The Blasphemer (16 page)

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
?’

‘Why indeed.’ Adam rolled his neck. Drew his pistol. It was a Beretta twenty-two. A suppressed subsonic. He eased the slide back, press-checking to see that it had a round chambered. Then he reholstered the gun. Looked at Tong. ‘Okay. This is how we’re going to play this. I’ll head inside first. Pay for a terminal. Sit down. Get comfy.’

Tong shook his head. ‘Bah, there is no need to babysit me. You’ve already rigged me up with this.’ Tong tapped the wireless camera on his shirt. It was subminiature and sat just under his collar, looking like an ordinary button, but powerful enough to transmit in a burst pattern. Near impossible to detect. ‘Everything I see, you’ll see,’ Tong said. ‘There is no need for you to be so paranoid.’

‘It’s for your own good.’ Adam said. ‘In the event things go to shit, I can respond faster if I’m in there with you.’

Tong creased his face like he was sucking on a sour lemon. ‘Things are
not
going go to shit. Hassan is my friend, and I can handle him just fine.’

‘It’s not Hassan I’m worried about. It’s Magellan. So give me a twenty-minute head start, then make your move.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. Give me twenty minutes.’

Adam popped the car door open and stepped out into the rain. Slamming it on Tong’s surly face, he strode along the street, head bent, shoulders clenched, eyes smarting. He had dressed the part of a slacker, complete with dishevelled hair and frumpy clothes. And he kept his gait loose. Casual. Non-threatening. The best kind of camouflage.

Cranking his gaze, he checked parked cars, searching for telltale signs of counter-surveillance. Smoked windows or occupants sitting idly. But nope. Nothing.

Adam circumnavigated the block, checking, checking, rechecking before slipping into the alley behind the cybercafé. He scoped out the backdoor and the fire escape, then retraced his steps. The exterior looked all right. And with the architectural floor plans Deirdre had supplied him, he had a fairly good idea of the interior layout. He wouldn’t be walking in totally blind.

Still, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the arrangement. If it was up to him, he would have chosen to set up the meet with Hassan in a neutral location. Somewhere private. Secluded. Minus the civilians. Because civilians meant variables, and variables meant complications. Lips wet and cold, Adam smirked. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t about to whinge about it either. This was Tong’s play, imperfect as it was, and he was just going to have to back it up as best he could.

When he got under the shopfront’s awning, the automatic doors at the entrance swished open, and the hubbub hit him—virtual swords and guns going full tilt, augmented by pulsating music and the murmuring of patrons. The place was busier than he had expected. There were at least forty people on the ground floor alone, twice what he had estimated from the outside.

Straightening, Adam stepped up to the reception, shaking his jacket loose of droplets, his shoes sounding squishy on the carpeting.

The pimply teenager manning the desk looked up, sleepy-eyed, and waved him through, her motion dismissive. ‘It’s five dollars an hour. Use any computer.’

‘Cheers.’

Adam made for the staircase on the other side of the room. Walked slowly. Used his peripheral vision. Scanned the fidgety gamers. Picked out the bubble-domed CCTV camera on the ceiling. Kept his head lowered. Clocked in the angles, the corners, the lines of sight, the lines of fire. Measuring, measuring, measuring.

Reaching the stairs, he gripped the banister and climbed up. When he got to the top, he found it to be much the same as below. Similar layout, but less people.

That’s when he spotted them—two heavy-set men seated close to a door at the far end. Minders. Looking bored. Drooping in their chairs. Not at all surveillance conscious. Adam felt his skin tingle. Oh yeah. This was most definitely where things would go down. Past that door would be Hassan’s office.

Adam moved towards the best vantage point—a terminal in the corner, well away from the CCTV camera on this level. He positioned himself between the door and the staircase. A decent compromise. If he needed to, he’d be able to move in either direction fast enough.

Adam sat down and got out his cellphone. Launching an app, he connected to the feed from Tong’s camera. There was a little fuzz, a little grain, but it was clear enough—Tong was still in the car, shifting impatiently from side to side.

Things will be happening soon enough.

Adam placed his cellphone under the terminal’s monitor and logged on to a first-person shooter. Spawning as a US Marine in a lush, green valley surrounded by sloping mountains. A recreation of the Battle of Ia Drang. A tropical nightmare. Viet Cong guerrillas were descending in a swoop attack, trying to overwhelm the Marine LZ, and amidst all the booming artillery and cracking gunfire, Adam played half-heartedly, getting killed in no time.

He pretended to twitch and groan in frustration. As he did, he pulled a small adaptor from his pocket. Reached for the column of power sockets on the wall beside him. Plugged it into a free one. Then he righted himself in his seat and continued playing, respawning for another round.

The adaptor was designed to project an electromagnetic surge that would fry the building’s power supply. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. But Adam wanted to be prepared.

He checked his cellphone. Tong was already out of the car. Approaching the cybercafé’s entrance. And anticipation flexed in his throat like a jagged talon.

Here we go.

CHAPTER 45

The one thing that Tong’s feed didn’t have was audio. Including it would have made the surveillance package too bulky; more susceptible to discovery. But Adam didn’t mind—he could lip-read as well as anyone.

Tong was through the automatic doors now, and the girl at the reception went from sleepy-eyed to perky. There was some friendly banter. Some giggles. It was obvious she had some kind of crush on him.