“I’ve got what I needed,” he said. “You can return to your packing and don’t be late in the morning. I will be personally escorting you to the airport.”
He turned to Jabbar and added, “I will have men posted in the area. I strongly suggest your son remain on the premises. My team has lost one of theirs recently and might be trigger happy if they believed Jawad was attempting to flee. Captain McCall, we’re done here.”
Chapter 20 – Monday, January 24, 2011
Jawad Qalat smiled as a security guard rolled the fence gate open and the limousine followed the RCMP Suburban onto the tarmac behind the small private terminal building near Pierre Elliot Trudeau International Airport.
He had initially been annoyed upon learning of the police escort from that pompous ass, Sharp, the previous morning but was now actually enjoying the attention he was receiving by no less than the federal police’s commanding officer for the province. The man’s frustration at leading a killer out of the country was palpable and the rush this gave JayQ made him feel a little heady. Sharp had actually offered to drive him this morning but his father had refused, stating quite clearly he wished to have a witness of his own choosing to confirm that his son had actually made it onto the plane without any surprises.
The vehicles came to a stop alongside a gleaming white Gulfstream G280, his private ride for the fifty-five hundred kilometre trip to Paris where he would be spending the night at the Pakistan Embassy, ostensibly under guard, before resuming his travels to Islamabad. Once there, he was to behave himself while his father pulled the required strings and called in favours to ensure this whole little incident in Canada ended with the minimum of consequences.
He regretted how everything had backfired with his plan, not because he had failed to kill a bunch of infidels but rather, simply because he had failed to kill. The reason he had established ties with the fledgling AFI had not been because of his desire to make the west suffer but rather because of his desire to make anyone suffer. Truth be told, he was not a faithful Muslim and couldn’t care less about Allah. He played the part to please his devout, and rich, father, understanding that doing so would guarantee him the comfortable lifestyle he so enjoyed with servants at his beck and call.
No, the killing and violence had nothing to do with any Jihad nonsense and, in support of this point, Islamists had also been his victims in the past. In fact, the reason he had been in Canada in recent years was because of a few accusations of assault and a pending rape charge back home, all of which had since been cleared, thanks to his father’s connections. The bottom line was, he enjoyed the power and thrill which violence and intimidation brought him, even with Muslim prey like Mohsin and Omar.
His driver opened the door for him and he slid out, taking in the pilot and co-pilot who stood by the open airstairs. The darker haired one looked to be in his fifties while his fair haired colleague was a few years younger and a couple of inches taller. Both men looked trim, fit and exuded an air of competence, professionalism and efficiency. His father always hired the best.
While the younger of the two joined Jawad’s driver to assist him with the luggage in the limousine’s trunk, Nick Sharp walked over from the RCMP vehicle and addressed the older pilot.
“Captain Taylor,” he said after glancing at the documents in his hand, “Nick Sharp, Commanding Officer, RCMP.”
“Commander,” the pilot acknowledged and saluted.
“This is your passenger, Jawad Qalat,” Sharp continued, supplying information rather than an introduction. “Upon your arrival at Charles De Gaulle Airport, you will be met by immigration personnel and a representative of the Pakistan Embassy who will take charge of Mr. Qalat.”
“I see,” the pilot replied. “We have no reason for concern, Commander?”
“I would hope not,” Sharp replied with a stern look at a bored looking Qalat, “But I don’t think so.”
“Very well,” the pilot nodded then gestured to the stairs. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Qalat. Get yourself settled as we’ll be leaving momentarily.”
Qalat turned towards his driver and winked then climbed into the plane. Inside, he removed his coat and tossed it on one seat before dropping into another. The pilot entered and activated the hatch and the jet engines were firing up even before the opening was fully closed. As the plane started to move, the door to the cockpit opened and out came a flight attendant who was possibly one of the most attractive women Qalat had ever seen. At easily five-eight in low heeled pumps, this red-headed beauty should have been in magazines or the big screen, not wasting her time on an airplane.
He watched as she checked to make sure the hatch was properly closed before heading towards him and flashing a wondrous smile.
“Mr. Qalat, please tie your seatbelt. We’re already cleared for take-off and will be in the air in a couple of minutes. If there’s anything you need during the flight, please let me know. By the way, I’m April.”
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