“One, end of the dock. Guy driving the boat doesn’t steer so well without power. He hit it pretty hard. Two guys are out and holding the boat, two more are getting out. Guy in the back looks like he’s staying in the boat.”
They watched as four men gathered on the dock and then walked towards them.
“One, Three here. We have four armed men headed our way. Night vision shows four M4s, one with a grenade launcher. Everyone has a holstered pistol. Dark T-shirts, body armor and balaclavas. They’re not here to borrow gas for their boat.”
“Roger that, Three. When they get twenty yards beyond Three’s position, Four and Five throw flash bangs on my count,” Drake said. He watched the four men walk toward him in a well-rehearsed V formation. In another ten seconds, we’ll find out how rehearsed they are, he thought.
“Four and Five, on my count. Five, four, three, two, one.”
Drake watched his men on the left and right throw their flash bangs at the feet of the advancing formation. The new fuel-air devices forced particles of aluminum powder out through small holes in the bottom of the plastic canisters when they detonated. An acoustic pulse and blinding flash of light shocked the still night.
The four men, however, did know what they were doing. Somehow, the man in the boat saw what Mike’s men were about to do and yelled, “flash bang.” The four men dropped to their knees. With their ears covered and eyes closed, they waited until they regained their bearings. Then they started firing wildly to the left and right, where they suspected the flash bangs had come from.
“Three, what happened?” Drake asked as the smoke was clearing.
“The guy in the boat yelled “flash bang” just before the grenades exploded. He’s drifting back out into the lake. Want me to take him out?”
“No, but can you identify the boat?”
Drake watched as the men stood and walked forward, firing their weapons on full automatic. They walked four abreast, like it was the gunfight at the OK Corral.
This has gone far enough, Drake decided.
“Four and Five, take the men on the flanks. Mike and I will take the middle.”
While Drake was still acquiring his target, the head of the terrorist on the left exploded in a faint red mist. The terrorist on the right dropped at the same time. Neither of the two men left standing slowed or turned. He heard Mike fire a second before he fired, and the last two terrorists fell.
“This is One, report,” Drake ordered.
Each man quickly signaled they were all right.
“Three, where’s the boat driver?”
“One, he drifted out when the shooting started. He’s fifty yards out, just sitting there.”
“Could you see any identification on the boat?” Drake asked.
“Only thing I could make out was the name Pre-Owned on the stern,” Three answered.
“What’s he doing now?”
“One, he’s raising what looks like an RPG. Holy shit, he’s aiming right at you!”
In the second it took to focus on the boat, Drake recognized the flash and the whitish blue-gray smoke of a shoulder-fired grenade launcher. He dove to the ground next to the wall of the terrace, and hoped Mike had done the same.
The grenade warhead exploded through the door the State Trooper had just closed minutes before. It formed an aerosol cloud in the Senator’s house that ignited in a powerful fireball. The fuel-air explosive, or thermobaric weapon, consumed all the oxygen inside, and the lack of oxygen, in turn, created an enormous overpressure, or shock wave. The combination acted like a small, tactical nuclear weapon, without the residual radiation.
In microseconds, the pressure of the explosion flattened the first floor of the Senator’s home, collapsing the structure above it, traveling outwards to sheer off the trees near the house.
Drake was stunned and covered with debris-the force of the explosion had vectored outward over his head. He twisted to look at the burning structure behind him, and prayed that everyone inside was protected in the basement safe room.
“Mike, you all right?” he shouted.
After a long moment, Drake heard a shaken answer.
“Think so. Hit the deck when I heard RPG. May have a concussion. Don’t know about the rest of the guys.”
“Mike, I’ve got to see if they’re safe inside. You okay to check on the team?” he asked, knocking pieces of debris from his shoulders and head.
“I think so. Go.”
Drake ran to the east side of the burning rubble that had been a home until minutes ago. He tore his way through fallen and burning flooring to the door into the basement, and kicked away blast debris that had fallen against it. The explosion had collapsed most of the flooring above the stairs leading down to the basement, but the reinforced walls and ceiling of the basement itself hadn’t buckled.
Drake ran down the stairs to the door of the safe room and pounded on it three times.
“Senator, it’s Adam. Are you all right?”
“This is Agent Miller, Secret Service. Tell me something about the Senator tonight that he can verify before I open this door.”
“Well, I had a glass of Ken Wright pinot noir with dinner.”
The door opened, and the State Trooper asked, “What the hell happened?”
“They hit us with a thermobaric grenade. Is everyone safe?”
Drake could see the Senator and his mother-in-law were pale and shaken. The Secretary was standing beside them with a grim look on his face. The country had been lucky since 9/11, due to a lot of hard work and dedication, but the look on the Secretary’s face acknowledged things had just taken a turn for the worse.
“We’re fine,” the State Trooper said. “Is it safe to come out?”
“What’s left of the house is burning above, but you might be able to bring them out through the basement and up those stairs over there to the garage. If it’s blocked, keep them here and get someone to come down the way I did to help you.”
Drake ran upstairs and outside to find Mike’s team gathered around him. State Troopers were on their radios, calling for assistance.
“Mike, put somebody in charge and, if you’re okay, come with me. Defer all questions to the Senator until we get back. I know where Kaamil’s headed.”
Chapter 56
Drake knew the boat. It belonged to Ron Peterson, the used-car dealer who lived around the point on the lake. Peterson liked to take a couple of laps around the lake each year in his classic old runabout when he’d be noticed, like on the Fourth of July and Labor Day.
Peterson’s home was a just a couple of minutes around the point by car. If they hurried, they could be there by the time Kaamil arrived.
“You sure you’re okay?” Drake asked as they ran to his Porsche and jumped in. “I can take care of Kaamil, but if there are others waiting there, you’ll need to deal with them.”
“I’ve flown missions in worse shape. I’m okay,” Mike said as they roared away from the Senator’s burning home.
The road to the Peterson estate curved around the lake. It was lined with residences, making it hard to drive as fast as Drake wanted while watching for kids playing outside in the early summer night. He still got them there in less than five minutes.
“I’m pretty sure Peterson lives here. I’ve seen the place from the water,” he said, sliding to a stop at the end of Peterson’s driveway. “I’ll go down to the boathouse. You block his way out up here. If he gets by me, make sure he knows we’re buddies when you kill him.”
The lights were on in the house, and a catering van was parked near the front door.
“That’s the way they got in,” Mike offered, “posing as a catering service. I’ll make sure the van’s not going anywhere and check out the house.”
Drake sprinted across the lawn leading down to the Peterson’s boathouse. When he got there, he flattened himself against a cedar-shingled wall around the corner from the door. He listened for sounds from inside, and then heard the rumble of an inboard engine
approaching on idle.
Edging his head around the corner of the boathouse, he saw red and green running lights headed his way. Kaamil was drifting slowly toward the back of the boathouse. Drake slipped around the corner and inside.
The lights were off, but there was enough light for him to see storage lockers on the opposite side of the slip. The shadows at the far end near the boathouse rear door, however, provided some cover, and his best chance to surprise Kaamil. Drake ran there, just as the automatic opener cranked up the overhead door and the old runabout nosed into its berth.
One man sat on top of the driver’s seat and steered the boat, bumping off the cushioned railings. When the boathouse door closed, he was alone with the terrorist.
“You’re some leader, Kaamil. Sacrifice your men and run away,” Drake said, as the rumble of the boat echoed off the walls of the boathouse then died. “They’re cavorting with virgins, you’re still here with me. Pity, you must be envious.”
He watched as Kaamil straightened at the sound of his voice.
“Envious in a way you’ll never understand. They earned their reward, but their lack of skill condemns me to shame and death. Hardly fair, but you get used to that in this country.”
“Spare me the sad song, Kaamil. Raise your hands over your head and step out of the boat. Fairness is not at the top of my list right now.”
Kaamil stood, stretched his long arms straight out from his shoulders and stepped out of the boat. He turned to face Drake and the.45 pointed at his forehead.
“I am unarmed and unafraid,” he said, as he stood tall and seemed to accept whatever fate Allah had in store for him.
“You’re American, Kaamil. What the hell happened to you, trying to kill a Cabinet Secretary?”
Kaamil’s eyes blazed at the question. His MP5 lay on the seat of the boat, but there was little chance he’d get to it before Drake shot him.
“You think you’ve won because you’ve caught me. Cops thought they’d won when they busted me too, but sometimes that’s the price you pay to find the truth. You think you won when you bombed the hell out of Afghanistan and occupied Iraq. All you’ve done is convince us you want to destroy our religion.”
“I could care less about your religion,” Drake said. “I’ve fought beside Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus and atheists. I don’t care about your religion. You tried to kill me and you’re attacking my country.”
“Yeah, the country that made slaves of my ancestors, that’s still keeping us down. That’s my country for sure,” Kaamil sneered. “You don’t get it, but you will. There’s nothing you can do to change the outcome. You’ve already lost. Your politicians are afraid to challenge us. Voters don’t have the stomach for war, and someday we’ll be the majority here and in Europe. We’re in the government, the military, we’re unchallenged in the universities, and the darling of the media. Who’s going to stop Islam?”
“I’m not trying to stop Islam. I just want to stop a traitor named Kaamil. That’s enough for me.”
“I’m not a traitor, Drake. I’m a Muslim. Islam is my country. I just live here. We don’t fear death, that’s why we’ll win. We have a leader so far ahead of you, by the time you recognize the final blow, you’ll already be dead.”
“If you mean bin Laden,” Drake said, “he’s no longer relevant.”
“Bin Laden is not our leader. My leader was a warrior long before bin Laden joined the cause. He’s operated right under your nose, with a worldwide organization you know nothing about. You will, though, when he makes nations tremble and its leaders hide under their pillows.”
“Is he the guy who flew into your ranch the other night?” Drake guessed.
Kaamil didn’t answer. His eyes searched for a way out of the boathouse.
“There’s no way out, Kaamil. These boathouses have security screens that run down to the bottom of the lake. You’re not swimming out of here. There’s only one door out of here, and I have someone outside. Try running and you die.”
Drake watched as Kaamil looked toward the roof of the boathouse and mouthed what could only be a prayer. He knew Kaamil had made his decision.
“Kaamil, you don’t have to do this.”
Kaamil lowered his eyes, shouted “Allahu Akbar” and ran straight at Drake.
Drake shot him in the head, as he’d been trained, and watched the tall, homegrown terrorist fall before him.
Chapter 57
He met Mike as he stepped from the boathouse.
“I heard the shot. Was it Kaamil?” Mike asked, slowing his run to a walk.
“A true believer. He talked about his leader, someone operating right under our noses with a worldwide organization.”
“You believe him?”
“Not sure. What did you find in the house?”
“They’re all dead. Husband, wife, and two kids,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Two kids on a sofa watching television, shot in the back of the head.”
“We gotta get back,” Drake said, heading toward his car. “There’s nothing we can do here. The Secret Service will want to investigate this ahead of the others. I’ll have the Secretary bring them in. Feels like old times, cleaning up messes we were too late to prevent.”
“You couldn’t know this was in the works. Besides, if you hadn’t trusted your instinct about Kaamil, your in-laws and the Secretary would probably be dead,” Mike said.
By the time they drove back to Senator Hazelton’s, his long driveway was filled with cars from the Lake Oswego PD, Oregon State Police and some unidentified federal agencies. All but the federal cars still had their overheads flashing, and they could see two red and white pumpers from the Lake Oswego Fire Department dousing the flames in the rubble.
“This might be a good time for the head of a well-known and widely respected private security firm from Seattle, hired to provide some extra protection for the Senator and his guest, to explain the dead bodies,” Drake suggested. “Just in case the Secret Service get some of it wrong and we’re the bad guys with the guns.”
“How much do you want me to tell them? What we know, or just about what happened tonight?”
“Just about tonight. I’ll go ask the Senator what’s been said so far.” They walked toward a patrolman keeping neighbors and the press from entering the estate.
“Officer, this is my father-in-law’s place. Will you call ahead and get us cleared to enter?” he asked as they both handed the patrolman their identification.
Two minutes later, they were waved on and made the long walk up the driveway toward the firemen working to control the flames. Drake spotted the Senator and Secretary Rallings standing in the center of a ring of Secret Service and State Troopers, and walked over.
Senator Hazelton turned, saw Drake and motioned for him to join them.
“One of Mike’s men said you went after their leader. Did you get him?” the Senator asked.
“We got him, but not before he killed Ron Peterson and his family. They used his boat to get over here. When the FBI get here, send them my way. I’ll explain things.”
“You won’t have to do that. Secretary Rallings and I will deal with the FBI and with his people. He’s told the State Police he wants this investigated as a crime scene. My God, the Secret Service and the FBI have some explaining to do. If I hadn’t let you come tonight, as private security, we’d all be dead.”
“Is Mom all right?”
“She’s okay, but you need to let her know you’re back.”
Drake saw Meredith Hazelton standing near what was left of the rear deck of her home, and made his way to her. She was standing quietly with her arms wrapped around herself, staring into the fire.
“Mom, you okay?” he asked when he reached her side.
Without saying a word, she grabbed onto him and began crying silently with her head held tight against his chest.
“Promise me you won’t do anything like this, ever again,” she said between sobs. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you too.”
>
“Don’t worry, Mom. The rest of my clients don’t have anything to do with terrorists. They may not pay as well as Richard Martin, but they’re all boring and safe, I promise.”
After comforting her a while longer, Drake walked out toward where the police were standing around the bodies of the four terrorists. Mike was talking to his men a little farther on, briefing them before the heavy hitters from the FBI arrived.
“Everyone okay here?” Drake asked.
“Everyone’s fine,” Mike answered, “just talking about what motivates these fools. They could have stopped after the stun grenades.”
“I know. Kaamil tried to make me understand before he decided to martyr himself. I’ll tell you about it when we’re all enjoying those steaks I promised. Remember, just tell them what you did here tonight and then send them my way if they want to know why I asked you to provide private security tonight.”
Drake returned to talk with the Senator and Secretary Rallings. He got there just in time to hear Secretary Rallings lecturing his assistant, Liz Strobel, and the head of Portland’s JTTF, Bruce Burton, who had just arrived. Neither of them returned his greeting.
“This is the second example in one day of what we’re doing wrong in this war,” Secretary Rallings said. “We can’t sit around and wait for them to hit us. We’ve got to be a step ahead, rather than conceding them the initiative. This is not a law enforcement matter. Tonight, however, we’re going to treat it that way, to salvage what’s left of the public’s trust in our ability to protect them. But believe me, I will change the way we’re operating. All of you better have some suggestions for me the next time we talk. Now, go out and convince everyone this was just a criminal matter the FBI is handling because I was here tonight. I do not want to read tomorrow there were two terrorist attacks in one day that the government was not prepared to handle.”
When Liz Strobel and Bruce Burton were dismissed, Secretary Rallings turned to Drake and smiled slightly.
“Think it did any good?”
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