Scott Matthews - The Assassin's list

He patted Lancer’s head, signaled for him to stay and protect, and slipped around the corner of the house. The second man was a foot taller than the first, but slower in his movements. Drake had moved to within six feet of the killer when he turned and started to swing his weapon around.

Before the man could warn his leader, Drake took a quick step forward, knocked the weapon aside and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose. While the man was still stunned, Drake slipped behind and applied the same stranglehold he’d used a few moments before.

Refusing to be subdued, the man struggled to claw at Drake’s eyes. In less than ten seconds, he also lay dead.

Drake ran back to the other side of the house, away from the gravel drive. If he could slip back into the oak trees and get behind the man at the front of the house, he had a chance to neutralize him and find out what this was all about. That chance was slim, however. The leader would be suspicious by now that something was wrong.

Staying next to the back of the house, he ran until he again reached the stand of oaks. From there, he could see the third killer walking slowly toward the veranda in front of the house. He was twenty yards away, two first downs, about the distance he used to run to chase down quarterbacks who tried to run away from him before they were sacked. The only difference was this QB was armed.

Instinct and old training prevailed. Drake charged at the man with his.45 drawn and pointed center mass. As a Delta Force operator, he’d learned to run, shoot, and keep shooting until the target was down. Now, he just wanted to get close enough to gain the advantage and convince the man to drop his weapon.

The man finally reacted to the sound of the charge, and started to turn around.

Lancer was five or six feet to Drake’s right, ready to launch himself at the intruder when Drake gave the signal.

“Lancer, kill!”

Drake wanted Lancer’s attack to knock the man down. Once he was on the ground, he would have a chance to reason with him. But the man brought up his MP5 to shoot the closer of two moving targets.

Big mistake, Drake thought. No one shoots my dog. He fired twice and dropped the man before Lancer landed at his throat.

In the silence that echoed in his ears, Drake called off his dog.

“Lancer, leave. Good boy,” he said, patting his head until he felt him start to relax.

After he kicked the MP5 away and couldn’t find a pulse, he pulled off the killer’s black ski mask. He was a black man, mid-twenties, with a scraggly goatee. There was nothing in his pockets except a blue, prepaid Motorola TracPhone.

Drake circled the house and searched the other two men, while Lancer sniffed their bodies. Like the first, both carried no identification and were also black men in their twenties. By the time he finished, the adrenaline rush hit and he willed his muscles to relax.

He needed to stay focused. It wasn’t unusual to hear gunshots where he lived, but the last thing he needed was a zealous neighbor calling the police. He needed to decide what to do with three dead bodies.

Drake listened for sounds of any remaining intruders. When Lancer stopped casting his eyes back and forth and sat next to his right leg, he started over to the driveway where a black Suburban was parked next to the old barn. He moved at a fast walk, with his.45 drawn, until he reached the right rear of the SUV. Satisfied that the SUV was empty, he opened the door. No light came on and the interior was empty. Whoever these guys were, at least they were smart enough to shut off the interior lights. They had even left the keys dangling from the ignition.

Drake relaxed and holstered his.45. On the way back to his house, he considered the situation. The approach to his house by the three was military style, albeit crude, and they weren’t there to rob him. So who were they?

If they were any of the felons he’d convicted while a prosecutor, they would have waited and tried for him in town, drive-by style. Those men, though convicted, weren’t street stupid. They would leave calling cards and make sure everyone knew it was them. There were no personal enemies he knew of, so what was this about?

By the time he reached the house, he decided his situation was too complicated for local law enforcement to handle. The City of Dundee relied on the Yamhill County Sheriff to enforce its laws. He’d spend the next week trying to convince a room of deputy sheriffs he hadn’t mistakenly killed three trespassers. If he got Detective Carson involved, and there was any possible tie to Martin Research, he’d probably wind up in jail. That left the Senator. He’d want to know if this somehow involved his friend, Richard Martin, but maybe he could pull a few strings and get him out of this mess.

In the next half hour, Drake loaded the three bodies in the Suburban and drove them into the outbuilding. When the sliding door was closed, he laid each of them out on the concrete floor and placed their weapons beside them. He’d leave the forensic stuff to others, but at least for now, they were out of sight.

Back in the house, he made sure Lancer had a full bowl of water, and went directly to his study to call his father-in-law. It was 3:00 a.m. He hoped the Senator was a light sleeper.

“Don’t think you’ve ever called me this early. You all right?”

“Not exactly sir, can we talk?”

“Give me a moment to get downstairs.”

While he waited, Drake thought about what he should say over an unsecured phone line. He’d be careful, but the Senator needed to know his predicament.

“Okay, fire away, while I start some coffee. Something tells me I might not get back to bed for a while,” Senator Hazelton said.

“Three uninvited visitors came calling an hour ago. Unfortunately, this was the last call they’ll ever make. I could use some help deciding how to clean up the mess they left.”

After a long pause, the Senator asked, “Their intent wasn’t friendly?”

“You could say that. My reception wasn’t either.”

“You think this is related to the matter I asked you to look into?”

“Possible.”

“I see.” After another long pause, the Senator said, “Are you saying your visitors will be staying for a while? Maybe permanently, if we’re not able to make other arrangements?”

“I don’t see them going anywhere,” Drake said.

“Let me make a call or two and see if I can help. You all right in the meantime?”

“I’m okay. I’ve stored their things. I’ll wait for your call. Use my cell phone number.”

Drake didn’t know who the Senator would call, but he was relieved to know help might be on the way. He started his own coffee maker, and suddenly realized he was hungry. He poured a tall glass of orange juice, filled a bowl with Cheerios and milk, and sat down to refuel himself.

With a shudder, he felt anger boil up. He had controlled his emotions because he knew, unleashed, anger got you killed. Now it raged within him, like a rogue wave smashing against the rocks. Whoever was behind this would regret it. He was trained to hunt and he was starting to get a scent again.

Drake was drinking his second cup of coffee when the Senator called.

“I have arranged for transportation for your guests. In maybe thirty minutes, you’ll get a call. The person will ask you to confirm that there are three passengers and a dog named Lancelot to be picked up. Correct her mistake about your dog’s name. After you’ve bundled your guests off for the night, call me. We’ll find time for coffee tomorrow.”

Drake almost smiled. The Senator sounded as if he’d been handling cleanup operations his whole career. His years on the Senate Intelligence Committee certainly would have exposed him to the ways of covert ops. Perhaps there was a side to the Senator he needed to know a lot more about.