Scott Matthews - The Assassin's list

Thirty-five minutes later, Drake’s phone rang.

“Mr. Drake, I’ve come to pick up three passengers and someone named Lancelot. Does that mean I will have four passengers?”

The voice was soft and meant to sound servile, but the tone of authority came through loud and clear.

“The name is Lancer. He’s my dog. He’ll be staying with me, so there are only three passengers. Is that something you can handle?”

“Very good, sir. I think we can handle your problem. We should be there in another five minutes,” the female voice said. “It would be helpful if you would leave a light on for us.”

Drake put the phone down, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake asking the Senator for help. The woman he talked to had handled the call efficiently. There was something in her voice that said she didn’t appreciate what she was being asked to do.

In less than five minutes, Drake spotted two white Suburbans pulling into his driveway. They slowed as they approached the turnaround in front of his house. When the lead vehicle stopped, the front passenger door opened and a woman stepped out.

She was tall, with long brown hair. In khaki pants and blue windbreaker, she looked law-enforcement confident walking his way.

He stepped out his front door and walked down to meet her.

“I’m Liz Strobel, Mr. Drake,” she said as she reached him. “I’m told you have a problem and need our help.”

Drake shook her outstretched hand. Her eyes were light blue above high cheekbones, and her lips were full but pressed tightly together. Ice Lady was the identifier that first came to mind, but maybe cold and tough better described the woman. Whatever she was, she wasn’t wasting any time taking control of the situation.

“Who are the men you brought with you?” Drake asked.

“The men are Secret Service. We’re handling the advance for Secretary Rallings’s Seattle and Portland visits. We were closest when Senator Hazelton called him and asked for help.”

“And who are you?” Drake asked.

“I’m the Secretary’s executive assistant. I was FBI before the Secretary asked me to help him pull together DHS. Don’t worry Mr. Drake, I’ve been around. I have field experience. I know what I’m doing.”

“And what are you doing here, on behalf of the DHS Secretary and Senator Hazelton?”

“Mr. Drake, I was told you might have killed three men you think might be connected to the murder at Martin Research. Your father-in-law and the Secretary think if there’s anything to your suspicions, they should look into it. If it turns out you killed men who didn’t have a clue the Secretary was coming to town, we’ll turn it over to local law enforcement. If there is a connection, we need to know it, so the Secret Service can protect the Secretary.”

“I didn’t know the Secret Service protected Cabinet heads,” Drake said.

“After 9/11, the Secret Service reports to the Secretary, not to Treasury. The Secretary has declined full protection, but a small detail accompanies him when he makes public appearances. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened,” Strobel said, stepping back and crossing her arms across her chest.

Drake knew about VIP visits from his days in the D.A.’s office. Protection details didn’t have time to investigate ancillary matters when they were in the field. Something else was going on, not just the murder of Richard Martin’s secretary.

“You got here pretty fast,” Drake mused. “Is there something you know about these guys that I should know? Has someone threatened the Secretary, or the Senator? Do you think this is somehow related?”

“Mr. Drake, the sun will be up in two hours and ten minutes. I’d like to be out of here by then. I’ll tell you what little I can. U.S. and Canadian intelligence agencies believe terrorist cells are planning assassinations of North American politicians, in response to our targeted killings of terrorist leaders around the world. The Secretary of Homeland Security is a natural target. We’re looking into every possible threat real aggressively. Now, will you show me the bodies and explain what happened?”

Drake nodded and motioned for her to follow him around the house to the outbuilding behind. Liz Strobel, in turn, signaled her team to drive along behind them. He was stalling to some extent. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, in case Miss Executive Assistant decided this was a local matter and didn’t want to be involved. She hadn’t Mirandized him, but everything he told her would wind up in a report, somewhere. On the other hand, if he didn’t convince her this was connected to Martin Research, and therefore somehow involved the Secretary or the Senator, he’d find himself explaining it to other investigators. Better to trust the Senator, he decided, and tell the lady what she wanted to know.

Drake led the procession to the outbuilding, pulled the sliding door aside and allowed Strobel and her entourage to inspect the three bodies. After a quick look, three of the men knelt down and began a careful search of the bodies. One man started recording images with his digital Leica, while another stood aside, speaking softly into a personal recorder. The two remaining Secret Service men searched the Suburban and examined the weapons on the ground next to it.

Liz Strobel watched the men work for a moment, then walked over to Drake’s side.

“Let’s go inside and talk. I could use a cup of coffee if you have any,” she said.

Drake stepped aside at the door and let her walk ahead of him into the kitchen.

“Nice place. You don’t see many stone farmhouses around here,” Strobel said.

“My wife gets all the credit for the house. She loved this place. So you don’t scare yourself, that large dog standing silently behind you is Lancer. He won’t hurt you.”

“Is that right, Lancer?” Strobel asked, and slipped off the stool to pet him.

Lancer didn’t move, except for the hairs that spiked up on the back of his neck as he growled deeply.

“Lancer, down,” Drake commanded quickly. “Sorry, forgot you might be armed. He’s trained to smell guns and attack if he thinks there’s a threat. After what he’s experienced tonight, I should have taken time to introduce you.”

Drake walked over and patted his dog’s head.

“She’s okay, Lancer. Kiss and make up.”

Lancer did as he was told and held up his right paw, which was gingerly shaken once by Liz Strobel.

“Lancer was quite a hero tonight. He probably saved my life when I ordered him to attack the third man. The guy tried to shoot him instead of me. But as you can see, he’s just a marshmallow.”

“Had me fooled,” she said, moving quickly back to her stool.

Drake poured them each a cup of coffee and sat down across the breakfast bar.

“All right, Ms. Strobel, what would you like to know?” Drake asked. “Do you need background about my work for Martin Research, or just information about tonight?”

“Why don’t you tell me why you think these three men came here tonight,” Strobel said, sipping coffee from the cup held in both hands in front of her face.

“I don’t know why they came here, but I think I may know who sent them. I think it’s the security firm that Martin Research uses. I visited their Portland office yesterday afternoon to question them about the security system failure right at the time Richard Martin’s secretary was killed. The manager tried to throw the blame on Martin Research’s head of security, man named Sam Newman. Within hours, he had committed suicide.

“I met with Sam Newman yesterday. He was convinced the security firm, ISIS, was responsible for the security system being turned off. He also thought ISIS was sending felons to work security details there.