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.
“By the time I got back to my office today, there was a large, black weightlifter staking out my front door. Tonight, three black men, with scraggy beards, come gunning for me. I don’t know how it’s all connected to Martin Research, but the dots do seem to connect.”
“And you think this security firm is somehow involved with the murder at Martin Research?” Strobel asked.
“Yes. And that’s what their head of security thought, as well.”
Strobel set her coffee cup down and walked to the window, looking at the Secret Service agents working in the outbuilding. He knew what she must be thinking. How had he killed three men who were heavily armed, in the middle of the night, two of them with his bare hands? Why hadn’t he just called the police and waited for help?
Drake wasn’t prepared to answer those questions. Some of it, she might learn, if she looked in the right places. Most of it, she would never understand. Strobel said she had “field experience.” But his field of experience and hers were miles apart. She was trained to protect herself when in harm’s way. He was trained to be the harm in his enemies’ way. He was the hunter, and hunters didn’t sit around waiting to be hunted.
“Why did you kill these men, Mr. Drake?”
“I think that’s obvious, don’t you? They were trying to kill me.”
Before she could ask another question, one of her men came to the back door and asked her to step outside where John Mason stood waiting.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but it doesn’t look like these three came to steal his TV. They were armed like a team of S.E.A.L.s. From some of the tattoos, I’d say they’ve seen hard jail time. What does he say happened?” Mason asked.
Mason was the senior member of the Secret Service detail handling the advance preparations for Secretary Rallings. With his bald head and barrel chest, he looked like an old professional wrestler who became a bouncer. His voice, however, carried all of the authority of a drill sergeant.
“Without a trace of remorse, he said he killed them because they were trying to kill him. He thinks it’s related to a murder at Martin Research, the place the Secretary is visiting. He thinks it may involve the security firm the company uses.”
“Well that’s just swell. We have less than a week before the Secretary gets here. Now, a murder at one of his stops, and the company’s attorney kills three black men on his farm. Three possible Muslim ex-cons, judging from some of their tattoos and facial hair. We don’t have time to sort this out. Can we change his schedule, come back later in the summer?” Mason asked.
“He won’t go for it, John. The monitoring system Martin Research has developed is one of his pet projects. The dedication ceremony at the chemical weapons depot is a big deal in this part of the country.”
“Then you better make sure you convince me this situation isn’t a threat to your boss or I’m calling the whole thing off. You know I can,” Mason said over his shoulder, as he walked back to his men.
Strobel went back into the house. Drake was still seated at the kitchen counter drinking his coffee.
“I’ll need some time to sort this out, so I’m going to take their bodies, weapons and vehicle. The Secret Service will handle this initially, but I don’t want anyone else knowing about it until I get some answers. If this is leaked, I’ll have to turn it over to the FBI. Do you understand?” she said abruptly.
“Does this mean you’re not going to be finishing your coffee?” Drake asked.
“Mr. Drake, I’m doing your father-in-law a favor. I honestly don’t care if you spend the rest of your life in jail for using deadly force here tonight. My only interest right now is finding out if this poses a threat to my boss. Here’s my card. Call me if you learn anything,” she said, as she laid her card on the counter, and left to join the men waiting in the Suburbans idling outside.
Drake looked at her card: Special Executive Assistant to the Secretary of Homeland Security. Impressive, for such a good-looking, conflicted young woman. Beauty and brains, tough outside and yet she was puzzled by how he could actually kill someone instead of waiting for the police to arrive. She’d handled things with obvious authority tonight, but Drake wondered how long her position could protect him when pressure started to build. If ISIS was behind the men sent to kill him, it wouldn’t be long before they were missed and someone started asking questions.
If he wanted to stay ahead of this mess, he needed some answers, fast.
In the lead Secret Service Suburban, John Mason unloaded on Liz Strobel. “Liz, I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but I think we just stepped in a big pile of shit. We’re removing evidence from a probable crime scene. We can’t hide these bodies for long, and I don’t know what to make of this guy Drake. You don’t take out three men the way he did without special military training. That dog looks like it’s just about as well trained as he is. We’re going to have to know a hell of a lot more about Drake and the men he killed tonight, before I’m willing to let the Secretary come here,” he said.
“I know, John. When we get back to the city, I want you to take the bodies to our field office. See if we can identify any of them. I’ll request a full background check on Drake and arrange to meet with the local Joint Terrorism Task Force sometime today. We have some leeway here, but I want to make sure we’re not just doing a political favor for an old friend of the Secretary.”
In fact, that was one of her biggest concerns. The Secretary and Senator Hazelton were allies in the battle to make the country safer from terrorism. She knew they traded favors from time to time, but that was the way things worked in Washington.
What concerned her now was that Secretary Rallings had involved her in something that might not have anything to do with national security. Drake was smart enough to get his father-in-law to help him cover up manslaughter, at the very least, by pretending it had something to do with terrorism.
She wished she knew more about the man. When she was with the FBI, she’d been around men who had killed in the line of duty. Tough as they were before a shooting, she’d seen numb shock on their faces afterwards. None of them had been as calm as Drake. He didn’t seem to have any reaction or feelings about what he’d done. The only thing she’d noticed was a smoldering look of controlled anger in his eyes.
He hadn’t tried to impress her in any way. She was used to the effect her looks had on men, especially when she was flashing her DHS credentials. Drake hardly seemed to notice. He just made sure she understood what had happened on his farm.
Fascinating, she thought, as she settled back in her seat beside Mason in the lead Suburban. She had a job to do, but if getting to know Adam Drake was part of it, well then, that was just a plus.