The Blasphemer (17 page)

Adam smirked.

Tong was moving towards the staircase now, mounting it, camera bobbing as he did. When he reached the top, the minders stood, thuggish faces grinning.

Adam expected them to pat him down. To check if he was armed or wired. But, amazingly, they didn’t. The minders treated Tong exactly like how he said they would—as a friend. One of them unlocked the door, and the other guided him into the corridor beyond.

Adam shrugged.

Maybe this thing would work out after all.

At the end of the corridor, Tong was ushered through another door. Into the office. It was cramped. The detritus of old computers lined the walls. And right in the middle was Hassan. Seated behind a mahogany desk. Looking toady in a cheap suit and tie. Flanked by another minder.

Adam frowned.

Something about Hassan’s smile didn’t look quite right.

It was too smug, too knowing.

That’s when something caused Tong to turn around. There was a streak of motion from the edge of the camera’s frame. And
bang
. The minder behind Tong sucker-punched him, and the camera spun wildly, everything turning into a blurry mess.

CHAPTER 46

Adam’s stomach lurched.

It’s a set-up. It’s a damn set-up.

Tong was on the floor now, and the minders frisked him. They were aggressive in their search, slapping and pawing and prodding, but they didn’t find the camera. Still, Hassan wasn’t satisfied. He leaned over his desk and pointed an accusing finger, trying to get Tong to admit to something. When Tong didn’t give him the right answer, Hassan nodded at his minders, and they went to work, stomping and kicking, and the feed crumbled into static.

Shit.

Adam fiddled with his cellphone. Tried to reacquire the signal. But it was no use. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. Felt adrenalin warming his blood, causing his hands to tremble ever so slightly.

Shit.

Swallowing, he used the edge of his vision to check on the minder at the door. The guy was just sitting there. Looking relaxed. Languid. As if the violence on the other side wasn’t even happening. And all the other patrons in the room were still immersed in their virtual worlds. Hypnotised. Oblivious.

A few seconds ticked by.

And… nothing.

They don’t know I’m here.

Adam had a choice to make right then. He could play it cool. Try to slip away. Leave Tong to take the heat. Disavow and deny. Or…

Or I can play this like Bogart.

Slowly, very slowly, he pocketed his cellphone and rose from his seat. Pushed back his chair. Performed another scan of the room. Licked his lips. Flexed his fingers.

Do it.

Adam turned and made for the door.

The minder saw him coming from ten paces away and jerked to attention, rising to his feet. ‘Hey, hey. You can’t go back there. That’s staff only.’

Adam scrunched up his face and clutched his stomach. Continued approaching. Eyes downcast. Muscles tensed up. Pulse drumming in his ears. ‘Toilet. I need the toilet.’

‘The toilet is over there.’

‘Where? I don’t see it.’

‘It’s right over—’

Adam drew his pistol. Pressed it into the man’s chest. Double-tapped his heart. The suppressed shots were like a stapler clicking, and the metallic scent of gunsmoke peppered the air. The minder twitched and seized up, his mouth gaping. Adam caught him before he fell and, with a grunt, eased his limp body back into his chair, blood already blossoming across his shirt.

A few patrons were murmuring now, peeking out from behind their terminals, straining to see what was going on.

Adam knew he didn’t have much time.

He searched the minder’s body and found the keys. Straightening, he unlocked the door and got out his cellphone, dialling a preset number. There was a hiss followed by a pop, and all the lights and computers went dark.

CHAPTER 47

Adam slipped on his night-vision goggles and swung into the corridor, the infrared laser on his gun stabbing the darkness, visible only to his eyes. He was in the zone now, adrenalin spurring him forward, sweat prickling his skin.

At the end of the corridor, he sliced the pie—cutting around the corner in a wide angle, maximising his sight picture. And that’s when the office door creaked open, and a minder came shuffling out, revolver in hand. And Adam shot him in the forehead, dropping him like a stringless puppet.

Hassan’s voice bellowed from inside the office, ‘Tito? What is happening out there?
Tito?
’

Adam darted through the doorway in a button-hook manoeuvre, going low, using his momentum to carry him into a sliding crouch, and Hassan and the remaining minder opened fire, muzzle flashes painting the room in a ghoulish staccato, but Adam was already to the left of the doorway, already clear of the fatal funnel, and with his ears ringing, teeth clenched, he planted his laser on Hassan, then the minder, drilling them both with headshots.

Click. Click.

Click. Click.

Blood misted the air, and Tong cried out and cowered as the two bodies thudded on the floor on either side of him.

Adam tracked his gun this way and that way. Inhaled. Exhaled. Made sure there was no one else left to shoot. Then he performed a tactical reload, swapping his partially depleted magazine for a fresh one.

He moved towards Tong and touched his shoulder. ‘It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. It’s me.’

‘Bastard…’ Tong coughed and wheezed, his speech slurred. ‘Bastard really played me for a fool...’

Adam examined him, taking stock of his injuries. Dislocated nose. Broken jaw. Shattered fingers. Cracked ribs. Numerous contusions. They were all ugly, yeah, but paled in comparison to the problems that weren’t immediately apparent—minor whiplash trauma to the neck and a possible low-grade concussion to the head.

Damn it.

Adam swept his gaze across the room. Over the bodies. And paused when he saw the laptop computer on Hassan’s desk. It was still active; running wirelessly on battery power. Which meant that it had escaped being fried by the electromagnetic surge.

Adam thumbed his nose.

Maybe there’s still a chance we can salvage some intel.

He decided to grab the laptop and hope for the best. Because there was no time to do anything more. Tong was hurt bad, and already, he could hear people shouting and clamouring outside.

They had to move, and they had to move now.

CHAPTER 48

Adam helped Tong down the fire escape. The rain pelted them, and the metal steps were slippery. Adam knew that he ran the risk of aggravating Tong’s injuries by forcing him to move. Which could lead to damaged nerves. Ruptured blood vessels. Or worse. But Adam chose not to think about it. Right now, the priority was to exfiltrate. The quicker, the better.

They hit ground level, and Tong stumbled, snot and blood dribbling down his nose, and Adam held him up. Steadied him. As they hobbled out of the alleyway, Adam’s eyes darted, scanning for threats. A small crowd had gathered in front of the cybercafé, and sirens were converging from several blocks away.

Great. Just great.

Adam picked up the pace and led Tong across the street. Tong gasped and groaned. Behind them, the sirens were fast approaching, a wailing crescendo that made Adam’s chest tighten, but he resisted the urge to look back.

Come on. Come on.

It felt like forever, but they finally reached the car.

Adam eased Tong into the passenger side, strapped him in, then got into the driver’s side and placed the laptop in the backseat. Heart pounding, he waited for the police vehicles to scream past, their light bars flashing, before he keyed the ignition, got the car into gear and performed a slow U-turn. He straightened and accelerated in the opposite direction, fingers tight on the steering wheel, executing random turns until he was sure—absolutely sure—that they were clear.

Close. Too damn close.

Adam threw Tong a glance. He was rigid and shivering, his lips blue. Classic signs of combat stress reaction. Adam slipped off his jacket and threw it over Tong before cranking up the heater.

CHAPTER 49

Deirdre knew that things had gone bad.

She was listening in on the police chatter, and it was running wild. Shots had apparently been fired inside the cybercafé, and first responders were already on the scene. Locking the place down. Corralling witnesses. Waiting for the Armed Offenders Squad to arrive.

Deirdre felt her cheeks twitch.

If Adam is still inside…

That’s when her phone rang. She straightened. Saw that it was Adam. She terminated the chatter coming from her computer and touched her Bluetooth earpiece, taking the call. ‘It’s about time you checked in. Police transmissions are running red-hot. What’s happening?’

‘A clusterfuck, that’s what. The meeting was a set-up. They jumped Tong and beat him nearly to a pulp. I had to go tactical.’

Deirdre ran her hand through her hair and inhaled. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning four tangos are down, including Hassan.’

‘That’s… less than desirable.’

Adam scoffed. ‘I had no choice. Look, I’m coming in with Tong. He’s suffered extreme blunt-force trauma, and his prognosis isn’t great. So get a medical team ready. Also, you might want to spare an egghead for data-mining duties. I managed to recover Hassan’s laptop. May or may not contain actionable intel.’

Deirdre nodded. ‘Okay. All right. Anything else?

‘Yeah. I knocked out the CCTV cameras in the cybercafé with an electromagnetic surge. So we don’t have to worry about footage. But there’s shell casings and blood and—’

‘Understood. I’ll pull some strings and make the evidence disappear. Dress everything up as a gang-related shooting. So don’t stress about that. It’s a non-issue. Just get back here immediately.’

‘Will do.’

Deirdre clicked off and leaned back against her chair. Gripped the armrests.  Exhaled slowly.

So far, Magellan had been a ghost. Untraceable. Inscrutable. But now… now the smokescreen was melting away. And it was to plain to see that he was more than just another drug pusher. His violent overreaction only confirmed what she had always suspected—that distributing
khat
was simply a pretext. A means to an end. Some kind of… false-flag operation.

Why else would Hassan turn on Tong like this?

Magellan must have made him a better offer.

But why? To hide what?

Deirdre curled her lip. She needed to debrief Adam and Tong. Plug the holes. Gain a better strategic picture. And then—
damn it
—she intended to put pressure on the prime minister and the police commissioner. Play them off against each other. Force the damn bureaucrats to
finally
authorise blanket surveillance on the Somalian community.

Shaking her head, Deirdre reached for her phone. Dialled an extension number. ‘Janice? Please get Dr Singh and his team prepped. We have precious cargo coming in…’

CHAPTER 50

Devlin and Emmerich strolled hand in hand, pretending to be a couple.

An elderly couple.

It was the best kind of camouflage.

Through a combination of prosthetics and make-up, they had altered their faces beyond recognition. New hair. New noses. New wrinkles. They looked years older than they were. Which was the point. Older faces always came across as being less suspicious. Less threatening.

They rounded a corner, and Ramesh Kahoku’s home came into view. It was a single-storey. Unfenced. Hedged only by low-lying bushes.

Devlin scanned this way and that way, finding the lack of obstacles to be both good and bad.

Good because it offered an uninterrupted line of approach.

But bad because there was nothing to mask that approach.

Devlin inhaled. Executing an op like this went against his better instincts. The house was well-lit. The occupants were awake. And the sheer openness of the terrain presented a tactical challenge.

Emmerich gave his hand a squeeze. ‘What are you thinking?’

Devlin flexed his jaw and exhaled. ‘I’m thinking we should circle around. Do a bit more recon. Just to be sure.’

‘Fine by me.’

They veered away from the house and carried on down the sidewalk, slow and casual, checking all the angles. Everything looked legit, but still, Devlin couldn’t control the ebb and flow of his doubts. He was beginning to wonder—
really wonder
—if he had made a mistake by committing to something as gratuitous as this.

They passed under a streetlamp, and Emmerich glanced at him. ‘Ease up, tiger. You’re too tense.’

Devlin shook his head. ‘I don’t like working off other people’s intel. At best, it’s incomplete. At worst, it’s plain wrong.’

‘I’ve performed a dry run. It all checks out. Trust me.’

‘I do trust you. It’s the client I don’t trust.’

‘What’s there to trust?’ Emmerich rolled her eyes. ‘We go in, and we do what we always do—speed, surprise and violence of action.’

Devlin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

They reached the end of the block and lingered for a moment. Then they orbited back to the house. But every step of the way was ponderous, and he felt the slow, steady burn of anxiety in his gut.

Do I really need to do this? Do I really need the money?

The reptilian part of his brain told him
yes
and
yes
.

But another part of him…

He bit his lip.

Ramesh Kahoku was simply a target of opportunity. A soft target. Since the client couldn’t strike at Abraham Khan—
not yet
—he had chosen to strike at Ramesh. It was cold. Calculated. Simple.

In the past, Devlin would have had no trouble with such a move.