The Assassin's list Read online

  Drake relaxed and holstered his.45. On the way back to his house, he considered the situation. The approach to his house by the three was military style, albeit crude, and they weren’t there to rob him. So who were they?

  If they were any of the felons he’d convicted while a prosecutor, they would have waited and tried for him in town, drive-by style. Those men, though convicted, weren’t street stupid. They would leave calling cards and make sure everyone knew it was them. There were no personal enemies he knew of, so what was this about?

  By the time he reached the house, he decided his situation was too complicated for local law enforcement to handle. The City of Dundee relied on the Yamhill County Sheriff to enforce its laws. He’d spend the next week trying to convince a room of deputy sheriffs he hadn’t mistakenly killed three trespassers. If he got Detective Carson involved, and there was any possible tie to Martin Research, he’d probably wind up in jail. That left the Senator. He’d want to know if this somehow involved his friend, Richard Martin, but maybe he could pull a few strings and get him out of this mess.

  Chapter 18

  In the next half hour, Drake loaded the three bodies in the Suburban and drove them into the outbuilding. When the sliding door was closed, he laid each of them out on the concrete floor and placed their weapons beside them. He’d leave the forensic stuff to others, but at least for now, they were out of sight.

  Back in the house, he made sure Lancer had a full bowl of water, and went directly to his study to call his father-in-law. It was 3:00 a.m. He hoped the Senator was a light sleeper.

  “Don’t think you’ve ever called me this early. You all right?”

  “Not exactly sir, can we talk?”

  “Give me a moment to get downstairs.”

  While he waited, Drake thought about what he should say over an unsecured phone line. He’d be careful, but the Senator needed to know his predicament.

  “Okay, fire away, while I start some coffee. Something tells me I might not get back to bed for a while,” Senator Hazelton said.

  “Three uninvited visitors came calling an hour ago. Unfortunately, this was the last call they’ll ever make. I could use some help deciding how to clean up the mess they left.”

  After a long pause, the Senator asked, “Their intent wasn’t friendly?”

  “You could say that. My reception wasn’t either.”

  “You think this is related to the matter I asked you to look into?”

  “Possible.”

  “I see.” After another long pause, the Senator said, “Are you saying your visitors will be staying for a while? Maybe permanently, if we’re not able to make other arrangements?”

  “I don’t see them going anywhere,” Drake said.

  “Let me make a call or two and see if I can help. You all right in the meantime?”

  “I’m okay. I’ve stored their things. I’ll wait for your call. Use my cell phone number.”

  Drake didn’t know who the Senator would call, but he was relieved to know help might be on the way. He started his own coffee maker, and suddenly realized he was hungry. He poured a tall glass of orange juice, filled a bowl with Cheerios and milk, and sat down to refuel himself.

  With a shudder, he felt anger boil up. He had controlled his emotions because he knew, unleashed, anger got you killed. Now it raged within him, like a rogue wave smashing against the rocks. Whoever was behind this would regret it. He was trained to hunt and he was starting to get a scent again.

  Drake was drinking his second cup of coffee when the Senator called.

  “I have arranged for transportation for your guests. In maybe thirty minutes, you’ll get a call. The person will ask you to confirm that there are three passengers and a dog named Lancelot to be picked up. Correct her mistake about your dog’s name. After you’ve bundled your guests off for the night, call me. We’ll find time for coffee tomorrow.”

  Drake almost smiled. The Senator sounded as if he’d been handling cleanup operations his whole career. His years on the Senate Intelligence Committee certainly would have exposed him to the ways of covert ops. Perhaps there was a side to the Senator he needed to know a lot more about.

  Thirty-five minutes later, Drake’s phone rang.

  “Mr. Drake, I’ve come to pick up three passengers and someone named Lancelot. Does that mean I will have four passengers?”

  The voice was soft and meant to sound servile, but the tone of authority came through loud and clear.

  “The name is Lancer. He’s my dog. He’ll be staying with me, so there are only three passengers. Is that something you can handle?”

  “Very good, sir. I think we can handle your problem. We should be there in another five minutes,” the female voice said. “It would be helpful if you would leave a light on for us.”

  Drake put the phone down, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake asking the Senator for help. The woman he talked to had handled the call efficiently. There was something in her voice that said she didn’t appreciate what she was being asked to do.

  In less than five minutes, Drake spotted two white Suburbans pulling into his driveway. They slowed as they approached the turnaround in front of his house. When the lead vehicle stopped, the front passenger door opened and a woman stepped out.

  She was tall, with long brown hair. In khaki pants and blue windbreaker, she looked law-enforcement confident walking his way.

  He stepped out his front door and walked down to meet her.

  “I’m Liz Strobel, Mr. Drake,” she said as she reached him. “I’m told you have a problem and need our help.”

  Drake shook her outstretched hand. Her eyes were light blue above high cheekbones, and her lips were full but pressed tightly together. Ice Lady was the identifier that first came to mind, but maybe cold and tough better described the woman. Whatever she was, she wasn’t wasting any time taking control of the situation.

  “Who are the men you brought with you?” Drake asked.

  “The men are Secret Service. We’re handling the advance for Secretary Rallings’s Seattle and Portland visits. We were closest when Senator Hazelton called him and asked for help.”

  “And who are you?” Drake asked.

  “I’m the Secretary’s executive assistant. I was FBI before the Secretary asked me to help him pull together DHS. Don’t worry Mr. Drake, I’ve been around. I have field experience. I know what I’m doing.”

  “And what are you doing here, on behalf of the DHS Secretary and Senator Hazelton?”

  “Mr. Drake, I was told you might have killed three men you think might be connected to the murder at Martin Research. Your father-in-law and the Secretary think if there’s anything to your suspicions, they should look into it. If it turns out you killed men who didn’t have a clue the Secretary was coming to town, we’ll turn it over to local law enforcement. If there is a connection, we need to know it, so the Secret Service can protect the Secretary.”

  “I didn’t know the Secret Service protected Cabinet heads,” Drake said.

  “After 9/11, the Secret Service reports to the Secretary, not to Treasury. The Secretary has declined full protection, but a small detail accompanies him when he makes public appearances. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened,” Strobel said, stepping back and crossing her arms across her chest.

  Drake knew about VIP visits from his days in the D.A.’s office. Protection details didn’t have time to investigate ancillary matters when they were in the field. Something else was going on, not just the murder of Richard Martin’s secretary.

  “You got here pretty fast,” Drake mused. “Is there something you know about these guys that I should know? Has someone threatened the Secretary, or the Senator? Do you think this is somehow related?”

  “Mr. Drake, the sun will be up in two hours and ten minutes. I’d like to be out of here by then. I’ll tell you what little I can. U.S. and Canadian intelligence agencies believe terrorist cells are planning assassinations of North American politicians, in response
to our targeted killings of terrorist leaders around the world. The Secretary of Homeland Security is a natural target. We’re looking into every possible threat real aggressively. Now, will you show me the bodies and explain what happened?”

  Drake nodded and motioned for her to follow him around the house to the outbuilding behind. Liz Strobel, in turn, signaled her team to drive along behind them. He was stalling to some extent. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, in case Miss Executive Assistant decided this was a local matter and didn’t want to be involved. She hadn’t Mirandized him, but everything he told her would wind up in a report, somewhere. On the other hand, if he didn’t convince her this was connected to Martin Research, and therefore somehow involved the Secretary or the Senator, he’d find himself explaining it to other investigators. Better to trust the Senator, he decided, and tell the lady what she wanted to know.

  Chapter 19

  Drake led the procession to the outbuilding, pulled the sliding door aside and allowed Strobel and her entourage to inspect the three bodies. After a quick look, three of the men knelt down and began a careful search of the bodies. One man started recording images with his digital Leica, while another stood aside, speaking softly into a personal recorder. The two remaining Secret Service men searched the Suburban and examined the weapons on the ground next to it.

  Liz Strobel watched the men work for a moment, then walked over to Drake’s side.

  “Let’s go inside and talk. I could use a cup of coffee if you have any,” she said.

  Drake stepped aside at the door and let her walk ahead of him into the kitchen.

  “Nice place. You don’t see many stone farmhouses around here,” Strobel said.

  “My wife gets all the credit for the house. She loved this place. So you don’t scare yourself, that large dog standing silently behind you is Lancer. He won’t hurt you.”

  “Is that right, Lancer?” Strobel asked, and slipped off the stool to pet him.

  Lancer didn’t move, except for the hairs that spiked up on the back of his neck as he growled deeply.

  “Lancer, down,” Drake commanded quickly. “Sorry, forgot you might be armed. He’s trained to smell guns and attack if he thinks there’s a threat. After what he’s experienced tonight, I should have taken time to introduce you.”

  Drake walked over and patted his dog’s head.

  “She’s okay, Lancer. Kiss and make up.”

  Lancer did as he was told and held up his right paw, which was gingerly shaken once by Liz Strobel.

  “Lancer was quite a hero tonight. He probably saved my life when I ordered him to attack the third man. The guy tried to shoot him instead of me. But as you can see, he’s just a marshmallow.”

  “Had me fooled,” she said, moving quickly back to her stool.

  Drake poured them each a cup of coffee and sat down across the breakfast bar.

  “All right, Ms. Strobel, what would you like to know?” Drake asked. “Do you need background about my work for Martin Research, or just information about tonight?”

  “Why don’t you tell me why you think these three men came here tonight,” Strobel said, sipping coffee from the cup held in both hands in front of her face.

  “I don’t know why they came here, but I think I may know who sent them. I think it’s the security firm that Martin Research uses. I visited their Portland office yesterday afternoon to question them about the security system failure right at the time Richard Martin’s secretary was killed. The manager tried to throw the blame on Martin Research’s head of security, man named Sam Newman. Within hours, he had committed suicide.

  “I met with Sam Newman yesterday. He was convinced the security firm, ISIS, was responsible for the security system being turned off. He also thought ISIS was sending felons to work security details there.

  “By the time I got back to my office today, there was a large, black weightlifter staking out my front door. Tonight, three black men, with scraggy beards, come gunning for me. I don’t know how it’s all connected to Martin Research, but the dots do seem to connect.”

  “And you think this security firm is somehow involved with the murder at Martin Research?” Strobel asked.

  “Yes. And that’s what their head of security thought, as well.”

  Strobel set her coffee cup down and walked to the window, looking at the Secret Service agents working in the outbuilding. He knew what she must be thinking. How had he killed three men who were heavily armed, in the middle of the night, two of them with his bare hands? Why hadn’t he just called the police and waited for help?

  Drake wasn’t prepared to answer those questions. Some of it, she might learn, if she looked in the right places. Most of it, she would never understand. Strobel said she had “field experience.” But his field of experience and hers were miles apart. She was trained to protect herself when in harm’s way. He was trained to be the harm in his enemies’ way. He was the hunter, and hunters didn’t sit around waiting to be hunted.

  “Why did you kill these men, Mr. Drake?”

  “I think that’s obvious, don’t you? They were trying to kill me.”

  Before she could ask another question, one of her men came to the back door and asked her to step outside where John Mason stood waiting.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it doesn’t look like these three came to steal his TV. They were armed like a team of S.E.A.L.s. From some of the tattoos, I’d say they’ve seen hard jail time. What does he say happened?” Mason asked.

  Mason was the senior member of the Secret Service detail handling the advance preparations for Secretary Rallings. With his bald head and barrel chest, he looked like an old professional wrestler who became a bouncer. His voice, however, carried all of the authority of a drill sergeant.

  “Without a trace of remorse, he said he killed them because they were trying to kill him. He thinks it’s related to a murder at Martin Research, the place the Secretary is visiting. He thinks it may involve the security firm the company uses.”

  “Well that’s just swell. We have less than a week before the Secretary gets here. Now, a murder at one of his stops, and the company’s attorney kills three black men on his farm. Three possible Muslim ex-cons, judging from some of their tattoos and facial hair. We don’t have time to sort this out. Can we change his schedule, come back later in the summer?” Mason asked.

  “He won’t go for it, John. The monitoring system Martin Research has developed is one of his pet projects. The dedication ceremony at the chemical weapons depot is a big deal in this part of the country.”

  “Then you better make sure you convince me this situation isn’t a threat to your boss or I’m calling the whole thing off. You know I can,” Mason said over his shoulder, as he walked back to his men.

  Strobel went back into the house. Drake was still seated at the kitchen counter drinking his coffee.

  “I’ll need some time to sort this out, so I’m going to take their bodies, weapons and vehicle. The Secret Service will handle this initially, but I don’t want anyone else knowing about it until I get some answers. If this is leaked, I’ll have to turn it over to the FBI. Do you understand?” she said abruptly.

  “Does this mean you’re not going to be finishing your coffee?” Drake asked.

  “Mr. Drake, I’m doing your father-in-law a favor. I honestly don’t care if you spend the rest of your life in jail for using deadly force here tonight. My only interest right now is finding out if this poses a threat to my boss. Here’s my card. Call me if you learn anything,” she said, as she laid her card on the counter, and left to join the men waiting in the Suburbans idling outside.

  Drake looked at her card: Special Executive Assistant to the Secretary of Homeland Security. Impressive, for such a good-looking, conflicted young woman. Beauty and brains, tough outside and yet she was puzzled by how he could actually kill someone instead of waiting for the police to arrive. She’d handled things with obvious authority tonight, but Drake wondered ho
w long her position could protect him when pressure started to build. If ISIS was behind the men sent to kill him, it wouldn’t be long before they were missed and someone started asking questions.

  If he wanted to stay ahead of this mess, he needed some answers, fast.

  In the lead Secret Service Suburban, John Mason unloaded on Liz Strobel. “Liz, I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but I think we just stepped in a big pile of shit. We’re removing evidence from a probable crime scene. We can’t hide these bodies for long, and I don’t know what to make of this guy Drake. You don’t take out three men the way he did without special military training. That dog looks like it’s just about as well trained as he is. We’re going to have to know a hell of a lot more about Drake and the men he killed tonight, before I’m willing to let the Secretary come here,” he said.

  “I know, John. When we get back to the city, I want you to take the bodies to our field office. See if we can identify any of them. I’ll request a full background check on Drake and arrange to meet with the local Joint Terrorism Task Force sometime today. We have some leeway here, but I want to make sure we’re not just doing a political favor for an old friend of the Secretary.”

  In fact, that was one of her biggest concerns. The Secretary and Senator Hazelton were allies in the battle to make the country safer from terrorism. She knew they traded favors from time to time, but that was the way things worked in Washington.

  What concerned her now was that Secretary Rallings had involved her in something that might not have anything to do with national security. Drake was smart enough to get his father-in-law to help him cover up manslaughter, at the very least, by pretending it had something to do with terrorism.

  She wished she knew more about the man. When she was with the FBI, she’d been around men who had killed in the line of duty. Tough as they were before a shooting, she’d seen numb shock on their faces afterwards. None of them had been as calm as Drake. He didn’t seem to have any reaction or feelings about what he’d done. The only thing she’d noticed was a smoldering look of controlled anger in his eyes.