Scott Matthews - The Assassin's list

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time happened to other people, not Janice Lewellyn. Not until the last night of her life, anyway.

Just before twelve oclock that night, she was speeding back to her office on the sprawling campus of Martin Research in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. A memo her boss needed before a field test of their new chemical weapon detection system wasnt complete. The itinerary for next weeks visit by the Secretary of Homeland Security had been left out. She had time to get that done. Everything was packed, a couple of hours at the office, and shed still have time to get the kids up and family to the airport. Shed sleep on the plane, and rest in Maui.

The vacation, ordered by her doctor, was supposed to provide a rest before starting an aggressive chemotherapy treatment for ovarian cancer. The vacation couldnt have come at a worse time. Cancer scared the hell out of her, no question, but she was prepared to fight it with or without a vacation. She wasnt prepared, however, to let her boss down. Properly hosting the head of Homeland Security when he visited was her responsibility.

A rich perfume of roses carried on the summer breeze as she stepped from her car in the executive parking lot. Some savvy landscaper had placed a small rose garden nearby. Deep red rhododendrons and azaleas lined the walkway, and two acres of lush green lawn surrounded the four-story glass and stainless steel office building. A reflecting pool ringed the building on three sides, bathing it in a soft blue light. It was the most beautiful place in the world to work, she thought for the hundredth time.

~~~

At the back of the executive office building, Kaamil Sayf waited in the shadows outside an emergency fire door. At midnight, the security system his company installed and maintained would crash and go offline for five minutes. In those five minutes, he needed to run up four flights of stairs to the CEOs office, retrieve a keylogger device hed placed on the CEOs computer a month ago, and get back out before the security system rebooted.

On the outside, after his prison conversion to Islam, he led a covert cadre of assassins working as employees of the International Security and Information Services, or ISIS. The mission he trained for, and was selected to lead, aimed to assassinate powerful American leaders. Mighty America killed its enemies with cowardly high-flying drones, but the world would soon know how jihadists killed enemies, up close and personal.

Before the first strike next week, he had to ensure encrypted passwords for the security plan at the chemical weapons depot had not changed. The only way to know was to retrieve the keylogger that recorded every keystroke on the CEOs computer.

When his watch flashed 12:00 a.m., Kaamil used a key to open the steel fire door and ran up the stairs. He knew the old security guard posted at his station at the main entrance wouldnt hear him, just as he knew the security cameras wouldnt record his visit for the next five minutes. No one was expected in the building.

He raced down a long hallway to the middle of the top floor. Through Janice Lewellyns office, he entered the CEOs inner sanctum. Kaamil was under the large rosewood desk when the elevator doors chimed. Somebody besides the security guard was in the building. Kaamil pocketed the device, getting up as the office lights came on, and froze.

Sweat formed on his forehead when he heard someone walking into the office.

What are you doing in here? Janice Lewellyn demanded. Why are you hiding in Mr. Martins office?

Take it easy, Mrs. Lewellyn, you know me. I didnt mean to frighten you. Im just checking to make sure the upgrade for the security system is working.

Since when do you do middle-of-the-night upgrades without my clearance? I think you better stay here while I call security. You shouldnt be in Mr. Martins office.

Call security. They know all about it. Im just doing my job, Mrs. Lewellyn. Kaamil feigned a smile, hoping she didnt notice the beads of sweat on his forehead.

As Janice Lewellyn turned toward the phone on her desk, Kaamil took an Emerson combat folding knife from his pocket. Moving quickly, he caught her from behind and pulled the razor-sharp blade across her throat.

Lowering her body to the floor, he cursed his rotten luck. He would keep on the surgical gloves he was wearing until he left the building. And pray to Allah nothing was left behind to identify him, because his five minutes were almost up.

He would have enough trouble explaining the collateral damage to his leader without worrying about the police.

Adam Drake stared at the ocean from a window seat in their favorite restaurant. Kay had been gone a year, but the memory of her laughing, sitting across the table from him was as vivid as a beautiful hologram. If only they had found a cure, or her chemo had worked, he would still be holding her hand. Still be looking forward to every minute he got to spend with her.

That kind of magical thinking didnt help. The reality was, she was in pain and now she wasnt. The pain was now his. She was dead. He wasnt. The Bible might say theres no greater love than laying down your life for a friend, but what it doesnt say is the greatest pain comes when you cant. Especially when the friend is your wife.

He could not believe it had been a year. Every day of it had been a miserable, aching, lonely waste and drinking too much hadnt numbed the pain. It just left him with sleepless nights, thinking of their three short years together. All he had was one whirlwind year courting the most beautiful girl in Oregon, one happy year still in shock she said yes, then one long year watching her succumb to cancer.

Mr. Drake, you have a phone call, sir, said Joyce, the Tidal Raves dining room manager, touching him lightly on the shoulder. Im sorry for intruding, but he said it was an emergency.

Drake got up and followed her past the window tables and booths to the front desk. How had someone found him? He hadnt known where he was going when he took the day off.

Drake here.

Adam, Im sorry to bother you, his father-in-law said, but I need your help.

Senator Hazelton, a four-term United States Senator from Oregon, rarely needed anyones help and had never asked for his. Coming on the anniversary of his daughters death, Drake suspected the Senator, or more likely his wife Meredith, was making sure he was all right.

Howd you find me?

As chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, there are some perks. I tracked you by satellite, Senator Hazelton said dryly.

Some perks, Drake thought.

I know you dont want to think about business right now, but I need a favor. A friend of mine could use some legal help. I cant think of anyone better than you to help him.

Drake was now certain his mother-in-laws concern had prompted the call. The Senator knew top lawyers in Portland, Washington D.C., and the country, for that matter. He didnt need Drakes legal talents to help a friend, even when he was at the top of his game, which he hadnt been for the last year.

My friends company is handling some important research for us, the Senator continued. His secretary was killed in his office last night and aside from the tragedy of it all, it couldnt have happened at a worse time. Youve prosecuted complicated cases like this where corporate theft may be involved. Would you give him a hand, act as a consultant, and guide him through this?

So that was it. A supporter was in a mess at an unfortunate time, and the Senator owed him a favor. True, Drake had handled some big trade secret cases in the D.A.s office as the lead felony prosecutor.

Senator, I dont think I can help you. Im just not ready to take on a case like this right now, Drake said.