Discreet Activities Page 12

  “Aw, Jesus Chri-“ Jonathan managed to say before a powerful explosion blew the windows out of Paul Normandin’s apartment across the street, the shock-wave rocking the van in which they sat and setting off car alarms in the vicinity.

  Chris, Leslie and Jonathan rushed out of the van and stared in mind-numbing disbelief at the inferno already ravaging the second storey of the building. Leslie gasped and burst into tears, burying her face into Chris’ chest as Jonathan barked into his phone for the fire department.

  He cut the connection and turned away, unable to watch the blaze any longer.

  “As God is my witness, someone is going to pay for this,” he announced as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  * * * *

  JayQ sat comfortably in the den watching the video transmission on his phone until it abruptly ceased. It seemed the article in the paper was a lie to help the police apprehend Mohsin after all. That three police officers had sacrificed their lives and the guard was still alive was of no concern to him. His problem had been Mohsin and Mohsin had kept his word and eliminated the problem.

  Chapter 15 – Wednesday, January 19, 2011

  Chris opened the door to his Nun’s Island condominium and admitted a sombre looking Dave McCall.

  “How are you guys doing?” the captain asked as he removed his coat.

  “We’re feeling pretty wiped out,” Chris admitted. “We tried to get some sleep but gave up on that quickly enough. Leslie and I are pretty bummed out but Jonathan is devastated.”

  “I’m not too cheery either, buddy,” McCall replied. “Cat and Jeff were wonderful people. To lose them so suddenly is a terrible blow.”

  “We’re going to get the bastards behind this, Dave,” Chris stated, “No matter what it takes.”

  “Just don’t lose your focus,” McCall warned. “I don’t want anything to happen to you guys. You’re like family to me.”

  “We won’t do anything stupid, Captain,” Chris replied, “But these people are going down. Come on, Jon and Les are in the living room.”

  They made their way down the hallway and into the expansive living room with its splendid panoramic view of Montreal across the St-Lawrence River. However, though the sun shone brightly, making the vista even more spectacular, the mood inside was grey and cold.

  “I’m so sorry,” Dave murmured to Leslie as she rose from a leather sofa and hugged him.

  “So am I,” Leslie whispered. “I can’t believe they’re gone, Dave.”

  They embraced for another moment before Dave turned to Jonathan.

  “Hard times, Jon, but we’ll get through this,” he said as they shook hands.

  “I fucked up, Dave,” Jon replied, his eyes cold as stone. “Pierre Tardif, Cat and Jeff are dead because I fucked up.”

  “I don’t believe that,” McCall replied. “In our line of work, we deal with dangerous situations every day, Jonathan. That’s just a fact and we both know it. You had the perimeter covered but you were dealing with a suicidal radical who managed to get in. Pierre, Cat and Jeff were highly trained to face this type of situation and all knew of the possible consequences which could arise on any given day. You can’t take the blame for this. It simply happened.”

  “It happened on my watch, Captain,” said Jonathan. “I failed those people.”

  “Jon,” Chris spoke up. “We’ve worked a number of operations together over the years and have saved each other’s necks several times. Would you have considered me to blame if you’d been injured or killed at some point?”

  “Of course not,” Jonathan sighed. “I know the risks involved in what we do and also know that anyone on my team has always done and will always do anything in their power to cover their own. But there are no guarantees. We are human.”

  “Touché, Mr. Addley,” said Chris. “We all did what we could yesterday. All of us. It didn’t work out how we hoped and we paid dearly. What I plan to do is use every bit of the anger this situation created in me to lash out at those responsible for our loss and I expect you to do the same; calmly, coldly and professionally.”

  Jonathan stood silent for a moment, gazing out at the world beyond before turning back to face the others. “I’m just grieving, friends, but you know I’m there with you. We’re in this together and we’re going to get these bastards. Dave, anything come back from the bombing scene yet?”

  “The explosive used was C-4 and came from the same batch as the stuff which was stolen in Vaudreuil last Friday. There’s no ID yet on the bomber but he was male and probably of Middle-Eastern or similar descent. A Blackberry and an iPhone were found, pretty damaged from the blast, but may lead to something if one or both belonged to the bomber.”

  “We all use iPhones,” said Jonathan, “So the Blackberry either came with the bomber or was already in the apartment. I’d like it if those phones, including Cat’s and Jeff’s, could make their way back to me.”

  McCall nodded and continued. “A stolen Honda Civic was found just one block over on St-André and the timing of the theft makes sense that the car was the bomber’s transport. We have cops, including some of my people, canvassing the car owner’s neighbourhood in Rosemont with the pic you ran in the paper to see if anyone recognizes the guy.

  “That’s all we have for now but it’s still early. We’ll be getting more information from the M.E., site forensics, fire investigation, etc. This has been officially classified as a murder-suicide so it’s landed in my shop and I plan to offer you any assistance I can.”

  “Well, just that is good news in itself,” said Jonathan, allowing a brief smile. “We’re please to work with you in any capacity possible, Dave.”

  “And I’m as intent as you are to nail these animals,” McCall responded, displaying a brief smile of his own. “I may even consider bending a few rules for once. Are you okay with my sharing the details of what you’re working on with Tim, Joanne and Frank?”

  “If your people are going to be involved in this, they should know what they might be up against,” said Addley. “Bring them up to speed cuz we can use all the eyes, ears and help we can get. Welcome aboard, Captain.”

  * * * *

  From where he stood, shielding himself from the cold inside the Sherbrooke Street entrance of the Place Versailles shopping centre, Omar Kalpar saw the black Audi A6 as it turned into the parking lot. He hurried through the doors and across the paving stones, reaching the car as it slowed to a halt beside him. He quickly slid into the front passenger seat of the vehicle which started rolling forward before he’d even closed the door.

  “What is going on?” he asked, his nervousness obvious. “Where is Mohsin? How did his photo end up in yesterday’s paper?”

  “Did you not see this morning’s paper?” JayQ enquired, “Or watch the local news today?”

  “No, I did not. You know I have no television,” Omar replied, “And I did not dare go out after seeing Mohsin’s photo yesterday. Perhaps I am being looked for as well. I did not wish to be recognized.”

  “You are being paranoid, Omar,” JayQ scoffed. “Why would anyone be looking for you? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why is it ridiculous?” Omar argued. “Yesterday, I see Mohsin’s photo on the front page of the Gazette. I try to reach him but he does not answer. I call you and you tell me you cannot talk and will call me back but you never-”

  “I called you this morning and now we are here,” JayQ interrupted. “Now, if you can stop talking, I can explain what is going on.”

  “Please do,” Omar snapped, “And can you tell me where we are going?”

  “Shut up and listen,” JayQ ordered, growing impatient. “Mohsin lied to me. Did you read the newspaper article yesterday?”

  “Of course I did,” Omar replied.

  “Mohsin confirmed it was true,” JayQ continued. “He paid this guard fifteen thousand to let him steal the explosives and planned to keep the remaining money. His photo was taken by a security camera at a bar where he had met the guard. I confronted
Mohsin with this and he admitted his sins. To redeem himself, he offered to take care of this guard, and himself, which I accepted.”

  “What do you mean, take care of the guard and himself?” Omar asked in confusion.

  “Last night, Mohsin went to see this guard at his apartment where he was supposed to be under house arrest,” JayQ explained. “He had brought a bomb with him to kill himself and the guard. However, it seems the police were hoping Mohsin would try to eliminate the guard as a witness. The whole thing was a set-up, the guard was not there but the police were so Mohsin killed them instead.”

  “Mohsin is dead?” Omar exclaimed. “You let him kill himself?”

  “I had no choice,” JayQ replied. “He had betrayed both myself and Allah with his sins but he is with Allah now.”

  “So now this guard is still alive but some police officers have been murdered?” Omar pressed. “How do you know all this?”

  “Mohsin sent me the live stream as it happened,” JayQ smiled. “I insisted he do so as I wanted proof in order to regain his trust.”

  “What will happen now?” Omar asked, his expression one of both shock and fear. “The police will be looking for us.”

  “They do not know who we are,” JayQ shook his head. “They don’t know who Mohsin was and possibly never will. All they had was his photo. However, just in case they do manage to identify him, we must make sure they can’t link him to us.”

  “How are we supposed to do that?” questioned Omar.

  “First, we will go to Mohsin’s home,” said JayQ. “That is where we are going now. We need to get his computer in case it contains compromising information which could lead to us.”

  “This I understand,” Omar agreed, “But what about your plan? I know little about explosives and neither do you. We will have to cancel the attack.”

  “Absolutely not,” replied JayQ. “Mohsin gave me the devices yesterday when I met him and showed me how to set the timers. We will go ahead as agreed on Saturday.”

  “I do not like this, Jay,” said Omar. “Perhaps we should wait until things calm down. The police will surely be on alert in the wake of Mohsin’s murder and suicide.”

  “The police do not know who Mohsin was,” JayQ repeated, “But in case they somehow identify him, we must eliminate anything that could link him to us. This is why we are going to his apartment. Once that is done, we will have nothing to fear so, yes, we will go ahead with our attack.”

  * * * *

  Senior Detective Tim Harris was making his way southbound on the east side of 12th Avenue in Rosemont while his partner, Joanne Nelson, mirrored him across the street, ringing doorbell after doorbell. They’d been at it for over an hour with no success and had heard nothing from other cops canvassing the area indicating anything promising. Mid-morning on a weekday meant countless unanswered visits as many people, man and wife, were off to earn a living.

  He moved on to the next of a series of endless row-houses and climbed the handful of steps leading to the small balcony of the two-storey duplex. He rang the first doorbell and waited then sighed in frustration. Again, nobody home, and he left yet another photo-flyer of the suicide-bomber. Leaning on the second doorbell, he waited a moment, slid another flyer into the mailbox then turned to move on.

  As he started descending the steps, he heard a door opening behind him followed by a voice asking, “Oui?”

  Turning back, he saw a short, stocky woman, probably in her early sixties, wearing a full length apron, well smudged with flour.

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” the woman continued in French. “I was kneading some dough and I had to wash my hands.”

  “No problem,” Tim reassured her then introduced himself.

  “Is there a problem?” asked the woman, surprised by a visit from the police.

  “Not at all,” Tim smiled, “At least not with you, I’m sure.”

  He retrieved the flyer from the mailbox and showed her the photo. “Would you happen to know this man who may live in the neighbourhood?”

  “Oh, mon Dieu!” the woman exclaimed, blanching beneath the flour on her cheeks. “That is Mohsin Rahija!”

  “So, you know him?” Tim asked, his heart skipping a beat.

  “Of course,” replied the woman as she pointed to a door by the balcony leading to a basement apartment. “He is my tenant downstairs.”

  * * * *

  Heading northbound on St-Michel Boulevard, JayQ slowed the car as they approached the red light at St-Zotique Street but as it turned green, he pressed on the accelerator and drove through the intersection.

  “Did you not wish to turn here?” asked Omar. “12th Avenue is one-way to the north.”

  “I don’t want to drive to Mohsin’s apartment,” JayQ explained as he reached into his jacket pocket. “On the off-chance that he was identified, this car could be noticed and traced. I will drop you off at the corner of Bélanger and you can walk down by foot. Here is the key.”

  “You are asking me to search his apartment alone?” Omar exclaimed with concern. “What if someone sees me?”

  JayQ shook his head in disgust as he turned right onto Bélanger Street and pulled over near 12th Avenue. “I am starting to wonder about you, Omar. You display courage when it is just talk but become scared when it’s time to actually do even something simple.”

  “I have the same courage as you, Jay,” Omar insisted, ending the discussion. “Am I looking for anything besides Mohshin’s computer?”

  “Get that first,” JayQ replied, “As well as any USB keys, DVDs or other data storage devices. After that, look around, in case he had anything written down, especially anything that could be traced back to us.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Omar agreed, albeit hesitantly, “But I don’t plan to stay inside very long.”

  “It’s a tiny apartment and Mohsin was organized,” said JayQ. “You should find what you’re looking for quickly enough.”

  “Will you wait here?” asked Omar.

  “No, I will drive around but will remain close,” JayQ replied. “Call me when you leave and head south. I’ll pick you up on St-Zotique. Now go.”

  * * * *

  “She’s sure it’s him?” Joanne asked as she joined Tim on the sidewalk.

  “Absolutely,” Harris grinned. “He’s been living here for over three years and always pays his rent in cash, in person.”

  “Beautiful,” Joanne smiled. “What’s the plan now?”

  “Mrs. Sauvageau is getting us the key to the basement apartment,” Tim replied. “Call dispatch to have the others quit searching and I’ll call Dave to see how he wants to handle this.”

  They both got busy on their phones and as Tim waited for his call to McCall to connect, he noticed a gangly, darker skinned man walking towards them, still several hundred feet away on the sidewalk. As he watched him approach, the man slowed, stopped then turned and started going back the way he had come, his pace accelerating as he went.

  “McCall,” Dave answered on his end.

  “Something just came up, Chief,” said Tim as he started up the sidewalk. “I’ll call you back soon.”

  “Jo!” he called over his shoulder as he cut the connection and broke into a jog before shouting to the rapidly receding figure ahead of him. “Excuse me, sir. Could I talk to you for a moment?”

  The man immediately switched his pace from power-walk to sprint as he continued northward.

  “Bastard,” Tim muttered as he increased his gait, dashing down the icy sidewalk in pursuit.

  Still a couple of hundred feet ahead of Harris, the fugitive turned sharply right into an alley and disappeared from view. A few seconds later, Harris tore around the corner to find a steel trash dumpster rolling right at him. He tried to stop but the ice underfoot refused to cooperate resulting in a solid collision between cop and refuse receptacle.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled as he clambered to his feet and glared about the short length of the now empty alley. In a limping jog,
he made his way to the opposite end and scanned up and down 13th Avenue but the man had disappeared.

  “Are you okay?” Joanne asked as she ran up to him. “What happened?”

  “Some guy was coming down the sidewalk and suddenly got spooked when he saw us standing in front of Rahija’s apartment. The bastard nailed me with that dumpster as I turned the corner.”

  “You want to look around a bit and see if we can find him?”

  “Nah,” Harris shook his head. “Let’s get Dave on the phone and see what he wants us to do. If this guy was heading for the apartment, we just might find something useful in there.”

  * * * *

  Omar rushed out of the alley onto 13th Avenue and slowed his gait to a fast walk as he covered the short distance northward to Bélanger. On the corner was a small restaurant, really more of a dump, but his intention was to get off the street, not fine dining. He ducked inside and slid into an empty booth, pulling the Montreal Canadians toque off his head in an effort to at least somewhat modify his appearance.

  “Café,” he grunted to the greasy looking waiter and probable owner who approached before pulling his phone out of a pocket of his ski jacket.

  “We have a problem,” he murmured into the phone once his call connected.

  “What is the problem?” JayQ enquired.

  “As I approached Mohsin’s apartment, a man and woman were on the sidewalk in front of it, both on cell phones.” Omar explained. “The man noticed me and called out, wanting to speak to me. I believe they were the police.”

  “What did he ask you?” JayQ questioned, “And what did you tell him?”

  “He asked me nothing because I turned and ran,” said Omar.