Make it Happen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  They continued to eat in silence but after a couple of minutes, Qalat’s sullen expression suddenly turned to a thoughtful one.

  “I may have something,” he said, putting down his fork.

  “What is it?” asked Dave.

  “While in New York this past weekend, I stayed at the Tower on the Park,” said Qalat.

  “Nice place,” said Chris. “What about it?”

  “Al-Tashid arranged my accommodations,” Qalat replied. “I neither checked in or out. The suite was not in my name. The woman you, uh, saw in the video, had the card-key and took me there after our dinner with Al-Tashid. Perhaps you can trace his assumed identity through the credit card he used.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Chris said, “But he may very well be using different cards with different names.”

  Qalat shrugged. “It’s possible, but he paid for everything when I was with him and seemed to use the same card each time. He is a very confident man, very sure of himself and, to his credit, he has been in the United States for over ten days and no one is the wiser.”

  “No need to convince me,” said Chris, reaching for his iPad. “We’re going to check this out. What was your room number at the hotel?”

  “Twenty-seven-oh-two,” Qalat replied. “It was booked for Saturday through today included. I was initially only to return to Montreal tomorrow but I cut my visit short because of the video.”

  “Sorry, but the video turned out to be a good thing,” said Chris as he typed. “Where else did he pay for anything?”

  “Dinner on Saturday at Le Bernardin,” said Qalat. “Lunch at the hotel.” He paused, looking thoughtful then added. “He did not pay with the credit card for lunch. He simply signed the bill. He must be staying at the Tower too.”

  “He might have signed it to the room you were using,” Dave suggested.

  “This is true,” Qalat admitted. “There are two other places we had lunch and dinner at when I met him Thursday last week. I will try to remember the names.”

  “You do that,” said Chris, backing from the table and standing. “We’ll get going with this to start. I’ve got a call to make but Dave will keep you company. Have some more lasagna if you like.”

  * * * *

  Manhattan, New York, 1:22 p.m.

  One of Al-Tashid’s favourite activities during his daily strolls in Central Park was watching model boats sailing at Conservatory Water. In fact, he had headed to the pond hoping to lighten his somber mood but found his thoughts constantly drifting back to Qalat’s aggressive demeanor and abrupt departure the previous day. While he had expected the diplomat to react negatively upon learning of the sex video, he had believed the man would understand that such schemes were par for the course. For a man in Al-Tashid’s position to blindly trust without reasonable insurance would be akin to suicide and concerned parties, such as Qalat, had to be made aware of such insurance for it to have any effect.

  Though clearly angry and unnerved, Qalat had nonetheless taken the planning of the upcoming attack to heart, questioning details, making suggestions and emphatically urging his recruits as if the project was his own. However, there remained the possibility the man had only done this for show and intended to somehow sabotage the attack, or worse. For his own safety, Al-Tashid had decided to keep himself out of the circle of communication and designated Qalat as the coordinator. By the same token, doing so left him in the dark, reliant on Qalat to keep him informed, or not.

  If made public, the sex tape would cause embarrassment and likely ruin Qalat’s career but, what if he decided to turn on him regardless? Perhaps it was time to inform the Pakistani official of other tapes which had been made, namely those of the discussions relating to the airbase attack. Of course, such a call warranted privacy and could not be made from the park while surrounded by hundreds of people. He would return to his suite to gather his thoughts, select a sample video or two to prove he was not bluffing and call Jabar Qalat to further ensure his loyalty.

  * * * *

  Gore, Quebec, 2:05 p.m.

  “—so even if they go through with the plan, there is no danger,” Qalat explained. “Of course, if Al-Tashid has not yet been captured at that time, he may suspect something is wrong and disappear.”

  “My concern for now is him thinking something is wrong before then.” said Chris. “Who is he in contact with other than you?”

  “Possibly the explosives supplier but I doubt it is directly,” Qalat replied. “I’m certain his communications were made via someone in his organization as he would not risk doing so himself. Regardless, even if he does follow up, as long as the devices are collected as planned, he will believe all is moving forward.”

  “Is there any chance of him deciding to change the plan somehow?” asked Dave, “Like arranging to have the explosives delivered without your knowledge and having your men plant them at an earlier concert or another venue?”

  Qalat shrugged. “Nothing is impossible but I really don’t think so. He doesn’t know my recruits. They are unaware of his involvement and have been told this is an AFI attack. Of course, they have been added to the secure network so he potentially could contact them but doing so would increase his risk of exposure as well as create uncertainty with my men. He wants this particular attack to take place so he can feel the people’s fear on the streets and I don’t think he would do anything to jeopardize his desire to become reality. In the end, I believe our best chance is for me to convince him I am still intent on carrying through with this attack to his satisfaction.”

  At that moment, the secure network’s now familiar ringtone sounded from Qalat’s phone which lay on the table by Chris. Picking it up, he activated the app and glanced at the screen.

  “Somebody’s ears are burning,” he murmured, putting the phone back down.

  “It is Al-Tashid?” asked Qalat.

  “Yes,” Chris confirmed. “You’ll call him back soon. I just want to make sure we’re clear on what you can or can’t say to him.”

  “I am not a fool so save your lectures,” Qalat retorted. “I know I am dead if I say anything wrong and I have no intention of giving my life to save his.”

  Chris nodded as he slid the phone toward Qalat. “Fair enough. Obviously, we’ll be listening to and recording the conversation.”

  “Obviously,” said Qalat with a smirk. “By the way, where are we?”

  “Why?” asked Chris.

  “As you know, it is possible to track call locations on the network,” Qalat replied. “He may be doing so and will know where I am. I should know as well.”

  “Good point,” Chris conceded. “We’re in Gore, northwest of Mirabel, northeast of Lachute, an hour and twenty minutes from Montreal. Anything else?”

  “No,” Qalat replied, picking up the phone. “I’m ready.”

  He placed the call as Chris and Dave left the kitchen and a moment later was face to face with Al-Tashid.

  “I’m sorry I missed your call,” said Qalat. “I had stepped outside for a few minutes to enjoy some mountain air.”

  “Where are you?” asked Al-Tashid, foregoing any greeting or pleasantries.

  “In the Laurentians, north of Montreal,” Qalat replied. “I needed a change of scenery to sort out my thoughts and it is already helping.”

  “What are these thoughts you are sorting?” Al-Tashid pressed.

  Qalat sighed. “As you are aware, I was angry and insulted by the video as I believed sufficient mutual trust existed between us. However, if I consider things from your point of view, I understand your intent to protect yourself and must confess I would likely do the same.”

  “It is simply insurance,” said Al-Tashid, his tone lighter. “I have files on many others as well which include conversations as the one we are having now. They are simply protection to be used should any of my colleagues prove to be less loyal than they had previously indicated.”

  “Yes, of course,” Qalat agreed. “As I said, I understand. I was simply surprised and s
hocked because it was not something I expected. I still do not like it but there is little I can do except continue to show you my commitment. I hope events like the one next Friday will help me earn more of your trust.”

  “So, you are going on with Friday’s plan,” Al-Tashid stated rather than questioned. “I am pleased to learn this. I was unsure of your intention following your abrupt departure yesterday.”

  “You had no reason to be concerned,” said Qalat. “I gave you my word.”

  Al-Tashid nodded in approval. “Have you had any further discussions with your men?”

  “Not yet,” Qalat replied. “I will do so tomorrow to review their planned activities for the week, including coordinating the delivery of the devices. I will keep you informed of our progress.”

  “Very well,” said Al-Tashid. “I will be waiting for your calls and look forward to our success on Friday.”

  “You will not be disappointed,” said Qalat before ending the call.

  He put the phone down and looked up as Chris and Dave returned to join him in the kitchen.

  “Was my performance up to your expectations?” he asked with veiled sarcasm.

  Chris smiled and replied, “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  * * * *

  Montreal, Quebec, 3:14 p.m.

  “The hotel booking lead panned out,” Jonathan announced as soon as Chris took the call. “An ING credit card in the name of Dorian Jacobs was used to book Qalat’s suite this weekend as well as a presidential suite at the Tower since last Wednesday. A number of charges, including the dinner at Le Bernardin on Saturday and others in Paris, Miami, flight bookings, even an upcoming Statue of Liberty visit, suggest this is the main or only credit card he’s using. The account has been active for a few years, is in good standing and has a hundred thousand Euro limit.”

  “Could it be stolen or cloned?” asked Chris, “Though that wouldn’t be too smart.”

  “No, it wouldn’t and I doubt it,” Jonathan replied. “He seems to really exist as Dorian Jacobs from Brussels, right down to his Belgian passport with which he’s travelling and, guess what? The passport photo matches the pics Qalat took with his phone well enough. This guy really is hiding out in the open without a care in the world.”

  “That’s all about to change,” said Chris. “Any progress on confirming he really is Al-Tashid?”

  “I’m still waiting for photo-match results,” Jonathan replied. “He must have had some surgery done along the way, subtle but enough to alter his appearance somewhat. We’re running the current photos we have against all past photos in our database and our friends across the border are doing the same. I’m expecting we’ll have confirmation one way or the other sometime today.”

  “What’s next?” asked Chris.

  “Jerry Washington and Steve Chen are on their way to New York City,” said Jonathan. “Leslie and I are heading there after this call to meet up with them. Jerry confirmed Brian and Chuck will be joining us by Wednesday so we should be more than covered there. Do you think Qalat will come through for us?”

  “Unless he’s suicidal and hiding it, I think he will,” Chris replied. “He knows his life is on the line and he has it in for Al-Tashid, especially since the video is the sole reason why we caught him. He had a chat with Al-Tashid and certainly seemed to be on board with us. If somewhere along the way he proves I’m wrong in my assessment, I’ll kill him.”

  “Just call me first,” said Jonathan. “Talk to you later.”

  Chapter 10 – Tuesday, July 5, 2016

  Manhattan, New York, 4:03 p.m.

  “—so I thought it would be nice to have dinner in my suite,” said Al-Tashid. “I have arranged for a chef who has proposed a delightful menu… Excellent. I will see you then.”

  Reassured by his conversation with Qalat the previous afternoon, Al-Tashid had enjoyed the rest of the American holiday, strolling the busy streets, eventually making his way to South Street Seaport for dinner. He had remained for his first ever viewing of the Macy’s firework display then bar-hopped a little before catching a cab back to the hotel for a well-deserved night of sleep.

  He’d filled his current day with some morning errands, lunch and his usual visit to Central Park followed by a workout and massage at the hotel’s gym and spa. Intent on staying in with some company for the evening, he’d organized for an in-room dinner and arranged to have Gretchen, Qalat’s Saturday escort, join him for the festivities. On a whim, certainly spurred by the video he had watched a few times, he’d requested Christian join them as well.

  Pleased with his plans, he headed to the bathroom for a shower which would be followed by a nap in preparation for what promised to be a pleasurable and demanding evening.

  * * * *

  Manhattan, New York, 4:09 p.m.

  “These are great,” said Jonathan, flipping through the photos on the wall monitor.

  “The ones in the gym and spa were tougher to get,” admitted Steve Chen, “But Leslie managed some incredible zoom shots.”

  “Excellent work, both of you,” said Jeremiah Washington. “Different expressions, profiles, full face shots, not to mention the videos. More than enough for our programme to confirm whether or not this is really Al-Tashid.”

  “What kind of match do we have with the other pics?” asked Leslie.

  “Eighty-four percent overall,” Jerry replied. “Eighty-eight with the passport photo only. A consistent ninety-plus is what we want, obviously the higher the better. The videos are an added bonus since we already have some of Al-Tashid in our databases. Mannerisms, characteristic movements can be compared to vastly improve the match.”

  “How soon can we expect the results?” asked Jonathan.

  Jerry glanced at his laptop and said, “Upload is just about done and our folks are running with this as we speak. It may be a few hours but we’ll have an answer before this day is done.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the answer we’re looking for,” said Leslie. “So, what have you gentlemen been up to while Steve and I were out doing the dangerous spy stuff?”

  Jerry grinned as he turned another laptop toward her. “Check it out.”

  Leslie peered at the screen which was split in a number of windows showing an entrance door, inside foyer, kitchen, dining area, living room, powder room, bedroom and bathroom. The sound of the running water and moving silhouette through the frosted glass door showed someone was currently using the shower.

  “Dorian Jacob’s presidential suite,” said Jerry, confirming the obvious. “Going forward, we’ll see and hear whatever this bastard is up to when he’s in there. Too bad we can’t stick a bug up his butt for when he goes out.”

  “What’s next on the agenda?” asked Steve.

  “Nothing special for now unless Al-Tashid goes out again,” Jonathan replied, “But Chris called earlier. Qalat has lined up the delivery of the bombs for tomorrow.”

  Chapter 11 – Wednesday, July 6, 2016

  Flushing Meadows, Queens, New York, 10:27 a.m.

  The gangly young man gazed at the Unisphere with limited interest as he ambled by, his mind more on getting the job done than anything else, even though he knew from experience there was little chance of anything going wrong. Stepping off the walkway, he strolled across the grass amidst the scattering of trees and shrugged off his Jansport backpack, setting it down on the first park bench before sitting.

  He lit a cigarette to kill the time while he waited, a wait which should not be long if all went as agreed. Three minutes later with his cigarette half gone, he smiled as he noticed a fit man of Asian descent approaching at a jog. Dressed for the activity, which he clearly often practiced, he wore orange running shoes, crimson shorts, a white tank top and an electric blue bandana covered his skull. A Jansport backpack, identical to the one now on the bench, was strapped snugly on his back.

  “How’s it going, bro?” the jogger asked as he came to a stop before the young man.

  “Never better,” Gangly replied w
ith a grin. “Flashy dresser, aren’t you?”

  “Just what you were expecting,” Jogger replied, sliding off his backpack before dropping on the bench. “You’re a fine one to talk, dude,” he added, referring to the emoji covered bucket hat and purple and yellow striped t-shirt the young man wore.

  “Main thing is we found each other,” said Gangly.

  “Little chance of anyone else here dressed just like us,” Jogger suggested.

  “Good point,” Gangly agreed. “You into fairy tales?”

  “I love Anderson’s The Nightingale,” said Jogger.

  “Cool,” said Gangly. “It’s all in the bag. All you need to know is on the thumb drive.”

  He stood and picked up Jogger’s backpack, slinging it onto one shoulder, his job done. “Have a great day.”

  “You too, my friend,” said Jogger.

  He watched the young man go until he was lost from sight then stood and slipped on the remaining backpack before jogging off toward the parking lot south of Queens Museum. As he went, he pulled a Bluetooth earpiece from the pocket of his shorts and hooked it into place.

  “All done and without a snag,” he said into the open communication line, “Though I wasn’t expecting one.”

  “Neither was I,” Leslie, who had been watching from nearby, replied, “But why take any chances? I’m almost at the car. See you soon.”

  “I’m on my way,” said Steve Chen.

  * * * *

  Brooklyn Navy Yard, New York, 11:14 a.m.

  “We’re here,” Steve announced as they approached the small warehouse.

  “Come on in,” replied Brian Kelly seconds before the automated door began to rise.

  Steve drove into the mostly empty building and pulled off to one side as the garage door lowered behind them.