by John Ling
To their credit, the majority of imams at mosques throughout the nation were supportive of the prime minister, doing their best to soothe tensions within their congregations. The racial supremacists and right-wing demagogues, on the other hand, were amping up their rhetoric, spewing hate and intolerance like never before. The disturbance in front of the Pacifica was just the beginning, of course. There would more to come. Much more.
Devlin wondered if this was the reason why he had been brought in. To push things over the edge. True, he wasn’t supposed to know the identity of his client. The job had come in, as always, through a broker, and it had been arranged in that way to avoid any sort of blowback. He had stuck to this system for years, and he had never had any reason to tamper with it. That is, until now.
Devlin’s cause for concern was simple—New Zealand had never popped up on his radar. He had executed several jobs all around the Pacific, yes, but never here. The country had a reputation for being clean, friendly… and boring. It had no enemies. Very little corruption. Miniscule organised crime.
So why now? Why this?
Devlin’s curiosity got the better of him. So, for once, he broke away from protocol and hired a second broker to dig up dirt on the first. From there, he connected the dots and made an educated guess. He had a fairly good idea who the client was, and he could now see what the man had to gain from manipulating the Abraham Khan situation. That wasn’t to say that Devlin agreed with it. But, hey, a job was a job. At least it wasn’t a set-up, which was what he had feared earlier.
Finishing up his meal, he exercised while he waited for darkness to fall. Squats. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Nothing too strenuous, of course. Just enough activity to loosen up his muscles and get his blood moving.
Every now and then, he’d stop and check his cellphone. Keen to see if their encrypted message board had been updated. But the repetition soon turned into boredom, and impatience gripped him. He felt the urge to post a note on the board. Just to get a quicker response from Emmerich. Something along the lines of, ‘Hey, did you get my chalk signal?’
But doing that would have been a mistake. After all, they had already settled on a meticulous arrangement—Emmerich would recon the locations, gather the gear and secure transportation. Then she would forward him instructions. And, outside of an emergency, their internet communication would be passive—one-way only. Anything more than that and they risked being detected by Echelon.
Discipline, Devlin reminded himself. What it came down to was discipline. Staying cool and staying low. Simple enough. So why did he feel so damn fidgety? He scoffed as he dropped to the floor and entered into another round of push-ups. Of late, he’d been feeling more and more restless. Even between jobs. Even during his downtime. No, this wasn’t the usual surface paranoia. This ran deeper. Like a barbed thorn maddeningly lodged in his brain—in his soul—that he couldn’t pry loose and get rid of.
Damn it.
He never used to be like this. He used to be calmer. More collected. Averse to breaking protocol. What was wrong with him? He was fitter than most men half his age, and yet…
What was it that Bilbo Baggins said? About feeling stretched? About feeling like butter scraped over too much bread? Damn. He had to get a grip on himself. He couldn’t afford to fly off the rails. Not while he was on the job.
Shaking his head, Devlin got off and checked his cellphone again, and this time, a note was waiting for him—a nice poem about heaven being a place on earth.
CHAPTER 40
Dusk fell, painting the sky in shades of crimson, and Devlin left the motel, keeping his edginess in check as best he could. Inhaled through his nose. Exhaled through his mouth. Timed his breaths. Paced himself slow and steady.
He executed the usual surveillance-detection run, trawling several blocks before peeling off into a quiet neighbourhood street. That’s when he heard it—an engine throttling behind him. His neck prickled, and he felt his stomach turn.
This is it.
He kept his pace languid, lazy, even as the car decelerated and glided past him, easing to a stop beside the sidewalk, tyres crunching, dying sunlight glinting off tinted windows. Stretching his lips thin, he gave his surroundings a quick scan. Clocked in two boys skateboarding past and a tiny dog yelping from a house nearby. Nothing threatening.
Don’t assume. Don’t rush.
He felt his pulse thrumming in his arms, in his legs as he strolled past the car and carried on, reaching the end of the street before cutting back, his eyes still darting, still scanning. Gave his sixth sense a second chance to clue him in if something was amiss. But, no, everything looked clean. Real clean. Okay. Good. Quickening his steps, he reached the car, popped open the passenger-side door and got in.
Emmerich gave him a cold smile. ‘Careful as always, I see.’
Devlin exhaled and clicked his seatbelt on. ‘You can never be too careful with all the weirdoes around these days.’
‘Mm. What’s that you have under your sleeve? A steak knife? Well, you can lose it now. I’ve got something nicer and shinier for you.’
CHAPTER 41
They were waiting in the loading dock with their engines purring—the Khans in the lead SUV with Noah, Arthur and Dashiell, and Maya and Gabrielle in the follow SUV, covering their six.
Everyone had been briefed.
Everyone knew their roles.
It was time.
Maya slipped on her earpiece and touched the pinhead microphone on her collar. ‘Echo, this is Delta. You’re good to go. Head them out. Move them out.’
‘Roger, Delta. Power stride and ready to ride. We’re on the move.’
‘Copy. Take it slow and easy. Make it a long roundabout.’
‘Wilco.’
‘Out.’
Maya smoothed her hair and settled back against her seat. Gabrielle was in the driver’s side, fingers tracing slow shapes on the steering wheel. For now, they would wait. Give the bait-and-switch a couple of minutes to play out.
It was simple enough—the decoy team would leave from the hotel’s parking garage and make a great big show of it. Lights. Sirens. Honks. Enough to entice the press and lure them away, creating an opening for the protection team to set off for the safe house in Point Chevalier. It would be a quick sprint. Ten klicks. No biggie.
Even so, Maya was uneasy.
The traditional arrangement for a motorcade was to have a minimum of three vehicles; a formation designed to keep the principal sandwiched between two layers of protection at all times. It minimised blind spots. Deterred any attempts to muscle in on the principal from the front or from the rear. But right here, right now, with just two vehicles to work with, the present configuration was top heavy and one-sided. God forbid, if something did happen in transit—
Gabrielle spoke, her voice a silky whisper, ‘It’s over between us.’
Maya blinked, caught askew. ‘Excuse me?’
Gabrielle didn’t meet Maya’s gaze. Just stared straight ahead, her lips puckering. ‘The affair. Noah and I both knew it was a mistake. We agreed it was a mistake. So it’s over. It’s been over for months.’
Maya exhaled long and slow. Then she shook her head. ‘It’s really none of my business. You don’t owe me an explanation.’
‘So you say. But that’s not what you think, is it?’
‘Hold on. Where’s this coming from?’
Gabrielle arched her shoulders. ‘It’s coming from the way you see the worst in me. That’s why I’m here with you’—She jerked her chin at the lead SUV—’instead of being over there. You want me as far away from Noah as possible.’
Maya propped her elbow on the armrest separating her from Gabrielle. She leaned closer. ‘Okay. All right. Here’s me being honest. You messed up Noah’s marriage. Left him to pick up the pieces. Put him into therapy. That’s a given. But I don’t care about that. I really don’t. All I care about is how you treat the principal.’
‘How I treat…?’ Gabrielle looked at Maya, her eyes flutter
ing.
‘That’s right. How you treat the principal. Because he’s a real person. He lives. He breathes. He gets hurt. He gets scared. Do you understand that?’
‘I… Well, of course I do.’
‘Okay. Do you remember what it was like when you first signed up to be a cop? How much you wanted to serve? To protect? To make a difference? How it felt like to be so idealistic and selfless once upon a time? Before all the politicking took over and became the centre of the universe?’
Gabrielle made a tutting sound. ‘Before I sold my soul, you mean.’
Maya gave her a thin smile. ‘Well, forget all the cynicism. Forget all the politics. If you want my trust, my respect, then treat Abraham Khan as a real human being. Someone who deserves dignity. Someone who deserves to be free of fear. Can you do that?’
Gabrielle puffed her cheeks, looking as if she wanted to contest that point. But then her face fell, and she sighed, exhaling through her teeth. ‘You’re a walking and talking cliché, Maya. But you know what? I’ll try. For what it’s worth, I’ll try.’
That’s when Maya’s earpiece crackled. ‘Delta, this is Echo. Be advised, we’re crossing the harbour bridge now. Approaching Northcote. Lemmings are in tow.’
Maya nodded, her eyes lingering on Gabrielle. ‘Outstanding, Echo. We’re rolling out with the precious cargo now.’
CHAPTER 42
They departed the loading dock, shot down the alley, rounded the bend and peeled away from the Pacifica.
No press.
The bait-and-switch had worked.
Still, Maya didn’t allow herself to ease up. She had an MP5 sub-machine gun on her lap, sleek and cold, and she gripped it tight. Outside, the streetlights tinted everything in sodium-orange. Traffic was sparse; pedestrians sporadic. It was as if the city centre had gone into unofficial curfew. Subconscious hibernation.
She looked up. No moon out tonight. Just rainclouds smothering the sky. She prayed it wouldn’t pour. Not just yet. Not until they had cleared the ten-klick journey. They damn well needed all the visibility they could get.
Maya knew that a principal was most exposed during the move from one safe haven to another. That was when defensive coverage was at its thinnest and the opportunities for attack soared. Everything from roadblocks to drive-by shootings to improvised explosive devices.
Maya knew because she had seen it all in the Middle East, where the powdery dust storms and parched desert heat were as ubiquitous as the paranoia gripping your mind. Squeezing. Suffocating.
New Zealand wasn’t the Middle East, of course. Nowhere close. But predators were the same the world over—they were drawn to frailty, to weakness, and they sought to ensnare and devour the unwary on their terms. Always their terms. A terrorist was no different from a schoolyard bully or a backstreet mugger—they were down-and-dirty opportunists, all of them.
So don’t give them an opportunity, Maya thought.
She glanced at Gabrielle. The woman was doing good so far. Sticking close to the lead SUV. Adjusting. Adapting. Minimising the gap. Some might have called it tailgating, but Maya called it being tactically aware. The motorcade had to move as a single fluid unit, allowing for nothing to come between them.
As they threaded their way through the central business district, Maya noticed that fog had draped the top of the SkyTower, muting its lights. Not a good sign. She was tempted to order Noah and Gabrielle to floor the gas. Drive faster. Hit the corners as quick as they could. Try to beat the rain. But revving engines and squealing tyres would only attract attention, and attention was the last thing they needed.
Slow and steady, Maya reminded herself. Slow and steady.
If they couldn’t stay invisible, they could at least stay low-key.
Leaving behind the CBD high-rises, they carried on towards
Karangahape Road
. Bars and parlours and clubs aplenty. Maya shifted in her seat, her eyes darting, as they stopped for the red lights at an intersection. It was pretty quiet. No thronging revellers. No basslining music. Unusual for a Saturday night.
She scanned the scene, counting down the seconds under her breath, her leg twitching.
Come on. Come on.Come on.
She alternated between checking out the cars idling around them and the pedestrians crossing the street. Sure, the SUVs were decently armoured, but nothing was ever a hundred percent. If an unsub had a big enough bullet or bomb…
The lights flipped to green.
Maya exhaled, feeling her tension melt away as they started moving again.
They cut through Grey Lynn, navigating the curvy boulevards, before moving on to Western Springs. Things were lower density now. More spread out. Smoother traffic.
The transport museum surged past, old trams and locomotives parked within like brooding beasts of burden. Catching them reminded Maya of Papa. He used to have an affinity for trains. Clockwork. He always liked things that worked like clockwork. She felt a pinprick of sadness. There one moment, gone the next.
Finally, finally, they reached Point Chevalier. Slowing to a crawl, they executed a surveillance-detection run, circling around the suburb twice, just to make sure they were clean, before turning into a leafy street and pulling into a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Snug and private.
Yes.
Maya stopped clenching her gun and broke into a relieved smile.
CHAPTER 43
Magellan balled his hand into a fist and cracked his knuckles, one at a time. He hadn’t counted on this. Hadn’t counted on Abraham’s protectors being more astute than the usual government flunkies. And now… now he was at a disadvantage. He no longer had a fix on Abraham’s location.
Damn it.
Hours earlier, he had planted false avatars on forums and chat rooms. Acted as a rabble-rouser. Inflamed the passions of the Anglo Front and the Rainbow Coalition. Brought things to the brink.
Then, after the riot, he had detailed two of his men to a static surveillance post close to the Pacifica. His instructions were simple: Watch the hotel, and if Abraham Khan moves, go active, blend in with the reporters and tail him.
Which was exactly what his men had done.
But now, sitting in his command centre, tracking them on his laptop via satellite navigation, watching them gallivant through the NorthShore in a persistent loop, Magellan realised that he had been deceived. Hoodwinked into following the wrong motorcade. Classic bait-and-switch.
Great. We flush Abraham Khan out only to lose him.
Magellan breathed in. Breathed out. Felt his emotions ripple. He shook his head. Got a grip. This was just a minor speed bump. Nothing crippling. Nothing they couldn’t fix with a little patience and reorientation.
Twisting his lips, Magellan sent a coded text to his watchdogs, ordering them back to base. Then, straightening, he studied the matrix of monitors before him. The young Somalis, at least, were matching up to expectations. He watched them as they went through their drills, running and gunning, sweating and yelling, operating as a unit, their aggression levels spiking as they expended a flurry of ammunition. Good. Very good. These boys were as ready as they were ever going to be. Rubbing his chin, Magellan decided that it was time to dial down their overzealous energy, feed them a hearty meal and then tuck them in for good night’s rest.
And tomorrow… well, Abraham Khan would have to surface sooner or later, wouldn’t he? And once he did, Magellan would get a lock on his location and regain the initiative. Yes, he would.
Something else, though, etched acid on Magellan’s mind, causing him to grimace. Something more immediate. If rumours were to believed, his former competitor, Tong Kok Tai, was prowling the scene once more. Asking people all kinds of inconvenient questions.
Magellan wasn’t sure what the fool hoped to achieve. Was he looking to make contact? To propose a partnership? Or did he just want to muscle in on the khat trade?
Whatever.
Magellan couldn’t afford the distraction.
Not now.
/>
Tong would have to be taken care of.
CHAPTER 44
The rain came, a loose pitter-patter at first, but soon tightened into a steady drumbeat. Adam sat in his car with Tong, a palm-sized monocular pressed to his eye as he surveilled the cybercafé around the corner. Past the glazed windows, he could see gamers hunched over computer terminals, the action from their monitors bleaching them in a kaleidoscope of colours that looked stark amidst the interior’s soft, muted lighting. He counted twenty heads, and that was just on the ground floor alone. He figured there would be more patrons upstairs.
Adam sighed, slipped his monocular into his pocket and looked at Tong. ‘So let me get this straight. This guy, Hassan, used to be your street-level distributor. But then you two parted ways, and now he distributes for Magellan. Am I savvy so far?’
Tong cocked an eyebrow. ‘Yes, you’re savvy.’
‘So he’s crossed over. Why is he going to talk to you?’
‘Because he owes me. He was on the verge of losing his café once, but I bailed him out with a loan. Kept him afloat long enough for him to get his act together and pay his creditors. He’s eternally grateful.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Adam glanced at the shopfront once more.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘It’s not that…’
Tong snorted. ‘Listen, it’s taken me all day to set up this meet. If Hassan says he can link me up with Magellan, then he can. It’s all about the terms, you understand? If the terms are agreeable, we’ll make it happen.’
‘And what kind of terms are we talking about?’
‘Pooling our resources together. Crafting a common enterprise. Fashioning a cartel for mutual benefit. Collusion rather than competition. Tempting enough for him to bite, wouldn’t you agree?’
Adam nodded. ‘And you’re hoping that bullshit ruse will be enough to draw Magellan out into the open so I can ice him on your behalf.’
Tong wagged his finger. ‘If you want to be that crude, then yes. That is what I hope to achieve. But surely it’s an offer he cannot refuse. After all, my triad brethren and I can work wonders for him. We can diversify and extend his portfolio into meth, coke, heroin, weed. Why settle for just khat?’