When they reached the exit to the airport, Kaamil stayed on I-84. The freeway soon opened up and became a two-lane, winding speedway following the Columbia River up the gorge to Hood River. It was just the road for a car like the Mercedes SLS.
Wherever Kaamil was going, Drake was committed to following him. One way or another, he had to know if Kaamil was the man who sent killers to his farm.
Chapter 22
Despite the opportunity to drive faster, the black roadster held to a steady seventy miles per hour. Drake hardly noticed the Columbia River as it sliced through towering cliffs on either side. It was the only river that cut through the Cascade mountain range and allowed passage to the Pacific. Its beauty was lost on Drake, however. He had slipped into the role of the hunter.
When he was with Delta Force, he pursued the targets his government provided him, without question and without emotion. It had simply been his job. Now, he was pursuing someone and it wasn’t his job, and there was a lot of emotion.
As he drove past the Cascade Locks and the Bridge of the Gods, two hundred yards behind Kaamil’s roadster, his vibrating cell phone startled him back to the moment.
“Can I assume I won’t be seeing you later today?” Margo asked.
“I’m sorry, I should have called. Something’s come up. Everything okay there?”
“If you mean, do I have any more threatening men sitting around, the answer is no. Unless you count my husband, who’s mad as hell you didn’t let us know someone tried to kill you last night. Where are you?” she demanded.
“Margo, you and Paul have every right to be angry. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything, as soon as I can, but I need to know how you heard about last night. Is Paul there?” he asked.
“No, he isn’t. A friend of his from the FBI called and asked if we were okay. He asked if there had been any trouble at the office that we needed help with. He assumed we knew what was going on, since we might be in danger, living in the condo above your office and all. Good thing we have friends, don’t you think?” she asked.
Her anger stung him, but he didn’t have the time to make amends.
“I’m on I-84 in Kay’s Land Rover following the ISIS manager up the Columbia. I said I was sorry, and that’s all I can say right now,” he said, in a voice that didn’t invite a response. “If that woman from DHS calls, don’t tell her where I am. I don’t need any interference. Everything is going to be all right, I promise. I’ll call you when I’m headed back to town,” Drake said and ended the call.
Everything will be all right, Drake thought, just as soon as I find the SOB who tried to have me killed.
Kaamil was still holding to a steady seventy miles per hour as they passed Viento State Park, and then began to slow. Seven miles later, he slowed even more and pulled off I-84 into the small town of Hood River, self-proclaimed windsurfing capital of the world. Apples and pears had been the main staples of the local economy before the fierce winds blowing down the Columbia started drawing windsurfers from all over the world. The town was now dominated by board shops, restaurants and microbrew pubs. There weren’t many businesses, however, big enough to need a security firm like ISIS.
Drake stayed a block behind Kaamil’s roadster when it turned left at the first intersection and drove down toward the river. Kaamil continued on, past a vast parking lot that served as a staging area for the windsurfers. Vans and SUVs with roof racks, and old Volkswagen campers were everywhere. Beyond them, a couple hundred colorful sails skimmed back and forth across the water. For a moment, Drake had the sinking feeling that maybe it was Kaamil’s day off, and he was here to meet someone for an afternoon of board sailing.
Kaamil drove past the parking lot and pulled up in front of what looked to be an old, abandoned warehouse. The warehouse was surrounded by a chain link fence topped by barbed wire, with a gate that appeared to be locked, blocking Kaamil’s entrance.
Drake pulled to the curb just beyond the town’s riverside Expo Center and watched. Within a minute, a man dressed in a dark blue shirt with lettering above the left pocket, a dark blue baseball hat with matching lettering, and jeans hurried out and opened the gate. When Kaamil pulled through the gate, the short Hispanic man stood at attention with his head bowed, and then stayed at the gate as Kaamil drove in and stopped next to the building.
When the guard stayed at the gate, Drake drove to the end of the street and made a U-turn that brought him back past the warehouse. He pulled into the parking lot of the Expo Center. He pulled out a map and looked over the top of it toward the warehouse. Moments later, Kaamil came out of the warehouse with another man and got into Kaamil’s car. For a second, Drake had the feeling he knew the other man. Thick black hair, stylishly trimmed, sunglasses, and a gold chain flashing at his throat, the man looked like a Latin movie star dressed in a denim shirt and blue jeans.
There was one street leading away from the warehouse, and it ran right in front of the Expo Center parking lot. When Kaamil and the warehouse man drove past, Drake lowered the map and followed in the Land Rover. Up the hill to State Street, and then left on First Street, Kaamil drove slowly, looking for a parking spot.
The light traffic in the small town and the two turns Kaamil had made left Drake only one car behind the black roadster. If Kaamil pulled into an open space, he would have no choice but to drive by to keep from being spotted. If that happened, he’d be lucky to find a space of his own close by.
At the next intersection, Kaamil turned left onto the one-way Oak Street. Midway down the block, he pulled into an open space in front of a restaurant called Taco Del Mar. It was the only open space on the block. The only thing Drake could do was drive around the block and hope to catch sight of them, or find somewhere to watch Kaamil’s car until he returned to it. Either way, he’d come too far to lose the man now.
Drake drove back to Second Street, then an extra block down State Street and tried again to find a place to park on Oak Street. Every parking space was full on both sides of the street. It was looking like finding somewhere to watch Kaamil’s car was his only option, when a pickup pulled out from the last space on the left side of the street. Drake quickly pulled into the vacated space and searched for Kaamil or his passenger. He couldn’t see either man, but he did have a clear view of Kaamil’s black roadster parked on the other side of the street in front of the restaurant.
Tourists moved up and down both sides of the street, in and out of the sport shops and T-shirt emporiums. Drake noticed some of them checking out sandwich board menus displayed in front of several of the street’s restaurants. That had to be where Kaamil went, he thought, taking his Latino friend to lunch. There were three restaurants he could see, but only one offered him a full view of its occupants. Taco Del Mar was an unpretentious fish taco stand with a counter along the back and wooden picnic tables scattered throughout the seating area. The front of the restaurant was open, with a pull-down overhead door to close up at night.
Two of the first tables were occupied by young couples wearing short wetsuits turned down to the waist and T-shirts. A couple of families took up another three tables, with the adults at one table and the kids at the other two. At the last table in the rear, two men sat with bottles of beer in front of them. Kaamil had his back to the street, leaning across the table to talk with his passenger, who sat facing toward the street. The man still had his sunglasses on, but Drake again had the feeling that he knew the man somehow.