The Assassin's list

by Scott Matthews

  He hadn’t tried to impress her in any way. She was used to the effect her looks had on men, especially when she was flashing her DHS credentials. Drake hardly seemed to notice. He just made sure she understood what had happened on his farm.

  Fascinating, she thought, as she settled back in her seat beside Mason in the lead Suburban. She had a job to do, but if getting to know Adam Drake was part of it, well then, that was just a plus.

  Chapter 20

  Kaamil stood in the dark, looking down at the lights along the street below that wound through the office park. It was the quiet hour before sunrise. He had spent the night in his office after leaving the house where his three jihadists were preparing to go after the attorney. The three were among the first group of ten trained at their facility east of Mount Hood. Each had proven to be proficient with the weapons they were provided, from knives to rocket-propelled grenades. There was no reason they should have had any trouble killing one attorney asleep in his farmhouse.

  But something was wrong. They should have called as soon as the man was dead. A slight delay might be expected, but not a delay of two hours. Kaamil felt the creeping dread of failure swirl around him, like fog rising at sunset.

  His cleanup team handled the security chief at Martin Research without a problem, and he expected this team to dispose of the attorney just as easily. If they were arrested, they had the number of an attorney who would immediately notify him. If the mission had to be called off for some reason, they were instructed to call before turning back. None of these things had happened. None of them.

  Kaamil took a deep breath and turned back to his desk. He sat down and began another encrypted email to Malik.

  The men I sent after the attorney haven’t returned. They haven’t contacted me and I fear they won’t. What do you suggest? K

  Twenty minutes after he hit send, his screen signaled a message.

  These men must not be traced back to us. Find out what happened and where they are. If they aren’t dead, make sure they are. If they are dead, create a diversion. Call our friends and have them protest Muslim discrimination, profiling and police abuse of deadly force. Turn up the heat and the media will do the work for us. We only need less than a week without interference. Use the fear of bad publicity to slow the police down. M

  Kaamil pulled up the list of friends Malik referred to, and began a series of calls. By the time the morning commute was over, there would be an outcry from the Muslim community about three brothers who were missing. The media would pick it up in time for the evening news, and would make the weekend a busy one for every law enforcement agency eager to prove they weren’t responsible.

  Once again, Kaamil marveled at the wisdom of their leader.

  Chapter 21

  Drake woke, after three hours of sleep, and headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Most of what he’d brewed the night before was still in the pot. After two minutes in the microwave, it almost tasted fresh. He added a splash of milk and sat down at the counter to think.

  He’d replayed the night in his mind over and over again, from the moment Lancer alerted him to the moment when the Secret Service left. It wasn’t the three men he killed that had troubled his sleep. It was the unknown person who sent them that kept his mind racing through the night.

  That and the anger he felt at the return of violence to his life. He had walked away from it in disgust after politics took over the war in Iraq. Now it had returned, uninvited. Tonight had been about reacting, a response learned from experience, and he didn’t regret what he had done. They just picked on the wrong guy. What bothered him most was knowing it wasn’t over, and that he couldn’t walk away from it this time. It wasn’t going to leave him alone until he put a stop to it.

  Which meant he had to find out who killed Richard Martin’s secretary. If he found her killer, he would also find out why someone wanted him dead. The only lead he had was ISIS and its manager. He would just have to keep an eye on them, especially the manager.

  After a shower and shave, Drake dressed in his casual best-jeans, dark blue T-shirt and his favorite Nikes. He reloaded his.45, threw two spare clips in his gym bag, along with half a dozen protein bars, two liters of bottled water and a pair of old Zeiss binoculars. On the way out, he made sure Lancer had food and water for the day, and left for town in Kay’s Land Rover LR3. If they were watching for his Porsche, her white Land Rover wouldn’t attract their attention.

  It took him almost forty-five minutes through morning traffic to reach the office park across SW Meadows Road from the ISIS office building. He found a parking spot with a clear view of the underground parking entrance and exit for the ISIS building, and settled back to watch. It was something he had done many times before.

  For an extraction or targeted killing, he and his team would spend weeks watching their target before they made their final plans. In the Middle East, they often watched from a distance, sometimes as far away as half a mile. In Europe, they were able to set up surveillance much closer, being able to blend into the environment. It had been much the same in Central and South America. But the watching was always the same, learning the movements of their target, the comings and goings of the people around him, the routines they followed. Some of the time there were unexpected occurrences, and plans had to be adjusted. But they usually knew enough to know how the target would react to the unexpected.

  This time, Drake didn’t know anything about his target, if that’s what he was, and didn’t have a clue about his routine. All he had was a hunch that the ISIS manager, or his company, was somehow involved. Drake watched as cars started driving into the underground parking lot of the ISIS building. Just before the cars turned to descend the ramp, Drake had a full frontal view of the car’s passengers. Through the Zeiss lens, he could clearly see the face of each person. So far, he didn’t recognize any of them.

  Just before 9:00 a.m., two black Suburbans turned into the parking lot and headed toward the underground parking ramp. Drake sat taller as he focused on the driver of each SUV. None of the men looked familiar, although the Suburbans were identical to the Suburban that came to his farm, minus the gold ISIS logo.

  By 10:00 a.m., Drake still hadn’t seen the black Mercedes SLS roadster he thought the ISIS manager was driving. The roadster had been parked in the only reserved spot, and had to belong to Kaamil. He was the only one Drake had met with an ego big enough to drive the powerful and expensive car. If anyone was going to show him what ISIS was up to, it would be its manager.

  Drake was so caught up with his surveillance of ISIS that he almost forgot to let his secretary know where he was. With one hand, he scrolled to his office number and called Margo.

  “I didn’t want you to worry, but I may not be coming in today. I’m looking into the security company Martin Research uses. Not sure how long I’m going to be tied up. If you need to reach me, though, I’ll be available.”

  “This is a new pattern, you not coming in, and calling me after the fact. Does this have something to do with that goon waiting outside yesterday?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. I had some trouble at the farm last night. It might be better if you didn’t go out a lot until I get back. Let Paul know you’re alone in the office today. I’ll explain when I get back. If you get a call from Detective Carson, or a Liz Strobel, from the Department of Homeland Security, give them my cell phone number. Otherwise, just take a message on the rest of the calls. Tell them I’ll call them back next week.”

  “What’s going on, Adam? I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

  “Everything is going to be all right, Margo. Just make sure you know anyone you let in the office. Wait for me to report in. I should be finished with this by sometime this afternoon.”

  He hated making her worry, and he didn’t want to involve her any more than he had to. If the Secret Service couldn’t keep things quiet for a little longer, Margo would bear the brunt of the initial questioning. The less she knew the better. He didn’t think sh
e was in any danger, but if she had to be somewhere, she was safe in his office. The office had steel doors with electronic locks, both front and rear, and she could monitor the surveillance cameras.

  For now, all he could do was sit and watch. If ISIS was involved, someone was going to get nervous when their boys didn’t report. Maybe they would do something that would lead him to whoever was responsible for the murders.

  While he watched the ISIS building, he turned on the radio and took a bottle of water from his gym bag. It was going to be a long day. He settled back and turned on the news. What he heard made him sit up and crank up the volume.

  “KEX news has just learned that a crowd of Muslim protesters is rallying outside Portland police headquarters, protesting the disappearance of three young Muslim men after being detained by the police. The spokesman for the group, the imam of a local mosque, is claiming that the three young men were detained by the police and haven’t been heard from since. Portland Police Bureau spokesman, Brad Williams, told our reporter they don’t know anything about three Muslims being detained, for any reason. He said they definitely do not have any information about three Muslim men disappearing while in police custody. Williams said, however, they are looking into the allegations.”

  You smart SOBs, Drake thought. If you don’t know what’s happened to your men, get the media involved. Claim the police are responsible and let the police do the work for you. Since 9/11, no one wanted to be accused of discriminating against Muslims. Even if there was evidence the men he’d killed were terrorists and posed a threat to the Secretary of DHS, Strobel wouldn’t be able to hold off a police inquiry for long.

  He had less time now to find out what the hell was going on. It was almost 11:00 a.m. He hadn’t seen anyone of interest, coming or going into the ISIS building. He’d give it another hour, and then he would have to figure out another way to get inside ISIS.

  At 11:15 a.m., a black Suburban pulled out of the underground garage and turned east on SW Meadows Road toward Lake Oswego. Drake decided to let it go. It was just a hunch, but everything involving Martin Research was located to the west. He didn’t think Kaamil would drive one of the Suburbans when he could take his roadster. The black SLS was a driver’s car, and there was no reason to choose a glorified station wagon over a real car, if you had the choice.

  At the bottom of the hour, Drake watched the second black Suburban leave the parking garage and turn west. Just before it turned out of the ISIS lot, Drake caught a glimpse of the driver and decided to wait a little longer. The man behind the wheel was at least sixty and looked like an accountant, not someone Kaamil would send on an important errand.

  Just before noon, the black Mercedes roadster pulled to the top of the underground ramp, hesitated for a moment, then accelerated out onto the road in front of the ISIS building. It was Kaamil. Drake started the Land Rover and fell in two cars behind the black roadster as it turned west onto Kruse Way and then north onto I-5, headed into the city.

  The roadster maintained a steady speed through the Terwilliger curves and continued on toward downtown Portland. Part of him wanted to pull alongside, wave, and see how Kaamil reacted when he saw that Drake was alive. Instead, he followed at a distance to keep from being noticed.

  When they neared the Markham bridge crossing over the Willamette River, Drake allowed a couple of cars to cut in front of him. I-5 continued over the bridge, but the freeway also split left into the city center and onto I-405 toward Mount Saint Helens. If Kaamil didn’t want to be followed, all he had to do was wait until the last moment and swerve to the left or to the right up over the bridge.

  The roadster waited until the last moment, then crossed over into the right-hand lane, taking I-5 over the river. Drake followed, and watched a minute later when it took another right onto I-84, heading toward the airport.

  Traffic on I-84 was more congested than on I-5, and he had to pay more attention to his driving to make sure he wasn’t spotted. He maintained pace with the Mercedes, but changed lanes frequently, and accordioned the space between the two cars. Kaamil, however, continued at a steady sixty-five miles per hour in the middle lane. Before much longer, Drake knew he would either take the exit to the Portland International Airport or continue traveling east.

  When they reached the exit to the airport, Kaamil stayed on I-84. The freeway soon opened up and became a two-lane, winding speedway following the Columbia River up the gorge to Hood River. It was just the road for a car like the Mercedes SLS.

  Wherever Kaamil was going, Drake was committed to following him. One way or another, he had to know if Kaamil was the man who sent killers to his farm.

  Chapter 22

  Despite the opportunity to drive faster, the black roadster held to a steady seventy miles per hour. Drake hardly noticed the Columbia River as it sliced through towering cliffs on either side. It was the only river that cut through the Cascade mountain range and allowed passage to the Pacific. Its beauty was lost on Drake, however. He had slipped into the role of the hunter.

  When he was with Delta Force, he pursued the targets his government provided him, without question and without emotion. It had simply been his job. Now, he was pursuing someone and it wasn’t his job, and there was a lot of emotion.

  As he drove past the Cascade Locks and the Bridge of the Gods, two hundred yards behind Kaamil’s roadster, his vibrating cell phone startled him back to the moment.

  “Can I assume I won’t be seeing you later today?” Margo asked.

  “I’m sorry, I should have called. Something’s come up. Everything okay there?”

  “If you mean, do I have any more threatening men sitting around, the answer is no. Unless you count my husband, who’s mad as hell you didn’t let us know someone tried to kill you last night. Where are you?” she demanded.

  “Margo, you and Paul have every right to be angry. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything, as soon as I can, but I need to know how you heard about last night. Is Paul there?” he asked.

  “No, he isn’t. A friend of his from the FBI called and asked if we were okay. He asked if there had been any trouble at the office that we needed help with. He assumed we knew what was going on, since we might be in danger, living in the condo above your office and all. Good thing we have friends, don’t you think?” she asked.

  Her anger stung him, but he didn’t have the time to make amends.

  “I’m on I-84 in Kay’s Land Rover following the ISIS manager up the Columbia. I said I was sorry, and that’s all I can say right now,” he said, in a voice that didn’t invite a response. “If that woman from DHS calls, don’t tell her where I am. I don’t need any interference. Everything is going to be all right, I promise. I’ll call you when I’m headed back to town,” Drake said and ended the call.

  Everything will be all right, Drake thought, just as soon as I find the SOB who tried to have me killed.

  Kaamil was still holding to a steady seventy miles per hour as they passed Viento State Park, and then began to slow. Seven miles later, he slowed even more and pulled off I-84 into the small town of Hood River, self-proclaimed windsurfing capital of the world. Apples and pears had been the main staples of the local economy before the fierce winds blowing down the Columbia started drawing windsurfers from all over the world. The town was now dominated by board shops, restaurants and microbrew pubs. There weren’t many businesses, however, big enough to need a security firm like ISIS.

  Drake stayed a block behind Kaamil’s roadster when it turned left at the first intersection and drove down toward the river. Kaamil continued on, past a vast parking lot that served as a staging area for the windsurfers. Vans and SUVs with roof racks, and old Volkswagen campers were everywhere. Beyond them, a couple hundred colorful sails skimmed back and forth across the water. For a moment, Drake had the sinking feeling that maybe it was Kaamil’s day off, and he was here to meet someone for an afternoon of board sailing.

  Kaamil drove past the parking lot and pulled up in front of what lo
oked to be an old, abandoned warehouse. The warehouse was surrounded by a chain link fence topped by barbed wire, with a gate that appeared to be locked, blocking Kaamil’s entrance.

  Drake pulled to the curb just beyond the town’s riverside Expo Center and watched. Within a minute, a man dressed in a dark blue shirt with lettering above the left pocket, a dark blue baseball hat with matching lettering, and jeans hurried out and opened the gate. When Kaamil pulled through the gate, the short Hispanic man stood at attention with his head bowed, and then stayed at the gate as Kaamil drove in and stopped next to the building.

  When the guard stayed at the gate, Drake drove to the end of the street and made a U-turn that brought him back past the warehouse. He pulled into the parking lot of the Expo Center. He pulled out a map and looked over the top of it toward the warehouse. Moments later, Kaamil came out of the warehouse with another man and got into Kaamil’s car. For a second, Drake had the feeling he knew the other man. Thick black hair, stylishly trimmed, sunglasses, and a gold chain flashing at his throat, the man looked like a Latin movie star dressed in a denim shirt and blue jeans.

  There was one street leading away from the warehouse, and it ran right in front of the Expo Center parking lot. When Kaamil and the warehouse man drove past, Drake lowered the map and followed in the Land Rover. Up the hill to State Street, and then left on First Street, Kaamil drove slowly, looking for a parking spot.

  The light traffic in the small town and the two turns Kaamil had made left Drake only one car behind the black roadster. If Kaamil pulled into an open space, he would have no choice but to drive by to keep from being spotted. If that happened, he’d be lucky to find a space of his own close by.