by Rebecca Rode
“That would make sense.”
“I’ve got the internet. Finally.”
“Excellent.”
Using the keywords, controversy and Calgary, I got a ton of hits. I went to the most recent article. The headline read, Shop Owners Unite Against Burkas. I clicked on it and nothing. I clicked again. Dark clouds surrounded us once more and the internet was down. I couldn’t see anything and a quick look at Max told me he couldn’t either. His eyes were riveted on the dash and I figured he was having to follow his instruments instead of his own eyes. The grimace on his face told me that he didn’t like it one bit.
I had to change my focus. “You don’t think it could be some sort of jihadist thing, do you?”
“I doubt it. Canada and Calgary in particular have been very accepting of Muslims.”
“Don’t you remember a couple years ago when that terrorist killed those two soldiers at those monuments? He was protesting political and court rulings.”
“That’s right,” Jeremy said. “I’d forgotten about that. A young radical Muslim boy shot and killed a ceremonial guard at a national war memorial and caused a shootout at the parliament building because he did not like Canada’s foreign policy in respect to his religious beliefs. As a jihadist, he didn’t approve of the West interfering with Middle East politics. Calgary changed a ton of their protocol after that in hopes of preventing any other tragedies like it. Like I said, Calgary has always prided itself on its pro-Muslim stance. They even appointed a special Muslim liaison—I think his name was Samaar or Samad. I can’t remember now.”
I thought for a moment. “Well, someone has a reason—or thinks they do—to plant a bomb. We need to figure out a motive.”
“You’re right. If we could figure that out, then we’d have a chance at figuring out where the bomb or bombs will be.” The chopper rocked and bounced, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I didn’t try to stop the pictures from sliding from my lap. All I wanted to do was close my eyes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep, but that was impossible. I stiffened, and without the luxury of being able to see anything outside, I stared at the frantic pilot. The storm had met us.
His hands moved from this control to that as we dove and rose and rocked almost completely sideways, debris large and small battering the machine. I heaved. Jeremy too. I don’t know how the pilot saved the chopper. That kind of movement usually sent the helicopter into an uncorrectable spin or roll that killed everyone inside.
I blinked hard and looked at the dash. The controls seemed to be working. I pointed to the button to let us hear Max. He was hysterical, his high pitched voice hard to understand. We flew in and out of the clouds. He was asking into his headset for a place to land and for someone to guide him down since he couldn’t see.
Jeremy gave me a quick glance before unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing with some difficulty into the front passenger seat. He calmly put a headset on even as the helicopter bucked. I knew the pilot was a good one. Had he been less skilled, we would have already rolled and most likely needed to eject. All our evidence would have been lost. It had been just over a half an hour, so we were nowhere near our goal of getting to the CSIS building.
Even if we didn’t die, we most definitely wouldn’t be making it to their landing pad. Our most likely ending involved coffins. I wasn’t sure what Jeremy thought he was going to do besides further calm the pilot, but I said a quick prayer that we could at least live to see the bombers brought to justice. Jeremy’s soothing voice came over the line.
“Max, take a deep breath. I’m going to help you get this machine just under the clouds so that we can land at our first opportunity.”
Max did as he was told and his chest puffed out and then in. Jeremy gave him simple, direct commands. Since when did he know how to fly a chopper? Max worked hard to do as Jeremy directed. With a sudden crash, the side pilot window cracked, the resultant hole letting in rain and noise. The pilot screamed.
“Would you like me to take over the controls?” Jeremy asked, in a measured, authoritative voice. I had thought Max was following Jeremy’s directions pretty well, but I must have been wrong. I knew however, that in this particular helicopter, you also had foot controls that needed to be manipulated in order to fly. Even if Max gave him control, he would not have everything he needed to fly the chopper. There was no way for Jeremy to fly from the passenger seat. He needed the foot pedals and all the different dials around Max.
I could see lights and the outlines of buildings around us now.
“No. I’ll be okay. Looks like we’re downtown,” he said in a weak voice with no inflection. “But the CSIS building is still far away.” He moaned. Maybe he was getting sick just like me.
“Don’t worry about that. I can guide you to the nearest pad. This storm is only going to get worse.” The tone in Jeremy’s voice sent a shiver up my spine. Something more than the storm was not right.
Max nodded and what? Grunted? I unbuckled and lurched forward with the chopper, hitting my shoulder into Jeremy’s chair. “Jeremy?” That’s when I saw it, a large stick, the diameter of a broom handle, protruded out of Max’s side.
Chapter 5
JEREMY PUT HIS HAND UP, letting me know he knew about the stick. The helicopter rocked, and I slammed into the locked side door. I grabbed my shoulder and stifled a scream. I fumbled my way to my seat and buckled up. The helicopter veered so far right that I thought for sure it was going to roll. I could tell by the small bits of flying debris that it was windy, but the rain had stopped and the clouds had thinned. It was like we had beat it at last as the helicopter evened out. The clouds parted and the darkness suddenly lifted. We could see downtown Calgary. A little miracle? Still struggling to maintain control, I’m sure because of his wound and not the weather, Max set us down on the top of a building, the helicopter leaning hard to the right the whole time. The rotors whined as Max flipped them off. Then he slumped down.
I jumped out of the chopper at the same time Jeremy did, arriving at the pilot’s door almost simultaneously. Jeremy yanked the door open. “Call 9-1-1.” The wind howled and it seemed like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. The rooftop was full of puddles. The storm had definitely been there. A blanket of darkening gray stretched out over the sky in all directions. Light rain fell.
I grabbed out my phone and gave the operator our location. Thanks to my phone’s GPS, I was able to ascertain that were on top of a hotel and luxury condominium tower in Calgary proper. Despite the pleas of the dispatcher, I hung up to help Jeremy. He handed me the pilot’s phone.
“Get the car service on the phone and ask them to meet us at this location. We can use them to get to the CSIS office.”
Jeremy had stabilized Max with a small kit from the helicopter by the time I got off the phone. It would take the driver forty-five minutes to get to us with traffic and the weather. I worked hard not to focus on the dark, ominous clouds headed our way.
I stuffed the evidence from the lodge into my go bag, then we slipped our go bags onto our backs. I nodded to Jeremy and we each took hold of Max, carrying him between us in a chair carry. Thankfully the roof access door was open, and a silent calm blanketed me as we walked through it.
We rode the elevator silently down to the main floor, and as we walked out into the lobby, several hotel workers rushed to help us, horrified faces seeing the stick protruding from his body. They led us to a small room behind the desk that had a couple twin beds. We laid him on one and let them know an ambulance was on the way. He was still unconscious and barely breathing.
A large woman, dressed in flowered scrubs, burst in through the door. “I’m the hotel’s nurse,” she said in a clipped voice. “Tell me what happened to this man.”
We filled her in on his injury, though we left out the fact that we’d been in the helicopter with him. She nodded, then started ushering us out of the room.
“I need space.” She saw the hesitant look that passed between Jeremy and me, but she only pushe
d harder. “You can’t do anything in here. I need you to leave now.”
“Please let us know which hospital the ambulance takes him to.”
“Will do. Thank you. Now, goodbye.”
As we left the room, I became aware of the hotel’s elegance: marble floors, long fancy draperies and rugs, along with luxury chairs, couches, tables, and sparkly chandeliers. Our attention was quickly averted by a tall, slender, pretty woman talking loudly to a hotel clerk who was refusing to tell the woman anything about the injured man that was just taken behind reception.
Her pencil skirt displayed her long tan legs better than a picture frame could. Her hair was pulled into a stylish bun, notebook in hand. She looked up, the face of a model was revealed. When her expressive amber eyes lit on us, they rounded. I looked at Jeremy only to see his clothes stained with Max’s blood, his face slightly ashen. I had the same problem. No wonder she looked so shocked. Then she cried out, “Jeremy!” My gaze flicked back to Jeremy.
“Celeste,” he said, with much less gusto, and yet his face lit up, the ashen color gone.
She quickly crossed to us and pulled Jeremy into a firm hug, at last his arms lifting to hug her back. As they pulled away from the hug, he turned back to me and the look on his face was one I’d never seen on it before. Dread? Shame? He gave a fleeting smile as his body twisted back to the girl.
That’s when I remembered he used to live here. She was probably an old friend of his.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” She wrapped her arms around him again, not giving me the time of day.
"I could ask you the same thing,” he said, as he hugged her. “What are you doing in Calgary?"
"I was covering a story at the courthouse when I heard about the storm. I ran over here to hopefully beat the crowds trying to get out of the city, but got here too late. At least I’m not stuck in the courthouse like all those other schmucks. The rumor is that they are going to have to stay put until the storm passes. I must look a sight after running through that wind.”
She primped her hair even though she looked perfect. I was frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I guess my story has just become this weather. Awful.”
“I’m sorry you lost your story.”
“The good thing is that in this crazy world, there’s always a bigger story. Makes for a terrible world, but exciting and never ending news stories. In any case.” She paused. “Now that I'm covering the storm.” She paused again. “It looks like the two of you have a story to tell. Her eyes fell on me, dropping quickly from my face to the blood on my shirt.
“Oh, yeah, Celeste,” Jeremy said, taking a step away from me. “This is Jenny. She’s a colleague of mine.” He spoke as if he barely remembered I was there, the words tumbling quickly out of his mouth as if they were the only truth.
Colleague? It was like I’d been punched in the gut. Completely and totally irrationally, I sunk back into that girl I used to be several years ago in high school. The girl I thought I’d abandoned. That girl back in high school who was laughed at, who lacked any ounce of self-confidence, who was teased and bullied—who didn’t believe in herself.
Celeste held out her hand, and as if on autopilot, I stepped forward and took it. “Nice to meet you,” I heard myself say. “I guess the two of you knew each other when you were younger?” Our eyes met for the first time. There seemed a challenge in her gaze.
“Knew each other?” Celeste laughed. The girl’s blue eyes sparkled despite the lack of bright light. “We were the hottest couple in town. Right, Jeremy?”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Some might have said that,” Jeremy said, his eyes on the floor.
“Not some, Jeremy. Everyone wanted to be us."
She spoke with such command and assurance that I was sure nobody ever disagreed with her. The word colleague rattled around in my brain, knocking on insecurities and past hurts. The rational side of me stepped up and reminded me that he had given my alias, probably to protect our cover. But the thoughts did not send comfort as I had hoped. I felt small and insignificant compared to her.
I’d probably never seen someone quite as striking as she was. I reached up to ascertain the condition of my hair. With one touch, it was easy to tell that I had a bird’s nest on my head. I felt a pulling need to run to the bathroom and hide. I turned to go, my brows still furrowed. A whip of jealousy passed through me, but I refused to let it take root in me. It was ridiculous to feel threatened even if she was beautiful. He loved me, not someone from his past. I turned back.
Jeremy fidgeted and looked uncomfortable, and yet he continued to suck up and play nice with this girl. The hottest couple. Oh, brother.
“So what's the story?” Celeste’s eyes raced to the closed door behind the reception desk. She was obviously a natural reporter with keen senses. She didn’t miss a beat. If she wanted a story, she would get it one way or the other.
“Oh, yeah. We were upstairs and heard screaming. Come to find that guy with a stick stuck into his side, so we brought him down and called an ambulance. There’s not much to tell.”
“Well, since my story about protests at the courthouse has now turned into the massive weather story, you mind if I interview him?”
“He's unconscious.”
Celeste’s eyes darted toward the cameraman sitting on the sofa looking out at the storm. “Well, maybe I'll just get some film of him and you guys can tell the story and...”
Jeremy’s head went to the side and he said, “I don't think so, Celeste.”
“Come on. You guys are heroes. I want to highlight the heroes of the storm.” She flashed her perfect smile and put a hand on Jeremy’s arm.
“I don't think you should go and get pictures of him without his permission.” He gave her a no nonsense look, but smiled as he did it. “And most definitely, you can’t have an interview with us.”
“Is it because you’re FBI, because…”
Jeremy cut in, his voice stern, but still friendly, “I'm just not interested in being on TV.”
“You’ve shied away from revealing the hero you are your whole life. It’s time you get some recognition.”
“We've got to go. Lots of stuff to do.”
Her eyes lit up again. “Really? Are you here on official business then?” Her eyes flicked toward me. “And you’re an agent? Really?”
I gave her a look that could kill, my jaw set and my lips pressed into a flat line.
“Oh sorry,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “You just look so young. I didn't mean to offend.” The scathing look she gave me said otherwise. Her attention fell back on Jeremy and she bit her lip. “Let's do dinner then. We can catch up.”
“Sorry. This is sort of an in and out kind of trip.”
Jeremy’s insistence that he didn’t have time for her made me feel a little better and my mind started working again. She had said she was filming a spot about the protests at the courthouse. What protests? I didn't want to purposefully talk to her, but I wanted more information on that story, so I sucked up my distaste and asked, “You said there were protests at the courthouse? Not much news about that these days, is there?”
“It is when it’s an interfaith group protesting for the rights of Muslims. It’s really inspiring.”
“There’s a case going on right now involving religious rights?” I asked.
“No. That’s the thing. The case went to court a couple weeks ago.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Six months or so ago a woman wearing a burka was killed outside of a shop at night. The shop owner says he was scared he was being robbed, thinking the woman was wearing a mask. Her family contends the man shot her because of her religion and that it was murder.”
“But the court didn’t agree?” Jeremy ventured.
Celeste shook her head. “The ruling came down as justified because he was in fear for his life and property. The judge didn’t stop there.
He also said that those who come into this country and expect to be treated like those who live here should reconsider wearing burkas. As you can imagine, it created a huge backlash.”
The crazy thing is, there are no Muslims out there protesting the judge’s words. It’s a bunch of Christians and other religions. The only Muslim who has spoken out is a man named Ahmed Samaar—but he’s the special liaison to the government, so that makes sense.”
“What was her name?” I blurted, thinking of the woman who was killed.
Celeste looked at me strangely, then slowly answered, “Samaira Yousef.”
“Well, Celeste,” Jeremy cut in. “It was good to see you. But we’ve got to head.”
“If you're planning on leaving the hotel to get to your meeting, you can forget it.” She pointed outside where the storm raged.
Feeling sick and slightly confused, I took the opportunity to step away and to go to the registration desk. We had more important things to do than talk to this bimbo. Our car wouldn’t get here for at least another 45 minutes—that was time we could use to examine the evidence, so we could help CSIS as much as possible. We needed a private place to do that, so I booked a room and rejoined Jeremy.
Jeremy and Celeste had fallen into reminiscing, but I just caught the end of her sentence as I walked up. I was itching to check my theory, but mostly, I wanted to know about this girl and Jeremy and how they fit together. Obviously they had been girlfriend and boyfriend, but for how long and how had it ended?
“…best date ever.”
“We did have some fun times.” I put my hand on Jeremy's arm. He took my cue.
“Well, Celeste, it was good to see you, but we've got to go.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Give me your number. I’d really like to reconnect.”