Free The Blasphemer by John Ling

he ordered a sandwich and a coffee. When the meal was served, he took his tray over to a table in a corner. He sat down with his back pressed against the wall. It maximised his tactical awareness. Minimised his blind spots.
    He began eating. Slowly. Deliberately. As he did, he checked his surroundings, surveying the people around him. A man reading a newspaper. A mother admonishing her toddler. A group of teenage girls giggling. Devlin saw nothing that registered as an immediate hazard.
    Of course, he had to factor in the CCTV cameras that were present all over the terminal. More than one was probably aimed at this very café. But he didn’t bother searching for them. After all, he was just another weary traveller. He didn’t have to act the part. He felt it.
    Finishing up his meal, he was tempted to wipe down his plate and his cup with a handkerchief. Force of habit from the old days. But he reminded himself that he didn’t need to. He had recently seared his fingertips with acid. An awful process, yeah, but he no longer had to worry about leaving behind prints. Ever.
    Devlin stood up, returned his tray and exited the café.
    Wandering back into the concourse area, he took a long, circular walk around the terminal. He avoided the undercover cops, trekked up an escalator, then entered a bookstore, where he browsed, checking his peripheral vision the entire time. That’s when a woman sauntered down the aisle, coming towards him.
    Emmerich.
    He kept his eyes fixed on the shelves as she brushed past. Their hands touched, and it felt like electricity. But he kept his face impassive, bored. He soon found something he liked, and he picked it up. Yes, the latest Deborah Shlian thriller. He flicked through, aware that Emmerich was already slipping out of the store, already melting into the crowd.
    Smooth.
    Very smooth.
    Devlin gave himself a few more minutes, then paid for the book, left the store and made for the terminal’s exit. The automatic doors swooshed open, and a cool breeze tickled his face. Sucking in the crisp air, he stood for a moment, allowing it to fill his lungs. It felt good. His head grew lighter, clearer. He stretched and gazed at the sky. So blue. So pristine. It was just as he had heard—the place was unspoiled, unpolluted. A virgin land.
    Devlin slipped his hands into his jacket’s pocket. Fingered the two items Emmerich had dropped in—a note and a prepaid cellphone. No, he wouldn’t be using the cell. Not yet. But he pulled out the note and read it. A poem about love and loss and dancing in the summer rain. Cute.
    Good to know you still have a sense of humour .
    Skimming through, he picked out the final letter out of every word and strung them together in his mind to form an address. An address on the city’s NorthShore. Crushing the note, he stretched again and approached the line of waiting taxis. He had a feeling he would enjoy operating in this country.
     

CHAPTER 20
     
     Deirdre Raines had a few nicknames around Section One.
    Dragon Lady.
    Ice Queen.
    Mrs Panther.
    She liked the last one best. Liked what it implied. As she stood at her office window, her hands clasped behind her back, she watched the analysts labouring on their workstations outside.
    Ever so often, one of them would look her way. It wouldn’t be very obvious. A timid peek here. A nervous glance there. Yes, they had every reason to be jittery. She was hovering over them. Surveying their every move. Dissecting their every decision. Pressuring them for better results.
    No wonder they had taken to calling her names. Never to her face, of course. But she knew. She knew because she had bugged several of the chairs in the cafeteria.
    It had been easy enough to pull off. During a lull in operations, Deirdre had slipped into the cafeteria after-hours. She had disassembled the chairs’ backrests. Planted listening devices in the hollows within. Then restored everything to their original state.
    To avoid detection, she kept the