Scott Matthews - The Assassin's list

“First, just to be clear, I said your boss might be in danger. The reason is simple, but then I’m a fairly simple guy. The men in the underground bunker are black American Muslims, and they’re hiding underground,” Drake said.

“But you don’t know why they’re in this bunker, and they’re a threat because they’re Muslim and black?” Strobel asked, with her eyebrows raised. “You’d be popular in Washington with that kind of logic, Mr. PC.”

Drake shrugged, “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, out here we call it a duck. Most of our homegrown terrorists in the Northwest have been black Americans who converted to Islam. When they’re living in a secret underground bunker, with uniforms that provide access to a chemical weapons depot, I think the threat possibility should at least be explored.”

“You haven’t told me how you know about this bunker.”

Drake studied her face. He hadn’t decided if he could trust her with the truth. “I can’t tell you that, and you don’t want to know. Look, my father-in-law will be with your boss Wednesday at the dedication ceremony. I have no reason to make this up.”

“So what am I supposed to do with your suspicions? I can’t get a FISA warrant with what you’ve told me. And I won’t get the FBI involved, not when they’re trying to hang me out to dry because I helped you.”

“What good is Homeland Security when you won’t investigate a threat like this? You have something suspicious going on near a chemical weapons depot with enough chemical munitions to wipe out the west coast,” Drake threw down.

“You know damn well why we can’t help,” she said, standing up. “If you or your source doesn’t have the guts to tell us about this bunker, don’t expect me to send in the cavalry.”

Drake knew she was right, just as he knew that getting her involved would have slowed him down anyway. He had to warn her, but hadn’t expected her to do much. If America wouldn’t do everything possible to protect itself at home, he would. He wasn’t afraid to do it again, Strobel’s accusation notwithstanding.

He finished his coffee and walked back through the hotel lobby on his way to his office. If the Senator would go along with the plan forming in his mind, he would conduct his own investigation.

As soon as Drake got to his car, he called the Senator at home.

“Good morning, Senator. I need to talk to you, as soon as possible. Will you be in your office this morning?”

“Fortunately, no. I’m taking the opportunity to enjoy a late breakfast at home. I don’t get many of these opportunities. Want to join me?”

“I’d like that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Drake answered.

On his way to the Senator’s house, he thought about what he should tell him. He wanted to trust the Senator, but the first thing the Senator did when he’d called for help was call the Secretary of DHS. Would he feel obligated again to pass along whatever Drake told him?

He liked the Senator, both as the father his wife adored and as a politician. He seemed to do what was right more often than he did what was politically expedient. But, Drake reminded himself, the Senator was a Washington insider. He remained in office because he knew how to play the game. He didn’t have a choice, Drake concluded. There wasn’t much more he could do on his own.

When he pulled up in front of the Senator’s home, the Senator was waiting for him at the front door.

“I’m not used to my new security system yet. Every time it tells me someone is coming, I think I need to get up and see who it is. Meredith just checks the video monitor. Our breakfast won’t be ready for several minutes, so let’s walk. You can tell me what we need to talk about.”

They walked from the front drive around the eastern perimeter of the Senator’s estate toward the lake. Drake told him about following ISIS’s manager to the warehouse in Hood River, seeing Kaamil meeting with a drug dealer, and his sneak-and-peek on the ISIS ranch.

“I met with Secretary Rallings’s assistant this morning and told her what I suspected. I didn’t tell her what I’d seen. I don’t know her well enough to tell her I broke into the bunker so she can add another crime to the list being investigated. She told me unless I had the guts to come forward, she wasn’t going to call in the cavalry.”

“That sounds like Liz,” Senator Hazelton said. “She was in the background of the Brandon Mayfield fiasco. She’s not anxious to let the government step into another mess like that without rock-solid evidence. Sum up your theory for me.”

“At first, I was just curious about why Richard Martin’s secretary was killed, and how the security system failed to identify her killer. Then, I had a bad feeling about the ISIS manager and saw him meeting with the drug dealer. Now, I’m suspicious on a whole different level. I think there’s a possibility ISIS is planning something that involves the chemical weapons depot, maybe your visit there.”

“And this is based on what you saw on this ranch in Hood River?”

“Everything I’ve learned about ISIS really, but yeah, what I saw up there. There isn’t a legitimate reason I can think of for hiding that bunker underground. There are several buildings where they could house personnel for training without hiding them. ISIS trains security types from all over the world. I doubt any of them would put up with the facilities I saw. I thought of one other thing on the way here. It was bothering me, back of my mind, and I just remembered what it was. The two chemical depot uniforms I saw looked legitimate, but the patches on the uniform weren’t permanently sewn on yet. They were being prepared to look like the real thing,” Drake said.

“Is it possible this has something to do with drugs, smuggling them into the chemical depot? You saw the manager with the drug dealer.”

Drake watched a ski boat drive past on the lake for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure what any of this has to do with the chemical depot. I know a lot of terrorists would like to get their hands on our old chemical weapons. On the other hand, the uniforms I saw could be nothing more than a prop to let them smuggle drugs into the depot.”

“But you think it’s more than just drugs?”

“Senator, there are just too many things happening for all of them to be coincidental. Richard Martin’s secretary was killed for a reason. The head of security, who’s supposed to have killed her, conveniently commits suicide before he could be questioned. Then, after I confront the manager of ISIS, three men show up at my farm and try to kill me. I see ISIS friendly with a drug dealer, and hiding Muslims in an underground bunker. I think this is about more than drugs.”

The Senator turned to face Drake. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t think you can do anything, just yet. We don’t know enough. What I’d like to do is visit the chemical depot. I know how to spot weaknesses in a facility’s defenses. If you could arrange for me to visit there tomorrow, say as the head of your personal security detail, I’ll say I’m coming to check out arrangements for your visit. Maybe I can make some sense out of all this.”

“I hope you’re wrong about this. It’s one thing to think Richard Martin’s research project is in trouble. It’s an important part of our homeland security effort. It’s an entirely different matter to think a chemical weapons depot is being targeted. We’ve protected those old weapons since the end of World War II, and we’re finally getting rid of the damn things. I’ll arrange for you to visit the Umatilla Depot tomorrow, just as soon as we finish brunch,” Senator Hazelton said, putting his hand on Drake’s shoulder and turning him toward the house for their breakfast.