The Assassin's list Page 4

  “My company provides security services and sometimes business intelligence for our international clientele. What services are you interested in?”

  “Barak, let’s not play games. Your company, ISIS, was started with a twenty-five million dollar stake from the Muslim Brotherhood. You were sent to gain a foothold, to develop a front capable of carrying out strikes against America. You have done that remarkably well. But, plans change. I’m here to see if you are flexible enough to take on more than you were originally asked to do.”

  Barak had assumed as much. What he didn’t know was whether he could trust this man, or the men he was fronting for.

  “And why would you want to do that? You seem to know a lot about me, but I don’t know a thing about you. What do you care about my cause?”

  The man calling himself Ryan smiled and helped himself to a relleno.

  “You should try one of these, mushroom stuffed with chorizo, excellent. To answer your question, we need someone to provide the services you have trained your elite recruits for, assassinations. Some of our clients have a clumsy way of dealing with adversaries. Their methods need to be more sophisticated, if you will. As for your cause, your enemy has been our enemy for a very long time. We failed before, and now we may have another chance.”

  Barak picked up his crystal tumbler and swirled the scotch around the ice that remained. The tropical climate had many attractions, but ice lasting more than a couple of minutes wasn’t one of them. From what he was told, Ryan’s organization was powerful in Europe, North Africa, and Latin America. Its specialty was money laundering for major crime syndicates, and it owned or controlled banks around the world, originally financed with stolen Jewish money and gold from World War II. After the war, it had developed a relationship with the Brotherhood. What he didn’t know was what the Alliance was doing these days, and what their ultimate goal was.

  “Ryan, you are quite the diplomat. If I hadn’t lived in America for nearly half my life, I would enjoy continuing to beat around the bush, as we say. So let’s speak plainly. You want me to provide assassins for your drug cartel clients, in exchange for money you’ll funnel to me. Why?”

  His blond host took off his sunglasses and smiled.

  “I have lived in South America as long as you have lived in America. Perhaps I am used to speaking obliquely. The answer is, since 9/11 the terrorist finance tracking program the Americans put together is causing both of us problems. You have legitimately earned money you wish to put to illegal use, and we have illegal funds we want to place in the international financial system. We propose a bartering arrangement. You provide the assassinations our clients want, without a trail back to them, and we provide untraceable funds to you.

  “Personally, my grandfather was branded a war criminal by the Jews, but he wasn’t brought to trial. They killed him in Brazil where they found him. My father organized our current efforts, and I work to see those efforts succeed. We share a common goal, Barak. You want to avenge your father, just as I want to avenge my grandfather. We can do that by working together.”

  The hatred burning in the eyes of the Aryan warmed Barak’s soul. There were many details to discuss, but he felt a kinship he was willing to trust.

  “Ryan, I’m willing to work with you, but you only. My true identity is not to be revealed to any of your clients. I will only communicate with you, face to face. Our meetings will be arranged by hand-delivered correspondence. If that’s acceptable to you, then let us begin.”

  Both men stood, touched their glasses, and drank more of Barak’s favorite Scotch to toast the destruction of their enemies.

  Chapter 8

  After Drake brushed aside Detective Carson’s blustering interference in Richard Martin’s office, he led the CEO outside.

  “Is there some place we can talk privately? Carson will leave you alone for now, but I need to get a handle on this pretty quickly.”

  “There’s a cafeteria in the basement. I’ll treat you to an espresso.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s a Starbucks here,” Drake moaned.

  “Don’t insult me. I like coffee, but I don’t need it with a triple shot of caffeine. We buy and grind our own,” Martin said, leading Drake to the elevator.

  They rode down to the basement. Black and white photographs of the Oregon wilderness lined the light saffron walls of the cafeteria. A salad bar and small food service counter ran along the wall, advertising daily specials listed far below local market prices. Obviously, Martin Research took exceptional care of its employees.

  Martin asked for an espresso and Drake asked for a cafe au lait. While they waited for their coffee, Drake asked about the cafeteria.

  “Is there an outside service entrance?”

  “No, everything comes down the service elevator from the first floor. Surveillance cameras monitor the place twenty-four seven.”

  Drake saw two cameras over the service counter and three more spaced around the large room.

  When they were seated, Martin held his coffee in both hands and fixed his eyes on the nature scenes lining the walls.

  “I have no idea how this happened, Drake. The detectives asked me every question they could think of, and I told them the same thing.”

  “Tell me what you told them.”

  “That I was not having an affair with Janice. My God, she was my secretary for almost twenty years. People can work together without having affairs. There’s no way I would ever have crossed that line. I respected her too much. I’m married, and I’m not looking for anything else.”

  “Okay. She was married too. How were things on her side? Any chance she was seeing someone?”

  “No way. She adored her husband. She lived for him and her kids. Her biggest thrill was when the two of them could get away for a long weekend.”

  “What was she doing here so late at night? She was murdered between ten o’clock and midnight, if the police are right.”

  “She was getting ready to leave for a vacation. She told me she wanted to make sure everything was covered for the two weeks she’d be away. I guess she was here working.”

  “Is there any reason someone would want to hurt her? Any problems her husband had that could have led to this?”

  Martin shook his head and set his coffee down.

  “You had to know Janice. There’s no reason anyone in the world would want to hurt her. She could convince a mugger to turn himself in rather than take her purse.”

  “So that leaves us with someone stealing from your company, or something involving you, since they were in your office. Any ideas?”

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about this, that somehow I could have prevented this. I hired the top security firm in the country and installed everything they recommended. I still had problems. I don’t know what else could have been done.”

  “I’m not suggesting there was anything, Richard. What about something business related?”

  “I have competitors who fought me for the Homeland Security contract, but that’s all that I know of.”

  “Okay, what about your competitors? Anyone who might be involved in something like this?”

  “No, there was only one real competitor, and DHS wound up splitting the contract between us. We work on biological and chemical monitoring, and they work on nuclear monitoring. There’s no way they’d do something like this for the rest of the research. They have enough work to keep them busy.”

  Martin finished his coffee and stood up.

  “You need to talk to my head of security. He might have some ideas, because I sure as hell don’t.”

  Chapter 9

  With Martin’s directions, Drake found his way to the first floor office of Risk Management amp; Corporate Security. The secretary in the small front office announced his presence, and soon a grim-faced man of fifty or so brushed past her and greeted Drake. Short and broad shouldered, the man had the piercing look of law enforcement in his eyes.

  Sam Newman wore the uniform of corporate
security, a blue blazer over gray slacks with a red tie set against his white shirt. He still looked like someone who could make an arrest in a biker’s bar without interference.

  “Mr. Martin called and said you needed to talk to me. Come on in,” he said, holding open the door to his office.

  Drake saw that he’d been right about Sam Newman’s background. The wall behind Sam’s cluttered desk was covered with pictures of citations received, plaques attesting to years of service and photos of his family and friends. The office was unpretentious, a place to work, not a monument to the man’s ego.

  “Where’d you serve?” Drake asked.

  “Palo Alto, twenty-six years. I’ve been here in God’s country for the last four. Thought I’d find a cushy security position for a few years, and slow down. Hasn’t quite worked out that way. How can I help you, Drake?”

  “Mr. Martin’s told me some of it, but he’s not a security expert. I understand the security system failed around the time his secretary was murdered. That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

  “You here to find a scapegoat, or find out what happened?” Sam asked.

  Drake recognized the response. He interviewed too many police witnesses who wanted to know he was on their side before they told him what really happened.

  “Sam, I’m here to help the company get through this, with as little damage as possible. If you screwed up and you’re responsible, then I guess you’re the goat. I’ll know sooner or later. If there’s another explanation, I need to know what it is sooner rather than later.”

  Sam watched Drake’s eyes for a good ten seconds before making up his mind.

  “I’m trying to quit smoking, but this doesn’t look like the week that’s going to happen. Care to take a walk with me out of this no smoking zone?”

  When he walked by his secretary’s desk, Newman showed her his pack of Marlboros, eliciting a nod and a smile. Drake caught the smile and wondered if she covered for him for other things.

  They walked out of the office and down the hall to an outside door with a security pad. Entering his security code, Newman led them out of the building and down an outside path to a bench beneath two white-flowering magnolia trees. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and looked out over the expanse of lawn.

  “You ever work in the D.A.’s office?”

  “Five years. Why?”

  “How long did it take you before you could spot a felon on the street?”

  “Not long.”

  “Well, I know an ex-con when I see one, and three of the new security guards assigned here have been in prison, I’m sure of it. I checked their records and couldn’t find a thing. They all have adopted Muslim names, but suspiciously clean records. I know the look, I know the walk.”

  “What does that have to do with Martin’s secretary?”

  “Someone got into this building, and we’re supposed to have the best security system money can buy. It had to be an inside job. Somehow, this involves these ex-cons, or the company they work for,” Newman said.

  “You’re not buying the theory that this was a burglary that ended in murder?”

  “No way. Janice Lewellyn was a careful person. She didn’t like working at night and didn’t work late often. We talked about it. When she walked to her car, she always had her mace in hand. She would fight like a hellion if someone tried to rape her. If someone tried to rob her, she would let the thief take what he wanted. This had to be something else.”

  “So how did the surveillance system get turned off? All the cameras, all the touch pads, everything went down at the same time. How’d that happen?” Drake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam answered. “There are only two people who have the code to shut down the security system. I have it, in my safe. The guy from ISIS who installed the system has it.”

  “Could a security guard obtain the code somehow?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible, but I guess we’ll know soon enough. Detective Carson said they were going to polygraph all the ISIS security personnel assigned here. Hell, he’s even got me scheduled for first thing tomorrow.”

  Newman didn’t appear to be worried about tomorrow’s polygraph.

  “So if this is an inside job, you think somehow it involves one of these ISIS security guards? How did he know to turn off the security system, assuming he did, the night she was here? Did anyone know she was working that night?”

  “According to Mr. Martin, the answer is no. She was leaving for Hawaii the next day. She probably was trying to make sure everything was done before she left. But no one would know she was coming back that night.”

  “You honestly think the security company you hired, or one of its employees, is responsible for this? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Sam said. “What I know is that ex-cons are working where they shouldn’t be working, for a company that should know better than to hire them. You figure it out.”

  “So why do you use this company, if you suspect them?”

  “I didn’t hire them, Martin did. DHS pressured him to upgrade security. Martin thinks big is best. ISIS is the largest private security firm in the country, hell, maybe even in the world. Who am I to second guess his choice? Besides, I need this job. Everyone thinks twenty-five years and a pension earns you a cushy retirement. Don’t believe them,” Newman said.

  Chapter 10

  Drake left Sam Newman’s office with more questions than answers. The police didn’t have any leads, and Newman suspected the security firm hired to protect his company. Someone with the ability to shut down the company’s security system had to be involved. What he didn’t know was if you had to have the security codes to shut down the security system. If there were other ways to do it, then any number of players might be involved. All of which meant a visit to the ISIS office was in order.

  After leaving a message for Martin with the receptionist that he was headed to the local ISIS office, Drake left the Martin Research campus and started back to Portland. Driving east on the Sunset Highway, he hit the number for his office on his dash-mounted cell phone and noticed his secretary had tried to reach him.

  “Hi, boss, you headed this way?” Margo asked. “I have information on that security firm you might need. The ISIS office is located on Kruse Way, next to the State Farm Insurance building. The regional manager’s name is Kaamil Sayf. Paul couldn’t find anything about him.”

  “You’re a mind reader. Tell me about ISIS.”

  “ISIS stands for the International Security and Information Services. It was started twenty-five years ago by a man named David Barak. Headquartered in Las Vegas, they have offices around the world and are rated as one of the top two or three firms providing corporate security, VIP protection services, and business intelligence. Their clients include a lot of celebrities, CEOs, and government types not protected by their governments. It’s a huge company.”

  Drake absorbed the information. Why would a company like ISIS hire felons? They obviously had the resources to do background checks. Of course, Newman might be wrong, trying to create a scapegoat.

  “I think I’ll check out ISIS and then head your way. Before I get there, run a check on Sam Newman, the head of security at Martin Research. He’s not a suspect, at least in my book, but see what you can find about him.”

  “No problem. Be neat to see you someday, maybe even get some work done.”

  When the connection ended, Drake had the fleeting thought it might be wise to take another day off. Margo didn’t hide her feelings. When she mentioned getting work done, it usually meant that he forgot a deadline or appointment. Sizing up ISIS seemed like a piece of cake compared to what the rest of his day promised if he returned to his office.

  Drake drove on, thinking about ISIS. He’d heard of ISIS, but that was like saying you had heard of Halliburton. Multinational corporations with more money than most third world countries were almost impossible to get answers from. The Portland ISIS offi
ce would say they needed to talk to corporate, and someone would get back to him. He’d be as lucky as he had been when he called about his coffee maker, and wound up talking to someone in India.

  Take a deep breath and relax. Follow the thread. See if you can find a way to help your client. Big corporations are a part of the twenty-first century landscape. Drake shook his head, punched in XM 70 to listen to commercial-free jazz, and accelerated the 993 up to ninety before backing off when he ran out of open lane ahead.

  He crossed over I-5 and continued east, entering the area where ISIS had its corporate office. Stands of oak groves surrounded the office buildings and restaurants, and beyond them, high-end residential developments. ISIS had chosen carefully and well. It was the kind of place where trusted businesses located.

  The four-story brick building, with brass letters proclaiming it to be the regional office of International Security and Information Services, Inc. wasn’t ostentatious. Except for the fact that ISIS was the only tenant. All of the surrounding office buildings housed multiple businesses.

  Drake drove down the ramp into the parking garage and pulled in next to a black Suburban with darkened windows and an ISIS logo painted in gold on its door. When he got out of the Porsche, he stretched and studied the ISIS logo. The round logo had a hieroglyph of the Egyptian goddess Isis, representing the idea of eternal life and resurrection, of life and blood, over arched with the words International Security amp; Information Services, Inc. It wasn’t the logo Drake expected from a company promising clients protection and security. Instead, it suggested life ever after, granted by an ancient Egyptian goddess. What had some advertising consultant been smoking when he came up with that one, Drake wondered.

  He also noticed the Suburban had antennas on the roof and rear window, twenty-four-inch wheels and heavy-duty red shocks that made armor a strong possibility. At least the company had some of the right equipment to do its job.