Chapter 29
It was an hour before sunset when Barak felt the nose of the Gulfstream dip. The white snowcap on Mount Hood glowed pastel pink out the window as the plane banked to the left. When it straightened out for the runway below, Barak could see the nearby Columbia River off to the right. Pretty country, he thought, just the right place to teach America how ugly war is.
He had regional training facilities like this one in four other areas around the country. They were all legitimate training centers and respected members of their local business communities. They also secretly served as quarters for the finest assassins assembled under one banner in a thousand years. With ISIS offices around the globe, there wasn’t a person of significance anywhere in the world he couldn’t reach.
After twenty years, he had created a privately-held corporation worth a hundred times the twenty-five million he’d been given. His resources were as great as the armies of half the countries in the world. The best arms and munitions, a fleet of private jets, armored vehicles, state-of-the-art communication systems, his company had it all. But his plan didn’t rely on any of that.
One dedicated, well-trained assassin was all he needed to terrorize any nation he wanted. Blow up fifty people in a shopping mall and America would mourn for only a moment, just as Israel had learned to do. But kill the leaders and icons of a nation, and the white flag of surrender would be raised before the first funeral was held.
When his plane rolled to a stop at the west end of the runway, Barak saw that Kaamil and Roberto Valencia were standing next to one of the company’s black Suburbans. The sprawling ranch house he stayed in whenever he visited was only a short walk away, but he appreciated the respect their attention provided him.
“Kaamil, Roberto, I hope you have good news for me. Bad news spoils my appetite, and right now I am very hungry,” he said, as he stepped out of the plane. “Come, let’s relax and eat, you can tell me of your progress.”
When he was in the Suburban beside Kaamil, he remained silent. The silence would serve as fertile ground for nervousness to grow, which is what he intended. Kaamil had made mistakes, and he needed to know if there had been more. Calm men can tell lies, but men who are afraid tell you the truth. Both Kaamil and Roberto were afraid of him because he gave them reason to be. On separate occasions, in front of each of them, he’d shot one of their men for a mistake the man had made. Neither of them had the courage to tell him their men weren’t responsible for the mistakes.
Of his training facilities spread throughout America, this ranch was his favorite. The mighty river and the vast gorge it ran through were spectacular. Something about the majestic mountain that seemed to hover over the ranch made him relax. It would be a pity if he could no longer come here, he thought.
After Kaamil pulled up in front of the ranch house, Barak led them in past the massive river rock fireplace to the game room. He called it the game room because it had a bar, a small fireplace, leather chairs and a poker table. The scent of good cigars permeated the knotty pine paneling. It was easy to imagine neighboring ranchers sitting around the poker table drinking whiskey and swapping tales. It was the only room in the ranch house he hadn’t remodeled.
Barak took a new bottle of Herradura Anejo tequila off the shelf behind the bar and poured two fingers in each of three crystal tumblers he set on the bar.
“Join me, gentlemen, in a toast to our success. While we eat, you will tell me what a fantastic job you are doing. But allow me to relax a little first.”
He saw that both men were still nervous, Roberto more than Kaamil.
“So, Roberto, how are you finding life in this little paradise by the river? Have you found the women here satisfactory?” he asked. He knew from his investigation of the man that young girls were his weakness.
“Girls seem surprised when the goods they offer find a taker,” Roberto said, with a small smile. “They wear cut-offs and bikini tops everywhere. It’s like going to market. The shopping has been good.”
“And how is your father’s business doing? Is he still number one in the Northwest?”
“Don Malik, I can assure you we are. The old warehouse you lease us down by the river has worked out well. We hide our product in the farm materials and supplies we ship out of there. None of our shipments have been intercepted. My father asked me to thank you for your assistance,” Roberto answered.
“I am glad to hear it. Tell your father, I look forward to working with him on the matters we discussed. Kaamil, how are you doing? Are you having the same success as Roberto with the ladies?” Barak asked, more for Roberto’s benefit than any real interest in Kaamil’s love life. Kaamil preferred prostitutes and, while there were several favorites, he was discreet and careful in that respect.
“I’m not complaining. Women are sometimes necessary, but who could keep up with Roberto,” Kaamil said with a shrug.
“Well then, let’s go see if our chef is ready for us. Leave your drinks here. We’ll have some wine with our meal.”
Barak led them to the dining room, where a platter of steaks sizzled next to a large bowl of mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad on the table. A decanter of red wine sat in front of Barak’s plate, and the chef stood with his chair pulled out. When he had tasted the wine, he dismissed the chef with a wave of his hand.
“Now, gentlemen, I want to hear about each of your assignments,” he said, as he forked a large steak onto his plate and waited for the bowl of mashed potatoes to be handed to him.
Kaamil went first. “The men are prepared and know what to do. We have trained for two years, the last two months in the mock-up of the Emergency Center. They are proficient with their weapons and anxious to fight. You’ll see when you meet them.”
Barak accepted his report with a nod of his head, and turned to Roberto.
“Roberto?”
“The men you require are ready. The civilian security guards at the chemical depot are customers of mine. They are black, like your men, and about the same size. They have each given me one of their uniforms in exchange for a month’s supply of my product. They won’t live long enough to use that much, of course.”
“Are you positive we can trust them?”
“As positive as I can be. I have compromising pictures that would cost them their jobs. They have all received pictures of their wives and children to remind them how serious I am. One man I approached refused me. He and his family suffered a most horrible fire in their home that consumed them all. No one else will trouble us. They think I just want to steal from the depot.”
Barak met Roberto’s steady gaze and was satisfied he was telling the truth. He still seemed nervous about something, though. Maybe it was the operation itself that gnawed at the man’s nerves. He would have to talk to Kaamil about it.
“Fine, I am satisfied both of you have done what I asked. Kaamil, is the team assembled in the dormitory or the bunker?” Barak asked.
“They are waiting for you in the bunker.”
“When we finish our meal, I will go and meet them. Now, eat, enjoy the food Miguel fixed for us. It is one of the things I most look forward to when I visit-his steaks and these marvelous mashed potatoes,” he said, as he dug into the small white mountain of them on his plate.
Chapter 30
Barak and Kaamil left Roberto with a second tequila and walked down a graveled path to the operations center. The path was lined with pink rhododendrons, and daphne scented the air.
“Roberto is nervous about something. Do you know what it is?” Barak asked.
Kaamil hesitated a moment, deciding whether or not to divulge what he suspected. “There are rumors about young girls disappearing in Hood River. Who knows, Roberto may be involved.”
Barak turned to look at his protege in the soft evening light. There was something that Kaamil knew and wasn’t telling him.
“Are you sure that’s all it is? We have heard those rumors before. We have three days left. If you have any reason to think Roberto may fa
il us, I need to know. I could get his father to send someone we can trust. There’s still time.”
“He’ll be fine,” Kaamil said as they reached the front door of the operations center. “We had a disagreement. He blasphemed our religion, made fun of kissing the Black Stone of Kaaba. I set him straight.”
“And how did you do that? Did you fight with him?”
“No, I told him if I repeated his words to you, he and his entire family would be killed as infidels.” sacrificing their lives was an honor. The games they played as children mimicked suicide bombers killing Jews. Pictures of shaheeds, hung on the walls of their homes. American jihadists didn’t have that background. Their motivation, for the most part, was not to honor their god or protect their way of life. It was to hit back at the country they blamed for their miserable lives. Hatred was their motivator, and he was not sure hatred was enough.
The Brotherhood had loaned him an Egyptian psychiatrist to oversee their mental conditioning. They had been broken, made to feel guilty about their country, and offered a way to redeem themselves. They had posters in their rooms proclaiming the honor of those willing to die for Allah, sessions of hypnotism and nightly sleep programming. But Barak knew it wasn’t the same as growing up dreaming of dying as a martyr.
Kaamil held the back door in the lab open and let Barak walk ahead to the first classroom where they were waiting for him.
Three men sitting in the first row in the classroom jumped to attention when the door opened. They stood stiffly, staring straight ahead, wearing green camouflage fatigues and combat boots. Aside from their beards, which would be gone before Wednesday, they looked like well-trained and disciplined soldiers. They would easily pass for civilian security personnel at the depot.
“At ease,” Barak said. “You have finished training. I am proud of you. You act and look like the holy warriors you are. Three days from now, you will have the honor of striking fear in the hearts of every man, woman and child in this country. You will be remembered with fear and trembling. That’s something you were never allowed to achieve before. Allah has chosen this for you.”
Barak then stepped in front of each man, looking deep into his eyes. “There is no God but God, and Mohammad is his Prophet. Do His will, as you have been trained, and He will reward you in paradise. Are you ready to do that?”
Each man, in turn, said he was.
“From this moment on, you will remain here to prepare. Tomorrow night you will be allowed to celebrate at a feast we have prepared for you. It is a small taste of the pleasures that await you. Then you will have two days to purify yourself and write letters to family or loved ones, and make your video statement. Wednesday is the day you have been waiting for, and it will be glorious. I envy you and I salute you,” Barak said, holding a salute similar to the Nazi salute, before he turned and left the room.
Back at the ranch house, Barak joined Roberto for another tumbler of tequila in the den.
“Kaamil will be back in a couple of minutes, he’s inspecting the men’s rooms. We have time to talk. I can see you and Kaamil are wary of each other. Will you have a problem working with him these last few days?”
“I don’t have to like a man to work with him,” Roberto said, with a shrug. “There are many men I deal with in my business that I don’t like. Kaamil likes to intimidate people he orders around. I don’t take orders from anyone but my father. He asked me to cooperate with you. I am doing that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a young lady waiting for me. Thank you for the excellent tequila and dinner, Don Malik.”
“Good bye, Roberto. When your men have finished what I have asked them to do, you should take the opportunity to visit your father in Mexico. Can that be arranged?”
“I was thinking of taking a short vacation myself. I’m sure my father will be happy to see me,” Roberto said, and left.
Four more days, Barak thought, and I might take a vacation too. What better time to celebrate than after you have assassinated an American Cabinet member.
Chapter 31
Mike Casey drove up Drake’s long driveway at 7:15 a.m. Sunday morning. Drake had just returned from a morning run with Lancer and watched the dust rise behind his friend’s SUV. When it stopped in front of the old farmhouse, Drake gave his friend a friendly salute and went to greet him.
“Thought I’d see you for lunch, not breakfast.”
“I slipped out before the kids were up. Thought it would save me from making excuses for not being home,” Mike said, swinging his long legs out of his white Yukon. “Fix me that breakfast you just mentioned and tell me what’s going on, ’cause I suspect I’m going to need my strength today.”
Drake led the way into his kitchen and started pulling items from his refrigerator.
“Coffee cups are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. Some scrambled eggs and toast enough, or do you want me to pull out a steak to go with your eggs?”
“Scrambled eggs and toast will do for now, but save the steak for lunch,” Mike said.
Drake smiled as he started cracking eggs in a small mixing bowl. Mike’s youth, spent on his folks’ Montana ranch working long days, taught him to eat big meals when there was time.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Mike. I seem to have kicked over a hornet’s nest when I started poking around a murder at a client’s place,” Drake said, adding a little milk to the bowl, along with a pinch of fine herbs. “If I don’t get ahead of this thing, I’m going to wind up being sucked into a homicide investigation that could cost me my practice.”
“And you think this has something to do with that varmint you want to hunt?”
“I do,” Drake said, pouring the egg mixture into a large skillet. “The security firm at Martin Research is ISIS and it’s involved somehow.”
“Whoa, you’re talking about ISIS? I know those guys. They’re the big kids on the block of corporate security and executive protection. Why do you figure they’re involved?”
“Too many coincidences. Rich Martin’s secretary was murdered when the security system crashed or was turned off. After I questioned ISIS about the security breach, my client’s head of security at Martin Research supposedly committed suicide, hours after I met with him. He was okay when I talked to him, and he was the one who first pointed a finger at ISIS. I woke up that night with three guys surrounding my house for a turkey shoot. I’m the turkey.”
“You’re taking so long on those eggs, I’m really hungry now,” Mike moaned. “So I assume you took care of the shooters in your usual way and want to find out if ISIS is involved. You have any bacon or sausage to go with those eggs?”
“Not all of us can eat like you, Mike. You’ll have to make do with some chorizo I have in the refrigerator. I’ll throw in some chili peppers. Start the toast. Bread’s in the pantry.”
Mike came back with the chorizo, a can of black beans, a loaf of bread and a smile on his face.
“If you’re going to add peppers, I thought these beans might be tasty as well. So what’s this little adventure tonight all about?”
While they ate what turned out to be a pretty decent egg scramble, Drake continued the briefing and told Mike about following the ISIS manager to Hood River, the drug dealer he had lunch with, and the training facility.
“I’ve heard about the ranch. Supposed to be a small version of the Blackwater facility in North Carolina that trains private military personnel. But ISIS can’t have a convicted felon running around on its ranch. They’d start losing business, big time, if anyone reported it. What did you say the felon’s name was?”
“Maybe you’ll get to meet him, name’s Roberto Valencia. That’s where I want to go tonight, the ISIS ranch. Do a little recon, like we used to,” Drake said, watching for his friend’s reaction.
The wry smile he always wore slowly faded from Mike’s face.
“Do you know anything about this ISIS facility? Like, are there guards, security cameras, dogs, you know, some of the basic things we used to look
for? ’Cause I don’t need to get caught and wind up in jail. We can’t shoot our way out of things here in the States.”
“I don’t plan on getting caught. I just want to look around, see if I can find out what Kaamil’s up to. I know I’m not wearing the uniform again, but it’s sure starting to feel like someone has me in their sights. All I want you to do is cover me, like old times.”
“So you’re thinking about going in alone and blind? When was the last time you did something like this, ten or twelve years ago? We’re not kids anymore.”
“Some things you don’t forget, Mike. I’m still in good shape. I just want you watching my back. Something’s not right about ISIS. You up for one more soiree, amigo?” Drake asked.
Mike’s curiosity overcame his reluctance. “Let’s say I am up for one more little adventure. What’s the plan?”
“I walk in, you cover me, I walk out and we drive home,” Drake answered, holding a serious look on his face as long as possible. “Of course, we may have to tweak that plan a little.”
Mike let out a long, slow sigh of relief. “Whew, for a minute I thought you were crazy like when I first met you. Course then you’d have just said, ‘let’s storm the place.’”
“I’m older now, so I’m thinking we should storm the place carefully.”
For the next two hours, they went over all the possible scenarios. What was the best time to visit the ranch? How would they communicate? How would they deal with security measures? What would they do if guards were encountered? What about dogs, did they need tranquilizer darts? What did they do if he was caught? If he found something incriminating, did Drake take it with him or capture it digitally?
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