When the helicopter exploded, Kaamil walked into his warehouse with a grim smile on his face. His team was lost, but Allah had spared him to fight another day.
As he took the stairs to his office two at a time, he turned to listen to the sound of another helicopter outside. How in hell had they found him so fast?
Kaamil dashed into his office and grabbed his laptop from his desk. The rest of the computers had records for the warehouse, but his personal computer connected him to the ISIS operation at the ranch. He’d sacrifice himself before letting it be captured.
There was no panic in his voice as he used his cell phone to call across the river.
“Rashid, meet me at the Hatch in ten minutes. Park near the porta potties as close to the rigging area as you can. Have Miguel on the shore, ready to take the boat and head down the river. We’ll drive slowly out of the parking area because we may be watched. Do nothing before that to attract attention. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Kaamil, I understand. Shall I alert the others?”
“Do not communicate with the others, just get to the Hatch. Do as we planned.”
Kaamil was starting down the stairs from his office when he heard a shout from the floor below.
“Kaamil, I know you’re here. The building is surrounded. We have business to settle. Come out like a man, we’ll talk.”
Kaamil laughed to himself, talk indeed. He recognized the voice of the vermin attorney. Without a sound, he turned back into his office and made his way to a storage closet. In the back of the closest, behind a spring-loaded panel, a touch pad opened a steel door that led to stairs down to a tunnel and to his boat.
The old warehouse had only one way in and out of the fenced facility above ground. Anyone suspicious of the place could satisfy their curiosity by watching traffic come and go. They would miss, however, merchandise smuggled out the tunnel passage through an old city drainpipe. The tunnel exited underneath a dock at the marina on a beak of land called the Hook.
Kaamil’s boat was a black and red Centurion 23 Typhoon, a ski boat perfect for ferrying drugs across the river. No one paid attention to the boat when it drove past, filled with loads of meth and money. It was just another fancy boat on the river.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped through a door cut into the side of the eight foot tall drain pipe. Inside, he ran down the tunnel through puddles of water left in the bottom of the pipe after spring rains. Just past the opening at the far end, a small video monitor in a plexiglass case was attached to the underside of the dock. A digital cam mounted above provided a clear view of the empty dock and his boat.
Kaamil climbed a ladder to the dock above and strolled the short distance to his boat, just another man out to enjoy the water and the sun.
“Drake, get out here. There’s a ski boat leaving from a dock near the warehouse. I think Kaamil’s in the boat.”
Drake ran to the east service door of the warehouse where Mike had the Black Hawk waiting.
“He’s in that black and red ski boat, wakeboard towers,” Mike said. “I didn’t see him get in the boat, but when the boat headed out, I recognized him.”
Through Mike’s Bushnell 20x50 surveillance binoculars, Kaamil appeared to be ten feet away, driving the high-powered boat through the swells of the Columbia River. He was headed to the Washington State side of the river, still wearing a blue windbreaker with Hermiston Air Rescue across the back. With the boat planing as fast as the waves allowed, he was forcing windsurfers to veer out of his path to avoid being run over.
“Any idea where he’s going? There’s no way to stop him before he reaches the other side,” Mike said.
“Half mile across the river is a place they call The Hatch. It’s a favorite windsurfing area with a large parking lot. That’s where I would go. It’ll be a zoo with all the vans and cars.”
Drake grabbed a headset and radioed Capt. Martinez at the chemical depot.
“Capt. Martinez, Drake here. Our man is fleeing across the Columbia. He appears to be headed to a place called ‘The Hatch.’ Do we have anyone over there who can seal off the area?”
The Captain was waiting for his call. “That’s one of the most congested traffic areas in the Gorge. The police in White Salmon are the closest, but they’ll never get there fast enough.”
“I don’t want to lose this guy. Request roadblocks up and down the highway along the river, then,” Drake pleaded.
“I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t part of our emergency planning. Everyone’s responding to the attack up here. Sorry.”
Through the front windscreen of the Black Hawk, Drake saw the boat turn in toward the rig and launch area of The Hatch. It drifted toward a young man standing in the water, waiting to stop the boat before it slammed into the rocky shore. Kaamil jumped into the knee-deep water, then ran up the path to the parking area.
“Best we can do now is follow him. He has to know we’re watching. Keep us over the parking area, maybe we’ll get lucky,” Drake said. “Can you drop me near his boat?”
“Why? You’ll lose him in the crowd. We’re better off waiting to see what leaves the parking area and calling ahead to have the vehicle stopped at a roadblock.”
Drake knew his partner was right. The police weren’t going to get the area sealed off in time, and they would probably lose him in the mass of bodies below. He wasn’t ready to give up, though.
“I can’t let this guy walk away. Put me down near that circular drive. Then you watch the traffic leaving the area. One of us might get lucky.”
Mike moved the Black Hawk sideways until it hovered over the asphalt surface on the far side of the Hatch parking area. People below froze as they watched the large helicopter slide over their heads, and then scattered out from under it. Drake jumped when Mike had him four feet off the ground, and the Black Hawk lifted again to hover overhead.
The parking lot was crowded, bumper-to-bumper in most areas, filled with vans and campers and cars with roof racks. Those not out on the water stood watching Drake and the hovering Black Hawk. The place was a kaleidoscope of color and style-with old Vanagons with Garcia logos and newer Beetles towing retro board trailers, and every kind of vehicle in between. Tan bodies were everywhere, in all manner of beach and surfer attire.
Drake scanned the faces of everyone he saw in a parked or moving vehicle. Spotting Kaamil out in the open was too much to hope for. He knew instinctively Kaamil wouldn’t even take that small chance. He’d be hiding somewhere, in something that could get him out of the parking lot.
~~~
Kaamil watched out the bubble window of a Ford van as his pursuer walked by, not three feet from where he kneeled on the carpeted floor. As long as his driver didn’t attract attention to the van, he knew he was safe. The police wouldn’t arrive in time to seal off the parking lot, and he only had to travel less than a mile to safety.
Kaamil and his driver waited another couple of minutes, and then drove to their safe house. Ten minutes later, they were in the building on a bluff nearby, overlooking The Hatch. The safe house was a bed and breakfast ISIS had purchased for the operation through a dummy corporation. It had an upper bedroom permanently reserved for him and members of his team.
From the room’s balcony, Kaamil watched as the helicopter continued to hover over the parking area. They were determined, he’d give them that, but he would see to it personally that the last round of this match was his, by a knockout.
The depot attack had been entrusted to others. This time, he’d lead the attack himself. Malik would not forgive another failure, even though it hadn’t been his fault. He was a warrior, deserving of praise, but he was also realist. If he could still kill the Secretary, he might postpone his punishment and restore himself.
From his rimrock perch high above The Hatch, with the enemy so close, he knew it was time to leave before the police could set up roadblocks.