Labyrinth by Jon Land Page A

he had no choice.
    Locke stepped into the corridor and advanced slowly. He reached an intersection and stopped, wary of proceeding. He could turn right or keep straight. Which way? He hesitated, but not for long because up ahead two men had just turned onto the hallway. The men from the lobby! Locke ducked to the right and starting running down the adjacent hallway. He had no idea if the men had seen him. Either way, there would be others around.
    A diversion, he needed a diversion. Confusion had to be created into which he could disappear. But how?
    The answer lay before him at eye level on the wall. Locke hit the lever hard and yanked.
    The fire alarm began to blare instantly. At this relatively early hour of the evening, most guests were in their rooms preparing for dinner. In seconds the corridor was lined with milling bodies moving unsurely but rapidly, searching for someone to follow as they tested the air for smoke.
    The elevators had shut off automatically. Eight flights of stairs had to be descended, and the unnerved guests clustered toward the nearest exit. Locke let himself be swept up in their momentum, slowed at each descending level as they caught up with more figures and more clutter. By the fifth floor he realized there was no one shoving toward him from the rear. He was breathing easier when he reached the lobby to find people gathered everywhere, the overflow spilling into the street.
    Locke joined the spillover, staying among the crowd as he searched for a cab, breaking away only when he was certain the chaos had him totally shielded.
    Trust no one… .
    Locke wanted to go straight to the American Embassy and dump his story on the ambassador’s desk, but Charney’s command prevented him. Who knew how deep this mess went? In Washington, Charney had said there was an army supporting him, reinforcements only a phone call away. Then where were they when he had needed them? Why hadn’t then responded? No, his friend had encountered forces he had not expected and was ill equipped to deal with. And if that were so, what chance would Locke stand against them?
    Trembling, he walked further into the night.

Chapter 9
    DOGAN HAD BEEN EXPECTING a call from the Commander all day, so when it came he was more relieved than surprised. Best to get things over with. Operatives of Division Six seldom fucked up, and when they did there was hell to pay. And Dogan had fucked up big time.
    The Commander requested a nine P.M. meeting at his favorite outdoor café on the Champs-Élysées. Dogan was ready for a typical chewing-out session. He would grit his teeth and nod his way through it.
    The Commander was waiting for him at an isolated table for two in the sidewalk café’s rear corner. He looked more French than American with thinning hair, rimless glasses, and a thick mustache sliced off well before it reached the edges of his mouth. As always he was reading a newspaper. His tone would be indifferent; his eyes would seldom leave the print. Funny thing about the Commander, he could chastise you without ever meeting your stare, as if you didn’t even merit the recognition. How he had risen to the position of chief of Division Six’s affairs in Europe was beyond Dogan. Then again, much had been beyond him lately.
    â€œGood evening, Grendel,” the Commander said, not looking up from his newspaper. “Please sit down.” Dogan did as he was told. “A most unfortunate day.”
    â€œI’ve had better.”
    â€œAnd not many worse, I should hope. I’ve just received the medical report on Keyes. He’ll be manning a desk for the balance of his career, thanks to his wrist.”
    â€œIt’s the best place for him.”
    â€œWe invested a lot of money believing otherwise.”
    â€œYou were wrong.”
    â€œA report would have more than sufficed. An assault was totally uncalled for.”
    Dogan felt his anger rising. “I gave him a direct order. He