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Authors: Scott Matthews

BOOK: The Assassin's List
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Drake smiled and walked to the den. He found the Senator and the Secretary standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the lake. The lake reflected the light pink of an early sunset off its shimmering surface. Each man had a drink in hand, talking softly, shoulder to shoulder.

Senator Hazelton saw him first and smiled. “Adam, let me get you a drink and we’ll toast your heroics today. What would you like?”

Drake glanced at the wet bar and saw a bottle he recognized.

“I see you’ve introduced Secretary Rallings to our state’s secret, ten-year-old Pendleton whiskey. Just one, heavy on the ice.”

While the Senator went to pour Drake’s whiskey, Secretary Rallings stepped forward and stuck out his hand. His smile was gone, and slightly squinted eyes acknowledged his concern for the day’s events.

“I know I thanked you before, but I didn’t understand then how much of what happened today was your doing. Do you mind telling me, how were you prepared to defend us like you did?”

“I’ll tell you as much as I can, Mr. Secretary. Parts of it, you’re better off not knowing. I stumbled onto something at Martin Research that suggested you might be in danger at the depot. I couldn’t leave everything to the Army when I knew things I couldn’t tell them about. So, I invited a buddy from Seattle to join me, and we tagged along as your unofficial bodyguards.”

“Well, I suspect there’s a lot more to the story. For now, know we’re both indebted to you. If there’s any way I can ever help you, just let me know. They keep me busy in Washington, but I’ll always make time for you. By any chance, are you looking for a job?”

“No, he’s not. I need him here in Oregon. You have the largest staff in the government, don’t start poaching out west. Now, here’s to you, son,” the Senator said, raising his glass in toast. “You learn anything more about the men behind the attack?”

Drake took a sip from his tumbler. “I haven’t confirmed what I suspect. The man we followed is the same man I believe was behind the murder of Richard Martin’s secretary, and the three men who tried to kill me. He landed the helicopter in Hood River and escaped across the river. I think he returned to Portland. I think he’ll try again, before the Secretary leaves tomorrow.”

Secretary Rallings and Senator Hazelton exchanged a look that belied their calm manner.

Drake wondered if the possibility of another attack had even been discussed by the Secret Service. Judging from the reaction of the two men, it hadn’t.

“Is there a possibility this man will be arrested any time soon?” Secretary Rallings asked.

“Probably not, sir. This is his home. If he made it back here, we’re not likely to find him before you leave. You have the State Police outside, and I asked some of my friends to stick around. From what I’m told, he shouldn’t know you’re here. If anything does happen tonight, I want both of you to get downstairs with Mom to the safe room until I come for you, okay?”

Secretary Rallings looked intently at Drake. “With everything that’s happened today, I’d be a fool to ignore your concerns. I’m not used to hearing about threats my own people underestimated. If it turns out you’re right about another attempt, I’m going to have to kick some serious ass.”

“Mr. Secretary, with all due respect for your office, that may not be fair. I know things they don’t. So, if it’s okay with you both, I’d like to go out and let the State Police know that I’ve brought in additional private security.”

Both men nodded their agreement. Drake slipped out to talk with the State Police and to signal Mike to deploy his team.

 

Chapter 54

Around the jutting point of land to the east of the Senator’s home, Kaamil ushered his men into the house commandeered for the evening. He let them wander through the house and see the family he had killed. It was essential they realize that what he was asking of them was more lasting than a mansion and a beautiful wife and children. Every man wanted those common things. But he was offering them immortality and lasting fame.

When they were all seated in the great room, overlooking the lake and the boathouse, he gave them their final instructions.

“I know each of you, and the fire that burns within you. There is no God but Allah, and he will never mislead or fail us. It is time to teach this country and its President that they cannot defeat us. They hide their eyes from the television when we execute one of them, because they fear their god is not powerful enough to care for them in death. We embrace death and have a God that welcomes our sacrifice,” Kaamil told them. “Tonight you have the chance to do what you’ve promised me, and Allah, you were willing to do. Bring me the heads of everyone in the house, and we’ll show the world no one hides from Allah’s justice, not even the chief of America’s Homeland Security. Now, prepare yourselves while I get the boat ready. We leave as soon as it’s dark.”

Each man in the room nodded his understanding and began checking his equipment for the last time. When he returned, Kaamil would give them the meth cocktail Malik had prepared to make them fight like mighty Muslim warriors.

Kaamil left the house and walked down to the boathouse as the setting sun cast long shadows over the lake. The lawn had just been mowed and smelled of freshly cut grass. It reminded him of prison, and the grounds crew he had worked on.

The boathouse housed one of the most expensive boats that cruised the lake, and that was one of the reasons he’d chosen it for the night’s mission. The boat was a 1946 Gar Wood Commodore Runabout, worth a quarter of a million dollars or more. With polished dark brown wood and a classic profile, it was one of a kind and, because of that, it was well protected. It was also so well-known by the lakeside residents who might see it, and not take a second look in the dark to see who was driving it.

Kaamil had two keys he had taken from the key rack in the house, labeled “boat” and “boathouse.” The first key opened the door of the boathouse. From the gently moving dock, he stepped inside, closed the door and turned on the lights. To his left, the runabout floated securely in the privacy of its temperature-monitored home.

He’d driven boats before, like the one Roberto kept in Hood River, but he’d never driven a boat like this. He wasn’t sure how to start such an old boat, although it couldn’t be that hard, he told himself.

Kaamil stepped into the front seat of the boat. The red leather seats looked like the seats in an old, expensive sports car and smelled of leather conditioner. He settled behind the small steering wheel and studied the dashboard. There was a series of controls, including a brass button, to the left of the steering wheel, but no obvious place for the second key to start the boat. If the second key didn’t start the boat, then what was it for? He willed himself to be calm and studied the problem before him.

There wasn’t anything on the dashboard to receive the key in his hand. There had to be some other place for it, some other way to start the boat. He got up and walked to the rear of the boat, looking for a switch or receptacle for the key. Nothing. He stood beside the engine compartment, turned and retraced his steps. Again he saw nothing that he had missed.

But when he turned again to walk to the rear of the boat, he noticed the keyed lock for the engine compartment. With the second key, he unlocked the cover, revealing an old engine that looked as new as any new car engine. He studied the engine for several minutes. Nothing looked like a starter that required a key. The choke on the engine, however, had a blue label that read “forward to prime engine before pushing starter button on dash.”

Kaamil moved the choke to ON then slipped back into the seat behind the steering wheel. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the brass button and heard the engine fire to life. It bubbled powerfully behind the stern of the boat. Allah be praised, he thought.

Kaamil turned the engine off, moved the choke back to its original position and stepped out of the boat. They had transportation. Now his men just needed the courage to fulfill the mission he was sending them on.

 

Chapter 55

After a dinner of Dungeness crab cakes, fettuccine with Alfredo sauce and a dessert of baked pears, Senator Hazelton invited Secretary Rallings and Drake to join him on the terrace for cognac and a moment of conversation.

While they enjoyed their Remy Martin VSOP, Drake excused himself. He stepped aside and called Mike with a small handheld radio from his jacket pocket. Mike and the rest of the team were using headsets and commo packs. He hadn’t wanted to upset dinner by showing up wearing the same special ops gear.

“Delta Two, how are things out there?” he asked.

“Quiet summer night. Nice place to live. Three is lakeside near the boathouse, Four and Five are on the perimeters, and Six is out front. I’m to your left in the bushes below the terrace. The State Police aren’t exactly happy we’re here, but what the hell, it isn’t their spread. How was dinner?”

“Okay, if you like crab cakes, fettucini Alfredo and baked pears in chocolate sauce. You’ll get yours later. The men are enjoying a cognac. When Secretary Rallings leaves, we’re out of here. Keep me posted.”

“Roger that, Delta One.”

Drake rejoined the men on the terrace and turned to look at the lights from a couple of boats still out on the lake. The first boat he noticed was a large powerboat, forty feet or longer, motoring slowly to minimize its wake and not disturb the party on the aft deck. It was headed east, he saw, with its green starboard lights showing.

The second boat was smaller and closer to shore. Drake could tell by the rumble of its inboard engine that it was either an old classic or one of the newer ski boats with a large V8 engine. Nothing on the water sounded quite as good, at least to his ears. He watched the second boat for another minute and then stepped away to call Mike.

“Two, what’s Three say about the boat headed our way showing green and red? Most boats stay out in the middle at night. Looks like this one’s headed our way. Can he see who’s aboard?”

“Three, can you tell who’s aboard the boat headed our way?” Mike asked.

“Two, it just slowed, and it’s barely making wake. I make five men in the boat. They don’t seem to be talking much. This isn’t a party boat. Might be our guys.”

“One, you copy? Might want to get the guests inside. I’ll coordinate until you return.”

“Roger Two, you have control. Be back in a minute,” Drake answered. He moved quickly in front of the two men and turned them toward the house.

“I need you to go inside right now. Senator, take Mom with you to the safe room,” Drake ordered, motioning to the Senator’s bodyguard stationed at the rear door.

“We have a threat headed our way. Please get everyone down to the safe room, and don’t leave them until I come for you, understood?”

The former State Trooper looked to the Senator for directions, where he received a nodded agreement, and started to hustle the men inside.

Senator Hazelton pulled away and faced Drake.

“Are they seriously trying again? Here, my home?” he asked with his jaws clenched and lips pulled tight.

“Leave the lights on in the house when you go down. I don’t want them to know they’ve been spotted,” Drake said.

Drake walked quickly down the steps from the terrace to the ground below and stepped into the shadows.

“Two, One here. What’d you see?” Drake asked and plugged an earpiece into his handheld radio.

“One, the boat’s fifteen yards off the end of the Senator’s dock. They’ve shut off their engine and running lights. Unless they ran out of gas at the wrong place, wrong time, and the battery died as well, they’re our guys,” Mike answered.

“Two, make sure we’re right. We’re civilian security, we have to let them declare hostile intent before we respond. When they get out of the boat, I want Three to ID what they’re carrying. If they’re armed and head our way, we’ll use flash bangs when they’re off the dock. If they come up firing, defend yourselves. Everyone clear on that?”

“One, Two here. Clear.”

“One, Three here. Clear.”

“One, Four here. Clear.”

“One, Five here. Clear.”

“One, Six here. Clear.”

“All right, gentlemen, let’s see what they have. Three, where are they?”

“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.

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