The Assassin's list

by Scott Matthews

  As the Black Hawk nosed down on liftoff, Drake searched ahead, hoping to see the Bell 407 on the horizon. Nothing but empty blue sky.

  Kaamil sat in the left cockpit seat of the Bell 407, his Glock 9mm pointed at the pilot’s head.

  “Fly directly to Hood River,” he commanded. “I’ll tell you where to land. Then you can join your family as I promised.”

  Kaamil called Roberto Valencia.

  “It’s me. We failed. Go out through the tunnel and make sure my boat’s ready. Then go to the ranch and take the jet Malik has waiting for me. I have a job to do in Portland, then I’ll join you in Mexico.”

  “Are you being followed?”

  “No, but I want you out of there. No one knows you had anything to do with this.”

  Miles behind, Drake searched the horizon for the smaller helicopter.

  “How soon before we see him?” Drake asked again.

  “This sounds like a road trip with my kids. We’ll see ’em when we see ’em.”

  “There was a time when you were the Man, professional and all.”

  “Nothing unprofessional about what I said. Can’t give you a better estimate than that. You have a plan?”

  Mike’s question caused him to think. They weren’t Delta Force. They were civilians acting with the blessing of the government.

  “We have to stop Kaamil. That’s all I know. We capture or kill him. How this ends depends on him.”

  “I just wanted to know if you want me to veer toward the ranch or head straight to Hood River. Of course we’re going to kill him if we get the chance.”

  Drake nodded. “Head toward Hood River. Kaamil probably doesn’t know we’re following him. My guess is he’ll try to slip back to Portland, pretend he wasn’t a part of this. If we catch up to him and he heads toward the ranch, we’ll figure something out.”

  Flying at one hundred eighty-four miles per hour, they spotted the Bell helicopter thirty miles from Hood River. It was flying low, a tiny white dot in the distance. The superior speed of the Black Hawk had allowed them to close the distance.

  “Stay high, see where he heads.”

  The smaller helicopter appeared to be headed straight for Hood River. Ten miles out, it dropped even lower and veered toward the river.

  Drake keyed his GRS and called Capt. Martinez. “Capt. Martinez, Adam Drake, do you read?”

  “Read you clear, Mr. Drake. We’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

  “We’re five miles east of Hood River following the Bell. I think he’s headed to a small warehouse down by the river where the windsurfers park. It’s near the Hook and the small marina there. Call the police, have them seal off the area, but not interfere. He doesn’t seem to know we’re following him.”

  “Understood. I alerted the Chief of Police in Hood River, he appreciates our situation. The explosion killed two security guards and we have five imposters dead. Our system signaled VX was released, but tests haven’t confirmed that. They may have hacked our system,” Capt. Martinez reported.

  “Imagine that. Over and out.”

  Drake summarized for Mike, who had the Black Hawk flying a thousand feet above and behind the Bell. “There wasn’t a VX release, despite what the monitoring system reported. One guess who caused that. Not a bad plan, using the Army to get everyone to the emergency center. Also, not a plan put together overnight.

  “Means they have money to do things on a big scale.”

  “Kaamil’s had this planned too well not to have his escape prepared. When he lands, I’ll go after him. You stay, in case he gets away before I get him. Follow him, and run the bastard to ground,” Drake said.

  The Bell 407 sped on to Hood River. When it reached the first of the windsurfers out on the Columbia, it abruptly descended and streaked toward the old warehouse. Hundreds of windsurfers raced across the swells below, sails pulled tight into the wind. The parking lots and streets surrounding the area were clogged with vans and SUVs.

  Mike dropped the Black Hawk down to three hundred feet and hovered out over the river. From there, they had a clear view of the Bell as it landed beside the old warehouse. When Kaamil stepped from the helicopter, Drake signaled Mike to land near the warehouse.

  As they descended, Kaamil waved his pilot off with the gun in his right hand, and then pointed at the departing helicopter with something in his left hand. When it was clear of the warehouse and gaining altitude, it exploded. Kaamil slipped through a side door.

  Drake watched in disbelief as the helicopter erupted in a fireball and fell into the river. Windsurfers closest to the falling debris dropped into the water to avoid being scorched.

  “Set me down next to the door he entered. Let Capt. Martinez know the Bell and its pilot are down. It’s time to end this,” Drake said.

  “Be careful. We don’t know anything about that warehouse, could be booby traps. Why not wait for the police, they’ll be here soon.”

  “Just get some of them killed. I might be rusty, but I have more training than any of them. Hover over the warehouse. He won’t wait around for a shootout with the police.”

  Mike brought the Black Hawk down to within a foot of the pavement, near the side door Kaamil had entered. As soon as Drake jumped out, Mike lifted off to hover south of the building where he could see all the exits.

  Drake thought about going in through the door Kaamil had entered, but decided to go around to the front door instead. Inside, he found an empty front office. Counter, secretary’s desk, posters of golden wheat and cowboys trying to ride Brahma bulls. There was a door in the back of the reception area that had to lead to the rest of the warehouse.

  Drake listened for sounds. Kaamil must have given the employees the day off. When he didn’t hear anything, he stepped inside. Row after row of pallets of agricultural supplies, hay and straw filled the warehouse.

  On the other side of the big warehouse, Drake saw a short flight of stairs leading to an upstairs office. A broad window looked down on the warehouse floor. The shadows inside made it appear to be empty.

  “The warehouse looks empty. There’s an office upstairs I’ll check. Any sign of him out there?” Drake asked.

  “Not out here.”

  Drake moved down the center aisle of the warehouse, checking each of the cross aisles. No sound broke the silence as he continued to the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor.

  Chapter 46

  When the helicopter exploded, Kaamil walked into his warehouse with a grim smile on his face. His team was lost, but Allah had spared him to fight another day.

  As he took the stairs to his office two at a time, he turned to listen to the sound of another helicopter outside. How in hell had they found him so fast?

  Kaamil dashed into his office and grabbed his laptop from his desk. The rest of the computers had records for the warehouse, but his personal computer connected him to the ISIS operation at the ranch. He’d sacrifice himself before letting it be captured.

  There was no panic in his voice as he used his cell phone to call across the river.

  “Rashid, meet me at the Hatch in ten minutes. Park near the porta potties as close to the rigging area as you can. Have Miguel on the shore, ready to take the boat and head down the river. We’ll drive slowly out of the parking area because we may be watched. Do nothing before that to attract attention. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Kaamil, I understand. Shall I alert the others?”

  “Do not communicate with the others, just get to the Hatch. Do as we planned.”

  Kaamil was starting down the stairs from his office when he heard a shout from the floor below.

  “Kaamil, I know you’re here. The building is surrounded. We have business to settle. Come out like a man, we’ll talk.”

  Kaamil laughed to himself, talk indeed. He recognized the voice of the vermin attorney. Without a sound, he turned back into his office and made his way to a storage closet. In the back of the closest, behind a spring-loaded panel, a touch pad opene
d a steel door that led to stairs down to a tunnel and to his boat.

  The old warehouse had only one way in and out of the fenced facility above ground. Anyone suspicious of the place could satisfy their curiosity by watching traffic come and go. They would miss, however, merchandise smuggled out the tunnel passage through an old city drainpipe. The tunnel exited underneath a dock at the marina on a beak of land called the Hook.

  Kaamil’s boat was a black and red Centurion 23 Typhoon, a ski boat perfect for ferrying drugs across the river. No one paid attention to the boat when it drove past, filled with loads of meth and money. It was just another fancy boat on the river.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped through a door cut into the side of the eight foot tall drain pipe. Inside, he ran down the tunnel through puddles of water left in the bottom of the pipe after spring rains. Just past the opening at the far end, a small video monitor in a plexiglass case was attached to the underside of the dock. A digital cam mounted above provided a clear view of the empty dock and his boat.

  Kaamil climbed a ladder to the dock above and strolled the short distance to his boat, just another man out to enjoy the water and the sun.

  “Drake, get out here. There’s a ski boat leaving from a dock near the warehouse. I think Kaamil’s in the boat.”

  Drake ran to the east service door of the warehouse where Mike had the Black Hawk waiting.

  “He’s in that black and red ski boat, wakeboard towers,” Mike said. “I didn’t see him get in the boat, but when the boat headed out, I recognized him.”

  Through Mike’s Bushnell 20x50 surveillance binoculars, Kaamil appeared to be ten feet away, driving the high-powered boat through the swells of the Columbia River. He was headed to the Washington State side of the river, still wearing a blue windbreaker with Hermiston Air Rescue across the back. With the boat planing as fast as the waves allowed, he was forcing windsurfers to veer out of his path to avoid being run over.

  “Any idea where he’s going? There’s no way to stop him before he reaches the other side,” Mike said.

  “Half mile across the river is a place they call The Hatch. It’s a favorite windsurfing area with a large parking lot. That’s where I would go. It’ll be a zoo with all the vans and cars.”

  Drake grabbed a headset and radioed Capt. Martinez at the chemical depot.

  “Capt. Martinez, Drake here. Our man is fleeing across the Columbia. He appears to be headed to a place called ‘The Hatch.’ Do we have anyone over there who can seal off the area?”

  The Captain was waiting for his call. “That’s one of the most congested traffic areas in the Gorge. The police in White Salmon are the closest, but they’ll never get there fast enough.”

  “I don’t want to lose this guy. Request roadblocks up and down the highway along the river, then,” Drake pleaded.

  “I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t part of our emergency planning. Everyone’s responding to the attack up here. Sorry.”

  Through the front windscreen of the Black Hawk, Drake saw the boat turn in toward the rig and launch area of The Hatch. It drifted toward a young man standing in the water, waiting to stop the boat before it slammed into the rocky shore. Kaamil jumped into the knee-deep water, then ran up the path to the parking area.

  “Best we can do now is follow him. He has to know we’re watching. Keep us over the parking area, maybe we’ll get lucky,” Drake said. “Can you drop me near his boat?”

  “Why? You’ll lose him in the crowd. We’re better off waiting to see what leaves the parking area and calling ahead to have the vehicle stopped at a roadblock.”

  Drake knew his partner was right. The police weren’t going to get the area sealed off in time, and they would probably lose him in the mass of bodies below. He wasn’t ready to give up, though.

  “I can’t let this guy walk away. Put me down near that circular drive. Then you watch the traffic leaving the area. One of us might get lucky.”

  Mike moved the Black Hawk sideways until it hovered over the asphalt surface on the far side of the Hatch parking area. People below froze as they watched the large helicopter slide over their heads, and then scattered out from under it. Drake jumped when Mike had him four feet off the ground, and the Black Hawk lifted again to hover overhead.

  The parking lot was crowded, bumper-to-bumper in most areas, filled with vans and campers and cars with roof racks. Those not out on the water stood watching Drake and the hovering Black Hawk. The place was a kaleidoscope of color and style-with old Vanagons with Garcia logos and newer Beetles towing retro board trailers, and every kind of vehicle in between. Tan bodies were everywhere, in all manner of beach and surfer attire.

  Drake scanned the faces of everyone he saw in a parked or moving vehicle. Spotting Kaamil out in the open was too much to hope for. He knew instinctively Kaamil wouldn’t even take that small chance. He’d be hiding somewhere, in something that could get him out of the parking lot.

  ~~~

  Kaamil watched out the bubble window of a Ford van as his pursuer walked by, not three feet from where he kneeled on the carpeted floor. As long as his driver didn’t attract attention to the van, he knew he was safe. The police wouldn’t arrive in time to seal off the parking lot, and he only had to travel less than a mile to safety.

  Kaamil and his driver waited another couple of minutes, and then drove to their safe house. Ten minutes later, they were in the building on a bluff nearby, overlooking The Hatch. The safe house was a bed and breakfast ISIS had purchased for the operation through a dummy corporation. It had an upper bedroom permanently reserved for him and members of his team.

  From the room’s balcony, Kaamil watched as the helicopter continued to hover over the parking area. They were determined, he’d give them that, but he would see to it personally that the last round of this match was his, by a knockout.

  The depot attack had been entrusted to others. This time, he’d lead the attack himself. Malik would not forgive another failure, even though it hadn’t been his fault. He was a warrior, deserving of praise, but he was also realist. If he could still kill the Secretary, he might postpone his punishment and restore himself.

  From his rimrock perch high above The Hatch, with the enemy so close, he knew it was time to leave before the police could set up roadblocks.

  Chapter 47

  Drake crisscrossed the parking area one last time before signaling Mike to pick him up. Most of the vans and SUVs had darkened windows, and more than a few of their owners had prevented him from even looking into them. They suspected he was a cop, and were fairly blunt in asking him to get away from their vehicles without a warrant.

  Whatever means of escape Kaamil had waiting, it effectively concealed his presence. The whole operation had been well planned, and the retreat was no exception.

  Back in the Black Hawk, he told Mike to head back to the chemical depot. “He’s gone. Let’s return the Colonel’s helicopter and see if they’ve learned anything.”

  “Roger that. I’m tired of fighting these Gorge winds anyway.”

  They left to a wave of middle-finger salutes from the crowd gathered below.

  “We were a big hit. Kaamil’s laughing his ass off. He’s been a step ahead today, but now it’s our turn,” Drake said, staring straight ahead.

  Mike flew them back to the chemical depot where they were briefed on the initial investigation of the attack.

  Two soldiers had been killed defending the emergency center. Of the five attackers who were dead, only two were recognized at the depot. They were the two killed in the initial explosion at the VX bunker. The bunker bomber was a recent convert to Islam. Twenty years old and an Army reservist, he wore the explosive belt that damaged the bunker and killed the driver in his Humvee parked by the bunker’s door. The driver appeared to be an unwilling accomplice. His wife and four children were found shot to death in their home in Hermiston. No connection was found that linked them to the terrorists.

  The three gunmen were i
mposters, with IDs that belonged to security guards at the depot. The real security guards, along with their families, were found murdered in their homes. Three husbands, three wives and eight children. The Army investigators were stunned by the extent of the violence involved in the attack on their facility.

  Drake, however, recognized the terrorists’ indifference to life. He’d seen it before, in places where Islamic fanaticism flourished. Like the swords they were so fond of raising in their videos, they were created by their madrassas and imams for one thing, killing in the name of Allah.

  From what the Army’s investigators had also learned, the initial blast in the bunker had not been successful in causing a release of the VX agent. They were investigating a false alarm caused by the Martin Research prototype monitoring system the depot had recently installed.

  After debriefing and promising to be available whenever they were needed in the Army’s ongoing investigation, they were allowed to return to Portland.

  Driving down I-84 along the Columbia in Mike’s Yukon, Drake tried to put himself in Kaamil’s shoes as he processed the events of the morning.

  Kaamil failed to assassinate the Secretary and his father-in-law, which Drake believed was the goal of the attack at the depot. He escaped with a well-planned retreat, but wasn’t finished, Drake thought. Whoever had planned an attack like this wasn’t going to stop just because a few pawns were sacrificed.

  “Mike, I have a feeling this isn’t over. It’s too big a plan for them to give up now. These guys pray to die for Allah, and there’s one too many still alive for my liking. Can you stay on for a day or so?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China, as the saying goes, even though India’s the leading tea producer in the world,” he said, glad to break the silence. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Kaamil will try again. If I were planning this, I’d try sooner rather than later. He lives here, has resources here, and he’ll regroup and hit us when we least expect it. Tonight or tomorrow would be my guess. Can you get us some backup?” Drake asked.