“Any idea where he’s going? There’s no way to stop him before he reaches the other side,” Mike said.
“Half mile across the river is a place they call The Hatch. It’s a favorite windsurfing area with a large parking lot. That’s where I would go. It’ll be a zoo with all the vans and cars.”
Drake grabbed a headset and radioed Capt. Martinez at the chemical depot.
“Capt. Martinez, Drake here. Our man is fleeing across the Columbia. He appears to be headed to a place called ‘The Hatch.’ Do we have anyone over there who can seal off the area?”
The Captain was waiting for his call. “That’s one of the most congested traffic areas in the Gorge. The police in White Salmon are the closest, but they’ll never get there fast enough.”
“I don’t want to lose this guy. Request roadblocks up and down the highway along the river, then,” Drake pleaded.
“I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t part of our emergency planning. Everyone’s responding to the attack up here. Sorry.”
Through the front windscreen of the Black Hawk, Drake saw the boat turn in toward the rig and launch area of The Hatch. It drifted toward a young man standing in the water, waiting to stop the boat before it slammed into the rocky shore. Kaamil jumped into the knee-deep water, then ran up the path to the parking area.
“Best we can do now is follow him. He has to know we’re watching. Keep us over the parking area, maybe we’ll get lucky,” Drake said. “Can you drop me near his boat?”
“Why? You’ll lose him in the crowd. We’re better off waiting to see what leaves the parking area and calling ahead to have the vehicle stopped at a roadblock.”
Drake knew his partner was right. The police weren’t going to get the area sealed off in time, and they would probably lose him in the mass of bodies below. He wasn’t ready to give up, though.
“I can’t let this guy walk away. Put me down near that circular drive. Then you watch the traffic leaving the area. One of us might get lucky.”
Mike moved the Black Hawk sideways until it hovered over the asphalt surface on the far side of the Hatch parking area. People below froze as they watched the large helicopter slide over their heads, and then scattered out from under it. Drake jumped when Mike had him four feet off the ground, and the Black Hawk lifted again to hover overhead.
The parking lot was crowded, bumper-to-bumper in most areas, filled with vans and campers and cars with roof racks. Those not out on the water stood watching Drake and the hovering Black Hawk. The place was a kaleidoscope of color and style-with old Vanagons with Garcia logos and newer Beetles towing retro board trailers, and every kind of vehicle in between. Tan bodies were everywhere, in all manner of beach and surfer attire.
Drake scanned the faces of everyone he saw in a parked or moving vehicle. Spotting Kaamil out in the open was too much to hope for. He knew instinctively Kaamil wouldn’t even take that small chance. He’d be hiding somewhere, in something that could get him out of the parking lot.
~~~
Kaamil watched out the bubble window of a Ford van as his pursuer walked by, not three feet from where he kneeled on the carpeted floor. As long as his driver didn’t attract attention to the van, he knew he was safe. The police wouldn’t arrive in time to seal off the parking lot, and he only had to travel less than a mile to safety.
Kaamil and his driver waited another couple of minutes, and then drove to their safe house. Ten minutes later, they were in the building on a bluff nearby, overlooking The Hatch. The safe house was a bed and breakfast ISIS had purchased for the operation through a dummy corporation. It had an upper bedroom permanently reserved for him and members of his team.
From the room’s balcony, Kaamil watched as the helicopter continued to hover over the parking area. They were determined, he’d give them that, but he would see to it personally that the last round of this match was his, by a knockout.
The depot attack had been entrusted to others. This time, he’d lead the attack himself. Malik would not forgive another failure, even though it hadn’t been his fault. He was a warrior, deserving of praise, but he was also realist. If he could still kill the Secretary, he might postpone his punishment and restore himself.
From his rimrock perch high above The Hatch, with the enemy so close, he knew it was time to leave before the police could set up roadblocks.
Chapter 47
Drake crisscrossed the parking area one last time before signaling Mike to pick him up. Most of the vans and SUVs had darkened windows, and more than a few of their owners had prevented him from even looking into them. They suspected he was a cop, and were fairly blunt in asking him to get away from their vehicles without a warrant.
Whatever means of escape Kaamil had waiting, it effectively concealed his presence. The whole operation had been well planned, and the retreat was no exception.
Back in the Black Hawk, he told Mike to head back to the chemical depot. “He’s gone. Let’s return the Colonel’s helicopter and see if they’ve learned anything.”
“Roger that. I’m tired of fighting these Gorge winds anyway.”
They left to a wave of middle-finger salutes from the crowd gathered below.
“We were a big hit. Kaamil’s laughing his ass off. He’s been a step ahead today, but now it’s our turn,” Drake said, staring straight ahead.
Mike flew them back to the chemical depot where they were briefed on the initial investigation of the attack.
Two soldiers had been killed defending the emergency center. Of the five attackers who were dead, only two were recognized at the depot. They were the two killed in the initial explosion at the VX bunker. The bunker bomber was a recent convert to Islam. Twenty years old and an Army reservist, he wore the explosive belt that damaged the bunker and killed the driver in his Humvee parked by the bunker’s door. The driver appeared to be an unwilling accomplice. His wife and four children were found shot to death in their home in Hermiston. No connection was found that linked them to the terrorists.
The three gunmen were imposters, with IDs that belonged to security guards at the depot. The real security guards, along with their families, were found murdered in their homes. Three husbands, three wives and eight children. The Army investigators were stunned by the extent of the violence involved in the attack on their facility.
Drake, however, recognized the terrorists’ indifference to life. He’d seen it before, in places where Islamic fanaticism flourished. Like the swords they were so fond of raising in their videos, they were created by their madrassas and imams for one thing, killing in the name of Allah.
From what the Army’s investigators had also learned, the initial blast in the bunker had not been successful in causing a release of the VX agent. They were investigating a false alarm caused by the Martin Research prototype monitoring system the depot had recently installed.
After debriefing and promising to be available whenever they were needed in the Army’s ongoing investigation, they were allowed to return to Portland.
Driving down I-84 along the Columbia in Mike’s Yukon, Drake tried to put himself in Kaamil’s shoes as he processed the events of the morning.
Kaamil failed to assassinate the Secretary and his father-in-law, which Drake believed was the goal of the attack at the depot. He escaped with a well-planned retreat, but wasn’t finished, Drake thought. Whoever had planned an attack like this wasn’t going to stop just because a few pawns were sacrificed.
“Mike, I have a feeling this isn’t over. It’s too big a plan for them to give up now. These guys pray to die for Allah, and there’s one too many still alive for my liking. Can you stay on for a day or so?”