Dark Revelations by Duane Swierczynski, Anthony E. Zuiker

perched herself on a seat opposite with a cup of herbal tea, earphones, and a tablet computer.
    Dark waited for the results.
    And their mystery homeless man turned out to be . . .
    . . . nobody.
    Not literally. The man had a life, a background. Just not a terribly distinguished background—certainly not one that would cause his fingerprints and identity to be stripped from every known law enforcement database worldwide. His name was Aldi Kutishi, and he was an Albanian shopkeeper who was thought to have been killed during a looting spree in the early 1990s. Only Graysmith’s underground resources revealed this tiny piece of biographical data. His whereabouts for the past two decades?
    Unknown.
    It was as if the man had stepped into a pocket alternate universe, contracted an untraceable disease, then manifested in L.A. on a balmy fall day, living long enough to deliver a strange package to the police.
    So this . . . “Labyrinth.”
    For starters, he’d given himself that moniker. That was significant. Most killers were branded by the media or law enforcement, but Labyrinth had identified himself from the beginning. Did Labyrinth see himself as the master at the center of a dizzying and hopelessly confusing maze? Or was he trapped inside as well, and killing people was his only way out?
    He was careful to use a courier who had no background. Therefore, Labyrinth must have some kind of access to law enforcement databases around the world to ensure that his man was a proper, untraceable nobody.
    Labyrinth also had access to, or could forge, LAPD stationery, as well as a rare sketch of a Hollywood starlet. He was either an expert thief, or employed one, or several of them. Not unusual for someone to parcel out a job.
    Why would he pick this courier, though? What about Aldi Kutishi made him the ideal human bomb?
    “Does the name mean anything to you?” Dark asked.
    Graysmith shook her head. “Not a thing. But the people you’re about to meet may have some ideas.”
    “How long have you worked for them? Or are you just a freelancer who goes around worming your way into people’s lives?”
    “I’ve worked for Damien for a long time. By the way, I understand what you’re doing. You’ve felt like you’ve been betrayed or abandoned by most of the people in your life. Naturally, you’re taking some of this hostility out on me. I not only understand it, but I expected it. Because I used this sense of betrayal and abandonment to enter your life. But this was carefully considered, and we saw no other way. You had just left Special Circs. You were not about to join another organization, no matter how appealing it may have sounded. I had to lead you to it, which is all I’ve done. If you hate me for it, I’m prepared to accept that.”
    “I don’t hate you,” Dark said. “How can you hate someone you don’t even know?”
    Graysmith said, “Oh, I don’t think you really believe that, Steve.”
    Dark turned his attention back to the laptop. How he got here didn’t matter; the fact remained that there was another monster out there. And Graysmith had touched on the truth. The idea of an organization with unlimited resources and access—and no red tape— did appeal to him now. As long as he got to take this monster out.

     
    When they deplaned it was night, and very cold. A wind from the north picked up a chill from the ocean and slammed it into their bodies. Dark tried to compute the time difference, and wondered what his daughter was doing right now. Getting ready for school?
    As they walked down to the tarmac a black limousine rushed toward them, intent on arriving at the bottom of the staircase the very moment they’d reached it. Graysmith rummaged through her bag and pulled out a fabric hood. Wordlessly she held it out for Dark to take. He just stared at it.
    “You’re fucking kidding.”
    “Sorry, it’s a requirement. I told you, Blair values his privacy. Unless you want to turn around and fly back