The Assassin's List (28 page)

“Roger that. I’m tired of fighting these Gorge winds anyway.”

They left to a wave of middle-finger salutes from the crowd gathered below.

“We were a big hit. Kaamil’s laughing his ass off. He’s been a step ahead today, but now it’s our turn,” Drake said, staring straight ahead.

Mike flew them back to the chemical depot where they were briefed on the initial investigation of the attack.

Two soldiers had been killed defending the emergency center. Of the five attackers who were dead, only two were recognized at the depot. They were the two killed in the initial explosion at the VX bunker. The bunker bomber was a recent convert to Islam. Twenty years old and an Army reservist, he wore the explosive belt that damaged the bunker and killed the driver in his Humvee parked by the bunker’s door. The driver appeared to be an unwilling accomplice. His wife and four children were found shot to death in their home in Hermiston. No connection was found that linked them to the terrorists.

The three gunmen were imposters, with IDs that belonged to security guards at the depot. The real security guards, along with their families, were found murdered in their homes. Three husbands, three wives and eight children. The Army investigators were stunned by the extent of the violence involved in the attack on their facility.

Drake, however, recognized the terrorists’ indifference to life. He’d seen it before, in places where Islamic fanaticism flourished. Like the swords they were so fond of raising in their videos, they were created by their madrassas and imams for one thing, killing in the name of Allah.

From what the Army’s investigators had also learned, the initial blast in the bunker had not been successful in causing a release of the VX agent. They were investigating a false alarm caused by the Martin Research prototype monitoring system the depot had recently installed.

After debriefing and promising to be available whenever they were needed in the Army’s ongoing investigation, they were allowed to return to Portland.

Driving down I-84 along the Columbia in Mike’s Yukon, Drake tried to put himself in Kaamil’s shoes as he processed the events of the morning.

Kaamil failed to assassinate the Secretary and his father-in-law, which Drake believed was the goal of the attack at the depot. He escaped with a well-planned retreat, but wasn’t finished, Drake thought. Whoever had planned an attack like this wasn’t going to stop just because a few pawns were sacrificed.

“Mike, I have a feeling this isn’t over. It’s too big a plan for them to give up now. These guys pray to die for Allah, and there’s one too many still alive for my liking. Can you stay on for a day or so?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China, as the saying goes, even though India’s the leading tea producer in the world,” he said, glad to break the silence. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Kaamil will try again. If I were planning this, I’d try sooner rather than later. He lives here, has resources here, and he’ll regroup and hit us when we least expect it. Tonight or tomorrow would be my guess. Can you get us some backup?” Drake asked.

“It’s two in the afternoon. I’ll call in some of my best guys. You’ll like them, but it’s going to cost you. The best Special Forces guys don’t come cheap, and I’ve got the best, hired for my executive protection division.”

“Don’t worry about it. Between my father-in-law, and his friend who got me into this, they’ll be good for it. I’m more concerned about what these assholes are up to, than who’s paying for your services.”

Drake called the Senator while Mike was on his cell to his office in Seattle. The Oregon State Police had escorted the Senator back to Portland by car before the DHS had arranged air transportation for the Secretary. Liz Strobel had thrown a fit, of course, but the FBI wouldn’t budge. Investigating a terrorist attack on a Cabinet member was their turf. They weren’t going to rush things. Besides, a photo op arranged for the Secretary at the Portland airport took a little time to put together.

The Senator wanted to know if Drake was available for dinner. The Secretary had agreed to take him up on his promise of a home-cooked meal and would be there. They both wanted to hear Drake’s take on the depot attack. Drake promised he’d be there for dinner.

“Mike,” Drake said when he’d ended the call, “I think we need your guys sooner than later. The Senator invited me to dinner at his home, and the Secretary will be a guest, seven o’clock tonight. I have no idea what security has been arranged, but I don’t want to take a chance. If your guys can get here before then, we can go over what the State Police have planned and what I know about the Senator’s home.”

“It’s what they live for, a little excitement now and then. They’re loading up now, they’ll be here by five p.m. at the latest. You want to stop and get something to eat? I’m starved.”

Drake had to laugh. Eating had always calmed Mike’s nerves after an operation, and it seemed little had changed. He could go for a day without eating, rethinking their actions and what might be required of them the next day. His friend needed to feed himself and sleep away the tension.

“You pick the place. I’ll drive the rest of the way home. Got a feeling I’ll be talking to myself after you’ve had a burger or two.”

Chapter 48

In the Spring Mountains northwest of Las Vegas, the leader Kaamil called Malik, aka David Barak, waited for a report that his strike against the Secretary of Homeland Security had been a success. As the afternoon wore on, the conviction that his protégé had failed darkened his mood, like a summer thunderstorm sweeping over his mountain retreat.

Maybe it was time to re-evaluate his plan to train inmate Muslim converts as assassins. The by-product of their assassinations could be the spark to start a race war in America, but only if they were successful. So far, they hadn’t been. He turned to his window and looked down the valley toward the city of Las Vegas. How could a country so venal, so vile, continue to escape Allah’s wrath, he wondered.

Of all his lieutenants, Kaamil had been the most gifted. His rage was malleable, easily forged, with an intense desire to kill. His tendency to act on his own and an inability to lead, alas, was proving worrisome. Barak had known about his drug venture with Roberto Valencia, of course, courtesy of Roberto’s father. He’d overlooked it because of his need to work closely with the Mexican mafia. That latitude had probably been a mistake.

His immediate concern was what he was going to do if Kaamil was captured. His mountain retreat was thirty-five miles north of Las Vegas, atop a ridge in the shadow of Mount Charleston. It was the perfect retreat from the city, with temperatures always twenty degrees cooler—a veritable oasis in the Nevada desert. There was only one way into the property, other than by helicopter, and that was by a private, paved road. It was three miles long and wound up through rocky cliffs from the county road below. If anyone came for him, he would be warned with plenty of time to retreat to his other sanctuaries.

The sixteen thousand square foot main building was designed to look like an alpine lodge. It had an eight-car garage on the lower level and two private floors above the first floor, where guests were entertained. Several outbuildings housed a staff of thirty-five, vehicles, and other necessary equipment. All in all, his retreat was, in fact, a small fortress.

The main floor of the lodge was designed for entertaining rich and influential Americans and Europeans, as well as his rich sponsors. With eight bedroom suites, each as lavish as any found in the casinos, a great room with an adjoining cantilevered deck that featured the distant night lights of Las Vegas, the place was spectacular. When guests weren’t being formally entertained, they had the use of a zero horizon pool, a spa, an attended exercise facility, a magnificent library, and a complete video and game room. Guests were always impressed with their accommodations.

His sponsors, however, had always been more impressed with the operations level, housed on the second floor of the lodge. Four main rooms were staffed around the clock by his secret army, all loyal ISIS employees.

One room housed his communication and surveillance equipment and staff. The second room was manned by those in charge of the facility’s security. The third room contained his off-the-books financial operation. The fourth room was his personal control room. From it, he could video conference with any of his offices or talk privately to his operatives anywhere around the world.

Safe in his control room, he knew Allah was proud of the power he had organized. He would not be pleased, however, that the infidel he’d targeted wasn’t dead.

Barak needed to hear his plan hadn’t failed, and he needed to hear it now. He turned on his heel and marched down the hall to the communications room. He ordered the on-duty communications operator to call the ranch in Hood River and tell them to report anything they were hearing about Kaamil’s operation.

Just to be safe, he also ordered his Sikorsky S-76D helicopter to be made ready for his immediate return to his office in Las Vegas. If Kaamil had failed or been captured, it wouldn’t be long before the government came looking for him.

Chapter 49

When the helicopter flew away from The Hatch, Kaamil left the bed and breakfast and drove himself back to Portland. His transportation was a 1988 Chevy One ton step van with Johnson Farms Fresh Produce stenciled on the sides. It was the van Roberto Valencia used to run drugs down the river into the city. It had never been stopped or searched, partly because Roberto had installed a governor that kept the van from doing more than sixty miles per hour and getting a ticket.

On the way, his first call was to an informant in the Portland Police Department. He learned extra security had been assigned around Senator Hazelton’s home, where it was rumored the Secretary of Homeland Security was dining. There was no indication the Secret Service would have command authority for the added security. His next call was to his backup team. He told them they would be working tonight and to meet him at the mosque.

In the quiet time during the slow drive along the Columbia River, he went over the plans he had made in case Malik’s plan at the depot failed. Circumstances had intervened to defeat them, but Allah was providing another opportunity, maybe even a better one. He would just have to make sure nothing intervened again. Overwhelming force would always overcome unexpected circumstances, especially if the overwhelming force wasn’t afraid of dying. That had always been their advantage, and it would be again.

Four hours after leaving his pursuer walking around the parking lot at The Hatch, Kaamil and four of his men solemnly entered the men only prayer hall of the mosque and prepared to say their afternoon prayers. Each of the four had cleansed himself before meeting Kaamil. Each understood the importance of performing their role with the pure and clean intention of pleasing Allah uppermost in their minds. In fact, it was what they had been training for, and dreaming of, since they had been recruited.

When their last prayers were finished, Kaamil led them out of the mosque to a catering van borrowed for the evening. It belonged to a well-known catering company that had used ISIS to screen its employees for an upcoming socialite’s home wedding.

The van had actually been more of a problem to steal than the weapons he had borrowed from the warehouse ISIS maintained in the city. He’d been able to supply each of his men with a HK Mark 23 .45 pistol with six twelve round clips and a M4A1 carbine with collapsible stock. Malik had purchased the weapons abroad for his international security service, and then had scattered some of them around the United States for the day they were needed. Today was such a day. No Secret Service detail would be able to stop them.

In case the Senator’s house was more secure than expected, however, Kaamil had two of the M4A1s equipped with M203 grenade launchers. One would carry a special surprise he would use himself.

He wasn’t planning a suicide mission. But if the body armor his men would wear didn’t get them into the Senator’s house to kill everyone there, he would do it himself. If he didn’t, he was probably a dead man anyway for failing Malik again.

The first step was securing a base to launch their attack, and he had just the place in mind.

Chapter 50

After Mike dropped him off at the Flightcraft terminal, Drake picked up his 993 and drove to his office. He didn’t have time to drive back to his farm, and he needed a shower and change of clothes before he met his father-in-law for dinner. Fortunately, both were available at his office.

He called Margo to make sure she didn’t hang around waiting for him.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You’re supposed to say Adam Drake law office, how may I help you, remember?”

“Caller ID, you’re stalling.”

“Save me some money and go home. I don’t want you involved until this is over.”

“Sorry, been with you too long not to be involved. What do you need?”

“A shower and change of clothes. I’m having dinner with the Senator, nothing you can help me with.”

“Paul called, was that you in the helicopter chasing that guy down the Columbia?”

“I went along for the ride, Mike flew the Black Hawk. Look, put a pot of coffee on and go home. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Everything is okay, really.”