Free The Blasphemer by John Ling Page A

devices powered off when security performed their bug-sweep in the mornings and in the evenings. But outside of those times, she was in the clear, and whenever the mood hit, she would power on the devices and tune into the gossip.
    Deirdre considered it the ideal way to get her finger on the pulse of Section One. To follow its undercurrents. And she had adjusted her management strategy accordingly. It felt a lot like practising the martial art of tai chi —knowing when to push and knowing when to pull.
    Right now, Deirdre was pushing. And so far, the mood among her analysts seemed to be: Dragon Lady is a bitch. Damn it, we’ll show her. We’ll show her by delivering results. Then she’ll shut up and learn to respect us more.
    Excellent. Exactly what Deirdre needed. By being angry at her, her analysts had consolidated themselves into a pack. Closing ranks. Ironing out their differences. Working fluidly together.
    In corporate-speak, they had achieved what was known as synergy. And they had done so without even being conscious of the fact.
    Were her methods manipulative? Yes, she had to admit they were. But then again, she didn’t have the luxury of choice.
    Section One was the government’s ugly stepchild—underfunded, undervalued and stuck in the basement of an abandoned factory, where the air was too stale, the lights too dim, the walls too grey and the ceiling too low.
    Appalling.
    Absolutely appalling.
    So Deirdre was doing what she had to do—spoon-feeding her people with an overdose of fury and competitiveness. If only to keep them from lapsing into loathing and despair.
    Deirdre wondered if there was room for improvement. Perhaps by bugging their workstations? Yes, she already understood their dynamics while they were on their meal breaks. But how exactly did they interact while they were working? It would be interesting to find out.
    A quote from TS Eliot came to mind, ‘Do I dare disturb the universe?’
    Maybe.
    Maybe not.
    That’s when the phone on her desk rang. She turned away from the window, already knowing it was Maya even before she checked the caller ID. She took the call by touching the button on the Bluetooth earpiece she wore. This time, she allowed a bit of warmth to coat her voice. Just a bit.
    ‘Hello, Maya. What do you have for me?’
    On the other end of the line, Deirdre could hear Maya exhaling. Was her daughter surprised by her tone? Or irritated? The tension was there. Simmering. Bubbling. Deirdre wondered if Maya was on the verge of lashing out, perhaps as payback for all the spite that had blackened their relationship up till now.
    But Maya did no such thing. When she spoke, she was all business. Cool and even. ‘Gabrielle Tomasi—why is she the liaison?’
    Deirdre inhaled. On to business, then. ‘I brought it up with the prime minister. Made it abundantly clear that we were no longer comfortable working with Gabrielle.’
    ‘And..?’
    ‘And she overruled me.’
    ‘You should have pushed the matter.’
    ‘I pushed as hard as I could. But when you’re dealing with a politician—’
    ‘Mama, you’re starting to sound like one yourself.’
    Deirdre crinkled her lips. That stung. That really stung. So much so that she couldn’t think of an immediate comeback. She hesitated, then chose her words carefully. ‘I regret that you feel that way, Maya.’
    ‘You should.’
    ‘I’m not as pro-establishment as you might think. This time, I’m stepping on the outside and bringing in Adam Larsen.’ 
    ‘Adam?’ Maya sounded surprised.
    ‘To be clear, this is not a melting of the ice. I still don’t like his methods, and I don’t believe I ever will. But no one works the streets as well as Adam. I’m trusting him to leave no stone unturned.’
    ‘This is quite a... departure for you.’
    ‘It is, isn’t it?’
    This time, it was Maya’s turn to fall silent. Eventually, she sighed. ‘Thank you for bringing in Adam. I appreciate it. Can we move on?’
    Deirdre nodded,