Discreet Activities (Barry/McCall Series) Page 9

  “Listen, based on their earlier conversation, these guys are going skiing, so why don’t I pop over there and have a look around, see what I can find… Nah, I’m good. I’ve got some time before Sandy gets back so I’ll head over there right now. How about if I call you when I get there and you can keep an eye out for me from the cameras… Okay, great. I’ll keep you posted.”

  * * * *

  “I do not understand how you could take the wrong coat,” Mahmood fumed as they approached the cottage.

  “What is the big deal?” Fahad snapped back. “The drive back is not so far. I made a mistake because I was not thinking.”

  “Maybe you should have simply bought another lift ticket for this jacket as well,” replied Mahmood.

  “It would be stupid to pay forty dollars for the day when I already have a valid lift ticket simply because I took the wrong coat,” replied Fahad. “Do you never make mistakes, Mahmood?”

  “Okay, enough,” Mahmood sighed as he steered into the driveway. “We are here now and you are right. The drive was not very long.”

  “I will be right back,” said Fahad as he climbed out of the SUV. “Do not leave without me.”

  “I am coming in as well,” Mahmood grinned. “I forgot my ski gloves in my room.”

  * * * *

  Chris had arrived only moments earlier, getting into the cottage without any difficulty via the mudroom and had just made his way into Mahmood’s bedroom when his phone vibrated.

  “Yes?” he whispered after activating his Bluetooth.

  “Buzdar’s Explorer is turning into the driveway, buddy,” Jonathan warned. “There are two of them, Jamali and Buzdar. They’re getting out of the truck now.”

  “Thanks. Stay on the line,” Chris murmured as he heard the front door opening followed by two voices arguing.

  He slid the closet door open, slipped inside and slid it back shut behind him before stepping over an impressive pile of garments on the floor. To his dismay, no clothing whatsoever hung from the rod, leaving him with nothing behind which to take cover. He moved to the far wall inside and hoped nobody would come poking around.

  Heavy steps came stomping up the stairway to the upper floor followed by the slight squeak of hinges as someone entered the bedroom. Chris held his breath, remaining motionless as he heard the visitor rummaging and muttering. Suddenly, the closet door slid open, filling the space with much more light than Chris had himself noticed when he’d entered seconds earlier. Mahmood’s head then upper torso appeared through the opening as he scrambled on his knees, digging through the mountain of clothing on the floor. All he needed to do was turn his head forty-five degrees, perhaps less, to see Chris standing there in plain sight.

  He didn’t. A few seconds later, he exclaimed, “Aha,” and pulled out the ski gloves he had been searching for, rose to his feet and left the room.

  Chris slowly let out his breath as he heard footsteps heading back downstairs. He heard Jamali laugh and call out, “Hurry, Mahmood,” from the floor below then the front door slammed shut and all was quiet. The faint sound of a car engine rumbled to life outside and soon faded to nothing as his impromptu visitors drove away.

  “You’re good,” Jonathan informed him. “They’re gone. Jamali changed his coat. What was Buzdar looking for?”

  “His ski gloves,” Chris breathed in relief as he came out of hiding. “I was standing four feet away from him while he was searching in the closet with absolutely nothing between us. That was close.”

  “Yep, I could see how close that was,” Jon laughed. “I was expecting to see him flip out of there backwards from a kick in the head.”

  “Lucky for him he didn’t turn that head,” Chris agreed as he looked through the dresser drawers, finding them all empty since most of Mahmood’s clothes were strewn about the room. “Man, this guy’s a slob.”

  “Based on what I can see in the other rooms, they all are,” said Jonathan.

  Chris moved to another pile of clothing on an armchair in the far corner of the room under which he found a large backpack. He began searching through the various compartments and from an outside pocket, pulled out something which resembled a generic MP3 player, including a set of ear buds.

  “I think we may have a winner,” he commented, holding out the device in the open for Jon to see. “Let’s give this a go.”

  He placed one of the buds in his Bluetooth-free ear then pressed the sole button on the device. Immediately, a continuous low-pitched buzzing sound could be heard.

  “Yep, they definitely know they’re bugged,” Chris sighed as he turned off the device and returned it to the backpack, “So whatever they talk about regarding a plan is crap. These boys are decoys.”

  “Well, at the very least, their plan is,” Jonathan agreed. “They might still be involved in the real attack, whenever and wherever that may be. I wish we had the manpower to stick to these guys 24/7 but we don’t, at least not until we have something more definite.”

  “We’ll just keep on keeping our eyes and ears on them like we’ve been doing, Jon,” said Chris. “We’ve got the visuals here, at the ski hill and the stores they shop at and the GPS to tell us where they go, as long as they don’t switch vehicles. They’ve kept the same routine and remained completely local since they got here. Should they break that pattern, we can get Cat or Jeff to head over real quick in a chopper for some visual tracking and I’m close by to tail on the ground as required. I think we’ve got it covered as best we can for now. We’ll be all over them when they make a move.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Jon agreed then added, “Or overly confident.”

  “I’m just being realistic, boss,” Chris replied. “Our other option is to lean on these bastards with little to go on and lose a chance of finding out who their puppet master is.”

  “That’s not an option,” Jonathan sighed. “We’ll stick with your realistic one for now.”

  “I’m not looking for anything else while I’m here, am I?” asked Chris.

  “No, you found what we needed,” Jonathan replied. “They know they’re bugged.”

  “Then I’m out of here,” Chris announced. “I’m off to hang out with my wife but let me know if anything interesting comes up.”

  * * * *

  It was past two in the afternoon when JayQ slid into the booth next to Omar Kalpar and across from Mohsim Rahija at Chez Albert in Montreal’s east end. The place was deserted, possibly due to the time, though JayQ doubted such a dive was crowded at any time of the day.

  “Nice place,” he said, looking around in disdain at the yellow rivulets of grease and humidity stains which marred the walls. “It’s unfortunate I already had lunch.”

  “You said we should meet somewhere to speak in private,” Omar grinned. “You can’t get much more private than this.”

  The waitress, a tired-looking, overweight woman of indeterminate age appeared through a doorway behind the lunch counter and approached but stopped and nodded when JayQ called, “Café seulement,” before heading back to the kitchen.

  She returned with the coffee a moment later and informed them that all they had to do was shout if they needed anything else before disappearing through the doorway once again.

  “Now, on to business,” said Qalat as he poured a heavy stream of sugar into his coffee. “Mohsin, did you manage to find what you needed to complete the devices?”

  “Of course,” Rahija scoffed. “I obtained the last of my requirements on Friday. Did you doubt that I could accomplish what I said I would?”

  “Of course not,” Qalat replied calmly. “These are simply not everyday commodities one can find at the drugstore. You are comfortable with your sources? I don’t care about the fifty thousand your suppliers demanded but it would be a shame if your purchase was traced back to you.”

  “You worry yourself for nothing and debase me with your lack of trust,” Rahija shot back. “Perhaps you should look after such details yourself, Qalat, if I am so unworthy in y
our eyes.”

  “There is no need to get angry, Mohsin,” said Qalat. “I am simply enquiring as any good leader would for I do not want any loose ends to compromise our plans. Now, please answer my question.”

  “My supplier does not know who I am,” Rahija muttered. “He does not know my name and would have no way to find me or contact me even if he tried. It is impossible for the purchase to be traced back to me in any fashion.”

  “Very well,” Qalat nodded, satisfied. “Will you have the devices ready for use by next Saturday?”

  “They are ready now,” Rahija replied, displaying a proud grin. “That is why you depend on me. I am good and efficient. In fact, I have built eight so far, twice the number you had requested.”

  “Excellent,” Qalat nodded in approval. “We can use them all with the target I have selected.”

  “Is this the target in Montreal which you were thinking of?” asked Omar.

  “Indeed it is,” Qalat nodded. “Have you heard of Igloofest?”

  Omar shook his head while Mohsin chuckled. “You plan to waste my finely crafted explosives to kill a bunch of Eskimos?”

  “Igloofest is a rave festival at the Old Port,” Qalat explained. “It’s been going on every weekend since January 13th and the finale is on Saturday. Attendance estimates for that evening are in the neighbourhood of ten thousand.”

  “Don’t you think we are too old for a rave, Jay?” Omar asked, his expression doubtful. “We will stand out like old men.”

  “Raves have existed for years and are attended by people of all ages,” Qalat replied with a smile, “Are you trying to back out, now that the time to act is upon us, Omar?”

  “Not at all,” argued Omar. “We must simply be careful to avoid attracting attention if we wish to succeed.”

  “You have no reason to doubt our success,” Qalat shot back. “Unless it is in yourself you have doubt. The attack expected by the authorities is the one in Vermont the following week. There is nothing to indicate any danger here so why should our attending a public festival suddenly attract any attention?”

  “I, for one, have no objection to your choice of target,” said Mohsin. “We are not under surveillance. I will look forward to showing these infidels what we think of them. What exactly is your plan?”

  “I have not worked out all of the details yet,” Qalat admitted, “But, I do not see this as having to be anything complex. We would each arrive by our own means, place the explosives where they would cause the most damage and leave. We would not be attending as a group so nobody could subsequently remember seeing us together. It is an outside winter festival so we’ll be wearing hats and hoods and scarves which will make us look like everybody else.”

  “Would there be any risk of the explosives being detected?” Omar asked of Mohsin. “Bags are often checked by security at such events.”

  “None,” Mohsin replied as he reached into his backpack and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, placing it on the table. “Half a pound of C-4 imbedded with a handful of one inch wood screws and a remote controlled detonator, total weight, about eleven ounces, roughly that of a carton of two hundred king-size cigarettes. Unless explosive detectors are common at raves, nobody would give this a second glance in anyone’s packsack.”

  “Very nice indeed,” Qalat murmured as he examined the explosive device. “You do work very well, my friend.”

  “I know,” Mohsin replied with his second grin of the day. “Will eight be enough or do you need more? I have enough material for another two.”

  “What kind of damage can we expect with the eight you have made?” asked Qalat. “I wouldn’t want any security personnel to get curious about a bag full of cigarette cartons.”

  “C-4 has a detonation velocity of eight thousand fifty metres per second,” explained Mohsin. “Considering eight half pound devices going off simultaneously with the added benefit of hundreds of wood screws flying through the air in a packed crowd, I would think that damage will be to your satisfaction.”

  “In that case, eight devices will be sufficient,” Qalat confirmed. “Do you both agree with the basics of the plan?”

  “As long as you are certain this rave will not be attended by strictly teenagers,” Omar replied, “And we won’t appear out of place, I believe there is little risk.”

  “I see no risk at all,” said Mohsin, “You will simply need to let me know what time you wish the devices to detonate so I may set the timers. I will then leave a couple with each of you ahead of time. Once there, it will be as simple as throwing out a bag of garbage into a trash can.”

  “Very well,” Qalat nodded as he rose from his seat. “I shall finalize the details and let you know when I am done. Assalam Alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh.”

  Chapter 13 – Monday, January 17, 2011

  Jerry Mayers, Director of Operations with Toronto-based DemoliBlast, took a deep breath as he gathered his courage then knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” boomed Bob Scofield in his usual gruff manner. Like his father and predecessor, the demolition firm’s president had not lost his military ways when he had moved into the corporate world.

  Mayers entered, closed the door and got right to the point. “We’re short five pounds of C4 in inventory and a dozen detonators.”

  “What?” Scofield barked. “Your people are going to have to learn to follow goddamned procedures, Jerry. These aren’t nuts and bolts we’re talking about here. Review the specs for our current projects and I’m sure you’ll find some asshole who forgot to submit a requisition somewhere and another asshole who agreed to do him a favour and sent the stuff without the required paperwork. Find out who they are and fire them.”

  “No, Bob,” Jerry shook his head. “The specs and requisitions are fine. The storage container for the Vaudreuil job was broken into and this stuff was taken.”

  “Don’t we have goddamned guards on site once we move onto a project?” Scofield bellowed as he slammed a fist onto his massive desk.

  “Yes, there were two guards on site at all times since we started there last Wednesday. The container was delivered on Friday,” Mayers confirmed, “And by then the site was fenced and secured. The guards have all been questioned but they’ve all denied seeing anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Fire the bastards,” Scofield ordered. “Who knows about this?”

  “Everybody onsite, now,” Mayers replied, “Tommy Baines, the site manager, sent everyone back to the hotel and told them to stand by for further instructions and, most likely, questioning. He’s onsite with the three senior engineers and everything is locked down. He’s already dismissed the first guards and has requested armed security from another firm we’ve dealt with in Montreal which promised to be in place within the hour.”

  “Good man, that Tommy,” Scofield nodded. “Have the police been contacted?”

  “Not yet,” said Mayers. “Tommy called me with this, no one else.”

  “Okay. Contact the RCMP and ERD,” Scofield directed, referring to Canada’s federal police agency and the government’s Explosives Regulatory Division. “Let them know I’m heading down there now. I want to make sure everyone is questioned, including those idiot guards.”

  * * * *

  Jonathan was reviewing intelligence data on the AFI with Chris in his downtown Montreal office when the phone rang.

  “It’s Nick,” he announced after glancing at the call display, referring to Nick Sharp, RCMP Commanding Officer for the province of Quebec. “Greetings, Nick. To what do I owe this pleasure? – Really? Chris is here with me. Let me put you on the speaker.”

  “Good day, Chris,” Sharp’s voice filled the room. “I trust you’re keeping out of trouble.”

  “I’m doing my best, Nick,” Chris laughed, “Which isn’t easy when working with Jon. How are you?”

  “Personally, all is well,” Sharp replied, “But as I was telling Jonathan, I just received some rather troubling news. There’s an office tower in Vaudreuil w
hich was scheduled to be demolished later this week. We’ve been informed that their explosives storage container has been broken into and five pounds of C4 and a dozen detonators have gone missing.”

  “Any idea when the theft took place?” Jonathan asked.

  “According to the site manager, all was fine on Friday when he left around five,” replied Sharp. “Nobody was there over the weekend except for security guards, three teams of two on eight hour shifts. One of the guards noticed that the container door’s padlocks were cut while doing a round at about six this morning.”

  “So you’re looking at a sixty-one hour window,” stated Chris, shaking his head. “I’m guessing some people are going to lose their jobs over this.”

  “Secur-Experts, the company in question, has already been replaced by another security firm,” Nick informed them. “As for the six guards on duty over the weekend, I’ve got cars out to go pick them up for a little chat. I just wanted to keep you guys in the loop since you probably don’t like having five pounds of plastique out there right when you’re expecting a terrorist cell to strike somewhere.”

  “We appreciate the info,” Jonathan replied. “Keep me posted of any developments.”

  “Will do,” Sharp agreed. “I’ll get back to you once we’ve interviewed these security guys. If anything seems remotely fishy, you might want to chat with some of them yourselves.”

  “We’re just a few blocks away so call if you think we should,” said Jonathan. “Thanks, Nick.”

  “Do you think there’s a link with our guys?” asked Chris once the call was terminated.

  “I find the timing of it all is pretty damned scary,” Jon replied, “And it’s not like we’re flooded with bombings in this country so it’s one hell of a coincidence if that’s what it actually is.”