kessel told them from the start that he wouldn’t divulge any information that would compromise his unit. They didn’t like that response. So, instead of trying to break him, they simply sliced his tongue off like some piece of meat and fed it to a dog.”

Annja shook her head. “Horrible.”

“Effective,” Greene said. “But it did have an effect on Kessel that led him eventually to me. He came to see that all the wars being fought were simply proxy battles engaged in by corporate masters. That soldiers like him were being manipulated as expendable pawns. He grew to despise the vast industrialism rampant in the world today.”

“You really think that?”

Greene nodded. “Yes. I do.”

Kessel nodded, as well. “All right,” Annja said, “let’s go see Fairclough and get this over with.”

Greene stopped her. “Annja, I don’t want you thinking this is going to be a quick job. If Fairclough is as I expect him to be, you may find yourself in for quite a challenge.”

Annja frowned. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

They walked up the footpath to the main house. As they approached, the door swung open and another gun-toting associate of Greene’s waved them inside. “Welcome back,” the man said.

Greene nodded at Annja. “This is Creed, the one Fairclough wants to see.”

“Good stuff.” He beamed at Annja while pushing his dreadlocks back with his free hand. “I’m Jonas. Nice to meet you.”

Annja smirked. “Another true believer?”

Jonas smiled at Greene. “She didn’t swallow the Kool-Aid, huh?”

“Hardly,” said Greene. “I think we’d best treat Miss Creed as a hostile witness, if it pleases the court.”

Jonas bowed low. “Well, there will be time enough for us to bring her around to our cause.”

Annja shook her head. “You’re wasting your time, Jonas. I don’t go in for extremism. You guys might have some good ideas about cutting back on pollution and making sure corporations are responsible for taking care of the environments they operate in, but there’s no way I can condone how you carry out your goals. Murder doesn’t wash with me.”

“Then you’ve obviously never been presented with some of the greedheads that we’ve met,” Jonas said. “When you can’t even get them to try to see your perspective, what choice is left?”

“I might hate them,” Annja said. “And I could understand the frustration you feel, but I wouldn’t resort to murder.”

Jonas laughed. “Murder can never be justified—is that so? Well, we’ll see how you feel about that later. Right now, I’m sure our leader wants to get back to see his patient.”

“Indeed I do,” Greene said. “Let’s go.”

Jonas led them down a carpeted hallway lined with huge mahogany doors and beautiful landscape paintings. Annja pointed at one as they passed. “Seems like Fairclough has an appreciation for nature, as well.”

“Paintings hardly express a passion for saving the world.” Greene sneered. “Investments that will eventually yield him even more money and power. There’s little to celebrate in such a collection.”

Annja rolled her eyes. “Good God, man, do you ever take a break from the self-righteousness?”

“The environment is my religion,” Greene said. “And I take umbrage at your insulting tone.”

“Yeah, well, I call it like I see it,” Annja muttered.

Jonas paused at a set of double doors. “This is Fairclough’s bedroom,” he said to Annja. “We’ve had him cooped up in here since we arrived.”

“And when was that?”

“Two days ago.”

“Did you explain what it was you’re looking for?” she asked Greene. “After all, if you asked nicely enough, he might give it to you.”

Greene shook his head. “We asked him. Begged him, in fact, to release it to us. We told him we could keep it even safer than he could. But he refused to listen to us. Said something about us not understanding its nature and how we’d destroy it. Imagine the arrogance of the man.”

Annja sniffed. “Yeah, I guess I can certainly relate to that.” She eyed Greene. “So that’s when you hooked him up to your poison drip?”

“Well, we needed to convince him,” Jonas said. “No sense only taking a threat so far. You need to show people you mean business, after all.”

Greene smiled. “Jonas is our medical professional. He did three years on an extended tour with a small missionary outfit down the Amazon. What he saw there propelled him to the realization that modern society is corrupt. That the only true way forward is to go backward.”

“Back to what our ancestors practiced,” Jonas added. “Their knowledge of nature and the universe was without peer. And yet we’ve gotten away from that with our machines and our supermarkets and shopping malls. The whole thing is so ludicrous, it amazes me that more people don’t see it.”

“Yeah,” said Annja, “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t all flock to the notion that killing people and engaging in terrorism is a viable means of helping the planet. Crazy.”

Jonas frowned. “Your sarcasm is a real downer, Annja. I hope that before this is over you at least try to keep an open mind.”

“I always have an open mind,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I let my brain and common sense fall out.”

Greene chuckled. “Good one.”

Jonas nodded. “I like her.”

“Look,” she said, “enough with the brainwashing, okay? Let’s see Fairclough and be done with this. My head still hurts from force-smoking your blunt in the van.”

“Fair enough,” Greene said, nodding to Jonas. “Let’s get inside.”

Jonas pushed the doors open and they filed in. As Annja stepped into the bedroom, she was amazed at the opulence. She’d never known the antique book market to pay so handsomely. But Fairclough had either invested wisely over his career or he had money coming in from other sources.

Fairclough’s bed was a towering four-poster surrounded by several modern paintings that looked familiar, as if she’d seen them in exhibitions.

She saw the array of medical equipment next. Machines buzzed and beeped and hummed while digital readouts kept chirping out updates and monitoring the health of the man they were hooked up to: Reginald Fairclough.

For his part, Fairclough looked tiny in such a huge bed. His frame was thin and wiry and his face appeared gaunt. A mop of white hair topped his head, which seemed almost unnaturally large for his body.

Annja saw the IV drip stand next to the bed and watched as the clear liquid in the plastic squeeze bags dripped down the tube and into the old man’s arm. God knows what they’re pumping into his bloodstream, she thought. No matter who he was, Fairclough didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

No one did.

“What are you poisoning him with?”

“I told you,” Greene said. “It’s a little concoction we came up with based on Jonas’s experience in the rain forest. It’s quite a compelling cocktail of native herbals.”

“And the great thing is,” said Jonas, “if he helps us, we can reverse the effects almost immediately.”

“You can?”

“Well.” Jonas hesitated. “If he tells us soon. Otherwise, it will get progressively worse until it’s irreversible.”

“What happens then?”

“He’ll lapse into a vegetative state.”

“And then he’ll die,” Greene said. “So I suggest we get started.”

Chapter 5

Reginald Fairclough, Annja decided, looked exactly the way she thought an antique bookseller ought to look. With his oversize head and white hair, he had the appearance of being highly intelligent. His thin frame indicated that he probably spent a lot more time thinking than engaging in physical activity.