Dashiell peered out from the kitchen doorway, fingers flexing on his Benelli shotgun. ‘Where’s Noah?’
Maya puckered her lips. Shook her head. ‘He didn’t make it.’ She paused. Ran her hand through her wet hair. ‘Dashiell, Arthur. You’re with me and Gabrielle. We’ll cover the front and the bedrooms. The rest of you cover the rear. Don’t let the tangos outflank us. All right? Move. Move!’
There was more gunfire now.
Front, left and right.
Drumming against the furniture, chewing them up.
Shadows passed just outside the dining room. And the glass door shattered. Tangos were heaving against the sofa pressed up against it. Kicking. Shouting. A rifle poked through the gap. Shooting wildly.
Bullets raked the walls.
Punctured the ceiling.
Zinged off the chandelier.
And Dashiell racked the slide on his shotgun. Letting loose. Booming like a thunder god. And the buckshot pellets took off the tango’s hand at close range. Blood speckled the air. The rifle clattered to the floor. And there was the most god-awful scream.
Arthur closed in, firing his MP5 through the gap, emptying his magazine, finishing off the tango and driving the others back.
Breathing hard, Maya checked the main bedroom, her eyes scanning. She touched her microphone. ‘Actual, what’s our status?’
‘The QRF are almost there. Hold on just a bit longer…’
There was a crash and a thump. The tangos had dislodged the bed wedged up against the window. And two of them wriggled through the opening and dropped through.
Damn it.
Maya jerked her carbine up and shot the first tango. But the second lunged at her, smacking her weapon away, tackling her against the wall. The impact was bone-crunching, and she gasped, the man’s breath hot against her face.
He swung a punch, caught her in the ribs, and she doubled over, bile scorching the back of her throat, and he launched his knee into her, and she blocked it, panting, and with her other hand, she unclipped her knife, blade snapping open, and she went for his kidney first, slashing hard, tearing through, and then she zigzagged, going for the brachial artery in his arm, carving deep, bouncing off bone, and she finished up by plunging her knife into the side of the man’s neck.
The tango went bug-eyed.
His mouth twitched.
And he slumped.
And that’s when Maya heard the glorious roar of a chopper approaching, accompanied by the hard crack of a heavy machine gun, and she looked through the window and saw a tango raise his rifle skywards, only to be cut down by hundreds of bullet impacts, and balaclava-clad commandos abseiled, landing in the garden, spreading out, weapons blazing.
And Maya sank to the floor.
Sucked in heaving breaths.
And finally—
finally
— allowed herself to cry.
CHAPTER 78
Devlin watched the coverage of the siege, and he cupped his mouth, nails digging into his cheek.
How has it come to this? How?
Trembling, he slid off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Propped himself against the sink. Splashed water on his face. Lots and lots of water.
Dripping, he stared at himself in the mirror.
It was like peering at a ghost.
He had never felt so weary, so drained.
I’ll turn myself in. Offer them intel. Yes, intel. And in return, I’ll ask for asylum. Protection. And, fuck, they’ll give it to me. They have to. They’ll want to know everything about Magellan now. And I’ll give him to them. Give him to them on a silver platter…
That’s when Emmerich appeared in the doorway behind him.
Devlin blinked. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Tying up a loose end.’ Emmerich clicked her tongue. ‘You’re going soft in the head, and we can’t afford the blowback.’
Devlin started to turn. ‘Now, wait. Just wait—’
Emmerich raised her Ruger twenty-two and pulled the trigger.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER 79
‘Hello and welcome to Tough Talk. I’m Hayley Ngata. With me in the studio today is Prime Minister Lyn Walker. Prime Minister, thank you for joining us.’
‘Thank you, Hayley.’
‘Prime Minister, let me just start by saying that this past week has been horrendous. Absolutely horrendous. We’ve had riots, bombings, murders. And, to top it all off, we’ve had that terrible, terrible siege in Point Chevalier. It just beggars belief that this can happen in our country...’
‘Yes, it has been a very trying time. Undeniably trying. But I’m going to take a moment to recognise and pay tribute to the courage of the soldiers and police officers who fought to bring that siege to an end. I’m thankful that the situation was contained swiftly and decisively.’
‘Mm-hm. And yet there were civilians who were caught up in it. Civilians like Marcia Wigmore…’
‘Being a mother myself, I understand her family’s pain. I understand their grief. Their loss. And my heart goes out to them. But Marcia most certainly did not die in vain. We are and always have been a nation of compassion and integrity. Right now, I am consulting with my cabinet about the kind of compensation we might be able to offer.’
‘Can you accept, though, that the public is angry? They think it’s grossly irresponsible of your administration to have placed Abraham Khan in such a populated neighbourhood. I mean, the level of risk—’
‘Hayley, I can assure you that a full and open inquiry will be carried out. It will be transparent, it will deliver answers, and we will get to the bottom of the matter. For now, however, Abraham Khan and his wife have been moved to a more secure location. The risk there will be minimal, and no civilian will ever, ever be placed in harm’s way.’
‘Prime Minister, can you guarantee that there won’t be a repeat of last week?’
‘Well, let me just reiterate that I have a zero-tolerance policy in regards to terrorism. And I simply do not care whether the perpetrators are white supremacists or Islamists. They’re all the same in my book, and I will root them out and bring them to justice. What last week has proved, Hayley, is that no nation, no matter how small, is immune from the scourge of terror. I have been in close contact with the American president, and his input and advice has been invaluable. We are actively considering new policies in order to strengthen our collective security.’
‘I take this to mean that New Zealand will be contributing to the US-led peacekeeping force to Malaysia?’
‘That is correct. We must be more engaged with the international community. Perhaps more so than we have been in the past. I see no other choice.’
CHAPTER 80
Deirdre met Maya at the Sky City Casino.
It was crowded.
Gamblers teemed at the blackjack and roulette tables. Slot machines pinged and chimed. And security staff in blue jackets orbited the scene. Which made it the best place to grab a drink. No one would be able to employ listening devices here.
Deirdre sipped on her wine and brushed her hair back. Studied the crowd. Picked up on the rhythm; the vibes. And there was no fear to be found here. Only greed and excitement and the thrill of the chasing imaginary money. Already, the trauma of the last few days was receding. People had such short memories.
Shaking her head, Deirdre gazed at her daughter. Saw that Maya was hunched over, tracing a line on the table’s edge with her fingers. Her drink remained untouched.
Deirdre kept her tone gentle. ‘How are you holding up?’
Maya inhaled and bunched up her shoulders. ‘Okay, I guess.’
‘I want you to know that you did well. You protected the principal. Kept him out of harm’s way. And the prime minister extends her gratitude…’
‘She can keep her gratitude.’ Maya looked up, her eyes glistening. ‘Innocent people are dead. Noah is dead.’
Deirdre took another sip of her drink, feeling a pinprick of sorrow. Noah had been her favourite operator. And his passing had left a gaping hole. But she internalised the emotion. Didn’t allow it to show. Even to Maya, she would always be the dragon lady. The ice queen.
Deirdre lowered her glass to the table. ‘It’s the price we bear for doing what we do.’ She paused. Tilted her head to one side. ‘Have you heard of the legend of the thirty-six tzadikim?’
‘I can’t say I have.’
‘Well, it goes like this. Jewish mystics believe that there are thirty-six saints living among us at all times. Ordinary men and women whose identities are unknown even to themselves. And the world is saved from destruction
only
because they prove themselves willing to bear suffering and hardship on behalf of others. The weight of the world, quite literally, is borne on their humble shoulders.’
Maya blinked and allowed the faintest of smiles to grace her lips. ‘Mama, are you trying to draw some kind of parallel here?’
‘I’m not much for parallels.’ Deirdre shrugged. ‘But… your father would have been proud of you. Proud of the way you’ve upheld his memory. And… I’m proud of you.’
They shared a moment of sober silence.
Maya shook her head and straightened. ‘What’s happening with that unsub the cops found at the Pukeko Lodge?’
‘Jacob Devlin? Well, for one thing, his name is
not
Jacob Devlin. That’s an assumed identity. All the documentation he had with him is false.’
‘But surely there are other ways of finding out who he is…’
‘It’s not that easy. His face? It’s been remoulded by extensive plastic surgery. Multiple times. His teeth? The originals have all been extracted and replaced by a false set. Very intricate dental work. And his fingerprints? Forget it. It’s all been seared off by acid.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Still, it’s safe to say that he was indeed one of the hitters who struck at Ramesh Kahoku’s house.’ Deirdre allowed herself a tight smile. ‘Police found a single strand of hair at the scene. And it matches perfectly with this man’s DNA.’
‘Interesting…’
‘That’s not all, though. Before he died, he managed to scrawl two words on the wall. In his own blood.’
Maya frowned. ‘In his own blood?’
‘That’s right. Magellan. Malaysia.’ Deirdre leaned forward, her eyes intense. ‘It’s a thin lead, but it’s something.’
CHAPTER 81
Magellan knew that he had gotten lucky.
When he dispatched the Somalis to assault the safe house, it had simply been a guess. Shaky intel gleaned from one girl’s posting on Facebook. But his intuition had paid off spectacularly. Better than he had hoped.
Yes, Abraham Khan was still alive. But that was fine. Because killing him was never the point. Only the illusion of it. The creation of smoke and mirrors.
Magellan looked out his plane’s window. And he saw that he was flying over Darwin, Australia now. And he found himself amused by the irony.
Just last week, the American president had dispatched a contingent of Marines to Darwin. Announced that he would be basing them there permanently. As part of a strategic realignment towards Asia-Pacific. Unofficially, of course, the move was aimed at checking China’s rising power.
But what a fool the president was.
By disengaging from the Middle East and shifting American forces elsewhere, he was merely walking away from the problem. Allowing it to fester. To spread. Like the worst kind of cancer.
Politicians. You can always count on them to do the wrong thing.
Magellan lowered the shutter on his window. He reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Smiled. He had plans. Big plans that would set things right. And, yes, they were already in motion.
Next stop: Malaysia.
CHAPTER 82
Adam thumbed his nose.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Maya and Deirdre had
finally
patched things up. It was seismic. Spine-tingling. And now, gee whiz, the status quo had shifted.
Funny how life works.
He remembered everything that had led to this point. The failed op in Malaysia. The way he had been expelled from Section One. And how Deirdre had thrown herself into her work. Refused to attend Nathan’s funeral. And, yes, how Maya had gone all bitter about it.
It was the soap opera to top all soap operas.
Then Abraham Khan had come along.
Stirred things up.
And now, hell, Adam was a full-blown Section One employee once again. Privileges restored. Active duty.
It’s all coming back full circle.
Adam shook his head and ran his tongue across his teeth. He zipped up his suitcase, heaved it to the floor and gave his apartment one last look before turning off the lights.
Next stop: Malaysia.
CHAPTER 83
Abraham Khan was pacing the room, rubbing his prayer beads, when his wife stepped in.
He shuffled to a stop and blinked, his breath caught in his throat. He was aware of the alpine wind gusting against the cabin’s windows. The way the forest branches swayed and creak outside.
‘I…’ Belinda smiled a tight smile. Dropped her gaze. Fiddled with her hands. ‘I want you to know that I’m proud of you, Abe. Even after everything, I’m proud of you. And whatever happens, I’ll stand by you, and we’ll face it together…’
And with that, Abraham dropped his beads—even though it was sacrilege—and he embraced her, and it was as if a dam within him had burst open, and he sobbed into her shoulder, grateful for the smallest of mercies.
Alhamdulilah.
Thanks be to God.
AFTERWORD BY THE AUTHOR
When I first started writing
The Blasphemer,
I wanted it to be more than just another work of fiction. I wanted it to be faction. Which is to say I wanted the characters and themes in my story to be underpinned by journalistic fact.