The Blasphemer

by John Ling

  ‘She’s reaching for a grenade. Stop her.’

  Gasping, Yusuf shot the woman in the arm, then double-tapped her in the chest.

  ‘Now move. Move.’

  Stepping over the fallen target, Yusuf kept moving, panting, sweating, whipping around corners, twisting this way, twisting that way, shooting, reloading, shooting, reloading, spent shells clinking on the floor, the stench of gunpowder thickening, everything a blur as he destroyed men, women, children, infants, and more than once, he nearly tripped over himself, nearly fell, and his lungs burned, and he gagged, snot streaming down his nose, the adrenalin almost too much for him to take, and Magellan urged him on, and he picked up the pace, eager to please, eager to show how good he was, shooting, reloading, shooting, reloading, what a rush, what a rush.

  Eventually, Yusuf emerged from the maze, eyes watering, ears ringing, teeth chattering. A table stood at the end of the red line. And on it, a box of khat. Snivelling, he fell upon the table like a drowning man, breaking the box open. He stuffed his mouth with the leaves, chewing them long and hard. Euphoria washed over him, and he sighed, his mind soaring.

  Oh, khat had never tasted so good.

  ‘Well done. Very well done,’ Magellan said. ‘Now go into the next room. This time, you will have others joining you.’

  CHAPTER 27

  When Maya was a child, Papa introduced her to a game. Kim’s Game. It started out being real simple. She’d be given a minute to study and memorise several items spread out on a desk. A coin. A bottle cap. A matchbox. A pen. A map. Et cetera. Then she had to turn around and tell Papa what she had seen. Was an item round or square? New or old? Black or white? Metal or plastic? One inch or two? Were there any words? Numbers? Symbols?

  Each session got progressively harder. There would be more items. Less time. And the gap between memorising and reciting stretched. It wouldn’t be strange, for example, for Papa to show her twenty items early in the morning and then ask her to describe them late at night.

  Soon Papa did away with the desk and brought disorder into the equation. He would scatter items all across a room before ushering her inside. Maya wouldn’t be allowed to touch or rearrange anything. No, she had to stand in a fixed spot and strain her eyes to observe and dissect the chaos.

  Later on, Papa would add or subtract items, and Maya had to be able to pinpoint the changes on a second viewing. There would be substitutions as well—Papa would swap out one item for another that was subtly different just to tease her brain. It was all about transforming the subconscious into the conscious. Refining her ability to pick up, absorb and process the fine minutiae of life.

  ‘It could save your life one day, kiddo,’ Papa once told her in that gravelly voice of his. ‘Or even someone else’s.’

  Right now, Maya was putting those lessons into play. Casing out the entire Pacifica Hotel. Every floor. Every corridor. Every stairwell. Back to front. Top to bottom. Rooftop to lobby. And every step of the way, she brainstormed with her team, sussing out all the scenarios, no matter how remote, no matter how absurd.

  ‘Here’s a curveball,’ Maya said as they moved down the stairs towards the lobby, her voice bouncing off the walls. ‘Someone real skinny shimmies up through a sewerage pipe. Sneaks into the hotel. Tries to plant a bomb directly beneath the principal’s suite. What’s our failsafe?’

  Gabrielle pouted and twisted her glossy lips. ‘You have quite the imagination, Maya. But there’s no way your skinny man will be able to slip past the CCTV cameras.’

  ‘Let’s assume he hacks the cameras. Bypasses them.’

  Dashiell shrugged. ‘That’s no biggie. I’ve installed motion sensors on the floors below the suite. They run on an encrypted transmitter, and they’re completely separate from the CCTV system. Skinny or not, an intruder won’t go unnoticed.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Maya nodded. ‘Here’s another curveball. What if someone tries to take a shot at Khan through the windows of his suite?’

  Noah smirked. ‘Shooter would just be giving himself away. The plate glass is bullet-resistant.’

  ‘It’s bullet-resistant, yes, but not bulletproof. Assuming the shooter brings along a fifty-calibre Barrett, it’s going to be like punching through paper.’

  ‘Maya, if the shooter’s smart enough to acquire hardware like that, he’s not going to be dumb enough to spray-and-pray. Remember, the curtains are drawn. There is no line of sight.’

  ‘If the guy’s got a thermal scope, he won’t need a traditional line of sight. He’ll just pick up on the body heat of his targets.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘That’s why I lathered the glass with thermal compound first thing this morning. It’ll mess up his optics. All he’ll see is just a bright wash of heat.’

  Maya nodded. ‘Nice.’

  And on and on they went—examining every contingency from every angle. What if this happened? What if that happened? What if multiple events happened? Eventually, they hit the lobby and retraced their steps. They ended up back where they had started—in the hallway outside Abraham Khan’s suite.

  Maya leaned against a wall, the soles of her feet aching, her mouth dry. They had gone through every conceivable threat and had come out with solutions to counter them. Still, something was nagging at her, and it wouldn’t go away.

  She flicked a glance at the two cops posted at Abraham’s door. A reassuring sight. But, no, she wasn’t going to kid herself. She knew that the best and brightest in Auckland had been reassigned to the economic summit in Wellington. Which left only the newbies and the half-baked at her disposal. Not ideal. Not ideal in the least.

  Maya took a breath and regarded the faces of her team one at a time. ‘I’m not comfortable. I’m still not comfortable. I don’t want to sound like a broken tape recorder, but the principal is our principal concern. There can’t be any compromise on safety.’

  Noah wagged his finger. ‘We’ve checked, checked and rechecked. There’s nothing more we can do.’

  Maya shook her hand. ‘There is. We can move him to a safe house. Effective immediately.’

  Gabrielle blinked and chuckled. ‘I don’t mean to second-guess you, Maya. But are you sure that’s the best thing to do? I mean, he’s safe right here in the Pacifica. It’s practically a stronghold. We’ve got enough officers and enough security staff.’

  Maya could feel the heat rising in her throat, smouldering. But she couldn’t allow Gabrielle to upstage her again. Not this time. So she swallowed and forced her irritation down. ‘The Pacifica’s too public. Too exposed. Everyone’s watching. Reporters. Paparazzi. Rubberneckers. Would-be assassins. This needs to be resolved, and this needs to be resolved right now.’

  Maya looked to Noah, expecting him to act like a good 2IC and back her up. But he just twitched his shoulders and cranked up an eyebrow.

  Instead, it was Dashiell who spoke up. ‘I’m with Maya on this. The inside of the hotel is fine. It’s the outside that’s prickly. The choke points and the sight lines are a nightmare to deal with.’

  ‘I concur,’ Arthur said. ‘We’ve got to cut down on the variables. The more control we have over the environment, the more secure the principal will be.’

  Maya nodded. ‘In other words, less opportunity for things to go bonkers. Appreciate the input, guys.’ She allowed her eyes to bore into Gabrielle’s. ‘So, yeah, we will do this by the numbers. I’m not settling for anything else.’

  Gabrielle inhaled, a moody shadow passing across her pretty face. She broke eye contact and looked at Noah. She knew that she was being outgunned here. But Noah, thankfully, kept up the silent act—he seemed to be sitting on the fence on this one.

  Eventually, Gabrielle shifted her weight from one foot to the other and sighed, turning back to Maya. ‘Okay. All right. But I’ll have to make a few calls. This is going to take time to arrange.’

  ‘No worries,’ Maya said. ‘We will only be moving once it gets dark and late enough.’

  Noah cleared his throat, finding his voice.
‘How do we deal with the press? Those bozos have got all the exits covered. We’re not going to be able to pop out unnoticed.’

  ‘Correct. So let’s go with a bait-and-switch routine. We’ll assemble a fake motorcade and allow them to move out first. That’ll clear the way for us to slip out without too much fuss.’

  Gabrielle frowned. ‘I will have to reassign the officers.’

  ‘Well, do it.’

  ‘I’ll need to make some calls.’

  ‘Sure. Do it. And while you’re at it, leak something spicy to the press. Get them all hyped up about Mr Khan’s imminent departure. But don’t say exactly when it’s going to happen.’

  ‘You want me to leak...? Wait. I thought the whole point of this was to avoid attention.’

  Maya shook her head. ‘Not to avoid attention. Redirect attention. I want to keep the press on edge. Restless. Get them thinking that Mr Khan could be leaving in five minutes or five hours or anywhere in between. This way, they’ll be so bottled up with nervous energy, they’ll leap at the first sign of the decoy.’

  Noah grinned. ‘Which creates an opening for us to do what we do best. Sweet. I do like it when a plan comes together.’

  ‘Get started on it while I check up on the Khans.’

  CHAPTER 28

  This time, it was Belinda Freeman-Khan who met Maya at the door. She looked a whole lot better than the last time Maya had seen her. Her makeup had been reapplied to perfection, and her hair was restyled and smoothed over, not a strand out of place.

  Maya was caught off-centre, but she didn’t allow it to show. ‘Mrs Khan.’ She offered her hand as she stepped into the suite. ‘We didn’t get a chance to meet before. I’m Maya Raines. How are you holding up?’

  ‘Oh, I’m better. I’m good.’ Belinda shook Maya’s hand. Her grip was frail, her skin cold and clammy. A sure sign of psychological tension. Yeah, you could fake appearances, but you couldn’t fake skin-to-skin contact.

  Maya was about to say something else when she glimpsed Abraham Khan in the corner, facing away from them, a prayer rug laid out before him.

  Belinda raised a finger to her lips. Maya fell silent and watched. Abraham stood and prayed, kneeled and prayed, then bowed, his forehead touching the rug. It was the sujud—going prostate before God. His motions were so regal, so earnest.

  Maya couldn’t help but feel a stirring in her heart of hearts. Faith in God wasn’t alien to her, but it was something that she had long ago given up on.

  Why?

  Why not?

  She saw little point in hoping and not receiving. Especially not after losing Papa. Still, Maya secretly admired those who believed in prayer. Envied them, even.

  Belinda whispered, ‘Shall we go into the bedroom?’

  ‘Yes, let’s.’

  Maya padded after her into the bedroom, and Belinda rolled the sliding door shut. Maya noted the symbolism—a wife putting a physical barrier between her and her husband. Carving out her own space.

  Belinda tucked her hair behind her ear. And Maya mirrored it, tucking her hair behind her ear also. Mimicking body language was the best way of easing tension and encouraging a connection.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Belinda said, her cheeks flushed. ‘The way I acted earlier—it was embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure. I understand.’

  ‘I...’ Belinda bent forward. ‘I overheard what you said to Abraham.’

  ‘You did?’ Maya bent forward as well.

  ‘I was eavesdropping.’ Belinda chuckled softly. ‘But thank you for standing up for me anyway. Abraham’s such a hard nut to crack sometimes.’ Belinda paused, then shook her head. ‘No, not sometimes. All the time.’

  ‘He’s an idealistic man.’

  ‘Too damn idealistic to realise the heartache he’s causing me. Too damn stubborn to do things any other way but his way. Can’t you guys just lock him up for his own good?’

  Maya offered a wry smile. ‘If only we could, ma’am.’

  ‘Can’t you talk him out of this craziness?’

  ‘I tried. For half an hour.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Belinda’s delicate features grew harsh, bitter.

  There was no missing the signs—this was a marriage on the verge of rolling over into the abyss. One person wanting to go forward. The other wanting to go backward.

  What was Maya supposed to say?

  No, your husband didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

  No, your husband never meant to hurt you.

  Yes, your husband loves you more than anything.

  But, damn, all of that amounted to shooting blindly in the dark.

  So Maya took a breath, touched Belinda’s arm and decided to go with the one cliché that she did know to be true. ‘Listen. Whatever happens, whichever way this goes, I’m here for you. I’m here to keep you safe. I promise.’

  ‘Do you have a plan?’ Belinda stared at Maya, her hands clenched, her eyes wide and glistening. ‘Please tell me you have a plan.’

  Maya reached for her hands, gently stroked them and uncurled her fingers. A feminine gesture meant to instil calm. ‘I do, Mrs Khan. I do have a plan.’

  CHAPTER 29

  Adam’s informant was a beady-eyed man named Tong Kok Tai. A drug pusher looking to score and make his way up in the methamphetamine trade.

  They met in a Chinese restaurant where the crowd was thick and noisy. The clamour suited Adam just fine—covert microphones would have a hell of a time picking up on their conversation.

  ‘Khat,’ Tong said, gripping his tiny cup with two fingers as he sipped his green tea. ‘The khat business is proving problematic.’

  Adam nodded and sipped his tea as well. He knew exactly what Tong was getting at. Khat was a psychotropic drug native to the Horn of Africa. Slowly but surely, it was spreading its tendrils in New Zealand, particularly down south in Hamilton.

  ‘Are the Somalis rocking your boat?’ Adam asked. ‘Is that it?’

  Tong snorted. ‘They are very clannish. Very insular. They prefer to buy from their own, and they only insist on khat. Never anything else. Despite that, I have made some inroads with them. I have had some success. But...’

  Tong stopped himself as a waitress approached their table, wheeling a dim sum cart stacked with steaming bamboo baskets. It smelled real good. Tong smiled and selected the prawn dumplings. Adam smiled and selected the pork. The waitress served them and moved on.

  Adam’s smile tightened and fell. ‘You were saying...?’

  Tong tilted his head to one side. ‘Yes, well, my success has been cut short. There’s a new mover and shaker on the scene. An outsider just like me. Only he peddles khat that’s purer and stronger than mine. My guess? It’s not natural.’

  ‘Pharmaceutically enhanced, you mean.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been trying to source it, but I get nowhere. Bah, that’s not the least of it. What really puzzles me is the strange way this new player goes about things.’

  ‘Strange? How?’

  ‘He doesn’t just ask for money in return for supplying khat to Somalis. He also asks for favours.’

  ‘What kind of favours?’

  ‘I don’t know. As I said, the Somalis are insular.’

  ‘Would these favours happen to involve their unique skill sets?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘They’re refugees, and they’ve seen hell in Somalia. So they’re self-taught survivors. They know their way around guns, around knives.’

  ‘Well, it’s possible. Entirely possible.’

  ‘I need a name, Tong.’

  ‘I don’t know that either.’ Tong popped a dumpling into his mouth and chewed hard. ‘But this I do know. If you could locate this player and, well, convince him to leave the business, I would be most grateful. In future, I might even consider extending our relationship. Do you understand what I mean?’

  Adam mirrored Tong, popping a dumpling into his mouth, chewing. Yes, of course he understood. This was guanxi�
�the Chinese custom of maintaining and strengthening connections. Maya had given him a crash course on it not too long ago.

  I scratch your back, and you scratch mine.

  A part of him wasn’t particularly hot on the idea of associating with drug pushers, but he had long ago learned that drug pushers were the best informants. Simply put, they made it their business to sink their claws into everyone else’s business. Which made for first-rate intel. Nothing that happened on the streets, no matter how obscure, ever escape their attention. So, operationally, it made perfect sense for him to ally himself with Tong.

  Adam swallowed his pork, the rich aftertaste making his lips pucker. ‘I’ll remove this player only if our interests coincide. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll see what I can do.’

  CHAPTER 30

  When Maya stepped out of the suite, she was pleased to see that Dashiell and Arthur had replaced the two cops at the door. Just as she had asked. Good. From here on out, operational responsibility for Abraham Khan’s safety would rest solely with her team and no one else.

  It wasn’t that Maya distrusted outsiders. Just their impulses. In the event of an emergency, she didn’t want anyone breaking away from their positions and trying to engage with a threat instead of falling back and securing the principal. Because close-protection wasn’t about engagement. It was about disengagement.

  As slick as gung-ho action looked in the movies, it had no place in Maya’s world. She didn’t want to outshoot a threat. Only to outmanoeuvre it. And she wanted protectors who shared those same instincts.

  Maya nodded at Dashiell and Arthur before moving down the corridor.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Mama.

  She rounded the corner and answered. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Maya, we have a problem.’ Mama’s voice sounded tight.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Our algorithm came up with a hit. There’s this new group making the rounds on the internet. Calls itself al-Shukur. Based out of Mogadishu in Somalia.’