Discreet Activities Read online

  “That’s a lot of coke, man,” mumbled the gang-banger as he focused on the tray.

  “It certainly is. Snort it,” Jonathan ordered.

  “I’m gonna be fuckin’ wiped,” said Chul-Moo as he took the straw. “You guys are fuckin’ crazy.”

  He proceeded to snort the coke, two lines in one nostril then two in the other while Jon held the tray steady.

  “Whoa,” he said as he slumped buck into the recliner. “Whada fuck are you guys doin’ dis for? Who da fuck are you?”

  “My name is Jon and this is my friend, Chris,” Addley replied. “As I mentioned before, we came about Jae-Hwa’s murder last night. You must be shaken up about that.”

  “Uh, huh,” Chul-Moo nodded with effort before letting his chin drop back to his chest.

  “In fact, you’re so shaken up by it that you just might commit suicide,” Jon continued as he motioned Chris for the gun.

  “Is fuckin’ sad, man,” slurred the Korean, his head lolling.

  “It is indeed, my friend,” Jonathan agreed. “Murder and suicide are not happy subjects.”

  Placing a gloved hand under Chul-Moo’s chin, he raised the man’s head then squeezed his mouth open by applying a little pressure on both cheeks. After inserting the barrel of the pistol into the Korean’s mouth and meeting no resistance, he pulled the trigger.

  “I don’t think anybody would have heard that, do you?” he asked Chris as he wrapped the dead gang member’s fingers around the butt of the gun.

  “I doubt it,” Chris replied, “But we probably shouldn’t stick around anyhow.”

  “Nah,” Jonathan agreed. “Our work is done. Now, we’re sure that the Korean Krew is over.”

  Chapter 5 – Saturday, January 8, 2011

  Fahad Jamali came down the stairs to join Mahmood and Nasir who were enjoying breakfast at the dining room table.

  “I must admit that now that I have accepted your blend in theory,” he announced with a grin, “I am enjoying living in luxury like a capitalist pig. I will regret returning to that smelly sty my landlord calls an apartment tomorrow.”

  Mahmood and Nasir exchanged glances before the latter spoke. “We have something to discuss with you as soon as our friend Saad gets his lazy butt out of bed.”

  “What do you wish to discuss?” asked Fahad as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Do you not listen?” Nasir retorted. “Go wake Saad if you have no patience.”

  “Saad,” Fahad shouted towards the second floor bedrooms. “Come down here. We have something important to discuss.”

  “I am sleeping,” came Saad’s muffled response from beyond the closed bedroom door.

  “Well, it is late enough and we must talk,” Fahad called out.

  “What do you wish to talk about?” asked Saad.

  “It is not me,” Fahad yelled in frustration, much to the amusement of his friends in the dining room. “Nasir and Mahmood must discuss something with both of us immediately.”

  “I need to sleep some more,” Saad complained. “I have a headache and do not feel well.”

  “That is because you drank too much rum last night, infidel.” Fahad laughed. “Get up, take some Tylenol and eat something and you will feel better.”

  “Or maybe not,” Mahmood murmured with a smile.

  “Okay, I am getting up,” Saad surrendered. “Now, please stop shouting.”

  They waited, chatting quietly downstairs while hearing Saad stumble around and mumble as he went into the bathroom. Moments later, he came slowly down the stairs on unsure feet, gripping the handrail for support.

  “I think that I am still drunk,” he announced morosely, “But I also think I have a hangover. Is that possible?”

  “Yes, my friend,” Nasir chuckled. “With all you drank last night and the time we went to bed, you are surely still drunk and, as you do not seem to be as cheerful as you were then, you probably do have a hangover.”

  “I do not feel well,” Saad grumbled. “What should I do?”

  “Did you take Tylenol?” asked Fahad, his tone impatient.

  “Yes,” replied Saad. “Two minutes ago. Will that get rid of this terrible feeling?”

  “Not completely,” Mahmood sympathised, “But it should help your headache. What you should do is drink some juice or water to start. Alcohol dehydrates you so drinking something will help.”

  “Maybe he should have a beer,” Nasir suggested with a grin.

  “Please, do not even say that,” Saad grimaced. “You will make me throw up.”

  “It was a joke, my friend,” Nasir replied as he filled a glass with orange juice. “Come and sit and drink this.”

  “Okay, now that Saad is finally up,” said Fahad as he pulled up a chair, “What is it you need to discuss with us?”

  Nasir laughed and said, “If you were a cat, Fahad, you would be dead.”

  “Why would I be a cat?” asked a puzzled Fahad, “But, never mind that. What do you wish to speak to us about?”

  Mahmood glanced at Nasir before speaking. “We are not leaving tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean, we are not leaving tomorrow?” questioned Fahad. “We have already missed classes this week.”

  “You do not need to attend all of your classes to complete your courses,” Nasir replied. “Like us, you have brought your books with you?”

  “Yes, and I have read and studied with them this week, as you know,” retorted Fahad, “But my father is paying for me to attend university and I must be successful.”

  “The semester has just started,” said Mahmood. “I myself know that if I keep up with my reading and studies, I do not have to physically attend each class to complete my courses with ease. I can do my school work and complete the required assignments from here without any worries of failing.”

  “This is true,” Fahad conceded, not wishing to seem less capable than his friends, “But my father will be angry if I fail any classes. Attending school in Canada is costing him dearly and he does not like to waste money.”

  “You may withdraw from any class until January 31st,” mentioned Nasir. “If, by then, you are uncertain of succeeding a class, you simply withdraw and register again in the spring.”

  “Yes, I can do that,” Fahad admitted, “But why are we staying here rather than returning to Ottawa?”

  “The friends who have rented this house have asked us to stay,” replied Mahmood. “They may need our help and do not wish to leave the house unoccupied.”

  “Who are these friends?” Saad spoke up, “And what is their concern about this house if it does not even belong to them?”

  “These friends are true Muslims,” Mahmood chose his words carefully. “They have rented this house with a particular purpose in mind and wish to make sure that nothing is compromised.”

  “Compromised in what fashion?” questioned Fahad. “I do not understand what is going on.”

  “Perhaps you do not,” said Saad with a glimpse of a smile, “But I believe that I am starting to.”

  “Why don’t you explain it to me then?” Fahad retorted in frustration.

  “I am starting to realize there are things we do not know about Mahmood and Nasir,” replied Saad, forgetting his hangover. “I think that our friends may be connected with people that you and I have only dreamed of, Fahad.”

  “What kind of people?” Fahad persisted before realization set in. “Do you mean…?”

  Mahmood watched Fahad carefully as he nodded. “Does that frighten you, my friend?”

  “I am very surprised but, no, I am not frightened,” Fahad replied in awe. “Rather, I am impressed and wish to one day be involved with such people for the good of Islam.”

  “We have spoken highly of you both to our friends,” announced Nasir as he gazed upon the two younger men. “It is for this reason we were permitted to bring you here with us and to test the waters with you. Through our discussions this week, you have clearly shown your devotion to the cause and your willingness to
do what is required to help us win the war.”

  “Are we here to be recruited?” asked Saad, his hope obvious.

  “Are you ready to be a true warrior for Islam?” Mahmood enquired as he looked from one to the other. “Are you willing to do whatever is needed and requested?”

  “Yes,” Saad replied without hesitation. “I am.”

  “Yes,” Fahad nodded, “So am I.”

  “Then, you are now warriors of the Army for Islam,” Mahmood declared. “Do not forget the lessons you have learned this week and continue to practice them as you must become invisible. One day soon, you will, we all shall, show the west the consequences they must face in the name of Islam.”

  “You spoke earlier of this house being for a particular purpose,” mentioned Saad, not bothering to hide his excitement. “Can you tell us what that is and how we might be involved?”

  “We have not been given the details to date,” replied Nasir. “We only know that it will be another powerful blow to the west which continues to mock us.”

  “Well, I shall do whatever is needed to help deliver that blow,” stated Saad before smiling. “Even suffer hangovers.”

  * * * *

  “Hello,” Leslie mumbled into the phone as she reburied herself under the comforter.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” asked Jonathan.

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. I meant to get up earlier but my bed refused to let go.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Jon laughed. “Do you want to call me back later?”

  “No, that’s fine,” Leslie replied. “I’m awake now and it’s time I got up anyway. What’s up?”

  “First of all, congrats for a fine job on Friday. Both Chris and I continue to be impressed.”

  “Aw, shucks, boss,” Leslie felt herself blushing, “I’m doing what you all trained me to do and what I’m getting paid for.”

  “And you did a perfect job so, way to go,” said Jonathan. “The other reason I was calling was to ask if you were up to doing a little job with Cat over the next few days.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Leslie agreed. “What’s it all about?”

  “I’d like to get together with the two of you sometime tomorrow to share the details,” Addley replied, “But, I can mention that it’s in the Caribbean.”

  “Like in, sun and sand, the Caribbean?” Leslie questioned. “I’m definitely in.”

  “It’s funny,” Jon mused, “Cat said exactly the same thing. Let’s get together at her office tomorrow around one o’clock to discuss this further. In the meantime, she’s working on finding a plane to get you ladies down there in style. Have a great day.”

  Chapter 6 – Monday, January 10, 2011

  “Oh my God,” Leslie murmured as they left the HeliPro building and she saw the jet. “That plane is so sweet.”

  Cat had managed to find them an Embraer Phenom 300 for their trip, a comfortable light jet with room for up to eight passengers though this particular craft’s cabin had been custom designed for four.

  “Wait until you see the inside,” Cat replied. “It’s like a flying luxury RV. The only problem for me is I’m the pilot so I don’t even get to hang out in the back.”

  “Don’t worry,” Leslie reassured her. “I’ll keep you company.”

  “You’re damned right you will,” Cat laughed. “This ain’t a vacation, girl. If I’m working, so are you.”

  They climbed aboard and Leslie stowed what little luggage they had while Cat closed the airstairs before settling into the cockpit.

  “This is awesome,” Leslie exclaimed. “I’ve never been in a jet this small and I’ve never even seen the inside of a cockpit before.”

  “Well, buckle in, kiddo,” Cat grinned as she fired up the engines, “Cuz you’re in for the most exciting four hours you’ll ever have in a flying machine. Here we come, sunshine.”

  * * * *

  Walter Simpson poured himself his first cup of coffee of the morning then padded barefoot from the kitchen, through the vast, open-air dining room and living room and onto the terrace. As he did each morning, he strolled around the in-ground pool to the wrought iron fence which enclosed his spacious and comfortable abode and took in the view eastward of Sint-Maarten’s Great Bay.

  Across the bay, three cruise ships had docked overnight, or at least before he had risen, and flocks of tourists could be seen, as tiny as ants in the distance, waiting for shuttles which would take them to various destinations on the small island. Closer inland from the cruise ships, people strolled or waited on the docks for the departure of catamaran excursions to St. Bart and other destinations. The beach running from the pier in the east to the Sonesta Resort at its west end was already dotted with sun-worshippers taking their daily gamble for that tanned, healthy look in exchange for possible melanoma or other skin cancers later in life. The sun shone and glittered brightly on the breeze-rippled water where pleasure craft of all sizes scooted, cruised or lay at anchor, another picture perfect day in paradise.

  Walter Simpson, formerly known as Waldo Simms, had worked as a successful financial adviser for a couple of big name investment firms in Montreal, Canada, until the age of forty-one at which time he had started W. Simms Investments. Past customers, highly satisfied with the results Simms had helped them attain over the years, had followed him with their capital, allowing his newly founded firm to be securely established from the get-go.

  As time went by, through talent and some luck, Waldo continued to obtain favourable returns for his growing clientele such that he was able to skim a fraction of the gains unnoticed which he transferred to off-shore accounts in his name. At the age of fifty-three, Waldo had a sudden revelation, a simple plan which would allow him an early retirement with available sums much greater than the several million dollars he had amassed through his skimming activities and his own savings. Throughout the next year, he started transferring client capital to new accounts overseas in the name of Walter Simpson while he used some of the skimmed funds to issue return-on-investment payments to his clients. By the end of the year, the bulk of his customers’ investments, a little over eighty-three million USD were in the name of Walter Simpson and it was time to move on, literally.

  He had been living in Sint-Maarten since, the first four months in a rented condominium and the last eight in his lovely, hillside home overlooking the bay. Divorced for a number of years, he didn’t mind being single, in fact he enjoyed it. Still attractive and in relatively good shape at the age of fifty-five, he had no problem finding company, either with many of the local ladies or among the endless flow of vacationing damsels, many of whom stayed at the Sonesta Resort and Casino, a short walk away.

  He finished his coffee and considered making himself some breakfast but decided to go for his jog instead. He would go for something to eat at the Sonesta’s buffet afterwards, as he often did when it was time to eat or drink. Two hundred dollars a month to the resort’s general manager was a small price to pay to be treated as a guest of the all-inclusive establishment, 24/7, year round.

  * * * *

  Following a much enjoyed flight, Cat and Leslie landed on schedule at Sint-Maarten’s Princess Juliana International Airport just before noon, a little over four hours since their departure from Montreal’s Trudeau Airport. Arrangements had been made and an immigration officer was waiting for them as they entered the Fixed-base Operators building. He welcomed them with a smile, wished them a pleasant stay and barely glanced at their passports before sending them on their way. A limousine driver approached as soon as they exited, greeting them by name as he took their bags and escorted them to a waiting Town Car.

  “I could get used to this kind of travel in a hurry,” said Leslie as they settled into the air-conditioned interior. “This is like being a celebrity.”

  “Well, you better get used to it,” Cat replied. “Nothing is done half-assed when you work for Jonathan. He knows the work and the risks involved with what we do and made that clear when he was asked
to start up our organization. The government pays and doesn’t ask any questions.”

  A short drive led them to the Sonesta Great Bay Resort and Casino where, upon their arrival, a waiting gentleman, the concierge as it turned out, took their bags and whisked the new guests to a two bedroom suite with an ocean view.

  “I certainly hope you ladies will enjoy your stay with us,” he said as he handed Cat an envelope with the key-cards. “Please do not hesitate to contact us if anything is to your disliking. Lunch is currently available at the buffet.”

  “Yep, lunch sounds good,” said Cat once the concierge had left after firmly refusing to accept the proffered gratuity. “Let’s get some beach-ware on and go for a bite, after which we’ll get to work.”

  * * * *

  It had been a late night and the others were still asleep in their rooms. Mahmood, who had risen only ten minutes earlier, was heading downstairs after having taken a shower when a loud knock was heard at the door.

  As he approached, he noticed a dirty, white Nissan Sentra, which had seen better years, parked in the cottage’s driveway, a vehicle with which he was unfamiliar.

  He opened the door and stared at the visitor with a surprised smile.

  “Assalamu alaikum,” he greeted the man.

  “Be quiet. Do not speak,” the man whispered brusquely as he entered and closed the door behind him. A billed hat with ear flaps and a heavy scarf did a fine job of concealing most of his face.

  Taken aback, Mahmood attempted to question, “Is there some-”

  “I said, shut up,” the man hissed as he gestured to the coats hanging on the wall. “Which one is yours?”

  “Uh, the red one,” Mahmood replied.

  Pulling the ski jacket from off the hook, the visitor held it out to Mahmood and said, “We must speak. I shall wait for you in the car.”