The Assassin's List (18 page)

Barak met Roberto’s steady gaze and was satisfied he was telling the truth. He still seemed nervous about something, though. Maybe it was the operation itself that gnawed at the man’s nerves. He would have to talk to Kaamil about it.

“Fine, I am satisfied both of you have done what I asked. Kaamil, is the team assembled in the dormitory or the bunker?” Barak asked.

“They are waiting for you in the bunker.”

“When we finish our meal, I will go and meet them. Now, eat, enjoy the food Miguel fixed for us. It is one of the things I most look forward to when I visit—his steaks and these marvelous mashed potatoes,” he said, as he dug into the small white mountain of them on his plate.

Chapter 30

Barak and Kaamil left Roberto with a second tequila and walked down a graveled path to the operations center. The path was lined with pink rhododendrons, and daphne scented the air.

“Roberto is nervous about something. Do you know what it is?” Barak asked.

Kaamil hesitated a moment, deciding whether or not to divulge what he suspected. “There are rumors about young girls disappearing in Hood River. Who knows, Roberto may be involved.”

Barak turned to look at his protégé in the soft evening light. There was something that Kaamil knew and wasn’t telling him.

“Are you sure that’s all it is? We have heard those rumors before. We have three days left. If you have any reason to think Roberto may fail us, I need to know. I could get his father to send someone we can trust. There’s still time.”

“He’ll be fine,” Kaamil said as they reached the front door of the operations center. “We had a disagreement. He blasphemed our religion, made fun of kissing the Black Stone of Kaaba. I set him straight.”

“And how did you do that? Did you fight with him?”

“No, I told him if I repeated his words to you, he and his entire family would be killed as infidels.” sacrificing their lives was an honor. The games they played as children mimicked suicide bombers killing Jews. Pictures of
shaheeds
, hung on the walls of their homes. American jihadists didn’t have that background. Their motivation, for the most part, was not to honor their god or protect their way of life. It was to hit back at the country they blamed for their miserable lives. Hatred was their motivator, and he was not sure hatred was enough.

The Brotherhood had loaned him an Egyptian psychiatrist to oversee their mental conditioning. They had been broken, made to feel guilty about their country, and offered a way to redeem themselves. They had posters in their rooms proclaiming the honor of those willing to die for Allah, sessions of hypnotism and nightly sleep programming. But Barak knew it wasn’t the same as growing up dreaming of dying as a martyr.

Kaamil held the back door in the lab open and let Barak walk ahead to the first classroom where they were waiting for him.

Three men sitting in the first row in the classroom jumped to attention when the door opened. They stood stiffly, staring straight ahead, wearing green camouflage fatigues and combat boots. Aside from their beards, which would be gone before Wednesday, they looked like well-trained and disciplined soldiers. They would easily pass for civilian security personnel at the depot.

“At ease,” Barak said. “You have finished training. I am proud of you. You act and look like the holy warriors you are. Three days from now, you will have the honor of striking fear in the hearts of every man, woman and child in this country. You will be remembered with fear and trembling. That’s something you were never allowed to achieve before. Allah has chosen this for you.”

Barak then stepped in front of each man, looking deep into his eyes. “There is no God but God, and Mohammad is his Prophet. Do His will, as you have been trained, and He will reward you in paradise. Are you ready to do that?”

Each man, in turn, said he was.

“From this moment on, you will remain here to prepare. Tomorrow night you will be allowed to celebrate at a feast we have prepared for you. It is a small taste of the pleasures that await you. Then you will have two days to purify yourself and write letters to family or loved ones, and make your video statement. Wednesday is the day you have been waiting for, and it will be glorious. I envy you and I salute you,” Barak said, holding a salute similar to the Nazi salute, before he turned and left the room.

Back at the ranch house, Barak joined Roberto for another tumbler of tequila in the den.

“Kaamil will be back in a couple of minutes, he’s inspecting the men’s rooms. We have time to talk. I can see you and Kaamil are wary of each other. Will you have a problem working with him these last few days?”

“I don’t have to like a man to work with him,” Roberto said, with a shrug. “There are many men I deal with in my business that I don’t like. Kaamil likes to intimidate people he orders around. I don’t take orders from anyone but my father. He asked me to cooperate with you. I am doing that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a young lady waiting for me. Thank you for the excellent tequila and dinner, Don Malik.”

“Good bye, Roberto. When your men have finished what I have asked them to do, you should take the opportunity to visit your father in Mexico. Can that be arranged?”

“I was thinking of taking a short vacation myself. I’m sure my father will be happy to see me,” Roberto said, and left.

Four more days, Barak thought, and I might take a vacation too. What better time to celebrate than after you have assassinated an American Cabinet member.

Chapter 31

Mike Casey drove up Drake’s long driveway at 7:15 a.m. Sunday morning. Drake had just returned from a morning run with Lancer and watched the dust rise behind his friend’s SUV. When it stopped in front of the old farmhouse, Drake gave his friend a friendly salute and went to greet him.

“Thought I’d see you for lunch, not breakfast.”

“I slipped out before the kids were up. Thought it would save me from making excuses for not being home,” Mike said, swinging his long legs out of his white Yukon. “Fix me that breakfast you just mentioned and tell me what’s going on, ’cause I suspect I’m going to need my strength today.”

Drake led the way into his kitchen and started pulling items from his refrigerator.

“Coffee cups are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. Some scrambled eggs and toast enough, or do you want me to pull out a steak to go with your eggs?”

“Scrambled eggs and toast will do for now, but save the steak for lunch,” Mike said.

Drake smiled as he started cracking eggs in a small mixing bowl. Mike’s youth, spent on his folks’ Montana ranch working long days, taught him to eat big meals when there was time.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Mike. I seem to have kicked over a hornet’s nest when I started poking around a murder at a client’s place,” Drake said, adding a little milk to the bowl, along with a pinch of fine herbs. “If I don’t get ahead of this thing, I’m going to wind up being sucked into a homicide investigation that could cost me my practice.”

“And you think this has something to do with that varmint you want to hunt?”

“I do,” Drake said, pouring the egg mixture into a large skillet. “The security firm at Martin Research is ISIS and it’s involved somehow.”

“Whoa, you’re talking about ISIS? I know those guys. They’re the big kids on the block of corporate security and executive protection. Why do you figure they’re involved?”

“Too many coincidences. Rich Martin’s secretary was murdered when the security system crashed or was turned off. After I questioned ISIS about the security breach, my client’s head of security at Martin Research supposedly committed suicide, hours after I met with him. He was okay when I talked to him, and he was the one who first pointed a finger at ISIS. I woke up that night with three guys surrounding my house for a turkey shoot. I’m the turkey.”

“You’re taking so long on those eggs, I’m really hungry now,” Mike moaned. “So I assume you took care of the shooters in your usual way and want to find out if ISIS is involved. You have any bacon or sausage to go with those eggs?”

“Not all of us can eat like you, Mike. You’ll have to make do with some chorizo I have in the refrigerator. I’ll throw in some chili peppers. Start the toast. Bread’s in the pantry.”

Mike came back with the chorizo, a can of black beans, a loaf of bread and a smile on his face.

“If you’re going to add peppers, I thought these beans might be tasty as well. So what’s this little adventure tonight all about?”

While they ate what turned out to be a pretty decent egg scramble, Drake continued the briefing and told Mike about following the ISIS manager to Hood River, the drug dealer he had lunch with, and the training facility.

“I’ve heard about the ranch. Supposed to be a small version of the Blackwater facility in North Carolina that trains private military personnel. But ISIS can’t have a convicted felon running around on its ranch. They’d start losing business, big time, if anyone reported it. What did you say the felon’s name was?”

“Maybe you’ll get to meet him, name’s Roberto Valencia. That’s where I want to go tonight, the ISIS ranch. Do a little recon, like we used to,” Drake said, watching for his friend’s reaction.

The wry smile he always wore slowly faded from Mike’s face.

“Do you know anything about this ISIS facility? Like, are there guards, security cameras, dogs, you know, some of the basic things we used to look for? ’Cause I don’t need to get caught and wind up in jail. We can’t shoot our way out of things here in the States.”

“I don’t plan on getting caught. I just want to look around, see if I can find out what Kaamil’s up to. I know I’m not wearing the uniform again, but it’s sure starting to feel like someone has me in their sights. All I want you to do is cover me, like old times.”

“So you’re thinking about going in alone and blind? When was the last time you did something like this, ten or twelve years ago? We’re not kids anymore.”

“Some things you don’t forget, Mike. I’m still in good shape. I just want you watching my back. Something’s not right about ISIS. You up for one more soiree, amigo?” Drake asked.

Mike’s curiosity overcame his reluctance. “Let’s say I am up for one more little adventure. What’s the plan?”

“I walk in, you cover me, I walk out and we drive home,” Drake answered, holding a serious look on his face as long as possible. “Of course, we may have to tweak that plan a little.”

Mike let out a long, slow sigh of relief. “Whew, for a minute I thought you were crazy like when I first met you. Course then you’d have just said, ‘let’s storm the place.’”

“I’m older now, so I’m thinking we should storm the place carefully.”

For the next two hours, they went over all the possible scenarios. What was the best time to visit the ranch? How would they communicate? How would they deal with security measures? What would they do if guards were encountered? What about dogs, did they need tranquilizer darts? What did they do if he was caught? If he found something incriminating, did Drake take it with him or capture it digitally?

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.”