The Blasphemer (7 page)

‘My father belonged to the younger generation. More enlightened. Less cynical. Of course, he had no illusions about the atrocities the British had committed against us. But to him, bygones were bygones. What mattered more was the choice before us. And in father’s mind, there was only one choice. He reminded the elders that our tribal code of protecting guests had been passed down for generations. To even consider breaking it now would be a great shame, a terrible dishonour. If, by upholding it, we had to go into battle with the other village, so be it. No, we did not ask for this fight. But neither would we back down from it.’

‘Brave man,’ Noah said.

Abraham nodded. ‘Yes, my father had made up his mind. He silenced all dissent and entrusted the passports to the rider on horseback, urging him to make haste towards the city. He hoped—no, he prayed—that the passports would help our case. Then he set about fortifying the village for the coming attack. Guns were cleaned and oiled. Barricades were put up. Watchmen were placed on the rooftops. For two days, we waited. Not daring to sleep. Not daring to venture outside the confines of the village. Frightful thoughts drifted through our minds. Was the mob massing just beyond? How many of them were there? Had they gotten others to join their cause? The speculation was wild and endless. You have to understand, being Sufi, we had no allies to call upon. We were most definitely and totally alone, surrounded by thousands of Sunni tribesmen in every direction...’ 

Abraham touched his nose and exhaled. His foot had stopped jackhammering. His face had returned to its normal colour. He seemed calmer now. More collected. Yet there was something about his demeanour; something Maya couldn’t quite read.Abraham continued, ‘But,
shukur Allah
, no blood needed to be spilled in the end. On the dawn of the third day, our rider returned. No, not by horse. By helicopter. He had a squad of British Royal Marines with him.’

Noah smiled. ‘The cavalry arrives to save the day.’

‘Yes. The helicopter’s roar and the way it sparkled in the morning light was almost like a
malaekah
—an angel—descending from heaven. The entire village was overjoyed. My father, most of all.’

‘And the British couple...?’

Abraham rubbed his neck and blinked. ‘One of the marines spoke our dialect, and he was happy to act as a translator between us and the couple. So this was how we uncovered the truth. The man’s name was Joseph, and the woman’s name was Kerry. They were tourists who had ventured out into the frontier on a hiking trip. Foolishly, they had done so without a guide. This proved to be their undoing when they were set upon by a gang of bandits. Joseph and Kerry were roughed up and stripped of their belongings. Fortunately, during the robbery, Joseph had enough sense to conceal a penknife in the palm of his hand. When one of the bandits tried to accost Kerry, he retaliated and stabbed the would-be rapist in the neck. In the scuffle, Joseph and Kerry broke free and made a run for it. They ran and ran, slipping and staggering in the jagged countryside, until they found our village. Quite astounding. It’s not often that you come across outsiders outrunning locals.’

‘So I take it the bandits belonged to the neighbouring village?’ Maya asked.

‘Indeed.’

‘And they didn’t come back because they knew they were in the wrong?’

Abraham touched his nose. His eyes tracked to the left. ‘Yes. But that was not the sole reason. You see, Joseph happened to be the son of the British ambassador. His only son, in fact. My father had not intended it, but he had won the favour and gratitude of a very powerful man. And this... this is how I came to leave my village and receive my education...’

Maya nodded, slowly beginning to understand.

At long last, the fog was lifting.

CHAPTER 16

When the interview was over, Abraham led Maya and Noah to the door. He found himself quietly impressed by their sensitivity, their awareness, their professional aura. Unlike most other people, they hadn’t been quick to judge him nor to sweeten him up. They had simply given him the measured facts and had acted as discerning listeners. And for that, Abraham was grateful. 

As he held the door open, Maya said, ‘Thank you, sir, for sharing so much with us. It’s an honour.’

Everything? No, not everything. Far from it.
Abraham slipped into a forced smile. ‘The honour is mine. It is not everyday that I get to share old stories.’

Noah grinned. ‘Well, it’s not everyday that we get to hear stories from a man of your stature.’

‘You flatter me. Truly.’

‘We’ll be consulting with our colleagues.’ Maya nodded. ‘We’ll try to accommodate your plans as best we can.’

‘I know you will.’

‘We’ll talk again soon.’

‘Of course. Goodbye for now.’

Abraham closed the door behind them, then sighed, leaning his head against it, slumping his shoulders. Once more, he was alone, the psychic weight of everything bearing down on his soul.

If only… If only he could have been honest with his protectors. Totally honest. But the memories were too much. Even after these all years, it was still too damn much. And, no, he didn’t want to conceive of the loss. His loss.

Gritting his teeth, he cast a sideways glance at the bathroom door. He considered knocking on it gently. Imploring his wife in his most mellow voice. Reasoning things out with her…

He chuckled bitterly. They were past that point now, weren’t they? Last night had well and truly shattered any promises of safety. She would never forgive him. Ever.

Abraham straightened and paced the suite, circuiting it over and over, restless energy driving him. He reached into his pocket and drew out a string of prayer beads, fingering each one individually as he recited the
dhikr
—the divine incantation. ‘
La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah.’
There is no power and strength except through God.

His head bobbled as he fell into a rhythm, seeking solace, banishing self-doubt. He had come so far now. Too far. To turn back now because of hardship, because of cowardice, would be absurd. Why couldn’t his wife understand that? This wasn’t about them. This wasn’t about their marriage. This was about something greater and purer and—

That’s when the bathroom door clicked open, and Belinda stepped out. Abraham stuttered to a halt, his mouth suddenly dry. They stared at each other for a long while, the tension of the moment mounting.

Finally, Belinda spoke. Slowly. Sharply. ‘Abe, I knew what kind of man you were when I married you. And I’ve always loved you. Never begrudged you. But this is it. This has to be the last time. Promise me. Draw the line. Otherwise I’m gone.’

Abraham sucked in a shaky breath. Considered his answer.

CHAPTER 17

In a perfect world, all it would take was a single bullet to Abraham Khan’s brainstem. Clinical. Precise. Zero chance of collateral damage. Never mind the lack of drama and theatricality.

But now, even if Magellan wanted a kill shot, he knew it would no longer be possible. As he stood on the SkyTower’s observation deck, surrounded by tourists, he peered through his binoculars. From here, he had a clear view of Abraham’s hotel suite. But the curtains were pulled tight. No gaps. Not even a sliver.

You are not going to make things easy for us, are you?

Impatience curdled up within him, and he tasted sourness on his tongue.

Magellan lowered his gaze, scanning the hotel’s entrance. Police officers and security guards were shepherding knots of reporters and onlookers, but so far as he could tell, their presence was minimal and thinly spread. Easy enough to exploit through speed, surprise and violence of action.

But appearances were deceptive, of course. Auckland Police HQ was only a couple of blocks away. Once the alarm was tripped, he had no doubt that they would respond in force within five minutes.

Five minutes.

Tight.

Too tight.

A more immediate problem, though, was the protectors guarding Abraham on the inside. How proficient were they? Had they established a hardened position? What were their incursion protocols like? There was so much Magellan couldn’t see, couldn’t know, and the lack of intel frustrated him. No, getting to Abraham wouldn’t be clean. It wouldn’t be clean at all.

Just then, a squealing child interrupted Magellan’s thoughts. Turning, he saw the boy stomping on a section of the floor made out of glass. Through it, you could see all the way down to ground level, a hundred metres below. It was several inches thick and shatterproof. Even so, he found himself wishing it would crack and break just so he’d be rid of this insolent nuisance.

Magellan stared at the boy, offering him a glimpse of the darkness within, and the reaction was instant—the boy flinched and tottered back, his lips shivering. Magellan eyeballed the boy for a beat longer, then coolly returned to his binoculars.

He continued studying the Pacifica.

He didn’t like the fact that he was playing catch-up. Ideally, Abraham Khan would still be going on tour in a week’s time and doing it with minimal security. But last night’s snafu had derailed all that. And now… well, now Magellan would have to settle for inconveniences. The schedule would have to be ramped up; the assaulters prepped immediately; and a direct attack retooled into something more asymmetric.

Magellan exhaled.

One thing, at least, was on track—the hit team was prepared to improvise and had assured him that they would execute their op tonight. Risky, yes, but the groundwork was already done. It was now or never.

CHAPTER 18

Adam Larsen doubled back to his apartment on Auckland’s east side to pick up his tools and get his car before hitting the road. He had several stops to make. A few contacts to touch base with.

As he drove, he considered what Deirdre had told him. The subject who had attacked Abraham Khan last night was a lone wolf. A regular guy who had acted on his impulses with no help and no encouragement. Yes, digital forensics revealed that he had visited several
jihadi
websites. But beyond that? No chat messages. No forum posts. No emails. No nothing.

Apparently, the subject was more into reading than participating. Which was probably just as well. Because if he had actually taken the time to talk to someone who knew about guns, he would have reflected on the stupidity of buying a black-market Norinco.

Then last night would have turned differently.

The principal had gotten lucky. Real lucky. But Adam saw no reason to celebrate. From here on out, anyone wanting to take a crack at Khan would be more prepared. More determined. Better equipped. The persistent news coverage would make damn sure of that.

Adam flexed his fingers around his steering wheel.
So where do I go from here?

The American FBI used something called linkage analysis, which they applied to violent crimes. Essentially, if you worked backwards, you could profile every unsub—unknown subject—based on the way a rape or a murder had been carried out and the heinous fantasies that fuelled it.

First, you looked at the unsub’s modus operandi. His method of operation. What kind of weapon did he use? What kind of tools? What kind of transport? How did he select his victims? When did he strike? Where did he strike?

Second, you studied the ritual of the crime. The behavioural patterns that the unsub repeated over and over again. Did he enjoy dominating his victims? What about torture? Mutilation? Did he pose them after he killed them? How did he dispose of the bodies? Where?

Third, you combined modus operandi and ritual in order to get the unsub’s signature. The unique blueprint that allowed you to pinpoint a criminal as surely as you would pinpoint anyone leaving DNA behind at the scene of a crime.

Yes, linkage analysis was a great tool. It provided insight into how, why and when an unsub might strike and allowed you to track their patterns. Used right, it could almost be clairvoyant.

But it had a weakness—it only worked on serial offenders. So taking last night’s attack and using it to construct a profile would be useless. The subject—Samir Ziad Jarrah—was a one-off offender. His explosive rage had been an anomaly. There were no breadcrumbs to follow. Nothing to analyse.

In any case, linkage analysis was retrospective, not progressive. It focused on looking backward, not forward. You couldn’t use it to chase down future crimes that were being planned by other subjects, but had yet to be executed. It just didn’t work that way.

Adam exhaled, his breath whistling. A part of him was frustrated. But another part of him was keyed up. He lived for moments like this. Knowing there were unsubs out there. Knowing he needed to zero in on them before they zeroed in on the principal.

CHAPTER 19

When Devlin stepped out into the airport’s arrival hall, he wasn’t feeling all that great. His head was heavy as hell, and his body was stiff all over. Pulling his wheeled suitcase behind him, he stretched and yawned. The joints in his neck popped. Pins and needles crawled across his skin.

The perils of flying economy
.

Sure, he could have saved himself the discomfort by travelling business class. He would have enjoyed nicer meals. More legroom. Better sleep. And, truth be told, he had almost been tempted to go down that route. Almost. But not quite. Because, when he took emotion out of the equation, he concluded that it would have been more trouble than it was worth. Airlines tended to pay extra attention to business travellers—attention that he could most certainly do without.

He needed to blend in. To be faceless. To be just another nobody. If that meant spending twelve hours squeezed between a kid who couldn’t stop bouncing in his seat and a woman who couldn’t stop snoring, well, so be it. Discipline. What it really came down to was discipline. Ironclad and uncompromising.