The Blasphemer (15 page)

Focus.

He had to focus.

Things were in motion now, and he needed to stick to the schedule.

CHAPTER 38

 Devlin kept his route oblique, random, unpredictable. He’d walk down different streets, sometimes on the left, sometimes on the right, sometimes detouring, sometimes doubling back.

Occasionally, he’d circle the block, checking his peripheral vision and the reflection on passing windows. The glare from the mid-afternoon sun made it difficult to take in everything, but he managed as best he could.

Was anyone staring at him? Was anyone keeping pace with him? Devlin switched up the tempo of his movements. Sometimes he sped up. Sometimes he slowed down.

He spent a good twenty minutes looking for unusual behaviour. Anything that came across as being too smooth or too forced. He was particularly wary of people who wore hats and sunglasses. Hats could conceal miniature cameras relaying information to other participants, while sunglasses hid their eyes, making it difficult to tell if they were staring at him or not.

But so far, so good. Nothing unnerved him. So Devlin closed in on his destination—a bus stop in front of a school. As he did, he spotted yellow chalk marks smudging the left side of the canopy. Two vertical slashes. Just below waist level.

Emmerich.

Averting his gaze, Devlin pulled a blue chalk from his pocket. With his arm dangling, he scratched the right side of the canopy as he glided past. His wrist jerked, but only for a second, his motion precise. The tip of the chalk snapped and crumbled, but he maintained his composure, willing himself not to flinch.

All done.

Devlin carried on and turned a corner, never looking back. Pocketing his chalk, he felt his stomach grumble and squelch. His hunger was slight, but as he had learned in the army, you should never pass up the chance to feed yourself.

Eat when you can; sleep when you can.

That was the mantra.

Orbiting a row of shops, Devlin came across a takeaway. He regarded it for a moment before stepping inside, breathing in the oily, salty smell of stir-fry. The menu was a large one, stretching across an entire wall. Asian and Western. But in the end, he went with the tried and true—fish and chips.

CHAPTER 39

Now all Devlin could do was wait. He returned to his room, switched on the television and unwrapped his meal. Eating as he cruised the news channels, he gave CNN, BBC and Fox a miss and settled on TVNZ, curious for a local perspective.

Interestingly, they were interviewing a former intelligence officer from the SIS, the country’s equivalent of the CIA or MI6. His face was shrouded in shadow, his voice electronically distorted. All for dramatic effect, Devlin thought. In all likelihood, it was just an actor standing in for the real person—no spook worth his salt would ever appear in front of a camera, anonymous or not.

Still, what he had to say was intriguing. The prime minister, it seemed, was caught between a rock and a hard place. Her approval ratings were in freefall and the general elections were due soon. She desperately needed to bounce back, and the economic summit in Wellington was meant to be her springboard. She needed to show her constituents that, yes, despite being in power for three terms, she deserved a fourth.

But now, with the Abraham Khan situation stewing, her best-laid plans were slowly but surely being derailed. Do too little to protect Abraham Khan and she would lose the respect of her hawkish Western peers. Do too much and she risked alienating conservatives in the Muslim arena. Problem was, she had to deal with both kinds of delegates at the summit. Which was worse? Being labelled an appeaser? Or being labelled anti-Muslim?

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 fluttering.

‘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.