The Assassin's list Page 14

  Then they went over the equipment they needed. Mike had brought most of it with him, including night vision goggles and tactical headsets.

  “I’ve mounted state-of-the-art communication equipment in the Yukon. With these headsets, we can communicate up to a half mile away from it, no problem. The headsets are configured to use with optical head bands. I’ll be able to see what you see at all times, and you’ll be able to see whatever’s out there,” Mike said proudly. “I’ve tried to make sure my guys have the best equipment available when they work.”

  With Mike’s M24A2, they agreed to limit their firepower to the handguns they were used to carrying-the.45s they had been trained to use as Delta Force operators.

  “How far are we taking this thing tonight?” Mike asked.

  “I’m just going to take a look around. I don’t plan on making things worse by shooting anyone. Don’t worry about it, Mike, they’re not even going to know I’m there,” Drake said, sounding as confident as he could. “Look, I have some work to finish in the vineyard. You can help me, or take a nap. It’s your choice. I’ll take you to dinner around 6:00 and we’ll leave for Hood River around 7:30.”

  Drake spent the next three hours on his old tractor, pulling out another row of old grape vines, alone.

  Chapter 32

  After a late breakfast and a walk around the ranch facilities, Barak headed back to the ranch house for Kaamil’s final briefing before he returned to Las Vegas. His plan was flawless and would succeed, if all his players did their part, especially Kaamil.

  Over a cup of Turkish coffee in the den, he ran down the list of things he wanted Kaamil to do, and then asked about the attorney.

  “What success have you had with the man you wasted three men trying to kill?”

  Kaamil’s eyes flared before he answered.

  “He hasn’t shown his face again. The imams are putting pressure on the cops to find out what happened to our brothers. My source says their investigation is also looking into his role in their disappearance.”

  “Find a way to turn up the heat. If he comes around again, make him disappear. The police will think he’s running from their investigation,” Barak said. “Don’t you like the coffee? Drink up, you’ll hurt my chef’s feelings.”

  “I was waiting for it to cool,” Kaamil offered. “It’s very hot and very strong.”

  “That’s the way I like it, hot and strong. Great Turkish coffee is supposed to be ‘Black as Hell, Strong as Death, and Sweet as Love’ according to an old saying. Are you comfortable with the arrangements for tomorrow’s party?”

  “Everything is set. Roberto is bringing the girls and the food. None of the regular staff is here, because it’s Sunday, and I didn’t want your chef involved. Their juice will be laced with the drug you designed, and it will be in their meals until Wednesday. They’ll be as courageous as lions and have the time of their lives.”

  Barak finished his cup and nodded his approval. “What have they been told about the plan for their extraction?”

  “The truth. I’ll be there in the Medevac helicopter to pick them up. I don’t expect they will make it that far, but if they do, we don’t want them captured.”

  “And are you willing to do what’s necessary, if it looks like you might be captured?”

  Kaamil met his leader’s gaze directly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll never let them take me alive.”

  “Good. That’s what I expect of my leaders. In this fight, the price may be death. If you’re not willing to pay it, you will remain your country’s slave. Remember that.”

  On his flight back to Las Vegas, Barak thought about his young lieutenant, and how easy he was to motivate. Telling him that jihad was his way to take revenge against whitey was all it took. Inflaming his anger had been easy, once he discovered Malcolm X was the young man’s hero. Convincing him that martyrdom was noble had been harder, but Kaamil’s fear of returning to prison guaranteed the end would be the same.

  Looking out his plane’s starboard window at the verdant mountains stretching south toward California, Barak wondered how America was going to react when it realized the racial violence rising up against it was being mobilized by its enemy.

  Chapter 33

  After dinner in Dundee, Drake answered Mike’s careful questions about life as a widower and his law practice as they were driving to Hood River. When they arrived, he gave his friend directions to a drive-thru coffee shop just off the interstate.

  “Sunset’s at 8:59 p.m. tonight, so there’s time to kill before we head out to the ISIS ranch,” Drake said. “It’s not your beloved Starbucks, but maybe it’ll keep you awake while I’m prowling around.”

  “Forty-four million customers, ya gotta be proud. Changed the world since 1987, that’s more than we were able to do.”

  “Yeah, but we sure tried, didn’t we?”

  A sunset painted thunderheads pink and purple as they piled up against the eastern flank of the Cascades. Mike drove them through the old downtown section of Hood River until they turned south onto Highway 35. The scattered lights from rural homes and small ranches soon gave way to the darkness of forested land, broken only by the headlights of the SUV.

  “There’s a road just south of the ranch. It ends at a trailhead into the national forest. We’ll park there. If we see anyone, we’re hikers out overnight,” Drake said. “We’ll hike in and when we get as close to the ranch buildings as possible, I’ll make a quick insertion. We’ll be back in Portland by breakfast.”

  “Plan’s a little short in details, but then yours always were. Let me hear your voice now and then, in case I get scared out here with the coyotes and such.”

  Mike had concealed himself as a sniper for days, while snakes and all sorts of insects crawled over him. A night in the open, for him, was a piece of cake.

  When they drove past the unmanned ISIS guardhouse a short time later, a surveillance camera tracked their passage. A quarter of a mile beyond the guardhouse, a country road turned east, and ran parallel to the southern boundary of the ranch. When they found the trailhead, Mike pulled his Yukon into the small graveled parking area. The darkness of the night was brightened only by a panoply of stars. A new moon did little to help illuminate the ground. Both men moved silently to the rear of the Yukon where Mike unloaded their gear. They pulled on black balaclavas and positioned the headset headbands on their heads.

  After a final check of their equipment, Drake spoke softly into the boom-arm mike of his tactical headset.

  “This headband is new. Wish we’d had something like this when we were running around in Iraq.”

  “Latest equipment, designed for special ops, private security and private military work. I’m looking into some of the Blackwater-type contracts available around the world. Thought I’d better check out some of the equipment they use,” Mike said.

  “You sure you want to get into that line of work?”

  “Have to. If you do executive protection work these days, clients want to know you can mount an operation if one of their people is kidnapped. You remember the hand signals, in case you can’t talk to me?”

  Drake raised his hand to his forehead, as if he was looking into the distance, the signal for “watch.” He then signaled “sniper,” by making a looking glass with his left hand at his left eye, and pointing his right hand like a pistol ahead at the ground. With his left hand he made the A-OK sign for “I understand.”

  “Let’s stay together until we reach the decline that slopes down to the ranch buildings. From the topographical map I bought, it looks like there’s a fairly steep drop-off ahead. From there, we’re below the tree line. Find a high point where you can cover me, and I’ll move in.”

  “Ready as ever,” Mike said, tapping his chest twice with a closed fist. “Just don’t take too many chances.”

  “If I run into trouble, you’ll be the first to know.”

  A carpet of pine needles provided silent passage. When the pine trees began to t
hin out and the lights of the ranch buildings were visible three hundred yards away, Drake told his friend to cover him.

  “I’ll work my way down through the boulders and sagebrush below us. When I get to the bottom, tell me what you see ahead.”

  Drake moved down through the large boulders scattered just below the timberline, looking for signs of intrusion detection devices. Mike had told him about the newest perimeter security devices he wouldn’t be able to spot. With the size of the ISIS ranch and its extensive perimeter, they were fairly confident he wouldn’t be detected, if at all, until he got close to the ranch buildings.

  When he reached the bottom of the slope below the timberline, he keyed his mike.

  “You seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked Mike.

  “Looks like the flat area ahead of you might have a few surprises. Twenty-five yards across, flat like it’s been leveled and treated with weed killer. I can’t see anything growing on this side of that barbed-wire fence.”

  “You see anything on the other side of the fence?”

  “Can’t see anything, but I suspect it’s infrared. The open area must have sensor pads.”

  “I’m going to my left, by that small cluster of trees. From here, it looks like that’s the end of this open area. Maybe I can find a way in from there,” Drake said.

  Moving laterally, he worked his way through the sagebrush until he reached the small cluster of juniper trees. From there, he could see the ranch house and other buildings clearly.

  “What are you scoping?”

  “I don’t see anything between those trees and the fence. From the fence to the buildings, it’s clear. No one’s moving around. There are lights on in the ranch house and the largest of the three buildings below it.”

  Drake studied the open ground ahead of him, sector by sector. He didn’t see anything to contradict Mike’s assessment.

  “I’m going to chance it. If there are sensors on this side of the fence, deer and coyotes would drive whoever is monitoring their system nuts. They’re probably trying to make us think there are detection sensors out here.”

  “Of course, they could just use dogs to keep people out,” Mike suggested, knowing how Drake loved Bullmastiffs, Dobermans and Rottweilers trained as guard dogs.

  “Thanks for that, bolsters my confidence immensely. I’m going over to the fence to see what it looks like.”

  Drake moved quickly to the fence. He was in the open, but unless someone was watching this particular sector of the ranch perimeter with night vision binoculars, he wouldn’t be noticed. The fence was a typical barbed-wire fence, four strands running between cedar fence posts.

  Crawling under the bottom strand of barbed wire, Drake stood up and whispered into his mike.

  “I’ll stay here for a couple minutes to see if that triggered anything.”

  When Mike saw no activity below, he directed Drake to move to his left to a slope that ran down to the ranch house and other buildings.

  “It looks like that’s your safest way in,” Mike said.

  Drake ran across sixty yards of old pasture land to the bottom of the slope before he crouched and scanned the area. Ahead at ten o’clock, he saw the outline of the largest of the three buildings on the lower level, below the ranch house.

  Vectoring back from right to left, Drake thought he saw the glow of a cigarette midway between the two-story building and the fence line he’d just crossed.

  “Mike, put your scope on that small stand of trees directly in front of me. I thought I saw something there.”

  After a moment, Mike confirmed it.

  “You have a man smoking a cigarette in the middle of that stand of trees. I don’t know how he got there. I’ve been watching that area from the buildings to the fence since you went in. He wasn’t there a minute ago. I would have spotted him.”

  “I’ll head his way and see what he’s doing. If they have guards posted, I may be wasting my time. If he’s just taking a smoke break, maybe I can follow him and find a way in. If he looks my way, signal.”

  Drake moved quietly forward, keeping his eyes on the stand of trees faintly illuminated by the stars overhead. Growing up in the city, he never got over how bright the stars were in central Oregon, east of the Cascade mountain range. After covering the first fifty yards of open rangeland, he stopped and looked again for the red glow of the cigarette he’d seen earlier.

  “Mike, is he still there? I can’t see him.”

  “Neither can I,” Mike said. “I watched him until a minute ago when I looked away to check for activity down around the buildings. When I looked back, he was gone. Stay put until I find him.”

  Drake dropped to the ground and searched the area ahead of him. All he saw with his night vision goggles were a few gnarly juniper trees bunched together. The trees were only seven or eight feet tall, but their twisted shapes provided excellent cover for a man sneaking a smoke or standing guard duty.

  “He’s not there,” Mike reported. “Unless this guy is a world-class sprinter, and ran back behind one of those buildings when I looked away, he just disappeared.”

  “Not possible, I would have heard him. I’m going to take a look.” He wasn’t going to risk getting any closer until he knew where the smoker went. A posted guard doesn’t smoke, and no one was that fast over uneven rangeland.

  Drake stood and moved ahead, watching for movement. When he was twenty yards from the junipers, he checked with his spotter again.

  “Still clear?” he asked.

  “Go. I don’t see anyone from here,” Mike reported.

  Drake moved forward and stopped behind the first juniper large enough to provide cover. He could still smell the tobacco smoke hanging in the night air. He was alone amidst the ancient shapes of the junipers, with no sign of danger until he stepped down on a metal surface and froze.

  Chapter 34

  Drake’s first thought was that he had stepped on a mine. He’d worked around mined areas along the border between Iraq and Iran, seen hundreds of boys and men missing arms and legs. Then he started remembering what he’d been taught about land mines. He squatted down without shifting his weight and gently felt the surface around his feet. It felt like a manhole cover. Feeling around the circumference of the metal plate, he found an opening, wide enough for four of his fingers to lift the cover.

  “Mike, you won’t believe this. I know how our smoker disappeared. I’m standing on top of a manhole cover. He must have surfaced from somewhere underground for a smoke break.”

  “If they’re hiding something underground, they’re not going to be happy the hired help is using it to sneak out for smokes.”

  “I’m going to try and lift this cover, see if he left it open for his next break. It might be my way in,” Drake said.

  “You sure you want to do this? If you trip an alarm, you’ll have a hell of a time getting back out.”

  “If I’m wrong and ISIS is running a legitimate operation, they’ll just call the cops. You can bail me out. If I’m right and don’t make it out, you’ll know my hunch was right. We win either way.”

  Drake stepped off the manhole cover and wedged his fingers in the half-inch crack around the edge. He lifted the cover and saw a soft red glow lighting a concrete shaft with a steel ladder leading down.

  “Mike, I’m going in. The cover wasn’t secured. Looks like a tunnel leads back toward the buildings. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, or signal I’m in trouble.”

  Drake climbed down the ladder, closing the cover behind him. The tunnel led to a metal door fifty yards away. He moved quickly down the tunnel, took a moment to slow his heart, and pulled the door open with his right hand.

  He saw a long hallway with unfinished concrete walls, doors on each side, and industrial-type lighting overhead. Drake moved quietly to the first door on the left and listened. Easing it open, he found the room empty except for a bed, a small desk and a military gray, portable metal closet against the far wall. It looked like some of the barrack quar
ters he’d occupied over the years.

  The door across the hall opened onto a large sleeping bay, with enough empty bunks lining each wall to sleep twenty or thirty men. He saw showers and sinks at the far end. Whatever this place is, Drake thought, it’s built to accommodate a lot of people.

  Back in the hallway, he checked the next two doors on the left. Both rooms looked like the first he had entered. The next room on the left, however, looked like it was being used. The bed was made in military fashion, and on the desk was an open Koran. He saw a prayer rug on the floor and, on the side of the gray metal closet, a uniform was hung. Stepping closer, he saw that it was a security staff uniform with a Umatilla Depot patch on the left shoulder. The name tag sewn above the right pocket said the uniform belonged to Jameer Williams.

  Drake felt a chill run up the back of his neck. The Umatilla Depot was one of seven U.S. Army installations in the United States currently storing chemical weapons. It was located two hours east, six miles south of the Columbia River. A new chemical agent disposal facility had been built in 2001, to incinerate the twelve percent of the nation’s chemical weapon stockpile housed there. So far, only thirty percent of the stockpiled Sarin (GB), nerve agent (VX), or mustard blister agent (HD) had been destroyed.

  While he didn’t consider himself Islamophobic, learning that ISIS was housing or training security personnel from the nearby chemical weapons depot unnerved him.

  In the next room, Drake found another prayer rug and another security staff uniform belonging to one Mohammed Marcus. As he started to search Mohammed’s desk, he heard voices in the hallway. Two men, who sounded like they were headed his way.

  “You see them girls? Those brothers having themselves a time tonight.”

  “Just a taste of paradise, like Kaamil said. Gonna be all I can do to let them party alone.”

  Drake stood behind the door, hoping he wasn’t in one of their rooms. When the two men passed, he eased the door open and watched them walk toward the sleeping bay. They were wearing tricolor camo fatigues and desert combat boots, like the ones worn by the National Guard units in and around Portland. Both men were tall and appeared to be in their twenties, black, with close-cropped hair.