The Assassin's list Page 15

  Before they entered the sleeping bay, one of them said “Kaamil only gave us five minutes to hit the head, we better hurry. Hope Yousef hurried up his smoke break. He won’t wanna miss the show.”

  As soon as both men were out of sight, Drake slipped out and turned left. He wanted to see the party area the two men were talking about. Just then, the double doors at the end of the hallway started to open. Another man in camo fatigues was backing through the door, holding a large cardboard box in his hands.

  Drake had just enough time to open the next door on his left and duck into the room. It was the same as the other two, except for a framed picture of a beautiful woman on the dresser.

  When the man with the box passed the room, Drake inched the door open and snuck a quick peek down the hallway. The first two men were just coming out of the sleeping bay. The man with the box stood waiting for them to clear the doorway.

  “You two better hurry, you’re going to be late. I’ll make sure Yousef is back.”

  Drake pulled the door closed as the two men came running past. If someone went looking for Yousef and found the manhole cover unsecured, he’d have to find another way out. He had to make a run for it and hope the man with the box didn’t come out before he reached the other end of the hallway.

  In college, he was first team, weak side linebacker, and the quickest on the team in closing a hole or chasing down a runner. He could still run a mile in five minutes and fifteen seconds. But tonight, when he needed to reach the tunnel in a hurry, it seemed like he was running in quicksand.

  “Hey, what the hell you doing here,” the man with the box yelled, as Drake ran past the sleeping bay door. “Stop or I’ll shoot your ass.”

  Drake barely broke stride, seeing the box man wasn’t armed, and pushed through the steel door. He ran down the long tunnel and scrambled up the ladder out of the underground bunker.

  “Mike,” he whispered loudly, as he threw open the manhole cover and broke into a run, “I’m gonna have company shortly. Where should I go?”

  “I see you. Lights are going on all over. Angle to your left, toward the shooting range, where it’s dark. From there, you have a pretty clear path to my ridge.”

  Drake ran toward the covered firing line of the shooting range, then angled up toward the ridge. No one seemed to be chasing him. Another hundred yards and he would reach the fence, then the ridge beyond.

  “Bad news, Amigo. They’re sending dogs. Three packs of Dobermans, one of them is headed your way, be there in half a minute. You want me to take them out?”

  “No, I’m gonna make like Mel Gibson,” Drake said between pants, “and stare them down. Hell yes, shoot them.”

  From the ridge, Drake was two hundred yards away and covering ground quickly. The Dobermans, though, were closing faster. The problem was one of timing. Mike would have to hit all four dogs in a matter of seconds.

  “If I say ‘down,’ get behind a rock or something. You may have to help me here. Commencing fire now.”

  Behind Drake, four large Dobermans were running straight at him, like greyhounds chasing a mechanical rabbit. The lead dog was slightly ahead. The other three were flanking him.

  Twenty yards behind Drake, the lead Doberman went down in a rolling tumble, knocking the dog to his right momentarily off course. Then the dog on the left did a somersault when his head exploded.

  Drake didn’t turn to look, but he heard the sound of another dog fall. He knew he wouldn’t hear the whisper of the 7.62mm rounds coming from Mike’s suppressed M24A2.

  “Down,” he heard, and dove behind a small boulder. He looked up as the last Doberman went airborne, like a guided missile aimed straight at his face. He rolled to his right, looking up in time to see the last dog’s head explode.

  “Come on, Kemo Sabe,” Mike said, “no time to be lying around. You have more dogs headed your way.”

  Drake got up and ran for the fence, deciding to tell his friend he thought he’d cut it a little close with that last dog.

  Chapter 35

  In the ISIS command center, Kaamil stared at the surveillance monitors. Someone had broken into the bunker and wandered around in the martyr’s rooms. Malik would kill him for allowing this to happen. Kaamil moved closer to the monitor and replayed the video. The hooded man entered from the steel door that was supposed to be locked. He had come down through the escape tunnel, which was never to be used unless their survival required it. How had this happened? He watched as the man moved from room to room, until he was frightened off.

  He replayed the video once more, this time running it back ten minutes before the intruder entered. There, six minutes before the intruder entered, one of the new trainees opened the steel door a crack to make sure no one was in the hallway, and then dashed into the sleeping bay. Unbelievable! After all the screening and tests the men went through, how had one so stupid made it this far?

  Kaamil slammed his hands down on the console and punched on the computer audio microphone.

  “Abed, Rashid, get to command center immediately. Bring Ibrahim and the new man Yousef with you. Now!” he shouted.

  The problem was twofold; find out who the intruder was, and make sure Malik didn’t hear about him before he returned to Las Vegas. The first problem was the hardest by far. The intruder wore a black balaclava and black clothing. There was nothing obvious in his outward appearance. He looked fit, over six feet tall, and he moved like some of the combat instructors he’d trained with. The man could be one of Roberto’s competitors, someone who learned about the ranch and came to spy.

  It could also be someone Malik had sent to test them. Which meant it was already too late to keep Malik from hearing about the intruder. There was one thing he wasn’t concerned about, though. The intruder wasn’t from the government. A government man would get a search warrant first and come in through the front door. And he wouldn’t wear a balaclava, he’d have FBI, in big white letters, on his jacket.

  Before his two lieutenants arrived, Kaamil took a 9mm Glock from a drawer in the command console and stuck it inside his belt. When they entered the room, he watched each of them carefully. He’d known both men in prison, and they had proven their loyalty to him time and time again. But, he’d put them in charge of the dormitory wing and ultimately they were responsible. They were nervous. The small movements of their hands and the stiffness in their postures gave them away. They were not so afraid they refused to meet his withering glare, and he knew it was because they trusted him.

  The other two men were also nervous and afraid. Kaamil addressed them first.

  “Someone broke into our bunker tonight, and was allowed to escape. Do either of you know how that happened?”

  Ibrahim, the one carrying the box into the sleeping bay who had confronted the intruder, stared at the wall behind Kaamil and said, “No.”

  Kaamil stepped in front of Yousef. “Do you know how the intruder got in?”

  “How would I know?” Yousef said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe he got in when the Mexican brought the girls.”

  Kaamil wanted to laugh at the man’s stupid attempt to blame his action on someone else. The smell of tobacco was still strong on him.

  “Do you know the Koran, Yousef? Do you know that the Prophet commands us to do what is just and forbids us to do what is evil? You know that, Yousef?” Kaamil asked quietly.

  “Of course, and ‘allows them as lawful what is good, and prohibits them from what is bad,’” Yousef said, finishing the sura Kaamil had paraphrased.

  “And do you consider lying something that is good, or is something that is bad?”

  In that moment, the look in Yousef’s eyes signaled he understood Kaamil knew and that he was about to die. It was also the moment Kaamil whipped the Glock around and shot the man in the heart, took a step to his left and shot Ibrahim.

  “Let that be a lesson,” he said to Abed and Rashid, as he put the Glock down on the command console. “Lying to me will kill you. Not being a warrior and st
opping an intruder when you have the chance, will kill you as well. Now, no one else knows someone broke in tonight, and no one else is ever going to know. We failed to secure this facility. It will not happen again. Keep these two here until the men are in bed. Then remove them with the party trash. If anyone asks, they were selected for a mission and haven’t returned yet.”

  Kaamil walked out of the command center and headed back to the ranch house. He had a growing suspicion that someone had him in his sights, and was about to pull the trigger.

  Chapter 36

  It took twenty minutes to reach the Yukon and another fifteen minutes for Drake to walk point and lead the way back to Hwy. 35. When he climbed in, they turned left to follow the Mount Hood Loop back to Portland.

  Drake pulled off the balaclava and sat back in his seat for a moment with his eyes closed.

  “You were a little slow with that last dog. Just wanted to mention that, in case there’s a next time. Age and all, though, you did all right.”

  “Come on, man, you gotta love the beauty of it all. I waited until that last dog was in the air, so you’d remember how much you need me. How much fun would it have been for you, if I’d shot those dogs when they were a hundred yards back?”

  “You’re right, Mike. Foolish of me to think you’d take the shot when it would be a challenge, when you could wait and take the easy shot.”

  “Oh, man, that is not fair. I had your six. You used to sneak into a place and not wake everybody up.” Mike laughed when he glanced over and saw the feigned look of hurt on his friend’s face. “So, what’d you see down there?”

  “Not what I expected. There was a sleeping bay, like on a military base, then a string of private rooms. Reminded me of our old Delta quarters-a bed, a small desk and a wall locker. In two of the rooms, there were Korans on the desks and prayer rugs on the floors.”

  “So what’s ISIS doing, training Saudi security guys?” Mike asked as they drove past the Mount Hood Ranger Station.

  “I don’t think they’re training Saudis. The guys I saw are American blacks. The rooms with the prayer rugs had security staff uniforms for the chemical weapons depot in Umatilla hanging on the lockers.”

  In the ensuing silence, both men thought about what that could mean.

  “You’re going to have to tell someone about this,” Mike said. “We’ve had enough homegrown terrorism in the Northwest to know these nut cases are a menace. They’re just stupid enough to hit an Army chemical depot. I have clients in and around the depot red zone. I know how dangerous that shit is. With thirty-seven hundred tons of old chemical weapons stored there, an explosion or fire in the storage area with a strong wind blowing and a lot of people are going to die.”

  They were driving through a primeval forest, with canopies of towering, old fir trees almost blotting out the stars as they drove down the old Barlow Road. It was the last leg of the Oregon Trail that had brought settlers to the fertile Willamette Valley. The thought of thousands dying from one of man’s modern inventions of war seemed inappropriate in a place of such dark and ancient beauty.

  “Who can I tell?” Drake asked, staring ahead into darkness beyond the headlights. “I broke into the place. By the time anyone could serve a search warrant, they won’t find Korans, prayer rugs, or depot uniforms. Maybe there’s an explanation I’m not seeing. ISIS does train security personnel, there’s no reason they can’t be training people to work at the chemical depot. Who’s going to do anything, just because I say I saw some Korans and prayer rugs? They’d just say I’m an Islamaphobe.”

  Mike turned to look at his friend. “When did you start worrying about what other people think? We used to throw together mission plans on a lot less. ISIS and this ranch operation smell, and you and I know it.”

  He was right. Drake’s suspicions and anger at being targeted had propelled him this far, but he felt a deep and foreboding reluctance to getting involved with his government again. He’d been a pawn on a chessboard when he was an operator in Delta Force. He didn’t have any desire to get involved with the FBI or DHS and be a tool for someone else again.

  He also couldn’t stand by while Kaamil and Roberto Valencia and their crew might be planning something that would endanger thousands of innocent people.

  “Okay, you’re right. Just because my little sneak-and-peek at the ranch won’t convince anyone, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. If they won’t listen, then we’ll have to see if my father-in-law can help, as a last resort.”

  Drake opened his cell phone and scrolled down to the number Liz Strobel had given him. It wasn’t midnight yet, and he hoped she was in her room and not out partying somewhere.

  Six rings on her phone and an invitation to leave a message told him she was either out, or choosing not to answer his call. He knew he could call the Senator at any hour, but that would only lead eventually back to Strobel. He would wait until tomorrow.

  “She’s not answering. Let’s get back and get some sleep. I have a feeling we might have a busy schedule the next couple of days, once I raise an alarm. Any chance you can stay around for a few more days?” Drake asked.

  “Why, you planning on going it alone like we used to, if you can’t get anyone to listen? I need to get back to the office tomorrow, but I might be able to return to keep your ass out of trouble.”

  Drake smiled at his friend’s subtle reminder of past close calls. Mike had an uncanny ability to lay down covering fire that had allowed him to escape many a kill zone. Mike was the best partner he’d ever worked with, and in Delta Force there weren’t any bad partners.

  “Let me see what Strobel says, and I’ll call you. She might find my charm irresistible and forget she stood by while the Secret Service and the FBI threw me under the bus. If she doesn’t, we’ll proceed with Plan B, just as soon as I figure out what Plan B is.”

  Chapter 37

  Early Monday morning, after four hours of sleep and seeing Mike off, Drake called Liz Strobel. When she answered, her gravelly voice said she’d been sleeping soundly.

  “’If this is your idea of a sick joke, guys, I’ll make you pay,” Strobel said.

  “Good morning, Sunshine. Adam Drake. I need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have to listen. It’s early. Why are you doing this to me, Drake?” she whined.

  “Whining doesn’t become you, Sunshine. Meet me downstairs in an hour for coffee. I may even buy you breakfast. I have some news you need to hear,” he said and hung up.

  Strobel slammed down the phone and pulled the covers over her head. Her job required her to be as tough as the men she ordered around, but keeping up with them when they started drinking was still a skill she hadn’t mastered.

  An hour later, Drake watched Strobel walk into the coffee shop of the Marriott, dressed like she was headed to the White House to brief the President. Navy blue jacket, tan skirt, a soft cream-colored silk blouse, and heels. He was impressed.

  Strobel stopped behind her chair, where she locked a brief, this better be good, stare on him before she sat down. Then she waited for Drake to talk.

  “I’m sorry I woke you up. I thought you might like to know your boss may be in danger,” Drake said.

  “If this is an attempt to get me to interfere in the investigation of the guys you killed, you can save your breath. It’s out of my hands, as you no doubt saw the other day.”

  “This isn’t about that, although there may be a connection. What if I were to tell you that at a location close to the chemical weapons depot, there are men living in an underground bunker. They have uniforms that will identify them as security guards at the depot. Your boss speaks there day after tomorrow.”

  “My first question would be, why you think these men pose a danger to Secretary Rallings? The second would be, how did you learn about some underground bunker?” she said, sitting back in her chair while the waitress put her coffee on the table.

  “First, just to be clear, I said your boss might be in danger. The reason is
simple, but then I’m a fairly simple guy. The men in the underground bunker are black American Muslims, and they’re hiding underground,” Drake said.

  “But you don’t know why they’re in this bunker, and they’re a threat because they’re Muslim and black?” Strobel asked, with her eyebrows raised. “You’d be popular in Washington with that kind of logic, Mr. PC.”

  Drake shrugged, “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, out here we call it a duck. Most of our homegrown terrorists in the Northwest have been black Americans who converted to Islam. When they’re living in a secret underground bunker, with uniforms that provide access to a chemical weapons depot, I think the threat possibility should at least be explored.”

  “You haven’t told me how you know about this bunker.”

  Drake studied her face. He hadn’t decided if he could trust her with the truth. “I can’t tell you that, and you don’t want to know. Look, my father-in-law will be with your boss Wednesday at the dedication ceremony. I have no reason to make this up.”

  “So what am I supposed to do with your suspicions? I can’t get a FISA warrant with what you’ve told me. And I won’t get the FBI involved, not when they’re trying to hang me out to dry because I helped you.”

  “What good is Homeland Security when you won’t investigate a threat like this? You have something suspicious going on near a chemical weapons depot with enough chemical munitions to wipe out the west coast,” Drake threw down.

  “You know damn well why we can’t help,” she said, standing up. “If you or your source doesn’t have the guts to tell us about this bunker, don’t expect me to send in the cavalry.”

  Drake knew she was right, just as he knew that getting her involved would have slowed him down anyway. He had to warn her, but hadn’t expected her to do much. If America wouldn’t do everything possible to protect itself at home, he would. He wasn’t afraid to do it again, Strobel’s accusation notwithstanding.