Discreet Activities

by Claude Bouchard

  “We’re on Saint-Catherine at Aylmer,” said Jon. “I’ll head north and we can join Mahmood from there.”

  “Your timing should be just right for that,” Chris agreed. “I seriously doubt the boy has a clue he’s being tailed but I have been on his butt for an hour so a switch will be good.”

  “And there he is,” murmured Dave, glancing at the Explorer waiting at the light as Jon turned from Aylmer onto de Maisonneuve and moved on slowly westward.

  Behind them, the light turned green and along came Mahmood, oblivious that he was surrounded by three cars with their four occupants tracking his every movement. He passed Jonathan’s slower moving Acura and continued westbound for several blocks, catching green lights all the way to Metcalfe Street where he turned left. He stopped at the red light at Saint-Catherine with one car separating his from Jon’s vehicle while Chris and Tim trailed a few cars behind.

  The light turned green and he continued southward while the car ahead of Jon and Dave turned on Saint-Catherine, leaving them directly behind the Explorer. Three blocks further, Mahmood turned left, now back on Saint Antoine and heading east this time but only for a short distance as he turned left at Mansfield.

  “He’s slowing down,” Jonathan announced, his line still open with Chris, “And heading into the Place Bonaventure parking garage. I’ll follow him down. Park somewhere, Chris, and we’ll keep you posted on what’s going on. Call Tim and have him hang around the garage exit here, just in case Mahmood plans to exit on foot on the street.”

  “I’m on it. Later,” Chris replied and cut the connection.

  Jon entered the garage and took a ticket from the automated dispenser then drove forward once the gate lifted and stopped by the doors leading into the building.

  “Go wait near the parking elevators,” he said to Dave. “Whether he takes those or the stairs, he’ll come out at the same place and you’ll pick him up.”

  McCall nodded and hurried out of the car and Jonathan sped after the Explorer. He descended several levels quickly, knowing the upper levels would be full because of the franchise show taking place in Place Bonaventure’s convention centre. As he reached the lower levels, he slowed and lowered his window, listening for any signs of activity as he scanned the garage but heard nothing besides the sounds of his vehicle reverberating in the vast concrete area.

  He came down the ramp to the lowest level, which was less than a quarter full with cars scattered here and there, in time to see the Explorer backing into a spot near one corner. Not wishing to attract Buzdar’s attention, Jonathan headed for a vacant area midway in the garage along the wall opposite that where the Pakistani had parked. He quickly backed the Acura in place and cut the engine and lights then watched as Mahmood climbed out of the Explorer.

  Rather than simply close the vehicle’s door, the young man glanced around before crouching and fiddling with something by the driver’s seat. He stood after a moment, closed the SUV’s door and walked to the exit leading to the stairs and elevators.

  Jonathan waited a minute before crossing to the exit door and peering through the glass, confirming Mahmood was indeed gone. He jogged over to the Explorer and tried the driver’s door. Finding it unlocked, he opened it and ran a hand under the front of the driver’s seat, almost immediately finding the Explorer’s key. He closed the door and hurried towards the exit, pocketing the key as he went. He didn’t know if the boys even planned to use the truck again but if they did, why make it easy for them?

  * * * *

  Upon arriving at Place Montréal Trust, Fahad had sauntered into the large Indigo bookstore just by the entrance and browsed for a while to pass the time. He had several hours to kill before he’d be hearing back from Mahmood and had no clear idea what to do to keep himself occupied.

  He was now, finally, aware of the plan which in itself was simple enough and should not pose any problems. However, knowing specifically what they would be doing tonight and considering the number of people who would be hurt or killed wasn’t sitting with him as comfortably as it had when it was just a theory.

  Yes, he understood that Canada was a strong ally of the United States but was it right to have young people, people his age, pay for the hardships, like the loss of his brother, which had been caused by the U.S. government and military? After all, many of the victims tonight would be much like a growing number of friends, Canadian friends, he’d made while attending the university in Ottawa.

  The more he thought along these lines, the more he became uncomfortable with the actions he had vowed to participate in come the evening. He thought of his father and shuddered as he thought of how the man would react if he ever found out. His father was a peaceful man who abhorred violence and though a practicing Muslim, he was the furthest one could be from the radical Jihad mentality. Though he still grieved for the loss of his other son, he had accepted his death as the will of Allah from the moment he had learned the devastating news.

  Fahad’s eyes grew moist as he considered how the possible consequences of the coming evening would affect his father if he ever found out. What would he think if he learned of what his son had been involved in? Worse yet, what if things went wrong and he was arrested or killed? His father’s disapproval, even disgust, was almost more than Fahad could bear.

  His stomach growled suddenly, reminding him he had yet to eat since rising that morning. Anxiety and frustration had left him with no appetite for breakfast and they had left Sutton before he could make himself something for lunch. Some food would do him good, help pass the time and hopefully get his mind off the sordid thoughts gnawing at him.

  With a sigh, he left the bookstore and headed for the food court located one level below.

  * * * *

  Detective Frank Bakes had trailed a dozen yards behind Nasir, watching the husky youth as he sauntered along the sidewalk, stopping occasionally to examine the construction site which was Saint-Catherine Street between Place des Arts and Complexe Desjardins. The young man had seemed at ease, not once even glancing back to see if he was being followed or observed. His walk had been a short one as moments later, he had entered Baton Rouge, a restaurant well known for its fine baby-back ribs, and settled down for lunch.

  At a little after half past one, the lunch rush was over and Frank had had little difficulty securing a table from where he could keep an eye on Nasir from behind. While he enjoyed his own lunch, he had watched Nasir consume a shrimp cocktail, a Caesar salad with garlic bread, a sixteen ounce rack of ribs with a mountain of fries and Cole slaw, all washed down with four twenty ounce glasses of beer.

  After settling his bill, he had, understandably, gone to use the restroom before heading back out onto Saint-Catherine and making his way westward until he’d found somewhere to get out of the cold to have a beer. He’d repeated this process several times over an hour or so and now came stumbling out of the most recent drinking establishment he’d visited as Frank looked on from a few doors down while sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Glad to know you’re not messing with explosives tonight, my friend,” he breathed as he resumed his tailing duties.

  * * * *

  Mahmood had exited the elevator from the parking lot at Place Bonaventure and headed for the underground crossing leading to Central Station with Dave McCall in tow. Once atop the escalator, he’d gone for a stroll around the concourse and annexed shopping complex, gazing into shops and boutiques as he went. A comfortable distance away, McCall smiled as he observed Mahmood glancing, a little too frequently and obviously, around him as he tried to spot a tail, and looking somewhat paranoid for his efforts.

  After several minutes, the young Pakistani seemed to relax and ceased his rubbernecking as he headed to the McDonalds off the concourse. Dave followed and sat at table from where he could see the exit leading outdoors, in case that turned out to be Mahmood’s route of departure. However, moments later, Mahmood was heading back into Central Station with his bagged lunch with Dave trailing behind him again.
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  They retraced their steps back to Place Bonaventure and it was soon evident that Mahmood was heading to the Metro, Montreal’s subway system. As Dave watched him descending the long escalator, he paused to call Jonathan.

  “We’re heading to the Metro, Bonaventure station.”

  “He’s probably on his way to Omar’s place,” Jon replied. “I’m thirty seconds away, in the lobby at Le 1000 so I’ll pick it up from here. Just check to see which direction he’s heading.”

  McCall hurried down the steps, noting Mahmood had just reached the bottom on the escalator. Within seconds, he was down as well and watching the young man as he paid his fare then headed for the subway platform and out of sight. He turned to see Jonathan stepping off the escalator and walking briskly towards him.

  “Towards Henri-Bourassa station,” he announced.

  “Good,” Jon nodded. “Call Chris and you two head east by car. I can call you from the green line if that is, in fact, where we’re going.”

  “Sounds good,” Dave agreed. “Have fun.”

  * * * *

  Unknowingly accompanied by Detective Joanne Nelson, Saad had taken the Metro westbound from Place des Arts but the ride had been a short one, only one station, to McGill where he exited. From there, he had ended up in the Eaton Centre where he had wandered around, window shopping and stopping at Amir to pick up a shish taouk wrapped in a pita which he munched on as he continued his stroll.

  Though he didn’t seem to be looking to see if anyone was watching him, Joanne had noticed him regularly consulting his watch and wondered if he might be scheduled to meet someone. As two o’clock approached, he once again checked the time and suddenly accelerated his pace, moving off as if heading for an appointment.

  He reached the Saint-Catherine exit of the shopping complex and headed west, still at a steady, determined pace. He crossed McGill College Avenue and Joanne wondered if he wasn’t going to join Fahad at Place Montréal Trust on the opposite side of the street. However, Saad continued past the entrance and towards the next street, Mansfield. He stopped for seconds only before the light turned green then continued on the busy sidewalk. As he approached Metcalfe Street, he slowed as he looked up at the building on the corner and smiled before entering the ScotiaBank Theatre.

  Several moments later, armed with a bucket of buttered popcorn and a huge Coca-Cola, Saad settled down for the 2:10 showing of The Green Hornet, as did Joanne Nelson, though without the popcorn or soft drink.

  * * * *

  “Is that pizza any good?” the voice asked, pulling Fahad out of his mulling trance.

  He raised his eyes to find a gorgeous woman, possibly in her late twenties, with long, straight, dark red hair and an incredible smile gazing down at him.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “W-were you speaking to me?”

  “I was indeed,” Leslie replied with a laugh in her voice. “Although it seems only your body was here. I apologize for yanking your mind back from wherever it was.”

  “Oh please, no apologies are necessary,” Fahad gushed, gathering his courage, “Especially not from such a pretty lady.”

  “Aww, shucks,” she grinned. “You’re going to make me blush.”

  “I don’t mind if you do,” Fahad said with a wink. “It will no doubt look nice with your lovely hair.”

  “Oh stop it, you charmer,” Leslie laughed.

  “I will, for you,” Fahad agreed. “Now, what was your question?”

  “I was simply asking if the pizza was any good,” she replied. “I’m iffy about pizza in some of these food courts which they bake ahead of time and just leave to die under the heat lamps.”

  “This one is very good,” Fahad assured her. “It is also quite fresh as it came out of the oven while I was waiting.”

  “In that case, I’ll get a slice. Do you mind if I come back to sit with you?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Fahad responded in surprise. “I would be honoured.”

  “Super,” Leslie exclaimed, removing her coat and setting it on the vacant seat opposite him. “I’d enjoy the company cuz you’re pretty cute.”

  She winked at him and walked off to the pizza counter, leaving Fahad feeling a little flushed and smiling. He watched her with appreciation as she walked away and felt a bit warmer still. This woman was a knockout and wished to spend some time with him.

  She returned moments later, smiling at him again as she slid into her seat and set down her tray.

  “Now, if we’re going to have lunch together,” she announced, “We should, at the very least, introduce ourselves. I’m April.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, April,” he replied, rising from his seat and extending his hand. “I am Fahad.”

  “Fahad, what a lovely name,” Leslie nodded in approval. “I love names from other countries. They sound different and exotic, not like John or Bob or Mike.”

  “I understand what you mean,” Fahad grinned, “But in my country, a name like mine is just as common as John and Bob are here.”

  “Where are you from?” Leslie enquired, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I do not mind. I am from Pakistan.”

  “Are you serious?” Leslie exclaimed. “I practice mountain climbing and one of my goals for the future is K2.”

  “K2 is a big challenge,” Fahad replied doubtfully. “Have you climbed large mountains in the past?”

  “I’ve climbed North Twin and Mount Columbia here in Canada,” said Leslie. “Those two are a bit over thirty-seven hundred metres. My highest climb to date has been Mount Shasta which is a little over forty-three hundred metres or half of K2’s elevation.”

  “So, you are a professional?” Fahad asked, impressed. “You climb mountains for a living?”

  “I was invited as a lead team member on a couple of climbs,” Leslie admitted, “But I’ve paid to participate in the others. Have you ever been to K2?”

  “Oh, no,” Fahad shook his head as he laughed. “I live in Islamabad which is quite a distance away and have never gone there.”

  “So, are you here on vacation?” asked Leslie.

  “I am in Canada for my studies,” Fahad explained. “I attend Carleton University in Ottawa but I have come down in the area with some friends to do some skiing.”

  “Aha, you ski,” Leslie smiled and winked, “My kind of man. Are you staying in the area for long? Maybe we could go skiing together.”

  “I would very much like that,” Fahad replied, gazing at her with a silly grin. “We will be returning to Ottawa soon but perhaps I could come back later in the winter.”

  “That would be very nice, Fahad,” Leslie agreed. “I like you and I think we would have fun skiing together. When are you heading back to Ottawa?”

  “I’m not sure but I believe we may be going back as soon as tomorrow,” Fahad admitted. “I do not have the car so I do not decide.”

  “Hmmm,” Leslie mused with a twinkle in her eye. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  “Yes, we are going to a rave at the Old Port,” Fahad replied absently then stiffened slightly. “At least this is what one of my friends was proposing but I am not certain yet.”

  “That’s okay,” Leslie assured him as she dug into her purse for a pen and pad of paper. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you my number and the next time you come to Montreal, give me a call.”

  “Really?” Fahad asked as he watched her scribble a number before holding out the slip of paper to him.

  “Well, only if you want to,” Leslie laughed, glancing at her watch. “I’m meeting a friend to do some shopping so I have to go now but this was fun.”

  “Yes,” Fahad nodded, smiling as he glanced at the paper still in his hand. “I enjoyed our lunch together very much.”

  “Well, my dear,” Leslie replied as she stood and slipped on her coat, “All you have to do is call that number when you come back and we can do it again.”

  * * * *

  Frank Bakes watched in amusement as he followed Nas
ir who was staggering down University Street. By Frank’s count, the young Pakistani had now consumed over a dozen beers within a couple of hours plus a couple of shots of whiskey at the last watering hole he’d visited. That he could still remain standing was an achievement though Frank was confident that Nasir would not sustain this feat for much longer.

  They reached the corner of de la Gauchetière and Frank moved closer, ready to pull the drunk back should he walk into the moving traffic but Nasir turned abruptly to his right and lurched westward alongside Central Station, mumbling to himself as he went. He made it to the train station’s entrance near the next street corner without incident, thanks to the building’s wall which offered support on several occasions.

  Once inside, he veered to the left and stumbled onto the escalator leading down to the tunnel crossing over to Place Bonaventure, oblivious of Frank who was only feet behind him. Once across, Nasir continued straight ahead, or as best he could in his drunken state and it quickly became obvious he was heading for the parking elevators.

  ‘If you’re planning to drive, buddy,’ Frank thought, ‘You’re busted.’

  They reached the elevators and Nasir managed to stab the button on his fourth attempt before looking up at Frank with a grin.