“I’ll ask Liz to keep digging up anything she can on the American Muslim Youth Camp Foundation. The camp in West Virginia cost someone a pretty penny and it’s not the only camp they operate.”
“Would you like me to see if my favorite IT employee can come up with anything?” Casey asked.
“Mike, this could get messy. I don’t want you or your young hacker to get crossways with the feds over this.”
Casey huffed. “I doubt this foundation has security better than the Pentagon, or the IRS. He won’t get caught.”
“It’s your call, just be careful,” Drake warned. “There’s no need for you or your company to be tied up in a DOJ lawsuit for the next ten years.”
CHAPTER 28
Drake drove the rented white Tahoe to the French restaurant on Massachusetts Avenue to keep his dinner date. When he got there, he was surprised to find a parking spot on the street out front. He was early and looked around for her car, but he didn’t see it parked anywhere nearby. The place was, however, close to her Senate office, so he figured it was possible she walked and was inside.
With nightfall, the temperature dipped below freezing and he was glad he brought his black wool topcoat. He wore it over his black wool suit, with a white shirt and a red tie, and he was moderately warm by the time he crossed the wide sidewalk and outside patio area to reach the front door.
French cuisine wasn’t his favorite fare, but it wasn’t his choice. He checked his coat and asked if Ms. Strobel had arrived. When he was told she hadn’t, he followed the hostess to the adjacent bar and ordered a ten-year-old Eagle Rare Bourbon Whiskey.
The evening crowd waiting for their tables in the bar was a mix of couples out on a Saturday night and power players working hard to impress their guests. Drake had seen it all before, as smooth lobbyists were overly solicitous of their clients. Couples without huge expense accounts tried to relax as they anticipated spending more in a night than they’d spend on food in a week.
He focused on the amber liquid in his glass. It was a delicious whiskey, one that could become a favorite with its dry, spicy finish.
As he set his whiskey down and looked toward the hostess stand, he saw Liz walk in. The view was as nice as the whiskey. She had on a red three quarter length wool coat with a black feather-like scarf. When she was helped out of her coat, he saw she was wearing a short v-neck black sheath dress that allowed a glimpse of cleavage and leg. Her auburn blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and diamond stud earrings sparkled on her ears.
Drake waved and stood to seat her.
“Did you walk?” he asked when he noticed her bright pink cheeks.
“It was only a couple of blocks,” she said as Drake pulled out her chair. “I stopped by my office to see if my assistant had anything new for us about the youth foundation.”
When he leaned down to push her chair in, he smelled the fresh and flowery fragrance of her shampoo. “Would you like a cocktail or glass of wine until our table is ready?” he said close to her ear.
“A vodka gimlet would be nice,” she looked up and smiled.
Mohamed Hassan sat in the passenger seat of his cousin’s AMG Mercedes parked outside the French restaurant where the attorney from Oregon was having dinner. They’d followed him from his hotel
Mohamed’s smartphone was held to his ear, as he heard the attorney’s date telling him about the bottle of wine she was ordering for their dinner.
“Domaine du Pegau Chateauneuf-du-Pape is a Rhone region blend of reds I think you’ll like. It’s not a pinot, but try it.”
“Can you hear them?” Mark Hassan asked, watching Drake and the woman through a pair of binoculars as they sat at a window table in the Red Room of the Bistro Cacao.
“Perfectly,” Mohamed said. “The Q Bug you had the waiter slip into the fold of the drape behind the attorney allows me to hear them as if I’m standing at their table.”
The Q Bug was the world’s smallest voice transmitter. Its SIM card was activated when Mohamed sent it a text message and allowed him to listen to surrounding sounds over his cell phone.
“Has he said anything about visiting Jameel today?” Mark asked.
“Not yet, but be quiet,” Mohamed said.
Mohamed listened intently for fifteen minutes before the conversation turned to matters more interesting than how good the pistachio crust sea bass and the grilled hanger steak tasted.
“Did your research assistant find anything interesting about the American Muslim Youth Camp Foundation?” the attorney asked.
“We know the names of the board members and locations of the rest of their camps, but that’s all right now. They have more than 30 of these camps spread around the country, mostly in rural areas like the one we visited.”
“What about the kids they’re supposed to be working with? Who are they and where do they come from?”
“The foundation doesn’t list the identity of the kids who attend the camps, just that they come from the inner cities all around America. From the brochures the foundation puts out, most of them look like black, inner-city teenagers,” the woman said.
“The camp manager said they teach them skills they need to survive. I’d like to know if those skills include how to be a productive citizen rather than how to be a good little jihadist.”
“Adam!” the woman exclaimed.
“I’m just saying. The camp manager and his Black Panther look-alikes aren’t your usual camp counselors.”
Mohamed swore and turned to his cousin. “We have a problem. The attorney is suspicious of the camps.”
“Suspicious of what?”
Mohamed held up his hand for silence.
“If Mike’s up for it, I’d like to go back to West Virginia and take another look at that camp,” the attorney said.
“What could you see that we didn’t see today? I doubt that they’d give you a guided tour if you asked them.”
“Who says anything about asking them? Mike and I are pretty good at slipping in and out of places. We could drive there tomorrow night, see what there is to see and be back by breakfast Monday.”
Mohamed heard enough. “The attorney needs to learn that trespassing is a crime, punishable by death. Call Jameel, tell him to have his men prepared for two men sneaking onto camp property tomorrow night.”
After sharing dessert and a glass of sparkling wine, Drake was able to talk Liz into allowing him to pay for half of their dinner and drive her home.
When they pulled up to her high-rise condo building in Arlington, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Dinner was supposed to be on me. Next time, we’re eating in and I’ll cook. Call me tomorrow, especially if you and Mike are traveling back to West Virginia,” she said and got out.
As the doorman opened the door for her, she turned and waved.
Drake drove off, still feeling the lightness of her kiss on his cheek. Maybe Mike’s right about it being time to move on.
CHAPTER 29
By eight o’clock Sunday morning, the stolen white 1998 GMC step van was ready for the trip to Baltimore. Jameel Marcus would make one trip with it to pick up supplies for the youth camp and then continue on to New Jersey to shoot down another jetliner. Then it would be left at a salvage yard to be stripped for parts before being crushed as scrap metal.
The work on the van was completed the night before. The cargo space was now lined with infrared heat shielding sheets of polyurethane. They were alerted about the deployment of armed drones to protect the airports, as soon as their source confirmed the president’s plan, and stole a supply of the infrared heat shielding material. With their body heat signatures blocked from the infrared spying eyes of the drones flying above, he would have no trouble launching the missile undetected from inside the back of the van.
The problem was going to be leaving the scene undetected, once t
he missile was launched. While the drone operator wouldn’t be able to detect the firing of the missile, he could spot the launch and know where it had come from. For that reason, two recruits would follow the van in two separate cars to the launch site.
As soon as the missile was away, Marcus and his accomplice would split up. The van would be driven to the salvage yard. Marcus would be picked up in a rented car that would be returned to an Alamo Rent A Car lot at the Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C., on Monday. Every detail was carefully planned, each element was in place.
Marcus was more worried about the two men planning on coming to the camp that night. He planned a reception for them and went over the plan with his two best men twice the night before. He needed to make sure they clearly understood their orders before he left.
Kareem and Rashid stood at ease in front of his desk. Both wore green jungle camo, black combat boots, and black berets. They would each carry a folding stock AK-74 with a 30 round magazine and a holstered Beretta 92F when they hunted for the intruders that night. Each man would lead a six-man squad similarly equipped.
“If these men set foot on this camp, anywhere on our 270 acres, I want them,” he said as he pointed to a map of the camp on the top of his desk. “They will probably park somewhere off the road from Romney, somewhere along here or here. Put lookouts here and here. Capture them, do not shoot them, and bring them to the barn. I will deal with them when I return.”
“And if they fire at us?” Kareem asked, wanting to confirm his authority despite having heard the plan before.
“Make sure you’re not hit. I need you to keep them alive to find out how much they know.”
“What should we tell the younger ones?” Rashid asked.
“Tell them they’re cops who must be dealt with,” Marcus directed. “That’s all they need to know for now.”
“Can we begin interrogating them a little until you return?” Kareem asked. “It might be hard to keep the young ones happy if we don’t.”
“You tell them to be patient. They’ll get to watch and learn. Now, walk with me to the van. It’s time for me to leave.”
Marcus walked out of his office ahead of his two lieutenants and crossed the field to the shop where the white van was idling. Since it had been stolen in Pittsburgh, the recruits repainted it white, changed the Pennsylvania license plates to New Jersey plates taken from a repair shop in Maryland, and added signage that identified it as belonging to a nonexistent produce company in southern Virginia.
The back of the van was loaded with crates of cabbage, cauliflower and kale purchased from nearby farms. One row of kale crates nearest the cab of the van concealed their weapons and the Russian SA-24 shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missile he would use.
Seeing that the crates were stored as he had directed, he pulled down the rear door of the step van and locked it before climbing in beside his driver and waving him on. There were 244 miles ahead of them, first on I-70 to Baltimore and then I-95 to Philadelphia. He needed to arrive well ahead of the scheduled departure of a Delta Boeing 767 leaving for John F. Kennedy International Airport.
As the white van left the camp, Marcus settled back in his seat and began visualizing the jetliner as it accelerated down the runway across the Delaware River. His driver would act as his spotter and tell him when to be ready to stand in the open rear of the van and fire. The infrared heat shielding they installed would keep the drone from seeing him before he fired. He ran through all of the components in his mind, seeing himself performing each act. When the missile was away; drop the launch tube, exit the van, and jump in one of the two escape cars parked beside the van. It would be the moment he trained for in Pakistan, the moment he lived for all his life. It would be his act of loving devotion to the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him.
CHAPTER 30
After an energizing workout in the hotel’s fitness center and quick showers, Drake and Casey were having breakfast and sorting out the week ahead.
Drake watched as his friend slathered his toast with butter and strawberry jam. “What are the plans for Congressman Rodecker?” he asked.
“He’s making some calls. He doesn’t want to impose on any of his colleagues, but staying in his office like he’s been doing isn’t going to work.”
“How long before he’s back to work?” Drake asked.
Casey finished swallowing a chunk of his toast and said, “His doctor says two to three weeks. He says one week, max.”
“I can still ask the Senator if he could stay with him for a week. It would make it easy for your team to keep him safe at his house.”
“Sure, go ahead and ask him,” Casey said.
Drake asked a passing waitress for another glass of orange juice. “Pretty gutsy for the president to open the airports before he catches the terrorists. I wouldn’t fly commercial now, unless I knew they were in custody.”
“He doesn’t have a choice, Adam. The cost of closing the airports for the last four days has to be tremendous.”
When Drake finished the last of his omelet, Casey set his coffee cup down and leaned forward on his elbows across the table. “It’s time for all the details, buddy. How was your date with Liz?”
“Mike, give it a rest, will you? She invited me to dinner. It was nice. I took her home.”
“And then?”
“Like I said, it was nice. The dinner,” Drake said, with a big smile. “How was your night?”
“I will find out, you know,” Casey promised. “I can have Kevin hack into the security cameras at her place, and know exactly when you entered and left her condo.”
“How’d you know it was a condo?”
It was Casey’s turn to smile. “Ve haf our vays, Capitan.”
Drake knew he was bluffing, but laughed anyway. “Since you think I’m having all the fun, want to join me tonight for a quick trip to West Virginia?”
“The youth camp?”
“Exactly! We were greeted by four young men, not boys, who were trying hard to look menacing. The camp manager looked like a prison felon who converted to Islam in prison with his prison tats. He reminded me of those guys we dealt with in Portland last year. He didn’t exactly give us a warm welcome, and virtually no information. Besides, he had diamond studs in both ears.”
Drake waited for the light to go on.
“Like the guy Congressman Rodecker described who attacked him?”
“Exactly like that guy,” Drake affirmed.
Casey sat back in his chair and rested his chin on steepled fingers. “It fits, I guess. Rodecker interferes with their plans for the Oregon camp and they send him a message about that and for opposing Boykin’s bill”
“I have a hunch there’s more to it than that. I just don’t know what else. That’s why we need to find out what it is.”
“When do we go?”
“Tonight,” Drake said, “if you’re up for it. We’ll leave at nine, get there by midnight, go have a look around and be back by sunrise,” Drake said.
“Will we need some of the stuff I have on the Gulfstream?”
“I don’t know what to expect, so let’s go in heavy. Bring my Kimber I left on the plane,” Drake said. “Bring something more robust for you, night vision and whatever tactical com setup your guys use. I don’t plan on running into anyone, but you never know.”
“Okay then,” Casey said. “I’ll make a run to the airport this afternoon and grab our stuff. Where will you be?”
“I need to check in with my office and see how Paul’s doing. He had his prostatectomy Thursday and should be home from the hospital by now. And I think I’ll pay my father-in-law a quick visit this afternoon, and see if he’s heard anything that could be helpful. Let’s meet back here for dinner, say seven?”
“Seven it is.”
Drake signed for their breakfasts and returned to their room, while Casey
drove to the hospital to check in with his protection team guarding Congressman Rodecker. It was 9:00 a.m. in Washington, but 6:00 a.m. in Oregon. He knew his secretary would be with her husband, either at the hospital or at home.
He reached her at home. “Margo, how is Paul doing? Sorry I haven’t called sooner.”
“He’s home and sleeping. He’s fine, just a little tired. They did the robot-assisted surgery, removed some lymph nodes for testing, as well as his prostate. He’s having a fit about having to have a catheter in for the next week or so, but they think they got everything. We’ll know when the test results come back.”
“That’s great, Margo, that’s great. Sorry Paul had to go through this.”
“So is he. When do you think you’ll be back?”
“Another couple of days,” he said. “I met the lawyer handling the offer on our client’s ranch and want to check some things out before I head back. Call me when you get the test results, and don’t worry about things in the office. We’ll get caught up as soon as I get home.”
After he made sure she wasn’t worrying about work in the office, and that their health insurance carrier was taking care of everything involved with her husband’s cancer surgery, he hung up and called his father-in-law.
Senator Hazelton was just leaving for church, but invited him to join them for brunch afterwards. There were things the Senate Intelligence Committee was hearing that Drake needed to know.
CHAPTER 31
Drake found his in-laws sitting at a table, away from the tall windows of The Lafayette Bistro in the historic Hay-Adams hotel. Seating by the windows offered the best view across Lafayette Square to the White House. The tables across from the windows, however, offered more privacy for serious conversations that frequently occurred there.
Senator Hazelton and his wife, Meredith, were there for Sunday brunch and some time with their son-in-law.
Drake leaned down and kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek before sitting beside her and opposite the senator. “This is a nice surprise. How was church?” he asked.
Call It Treason (The Adam Drake series Book 4) Page 10
