Discreet Activities

by Claude Bouchard

  At this thought, he felt his panic engulf him and feared having another anxiety attack. He tried breathing deeply to calm himself but felt as if he was choking and could feel his whole body starting to tremble. He rushed to a nearby bench, barely making it as his legs started to give beneath him. Putting his head down between his knees, he retched, much to the disgust of several people nearby, but luckily, his stomach was already empty.

  A minute or two went by and he managed to relax and regain some composure. Breaking down, he reasoned, would serve no purpose. He and he alone had made the decisions leading to the position he now found himself in. He even accepted partial responsibility for Fahad and Saad as he was the one who had recruited them, clearly too quickly, as he now knew. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that he was envious of the two. Wherever they were now, they would not be involved in the death and destruction which would occur in just a few short hours. He doubted JayQ would retaliate against them for their abandonment. The man did not even know them and, in the end, they were Mahmood’s responsibility.

  He, on the other had, did not have the option of backing out. JayQ had made that deathly clear during their last conversation and even had a corpse on display to support the veracity of his words. No, in his case, as the western expression went, the show must go on. He remained disappointed, though worried, regarding Nasir. His best friend and a true one for years, he could not understand why he was not at his side or even reachable at this crucial time. Had he also abandoned him at the last moment or had something happened, perhaps an accident?

  He looked at his watch again; five-forty-four. He had to get moving but wasn’t sure how to proceed alone. Would having all the devices, even though disguised, attract attention? He had no doubt his pack sack would be searched at such an event. Bottles, cans and the like were not permitted for safety reasons. Would eight cigarette cartons raise any eyebrows? He needed guidance, advice and had only one person to turn to. He pulled out his phone and entered JayQ’s number.

  * * * *

  The ticket attendant approached the small crowd waiting at the gate for the train to Ottawa.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Could I have your attention please? We’ll be boarding momentarily,” he announced then consulted a sheet of paper in his hand. “Are Misters Fahad Jamali and Saad Telpur here?”

  Fahad glanced at Saad in surprise before raising a hand. “I am Fahad Jamali and this is Saad. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Could you please return to the ticket counter?” the attendant replied with a smile. “Your student discount was not applied correctly. It will only take a moment to process your credit.”

  Fahad nodded and both he and Saad left the group and walked the short distance across the concourse to the ticket counter.

  “Hello, my name is Fahad Jamali,” he told the woman behind the counter. “We are here for a credit regarding our student discount.”

  “Actually, you’ll be getting a full refund for your tickets,” a voice behind them said, “Since you won’t be using them.”

  They turned to find themselves surrounded by a man and woman in casual clothing who looked vaguely familiar and two burly, armed security officers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Fahad demanded as a sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. “Who are you?”

  “You were in the restaurant earlier,” Saad exclaimed, suddenly recognizing the couple.

  “Senior Detective Tim Harris,” the man replied as he held up his credentials, “And this is Senior Detective Joanne Nelson. You’re both wanted by the RCMP for questioning in relation to terrorist activities. Please put your bags down, turn around and lean against the counter, arms and legs spread.”

  “Th-there must be some mistake,” Fahad argued. “We are students at Carleton University which is where we are returning.”

  “You are Fahad Jamali and Saad Telpur, correct?” Joanne demanded.

  Both young men nodded as Fahad replied, “Yes, but-”

  “You have been staying at a cottage in Sutton since December 31st with Mahmood Buzdar and Nasir Darzada,” Harris interrupted, “During which time you discussed plans for a terrorist attack involving explosives with the intent to harm or kill a number of innocent people. Put your bags down and turn around. I won’t tell you again.”

  Both men complied while displaying expressions of shock and horror. Though, as expected, neither was armed, they were nevertheless patted down, cuffed and escorted to a squad car waiting outside to transport them to RCMP headquarters.

  * * * *

  JayQ had no problem with consuming alcohol in the privacy of his home and was enjoying a pre-dinner vodka and tonic in the den when his phone rang.

  “Yes?” he answered, rather abruptly, having glanced at the call display.

  “Everything is falling apart,” Mahmood announced.

  “What do you mean by that?” JayQ demanded.

  “Fahad and Saad have backed out and I cannot reach Nasir,” Mahmood explained.

  “What do you mean, they have backed out?” JayQ asked, trying to control his anger, “And where is Nasir?”

  “I called Nasir several times since I have returned downtown. The call goes to voicemail and he has not tried to call me. When I called Fahad and Saad, Fahad told me in no uncertain terms that he was not participating. Then Saad told me he was not either and suggested I meet them at the bus station to talk. I have been here for almost thirty minutes but they are not here.”

  “Idiots,” JayQ hissed. “Idiots and cowards. Do they know my name? What have you told them?”

  “I have not told them your name,” replied Mahmood, hoping that bit of information had not stuck with Fahad or Saad when it had slipped out. “Nasir knows who you are, as you are aware, but he would never say anything.”

  “He had better not,” JayQ warned. “I have much to lose and he is your responsibility as are the other two. I expect you to deal with them when you find them.”

  “I will worry about that when the time comes,” Mahmood snapped, getting close to his breaking point. “I am now stuck alone and unsure how to proceed and you are being of little help.”

  “You are right,” JayQ conceded, masking the contempt from his tone. “It is almost six o’clock. Walk down Berri to the Old Port, it’s not more than twenty minutes, and wait near the entrance to Igloofest. I will drive down and meet you so we can decide how best to proceed.”

  “Very well,” agreed Mahmood, relieved by the offered support. “I look forward to seeing you.”

  “I will get there as soon as I can,” JayQ replied. “Everything will work out fine.”

  He cut the line and gazed absently at the glass in his hand as he formulated an impromptu plan. He realized he could not rely on Mahmood to carry this off, at least not without some encouragement. He also realized he could not risk Mahmood getting caught alive as the young man did not have the strength of character he had given him credit for. Should Mahmood be apprehended, he would not hesitate to talk in order to lessen his hardship and for this reason, Mahmood would have to die.

  * * * *

  “Okay, he’s on the move again,” Jonathan announced just as Chris’ phone rang.

  “Hi, Les…” Chris answered. “Yeah, Jonathan just mentioned that. Stay with him and we’ll be heading your way. It seems more and more likely the target is Igloofest… Really? That’s good to know. We’re hoping whoever he’s working for or with comes out of the woodwork at this point, now that Mahmood is alone with this. See you soon and be careful.”

  As he cut the connection, Addley’s phone rang. “Hi, Nick… Damn, that was quick… So, real tough guys… No, let them chill for a while. I’ll want to talk to them later but we have what we need for now. Thanks.”

  He ended the call and smiled at Chris and Dave. “Nick spent about a minute with Fahad and then with Saad and asked them one question, ‘Where?’ Both immediately answered ‘Igloofest.’”

  �
�Leslie told me Mahmood had a conversation with someone while waiting at the bus station and left right after, looking a bit more cheerful,” said Chris. “Let’s hope he’s meeting with somebody.”

  “It certainly would be nice,” Jonathan admitted, “Because I want to get my hands on the bastard who killed Cat, Jeff and Pierre Tardif. Let’s get over there and see if we can make that happen.”

  * * * *

  JayQ could not believe his luck. Not only had traffic run quite smoothly, allowing him to drive from Westmount to the Old Port in ten or so minutes, a parking spot on de la Commune Street, just across from the Igloofest entrance at Jacques Cartier Quay had become available just as he had driven up.

  He’d been disappointed to have to use the Audi, tonight of all nights, but the cook had recently ceased leaving the keys to his old Sentra in his coat pocket. In the end, he reasoned, it didn’t really matter, as he had no intention of actually getting together with Mahmood. In fact, once he spotted the young man, he planned to call to tell him he was delayed for some reason and encourage him to enter the site. As soon as he felt there were sufficient potential victims near Mahmood, he himself would detonate the explosives. In the resulting panic, pulling out of the parking spot and driving away would not be noticed by anyone.

  He surveyed the activity across the street and smiled as he watched the growing crowd at the entrance to the Jacques Cartier Quay beyond the promenade. All he would have to do was get Mahmood in the midst of them and that would be sufficient to make his plan a success. In addition to those heading to Igloofest, countless people, young and old, milled about, some having spent an afternoon in Old Montreal and others just arriving for dinner at any of the numerous restaurants in the area.

  As he gazed across the way, he saw Mahmood crossing the street, moving towards the crowd as he scanned the area, no doubt looking for him.

  “There’s no time like the present,” JayQ murmured as he slipped his phone from his pocket and climbed out of the car.

  * * * *

  “There he is,” said Chris as he watched Mahmood thread his way through the throngs moving about the Old Port promenade. “Our timing was perfect.”

  “He’s definitely looking for someone,” Jonathan stated. “If he meets up with anybody, we’re grabbing them.”

  At that moment, Chris’ phone rang and he took the call via his Bluetooth. “Hello? Hi Les… Yep, I can see you now. I’m with Jon, just west of the Jacques Cartier Quay by the railing. Dave and Frank are along the street somewhere, Joanne and Tim are east of us on the other side of the entrance and there are a couple of RCMP undercovers right in the crowd… He does seem to be looking for someone. Jon’s putting the word out now to have the others move in closer cuz we’re hoping a meeting takes place soon. Head on over this way. We’re letting the cops do any nabbing.”

  * * * *

  Mahmood could feel the telltale signs of another anxiety attack coming on as he unsuccessfully searched the crowds for JayQ. Being surrounded by all these people, many of them who might soon be victims, certainly wasn’t helping him relax. He was grateful when he felt the vibration of the Blackberry in his pocket.

  “Yes, hello,” he answered. “Where are you?”

  “I couldn’t find any parking in the area,” JayQ replied from behind some trees a hundred feet away. “I’m walking over now and should be there in about ten minutes. Where are you?”

  “I am at the entrance of Igloofest,” Mahmood replied, moving away from the quay entrance to a less crowded area. “Where should I wait for you?”

  “You should wait for me right where you are,” JayQ replied, pulling the remote control device from his pocket as he watched Mahmood from behind his shelter. “I will find you.”

  He slid the protective cover back on the device, placed his thumb on the red button, pressed down… And nothing happened.

  “Okay,” said Mahmood as he kept moving. “I am leaving from the entrance for now as it is getting too crowded and people are pushing to get in.”

  “No,” JayQ yelled, however involuntarily as he pressed the button over and over again.

  He stepped from behind the trees, raising his arm to point the device in Mahmood’s direction… And saw Mahmood staring at him from seventy-five feet away.

  “I heard you shout,” Mahmood said into the phone, “Without the phone. You are a traitor but I am giving up so do what you must.”

  He dropped the Blackberry to the snowy ground, slid the backpack off and clutching to his chest, turned towards the crowd and shouted, “I am ready to die in the name of Allah.”

  “Like hell you are, buddy,” said a husky young man standing nearby before punching Mahmood in the side of the head and knocking him to the ground.

  Within seconds, a dazed Mahmood was laying on his stomach with hands cuffed behind his back and surrounded by a half dozen cops. Harris and Bakes grabbed him by the shoulders and raised him to his feet where Dave McCall immediately got in his face.

  “Who were you talking to, you little shit?”

  Mahmood shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts then gestured as he replied, “He is over there by the trees, or at least he was but now he is gone. However, I am certain you will be able to find the home of the Consul General of Pakistan.”

  Chapter 19 – Sunday, January 23, 2011

  Nick Sharp, accompanied by Dave McCall, sat in a small but comfortable sitting room in the gated Westmount home which served as the residence of Jabbar Qalat, Consul General of the Diplomatic Mission of Pakistan. A young woman appeared and addressed the manservant/bodyguard who stood at the door. He nodded and dismissed her then turned to the two officers waiting in the room.

  “The Consul General will see you now, gentlemen.”

  They followed him through the expansive house to a well appointed den where Qalat awaited them. Remaining silent, he nodded to the servant who left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Nick,” the diplomat said, extending his hand. “It has been a while since we last saw each other.”

  “Yes, it has,” Sharp replied, shaking his hand before continuing. “Allow me to introduce Captain David McCall of the Montreal police.”

  “I have heard much about you, Captain,” Qalat replied. “I commend you and your team for the fine work you do.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dave replied. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  “Sit, please,” Qalat gestured towards a sitting area off to one corner. “Let us discuss these circumstances.”

  “You seem rather calm about this, Jabbar,” Sharp commented as they settled into the overstuffed chairs surrounding a coffee table.

  “What is the purpose of getting emotional over things which are in the past,” Qalat replied, “Especially when, in the end, no harm was done.”

  “Five people are dead because of this, sir,” McCall retorted. “Three of them were government or police officials. How can you say no harm was done?”

  “Do you have evidence confirming who was responsible for these deaths, Captain?” Qalat challenged. “And even if you do, I trust you are familiar with the concept of diplomatic immunity, yes?”

  “You have got to be kid-” McCall started but was cut off by Sharp.

  “David, if I may,” said Nick before turning to Qalat. “Jabbar, we are talking murder here, not shoplifting.”

  “Nick,” Qalat replied, his eyes suddenly glistening. “Jawad is my son. I have the possibility of sending him back to Pakistan rather than have him face your Canadian courts. Any evidence already in your possession or subsequently found can be passed on to us and he will be dealt with in my country.”

  “And, with your connections, that will amount to a slap on the wrist,” McCall snapped.

  “His punishment is not your concern, Captain,” Qalat replied bluntly. “Diplomatic immunity treaties permit me to return Jawad to my country. Inform us of what he is charged with through the appropriate channels, supply the evidence to prove him guil
ty and he will be dealt with accordingly. He will be out of your country and no longer your problem.”

  “Jabbar, I am formally advising you that we already have sufficient evidence to charge your son,” Sharp announced, “And there will be more coming to clearly show he is guilty. That being the case, you’re going to play this by the book. When is he leaving the country and where is he heading?”

  Jabbar sighed, rose to his feet and walked over to a desk where he picked up a sheet of paper.

  “Here,” he said as he handed it to Nick. “This is his itinerary for the trip back to Islamabad where he will be staying at our home. He is flying out tomorrow morning by private jet to Paris and with commercial airlines from there.”

  Sharp studied the document for a moment then said, “I’m presuming Jawad is here now?”

  “He is,” Qalat smiled as he shook his head. “I presume you wish to confirm this with your own eyes?”

  “I do,” Sharp nodded without a smile.

  Still standing, Jabar went to the door and murmured to the ever-present servant standing in the hallway. They waited in silence and a few moments later the door opened and twenty-eight year old Jawad Qalat entered and gazed at them with a smug expression on his face.

  “You have disturbed me in my packing,” JayQ taunted. “What do you want?”

  “Jawad,” his father barked. “Shut up.”

  Sharp stood and walked up to face Jawad as he unfolded a document he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. He stared at the paper, an identification record obtained from the appropriate ministry, then raised his eyes to the young man.