The Assassin's List (21 page)

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.

He finished his coffee and walked back through the hotel lobby on his way to his office. If the Senator would go along with the plan forming in his mind, he would conduct his own investigation.

Chapter 38

As soon as Drake got to his car, he called the Senator at home.

“Good morning, Senator. I need to talk to you, as soon as possible. Will you be in your office this morning?”

“Fortunately, no. I’m taking the opportunity to enjoy a late breakfast at home. I don’t get many of these opportunities. Want to join me?”

“I’d like that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Drake answered.

On his way to the Senator’s house, he thought about what he should tell him. He wanted to trust the Senator, but the first thing the Senator did when he’d called for help was call the Secretary of DHS. Would he feel obligated again to pass along whatever Drake told him?

He liked the Senator, both as the father his wife adored and as a politician. He seemed to do what was right more often than he did what was politically expedient. But, Drake reminded himself, the Senator was a Washington insider. He remained in office because he knew how to play the game. He didn’t have a choice, Drake concluded. There wasn’t much more he could do on his own.

When he pulled up in front of the Senator’s home, the Senator was waiting for him at the front door.

“I’m not used to my new security system yet. Every time it tells me someone is coming, I think I need to get up and see who it is. Meredith just checks the video monitor. Our breakfast won’t be ready for several minutes, so let’s walk. You can tell me what we need to talk about.”

They walked from the front drive around the eastern perimeter of the Senator’s estate toward the lake. Drake told him about following ISIS’s manager to the warehouse in Hood River, seeing Kaamil meeting with a drug dealer, and his sneak-and-peek on the ISIS ranch.

“I met with Secretary Rallings’s assistant this morning and told her what I suspected. I didn’t tell her what I’d seen. I don’t know her well enough to tell her I broke into the bunker so she can add another crime to the list being investigated. She told me unless I had the guts to come forward, she wasn’t going to call in the cavalry.”

“That sounds like Liz,” Senator Hazelton said. “She was in the background of the Brandon Mayfield fiasco. She’s not anxious to let the government step into another mess like that without rock-solid evidence. Sum up your theory for me.”

“At first, I was just curious about why Richard Martin’s secretary was killed, and how the security system failed to identify her killer. Then, I had a bad feeling about the ISIS manager and saw him meeting with the drug dealer. Now, I’m suspicious on a whole different level. I think there’s a possibility ISIS is planning something that involves the chemical weapons depot, maybe your visit there.”

“And this is based on what you saw on this ranch in Hood River?”

“Everything I’ve learned about ISIS really, but yeah, what I saw up there. There isn’t a legitimate reason I can think of for hiding that bunker underground. There are several buildings where they could house personnel for training without hiding them. ISIS trains security types from all over the world. I doubt any of them would put up with the facilities I saw. I thought of one other thing on the way here. It was bothering me, back of my mind, and I just remembered what it was. The two chemical depot uniforms I saw looked legitimate, but the patches on the uniform weren’t permanently sewn on yet. They were being prepared to look like the real thing,” Drake said.

“Is it possible this has something to do with drugs, smuggling them into the chemical depot? You saw the manager with the drug dealer.”

Drake watched a ski boat drive past on the lake for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure what any of this has to do with the chemical depot. I know a lot of terrorists would like to get their hands on our old chemical weapons. On the other hand, the uniforms I saw could be nothing more than a prop to let them smuggle drugs into the depot.”

“But you think it’s more than just drugs?”

“Senator, there are just too many things happening for all of them to be coincidental. Richard Martin’s secretary was killed for a reason. The head of security, who’s supposed to have killed her, conveniently commits suicide before he could be questioned. Then, after I confront the manager of ISIS, three men show up at my farm and try to kill me. I see ISIS friendly with a drug dealer, and hiding Muslims in an underground bunker. I think this is about more than drugs.”

The Senator turned to face Drake. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t think you can do anything, just yet. We don’t know enough. What I’d like to do is visit the chemical depot. I know how to spot weaknesses in a facility’s defenses. If you could arrange for me to visit there tomorrow, say as the head of your personal security detail, I’ll say I’m coming to check out arrangements for your visit. Maybe I can make some sense out of all this.”

“I hope you’re wrong about this. It’s one thing to think Richard Martin’s research project is in trouble. It’s an important part of our homeland security effort. It’s an entirely different matter to think a chemical weapons depot is being targeted. We’ve protected those old weapons since the end of World War II, and we’re finally getting rid of the damn things. I’ll arrange for you to visit the Umatilla Depot tomorrow, just as soon as we finish brunch,” Senator Hazelton said, putting his hand on Drake’s shoulder and turning him toward the house for their breakfast.

Chapter 39

Eight-thirty Tuesday morning Drake flew out of the nearby Hillsboro airport, one of the busiest executive airports in the country. His chartered plane flew east up the Columbia Gorge. On his left, Mount Saint Helens was crestless after the volcano of 1980, and on his right, the towering peak of Mount Hood.

Drake tried to relax on the short flight and think about what he needed to look for at the depot. He told the Senator he knew how to spot security weaknesses. When he did it before, the enemies were regional warlords and third-world military forces, not the security force of a highly guarded and sensitive American military depot. He didn’t even know what high-tech measures the military used today, especially since 9/11. If security was a lot better than it had been on bases when he was in the military, maybe there wasn’t a lot to worry about.