Drake crisscrossed the parking area one last time before signaling Mike to pick him up. Most of the vans and SUVs had darkened windows, and more than a few of their owners had prevented him from even looking into them. They suspected he was a cop, and were fairly blunt in asking him to get away from their vehicles without a warrant.
Whatever means of escape Kaamil had waiting, it effectively concealed his presence. The whole operation had been well planned, and the retreat was no exception.
Back in the Black Hawk, he told Mike to head back to the chemical depot. “He’s gone. Let’s return the Colonel’s helicopter and see if they’ve learned anything.”
“Roger that. I’m tired of fighting these Gorge winds anyway.”
They left to a wave of middle-finger salutes from the crowd gathered below.
“We were a big hit. Kaamil’s laughing his ass off. He’s been a step ahead today, but now it’s our turn,” Drake said, staring straight ahead.
Mike flew them back to the chemical depot where they were briefed on the initial investigation of the attack.
Two soldiers had been killed defending the emergency center. Of the five attackers who were dead, only two were recognized at the depot. They were the two killed in the initial explosion at the VX bunker. The bunker bomber was a recent convert to Islam. Twenty years old and an Army reservist, he wore the explosive belt that damaged the bunker and killed the driver in his Humvee parked by the bunker’s door. The driver appeared to be an unwilling accomplice. His wife and four children were found shot to death in their home in Hermiston. No connection was found that linked them to the terrorists.
The three gunmen were imposters, with IDs that belonged to security guards at the depot. The real security guards, along with their families, were found murdered in their homes. Three husbands, three wives and eight children. The Army investigators were stunned by the extent of the violence involved in the attack on their facility.
Drake, however, recognized the terrorists’ indifference to life. He’d seen it before, in places where Islamic fanaticism flourished. Like the swords they were so fond of raising in their videos, they were created by their madrassas and imams for one thing, killing in the name of Allah.
From what the Army’s investigators had also learned, the initial blast in the bunker had not been successful in causing a release of the VX agent. They were investigating a false alarm caused by the Martin Research prototype monitoring system the depot had recently installed.
After debriefing and promising to be available whenever they were needed in the Army’s ongoing investigation, they were allowed to return to Portland.
Driving down I-84 along the Columbia in Mike’s Yukon, Drake tried to put himself in Kaamil’s shoes as he processed the events of the morning.
Kaamil failed to assassinate the Secretary and his father-in-law, which Drake believed was the goal of the attack at the depot. He escaped with a well-planned retreat, but wasn’t finished, Drake thought. Whoever had planned an attack like this wasn’t going to stop just because a few pawns were sacrificed.
“Mike, I have a feeling this isn’t over. It’s too big a plan for them to give up now. These guys pray to die for Allah, and there’s one too many still alive for my liking. Can you stay on for a day or so?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China, as the saying goes, even though India’s the leading tea producer in the world,” he said, glad to break the silence. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Kaamil will try again. If I were planning this, I’d try sooner rather than later. He lives here, has resources here, and he’ll regroup and hit us when we least expect it. Tonight or tomorrow would be my guess. Can you get us some backup?” Drake asked.
“It’s two in the afternoon. I’ll call in some of my best guys. You’ll like them, but it’s going to cost you. The best Special Forces guys don’t come cheap, and I’ve got the best, hired for my executive protection division.”
“Don’t worry about it. Between my father-in-law, and his friend who got me into this, they’ll be good for it. I’m more concerned about what these assholes are up to, than who’s paying for your services.”
Drake called the Senator while Mike was on his cell to his office in Seattle. The Oregon State Police had escorted the Senator back to Portland by car before the DHS had arranged air transportation for the Secretary. Liz Strobel had thrown a fit, of course, but the FBI wouldn’t budge. Investigating a terrorist attack on a Cabinet member was their turf. They weren’t going to rush things. Besides, a photo op arranged for the Secretary at the Portland airport took a little time to put together.
The Senator wanted to know if Drake was available for dinner. The Secretary had agreed to take him up on his promise of a home-cooked meal and would be there. They both wanted to hear Drake’s take on the depot attack. Drake promised he’d be there for dinner.
“Mike,” Drake said when he’d ended the call, “I think we need your guys sooner than later. The Senator invited me to dinner at his home, and the Secretary will be a guest, seven o’clock tonight. I have no idea what security has been arranged, but I don’t want to take a chance. If your guys can get here before then, we can go over what the State Police have planned and what I know about the Senator’s home.”
“It’s what they live for, a little excitement now and then. They’re loading up now, they’ll be here by five p.m. at the latest. You want to stop and get something to eat? I’m starved.”
Drake had to laugh. Eating had always calmed Mike’s nerves after an operation, and it seemed little had changed. He could go for a day without eating, rethinking their actions and what might be required of them the next day. His friend needed to feed himself and sleep away the tension.
“You pick the place. I’ll drive the rest of the way home. Got a feeling I’ll be talking to myself after you’ve had a burger or two.”