Chapter Twenty-six

 

 

Ten miles south of Jasper

Alberta, Canada

August 15, 5:45 p.m.

 

Ahmed tightened his hands around the steering wheel and peered through the windshield at the firs, pines, and cedars walling both sides of the narrow two-lane road. The bright sun was still up in the sky, and once in a while its glaring rays would hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment. He had lowered the Toyota’s visor, but it did not help much. A couple of miles back they had almost hit a deer that had jumped out of nowhere right in front of the car.

Yousef was sitting in the front passenger seat. He had said very little since they landed in Calgary earlier that afternoon. They both could not believe how easy it had been to pass through security undetected, even after the two safe houses in Ottawa had been raided by the authorities. Ahmed and Yousef had reluctantly decided to abandon their plan of attack at the hockey arena after Sheikh Al-Ghalib had been ambushed and killed in Yemen. Along with the loss of the safe houses, the bomb makers, and the bombs, it only made sense to leave the city.

But Ahmed did not want to admit defeat. He refused Yousef’s plan to sneak into the United States and hide with their brethren in Detroit or New York. Ahmed wanted to deal a blow, albeit not as strong and powerful as their initial plan, to Canadians. He did not want to go out without a fight, without at least a parting shot. So he forced Yousef to fly to Calgary with him. One of their trusted associates had driven from Edmonton and had brought them the car along with a couple of AKs, four Glock pistols, and plenty of ammunition. Now Ahmed and Yousef were heading to Maligne Canyon, one of the famous tourist stops in Jasper National Park. Ahmed had scouted the area on the Internet before they left Ottawa, and he was convinced it was an easy hit. The area was remote, yet teeming with tourists, as thousands of people visited the canyon and its falls every day. But it had no visible police presence.

They came to a fork in the road, and Ahmed looked at the signs. No mention of Maligne Canyon. Ahmed tipped his head toward Yousef. “Check the map. Where is the canyon?”

Yousef dug the map out of the glove compartment. He unfolded it and fumbled with it for a few moments. He made some calculations, then shook his head. “I think we’ve gone too far and in the wrong direction. We need to turn around.”

Ahmed cursed and glanced at the dashboard clock. He wanted to reach the canyon before evening, before most of the crowds had left for the day. “How far away are we?”

Yousef’s eyes were glued to the map. “Not too far. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”

Ahmed cursed again. He drove onto the grassy shoulder on the side of the road and made a quick turn. The Toyota’s tires spun. Ahmed hit the gas, and they headed back. “We’ll open fire as soon as we get to the parking lot.” He handed Yousef a flier they had received when they had entered Jasper National Park. “Kill as many people as you can. Don’t spare anyone. Women, children, kill them all. No mercy. Got it?”

Yousef locked eyes with Ahmed. “Yes, I’ve got it. Shoot to kill,” he replied after only a split second of hesitation.

“And if Allah is guiding our hands, we might even find some Americans among the crowds. And kill them like dogs.”

Ahmed stepped on the gas, impatient to reach their destination.

* * *

 

The CIA’s Gulfstream 650 landed at the Jasper Airport’s grass airstrip with a slight thud. Justin was standing near the exit, eager to jump out of the plane as soon as the flight attendant opened the door. The plane had been rerouted to Jasper after McClain’s call. The CIS had connected one of the numbers found on the sheikh’s phone to an address belonging to Bilal Khouri. Internet chatter and Twitter accounts had described Bilal as Ahmed’s new right-hand man. CIS agents had stormed Bilal’s apartment, and soon thereafter—in the hands of capable interrogators—he had confessed to Plan B and had identified Maligne Canyon as the target of Ahmed and Yousef.

The airplane finally came to a rolling stop, and the flight attendant swung the door outwards. Justin hurried down the stairs, followed by Carrie. They dashed toward a white Ford SUV one of the sheriffs had obtained for them. Undercover RCMP teams had already been dispatched to the area, and Justin hoped they would be able to nab Ahmed and Yousef before they went on their shooting rampage.

Carrie slid behind the wheel of the SUV. They barreled out of the airstrip; the wheels kicked gravel and dirt as Carrie slammed pedal to the metal. Justin readied his assault rifle, its barrel slightly jutting out of the open window. He checked his chest rig for ammunition, then cast a glance at Carrie.

“We’ll be there on time,” she said. “The sheriff had no news about shots fired or any other incidents. They haven’t attacked yet.”

Justin nodded, yet hammered his fingers nervously along the edge of the dashboard.

Carrie turned onto Yellowhead Highway and kept her foot on the gas. The SUV was now flying at eighty miles an hour, much faster than the posted maximum speed limit. She swerved around a bus, crossing into the other lane. But a truck was zooming from the other direction, so Carrie hit the brakes and eased back behind the bus. As the truck raced past them, she tried again, gaining on the bus and swinging right in front of it. The bus driver blasted his horn. Undeterred, Carrie stepped on the gas as the SUV arrowed toward their destination.

 

* * *

 

The gray Toyota pulled into the almost full parking lot of Maligne Canyon. Ahmed grinned with satisfaction that the area was still crawling with infidels waiting for their punishment. His eyes flicked around, as he scouted for the most vulnerable target with which to start the killing spree. His eyes zeroed on an elderly couple. The woman was pushing a walker, while the man was following slowly, to her side. What are these cripples doing on a mountain?

Ahmed found a parking spot behind a Rockies Travel tour bus. “The cripples are the first to go. I’ve got them,” he told Yousef and stopped the car. Then Ahmed pointed at a van to their left. A group of three men were unloading folding chairs and a cooler from the vehicle. “You take care of them. Kill all three of them and don’t spare the bullets. We have hundreds of rounds.”

Yousef nodded. “Allah will guide us,” he said in a low voice.

Ahmed peered at Yousef. “You don’t sound convinced. Are you having doubts?”

“No, no doubts.”

“Well, then let’s get it done.”

He stepped out of the car and pulled one of the chest rigs from the black duffel bag on the backseat. He put it on and then took one of the AK assault rifles. He cocked it and nodded at Yousef, who was arming himself on the other side of the car. “Allahu akbar.”

“Yes, Allahu akbar,” Yousef replied.

Ahmed stood up and raised his AK high in the air. “Allahu akbar, allahu akbar,” he shouted as he walked with steady heavy steps across the parking lot.

The men standing near the van took notice of Ahmed. Startled, one of them began to pull out a phone. Ahmed ignored them. Instead, he leveled the rifle on the old man’s back. “Go to hell,” he hollered and pulled the trigger.

The long barrage cut through the elderly couple. Both the woman and the man fell on the grassy patch near the side of the road.

“Police, drop your weapon!” a tall young man called at Ahmed from his left side.

Ahmed did not flinch and did not stop. He turned his rifle toward the young man and squeezed the trigger. The volley struck the young man in his chest and legs.

Someone shouted from the right side. “Hey, what the—”

His words were silenced by a long barrage. Yousef had overcome any uncertainty about their plan.

Ahmed thanked Allah and turned his rifle toward a group of teenagers running along the wooden fence separating the parking lot from the forest. He struck one in the chest and in the head, but the other three were able to mount the fence and drop on the other side. Ahmed cursed, then swung his rifle to the right. A couple of women cowered behind a red SUV. He fired a quick burst that pierced the SUV’s windows.

A series of individual shots followed by a long barrage came from behind him. Ahmed nodded and grinned. He recognized the hollow clicks of Yousef’s AK.

“Take this, you infidels,” Ahmed fired a long barrage at a few people who had been able to crawl behind a couple of black cars. Their windows exploded and one of the women began to twitch and shudder. Ahmed pulled the trigger, sending another volley into her, until she stopped moving.

He looked around. No more targets in the parking lot. He reloaded his rifle and scanned the nearest cars, looking for someone stupid enough to pop out or dash in panic. As he waited for Yousef, more gunshots echoed from the other side of the parking lot.

Ahmed froze. The gunshots did not sound like Yousef’s AK rifle. They were of a different weapon. Not a Glock pistol, but another assault rifle. Another police officer?

Ahmed fell behind the large rocks near the bus drop-off zone at the far end of the parking lot. He studied the vehicles in front of him. No one was walking or running around, but Yousef also was nowhere to be found. Yousef, where are you? What happened?

 

* * *

 

Justin slid out of the SUV before Carrie had even finished parking, just as a long barrage thundered from the opposite side of the parking lot. He recognized it as an AK assault rifle, the favorite terrorist weapon worldwide. He cursed Mikhail Kalashnikov, the Russian inventor of the infamous rifle, then he cursed Ahmed and his partner.

Justin bolted through the parking lot in the direction of the shots. “Get down, get down and stay down,” he shouted at several people he zipped by as he skirted the parked cars, looking for the shooters.

Carrie was just a few steps behind him. “Where are they?”

“Don’t see them yet,” Justin replied.

He ran alongside an RV trailer, holding his C8SFW assault rifle in front of him and pointing it to the left and to the right. Justin came to a cleared space between four motorcycles and saw a gunman brandishing an AK at two men lying face down on the ground. They were pleading with him, begging the gunman not to kill them. The gunman was shouting back, demanding they stop crying and die like men.

Justin hid behind the first motorcycle. He aimed his rifle at the gunman but did not fire. Because of the angle and the way the gunman was standing, Justin’s round might hit the hostages. He dashed to his right, toward a better position near a pink sedan, when the gunman turned his head. Justin recognized him as Yousef Tawfeek.

Yousef fired at Justin, who dove onto the ground. Bullets pinged off the asphalt and struck the sedan. When he rolled behind the sedan, Justin aimed his rifle, but Yousef was gone.

The hostages broke into a sprint and disappeared behind a couple of vans. Justin moved to the other side of the sedan. Yousef materialized about thirty yards away, behind a blue truck, and fired a quick burst. His bullets thumped against the side of the sedan, shattering its windows.

Justin crawled to the next vehicle, a windowless van, and tried to come around the other side. But Yousef had anticipated Justin’s move. As he peered around the back, Justin was met with another volley. A couple of rounds struck the rear wheel of the van; others stitched a line about a foot over his head.

He returned fire, but he was off target. Still, his burst sent Yousef seeking cover behind the nearest car. Justin dashed forward. He advanced to another car, and another, gaining on Yousef, flanking him from the left.

Yousef appeared in front of the blue truck. He looked around, his AK extended in front of him. Justin aimed his rifle and fired a single round. It struck Yousef in the right side of his body, and he toppled to the ground.

Justin rushed to Yousef. He was trying to pick up his rifle and get back to his feet. “Stop! Don’t move!” Justin kicked away the AK under the nearest car, then jammed his rifle’s muzzle onto Yousef’s chest.

Yousef stopped writhing and gazed up at Justin.

“Where’s Ahmed?” Justin asked.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Justin leaned on the butt of his rifle. “I hate liars. Where is he?”

Yousef swallowed hard. “I want . . . protection. Ahmed will kill me.”

“I will kill you if you don’t tell me where he went.” Justin pressed his rifle’s muzzle hard against Yousef’s forehead.

“Trust me, he’ll do it,” Carrie said as she also pointed her rifle at Yousef. She had just arrived and stood a few feet behind, watching Justin’s back. “I’ve seen him kill many jihadists before.”

Yousef tried to shake his head, but the muzzle had pinned him down. “No, you can’t. I’ve surrendered.”

“He’ll kill you, and I’ll testify that it was self-defense,” Carrie said. “You’ll die; he’ll get a medal.”

Yousef’s eyes flipped between Justin and Carrie. He seemed unsure about his next move. He gaped, closed his eyes, then swallowed hard and said, “Okay, okay. Ahmed is going down to the canyon. He’s at the other side of the parking lot, waiting for me. We were going to take Trail 7 to the 1st Bridge and shoot everyone.”

“That’s your plan? To kill everyone in sight?”

“Yes, yes, that’s it.” Yousef nodded.

“No explosives?” Justin asked.

“No, no bombs.”

“And Ahmed is alone?” Carrie asked.

“Yes, well, he’s with me.”

“So, he’s alone.” Carrie grinned.

“Cuff him. I’ll go after Ahmed,” Justin said.

“Got it.” Carrie nodded.

He ran bent at the waist to the edge of the parking lot, then climbed over the fence and cut through the thicket. Justin figured Ahmed would have heard the gunfire exchange or realized something had gone wrong, since Yousef was not at the meeting point. Still, Justin cast a sweeping gaze as he raced past the end of the parking lot. He searched behind the large cluster of decorative rocks and the wooden information booth, then glanced at the edge of the forest.

An AK rifle burst coming from the left told him that Ahmed was already on the trail. The gunfire was followed by a series of screams, then another round of continuous bursts.

Ahmed was already on his killing rampage.

Justin tore through the forest, ignoring the spruce and pine branches cutting into his face and his arms. He vaulted over another wooden fence and crossed through one of the restricted areas. Justin came dangerously close to the steep edge of the river and heard the roar of the rushing waters. Then he noticed a commotion near the 1st Bridge. Loud shouts, followed by screams and two quick bursts.

He fired up in the air to draw Ahmed’s attention, then leapt over the black chain-link fence. A few people were crouched near the bridge. Others were lying on the trail and throughout the area. One man had a large wound in his back. Two women were writhing by the rocks on the side of the trail. Justin wished he could help them, but stopping at this moment meant Ahmed’s rampage would claim more victims.

Justin crossed the 1st Bridge as water sprayed his face and continued running down the path. He watched his step, trying not to trip or slide on the uneven terrain, full of jutting rocks, slippery surfaces, and tree roots. The spray from the canyon’s waters had veiled his eyes. He blinked and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, but did not stop.

Another long burst came from below. This one was directed at Justin. Bullets stripped the bark off a couple of trees around him and broke a few branches. He fell on the ground, seeking cover behind the closest cedars.

He peered over a couple of rocks, then crawled to his left. The new vantage point offered a broader horizon, but Ahmed was still out of sight.

Justin moved forward and to the left in a low crawl. Once he’d gained about ten feet, he noticed movement down on the trail. Ahmed was crouched near a gray wooden bench and partially sheltered behind a thick fir at the edge of the narrow trail. He was holding down a young woman by the neck as his hostage.

Justin aligned his scope’s crosshairs with the four-inch area of Ahmed’s exposed head. But before Justin could fire the deadly shot, Ahmed moved back. He pulled himself and the woman up to their feet and squeezed off a couple of rounds at Justin. They were off target and struck branches several feet away from him. But his advantage of surprise had vanished.

Not waiting for another barrage, Justin stood up. He kept his rifle trained on Ahmed at all times. But the bastard kept his head behind the woman’s, and when he peeked it was only for a split second. Because of the distance—about thirty yards—and the constant movement, Justin was uncertain he could plant his bullet in Ahmed’s head.

“Put down your rifle,” Ahmed shouted. “Or the infidel dies.”

Justin took a few steps, closing the distance. “How about you let her go first?”

“Throw your gun away or I’ll kill her.”

“Let her go and we can handle this like real men.”

“Stop! Don’t come any closer. And for the last time, drop your rifle.”

Justin stopped and raised his rifle about an inch. The crosshairs were now completely aligned with the woman’s head. Ahmed’s pistol barrel was also visible. He was pressing it against the woman’s neck. But the image bobbed in and out of his crosshairs, as Ahmed moved to the side and ducked behind her.

“Let her go, Ahmed, and I promise not to kill you.”

“You can’t promise me anything but lies, as all infidels do.”

Justin’s fingers clenched tighter around the rifle. He felt sweat building on his palms and on his forehead. And his heart started to thump harder in his chest. “Ahmed, you don’t want it to end this way. Release the woman and—”

“That’s it, I’m blowing her head off.”

The woman struggled.

Ahmed pulled her back by her hair. The hand holding his pistol became visible for just a moment.

Justin pulled the trigger.

His bullet slammed into Ahmed’s hand, and his pistol fell to the ground.

The woman fought to escape Ahmed’s hold.

Justin fired again.

His bullet struck Ahmed’s right shoulder. He leaned against the fence and fell over it.

The woman screamed and collapsed to the ground. She clutched at her neck and struggled to catch her breath.

Justin ran toward the trail. He glanced at the woman. She was going to be traumatized for a while, perhaps have nightmares and flashbacks. Maybe she would need some counseling or professional mental help. But for the time being, she was out of danger, and she was going to be all right.

Ahmed was still beyond the fence. He was lying on his stomach. Then he began to crawl on the slippery shrubs. He seemed in shock and disoriented.

Justin slung his rifle around his shoulders, and carefully climbed to the other side. He was now about six feet away from Ahmed, who was drawing dangerously close to the edge of the canyon. The white, foamy waters rushed and crashed in the depths below.

“Ahmed, this way. Come this way.”

Ahmed lifted his head up, but did not turn around. A red-brownish stain appeared at the left side of his face. Perhaps he banged his head on a rock? Justin wondered.

He took a careful step, testing his foothold before shifting his body weight. “Ahmed, you’re going to fall to your death.”

Justin’s shout seemed to have brought Ahmed back to his senses. He stopped crawling toward the canyon and the fifty-foot drop. He lay there, gasping for air, then began to crawl backwards.

“Yes, come back, this way,” Justin said.

He moved to Ahmed’s right side to help pull him back.

As soon as Justin’s hand touched Ahmed, he recoiled. Then he spun around very abruptly. He swung his left arm, and his tight fist connected with Justin’s jaw.

The powerful blow knocked Justin on his back. He felt the slippery moss underneath his legs. He struggled for a firm handgrip, but found none. All he could touch were small shrubs moist with the canyon’s water spray. He glanced backwards at the chain-link fence. It was about a foot away from his arm’s reach.

Ahmed, lying next to Justin, began to push him toward the canyon.

Justin slid downward for a few inches. His feet hung over the canyon’s edge. He tried to gain a foothold, but the rock face was smooth.

Ahmed’s strong hands shoved Justin again. This time, he was expecting that move and was ready. He threw a strong left elbow that caught Ahmed on his wounded shoulder. Ahmed screamed in pain and withdrew his hand. Justin gripped Ahmed’s right arm and used it to wiggle upwards. He gained only a couple of inches, but that encouraged him to keep at it.

Justin reached again, but Ahmed responded with a hard blow. Justin turned his neck, and Ahmed’s fist barely missed Justin’s head. The motion of the blow caused Ahmed to roll downward. His feet were now hanging over the cliff.

He forgot about Justin for a moment and tried to dig his fingers into the shrubbery-sided rock. But his body slipped down another foot or so. The more Ahmed struggled, the further down he slid. He kept grappling at the tiny moist shrubs, pulling at them, but nothing worked.

Justin wanted to help Ahmed, but was worried the man’s thrashing would take them both down. Justin was barely hanging at the edge of the crag, clawing at the rock face with his fingernails.

“Help me, help me,” Ahmed said.

He scratched at the moss in a last attempt. But his bleeding fingers found no grip.

“Heeeeeeelp,” he screamed one last time.

Then Ahmed fell over the cliff, his cry muted by the canyon’s thundering rush of water.

Justin took a deep breath and held his clutched fingers in place. He tried to propel his body forward and felt like he’d gained an inch or two. He pushed again. This time, he was sure of his progress. He unclenched his right hand and slowly brushed it over the shrubs. He looked for a rock overhang jutting out of the ground. His fingers found one and he grabbed it.

He dragged his body upward another inch, and then another. Justin repeated the motion with his left hand, scraping the shrubs for another rock. He dug through a couple of inches of dirt, then his fingers caught on a sharp rock. Ignoring the pain, he tightened his muscles and advanced forward. His feet were no longer hanging over the edge of the canyon, but he was not out of danger yet.

Justin sighed and gave himself courage. You can do this. You will do this.

With another deep breath, he gained another inch.

And a second inch.

When he climbed a third one, the chain-link fence came within his grasp. Justin stretched his arm and his fingers, then thrust his shoulder forward and hooked his fingers through the links. He held on for a long moment as he caught his breath, then pulled himself forward. He grabbed the fence with the other hand and climbed to his knees.

He sighed and checked his jaw. Ahmed’s fist had cut his lip; Justin tasted blood. He took a couple of deep breaths, then scaled the fence. He dropped to the bench and glanced up ahead at the canyon and at the spot where just moments ago he had fought with Ahmed to the death. It could have been me going over the cliff. He wondered whether Ahmed died crashing against the jagged rocks as he plummeted down the fifty-foot drop or drowned in the whirlpool of rushing waters. The medical examiner will determine that when they autopsy his body. If they ever find his body.

Then his eyes fell on the other side of the bench. Someone had carved Pete was here on one of the wood boards. Justin grinned. Ahmed was here too, but just for a moment.

Justin rested for a few more seconds, then began the trek up the mountain back to the parking lot. He found Carrie kneeling over a young man and dressing his abdominal wound. Yousef was lying face down on the ground next to them, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. A group of onlookers had begun to form around them.

Carrie asked, “Where’s Ahmed?”

“Down into the canyon.”

“Lucky bastard. I wanted to blow his head off.”

“Sorry you never got the chance. Will he make it?” Justin pointed at the young man.

“Yes. I’ve called an ambulance, and they should be here at any moment.”

She finished with the young man and told him to stay put. Then she stood up and offered Justin a clean dressing for his cut. A second later, a dark frown fell across her face.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked.

“This way.” Carrie walked a few feet away to a grassy patch between the sections of the parking lot. They were out of Yousef’s earshot but still able to keep an eye on him if he decided to do something stupid.

“What’s wrong, Carrie?”

“There was a shootout in Ottawa,” Carrie said in a hesitant voice. “One of our teams raided a terrorist safe house. Anna was called in to help with the raid and—”

“No, no, don’t tell me—”

“I’m so sorry, Justin.” Carrie wrapped him in a tight embrace. “They tried . . . they tried so hard to save her.” She could not hold back her tears.

“No, no, no.” Justin shook his head.

A tear fell from his eyes. And another one. Then he began to sob uncontrollably, realizing that all his plans and his dreams of his life with Anna were gone.