Blue Labyrinth

“Why not?” Barbeaux replied. When Angler said nothing, he added: “My parents used to come up here every summer. I like the Schroon Lake area.”

“I see.” Angler crossed one leg over the other. “It is very pretty country.”

Barbeaux nodded again. “In addition, land is inexpensive. Red Mountain owns more than a thousand acres for use in training, warfare simulations, ordnance testing, and the like.” He paused. “So. What brings you gentlemen to upstate New York?”

“Actually, Red Mountain. At least in part.”

Barbeaux frowned in surprise. “Really? What possible interest could the NYPD have with my company?”

“Would you mind telling me what it is that Red Mountain Industries does, exactly?” Angler asked. “I poked around a bit on the Internet, but your official site was rather short on hard data.”

The surprised look had not left Barbeaux’s face. “We provide training and support to law enforcement, security, and military clients. We also do research in advanced weapons systems and cutting-edge tactical and strategic theory.”

“Ah. And would that theory extend to counterterrorism?”

“Yes.”

“Do you provide on-the-ground as well as back-office support?”

There was a slight pause before Barbeaux answered. “At times, yes. How, exactly, can I be of help to you?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment, if you’ll permit me just one or two more questions. I assume the U.S. government is your biggest client?”

“It is,” said Barbeaux.

“And so it would be fair to say that maintaining your reputation as a security contractor is of great importance to you? I mean, all those congressional oversight committees and that sort of thing.”

“It is of paramount importance,” replied Barbeaux.

“Of course it is.” Angler uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “Mr. Barbeaux, the reason we’re here is because we have uncovered evidence of a problem in your organization.”

Barbeaux went very still. “Excuse me? What kind of problem?”

“We don’t have the details. But we believe there is a person or persons — it might be a small cadre, but it’s more likely to be a rogue individual — who has subverted Red Mountain’s resources and may be involved in unauthorized doings. Perhaps private arms dealing, training, or mercenary activity.”

“But that’s simply not possible. We vet all new employees extensively, with the most exhaustive background checks available. And all ongoing employees must submit to yearly lie detector tests.”

“I understand it must be hard for you to accept,” Angler replied. “Nevertheless, our investigations have led to this conclusion.”

Barbeaux was silent for a moment, thinking. “Naturally, I’d like to help you gentlemen. But we are such a scrupulously careful outfit — you have to be, in this business — that I just don’t see how what you say could be.”

Angler paused briefly before continuing. “Let me put it in a different light. If we’re right, wouldn’t you agree that — whatever the specifics — it would leave Red Mountain vulnerable?”

Barbeaux nodded. “Yes. Yes, it would.”

“And if it were true, and news leaked out… well, you can imagine what the fallout would be.”

Barbeaux considered this for a moment. Then he slowly released his breath. “You know—” he began, then stopped. And then he stood up and came around the desk. He looked first at Angler, then at Sergeant Slade. The shorter man had been silent throughout the conversation, letting his superior do the talking. Barbeaux looked back at Angler. “You know, I think we should have this conversation someplace else. If I’ve learned anything in my life, I’ve learned that walls can have ears — even in a private office such as this.”

He walked to the door, led the way through the outer office, to the hallway beyond, and then to the elevator bank. He pressed the DOWN button, and the nearest set of doors whispered open. Ushering the two police officers in ahead of him, Barbeaux stepped in himself and pressed the button marked B3.

“B3?” Angler asked.

“The third level below ground. We have a couple of ordnance proving ranges down there. They are soundproofed and otherwise hardened. There we can talk freely.”

The elevator descended to the lowest level, and the doors opened onto a long concrete corridor. Red lightbulbs within metal cages threw a crimson glow over the hallway. Stepping out of the elevator, Barbeaux walked down the hallway, passing the occasional windowless door of thick steel. At last he stopped before one marked simply PR-D, opened it, flicked on a row of light switches with the back of his palm, then satisfied himself that the room was unoccupied before showing the two officers in.

Lieutenant Angler entered and looked around at the walls, floor, and ceiling, which were all lined with some kind of black, rubberized insulating material. “This looks like a cross between a squash court and a padded cell.”

“As I said, we won’t be overheard.” Barbeaux closed the door and turned to face the officers. “What you say, Lieutenant, is very disturbing. However, I’ll cooperate as best I can.”

“I felt confident you’d say that,” Angler replied. “Sergeant Slade has done a background check on you, and we feel you’re the kind of man who would want to do the right thing.”

“How can I help, exactly?” Barbeaux asked.

“Launch a private investigation. Let us help you unmask this operative or operatives. Mr. Barbeaux, the fact is we’re not interested in prosecuting Red Mountain. We came into this sideways, through a murder investigation. My interest is in a potential suspect, co

Barbeaux frowned. “And who is this suspect?”

“An FBI agent whom I’d rather not name, for the present. But if you cooperate, I’ll see that Red Mountain is kept out of the papers. I’ll bring the FBI agent to justice — and you’ll see your firm rid of its rotten apple.”

“A rogue FBI agent,” Barbeaux said, almost to himself. “Interesting.” He glanced back at Angler. “But this is all you know? You have no more information on the identity of this rotten apple inside my own company?”

“None. That’s why we’ve come to you.”

“I see.” Barbeaux turned to Sergeant Slade. “You can shoot him now.”

Lieutenant Angler blinked, as if trying to parse this non sequitur. By the time he turned toward his associate, Slade had his service piece out. Raising it calmly, he fired a quick double tap into Angler’s head. The lieutenant’s head snapped back and his body crumpled to the floor, a fine mist of blood and gray matter settling over it a moment later.

The sound of the shots was strangely muffled by the proving chamber’s soundproofing. Slade looked at Barbeaux as he put his weapon away. “Why did you let him go on for so long?” he asked.

“I wanted to find out just how much he knew.”

“I could have told you that.”

“You did well, Loomis. You’ll be compensated accordingly.”

“I hope so. The fifty grand a year you’ve paid me so far doesn’t cut it. I’ve been working overtime, covering your butt on this. You wouldn’t believe the strings I had to pull behind the scenes just to make sure that the Alban Pendergast case was assigned to Angler.”

“Don’t think it isn’t appreciated, my friend. But now there’s some pressing business to attend to.” Barbeaux walked to a phone that hung near the door, picked it up, and dialed a number. “Richard? It’s Barbeaux. I’m in Proving Range D. I’ve made quite a mess. Please send Housekeeping down to deal with it. Then get the Ops Crew assembled. Set up a meeting in my private conference room for one PM. We’ve got a new priority.”

He hung up the phone and carefully stepped over the body, lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. “Sergeant,” he said, “take care not to get any of that on your shoes.”

51

Constance Greene stood in front of a large recessed bookcase in the library at 891 Riverside Drive. A fire was dying on the grate, the lights were low, and the house was finally silent. The low sounds from the upstairs bedroom, so deeply disturbing, had at last ceased. But the turmoil in Constance’s mind had not. Dr. Stone was demanding with increasing urgency that Pendergast be taken to the hospital and put in intensive care. Constance had forbidden it. It was clear to her from her visit to Geneva that a hospital could do nothing and might, indeed, precipitate the end.