by John Ling
‘And then, of course, you have Muslims who think differently. Muslims like Abraham Khan, who think that satire can actually help Islam rather than harm it.’
‘That’s right. Mr Khan has brought a great deal of attention to a concept that’s found in the Koran, but is little-known today. Which is the concept of ijtihad—using your personal conscience to define how you want to live as a Muslim, as opposed to slavishly following what the establishment tells you to do. Mr Khan is suggesting that the Prophet, if he were alive today, would be open to introducing modern changes to the sharia. For example, allowing gay Muslims to participate openly in society without harassment.’
‘That’s truly incendiary.’
‘Absolutely. Even in light of the Arab Spring, liberals like him are in the minority. Most Muslims aren’t yet ready to embrace what he’s proposing. And fundamentalists do want to silence him.’
‘Is Mr Khan right to go ahead with his book tour, do you think?
‘Well, that’s a tough one to answer. Real tough.’
‘Give it your best shot, Dr LeRoux.’
‘Well, Hayley, people have different ideas about what’s right and what’s wrong. That’s on a morality level, and morality is something that is notoriously hard to pin down. It’s like a ferret darting all over the place. So I’m hesitant to go into polemics. But let’s consider things on a legal level. New Zealand doesn’t have a formal, written constitution, as we all know. But the country does have a bill of rights, and key among its precepts is the protection of individual freedoms.’
‘Freedom of speech, freedom of assembly...’
‘Yep. It’s the bedrock of our society—no one ought to die just for expressing an opinion. So the question is not whether Abraham Khan is going to invite further agitation and distress. He will. We have to accept all that as a given. The real question is whether we have the strength to accommodate such trouble. Freedom has its price, and it can be ugly.’
CHAPTER 54
Tommy Cowan climbed into his pickup truck. Swung the door shut. Clicked on his seat belt. Started the engine. He fidgeted with his baseball cap and rubbed his beard, hesitating for a moment, going through a mental checklist. Had he missed anything?
He turned and eyed the payload behind him. He had covered it with a waterproof tarp and tied it down tight. Not too heavy. Not too big. Nothing beyond legal limits. And he had already checked the pickup’s registration and warrant of fitness, along with the lights, suspension and tyre pressure. Anything that might cause the cops to take an unhealthy interest and flag him down. Hell, it was trouble he didn’t want and didn’t need. Not at this stage. He wanted to get from point A to point B with minimal fuss and deliver the payload as smoothly as he could.
Payload.
Oh yeah, Tommy liked the word. Liked how it sounded when he muttered it over and over. Made him feel like a spec-ops soldier on a critical mission. Top secret. Classified. Need to know only.
He righted himself in his seat.
All good, he reassured himself. All good.
So he pulled away from the house he rented just outside the city limits and hit the road. He willed himself to keep his speed down for the sake of safety. Didn’t want to bump and rock the fertiliser-and-diesel mix too much. Sure, he had always been a sucker for gunning the accelerator, pushing cars as far as they would go. But not today. Today he would be an honest, upright citizen. Or, better yet, a disciplined, straight-laced soldier.
Yes, sir.
Tommy chuckled nervously.
He didn’t consider himself a smart guy. Nope, he was no Einstein. He had dropped out midway through high school and had never looked back, living from paycheque to paycheque, odd job to odd job, doing whatever he could with his big, callused hands. It wasn’t the easiest life, but hey, at least it offered him variety. Gave him the chance to hop from town to town, city to city, soaking in experience after experience. Alternating between the urban sprawl and the wild outdoors—pastures, mountains, forests, glaciers.
So, nope, Tommy didn’t consider himself a smart guy. He preferred to settle for simple, laidback pleasures. Going to and fro without a care in the world. Being everywhere; belonging nowhere.
Still, Tommy did consider himself a good observer. He liked to watch and he liked to learn things about people. Informal education, he reckoned. Way better than reading a book or watching a documentary. Which made him astute enough to know that his country was well and truly going to the dogs. Oh yeah. Goddamn immigrants were soiling everything. Overrunning the good, honest folk, and taking a piss any chance they could get.
These days, you could barely see a white face in most parts of Auckland. All you could see were Chinks and Japs and gooks and wogs and boongs and curry-munchers and diaperheads and… shit, it was enough to make his blood run cold. They were landing up north and then working their way down south. Like a tsunami of locusts, gobbling and gobbling as they went, and if nobody did anything about the invasion, pretty soon, there wouldn’t be much of a country left to defend.
The government? Hell, Tommy had lost all faith in the government. Right-wingers, left-wingers, centrists, libertarians—they were all the same. Spineless bastards aiding and abetting the stampede of immigrants. It was political correctness gone mad.
Sell-outs. They’re all sell-outs.
Tommy clenched his teeth so hard that his head ached and he saw red.
The worst of the immigrants flooding in, though, had to be the Muslims. Yeah, filthy, savage barbarians, all of them. Setting up their mosques and madrasas. Infiltrating neighbourhood after neighbourhood. Secretly preaching terrorism. Plotting to destroy all that was bright and beautiful about this country. And last night’s horrifying act had just proven that point once and for all.
Oh yeah, he had watched that video clip over and over, and it had made his stomach tighten and churn. Like… this wasn’t New Zealand anymore. Like… everything was imploding before his very eyes. It broke his heart. Well, shit. Enough was enough. Patriots had to rise up, strike back and even the score before it was too late. Damn Muslims needed to be sent a message. The louder, the better.
CHAPTER 55
Tommy reached his destination. A madrasa. A Muslim school. He couldn’t stop himself from shaking as he stared at it. It looked so modern and shiny and expensive.
Tommy snorted. Good, honest citizens were being hit hard by the economy, and the government still saw it fit to blow obscene amounts of cash on this atrocity. Where was the justice in that? Where was the common sense?
That’s our money, damn it. Our money.
Seething, Tommy circled around the school and found the back gate chained. He got down from his truck with a pair of bolt cutters and sliced through the lock. Easy-peasy. He unchained the gate and pushed it open. Then he got back on to his truck and drove on through.
The school was quiet and empty. No one around on a Sunday. Which was just as well. Sure, Tommy wanted to make a statement, but he had no intention of committing mass murder.
Not yet, anyway.
Tommy drifted to a stop in front of the school’s prayer hall. He parked, switched off his engine and got down. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the place, mouth puckering.
It was the perfect target.
Symbolic as hell.
Tommy adjusted his cap and walked to the back of his truck. Pulled the tarp off. Exposed the two steel drums beneath, tightly strapped together. The payload.
Here we go.
Tommy drew a pair of pliers from his pocket. Reached for the fuse detonator on one of the drums. It was an old-fashioned time pencil—filled with cupic chloride. All he had to do was crush the vial, break it, and the countdown would begin.
He would have exactly fifteen minutes to get clear.
Plenty of time to make his way to a nearby hill. Watch the boom. Then slink over to the train station. Catch the next ride. Make his way down south to Kyle Bolan’s whites-only compound. Wait for the uprising to begin.
Oh yeah.
Tommy grinned as he gripped the detonator with his pliers. Flexed his fingers and squeezed hard. The vial shattered, and in that instant, there was a sharp hiss. Like a match being struck.
A scorched smell pinched Tommy’s nose, and his eyes watered.
His smile fell away.
No. No. No.
Gagging, Tommy stumbled back, falling flat on his butt, gravel crunching, cutting into his palms. Whimpering, he scrambled to his feet, lurching, only managing three steps before the fireball erupted and consumed him in a searing flash.
CHAPTER 56
Magellan watched the Somalis as they unpacked the crates in the armoury. Removed the pistols and rifles from their greasy wrapping. Checked and loaded the weapons.
Magellan tapped his keyboard and worked his mouse. Panned and zoomed the cameras. Studied the faces of the Somalis one by one.
He had given them a full breakfast and a moderate dose of khat. Enough to fuel their aggression, yes, but not enough to dull their senses. They were as ready as they were ever going to be.
Magellan’s gaze settled on Yusuf. He was disassembling a pistol. Brushing and oiling its individual parts.
Remarkable.
He had recruited Yusuf only yesterday, and his youth was stark in comparison with the older boys. But what he lacked in experience, he more than made up for in brightness and enthusiasm.
Magellan shook his head, feeling a pinprick of regret.
Once the Somalis were dispatched, they would be on their own. Locked into a suicide mission. Without recourse. Without return. Which was a shame.
Whatever will be will be.
Magellan leaned back against his chair. Uncapped a bottle of mineral water. Took a sip.
He looked away from the monitors and studied the television set in the corner. On-screen, firefighters were hosing down an inferno, and a column of black smoke spiked the sky. Apparently, an Anglo Front member had blown himself up while trying to take out a Muslim school in Mangere.
Idiot.
Still, the bombing was a testament to the effectiveness of last night’s snuff video. And Magellan relished the fact that things were progressing faster and better than he could have hoped.
He touched his chin and smiled.
The only thing left to do now is strike at Abraham Khan.
CHAPTER 57
They were all gathered in the safe house’s lounge.
Abraham sat with shoulders slumped and his face drawn tight. Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head. ‘I have talked with my publicist. And… we have decided to cancel all my events.’
Belinda touched her husband’s cheek. Her voice was a whisper, ‘It’s for the best, Abe.’
‘I know, dear. I know.’
Maya inhaled and looked around at Noah, Gabrielle, Dashiell and Arthur. Took in their sober faces. Felt the strain of the moment. Wished—truly wished—that things hadn’t reached this point.
Yes, she was glad that Abraham Khan was finally facing up to the threat. Finally accepting that the country was paying too high a price.
The blood.
The tears.
The anguish.
Enough was enough.
The line had to be drawn.
But, at the same time, she never wanted to pay witness to the death of a man’s dream. It was… painful. Painful to know that, in the end, violence was the most compelling force in any debate.
Folding her arms, Maya stretched her lips thin. She looked back at Abraham and Belinda. ‘Sir. Ma’am. We’re preparing another safe house for you outside the city. It’s quieter. More secluded. Easier to secure. I believe it’s the best option right now. At least until the situation calms down. So, please, get ready. We’ll be moving out soon.’
CHAPTER 58
Marcia Wigmore parted her curtains ever so slightly and peered at the house next door. There were law-enforcement types out and about, and they looked like they were guarding something.
No, not something. Someone.
She felt a flush of excitement.
Could it be…?
She squinted, but she couldn’t see past any of the windows. All the blinds were drawn shut. Still, she knew that she was right. Who else could it be?
Marcia dug into her dressing drawer and got her camera out. Deactivated the flash and snapped away. She couldn’t wait to post the photos on Facebook. Share her discovery with everyone.
Sweet as. I’ll be the coolest kid on the block.
CHAPTER 59
Devlin sat on the bed, fidgeting.
Here he was, luggage packed, two hundred thousand dollars richer, but he couldn’t bring himself to check out of the motel and head to the airport.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes. Palmed his face. Took shallow breaths. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the bloody visions.
That boy. That poor boy.
He dug his nails into his scalp. Knew that he had crossed the uncrossable line. Committed the ultimate taboo. And his soul was churning.
Fuck.
He had tried to explain his feelings to Emmerich. Tried to confide in her. But she had simply given him the hardest stare.
Get over it. It’s easy money.
But—
No buts. Take a holiday. Go somewhere tropical. Relax. Unwind.
I can’t unwind, damn it. I can’t.
Pull yourself together. Otherwise you’re no use to me as a partner.
That’s the way their conversation had gone before they split up.
Devlin clenched his jaw until it hurt. Felt sweat gathering under his collar. He half-chuckled and half-groaned. The joke was on him, wasn’t it?
Easy money.
Opening his eyes, he reached for the remote and turned on the television. Watched the coverage of the failed bombing.
I did this. I caused this to happen.
CHAPTER 60
When Deirdre stepped back into the office, Adam knew that something had gone screwy. Her face was too grave. Her eyes too hard.
He leaned forward. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve lost Tong.’ Deirdre shook her head. ‘He suffered a ruptured spleen. Dr Singh tried his best, but he was just too far gone. I’m sorry.’
Adam ran his tongue across teeth. Swallowed. Then he rose from his seat and paced the office. ‘Damn it. He was our responsibility.’
Deirdre sat down behind her desk. Laced her fingers under her chin. Her tone was measured and even. ‘I know he was. We’ll look into compensating his wife and kids.’
‘Well, gee whiz, that’s a comfort.’
‘It is what it is.’
Adam smirked. ‘What about Hassan’s laptop? Please tell me that the eggheads have recovered something.’
‘They have gone through the hard drive three times. And there’s nothing of value there. It’s a red herring.’
‘So… what? We still don’t have a line on Magellan?’
‘No, we don’t.’ Deirdre pursed her lips. Tilted her head. ‘On the flipside, however, the police commissioner is authorising raids on the Anglo Front. Making arrests where feasible.’
Adam exhaled and cut the air with the arc of his hand. ‘He should be doing the same with Al-Shukur. They’re operating within the Somali community. We know they are.’
‘Circumstantial evidence. And, no, he doesn’t find it persuasive. That’s why he’s only willing to carry out surveillance at this point.’
‘Al-Shukur murdered a child...’
‘And the Anglo Front bombed a school. So that takes priority for him.’
‘The man is an idiot.’
‘Maybe so. But you can’t blame him. We kept him out of the loop. Left him with a crime scene to clean up after. So you will understand if he’s nursing a grudge against Section One.’
‘Oh, come on, Deirdre. Whatever happened to finding, fixing and finishing the bad guys?’
‘It will happen in due time, Adam.’ Deirdre unlaced her fingers and touched her tablet computer. �
��Right now, though, I’m more concerned about the chatter on the internet. There’s a lot of speculation on Abraham Khan’s location…’
‘Anything concrete?’
‘No. Just rumour. Gossip. Innuendo.’
Adam thumbed his nose. ‘Well, Maya needs to get a move on. It’s only a matter of time before the crazies get a lock on the safe house.’
‘Agreed. It’ll happen within the hour.’
CHAPTER 61
Yusuf was dressed as a maintenance man as he made his way into the bus depot. The smell of oil and exhaust tickled his nostrils, and the purring of engines and the hissing of hydraulics filled his ears.
He studied the labyrinth of vehicles. There were so many models. So many choices. All around him, the older boys were whispering. Calling themselves fedayeen. Men of sacrifice.
That made him nervous.
A part of him longed to be back at home. To be back with his grandmother, grating as the old woman was. But the other part of him hungered for khat. Lusted for it. And… there was no turning back now.
Yusuf took a shallow breath. Felt the weight of the rifle in his duffel bag. And he trembled, electricity crawling across his skin. Everything was a haze. A terrible red haze.
What is it that Magellan had said?
Oh yes.
Speed, surprise and violence of action.
CHAPTER 62
Maya was in the kitchen, watching Abraham pour himself a final drink. Lemonade. It was the simplest of choices, but an admirable one. Even now, even after everything, he still held firm to his Muslim faith. Refusing to turn to alcohol to dull his emotions.
It couldn’t be easy for him. Knowing that the country was in upheaval. Knowing that a woman and a child were dead. And knowing that it was his book—his message—that had set all of this in motion.
