The Assassin's list

by Scott Matthews

  “It’s two in the afternoon. I’ll call in some of my best guys. You’ll like them, but it’s going to cost you. The best Special Forces guys don’t come cheap, and I’ve got the best, hired for my executive protection division.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Between my father-in-law, and his friend who got me into this, they’ll be good for it. I’m more concerned about what these assholes are up to, than who’s paying for your services.”

  Drake called the Senator while Mike was on his cell to his office in Seattle. The Oregon State Police had escorted the Senator back to Portland by car before the DHS had arranged air transportation for the Secretary. Liz Strobel had thrown a fit, of course, but the FBI wouldn’t budge. Investigating a terrorist attack on a Cabinet member was their turf. They weren’t going to rush things. Besides, a photo op arranged for the Secretary at the Portland airport took a little time to put together.

  The Senator wanted to know if Drake was available for dinner. The Secretary had agreed to take him up on his promise of a home-cooked meal and would be there. They both wanted to hear Drake’s take on the depot attack. Drake promised he’d be there for dinner.

  “Mike,” Drake said when he’d ended the call, “I think we need your guys sooner than later. The Senator invited me to dinner at his home, and the Secretary will be a guest, seven o’clock tonight. I have no idea what security has been arranged, but I don’t want to take a chance. If your guys can get here before then, we can go over what the State Police have planned and what I know about the Senator’s home.”

  “It’s what they live for, a little excitement now and then. They’re loading up now, they’ll be here by five p.m. at the latest. You want to stop and get something to eat? I’m starved.”

  Drake had to laugh. Eating had always calmed Mike’s nerves after an operation, and it seemed little had changed. He could go for a day without eating, rethinking their actions and what might be required of them the next day. His friend needed to feed himself and sleep away the tension.

  “You pick the place. I’ll drive the rest of the way home. Got a feeling I’ll be talking to myself after you’ve had a burger or two.”

  Chapter 48

  In the Spring Mountains northwest of Las Vegas, the leader Kaamil called Malik, aka David Barak, waited for a report that his strike against the Secretary of Homeland Security had been a success. As the afternoon wore on, the conviction that his protege had failed darkened his mood, like a summer thunderstorm sweeping over his mountain retreat.

  Maybe it was time to re-evaluate his plan to train inmate Muslim converts as assassins. The by-product of their assassinations could be the spark to start a race war in America, but only if they were successful. So far, they hadn’t been. He turned to his window and looked down the valley toward the city of Las Vegas. How could a country so venal, so vile, continue to escape Allah’s wrath, he wondered.

  Of all his lieutenants, Kaamil had been the most gifted. His rage was malleable, easily forged, with an intense desire to kill. His tendency to act on his own and an inability to lead, alas, was proving worrisome. Barak had known about his drug venture with Roberto Valencia, of course, courtesy of Roberto’s father. He’d overlooked it because of his need to work closely with the Mexican mafia. That latitude had probably been a mistake.

  His immediate concern was what he was going to do if Kaamil was captured. His mountain retreat was thirty-five miles north of Las Vegas, atop a ridge in the shadow of Mount Charleston. It was the perfect retreat from the city, with temperatures always twenty degrees cooler-a veritable oasis in the Nevada desert. There was only one way into the property, other than by helicopter, and that was by a private, paved road. It was three miles long and wound up through rocky cliffs from the county road below. If anyone came for him, he would be warned with plenty of time to retreat to his other sanctuaries.

  The sixteen thousand square foot main building was designed to look like an alpine lodge. It had an eight-car garage on the lower level and two private floors above the first floor, where guests were entertained. Several outbuildings housed a staff of thirty-five, vehicles, and other necessary equipment. All in all, his retreat was, in fact, a small fortress.

  The main floor of the lodge was designed for entertaining rich and influential Americans and Europeans, as well as his rich sponsors. With eight bedroom suites, each as lavish as any found in the casinos, a great room with an adjoining cantilevered deck that featured the distant night lights of Las Vegas, the place was spectacular. When guests weren’t being formally entertained, they had the use of a zero horizon pool, a spa, an attended exercise facility, a magnificent library, and a complete video and game room. Guests were always impressed with their accommodations.

  His sponsors, however, had always been more impressed with the operations level, housed on the second floor of the lodge. Four main rooms were staffed around the clock by his secret army, all loyal ISIS employees.

  One room housed his communication and surveillance equipment and staff. The second room was manned by those in charge of the facility’s security. The third room contained his off-the-books financial operation. The fourth room was his personal control room. From it, he could video conference with any of his offices or talk privately to his operatives anywhere around the world.

  Safe in his control room, he knew Allah was proud of the power he had organized. He would not be pleased, however, that the infidel he’d targeted wasn’t dead.

  Barak needed to hear his plan hadn’t failed, and he needed to hear it now. He turned on his heel and marched down the hall to the communications room. He ordered the on-duty communications operator to call the ranch in Hood River and tell them to report anything they were hearing about Kaamil’s operation.

  Just to be safe, he also ordered his Sikorsky S-76D helicopter to be made ready for his immediate return to his office in Las Vegas. If Kaamil had failed or been captured, it wouldn’t be long before the government came looking for him.

  Chapter 49

  When the helicopter flew away from The Hatch, Kaamil left the bed and breakfast and drove himself back to Portland. His transportation was a 1988 Chevy One ton step van with Johnson Farms Fresh Produce stenciled on the sides. It was the van Roberto Valencia used to run drugs down the river into the city. It had never been stopped or searched, partly because Roberto had installed a governor that kept the van from doing more than sixty miles per hour and getting a ticket.

  On the way, his first call was to an informant in the Portland Police Department. He learned extra security had been assigned around Senator Hazelton’s home, where it was rumored the Secretary of Homeland Security was dining. There was no indication the Secret Service would have command authority for the added security. His next call was to his backup team. He told them they would be working tonight and to meet him at the mosque.

  In the quiet time during the slow drive along the Columbia River, he went over the plans he had made in case Malik’s plan at the depot failed. Circumstances had intervened to defeat them, but Allah was providing another opportunity, maybe even a better one. He would just have to make sure nothing intervened again. Overwhelming force would always overcome unexpected circumstances, especially if the overwhelming force wasn’t afraid of dying. That had always been their advantage, and it would be again.

  Four hours after leaving his pursuer walking around the parking lot at The Hatch, Kaamil and four of his men solemnly entered the men only prayer hall of the mosque and prepared to say their afternoon prayers. Each of the four had cleansed himself before meeting Kaamil. Each understood the importance of performing their role with the pure and clean intention of pleasing Allah uppermost in their minds. In fact, it was what they had been training for, and dreaming of, since they had been recruited.

  When their last prayers were finished, Kaamil led them out of the mosque to a catering van borrowed for the evening. It belonged to a well-known catering company that had used ISIS to screen its employees for an upcoming socialite’
s home wedding.

  The van had actually been more of a problem to steal than the weapons he had borrowed from the warehouse ISIS maintained in the city. He’d been able to supply each of his men with a HK Mark 23.45 pistol with six twelve round clips and a M4A1 carbine with collapsible stock. Malik had purchased the weapons abroad for his international security service, and then had scattered some of them around the United States for the day they were needed. Today was such a day. No Secret Service detail would be able to stop them.

  In case the Senator’s house was more secure than expected, however, Kaamil had two of the M4A1s equipped with M203 grenade launchers. One would carry a special surprise he would use himself.

  He wasn’t planning a suicide mission. But if the body armor his men would wear didn’t get them into the Senator’s house to kill everyone there, he would do it himself. If he didn’t, he was probably a dead man anyway for failing Malik again.

  The first step was securing a base to launch their attack, and he had just the place in mind.

  Chapter 50

  After Mike dropped him off at the Flightcraft terminal, Drake picked up his 993 and drove to his office. He didn’t have time to drive back to his farm, and he needed a shower and change of clothes before he met his father-in-law for dinner. Fortunately, both were available at his office.

  He called Margo to make sure she didn’t hang around waiting for him.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You’re supposed to say Adam Drake law office, how may I help you, remember?”

  “Caller ID, you’re stalling.”

  “Save me some money and go home. I don’t want you involved until this is over.”

  “Sorry, been with you too long not to be involved. What do you need?”

  “A shower and change of clothes. I’m having dinner with the Senator, nothing you can help me with.”

  “Paul called, was that you in the helicopter chasing that guy down the Columbia?”

  “I went along for the ride, Mike flew the Black Hawk. Look, put a pot of coffee on and go home. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Everything is okay, really.”

  Her silence told him she wasn’t convinced.

  “Margo, go home, please. I’m just having dinner. There will be plenty of police protection. Take Paul down to McCormick amp; Schmick’s, have some oysters, and put it on the office account. Just stop worrying,” he pleaded and ended the call.

  He loved her like a sister, but sometimes she was too protective, too motherly. Not that he minded most of the time. Tonight, though, he needed a quiet moment in his office to clear his mind. Whatever else he thought about the familiar exhilaration he’d experienced when they stopped the terrorists’ attack at the depot, he knew more would die if Kaamil wasn’t stopped.

  With that thought, he called Mike.

  “Wondering when you’d call. My guys are on their way with the stuff you mentioned. I checked us into rooms in the Crowne Plaza off Kruse Oaks Drive. I’ll be in 301, so join me whenever you’re ready.”

  “Outstanding. I’m in my office. After a shower and some coffee, I’m headed your way. How are we set for transportation?”

  “Two commercial vans we use for surveillance and my Yukon. You think we need anything else?”

  “That’s enough. I’ll drive my car to the Senator’s house. We can park the others on the street. See you in an hour.”

  Chapter 51

  Kaamil hated the town he was driving through, but he loved the thought of smashing its smug sense of security. He’d grown up in an all-black neighborhood in the virtually all-white city of Portland. Ten miles away from his neighborhood was the suburb of Lake Oswego and its ostentatious displays of wealth. People spent more money here each month taking care of their lawns than his mother had made in a month. Thirty-five thousand people living in a fantasy world, letting their children dress like little whores and drive BMWs to school.

  The house he’d chosen as a base of operation was a seven-thousand-square-foot French Country mansion, with a boat dock on the lake. It belonged to a client with an ISIS home security system. Owned by a used-car dealer who had twenty-seven used-car lots spread across the city, it was also just around the point from Senator Hazelton’s home, less than five minutes by boat. It was just what he needed for the night.

  At precisely six o’clock, Kaamil drove the borrowed catering van up the driveway and stopped in front of the elaborately carved double doors of the Peterson’s house. He parked the van so their front door was hidden from view, and jumped out wearing the catering company’s uniform. He carried an invoice on a clipboard, and held a silenced HK Mark 23 pistol underneath it. When Mrs. Peterson opened the front door, Kaamil jammed the pistol in her stomach and invited himself inside.

  When the door closed behind him, Kaamil dropped the clipboard, grabbing the blond woman’s hair at the back of her head and pulling her close. Her frightened eyes made him smile.

  “I don’t want you to say a word, or you’ll die where you stand. And then I’ll kill the rest of your family. Nod your head if you understand me.”

  Casey Peterson was beautiful but not dumb. She saw the hate-filled eyes and powerful build of the tall black man holding her hair. She nodded quickly to show she understood.

  “Signal with your fingers how many others are in the house right now.”

  Casey raised her right hand and signaled with three fingers.

  “Does that include your husband and your two children?” Kaamil asked softly.

  Casey nodded yes.

  “Are you expecting anyone else tonight?”

  Casey shook her head no.

  “I hope you’re telling me the truth, Mrs. Peterson. Take me to your husband.”

  Casey led the way down the main hall to the den. Her husband was watching the news and enjoying his first martini of the evening. Thirty years old and thirty pounds overweight, Ron Peterson didn’t look as handsome as the billboards around the city made him look. When he looked up and saw a man holding his wife and pointing a gun at his head, he didn’t smile as brightly either.

  “Stay seated. I asked your wife three questions, and I’m not sure she told me the truth. Too bad for you.” Kaamil shot Ron Peterson execution style. When Casey screamed, he grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, put the.45 beneath her chin and said, “If you lied to me, tell me now or I’ll kill your children. Nod your head if you told me the truth.”

  Casey nodded. Kaamil let go of her hair. Then he slapped her with his left hand and gave her his last set of instructions.

  “Show me where your children are. I need to borrow your house for a while. If you can keep your children quiet until I leave, I promise they won’t be harmed. Will you do that for me?”

  A stunned Casey Peterson nodded before she numbly accompanied Kaamil down the hall to the screening room. The two children were watching a Disney movie when she led Kaamil into the room. She stood frozen as she watched him quickly walk behind each of her children and shoot them in the back of their heads. She hadn’t moved when he turned, walked back, and raised his gun to her head.

  The house was now his, Kaamil acknowledged with a smile, as he shot Casey Peterson.

  Chapter 52

  After a shower and change of clothes, Drake left his office and drove south on I-5 to meet Mike and his hastily assembled team.

  There was no way to know what they would be up against if Kaamil tried to finish what he had started. Drake knew the layout of his father-in-law’s house in Lake Oswego, and the likely avenues of attack. But he had to make sure there was little or no collateral damage if Kaamil came.

  Senator Hazelton’s house was located in the middle of a three-acre parcel on the southern shore of the lake. In addition to its other accommodations, the house also had a recently added safe room. If Kaamil attacked, Drake knew everyone inside would be safe if they reached that sanctuary. His concern was how to keep attackers away from the house so no one had to use the safe room. The grounds around t
he house were what he had to concentrate on.

  Twenty minutes later, Drake turned off I-5 and followed Kruse Way east to Kruse Oaks Drive and the parking lot of the Crowne Plaza Hotel. Drake couldn’t fault Mike’s choice of accommodations for his men. The hotel was close to the Senator’s home, business-travel anonymous and comfortable. He entered the hotel. An atrium with a waterfall cascading from the upper floors did little to deflect his concentration as he made his way to the bank of elevators.

  An elevator took him quickly to the third floor, and a short walk down the hall brought him to Room 301. Three knocks on the door and he was greeted by his smiling friend.

  “Come in, meet my men,” Mike welcomed. “We delayed ordering room service until we knew a little more about what you have planned, and whether your credit card is any good. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Drake gave his old friend a one-arm hug, then made his way around the room, greeting the team.

  Mike made the introductions.

  “This is Capt. Ricardo Gonzales, formerly of the Green Berets. One of the first guys I hired when I started the company. He’s one mean man, except when his wife Linda is around,” Mike said, punching the man’s shoulder.

  “Sounds like a wise man,” Drake said. “Glad to meet you, Captain.”

  Capt. Gonzales got up from his stool at the counter of the kitchen/wet bar and shook Drake’s hand. Gonzales stood five foot ten and looked like an Aztec Indian chiseled from obsidian, his features were so sharp. He was mid-thirties but carried his years like a proud eighteen-year-old recruit.

  “Mike told me he served with you, and that you’re a good operator,” Gonzales said. “I look forward to working with you tonight.”