Scott Matthews: The Assassin's list

Drake focused on a boat passing by. Its wake slapped against the side of the dock, like the nightly memories that pummeled his mind.

“Senator, I’m okay. A little depressed at times but Margo, my secretary, keeps things running. I won’t let my clients down, don’t worry.”

“Son, I’m not worried about your clients, I worry about you. You let me know if there’s something you need help with. I mean that. This thing with Rich Martin is important, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more important. I just need to know if I can count on you bringing your A game.

“I’ll let Richard Martin tell you what he’s working on when he gets here. You’ve probably guessed my interests are a little broader than his. The Secretary of Homeland Security is visiting next week to dedicate the chemical weapons disposal facility at the Umatilla Depot. He will also pay Martin Research a visit. I want to make sure Martin’s project hasn’t been compromised and the Secretary’s visit isn’t upstaged by this murder.”

So that was it. A little worry about his son-in-law, but a bigger worry about a defense project and a Cabinet member’s visit being upstaged. He had been mildly flattered for a moment, being asked to help the Senator’s friend. Now he was mildly angered.

“Concern noted. Keep the Secretary’s visit on the front page and Martin’s dead secretary off, for the good of the country. Your friend must be here, we’re being summoned,” Drake said, breaking the beginning of an awkward silence when his mother-in-law waved from the terrace.

Standing on the terrace next to Meredith was a man perhaps ten years younger than the Senator, and better tanned. A little less than six feet tall, he looked like tennis was probably his game. Trim, in gray slacks, a light blue button-down shirt and a yellow tie loose at his neck, the man looked like someone in shock, unfamiliar with violence and death.

“Richard,” the Senator called out, as they stepped onto the terrace, “this is my son-in-law, Adam Drake. He’s the attorney I wanted you to meet. Let me get you a drink while I walk Meredith inside.”

Left alone, Richard Martin shook hands with Drake without speaking. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders slumped.

“Your father-in-law thinks highly of you, but I don’t need an attorney,” Martin said.

“You’ve dealt with murder investigations and security problems that threaten your company?”

When Martin answered him with a silent stare, Drake continued.

“I’ve prosecuted cases like this, dealt with the police and managed the press. I know what you’re in for. You could use someone to help manage the situation. I can help if you want. Or, you can do it and run your company at the same time. The Senator is trying to help, but I don’t particularly care, one way or the other.”

Martin shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his chin to his chest.

“Janice Lewellyn was the nicest person I’ve ever known. She worked for me from the start-up of the company and never asked for anything. Everyone loved her. I can’t begin to explain this to her husband and children. We had the best security we could afford, and she’s still dead.”

Drake stepped beside him and looked across the lake, following Martin’s unfocused gaze.

“I lost my wife a year ago today. Things get turned upside down when you lose someone. The Senator wants to make sure you have someone to help you through this, that’s all. Any idea why this happened?”

“No idea,” Martin answered. “Looking for something in my office, I guess. But there’s nothing missing. All of our research is on the main computer, completely secure.”

“Anything in your office that might be of value to anyone?”

“Not a thing. The police think this was a burglary, but other than computers and stuff, there’s nothing anyone could quickly sell.”

“You said you had the best security you could afford. How did someone break in?” Drake asked.

“We don’t know. We’ve had vandalism a couple of times. After we landed the DHS contract, we had to upgrade our security. I hired a new company. They’re supposed to be the best in the business, certainly the most expensive. They revamped our whole system. Even they don’t know how the killer got in.”

“If you want my help, I’m willing to step in, as your attorney. I’ll deal with the police. They’ll want to take up a lot of your time, and I’ll deal with that. I could visit tomorrow, if you want.”

Martin continued to look out over the lake, then nodded his agreement as the Senator walked out and put an arm around Martin’s shoulders.

“Richard, you could use a decent night’s sleep. Why don’t you head home? Let us help you with this tomorrow. You have a tough week ahead of you.”

Martin didn’t argue and said goodbye, with a little wave of his hand, before he allowed the Senator to walk him to his car.

The dinner was subdued, despite their best efforts to talk about everything except the empty chair across the table. Drake thanked Meredith for preparing his favorite paella, told the Senator he’d call him after he visited Martin Research, and headed home.

Kay had fallen in love with a run-down vineyard and an old stone farmhouse in Dundee, the heart of Oregon’s wine country, and had convinced him to make it their first home. A retired orthodontist from New Jersey had grown tired of farming grapes and sold the vineyard. The farmhouse needed a lot of work, but it was home.

In twenty minutes, he drove beyond the suburbs of Portland into wine country and the wineries dotting the gentle western slopes of the Willamette Valley. The region was magical to him. Its rows of grape vines, undulating over rolling hills of red earth, and the year-round white peak of Mount Hood in the distance surpassed anything Napa Valley had to offer.

Tomorrow, he’d go for a long run with his dog, then try to help the struggling CEO.

Twenty miles to the north, in an upscale condo in the Pearl District of Portland, Kaamil paced, looking out onto a small terrace. He had a call he did not want to make. Jazz playing on his Continuum Audio turntable system didn’t help to calm his nerves. Expensive things and good music only helped when you weren’t afraid.

The keylogger he retrieved last night from Richard Martin’s computer did provide next week’s password. He confirmed that no changes had been made to the security system at the chemical depot. He did what he was asked to do, but killing Martin’s secretary would still be counted against him.

The man he was about to call gave him nightmares. He had seen men killed before, shot several himself, but the images of men beheaded by this man still haunted his mind. Two or three strikes with a sword and the screaming stopped. Sawing with a knife to finish the job was bloody, but the victim was quiet by then. It was what followed that scared him. The man’s eyes turned red, blood red, as the capillaries in his eyes exploded with the pleasure of killing.

The man was older now, and looked like any other successful western CEO, but Kaamil knew a raging fire of hatred burned in the man’s heart. He was, without a doubt, the West’s worst nightmare.

It was nine o’clock, and the call had to be made before nine thirty. The leader lived in Las Vegas and, despite all its distractions, still followed a rigid prayer discipline which included Eshaa, the evening prayer.

Kaamil wasn’t as disciplined and poured himself a second tumbler of Scotch before walking to his study. He entered the number for the day, on a disposable cell phone, and tried to slow his heart rate. Any sign of weakness, any sign of hurried speech or unclear thinking would be noticed. The man was uncanny in his ability to detect deception.