by John Ling
FALLEN ANGEL
John Ling
Copyright © 2016 by John Ling
Published by Kia Kaha Press
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Fallen Angel
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
PART TWO
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
PART THREE
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
PART FOUR
45
46
47
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
EXCERPT: The Blasphemer
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
PART TWO
6
7
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.
—Michel de Montaigne
PART ONE
.
1
Auckland isn’t Baghdad.
That’s what Kendra Shaw told herself as she sat in a café on Queen Street, back pressed against the wall, sipping on an ice-cold mocha.
All around her, the lunchtime crowd was buzzing. The air smelled of sweat and perfume.
Kendra tried to relax, tried to be normal.
But so far, it wasn’t working.
Outside, past the windows, cars were stopping at the intersection for the red light, gleaming under the summer sun. And... she just couldn’t help herself. Eyes darting, she scanned each individual vehicle, studying their suspensions, front and rear. She tried to decide if any of them are sinking under excessive weight.
She calculated the odds, felt her muscles coiling up, her heart thudding in her ears and...
No.
Kendra twitched, catching herself before the adrenaline dump washed over her. Jaw pinched, face hot, she forced herself to breathe.
In through the nose.
One, two, three.
Out through the mouth.
One, two, three.
Slowly, surely, her pulse slowed, and the tension melted away into a tingle. Hunching over the table, she ran her hand through her hair and stared down at her drink.
No, Auckland isn’t Baghdad, and you’re not going to find any car bombs here, no matter how hard you look.
Kendra curled her lip.
Her therapist had warned her about this – the dangers of negative thinking. Sure, the pills would help, but their effectiveness only stretched so far. If she failed to get a grip, she would only aggravate her condition. Maybe descend into full-blown neurosis.
Only think happy, positive thoughts. You’re back home now. Stop obsessing about operational security. That’s in the past. That’s not your life anymore.
Kendra sucked up the rest of her drink, her straw screeching.
Auckland isn’t Baghdad.
She repeated it over and over like a mantra, internalising it. And she decided that, yeah, she was going to go for walk around town. A simple, pleasant walk. Which meant no craning her neck to search for snipers, no dodging alleys to avoid choke points, and of course, no agitating about passing vehicles.
What was it that her therapist had said?
Psychological reconditioning.
Hell, yeah. She needed to tweak her expectations and erase her preconceptions. Untangle her doubts. And maybe – just maybe – if she rewired her brain enough, she’d stop being so afraid of shadows that weren’t there.
Damn straight.
Pushing back her chair, Kendra stood up, angling for the café’s exit.
And that’s when she saw him.
2
Ryan Hosseini.
That moment of moments was like a million pinpricks on her soul. Searing. Red-hot. And she felt everything at once.
Longing.
Anger.
Regret.
There he was on the sidewalk outside the café, wearing a suit, clutching a briefcase, gliding through the crowd. And – damn it – he still had that hitch in his step; that tightness in his shoulders; that posture of loneliness that he carried everywhere with him like an eternal burden.
Ten years.
Ten fucking years.
And nothing had changed.
As Ryan faded from her line of sight, Kendra blinked hard. Not knowing what to think.
Twist of fate.
Cosmic joke.
Karma.
Whatever.
Somehow, in a city this big, their trajectories had collided, atom to atom. And – oh God – she was snivelling, her throat raw.
Stay away from him. He doesn’t need you in his life. And you don’t need him in yours. Not after all that’s been said and done.
But – no – another part of her wanted to rebel against that logic. She wanted to believe that maybe – just maybe – this was an omen. A sign. A chance.
Ten years. Goddamn it.
Kendra forced herself to breathe.
In through the nose.
One, two, three.
Out through the mouth.
One, two, three.
And she made a decision.
Do it. Just do it.
Stabbing her nails into her palms, Kendra stepped out of the café, sweat beading her forehead. She plunged into the crowd, trying to catch up to Ryan.
And that’s when she saw them.
3
A three-man surveillance crew.
Classic ABC structure.
The first man – Alpha – was directly behind Ryan, matching the tempo of his movements. The second – Bravo – was several paces behind Alpha, occupying the rearguard position. And the third – Charlie – was just across the street, covering the widest possible angle.
The technique they were using was known as the rabbit and the eye. In this case, Ryan was the rabbit, Alpha was the eye, and the rest of the team were the chasers who followed the eye.
Their formation was smooth, assured, continuously adjusting for variations, no matter how minor.
Collectively, Kendra had picked them right out of the crowd because of the way they were built – broad shoulders that tapered down to slim hips. That telltale physique that only special operators had.
Kendra also noted the way they were dressed. They wore untucked shirts and cargo trousers, along with tactical boots. At first glance, their fashion was casual, but to her practised eyes, it marked them as being dangerous. Loose-fitting clothes with plenty of pockets meant room for weapons and ammunition, and their choice of rugged footwear indicated that they were ready for some serious action.
Who are these guys? And why the hell are they shadowing Ryan?
The pit of Kendra’s stomach burned with the familiar rise of adrenaline, and her skin bristled.
But she forced herself to breathe.
Breathe.
She loosened her steps, relaxed her posture and drifted into the thickest part of the crowd, acquiring cover and concealment.
&n
bsp; Kendra swallowed.
Cover and concealment...
She was surprised at how easily she had slipped into that frame of mind. But – damn it – this was a shadow parade worthy of Hitchcock.
Coincidence? Or correlation?
That’s when Kendra remembered Jim Braddock’s words, coming at her like a subliminal message, a gravelly whisper from the past.
Little girl, operators never do anything by chance. Never. And that’s why we study the black arts, don’t we? So that we can trump the odds in favour of precision.
Kendra puffed her cheeks.
Right...
She had to assume that this op was being choreographed according to someone’s script, someone’s timeline.
But whose, though? And what’s the endgame here?
Ahead, Ryan had stopped at an intersection, waiting for the crosswalk signal to turn green. Pedestrians pooled around him, and just behind, Alpha and Bravo held their positions. Charlie provided support from across the street, lingering right at the edge of the kerb, his head swivelling.
Playing it safe, Kendra turned away. She pretended to study a jewellery shop’s display, and she used the window’s reflective surface to check on Ryan.
While she was too far back to make out his face, she could tell that he was anxious. He was constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other and fidgeting with his briefcase. He didn’t appear to be surveillance conscious. Or, if he was, he wasn’t showing it.
For fuck’s sake, Ryan. What have you gotten yourself into?
Kendra tousled her hair, frustrated.
The crosswalk signal turned green with a chime, and pedestrians from all four corners surged on to the street, zigzagging, and the surveillance crew exploited that very moment to swap roles within the crowd.
Alpha dropped back to Bravo’s position.
Bravo switched up with Charlie.
And Charlie took up point directly behind Ryan.
Smooth. Very smooth.
Breathing through her teeth, Kendra watched Ryan make a beeline for the Farmers department store on the corner of Queen and Victoria.
4
The automatic doors parted, and Ryan hesitated, just for an instant, before bowing his head and slipping inside.
Charlie followed, and so did Alpha.
Bravo hung back, taking a seat on a bench across the street.
Kendra narrowed her eyes. Her first impulse was to close in and reacquire Ryan. But, no, that would have been the wrong move.
Bravo had a clear view of the store’s entrance, and she had to assume that he was in constant communication with Charlie and Alpha. She couldn’t possibly trip his radar without provoking some kind of reaction.
Also, the store acted as a choke point. Sure, she was familiar with the layout of its aisles. Farmers sold everything from clothes to cosmetics to homeware. But if she stepped inside now, she would only be funnelling herself into a restricted environment with very little room to manoeuvre.
Finally, she still didn’t know what the hell was happening here. Was this a surveillance-detection run? Or was a brush pass about to take place? Or a dead drop?
There were just too many damn variables.
So Kendra made a snap decision. She turned and retraced her steps, moving away from Bravo’s line of sight.
She got out her phone and started dialling. She desperately wanted to reach her former boss at Section One, Deirdre Raines. But she only got through the first four digits before she stopped. She scrunched up her face and shook her head ever so slightly.
Get real. Deirdre’s going to think you belong in the loony bin.
And that, unfortunately, was the truth.
If Kendra told Deirdre what she was seeing, then the Ice Queen would simply chalk it up to a hallucination and send men to yank her off the street immediately. And by the time Kendra worked through the bureaucratic loop and convinced them that she wasn’t delirious, the opportunity would have been lost.
Ryan...
Kendra bunched up her shoulders.
She decided that she needed something more solid.
So she took a left turn at the junction ahead, carrying on, taking yet another left turn at the next corner, and she made a complete pass around the block. Now she was coming in from the opposite direction; ahead of the store; ahead of Bravo.
Jaw clenched, she spotted a lull in the traffic and cut across the street. Getting out her phone, keeping it at waist level, she took rapid-fire shots of Bravo using the camera. And she darted into the mouth of an alley directly opposite.
She waited.
The sight lines were clean.
She had good coverage of both Bravo and the store’s entrance.
Perfect.
She still didn’t know what the hell was happening in there. But once Ryan and the two other operators, Charlie and Alpha, stepped back outside, she would be able to photograph all the players and, if possible, supplement that with video.
And then...?
Well, then Deirdre would have to pay attention. Something serious was clearly happening here, and Kendra was the best person to intervene before it reached its natural conclusion—
And that’s when a searing flash came from the store, blinding as a second sun, and the windows rippled and blew out in a crescendo of fire and glass.
Kendra lurched and pinballed off the wall behind her, hitting the ground, her nostrils scorched, her eyes watering.
5
Kendra had a memory.
It was a wistful memory, creeping up from the cobwebs of the past.
...She was sitting on a children’s swing, breathing in the smell of freshly cut grass, and he was behind her, pushing her harder, higher, and she squealed and laughed, gripping the rattling chains, her knuckles white, her feet damn near touching the sky...
They were both teenagers back then, much too old to be horsing around like that. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because it was summer, and they had each other.
Kendra blinked, and the vision was gone, dissolving like ash. She coughed and wheezed, her cheek flat against the pavement. Her mouth felt dry, shrivelled up, and her ears were humming.
Everything sounded distant, hollow.
People were yelling.
Tyres were screeching.
Alarms rang out.
Muscles taut and shivering, Kendra groaned. She rolled on to her side, then her back. She cupped her face with her hands. Her skin felt raw, tingling like electricity, and she shook her head from side to side.
Slowly, very slowly, the throbbing and nausea eased.
Jaw clenched, she staggered to her feet. She felt her joints creak and pop, and she listed this way and that before she found her bearings. She steadied herself against a lamp post, and rubbing her eyes, she peered past dust and tears, and everything came into focus.
The Farmers store was on fire, and the air was thick with smoke and ash and swirling embers. Traffic had piled up all along the street, and stunned bystanders intermingled with bloodied survivors.
It was chaos, absolute chaos.
Kendra jostled through the crowd, skipping over grit and rubble, craning her neck, panting, searching. But the blaze was too strong, too blinding, and there was no way anyone within the kill zone itself could have survived.
Ryan...
Her stomach churned with grief and rage and confusion, and she felt like crying, like screaming. But – no, no – she swallowed back the urge and forced herself to breathe. To breathe.
Doubling back, Kendra found Bravo still at the bench directly opposite the store. Only... his posture was all wrong. He was sagging back, drooping halfway off his seat.
When she got closer, she saw why.
A jagged shard of glass had stabbed him right through the neck. He had a white-knuckled grip on it, and blood was fountaining through his fingers, and he sounded like he was retching, choking.
Fuck.
Kendra wrapped her hands over his, applying as muc
h pressure on the wound as she could, being careful to keep the glass immobile. ‘Hey. Hey. Can you hear me? Who are you? What kind of op were you running?’
All the man gave her was a pale and vacant stare. His grip on the glass was weakening.
Kendra used her knee to nudge him. ‘Come on. Stay with me. Why were you tailing Ryan Hosseini? Why?’
The man convulsed, retching harder. Spit bubbled on his lips, and with a final exhale, he went slack. His eyes rolled back, and he slid off the bench completely and crumpled against the ground, like a damn marionette puppet whose strings had been severed.
Frustrated, Kendra checked the man’s pulse. She confirmed his vital signs were nil, and she dabbed her hands against his shirt, wiping the blood off, and she proceeded to pat him down.
She found a smartphone. A wallet. A car key attached to a fob. A holstered pistol accompanied by a sound suppressor and ammo. And, finally, a tactical-folding knife.
Kendra didn’t have time to ponder the significance of what she had uncovered. Curious onlookers were already gathering around her, rubbernecking, murmuring.
Bending over, she used her body to hide the sight of the weapons from them. She clipped the knife on the inside of her hip pocket and secured the gun under her waistband, between her navel and her appendix. Then she stuffed the rest of the items into her other pockets.
Coolly, calmly, she rose and stepped away.
‘Oh my God,’ a woman gasped. ‘Is he dead? Please tell me he’s not dead.’
Kendra ignored the woman and pushed past.
And – shit – that’s when she froze.
A man on a motorcycle was accelerating around the intersection ahead, needling his way between gridlocked cars, heading southbound on Queen Street.
The man’s face was hidden behind his helmet.
But Kendra recognised his clothing, his posture...
Ryan.
6
Adrenaline seared her senses, and Kendra broke into a flat-out run, cutting across the intersection.
She dodged an arriving fire engine, then an ambulance, and they blasted their horns. She lurched and recovered her footing, mouth gulping air, muscles stretched to burning point.
