“Stay high, see where he heads.”
The smaller helicopter appeared to be headed straight for Hood River. Ten miles out, it dropped even lower and veered toward the river.
Drake keyed his GRS and called Capt. Martinez. “Capt. Martinez, Adam Drake, do you read?”
“Read you clear, Mr. Drake. We’ve been waiting to hear from you.”
“We’re five miles east of Hood River following the Bell. I think he’s headed to a small warehouse down by the river where the windsurfers park. It’s near the Hook and the small marina there. Call the police, have them seal off the area, but not interfere. He doesn’t seem to know we’re following him.”
“Understood. I alerted the Chief of Police in Hood River, he appreciates our situation. The explosion killed two security guards and we have five imposters dead. Our system signaled VX was released, but tests haven’t confirmed that. They may have hacked our system,” Capt. Martinez reported.
“Imagine that. Over and out.”
Drake summarized for Mike, who had the Black Hawk flying a thousand feet above and behind the Bell. “There wasn’t a VX release, despite what the monitoring system reported. One guess who caused that. Not a bad plan, using the Army to get everyone to the emergency center. Also, not a plan put together overnight.
“Means they have money to do things on a big scale.”
“Kaamil’s had this planned too well not to have his escape prepared. When he lands, I’ll go after him. You stay, in case he gets away before I get him. Follow him, and run the bastard to ground,” Drake said.
The Bell 407 sped on to Hood River. When it reached the first of the windsurfers out on the Columbia, it abruptly descended and streaked toward the old warehouse. Hundreds of windsurfers raced across the swells below, sails pulled tight into the wind. The parking lots and streets surrounding the area were clogged with vans and SUVs.
Mike dropped the Black Hawk down to three hundred feet and hovered out over the river. From there, they had a clear view of the Bell as it landed beside the old warehouse. When Kaamil stepped from the helicopter, Drake signaled Mike to land near the warehouse.
As they descended, Kaamil waved his pilot off with the gun in his right hand, and then pointed at the departing helicopter with something in his left hand. When it was clear of the warehouse and gaining altitude, it exploded. Kaamil slipped through a side door.
Drake watched in disbelief as the helicopter erupted in a fireball and fell into the river. Windsurfers closest to the falling debris dropped into the water to avoid being scorched.
“Set me down next to the door he entered. Let Capt. Martinez know the Bell and its pilot are down. It’s time to end this,” Drake said.
“Be careful. We don’t know anything about that warehouse, could be booby traps. Why not wait for the police, they’ll be here soon.”
“Just get some of them killed. I might be rusty, but I have more training than any of them. Hover over the warehouse. He won’t wait around for a shootout with the police.”
Mike brought the Black Hawk down to within a foot of the pavement, near the side door Kaamil had entered. As soon as Drake jumped out, Mike lifted off to hover south of the building where he could see all the exits.
Drake thought about going in through the door Kaamil had entered, but decided to go around to the front door instead. Inside, he found an empty front office. Counter, secretary’s desk, posters of golden wheat and cowboys trying to ride Brahma bulls. There was a door in the back of the reception area that had to lead to the rest of the warehouse.
Drake listened for sounds. Kaamil must have given the employees the day off. When he didn’t hear anything, he stepped inside. Row after row of pallets of agricultural supplies, hay and straw filled the warehouse.
On the other side of the big warehouse, Drake saw a short flight of stairs leading to an upstairs office. A broad window looked down on the warehouse floor. The shadows inside made it appear to be empty.
“The warehouse looks empty. There’s an office upstairs I’ll check. Any sign of him out there?” Drake asked.
“Not out here.”
Drake moved down the center aisle of the warehouse, checking each of the cross aisles. No sound broke the silence as he continued to the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor.
Chapter 46
When the helicopter exploded, Kaamil walked into his warehouse with a grim smile on his face. His team was lost, but Allah had spared him to fight another day.
As he took the stairs to his office two at a time, he turned to listen to the sound of another helicopter outside. How in hell had they found him so fast?
Kaamil dashed into his office and grabbed his laptop from his desk. The rest of the computers had records for the warehouse, but his personal computer connected him to the ISIS operation at the ranch. He’d sacrifice himself before letting it be captured.
There was no panic in his voice as he used his cell phone to call across the river.
“Rashid, meet me at the Hatch in ten minutes. Park near the porta potties as close to the rigging area as you can. Have Miguel on the shore, ready to take the boat and head down the river. We’ll drive slowly out of the parking area because we may be watched. Do nothing before that to attract attention. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Kaamil, I understand. Shall I alert the others?”
“Do not communicate with the others, just get to the Hatch. Do as we planned.”
Kaamil was starting down the stairs from his office when he heard a shout from the floor below.
“Kaamil, I know you’re here. The building is surrounded. We have business to settle. Come out like a man, we’ll talk.”
Kaamil laughed to himself, talk indeed. He recognized the voice of the vermin attorney. Without a sound, he turned back into his office and made his way to a storage closet. In the back of the closest, behind a spring-loaded panel, a touch pad opened a steel door that led to stairs down to a tunnel and to his boat.
The old warehouse had only one way in and out of the fenced facility above ground. Anyone suspicious of the place could satisfy their curiosity by watching traffic come and go. They would miss, however, merchandise smuggled out the tunnel passage through an old city drainpipe. The tunnel exited underneath a dock at the marina on a beak of land called the Hook.
Kaamil’s boat was a black and red Centurion 23 Typhoon, a ski boat perfect for ferrying drugs across the river. No one paid attention to the boat when it drove past, filled with loads of meth and money. It was just another fancy boat on the river.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped through a door cut into the side of the eight foot tall drain pipe. Inside, he ran down the tunnel through puddles of water left in the bottom of the pipe after spring rains. Just past the opening at the far end, a small video monitor in a plexiglass case was attached to the underside of the dock. A digital cam mounted above provided a clear view of the empty dock and his boat.
Kaamil climbed a ladder to the dock above and strolled the short distance to his boat, just another man out to enjoy the water and the sun.
“Drake, get out here. There’s a ski boat leaving from a dock near the warehouse. I think Kaamil’s in the boat.”
Drake ran to the east service door of the warehouse where Mike had the Black Hawk waiting.
“He’s in that black and red ski boat, wakeboard towers,” Mike said. “I didn’t see him get in the boat, but when the boat headed out, I recognized him.”
Through Mike’s Bushnell 20x50 surveillance binoculars, Kaamil appeared to be ten feet away, driving the high-powered boat through the swells of the Columbia River. He was headed to the Washington State side of the river, still wearing a blue windbreaker with Hermiston Air Rescue across the back. With the boat planing as fast as the waves allowed, he was forcing windsurfers to veer out of his path to avoid being run over.