Discreet Activities

by Claude Bouchard

  Walter heard a soft cracking sound and was suddenly jerked into an alert state as the strong, irritating smell of ammonia burned into his nostrils.

  “What the fuck,” he yelped as he tried to raise his hands to his face only to find both his wrists held back by sturdy, steel manacles.

  “Oh relax, you big wuss,” Cat laughed as he glared at her. “It’s ammonium carbonate, smelling salts. I was just trying to wake you up.”

  “Uh, what’s going on here,” asked Walter as his thoughts cleared and he realized his ankles were also manacled and chained as he lay naked on the leather recliner. “What happened? Did I faint?”

  “I don’t know if we technically would call it fainting,” Cat replied. “You lost consciousness because of something I put in your drink.”

  “What kind of kinky games are we playing here?” Walter attempted levity though he was clearly growing more uncomfortable by the second, as testified by his now deflated penis. “Is this like date-rape?”

  “Not at all,” Cat reassured him. “It would have been date-rape if we had sexually violated you but we had absolutely no interest in any such experience with you, Waldo.”

  “Then, what the hell is…” Walter started then stopped mid-sentence. “What did you call me?”

  “She called you Waldo, silly,” Leslie smiled at him. “Waldo Simms. Don’t you even remember your real name? It’s only been a year.”

  “Uh, I-I don’t know what this is all about,” Waldo stammered, “But you’ve obviously confused me with someone else. I’m Walter Simpson. I’ve got a driving permit, a passport, credit cards to prove it.”

  “Sure you do, Waldo,” Cat replied. “If you hadn’t gotten yourself appropriate papers to back up your new identity, you’d be really stupid.”

  “But, I swear,” Waldo insisted. “This is a mistake. Whatever it-”

  “Okay, Waldo, cut the crap,” Leslie interrupted, no longer smiling. “We all know who you are so let’s move forward.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to,” Waldo replied as his tone darkened, “But whatever it is, you’re not going to get anything from me.”

  Leslie sighed and went to the beach bag she had brought with her. After rummaging through the contents for a moment, she pulled out a rather simple looking device, a black metal box six inches long, three wide and two high on which was a power switch and a dial graded from zero to ten. From one end protruded a high gauge, ten foot electrical cord and from the other, two heavy but flexible coated wires, some eighteen inches long with sturdy alligator clips soldered to the ends.

  “We need an outlet,” Leslie informed Cat as she searched the walls for the closest one.

  “Right over here,” said Cat, taking the device from Leslie and plugging it into the outlet. “We’ll have to shorten the chain to his wrists. He’s got too much loose right now.”

  “W-what are you doing?” asked Waldo, his forehead suddenly glistening with perspiration.

  “I’ll hold his arm while you pull the chain tighter,” Leslie suggested, ignoring his question.

  Waldo’s wrists were secured by manacles attached to either end of a length of chain which ran under the recliner. Leslie grabbed his left arm and kept it immobile simply by sitting on it while Cat unlocked the manacle from the chain, pulled the chain tighter and reattached the manacle on a further link.

  “We had left you some slack with the wrists,” Cat explained, “Because we thought you’d be cooperative and wanted to keep you comfortable. However, since you won’t even admit that you are Waldo Simms, screw the comfort.”

  She turned to Leslie. “You did close all the windows, right?”

  “Yes, I certainly did,” Leslie nodded then addressed Waldo. “Once we’d closed all the windows and doors, I went around the house outside while Lila screamed like a banshee. I couldn’t hear a thing so we’re confident nobody will hear you when you scream because, believe me, you will scream.”

  “Ladies, you’re making a big mistake,” Waldo pleaded. “I’m not who you think I am but I do have some money I can give you to just settle this quietly.”

  “You’re right about one thing, Waldo,” Cat replied. “You’ve got money. Just under eighty-four million according to the most recent records we looked at this morning. You’ve done well at conserving the capital, considering that this property is paid for. You obviously were an excellent financial adviser, albeit a dumb one.”

  “I’m not Waldo,” Simms sobbed. “Please believe me.”

  “Another thing that Waldo has besides money,” Leslie commented, “Is balls.”

  Cat looked at the man’s genitalia and nodded. “Yes, he does and this is getting old. Do you want to do the honours or should I?”

  “Oh, let me,” Leslie giggled. “I don’t ever get to touch those things because of, you know, my preferences.”

  She picked up the electric device and laid it on the footrest of the recliner between Simms’ secured legs. Pinching the skin of his scrotum, oblivious to his screams, she attached one then the other alligator clamp then pressed the power switch and took hold of the dial before looking up at the man.

  “Last chance, baby,” she purred. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “W-Waldo,” he blubbered. “Waldo Fucking Simms. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 8 – Wednesday, January 12, 2011

  Chris was busy at the computer in the den, nearly done with the task at hand, when Jonathan called.

  “Greetings, Mister Addley. What’s new and exciting in your neck of the woods?”

  “Same kind of crap, different day,” Jon chuckled. “Did you get everything you needed from the girls?”

  “Yep, codes, passwords, security questions,” Chris replied. “Everything I needed. I’ve already transferred the funds to the account I opened and I’m nearly done setting up the individual transfers from there to Waldo’s victims’ accounts.”

  “I understand from Cat that Simms actually had more money than what he’d embezzled,” Addley commented, “So none of his clients will lose a penny.”

  “Yessir, Waldo was definitely a shrewd investor himself,” Chris agreed. “However, I cleaned him out. I’m putting aside enough to cover the jet rental and other trip costs and everything else is going back to his former customers. We’re going to have a couple of hundred people believing there actually is a god over the next few days.”

  “Excellent,” Jonathan approved. “I’m quite pleased with how well this went. I got Leslie and Cat a suite at The Westin for a couple of extra days. I felt it was better than having them remain at the Sonesta. They’ll be flying back on Friday.”

  “Good for them,” said Chris. “They deserve it. What are the plans for Simms now?”

  “The girls doped him up good before leaving him yesterday,” Jon explained. “He should be waking up, groggy and nauseous in time for a visit from Dutch immigration later today. He’s not out of the woods yet with the embezzlement and false identity charges. He’ll be shipped back to Canada soon and can expect taking residence in one of our finer prisons for a while.”

  “It’s better than being dead,” Chris suggested. “What else is going on?”

  “Captain McCall called me yesterday morning,” said Jonathan, his grin obvious even over the phone.

  “Oh, really?” Chris smiled. “What about?”

  “He wanted to know my thoughts regarding the untimely deaths of the two top members of the Korean Krew. His team is investigating.”

  “And what kind of insight did you provide our good friend with?” Chris asked.

  “I told him that losing life through violence was always a sad affair,” Jon replied, “But from what little I knew of the deceased, they probably had it coming. I suggested he not waste too many hours in trying to solve these cases because these were most likely due to territorial disputes. Probably some other gang or maybe even the Mafia hired a topnotch assassin or two to get rid of these bozos so it was unlikely that the
killer or killers would be found.”

  “What did Dave say?”

  “He fully agreed with me,” said Addley. “He’s going to leave the cases open for a while but won’t bother wasting resources on them.”

  “I, for one, fully agree with your assessments,” replied Chris. “Anything new going on in Sutton?”

  “That’s the other thing I was calling you about,” Jonathan added. “It’s not much but it might turn into something.”

  “And, what’s that?”

  “Someone visited around ten yesterday morning. Everyone was still sleeping except for Buzdar. When he opened the door, he seemed to recognize his guest but was told to shut up. Then the guy told Buzdar to get his coat on so they could talk outside. They spoke for a minute or two in the visitor’s car before the guy left.”

  “Do you think they know they’re bugged?” Chris asked. “They’ve been talking openly since they got there.”

  “That’s been my impression too,” Jon agreed. “Maybe the visitor is paranoid or extremely cautious, which makes sense if it’s someone higher up the ladder.”

  “Do we know who the visitor was?” Chris pursued.

  “Some guy, and we’re assuming it was a male from his gait, build and voice, though what little he said was whispered,” replied Jonathan. “He was wearing a bulky parka, a big, billed hat with earflaps and a scarf wrapped around his face so forget any chance of identification from our feeds.”

  “What about the car?” asked Chris, “Plate?”

  “The car was a 2001 Nissan Sentra, white and very dirty,” Jonathan answered. “The only thing dirtier than the car was the license plate. We couldn’t even tell if it was a Quebec plate but I have a tech working with some images who might be able to get us something.”

  “Have our friends been acting differently since this visit?”

  “Yes, particularly Buzdar. Right after the visit, he seemed cool, ate breakfast, moved around, listened to his iPod, checked on his sleeping buddies and went out for a walk. However, once he got back and since, he seems like he’s spooked, to the point that his buddies have been questioning him about it. He’s simply insisting all is fine but then is constantly telling the others to shut up if they try to talk about anything other than the weather. It’s quite funny to watch but something has obviously gotten into him.”

  “We just don’t have a clue what that is,” Chris frowned. “He might have met someone or made a call while he went out for that walk. That’s the turning point based on what you’ve told me.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking too,” Jon shrugged, “But we’re just guessing because, we don’t know.”

  “So, what do we do going forward?” asked Chris.

  “We keep on watching and listening and hope to hell one of them screws up along the way and says something we can use.”

  * * * *

  “What is your problem?” asked Nasir, keeping his voice down as he join Mahmood at the dining room table.

  “I am studying, can’t you see?” Mahmood snapped. “Why do you say this is a problem?”

  “I am not speaking of your studies, Mahmood,” Nasir’s whisper was intense. “Since we got up yesterday, you have been acting strangely. Your mood is unpleasant, you are very jumpy and impatient and you have said ‘let us not speak of this now’ one hundred times.”

  “I am sorry if you do not like my mood, Nasir,” Mahmood spoke as he stared at the table. “I do not feel that I have done anything wrong.”

  Nasir stood and leaned over, bringing his lips to his friend’s ear, “Is somebody listening to us?”

  Mahmood looked up at Nasir, his eyes wide with astonishment and fear. He stood abruptly and said, “I am going to take a walk. Do you wish to come with me?”

  “Yes, Mahmood,” Nasir nodded. “I believe a walk will do us both much good.”

  They slipped into their jackets and boots and headed outside.

  “Now, will you answer my question?” asked Nasir.

  “Let us walk further,” suggested Mahmood and said no more as he moved to the end of the drive and onto the road at a brisk pace.

  Feigning patience, Nasir followed in silence though it was now his turn to be as curious as a cat. After several minutes however, he could no longer stand waiting and spoke.

  “Surely, there are not microphones attached to every tree, Mahmood. How many miles must we walk before you consider us to be far enough away?”

  “Yes, you are right,” Buzdar agreed, though he glanced about them suspiciously nonetheless. “I will speak to you only because you are a true friend and warrior for the cause but you must understand that I had vowed to speak to no one.”

  “You know that any secret which you may decide to share will remain safe with me,” Nasir replied. “I would not speak if I was beaten literally to death. Now, will you answer my question?”

  “Yes, somebody is listening to us in the cottage,” Mahmood sighed, disappointed of having broken his word. “I was given a device to detect any bugs and they are everywhere in this house.”

  “Who is listening to us?” questioned Nasir, “And who gave you this device you mentioned?”

  “I do not know who is listening to us,” Mahmood shrugged, “And they may also be watching us. We are not certain if there are only microphones or if there are cameras as well.”

  “But how could anyone know to bug this house in the first place?” Nasir asked. “Is this country keeping track of every Muslim within its borders? Following us all? Watching every move we make? Listening to every word we say? There is no wonder why we hate them so. We are labelled guilty simply because of our faith.”

  “Perhaps what you say is true, Nasir,” Buzdar replied. “I was shocked when I discovered this as well. There are even bugs in our bedrooms and in the bathrooms.”

  “It is obviously the government,” Nasir spat as he fumed, “But what I don’t understand is why they chose to watch us in the first place. You are the one who rented the house and you have stayed completely out of the spotlight since the day you arrived in this country.”

  “Perhaps it was a mistake to bring Saad and Fahad with us,” Mahmood suggested. “Perhaps, one or both are being watched.”

  “It is possible,” Nasir agreed, “And now it is too late to remedy this problem.”

  “As it turns out, it is not a problem,” Mahmood announced with a smile.

  “How do you know this?” asked Nasir, “And you never did tell me who gave you the device to find the bugs.”

  “You must keep this to yourself,” Mahmood reminded his friend.

  “Yes, you have said that already,” Nasir was growing irritated and impatient. “Please answer my questions and explain what is going on.”

  “JayQ was here this morning,” said Buzdar.

  “JayQ?” Nasir repeated, his eyes widening in surprise. “Why did you not wake me?”

  “Because his visit was not a social one,” Mahmood snapped with annoyance. “Had you been up and I was asleep, he would have spoken to you instead but that is not what happened. What is important is that we not mention his name in the cottage and we do not speak of anything to Saad and Fahad.”

  “I understand about JayQ, of course,” agreed Nasir, “But should we not warn Saad and Fahad to make sure they say nothing compromising?”

  Mahmood shook his head. “There is no danger as they do not know anything.”

  “Will JayQ send someone to remove the bugs?” Nasir questioned. “We are not familiar with such devices.”

  “JayQ wishes the bugs to remain in place,” Buzdar replied.

  “But then, whoever is listening will learn of our plans,” said Nasir. “This makes no sense at all.”

  “It does make sense if, for example, we were discussing false plans,” Mahmood smiled.

  “So we are to be simply decoys?” asked Nasir, his disappointment evident. “I wish to be involved, my friend. I do not wish to simply pretend to be.”

  “I do not know if this
will be the case but even if it is, we are involved, Nasir,” Mahmood countered. “If we lead the enemy away from the true plan, it can greatly help make the final result a successful one.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Nasir surrendered. “What is important is the success of the AFI, not the specific roles that anyone of us plays. I shall do whatever JayQ requests of me.”

  “In the name of Allah,” Mahmood replied. “Now, let us go get the others, go skiing and enjoy this lovely day, as good westerners should.”

  * * * *

  Consul General, Jabbar Qalat, sat in his corner office at the Diplomatic Mission of Pakistan, chuckling as he reviewed the December 2010 report on terrorism activity in Canada, compiled by the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.

  ‘I know they try their best,’ he thought, ‘But it is comparable to drug smuggling. For every shipment they seize, one hundred go through unnoticed and for every cell they discover, twenty remain invisible.’

  He tossed the report onto his desk then stood and walked to the window, taking in the view, the skyscrapers, the traffic, the pedestrians below on Peel Street.

  “It will be a shame if one day a terrorist attack befalls on Montreal,” he murmured pensively, “For it is such a beautiful city.”

  * * * *

  “That was a fine meal,” Cat declared as she pushed away the empty dessert plate, “And now I’m stuffed.”

  “You and me both,” Leslie replied. “I’m thinking a little walk along the beach wouldn’t do me any harm.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Cat agreed as she signalled the waiter for the bill.

  After signing for the meal and picking up a glass of port at the bar, they made their way across the vast terrace surrounding the pool and down the steps leading onto the beach. Though a few people could be seen strolling here and there, the area was mostly deserted as it was after ten in the evening. Moving on to the water’s edge to feel the gentle waves wash over their feet, they then headed northward at a leisurely pace, chatting along the way.