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pistol. It jammed after the first shot—the firing pin broke.’
    ‘So he’s a lone wolf acting on his own. He can’t be affiliated with a group. They wouldn’t have supplied him with a dud gun.’
    ‘My thoughts exactly.’
    ‘Yet lone wolves are the scary ones. Hard to track. Hard to anticipate. They don’t show up on the radar until they actually strike.’
    ‘It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to be afraid of. Now, do you want to hear Samir’s confession to the police?’
    ‘You’re itching to tell, aren’t you?
    ‘Only because it’s so rich. See, one fine morning, he’s on his way to work when a three-car collision locks up the motorway. He’s desperate to get around the crawl, so he takes the first exit he sees. He cuts through a suburb, slowing down like a good citizen, watching out for the kiddies on their way to school. That’s when he cruises past a house. Catches a glimpse of a man out on the driveway, checking his mailbox.’
    ‘Abraham Khan?’
    ‘Bingo. And from that point on, he drives past the Khan residence every single day. On his way to work. On his way back from work. His curiosity turns into obsession, and his obsession turns into loathing...’
    ‘And last night was the night he finally escalated. Went volcanic.’
    ‘Samir’s the first, but I’m betting he won’t be the last.’ Noah kept his eyes on the road and pulled a USB stick from his shirt pocket. He gave it to Maya. ‘Khan’s dossier. Maybe it’ll provide some perspective.’
    ‘Cheers.’
    Maya got out her cellphone and plugged the USB stick in. She skimmed through the virtual pages. Most of the information confirmed what she already knew.
    Abraham Khan was a writer who had sought refuge in New Zealand nine years ago. The government had granted him asylum on the basis of a double whammy—he was a persecuted Sufi Muslim in a predominantly Sunni society, and his dissident work had ruffled too many feathers. His controversial reputation had only grown since then.
    Abraham’s Myers-Briggs psychological profile revealed that he fell under the ENFP range—Extraversion, iNtuition, Feeling, Perception. A champion of thoughts and ideas.
    ‘He reminds me of Charles Dickens,’ Maya said.
    Noah frowned. ‘Charles Dickens?’
    ‘An idealist. A campaigner for what he believes to be just. Someone who provokes admiration just as much as he provokes hate. There’s no in between. No separation at all between the man and the ideas he promotes.’
    ‘Mm-hm. Interesting you should put it that way.  That idiot Jonah Vosen was on the radio this morning. Spouting the usual rubbish. But he did make a similar point—whether the country likes it or not, Abraham is a high-value political target.’
    ‘Yeah, he is. He will attract fanatics with views directly opposed to his own. They’ll be volatile. Emotionally charged. Irrational.’
    ‘I get you. They won’t just want to destroy him. They’ll want to destroy what he stands for.’
    Noah took a turn-off and peeled away from the motorway. They entered the central business district. The iconic SkyTower loomed ahead, the highest in the entire southern hemisphere. The Pacifica Hotel, much smaller, lay a couple of streets down.
     

CHAPTER 10
     
    Adam Larsen had been following the woman ever since he chose her at the train station. She was young and shapely, leaving behind a sweet scent in her wake. A real head-turner.
    Most men would have found it hard not to stare. But Adam wasn’t swayed. Not even a little. Sure, he made it a point to keep the subject within his field of vision at all times. But, no, he never stared at her. Never ever. Experience had taught him that everyone had a sixth sense, no matter how faint, and the worst thing you could do was push too hard and set it off. The more intense your gaze, the greater the risk.
    The subject veered off the footpath, entering a square, plunging into a flea market. Adam kept up. Close but not too close. The crowd thickened.