The Blasphemer (3 page)

‘And you stand by that even if he inspires outbreaks of violence?

‘That’s actually a moot point. We knew the risks when we gave him asylum here. We knew how much those fascists in the Muslim world hated him. But as the old saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So we can’t back down. Not now. Not ever.’

CHAPTER 7

‘So you think you can fight?’ Maya Raines eyed the students before her. They were fit and trim and confident. The kind of girls who knew their place in the world and weren’t afraid to show it.

One of them raised her hand. ‘Miss Raines?’

Maya nodded. ‘Yes, Zoe?’

‘We’re, like, black belts. We know all about fighting.’

The group sniggered. Lots of
oohs
and
ahhs
.

‘So you wouldn’t be afraid if some street punk tried to rape you?’

Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘Afraid? I would kick his arse.’

The group laughed. The
oohs
and
ahhs
got louder. Maya folded her arms, trying her damndest to keep a straight face. It didn’t help that the community hall they were in actually doubled as a children’s playgroup on weekdays. Cutesy drawings and craftwork decorated the walls. No, not exactly favourable to creating fear. If she had her way, she would have held this lesson in a dark and damp alleyway past midnight. Not a cutesy community hall on a Saturday morning.

Still, she didn’t see it as a negative. Sure, the young ladies were cocky now. But once the right stimulus was applied, fear would flow naturally. Yes, it would.

Maya waited for the laughter to die down before speaking up, ‘Zoe, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your discipline?’

‘Tae kwon do.’

‘And your rank?’

‘Second
dan
.’

‘Right. So you can handle yourself—you can kick fast, and you can kick hard.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you want to put that to the test?’

‘Hell, yeah.’

The group parted and Zoe stepped forward, bold as a peacock. Maya took hold of the whistle hanging from her neck and raised it to her lips. She blew it long and hard, its shrill blast echoing throughout the hall.

A door at the other end opened. A man emerged, wrapped up in safety pads and wearing an enormous silver helmet that masked his face. He looked like a lumbering alien as he moved towards them, shifting his weight from side to side.

Zoe stared as the man stopped in front of her, stretching his gloved hands, his joints popping. The students murmured among themselves.

Maya clapped to get their attention. ‘Girls, meet Bulletman. You can think of him as being a crash-test dummy on steroids. The rules are simple. Zoe? Pay attention, Zoe. You’re going to try and get past him. And Bulletman? Well, he’s going to try and block you. You can hit him as hard as you want, anywhere you want. Head, groin, legs, whatever—it’s all fair game. And don’t you worry about the helmet. It’s padded with four layers. You won’t hurt yourself by attacking it. Now, bear in mind, Bulletman won’t be hitting back, but he will be pushing. He’ll be pushing hard. Any questions?’

Zoe raised her hand. ‘Miss Raines? Don’t I get to wear, like, protective gear?’

Maya smiled. ‘Protective gear is for wimps like Bulletman, not a tough cookie like you. Besides, the floor is padded. That’s all you really need. Cool?’

‘Oh. Cool.’ Zoe entered a sparring stance, arms raised, fists clenched as she bounced up and down, puffing fiercely.

A bad start, Maya knew. The bouncing would only compromise her centre of gravity, while the puffing would over-pressurise her blood, wrecking all muscle control. The worst possible combination.

Maya blew the whistle, and Bulletman rushed Zoe with all the force of a freight train, screaming, ‘You think you can get past me, bitch? You think you can? I’m going to beat the shit out of you! I’m going to break your pretty face!’

Zoe spun and kicked, but it was too weak, too hasty, and she missed, and Bulletman walloped into her, shoving her back, and she drifted to the left, gasping, punching—
one, two, three
—but they were glancing blows, feeble, ineffective, and Bulletman crashed into her once more, and this time she drifted to the right, bouncing, kicking—
one, two
—but Bulletman gave her no room, and he powered his head into her, destroying her centre of gravity, and suddenly she was retreating, staggering, tripping, no more conviction, no more technique, her eyes dazed, her face pinched, her body looking like a puppet flailing on invisible strings as Bulletman screamed and pushed, screamed and pushed, screamed and pushed, and she finally went down, scrambling against the wall, squeezing herself into a pitiful ball, Bulletman hovering over her, banging his fists, growling.

Maya checked her watch. Ten seconds. Yes, things had gone far enough. She blew the whistle.

Bulletman ceased his assault and stepped away. Slowly, Zoe uncurled herself, her chest heaving, her face red as a cherry. The salty smell of sweat hung thick in the air. The smell of fear.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Eventually, Bulletman reached for Zoe and helped her to her feet.

Maya allowed the silence to linger for a bit before breaking it, ‘What you’ve just seen is called the adrenalin dump. Let me just say that again: adrenalin dump. Your heart races. Your vision tunnels. You start to shake. You can’t breathe. You lose fine motor control. Your reflexes go wonky. Time slows down. You lose focus. Your black belt doesn’t help you. You forget all your fancy moves. You get overwhelmed. You get pummelled. You get raped. You become a statistic. End of story.’

Maya walked to a bench nearby and unclasped the chilly bin sitting on it. Icy vapour swirled as she got out a sports drink. Cracking the can open with a fizz, Maya handed it to Bulletman, who handed it to Zoe. Zoe accepted the drink with shivering hands, her head bowed.

Maya turned back to the students. Their faces were pale. They didn’t look so smug now.

‘Girls, there’s the
dojo
and then there’s the streets. Chances are, your instructors have never been in real confrontation on the streets. They don’t even know what it feels like. They can’t tell you about the hormones pumping through your blood, the neurons firing in your brain, the spasms attacking your muscles. They can’t coach you what to do when your reptilian side overpowers your mammalian side. I mean, we are so used to thinking of ourselves as civilised and restrained human beings that we have completely lost touch with the very instincts that are vital for keeping us alive and well. That’s what this course is meant to fix. I want my students to understand the adrenalin dump. I want them to master it. Because, girls, you already have the tools. Evolutionary biology is hiding in plain sight. Don’t believe me? Then spread your fingers. Go ahead. Lift up your hands and spread your fingers. Notice the webbed skin between them? There you go. Your reptilian roots are right there, buried beneath a mammalian façade. Now, if you can use that under stress, under extreme stress, it might just prove to be the difference.’

Maya studied the group. They looked lost, as if she had just been speaking to them in Latin. Obviously, she needed to unblock their minds with a hard-and-fast demonstration. Nodding at Bulletman, she took off her whistle and her cellphone and placed them on the bench.

Maya turned just as Bulletman rushed forward, screaming, ‘You damn bitch! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna kill you!’

Maya felt the adrenalin ribbon through her like an explosion of warmth, pitching her to the edge, causing her to see red, her body shaking like she was being caught up in a hurricane, but she forced herself to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth—conscious of her thundering heartbeat, welcoming the rush, riding it, allowing her raw primal instincts to take over, and she dodged past Bulletman’s arms, slamming the web between her forefinger and thumb into his throat, hearing him grunt, stopping him in mid-lunge, before palm-striking his face in a blur—
bam, bam, bam
—the force coming from deep within her, the very core of her being, as she turned fear into rage, her screams eclipsing his as she refused to back down, refused to be a victim, and she cracked her elbow into his ribs, while her knee powered into his groin, and he staggered, faltered, and now the tide of the battle had well and truly turned, and she palm-struck his kidney, clawing at it before headbutting him in the chest, catching him in his solar plexus, and as he whimpered and doubled over, she snapped her elbow straight up, catching him in the chin, and his head jerked back, and he reeled, arms thrashing, and he went down with the hardest thump, and she orbited around him and loomed, her foot raised above his face, ready to deliver the ultimate coup de grace.

Maya paused for effect. Then, slowly, very slowly, she eased her foot away. She reached down for Bulletman’s outstretched arms, helping him up.

Her tunnelled senses eased as she came down from the adrenalin high, and she became aware of the students clapping and cheering and whooping as they crowded around her with Zoe at the forefront, wide-eyed and eager.

‘That’s way awesome!’

‘Unreal! Never seen anything like it!’

‘You were like an animal, Miss Raines! Like an animal!’

Maya could do little but pant and smile. That’s when her cellphone buzzed on the bench, cutting short the kudos.

Zoe scooped it up and handed it over. ‘Here you go, Miss Raines.’

‘Cheers.’

Maya checked the caller ID.

It was Deirdre Raines.

Mama.

She sighed, and her smile became a frown. Shaking her head, she straightened. ‘Girls, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to cut this short. That’s it for today’s introductory session. Bulletman—also known as Eli—will be taking down your details if you are keen to sign up for the full course. Thank you. Have a good day.’

Maya turned away from the chattering girls.

Mama.

They hadn’t spoken to each other since that night. They had gotten in each other’s faces back then, arguing, neither of them backing down. And in the end, Maya had left, vowing never to return.

She flexed her fingers around her phone. The hurt was still raw, jabbing and twisting in her like fish hooks.

Mama, you’re choosing a lousy time to call.

She made for the community hall’s entrance and pushed the door open. The autumn breeze tousled her hair. Dry leaves skittered along in the parking lot. The sky was gunmetal grey.

Maya answered her phone. ‘Yes?

Mama’s voice was flat and cold. ‘Maya, I’m putting you on assignment.’

‘I can’t do it. Sorry.’

Mama ignored her. ‘Our principal is Abraham Khan. It’s all over the news, so I’m sure you’re aware that an attempt was made on him last night.’

‘You’ll have to find someone else—’

‘The police have relocated him to the Pacifica Hotel, and there is every chance that this thing might escalate.’

‘Please find someone else—’

‘The Diplomatic Protection Squad is up to their eyeballs with the economic summit in Wellington. They cannot redeploy to Auckland. Not for the next few days. So, for now, Section One is being tapped to look after Khan.’

Maya sighed. ‘I’m not in the right state of mind.’

‘I’m not playing your games, Maya. Not today. Dashiell and Arthur are already on-site. Noah will be at your place in an hour. That’s final.’

‘Mama—’

‘I said that’s final. Just do your job.’

Maya frowned as the line disconnected with a click. She felt her stomach clench up, and her mouth tasted sour. Yes, Mama was doing what she did best. Being a dragon lady. Never taking no for an answer.

CHAPTER 8

Home was just a suburb away from the community centre. As Maya drove into inner Henderson, the green, lush hills of the WaitakereRanges unfurled themselves on the horizon. Jagged and wild and volcanic, it stretched for kilometres, never seeming to end. The Maori called it
Te Wao Nui a Tiriwa
. The GreatForest of Tiriwa.

Maya took a junction off the main road and travelled down a slope. Neat houses flanked her on either side, comfortably middle-class. The view was panoramic—she could make out farmlands and roaming sheep on the ranges. It never failed to impress. Where else in the world could you find rural paradise just thirty minutes outside the city centre?

Staring at the vista was almost enough to make her forget her conversation with Mama. Almost. But not quite. It stayed wedged in her mind like a red-hot splinter. A part of her wanted to retreat back to being a child. To sulk and stamp her feet and just refuse to go along with Mama’s manipulations. But another part of her—the prudent part of her—dismissed such foolishness.

I’m a professional. I have to act like one. Papa would have expected no less.

Her house came up on the right, and she eased into her driveway. She stopped in front of her garage door. All she had to do was touch the remote on her key ring and the door would open. But she wasn’t doing that. Not just yet.

Maya got out her cellphone. Connecting wirelessly to her home’s security terminal, she squinted, checking the camera and motion sensor logs, cycling through room by room, looking for anything that didn’t belong. Sure, she had been away for only two hours. But a lot could happen in two hours.

A while back, a woman down in Otahuhu had come home after a trip to the grocery. What she didn’t know was that a rapist had broken in and laid in wait. The attack was horrific—the man had shattered the woman’s face so completely that she needed reconstructive surgery.

When the police failed to get him, the woman had turned to a freelancer—Adam Larsen, Maya’s one-time partner. Prowling the streets, plumbing his connections, Adam had zeroed in on the perpetrator in under twelve hours. Quid pro quo, he had fractured the guy’s jaw before handing him in.

Right after, Adam had insisted on installing the security setup in Maya’s home. ‘It’s a sick, sick world out there,’ he had said with hard eyes. ‘You can never be too careful.’