Chapter 28
As Drake left the Crown Plaza Building, he ran through his options. He didn’t have anything but his suspicion that ISIS was behind Janice Lewellyn’s murder. He didn’t have evidence the three gunmen sent to his farm were connected to the murder, and nothing that linked Kaamil and ISIS to either. He understood that. The FBI investigated federal crimes and domestic terrorism, and neither of those two categories appeared to be involved. The Secret Service had come to his aid only as a favor to his father-in-law, and they had no reason to help him any further.
The only thing he could think to do was to take a closer look at ISIS. To do that, he needed some help. A little help from someone who thought like he did, someone who had some of the same skills. Someone he trusted, a friend.
When he got back to his office, he found he had the place all to himself. Margo had left for the weekend with her husband. At his desk, he called his friend.
Mike Casey was a brother in arms, as loyal a friend as a man could have. They had served together in Delta, where Mike was the long gunner, or sniper. He’d saved Drake’s life more than once when an enemy unexpectedly stumbled onto their mission. Drake always felt more confident when Mike was providing him cover from a rooftop, a building, or a ridge, even a half mile away. Tall and gangly at six foot six inches, with red hair, he drew too much attention in their assigned fields of operation to be at Drake’s side. But from a distance, he was always there as his unseen partner.
Before Mike became a Delta operator, he flew helicopters for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne). Its sole purpose was to deliver and pick up Special Operations commandos. Because they often flew at night, the unit was known as the Night Stalkers. They were the aces of military helicopter pilots. Mike was a natural pilot who flew by the seat of his pants and made landings and evacuations other pilots wouldn’t attempt. He was quickly picked up by Delta Force for its own aviation platoon. When they learned he was a great sharpshooter, a tribute to his misspent youth in Montana hunting varmints, he was also accepted as one of their snipers.
After leaving the Army, Mike settled in Seattle, working for a small security firm. Five years later, he was chosen by the firm’s retiring founder to run the operation. He became the major shareholder, by virtue of stock options he’d earned and had been given with his promotion. Married, with a wife who adored him and three young children, Mike Casey remained a close friend and confidant.
“Casey residence,” Mike said when he answered. In the background, children were splashing in a backyard pool and something was sizzling on a grill.
“I take it I’m interrupting one of your deck parties,” Drake said, “want me to call back later?”
“Hell no. I don’t know how I get stuck doing all the cooking around here, on the weekends anyway. Give me a minute to find someone to burn these burgers,” Mike said. “Megan, honey, could you take over for a minute? Drake’s on the phone.”
Drake smiled, listening to the sounds of his friend’s normal life. There were times when they both thought such a life was too much to hope for. They had lived so far beyond normal they thought they would never make it back. They both had, though Mike’s normal life was lasting longer than his had.
“When you coming up to see us again?” Mike asked, after a minute or so. “The kids keep asking when they get to see Uncle Adam.”
“I was hoping I could talk you into coming down and spending a day with me. A new client’s secretary was murdered in his office and a couple of yo-yos came gunning for me on the farm. I could use a friend to help sort things out. Maybe get out of town, go hunting some varmints like we used to.”
From the tone of Mike’s voice, Drake knew his friend understood what he was saying.
“Nothing I’d like better. Varmints, you say. What would you like me to bring along for this little outing? I have an M24A2 I picked up from one of our old friends. Will that do?”
The M24A2 was an improved version of the M24 sniper weapon system Mike had used in Delta Force. With a detachable 10-round magazine and barrel modifications to accommodate a sound suppressor, the rifle had proven itself in Afghanistan and elsewhere.
“If you think you can hit anything with it, bring it along. We might get to do some hunting at night, so if you have any of those special binoculars or scopes, they might come in handy as well,” Drake suggested.
“Can do. When do you plan on having this here soiree?”
“Tomorrow night,” Drake said, and listened patiently for his friend to calculate the domestic damage his request was sure to cause.
“Tomorrow night, huh,” Mike repeated. “If I’m able to make arrangements for this adventure, when would I be able to get back to burning burgers?”
“If your kids like burned burgers for breakfast, I’d say sometime Monday morning. Is that soon enough?”
“A man ought to be able to get out of the house once in a while. It’ll just have to be. Do me a favor, go out and buy a box of chocolates I can take back to my wife. I’d like to have a bed to sleep in when I get back,” Mike chuckled.
Drake put the phone back in its cradle and swiveled his chair around to look out over the marina below. Weekend boaters were moving up and down the river. He’d accomplished as much as he could for the day, it was time to go home and get some work done on the farm. Get on his old, red Massey Ferguson tractor and pull out another row of the dead grape vines left to rot by the previous owner. The work would help his mind settle into a planning mode for tomorrow night’s soiree, as Mike called it.
Chapter 29
It was an hour before sunset when Barak felt the nose of the Gulfstream dip. The white snowcap on Mount Hood glowed pastel pink out the window as the plane banked to the left. When it straightened out for the runway below, Barak could see the nearby Columbia River off to the right. Pretty country, he thought, just the right place to teach America how ugly war is.
He had regional training facilities like this one in four other areas around the country. They were all legitimate training centers and respected members of their local business communities. They also secretly served as quarters for the finest assassins assembled under one banner in a thousand years. With ISIS offices around the globe, there wasn’t a person of significance anywhere in the world he couldn’t reach.
After twenty years, he had created a privately-held corporation worth a hundred times the twenty-five million he’d been given. His resources were as great as the armies of half the countries in the world. The best arms and munitions, a fleet of private jets, armored vehicles, state-of-the-art communication systems, his company had it all. But his plan didn’t rely on any of that.
One dedicated, well-trained assassin was all he needed to terrorize any nation he wanted. Blow up fifty people in a shopping mall and America would mourn for only a moment, just as Israel had learned to do. But kill the leaders and icons of a nation, and the white flag of surrender would be raised before the first funeral was held.
When his plane rolled to a stop at the west end of the runway, Barak saw that Kaamil and Roberto Valencia were standing next to one of the company’s black Suburbans. The sprawling ranch house he stayed in whenever he visited was only a short walk away, but he appreciated the respect their attention provided him.
“Kaamil, Roberto, I hope you have good news for me. Bad news spoils my appetite, and right now I am very hungry,” he said, as he stepped out of the plane. “Come, let’s relax and eat, you can tell me of your progress.”
When he was in the Suburban beside Kaamil, he remained silent. The silence would serve as fertile ground for nervousness to grow, which is what he intended. Kaamil had made mistakes, and he needed to know if there had been more. Calm men can tell lies, but men who are afraid tell you the truth. Both Kaamil and Roberto were afraid of him because he gave them reason to be. On separate occasions, in front of each of them, he’d shot one of their men for a mistake the man had made. Neither of them had the courage to tell him their men weren’t responsible for the mistakes.