Scott Matthews - The Assassin's list

Valencia thought it was a waste, trying to create a fantasy for men who were certain to be killed. Even if they believed they were going to be met by adoring young virgins in Paradise, why give them their prize before they got there? Malik had developed a designer drug for Kaamil’s men that combined the sense of confidence ecstasy provided, with the energy and aggression produced by meth. He doubted the men would need anything more to motivate them.

He was upset, though, that he would be wasting three pretty young girls. None of them would survive the evening. The effects of the drug potion and the stimulation of the evening would make their lovers hard enough on them. He knew Kaamil would not let them live to connect ISIS to the assassination plot.

Valencia quickly checked the armory, where the supplies and decorations for the send-off feast had been delivered. Everything was there and organized, just as he had ordered. With any luck, he thought, I won’t have to come back here after next week. Partnering with these crazies was too dangerous. If they weren’t killed, they’d wind up in jail, or hung. Either way, it was bad for business.

When Valencia didn’t come out of the ISIS training facility after half an hour, Drake drove back to Hood River. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. After picking up a sandwich and some ice tea at a drive-through Subway, he headed back to Portland.

Kaamil was up to something, that much was clear. He and Valencia appeared to be friends, but even that didn’t explain what Valencia was doing at the ISIS training facility. Kaamil could be in business with Valencia, letting him use the warehouse, and ISIS might not know about that. But the security guard waved him through the gate, so someone at ISIS had to know about the drug dealer.

He hadn’t learned anything today that got him any closer to tying Kaamil to the men sent to kill him. Hell, the most he could prove was the guy kept bad company. His instinct, though, told him Kaamil was behind it all.

The trick would be to get someone with the resources to investigate Kaamil and ISIS. For that, he needed something he didn’t have-evidence of a security threat involving the Secretary or the homeland. Liz Strobel was only interested in protecting the Secretary, and then the country, in that order. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Strobel, though. She hadn’t done a very good job keeping his name out of things.

He would just have to go it alone for the time being. He’d operated solo before, and with the restraints on law enforcement, he might even be more successful. Things like search warrants and probable cause didn’t apply to private citizens, as long as you weren’t breaking the law. If you were real careful, no one would know even if you did.

As he drove past the historic Columbia River Gorge Hotel in its manicured gardens perched high above the river, Drake decided to call Liz Strobel. Even if he didn’t trust her, she may have learned something that would help.

She answered on the first ring.

“I’ve been waiting for your call. Where are you?” she demanded.

“Hey, calm down. Was I supposed to take you to lunch or something? If so, I’m truly sorry. I forgot. How can I make it up to you?” Drake asked lightly.

“I’m not in the mood to play games with you, Mr. Drake. I’m the one that got stuck answering questions you should have been here to answer. Half the imams in this city are demanding to know what happened to three Muslim men they claim have disappeared. The press is demanding to know what we know. I’m trying to keep you from being arrested for murder.”

“We need to meet. I stumbled onto something this morning you need to know. Can we meet for a drink, say in an hour? It’s important.”

There was a long pause. She was either trying to compose herself or considering whether to have him arrested.

“I’ve borrowed an FBI office in the Crown Plaza building. Is there somewhere close?” she finally said.

“Yes, but I don’t want to be questioned by anyone from that office just yet. I know most of those guys. We need somewhere a little farther away. Are you staying downtown?”

“I’m staying at the Marriott.”

“Why don’t you go there? I’ll meet you in Champions, the sports bar, say 4:30 p.m.”

“All right, I’ll be waiting to hear what you’ve learned. We’ve discovered a few things ourselves.”

Drake hoped the things she’d discovered were more than just the names of the three dead guys. He didn’t care who they were. He was anxious to know who sent them and why. That would give him a target.

Before he turned off I-84 an hour later, in Portland, Drake called his office. The afternoon traffic was starting to build, slowing him to thirty-five miles per hour as he crawled along through the east side of the city, with the bright afternoon sun in his eyes.

“Margo, I’m meeting the person from Homeland Security at the Marriott in a few minutes. I’ll be back before the end of the day.”

“Everything’s quiet here. I may be gone when you get here. Paul’s taking me to the coast for the weekend and wants to beat the traffic.”

“Great idea, Margo. Tell Paul I said so. We’ll pick up the pieces at the office next week when you get back.”

“I’ll try. Sorry if I’ve been snippy, I wasn’t prepared for all of this. I’ll be better next week.”

Drake could hear the relief in her voice that she was getting out of Dodge for the weekend.

“You’ve been great, Margo. I wasn’t prepared for it either. Have a glass of wine, enjoy a sunset and don’t worry about any of this.”

Margo had worried through too many nights, wondering if her husband would come home. Worrying about her own safety was something new. He was proud of the way she was handling it.

The Marriott was only a block away from Drake’s office, but he decided to park the Land Rover at the hotel. The only place to park at his office was his reserved space, labeled with the unit numbers of both the office and his condo, where Paul and Margo were living. If someone ran the plates on the Land Rover, he didn’t want them crashing through Margo’s door to arrest him.

He tossed the keys to the valet parking attendant and walked directly to the elevator on the south side of the lobby. The hotel was busy for an early Friday afternoon. While he waited for the elevator, he looked around and saw the reason why. The hotel was hosting a day-long seminar with the catchy title “21st Century Health Insurance Trends.” Most of the attendees were wandering around, probably looking for the nearest bar. Who could blame them, he thought. The best speakers never got scheduled last on a Friday afternoon.

When Drake’s elevator stopped on the second floor, he saw that Champions wasn’t crowded yet. Windows ran along the length of the east wall. Bar-height pub tables were placed to take advantage of the view of the river, and Mount Hood in the distance. The other walls were covered with sports posters, framed Trail Blazer uniforms, and sports memorabilia. Drake chose a table towards the rear and sat facing the door to watch for Liz Strobel.

Portland was known as America’s Microbrew Capital, but when the waitress asked him for his order, he asked for a pint of Full Sail Pale Ale, brewed in Hood River. Should have joined Kaamil and Roberto and had a glass there, he thought. It might have saved a lot of time, for all of us.

Drake took a drink of beer and saw Liz Strobel walk in. With a quick look around the bar, she spotted him and walked briskly to his table before he could wave to her. She was wearing a black skirt and a creamy, long-sleeved blouse, and didn’t look like someone who had just left her office. She looked like someone going out for dinner. Drake wondered if she had changed her clothes just for him. Whatever the reason, she had most of the men in the bar watching her walk to his table. If they knew this was just business, he thought, most of them would be lining up to introduce themselves the moment he left.