Discreet Activities

by Claude Bouchard

  “What if I refuse,” argued Normandin. “You’re going to kill me? I told you what you wanted to know.”

  “Nope, you’re good with us,” Jonathan replied. “But the thing is, we don’t take kindly to people who help terrorists kill innocent citizens and neither does the public. If you cooperate and accept what you deserve, the system will show some leniency. If you decide to go the hard-ass route, I can almost guarantee that information about who you are and where you live will somehow get leaked to the press and they eat that stuff up. Next thing you’ll know, you won’t have a clue who’s coming at you. It could be your neighbour, it could be a total stranger or it might even be the terrorist you helped out but the end result will be the same. Somebody’s going to kill you. What’s the plan, Paul?”

  Normandin looked up at Jon as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’ll do what you say.”

  “We’re done here,” Jonathan announced, picking up the cash envelope on the table.

  As he and Chris approached the door, it swung open and Nick Sharp ushered them out into the hallway for a quick word.

  “Great job, guys. Wish we could do that at times.”

  “I won’t even venture a response to that,” Jonathan smiled. “Any word on that license plate?”

  “Yep. The Corolla in question was stolen from Rockland Shopping Centre on Friday night, sometime between six and seven. It was found by a patrol car at Rockland later that night, around eleven but at a different location in the lot. The cops basically thought the owner was a little loopy and didn’t remember where she’d parked her car.”

  “It was worth a shot,” Jon shrugged. “You should check that strip bar, the Bonanza, in Vaudreuil. They might have security cameras. We just might get lucky there.”

  “I’ve already got a car there and they do have cameras,” Nick grinned, “But thanks for the coaching, Pops.”

  “Keep at it, young fella,” Jon smiled back, “And you just may get somewhere in this line of work. Get back to me as soon as possible if we have a photo of the guy. I’m thinking there might be a way to try and smoke him out, even if we can’t identify him.”

  Chapter 14 – Tuesday, January 18, 2011

  JayQ strolled into the dining room and settled down at the table where the morning papers waited for him as usual. As he began leafing through The Globe and Mail, the attractive new young aide from the kitchen staff entered with a tray loaded with a pitcher of orange juice and a pot of coffee.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said meekly as she filled a crystal goblet with juice. “What would you like for breakfast today?”

  “Good morning, Misba,” replied JayQ, lowering the paper and openly devouring her with his eyes. “Food is the last thing on my mind when I see you.”

  He watched her with a leering smile as she blushed and squirmed, enjoying her discomfort as she stood helpless before him.

  “However,” he added after a moment, “As much as I wish to get to know you better, I have many things to do today so it will be for another time. Tell the chef I would like an egg-white omelette with scallions and mushrooms, whole-wheat toast and aged cheddar, thinly sliced.”

  With a nod, the young lady hurried out of the dining room as the chuckling JayQ returned his attention to the newspapers. After skimming through the business papers, he turned to The Gazette for some local news and immediately felt faint. Above the fold and beneath the headline, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?” was a rather recognizable photograph of Mohsin Rahija.

  Taking a moment and several deep breaths to compose himself, JayQ then proceeded to read the related article. The unidentified man in the photograph was sought by the police for questioning in relation to the theft of specialty explosives from a demolition site just west of Montreal. Involved in the theft was Paul Normandin, a security guard, who had allowed the suspect access to the site in exchange for an undisclosed amount of cash.

  Though Normandin could not identify the suspect, he had informed the police of the location where he had met the man and the authorities had been successful in obtaining the photograph from a security camera. Normandin, having confessed and cooperated fully with the police, had been placed under house arrest with an ankle monitor at his Montreal home pending sentencing. Members of the public were urged to contact the police if they saw the man in the photograph who was considered to be possibly armed and dangerous.

  Pushing away from the table with the newspaper in hand, JayQ headed back to his quarters to shower and get dressed. He had some business to attend to more urgent than waiting for breakfast and, as it was, he was no longer hungry.

  * * * *

  “This may be all for nothing,” Jonathan warned as he addressed the four others gathered in his office. “We’ll give it a few days and hope for the best.”

  “We might as well,” Cat commented. “All we have so far is four idiots skiing in Sutton.”

  “Our thoughts exactly,” Jonathan nodded as he laid out a map on the table. “I’d like you and Jeff to settle in at Normandin’s apartment here on de Mentana Street. Chris, Leslie and I will be set up in a municipal utility van on the corner at Bousquet, pretending to work on the sewer system while we keep an eye on things from the outside. We’ll have three undercovers from the RCMP lending a hand, basically roving around the area but paying particular attention to the alley which run’s behind Normandin’s place. Any questions?”

  “It’s all pretty straight-forward stuff,” Chris replied and the others nodded in agreement.

  “Then let’s get over there,” said Jonathan, ending the meeting, “And hope to nab this bastard.”

  * * * *

  “Hello,” Mohsin Rahija groggily answered the phone.

  “Have you seen this morning’s Gazette?” asked JayQ.

  “No. I was still sleeping,” replied Rahija as he sat up in bed. “What is the problem?”

  “Get up,” JayQ ordered. “I’ll be at your place in two minutes.”

  “Okay, okay, but you could-” muttered Rahija before realizing the connection had been cut.

  Crawling out of bed, he barely had time to pull on the boxer shorts and t-shirt he picked up off the floor when he heard a sharp rapping at the door of his small basement apartment. Yawning, he sauntered over, glancing briefly through the small window in the entrance before unlocking and opening the door.

  Before he had a chance to say a word, JayQ pushed him roughly back then closed the door behind him.

  “You have made a grave mistake, Mohsin,” JayQ stated before shoving the newspaper he held in Rahija’s face.

  “What are you talking…” Mohsin started to question then stopped as he stared at his own photo on the front page. “Jay, I am so sorry.”

  “Read the article and tell me if it’s accurate,” JayQ commanded.

  Rahija turned and plodded the short distance to his kitchen, dropped wearily onto a chair and started reading. After a minute or two, he looked up and nodded.

  JayQ settled into the other chair, clasped his hands together on the tabletop and remained silent for a moment before speaking.

  “You told me you had a solid source to obtain the explosives you required, Mohsin. You assured me you could not be traced. You said these people were experienced dealers in such products and they could be trusted. All of this was the reason why the explosives were costing much more than their actual worth. These were all lies, Mohsin?”

  “I did have such a supplier to begin with,” Rahija replied with tears in his eyes, “But then I happened to learn of this building which was to be demolished soon. I allowed myself to be tempted by greed when I saw an opportunity to get the explosives for considerably less. I paid this guard fifteen thousand dollars and planned to keep the remaining thirty-five thousand for myself. I am ashamed for having lied to you, for attempting to rob you and for the consequences my actions have created.”

  “What do you believe needs to be done to rectify this situation, Mohsin?” asked JayQ. “How do
you plan to redeem yourself?”

  “I shall return the remaining money to you,” Rahija replied without hesitation, “And I shall give you the bombs I have constructed for the attack you have planned. And finally, I shall do whatever Allah requires of me to eliminate the problems I have selfishly created.”

  JayQ stood and gazed at Rahija before speaking. “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajium.”

  Rahija rose to his feet and shook JayQ’s hand then brought his clenched fist to his chest. “Yes, to Allah we belong and to Him we return.”

  * * * *

  “Well, this has been an exciting day so far,” Cat yawned as she stretched out on the couch.

  “At least we get to stay inside and watch TV,” Jeff smiled, “Which is better than freezing our buns out there playing in the sewers.”

  “They aren’t freezing out there,” Cat scoffed. “They have the van to keep warm and can move around. I feel trapped in here. I want some action.”

  “I can show you a bit of action, baby,” suggested Jeff with a wink.

  “Yeah, right,” Cat laughed. “With our luck, this terrorist dude and the whole team would barge in on us right in the middle of it all.”

  “People just have no respect,” Jeff replied with feigned annoyance. “Are you getting hungry?”

  “I was just thinking of that,” Cat nodded. “Pizza?”

  “Yep. Two for Tuesday at Dominos. I want Philly cheese steak.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Cat agreed. “You order while I call Jon to let him know. We don’t want them jumping the delivery guy.”

  * * * *

  Mohsin headed west on Sherbrooke in the stolen Honda Civic, feeling strangely calm, some sixth sense telling him that all would go according to plan. He chastised himself for the turn of events, caused simply by a moment of carelessness which had resulted in his photo being captured by a hidden camera at that strip club. However, he commended himself for having followed Paul Normandin back home that night, allowing him to know where the traitor, or coward, lived.

  At St-André, he turned right, heading up past Cherrier and then Bousquet where he slowed as he searched for a parking spot. He pulled off to the right into an opening made conveniently available by a fire hydrant and cut the engine. Pulling down the sun visor, he examined his appearance in the mirror one last time and smiled. Gone was the bushy beard which had covered his face for over ten years and his skin was now white and pasty, thanks to the flour he had rubbed on. He glanced down at his attire, old clothing he had dirtied and worn down by rubbing it on the pavement in the alley behind his apartment. Satisfied, he climbed out of the car and commenced his journey in a halting, stumbling shuffle down the sidewalk.

  * * * *

  RCMP officer Pierre Tardif turned into the alley from Barrière Street and strolled southward. As he approached the rear of Paul Normandin’s apartment, he scanned the area, peering into dark yards and noted nothing suspicious and no one lurking in the shadowed recesses.

  “Still all clear in the alley,” he announced into the small mike clipped inside the hood of his parka.

  As he turned his attention towards Bousquet Street ahead of him, he noticed the silhouette of a man stumbling into the alley and heading uncertainly in his direction.

  “I’ve got someone who just entered the alley from Bousquet,” he murmured into the mike.

  “Do you want back-up?” came the reply.

  “I think it’s just a drunk guy,” Tardif responded. “Hang on a second.”

  “Keep us posted.”

  “Copy that,” said Tardif as he continued his cautious approach towards the other man.

  * * * *

  As Mohsin turned into the darkness of the alley, he noticed a man standing behind Normandin’s apartment. Though alone, the man was speaking, Mohsin realized as the faint murmur reached his ears.

  ‘So, they have a guard,’ Mohsin acknowledged as he staggered into the alley. ‘You may challenge me, Allah, but I shall be successful in my redemption.’

  He continued with his wavering gait, closing the distance as the other man watched him intently.

  “Heyyy,” Mohsin slurred as he raised one hand in an awkward but friendly wave.

  “Hey, yourself, buddy,” replied the man as he carefully examined Mohsin and seemed to visibly relax. “Are you okay?”

  “Juss a bit cold,” Mohsin mumbled as he swayed uncertainly.

  “Do you have somewhere to go to warm yourself up?” the man asked.

  “Yesh,” Mohsin nodded emphatically, nearly losing his balance once again before pointing northward.

  “Well, you get on your way,” the man advised as he moved past Mohsin, “Because you look like you need to take a break.”

  Mohsin resumed his trek in the opposite direction as he nodded and smiled. “G’night.”

  * * * *

  Tardif watched the bum take a few slow, uncertain steps then continued southward in the alley towards Bousquet as he activated his mike. “All clear back here. It was just a homeless, drunk guy after all.”

  As he clicked off the mike, he sensed movement behind him just before a blade flashed before his eyes and slashed deeply across his throat.

  * * * *

  Mohsin climbed the wrought iron steps to the rear balcony of Paul Normandin’s second storey apartment, scanning the area as he went but finding it deserted. He crouched down as he reached the balcony, staying below the window set in the door. He raised his head slowly until he could peer inside through the thin voile curtain which covered the glass. Inside was the kitchen which he noted was unoccupied and dimly lit by a neon light on the range. Light could be seen illuminating the rooms beyond and a flickering indicated a television set was on somewhere.

  He examined the single lock, inset into the doorknob, and quickly got to work on it, knowing it would not present any major obstacle to prevent his entry. He wished to enter quietly but knew he could just as easily simply crash through the window to get in. All that was required for his success was for him to be inside the apartment.

  He felt the tumblers fall into place, slowly turned the knob then pushed on the door. The hinges were apparently well oiled and remained silent as the door swung open. He entered and quietly pushed the door shut, all while keeping his eyes on the doorway leading to the rest of the apartment. With a surge of excitement, he activated the video on his blackberry, hit ‘send’ and began moving towards the opening where he could hear a murmur of voices. When he was halfway across the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

  * * * *

  “Pizza should be here soon,” said Jeff absently as he relaxed in a recliner watching the six o’clock news.

  At that moment, Cat’s phone began vibrating where she’d left it lying on the coffee table.

  “Hi, Leslie,” she answered after looking at the display. “Great. I’ll save you some leftovers.”

  “Pizza’s here,” she announced, cutting the connection just as the doorbell rang.

  “Great, cuz I’m starving,” Jeff replied as they both stood and headed to the door.

  Cat buzzed the delivery person in and opened the door as the young man climbed the stairs towards them, opening the insulated bag on the way.

  “Good evening, That’ll be nineteen-sixty,” announced the man with a smile as he handed the pizzas to Cat.

  “Here you go,” said Jeff, handing over twenty-five dollars. “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the young man exclaimed. “Bon Appétit!”

  “Thanks,” Jeff replied before closing and locking the door.

  He turned and followed Cat into the living room where they both stopped short and remained motionless. Standing by the recliner stood a dirty, dishevelled man with a ghostly white face pointing a cell phone at them. Strapped to his chest, beneath his open ski jacket, was what clearly appeared to be a bomb.

  “Fuck,” Cat murmured.

  “Yep,” Jeff agreed.

  “Drop those pizzas to the floor and raise your
hands in the air,” ordered Mohsin.

  He waited for both to comply then asked, “Where is the man who lives here?”

  “I don’t know what this is about, buddy,” said Jeff, “But you must have the wrong place because we live here.”

  Mohsin shook his head sadly as he gazed at Jeff and raised his other hand which held a remote control device. “You think I am stupid. You both have guns on your belts and there is a dead policeman now in the alley. Where is Paul Normandin?”

  “He’s not here. He’s in prison where he belongs,” Jeff stated. “Now, let’s just end this peacefully, okay?”

  “I ask for forgiveness from Allah,” said Mohsin as he closed his eyes and pressed a button on the device.

  * * * *

  “Lucky buggers get pizza,” Leslie joked from inside the van as she watched the delivery man drive off.

  “Perhaps, but they don’t get to hang out with us,” Chris replied.

  “Nick is sending us four people to cover things for the night,” Jonathan added with a smile, “So, as soon as they get here, we’ll take you out for something even better.”

  As he finished speaking, they all heard the message from one of the RCMP officers coming through their earpieces.

  “Officer down! Pierre is down in the alley! Oh, my fucking god!”