Labyrinth

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.

“Is he in a coma?”