“You are serious about this?” Al-Tashid asked, almost dizzy with the speed things had worked out favourably.
“This is nothing to joke about, Jacques,” April retorted as they reached the elevators. “Of course, I’m serious.”
“It certainly makes getting away from here without a trace rather easy,” Al-Tashid admitted. “Where will we go when we get to California?”
“Uncle J has a big place with a guest house,” April replied, entering the elevator and pressing 32 while Al-Tashid tapped the panel with his cardkey for an upper floor housing presidential suites. “We’ll stay there, at least for tonight, until we figure out what to do with you.”
The doors closed and, as the elevator began its ascent, she added, “Get your stuff together as quickly as possible and come down to my suite, thirty-two-oh-four. No sense you staying up there any longer than needed. Can you handle your bags by yourself? I don’t think you should call for any help.”
“Yes, I can take care of my bags,” Al-Tashid confirmed as the elevator reached the thirty-second floor.
“Good,” said April, reaching out to hold the door. “Hurry and come to my suite. We’ll wait there and go down just a bit before five.”
“I won’t be very long,” said Al-Tashid. “You seem to be thinking of everything.”
April shrugged and smiled. “I deal with danger on a regular basis. I guess I’m good at planning for the unexpected.” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “See you soon.”
* * * *
Teterboro Airport, New Jersey, 5:52 p.m.
Usually calm, in control, the ultimate planner, Al-Tashid had returned to his suite a jumbled mess and unsure what to do. If what Qalat had told him was true, his secure network was compromised and no longer dependable to communicate with any of the men he most trusted, those who could contact allies to assist him in his present situation. Time seemed to be a currently limited resource, again based on Qalat’s warning, but he could not risk doubting the man and delaying his departure only to end up getting captured. He had to leave, but the question had been, on his own or with April’s assistance?
He had taken a few minutes to Google Xtreem, April’s alleged enterprise, and had immediately found the Canadian-based firm’s website, professionally presented with a bio and stunning photo of founder and president, April Ross, descriptions of services offered, locations, prices and accolades from numerous satisfied customers. This had certainly helped increase her credibility, not that he had any reason to doubt her but simply because he had met her barely twenty-four hours earlier.
He had been wary of hopping onto a total stranger’s private plane but the alternatives, either commercial transport or a charter would definitely have left a trail for anybody coming after him. April’s plan had eliminated that danger and, unbeknownst to her, provided an additional benefit. When arranging for the explosive devices for Friday’s now likely defunct attack, he had requested a third be ordered which was now in his possession. Transporting it on a commercial flight would have been unthinkable but the private plane eliminated his having to abandon the bomb.
In the end, he had decided April’s plan was the best course of action, in terms of getting away quietly and quickly without arousing any suspicion on her part. Once in California, he would determine his next move all while hopefully getting to enjoy a bit of April on a more intimate basis.
His packing complete, without any clandestine agents breaking in on him, he had joined April in her suite and they had headed down shortly before five. A limousine had been pulling up just as they had walked out of the lobby and the driver, a massive black man, had hurried out with surprising speed, ushering them into the vehicle before loading their luggage in the trunk. April had introduced her uncle, a stern looking man who had smiled briefly, shook his hand then announced he had some work to finish up before returning his attention to his laptop.
As the limousine had begun to pull away, a black Suburban with flashing lights in the grill had sped in behind them and screeched to a stop. Al-Tashid had witnessed two men in suits jump out and hurry into the hotel. He’d glanced sideways at April who had simply shrugged while her uncle had not reacted, either from not having noticed or not caring.
The ride to the airport had been uneventful and upon their arrival, they were greeted by two of the fixed-base operator’s earpiece-wearing doormen who took possession of the luggage while an attendant waited to deal with the limousine. They followed Uncle J through the lobby and out onto the tarmac to his waiting Gulfstream G280 where a casually dressed man stood waiting by the lowered airstairs.
“That’s my uncle’s co-pilot,” said April as Uncle J climbed aboard. “Hi, Lucas.”
“It’s great to see you, April,” said Lucas, giving her a hug. “I was happy to learn you were riding with us.”
“A last minute decision,” said April, turning toward Al-Tashid. “This is my friend, Jacques.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” said Lucas, shaking hands before returning his attention to April. “Go on in and make yourself at home. We’re all stocked up so you know what to do if you want something to eat or drink.”
“Thank you,” said April. “Anyone else flying with us?”
“Jerry, of course,” said Lucas, “And Steve. He should be arriving any minute now and we’ll be on our way.”
“Great,” said April. “I haven’t seen Steve in a while. Come on, Jacques. You’re going to love this plane.”
“Who are Jerry and Steve?” Al-Tashid asked as they boarded, secretly uneasy of being involved with too many strangers.
“Jerry’s the big, black teddy-bear who drove us here,” April explained, pointing him to a seat and dropping into the one facing his across a table. “He’s my uncle’s right-hand man, bodyguard and jack of all trades. Steve is, well, pretty much the same as Jerry except he’s not big and black.”
“I see,” said Al-Tashid. “Your uncle is clearly an important man. What does he do?”
April laughed. “He makes money.” Lowering her voice, she added. “Seriously, he doesn’t talk much about his work. The one time I asked him what he did years ago, he said, ‘my business isn’t any of your business.’ I tried to research him but never found anything.”
“But, your family,” Al-Tashid pressed on, “Someone must have some idea what he does to be so successful?”
“There is no family,” April replied, seeming uncomfortable. “I never knew my father and my mother, Uncle J’s only sibling, passed away when I was four. He took me in and brought me up. We went through some difficult times but it all worked out in the end.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” said Al-Tashid, promising himself to learn more about this mysterious man he suddenly found himself involved with.
“It’s okay, just a lot of sad memories,” said April, rising to her feet. “I could use a drink. Would you like something?”
“Nothing for now, thank you,” Al-Tashid replied, not currently keen on dulling his senses.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” said April, heading to the galley at the front of the plane.
She was returning with drink in hand when their massive driver, Jerry, entered accompanied by a fit man of Asian descent. While introductions were made, Lucas, the co-pilot, raised the airstairs then informed the passengers to buckle up in preparation for takeoff. Within moments, the jet was taxiing to the runway and minutes later, they were airborne.
“So, Jack,” said Jerry from the built-in leather couch across the aisle. “Tell us about yourself.”
Al-Tashid smiled. “What do you want to know?”
“Where are you from?” said Jerry. “What do you do? That kind of thing.”
“I’m from Belgium,” Al-Tashid replied hesitantly, “And I’m involved in various businesses.”
“What kind of businesses?” asked Steve.
“Like April’s uncle,” said Al-Tashid, smiling more tightly, “I like to keep my affairs private.”
>
“I get it,” said Jerry, nodding as he turned to April. “Why don’t you get Jack here something to drink? Might help loosen him up a bit.”
“She already offered me a drink which I declined,” said Al-Tashid, no longer smiling. “What is going on here?”
Jerry stood for emphasis. “We’re just trying to figure out who you are, buddy.”
“I am April’s friend,” Al-Tashid retorted, also standing. “If, for some reason, you do not trust me, why did you allow me onto the plane?”
“Maybe because we wanted you to come with us?” Jerry suggested. “What do you think?”
Al-Tashid sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets. “This was a trick? Am I being kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped is such a strong word, Jack,” Jerry replied, “Or do you prefer Dorian, or maybe Abdel?”
Al-Tashid smiled again, remaining still. “Of course, I realize you know who I am by now. I am a victim of my own over-confidence but have you considered you may be victims of your own stupidity?”
“How so, Jacques?” asked April, or rather, Leslie.
Al-Tashid sneered at her and replied, “Do you believe I would go about unarmed?”
“There’s a metal detector built into the doorframe on this plane,” said Leslie. “You’re not armed, dude, at least not enough to be scary. Sit back down.”
Smiling again, Al-Tashid removed his hands from his pockets and lowered himself back into his seat before raising his hand to display a small plastic box-like device.
“There is a bomb in my suitcase,” he announced.
“Fuck,” Steve muttered as he and the others stared at the terrorist.
“If you detonate it, you’ll die too, asshole,” warned Jerry, stating the obvious.
“I am willing to die in the name of Allah,” Al-Tashid replied.
“How can we be sure you’re telling the truth?” Leslie challenged.
“All I have to do is press this button and you will know,” said Al-Tashid.
“Well, go ahead and do it,” said Jerry, pulling out a handgun and training it on the terrorist.
“Put that gun down,” Al-Tashid ordered, “Or we will all die.”
“Go ahead and press the button, shithead,” Jerry retorted.
“I am warning you,” said Al-Tashid.
“You’re full of shit,” said Jerry, aiming the gun at Al-Tashid’s chest. “Say hello to Allah for us.”
“We belong to Allah and to Him we shall return,” Al-Tashid said then pressed the button… and nothing happened. Again and again… nothing. He looked about wildly, first at Leslie then Steve and finally at Jerry, confusion, anger and fear etched in his expression.
Jerry chuckled. “We had cameras all over your suite and we’ve been watching your every move inside and out. Your bomb was disarmed hours after you received it. You see, we’re not that stupid after all. The game’s over, you moron.”
“Nothing is over,” Al-Tashid scoffed. “Do you think my people will sit quietly by when they learn of my capture?”
“Who says we have to tell them?” Jerry said with a smile.
“They will see it on the news,” Al-Tashid replied, “Or they will notice I am no longer in contact with them. You are not so naïve to believe you have now ended what you call terrorism.”
“No, of course not,” Jerry confirmed, “But every little bit helps. Would you like that drink now?”
“Thank you, but no,” said Al-Tashid. “It would likely be poisoned.”
“Not poison, just a sedative,” said Jerry before pulling the trigger of the dart gun. “A drink would have stung less but, suit yourself.”
Chapter 13 – Friday, July 8, 2016
North Brother Island, New York, 8:42 a.m.
North Brother Island, located in New York City's East River between the Bronx and Rikers Island, was once the site of Riverside Hospital where patients of Smallpox and, eventually, other communicable diseases, were treated and isolated until the mid-forties. It later served to house World War II veterans for a time and was subsequently the site of a controversial drug rehabilitation center which closed in the early sixties. Most of the original hospital buildings still stand but are in dismal condition and in danger of collapse. The island is therefore currently abandoned and off-limits to the public.
Though he was unaware, Abdel Omar Al-Tashid was on North Brother Island when he regained consciousness and opened his eyes. He was in an underground room, perhaps twelve by twelve feet, which could only be described as fortified as the walls, ceiling and floor were made of, or covered with, thick, pock-marked steel panels. Light was supplied by a single neon tube, recessed into the ceiling behind a sturdy iron grill. A heavy steel door sealed the only access to the room.
He was seated on one of six wooden Adirondack chairs arranged in attached pairs and placed facing each other to form an equilateral triangle. Five other people, one woman and four men, occupied the remaining chairs. All were awake but none spoke or moved because all, as he, were gagged and securely bound to the chairs with copious amounts of duct tape.
A shelf of sorts had been affixed at head level between each pair of chairs on which sat what appeared to be the explosive beverage containers he had ordered. Though he had never met the other occupants, he correctly guessed them to be the bomb supplier, his two delivery people and Qalat’s recruits for the Rumsey Playfield project.
A flashing blue light appeared on either side of the two devices in his line of sight and he instinctively turned his head toward the third one placed a foot or so to the left of his head. 1:58. 1:57, 1:56… The countdown had begun. He heard muted gasps and moans from others but he remained silent. Death, when it came, would be instantaneous and he would soon be welcomed by Allah.
Perhaps he was still somewhat under the effects of the sedative but a thought crossed his mind which brought a smile to his lips. The infidels would have one hell of a mess to clean up when this was over. Of course, he was not aware that certain steel panels would subsequently slide back to expose a multitude of gas nozzles and vents, turning the secret bomb detonation chamber into a powerful incinerator.
* * * *
Dorval, Quebec, 2:45 p.m.
Jabbar Qalat watched in anticipation as the mechanized gate rolled aside and the security guard waved his secured transport through. The Suburban moved forward around the building to their left and onto the tarmac beyond toward a gun-metal gray Gulfstream G280, his ride to a life of freedom.
Minute by minute since his capture, he had never been sure which one might be his last, even once he had struck his deal with the Prime Minister, even as Al-Tashid had moved closer and closer into the danger zone. Even that morning, when Chris had informed him Al-Tashid was no longer a concern, Qalat had expected he too would be neutralized, simply executed and buried up north, never to be seen again.
However, he had been told arrangements for his flight out of the country were being made for that afternoon and his captors had not killed him while they waited. At lunch, Chris had said they would be leaving in a couple of hours and, sure enough, they had been on the road before two o’clock on their way to the airport.
The hour long trip had been uneventful albeit uncomfortable in full restraints but they had now reached their destination and Qalat looked forward to the next leg of his journey. He did not know where he would be flown to and when he had asked, Chris had replied, “I couldn’t tell you”. Wherever it was, he would work out the details when he got there. His passport and wallet had been returned to him which was all he needed for now. Of course, his diplomatic career was over and it perhaps would be wise to simply disappear and forge a new life. He had money and once he established how to safely access it, all would be fine.
The Suburban pulled to a stop and Dave, who was at the wheel, unlocked the doors. Chris climbed out of the front passenger seat, opened the back door and unbuckled Qalat’s seatbelt.
“Out you go,” he said. “There’s your plane.”
Qa
lat climbed out and held up his cuffed wrists. “Can you remove these now?”
“Can’t put everyone’s safety at risk,” Chris replied. “Let’s get on the plane.”
“This is ridiculous,” Qalat retorted as he shuffled to the airstairs then stopped. “I deserve some courtesy for the help I provided to capture Al-Tashid.”
“You’re a damned killer so shut the hell up,” said Chris. “Now, get up those stairs or I’ll shove you in the luggage compartment.”
Muttering under his breath, Qalat hobbled up the handful of steps where a gorgeous though unsmiling redhead waited.
“Follow me,” she ordered and moved into the cabin, stopping at the first back-facing seat. “Sit here.”
“I would prefer sitting there,” said Qalat, gesturing to the next seat facing his.
“Life’s a bitch,” said Leslie, pushing him into the seat she had selected before securing him with a locking harness.
“What is the meaning of this?” Qalat demanded. “Why am I being treated like a prisoner?”
“We’ll be leaving shortly,” said Leslie, ignoring his question. “We’re waiting for another passenger.”
“I don’t care about another passenger,” Qalat argued, raising his voice.
“Oh, there he is now,” said Leslie, oblivious of the ranting.
Seconds later, a young man, also in full restraints, shuffled by and Leslie secured him into the seat facing Qalat. As he gazed up with tearful eyes, the diplomat recognized Fawad Zafar, his recruit who had failed the Jazz Festival attack.
“What is he doing here?” Qalat shrieked. “What is going on?”
The airstairs closed, muffling the sound of the engines and as the jet began to move, Chris appeared next to Qalat.
Make it Happen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller Page 14