Discreet Activities

by Claude Bouchard

  “Stupid buddon,” he slurred as he wavered.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” Frank asked, feigning concern.

  “Liddle drunk,” Nasir admitted before chuckling to himself.

  “Where are you going?” Frank continued. “You’re not going to get your car, are you?”

  “No, no, no,” Nasir replied, shaking his head emphatically and falling against the wall for his efforts. “My fren said he would park here. Ima take a nap. Too drunk.”

  A chime sounded and the door to one elevator slid open.

  “Come on,” said Frank. “I’ll help you get to your friend’s car, okay?”

  Nasir nodded wordlessly and Frank noticed the young man’s face was taking on a greenish hue.

  “What level is your friend’s car parked?” Frank asked as he guided Nasir and leaned him into the corner of the elevator.

  “Bom, bo’om…” Nasir mumbled, a sheen of sweat now accompanying his pallor.

  “Bottom, got it,” said Frank, hitting the lowest level button. “What kind of car?”

  “For, For Splorer,” Nasir gasped. “Gon be sick.”

  “Take deep breaths,” Frank advised. “We’re nearly there.”

  They reached the bottom level and Frank steered Nasir out of the elevator and to a trash receptacle into which the young man promptly threw up before dropping to his knees.

  “So dizzy,” he mumbled before vomiting again, this time on himself and on the floor.

  “Aww, Jesus,” Frank muttered to himself before asking, “What colour is the Explorer? Is it locked?”

  “Bla-black,” Nasir croaked, leaning his head against the wall. “Not locked. Key under seat.”

  “Wait here,” Frank ordered before opening the door leading to the parking area.

  He stepped through, scanned the garage and quickly spotted the Explorer parked in a deserted corner. He jogged over and tried the driver’s door which he indeed found to be unlocked. He searched under the mats and seats, first front then back, but failed to find the vehicle’s keys. Returning to the open driver’s door, he leaned in and popped the hood then hurried around and raised it.

  Far from an automotive expert, he peered in dismay at the unfamiliar power plant before him, trying to identify some way to temporarily disable the vehicle to ensure it couldn’t be driven, Gone were the days when one could see and recognize the distributor cap. He yanked various visible wires loose and slashed some hoses with his Swiss Army knife but remained unsatisfied until a thought occurred to him. Using the tiny scissors on his knife as impromptu pliers, he quickly managed to unscrew the valves on all four tires which were flat in moments.

  Happy with his efforts, he returned to the elevator alcove where he found Nasir, who had vomited again, curled in a ball and moaning.

  “Come on, big guy,” said Frank as he not-too-gently pulled the young man up to a semi-standing position. “We want to get you to the truck and I’m not going to carry you.”

  Within a couple of minutes, Nasir was settled in the reclined passenger seat and his bouts of nausea seemed to have passed. Another five minutes and he had fallen asleep, a state Frank believed would remain in effect for several hours.

  Following another ten minutes of keeping an eye on his snoring charge, Frank headed back to ground level for cellular connectivity to report his afternoon activities and receive further directives.

  * * * *

  It was three o’clock when Mahmood exited the Langelier Metro Station to wait for the #33 bus southbound which would take him to the address on Haig Avenue which JayQ had given him.

  He had been concerned he was being followed by a man he’d noticed once on the green line whom he was nearly certain he’d seen while on the orange line. However, when the subway had pulled out of Langelier station moments earlier, the man had still been on board and none of the handful of people who had gotten off were now anywhere to be seen.

  He had not heard from any of the others and assumed this indicated that all was under control with them. After all, they had nothing particular to do for the afternoon besides stroll around, make sure they weren’t being observed and kill time until he contacted them. In fact, the whole plan was so simple it seemed impossible that anything could go wrong.

  He’d meet the others, give them their devices and each of them would make his way to Igloofest independently by six o’clock or so. Once the devices were disposed of on the site, each would leave and he, Mahmood, would activate the timers for detonation ninety minutes later. The four would then meet back at the SUV and return to Sutton or possibly drive to Ottawa to resume their university lives. Simple.

  He looked up and saw the bus heading towards him from the north on Langelier Boulevard and smiled. In less than ten minutes, he would have the devices and another phase of the plan would be complete. There was nothing that could stop them now and their success would be thanks in large part to his efforts and leadership. The respect which JayQ presently had for him was nothing compared to what it would be by this evening.

  * * * *

  “Excellent, Dave,” said Chris as he watched Jonathan come out of the Radisson Metro Station and walk briskly towards him where he waited on Sherbrooke Street East. “Jon’s arriving now. We’ll pick you up in a minute. Call if there are any changes.”

  He cut the line as Jonathan climbed into the SUV and immediately pulled away from the curb, catching the tail end of the yellow traffic light at the intersection. “Dave just called. Mahmood is waiting for the bus heading towards Omar’s.”

  “Good,” Jon replied. “Not too many people on the subway and I think he got squirrelly about me. We did good having Dave watching at Langelier. I just hope Mahmood is on his way to Omar’s or we might lose him.”

  “Relax, boss,” said Chris. “We’ll be there in less than a minute. He probably won’t even be on the bus yet.”

  He sped westbound on Sherbrooke, catching the two lights green along the way. Another green awaited them at Langelier Boulevard with no incoming eastbound traffic, allowing Chris to turn south without delay while Jonathan observed Mahmood climbing into the bus on the northwest corner.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured as Chris pulled to a stop where Dave McCall waited on the sidewalk a few hundred feet from the intersection.

  The captain slid into the back seat just as the bus rode past them and Chris pulled in behind it as it stopped at the red light at the next intersection.

  “I just got a call from Frank,” McCall announced. “Nasir is dead drunk and crashed out in their Explorer. Frank yanked some wires, cut some hoses and deflated the tires to make sure the truck stays there.”

  Jonathan laughed, “Too bad he didn’t know I’d snagged the keys.”

  “Oh well,” Dave chuckled. “I also received a text message from Joanne. She’s in a cinema downtown watching Saad watch The Green Hornet.”

  “Some people get all the cushy assignments,” Chris joked as the light turned green and they got moving again.

  They approached the next street and the bus moved to the left lane to turn with the Lexus following suit. They continued their trek eastbound for four blocks with the bus stopping at neither of the two stops along the way. Catching the green light at Haig Avenue, they headed southbound once again towards Hochelaga Street which was where Mahmood should logically be getting off the bus if he was going to Omar’s.

  They saw their light turn green at Hochelaga and as they got closer, the bus’ right turn signal came on as it pulled over to the bus stop just prior to the intersection.

  “Keep going,” Jonathan said. “We’ll see if he got off soon enough.”

  “I’ll pull into that auto repair place,” Chris gestured to the business to their right across Hochelaga.

  As he turned into the paved lot, Dave looked back and announced, “Yes, gents. Mahmood is off the bus.”

  Chris nosed the SUV into a parking slot and they soon observed Mahmood from behind the tinted windows as he jogged diagonally across Haig A
venue towards Omar’s home.

  “Let’s see what he does on the inside,” Jonathan murmured as he pulled out an iPad wedged in next to his seat.

  As he powered it up and logged into the surveillance camera programme, a call came in through Chris’ hands-free system.

  He glanced at the call display screen and answered, “Hi, Leslie. I’m with Jon and Dave. What’s up?”

  “Hi, guys,” Leslie’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Guess who I had lunch with.”

  “I give up,” Jonathan chuckled. “Give us a hint.”

  “His first name is Fahad,” Leslie replied. “Does that help?”

  “Elaborate on ‘had lunch with him’, Les,” Chris requested.

  “He was eating pizza at the food court,” Leslie explained. “I asked him if it was good, got a slice, sat down with him and flirted the hell out of him. I think he’s in love.”

  “You little minx,” Chris laughed. “Get anything good for us?”

  “You bet I am and yes I did,” Leslie replied. “He mentioned possibly going to a rave at the Old Port which would mean Igloofest. As soon as he said it, he looked guilty like he’d said something he shouldn’t have then explained the rave was only a friend’s suggestion.”

  “I trust you didn’t offer to accompany him?” asked Jonathan.

  “Of course not,” Leslie replied in mock shock. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “A brilliant one,” Jon replied. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s back at Indigo, looking at books again,” said Leslie. “I reversed my jacket and I’m blonde now but I’m keeping my distance cuz it’s better if he doesn’t run into me again.”

  “Tim Harris is on stand-by downtown, Leslie,” suggested Dave. “Call him and he’ll replace you.”

  “Will do,” Leslie agreed. “Where are you guys?”

  “Near Omar’s,” said Chris. “Mahmood just got here to pick up the explosives.”

  “So they’re really lining up to do this,” Leslie muttered. “Animals. Where should I go once Tim gets here?”

  “Stick around downtown,” Jon replied. “If what Fahad mentioned is accurate, it looks like we’ll end up at Old Port before too long.”

  * * * *

  Mahmood reached the house with the address JayQ had given him but continued walking down the street as he scoped out the area. He had come this far and wanted to make sure the place wasn’t being watched before entering. After a moment or two, he reached the bottom of the incline beneath the Souligny Avenue overpass and looked in both directions but found the street deserted.

  Turning around, he headed slowly back up the hill, peering into the side yards of the houses he passed, making sure nobody was hiding anywhere. He once again reached his destination and did a final three-sixty scan. Satisfied that nobody was even around to pay any attention to him, he crossed the short walk and climbed the steps to the front porch. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around once more before opening the mailbox and groping inside. Sure enough, there was the key, exactly as JayQ had said it would be. He extracted it, unlocked the door and hurried inside, closing and relocking the door behind him.

  Standing in the entrance, he gazed around the dim, sparsely furnished space of the small home and wondered who, in fact, actually lived there if anyone at all. He stepped forward, not bothering to remove his boots as he had little concern with getting the grimy floors any dirtier and did not want to waste any time if he had to suddenly retreat.

  He could see the kitchen straight ahead, which is where he would find the devices he was here to collect. However, curiosity got the better of him and he decided to explore the strange, little house for a moment before getting on to business.

  He climbed the stairs to the tiny landing above, noting one door on each side, both closed. As he ascended, he detected an unpleasant odour in the air, perhaps that of rotten meat, and wondered if a squirrel or bird had gotten in somewhere and perished. At the top, he stepped to the door on his left and, following a moment of hesitation, turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  Inside, the room was empty except for a small iron bed, more of a cot, covered with a thin, stained mattress. He turned and walked the short distance to the opposite door and flung it open, expecting a similar barren space. Instead, he was met with a more concentrated form of the stench he’d detected emanating from the corpse which lay on the bed.

  His heart thudded in his chest and his head felt light as he stared in horror at the man’s face, grimaced in a mask of terror, its tongue protruding and its lifeless eyes bulging. Feeling chilled, yet bathed in sweat, Mahmood felt a sudden wave of nausea rush through him, forcing him to his knees where he vomited on the floor and walls in the corner of the room.

  After a moment or two, he rolled to a seated position and leaned against the wall, unsure if his rubbery legs would support him if he stood. Glancing up at the body, he wondered who the man was, what he had died from and if he should report this to someone. He definitely couldn’t call the police but JayQ certainly should be notified. He would no doubt want to know of a dead body in a house being used by the cell.

  Summoning his courage, he rose to his feet and approached the body, wishing to have sufficient information should JayQ have any questions. He had little knowledge of decomposition following death but as he looked at the corpse, he was fairly certain the man had not died in the recent hours, based on the bloating and the smell. Up closer now, he could see a dark, red-blue line circling the man’s neck, almost certainly left by a rope, which would explain the cause of death.

  Feeling nauseous again, Mahmood decided he knew enough for his needs and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He returned downstairs, leaning on the handrail for support for he still did not trust his legs to hold him. It was clear he had discovered a murder victim and this was something he could not take lightly. He was shocked by how easily one person could willingly take the life of another and was suddenly hit with a pang of fear as he considered what actions were expected of him in the coming hours.

  He barely managed to make it to the bottom of the stairs before crashing to the floor, gasping for air and retching as he was overcome by anxiety. He lay there for several minutes sobbing, consumed by fear as he considered what he had become or nearly become. Forcing himself to breath deeply and evenly, he managed to regain some of his composure. He stood, once again, and went to the kitchen where he sat, pulled out his phone and called JayQ.

  “Hello, it is Mahmood,” he said when the call was answered.

  “Is everything going according to plan?” asked JayQ.

  “I am at the house to pick up the devices,” Mahmood started.

  “Excellent,” JayQ approved. “You still have much time to get back to the others. I am proud of you, Mahmood.”

  “But, there is a problem here,” Mahmood insisted.

  “What kind of problem?” JayQ demanded.

  “I found a dead man in the bedroom upstairs,” said Mahmood. “He has obviously been strangled.”

  “What business did you have in going upstairs?” JayQ growled. “Did I not tell you exactly where to find the devices?”

  “Yes, but, but,” Mahmood sputtered. “This man was murdered.”

  “Yes, he was,” JayQ hissed, “Because he could no longer follow orders and backed out at the last minute. That is why you are there, Mahmood. You are there because that man was a coward.”

  “S-so, you knew that this man was dead?” asked Mahmood.

  “Who do you think killed him?” JayQ asked by way of answer. “Not only was he no longer any use to us, I believed he had become a liability. Our type of organization relies on the utmost of dedication, obedience and trust. This is why I have chosen you, Mahmood. I know I can count on you to do whatever is needed without question, correct?”

  “Uh, yes, yes, of course,” Mahmood managed to utter.

  “Good,” said JayQ. “Now, get the devices and head back. You still have sufficient
time but you do have to meet the others and the first show starts at six-thirty.”

  “Yes, I will get going,” Mahmood agreed, making a sustained effort to keep the reluctance out of his tone.

  The call disconnected and Mahmood remained seated for a moment, simply staring at the table after which he stood and went to the cupboard below the sink to collect the explosives.

  * * * *

  “Our boy looks a little dejected,” Chris commented as they watched Mahmood plodding to the bus stop across the street.

  “Finding dead bodies can do that to some people,” Jonathan smiled.

  “I was sure he was just going to get the hell out of there,” McCall suggested.

  “So was I,” Chris agreed. “Whatever he was told on the phone changed his mind.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t tap into the call,” said Dave.

  “We tried when he used the phone back in Sutton,” Jon explained, “But it’s a Sat-phone with encryption software. We weren’t able to crack it. Our techs couldn’t get anywhere with that Blackberry the bomber had either. The card, though damaged from the explosion, was still readable, except it was also encrypted.”

  “Which was another indication of foreign government involvement,” said Chris as he gazed at the iPad on his lap then added, “Those trackers are working fine, by the way.”

  “Excellent,” said Jonathan. “Let’s let them do their job while we go have a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

  * * * *

  Tired of browsing books and wondering what he was actually waiting for, Fahad left Place Montréal Trust and ambled aimlessly along Saint-Catherine Street. As he waited at the crowded corner to cross Metcalfe Street, someone shoved him from behind and growled, “What are you doing here?”

  He spun around and found himself face to face with the grinning Saad.