Make it Happen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  Jabar Qalat wiped his bloodied nose on his sleeve and shook his head. “What proof do you even have to support your accusations?”

  “We’ve been tracking your calls,” said Chris.

  “Impossible,” Qalat scoffed. “There are no calls I’ve made or received which could suggest my involvement in anything illegal.”

  “That’s not true,” Chris disagreed. “We can’t prove it yet because you were using burner phones but you made calls to or received calls from Jilani, Bhatti, Chandhri, Qureshi and Zafar. One call from Chandhri was while you were in New York last week which we confirmed with CBSA records and flight plan filings. We’re working on pinpointing your location during other calls by other means such as credit card charges.”

  “This still proves nothing concerning me,” Qalat argued. “You stated yourself burner phones were used for these calls.”

  “We’re also looking at communication via various social media platforms,” Chris continued, ignoring Qalat’s comment, “And working at matching IP addresses with your location at various times.”

  Qalat smiled. “Nothing you have said impresses me. You clearly have nothing.”

  “Okay, how about your communication on the secret network?” asked Chris.

  Qalat assumed a puzzled air but paled somewhat. “What secret network?”

  Chris pulled two phones from his pocket and said, “I’ll show you.”

  On one phone, his own, he logged onto the network via Qureshi’s cloned app and made a call. Immediately, the other phone, Qalat’s, began emitting the particular ringtone.

  Chris held out the phone and asked, “Do you want to answer my call?”

  Qalat stared at him in silence as a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead but remained motionless.

  Chris cut the call and pocketed the phones. “That secret network. I’m the one who called you yesterday with Qureshi’s ID. You see, we got a hold of his iPad after he passed away and managed to get into the network. We’ve been tracking your calls since. By the way, who were you with in New York? You and he, or she, contacted each other a few times.”

  “I, I have nothing more to say,” said Qalat.

  “We’ll see about that soon enough,” said Chris. “Anyhow, whoever it was you were communicating with actually helped us determine you were Mohammad. Let me tell you how. We can track the call activity but unfortunately, we can’t listen in to the actual conversations. However, yesterday morning, your friend uploaded a video file to somewhere via the secret network and we were successful in extracting it. Watch.”

  He turned toward the monitor as Dave started the video.

  “Turn that off,” Qalat pleaded within seconds.

  Dave complied and Chris returned his attention to Qalat. “That’s how we managed to put a face on Mohammad.”

  Qalat remained silent for a moment then said, “It still doesn’t prove I had anything to do with the airbase attack.” Turning his eyes to the PM, he added, “I demand this be handled legally. If you are so convinced I am guilty, you should have no concerns with letting the appropriate courts decide my fate.”

  The Prime Minister stared at him and said, “My presence here is unofficial. In fact, I was never here.” He turned to Chris and Dave. “I’ll get out of your way and let you deal with him.”

  “Wait,” Qalat called out as the PM began to walk away.

  The Prime Minister stopped and asked, “For what? We’re just wasting our time. We all know you're guilty, even if you refuse to admit it, so it’s time to move on.”

  “You killed my son,” Qalat screamed. “You had to pay.”

  The PM walked over and leaned his face inches from Qalat’s. “I killed no one but your son was a murderer, just as you are. If he did die for his crimes, justice was served as it will be with you.”

  As he turned to leave again, Qalat said, “I can give you something more.”

  The PM stopped and asked, “What?”

  “Something, someone big,” Qalat replied. “Bigger than you could imagine.”

  The PM turned and gazed at Qalat. “In exchange for?”

  “My life,” said Qalat. “My freedom.”

  “I'm done here,” said the Prime Minister, “And so are you.”

  “Do you not want to know who?” Qalat insisted.

  “He’s all yours,” said the PM, addressing Chris and Dave. “I’m going.”

  He once again walked off, heading for an exit at the far end beyond the parked vehicles. Qalat watched him go in silence until he had almost reached the RV then called out, “Al-Tashid.”

  The Prime Minister stopped in his tracks and turned back toward Qalat.

  “Would you repeat that?” he asked.

  “Abdel Omar Al-Tashid,” said Qalat, “The self-appointed leader of the State of Islam.”

  “Because you know where he is?” the PM asked in doubt as he approached the diplomat once again.

  “I do indeed,” Qalat confirmed with growing confidence before going silent.

  “Where?” demanded the PM after a moment.

  “What do you promise me in exchange for this information?” Qalat countered.

  The Prime Minister paused in thought then replied, “If you can deliver Al-Tashid, I promise you a flight out of our country on a private plane, but let’s be clear here. The approximate location of a cave in the Middle East is not going to save you and you’ll only be getting on that plane once Al-Tashid has been captured.”

  “Of course,” Qalat agreed. “I always believed you were an honest man, Mr. Prime Minister. Do I have your word?”

  The PM nodded. “You have my word. Where is he?”

  “He is in New York City,” Qalat announced with a smile.

  “New York City?” Chris repeated in shock. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely,” Qalat insisted. “He is the person I met with on my two recent trips there. He has been visiting the United States for almost two weeks.”

  “Incredible,” said Chris. “What kind of security does he have?”

  “None,” Qalat replied. “He has changed his appearance somewhat and is hiding out in the open as a wealthy tourist.”

  “What name is he going by?” asked Chris. “He clearly entered the country under an assumed identity.”

  “He told me it was best I did not know when I asked,” said Qalat, “But suggested I call him Jack. I did manage to take a couple of photos of him yesterday without his knowledge. If you give me my phone, I can show you.”

  Chris pulled the phone out and thumbed the Home button.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he tapped Photos. “I added my print so I don’t have to ask you to unlock all the time.” He held the phone out to Qalat and asked, “This is Al-Tashid?”

  Qalat glanced at the phone and nodded curtly. “That is him. I will need access to my phone. It will do you no good if he calls and cannot reach me.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Chris. “Dave or I will be with you at all times until this is over.”

  “I trust you don’t intend to keep me here,” said Qalat. “In fact, until we have moved to more comfortable surroundings where I can use a bathroom and get something to eat, I am done answering your questions.”

  Chris gazed at him and smiled. “I’ll explain something to you. The only reason you’re still alive is because the Prime Minister requested to see you once we caught you. Otherwise, you would have already disappeared. You’ve now extended your time on this planet by offering us Al-Tashid’s head. However, if at any time, you try to make things difficult or show that you are not one hundred percent committed to holding your end of the deal, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?”

  Qalat looked into Chris’ eyes and once again broke into a sweat as he wordlessly nodded.

  “Excellent,” said Chris before turning to the Prime Minister. “I’d suggest you leave now. Dave and I have got it from here.”

  The PM nodded and this time, successfully made it to the ot
her end of the building and out the door to a waiting car.

  “I have a few more questions,” Chris resumed once the PM was gone. “Does Al-Tashid have any attacks planned anywhere to celebrate Independence Day?”

  “No,” said Qalat, shaking his head, “But there is one planned for next Friday. That is why we met this weekend. He has no resources here, nor does he wish his true identity or presence to be known, so he has ordered me to coordinate it. I have little choice in the matter.”

  “Uh huh,” said Chris. “So, you have full knowledge of the details? You could help us ensure it doesn’t take place?”

  “Yes,” Qalat confirmed. “Al-Tashid was involved in the planning but I am the contact for those involved.”

  “What is the plan?” asked Chris.

  “It is rather simple,” said Qalat. “There are frequent concerts at a venue called Rumsey Playfield in Central Park where people show up hours ahead to get good seats. Two of my recruits will be there before a concert Wednesday to see what it’s like. On Friday, they will return to wait with the crowd for another concert but this time, each will have an explosive device. At some point, they will leave, for their own safety, but the bombs will remain behind. I have seen with my own eyes how this could easily be done. Many people leave bags, packsacks and blankets lying about while chatting with others or going to the bathroom.”

  “Sick bastards,” Dave muttered, staring at Qalat. “You disgust me.”

  Qalat glanced at him but quickly averted his eyes.

  “So there’s nothing we need to urgently deal with for now?” Chris prodded.

  Qalat shook his head. “All that remains to be done is coordinating the delivery of the bombs by Friday.”

  “Okay,” said Chris. “If you aren’t playing straight with us, you’re dead. Now we’ll take you somewhere more comfortable where you can shower and eat something. After that, we’re going to sit down together and hammer out a plan to quietly cancel Friday’s attack and grab Al-Tashid.”

  “I will need some clothes and –” said Qalat.

  “Don’t worry,” Chris cut him off. “We’ll make sure you have whatever you need. Ready to go?”

  “Of course,” Qalat retorted.

  “Good stuff,” said Chris before turning to Dave and nodding.

  Qalat looked at Dave to find him pointing some kind of pistol. “What are you doing?”

  “Putting you out for a bit,” Dave replied before pulling the trigger.

  Qalat winced as the dart hit him in the chest then slumped backward onto his makeshift bunk as the powerful sedative began to take effect.

  “At least the bastard’s getting enough sleep,” said Chris.

  “I gave him a smaller dose this time,” said Dave. “He’ll be good to join us for lunch.”

  They waited a minute or two to let the drug do its work then Chris turned toward the RV and said, “He’s out.”

  Jonathan, Leslie and Nick Sharp emerged from the vehicle to join Chris and Dave.

  “That was one hell of a turn of events,” said Sharp. “Can he really give us Al-Tashid?”

  “Time will tell but I think he was straight up with that,” Chris replied. “I intend to have him tell us everything he can to make it happen so we need a nice, quiet place to work with him.”

  “We have a safe house in Gore, north of Mirabel in the Laurentians,” offered Sharp. “It’s comfortable, isolated and secure. You can be there in a bit over an hour and I can make some calls to get some supplies brought in. Anything special you need besides food?”

  “Clothes for our guest,” said Chris. “Can’t have him wearing the same thing each time he video-chats with Al-Tashid.”

  “You’ll find a stock of casual stuff in various sizes already there,” said Sharp. “Anything else?”

  “We’ll take the RV so we should have everything we need,” Chris replied then turned to Jon and Leslie. “There’s no reason for all of us to go and, since he doesn’t know you two, I’d suggest Dave and I continue dealing with him.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Jonathan agreed. “I’ll start lining up some help across the border.”

  “Jerry and company?” Chris suggested hopefully, referring to American operatives they had worked with in the past.

  “Assuming they’re available on short notice,” Jonathan replied. “I’ll do my best to get them. We’ll start working on authenticating Al-Tashid and finding what name he’s travelling under.”

  Chris nodded and said, “We’re going to load up our friend here and head up north. I want him settled in when he wakes up.”

  * * * *

  Gore, Quebec, 12:17 p.m.

  For the second time that day, Jabar Qalat awoke from a drug induced sleep in a completely unfamiliar location. This time, he found himself lying clad in his boxers on a double bed in a modest but comfortable room. He looked about and realized he was unrestrained but then noticed the light but sturdy metal device locked around his ankle. Sitting up slowly as his head cleared, he took in his surroundings. Two doors were set in the wall to his left, the closest one open to reveal a small, full bathroom, the other one closed and likely the exit. Along the wall opposite from the bed was a shelving unit on which folded clothing was stored, next to which was an empty open closet. Centred on the wall to his right was a window, the outside view blocked by a lowered roller shade.

  Though now awake with the fog in his head dissipating, he rose to his feet slowly, wary of a possible dizzy spell but his mind and legs remained steady. Reassured, he walked the few steps to the window and raised the shade. Affronted by the bright daylight, he squinted as he peered at the landscape outside, a mix of grassy fields and rocky outcrops closer by, rising to more hilly, tree-covered terrain some thirty yards away. Seeing nothing remotely familiar outside, he turned his attention to the window itself – heavy, likely unbreakable glass, electronic combination locks – clearly meant to keep insiders, like him, inside.

  He returned to the bed and sat as his thoughts progressively cleared. Visions and recent memories came to mind – arriving at the airfield, waking in a warehouse, the Prime Minister punching him, the questioning about Al-Tashid – no, it was not a dream, it was a living nightmare and he had no one to blame but himself for the position he found himself in. In reality, he was lucky because he had an opportunity to get out of this relatively unscathed. His diplomatic career was over but that was the least of his concerns. He would deal with issues regarding his future in due time. His priority for now was to make sure Al-Tashid was captured – his own freedom and life depended on it.

  With renewed determination, he headed to the bathroom and within ten minutes had showered, dressed from the available clothing inventory and was ready to start working with his captors. He moved to the door, half expecting it to be locked but it opened silently on oiled hinges when he turned and pulled the knob. Stepping out into the corridor, he paused to listen and, hearing nothing, wondered if anyone else was in the house. Surely, they would not have left him alone, unguarded?

  As if in response to his thoughts, a voice emitted from a hidden speaker.

  “Straight down the hallway and to your right.”

  He did as he was told and soon ended up in the kitchen where something smelled terrific and his two captors sat at the table, having a beer.

  “Have a seat,” the lead man from earlier said, gesturing toward a free chair. “Want a beer?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Qalat replied as he sat.

  “Lunch will be ready soon,” said the man as he headed to the refrigerator. “It’s frozen lasagna but it looks pretty good. Are you hungry?”

  “Actually, I’m starving,” Qalat admitted. “I don’t know what day or time it is but I haven’t eaten since lunch on Sunday.”

  “Bah, barely twenty-four hours ago,” said the man, setting a bottle of Corona down on the table.

  “Thank you,” said Qalat, taking a healthy gulp before asking, “So, it is Monday?”

  “Yep,” the ma
n replied, glancing at his watch. “Twelve-thirty. You were just out a couple of hours this time.”

  “I see,” said Qalat, pausing then asking, “May I ask who you are?”

  The man grinned and said, “I guess it’s only right since we’re living together. I’m Chris and this is Dave.”

  Qalat looked at Dave and said, “You look familiar.”

  “We met once five years ago,” Dave replied. “I was with the Montreal police then and I had accompanied Commander Sharp to your home in relation to your son.”

  “I remember now,” said Qalat, his expression darkening. “I should have let you arrest my son then and taken our chances. Perhaps he would be still be alive, even free, today and we would not be here.”

  “We’re going to end this discussion right now,” said Chris. “If you hadn’t murdered and injured hundreds of innocent people at the Trenton airbase, we wouldn’t be here right now so, shut the hell up with anything which doesn’t deal with locating Al-Tashid or stopping the damned attack you planned for Friday.”

  A buzzing sounded as he finished his sentence, indicating their lunch was ready. They remained silent as Chris went to stove and prepared three plates while Dave found cutlery in one of the drawers.

  Once they were settled down and ready to eat, Qalat picked up his fork and taunted. “Are you not concerned with providing me with such weapons? You could be putting yourself in danger.”

  Chris smiled at him and replied, “Give it your best shot, buddy. On the off chance you’d manage to even injure one of us, the other will kill you. Should you be really lucky and succeed in killing us both, you’ll still be stuck in here with little chance of getting out. Assuming you were able to do so, that thing on your ankle will blow your leg off. By the way, if you try to remove it or tamper with it, it will also explode. Eat your lunch, Moe, and start thinking really hard about anything which could be helpful.”