my way if they want to know why I asked you to provide private security tonight.”
Drake returned to talk with the Senator and Secretary Rallings. He got there just in time to hear Secretary Rallings lecturing his assistant, Liz Strobel, and the head of Portland’s JTTF, Bruce Burton, who had just arrived. Neither of them returned his greeting.
“This is the second example in one day of what we’re doing wrong in this war,” Secretary Rallings said. “We can’t sit around and wait for them to hit us. We’ve got to be a step ahead, rather than conceding them the initiative. This is not a law enforcement matter. Tonight, however, we’re going to treat it that way, to salvage what’s left of the public’s trust in our ability to protect them. But believe me, I will change the way we’re operating. All of you better have some suggestions for me the next time we talk. Now, go out and convince everyone this was just a criminal matter the FBI is handling because I was here tonight. I do not want to read tomorrow there were two terrorist attacks in one day that the government was not prepared to handle.”
When Liz Strobel and Bruce Burton were dismissed, Secretary Rallings turned to Drake and smiled slightly.
“Think it did any good?”
“Hard to say, sir. They might want to do what I was able to do. But when they know they’d probably lose their jobs if they did, or go to jail, I don’t think much will change. We’re not used to fighting a war at home.”
Rallings looked at him and nodded.
“No, I expect you’re right. It’s all we could do to get the Patriot Act passed. We’ve got to find a way to do a better job. What allowed you to figure out what was going on?”
“Past training and experience mostly. Being in the right place and time to put the pieces together. Instinct told me they weren’t going to give up until you were dead. We were lucky this time,” Drake said.
“I doubt that luck had much to do with you figuring it out. I may need your help in figuring the rest of it out. When we get this calmed down, I’d like to hear everything you can tell me.”
“If you can clear things up for me with the FBI and local law enforcement, I’ll make the time. If you can’t, they may not let me leave the city,” Drake said. “I think I made some new enemies this last week.”
“You let me worry about that,” Secretary Rallings said. “I think I can make them see it my way. This is an ongoing investigation. I’m not going to let my people screw it up just because they have a little egg on their faces.”
Chapter 58
Before Drake left to join Mike and his men for dinner, he made sure his family was okay. Meredith Hazelton was clearly shaken by the attack. She lived life as the wife of a U.S. Senator. She understood there was a war being fought, but realizing she was not safe in her own home was going to take some time to accept.
Senator Hazelton was more stoic. As chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, he was keenly aware of the threat from terrorists living in America. Personally, he was incensed that his wife of forty years was nearly killed. But he had known that sooner or later the war was always going to be fought on U.S. soil.
“We knew they were here,” he told Drake, as he stared at the embers in the western end of the house, where his den had been located, “but targeting Americans for assassination has crossed the line. Shouldn’t have surprised us, really. It’s been one of their chief weapons throughout history.”
Drake ached for his father-in-law. No one in America wanted to believe the war was headed their way. It was easier to label the Paul Reveres as pro-war alarmists, using the threat of terrorism as an excuse to strip Americans of their civil liberties. He wondered how many would feel that way if their house had just been blown up.
“Someday, people will understand this is a real war that we have to win,” Drake said, putting an arm around the Senator’s drooped shoulders. “I promised Mike and his men I’d buy them dinner, so I’d better go. Call me tomorrow and let me know where you and Mom are staying. You know you’re welcome to stay with me at the farm.”
“Thanks, but we’ll be at the Heathman Hotel tonight. We’ll head back to Washington tomorrow. Thank the men for me, Adam,” Senator Hazelton said with a quick bow of his head, and headed to where his wife was standing.
Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse is located in the Pacific Center Building on Southwest Broadway in Portland. That’s where Drake found Mike and his men.
He was greeted with a rousing round of hoo-ahs from the men, and a bear hug from Mike. He signaled all of them to bring their drinks and follow him. When they were all gathered in the mahogany-paneled room he’d reserved, Drake spoke with Mike for a brief moment and then tapped a fork against the whiskey glass he’d been handed.
“Tonight we acted privately, at the request of Senator Hazelton. Our actions will be closely scrutinized. Federal agencies are embarrassed, and the media types that have a hard time believing Americans can be terrorists will be skeptical. The Secretary and the Senator told me to thank you, and that they have our backs on this. Still, please coordinate all statements to the authorities through Mike or your company’s attorney. So, well done, men. The T-bone is terrific here and the lobster is flown in from Maine daily. Enjoy the gratitude of those you served tonight,” Drake concluded to their applause.
While the menus were being studied, Mike joined him.
“Are they going after Kaamil’s boss?” Mike asked.
“Secretary Rallings said they’re trying to trace the flight of a jet that landed at the ranch the other night. They’re also trying to locate the CEO of ISIS. If ISIS is behind this, you know there’s apt to be a lot of companies looking for a new security service. You might find your business suddenly has a lot of potential new customers.”
“Wasn’t thinking that far ahead, but you might be right. Have to expand operations and all. You know a good attorney who’s willing to help with something like that?” Mike asked.
“Might, but I have something to close out before I take on a new client.”
Mike knew him well. Drake didn’t avoid his questioning look.
“Like the guy pulling Kaamil’s strings?”
“Possibly.”
“Call me.”
After enjoying the men’s company, and paying a substantial tab for the post-mission hunger of Mike and his team, Drake thanked each of them for their help, and headed home.
It didn’t seem possible it had been only a week ago that he agreed to help Richard Martin. So much had happened, so much had changed. While the steady purr of the Porsche’s engine reminded him how tired he was, he wondered how he was ever going to get back to normal.
Normal was his office routine, keeping his promise to clean up the pile of postponed matters on his desk. He had to admit, though, the last week had made him feel alive, energized and on the edge again. He had made a difference, not just for a client, but perhaps for the country he once pledged to serve and protect.
Drake downshifted to take the exit from I-5 onto I-206, when his cell phone chirped. Caller ID told him his father-in-law was calling.
“Hello Senator,” he answered. “Decide on a night in the country?”
“No, but thanks for the offer. Just finished talking with Secretary Rallings about what happened today. We’d like you to come to Washington on Friday, to go over your role in all of this. The Secretary has an idea he wants to discuss with you. Is that something you think you could arrange?”
“You know what this idea is?” Drake asked.
“Sort of, but he wants to explain it himself. You can stay with us, and be back in your office Monday. It’s important, Adam, something I think you’ll be interested in. It’s something you can help us with.”
“I’m curious, of course, so yes. Tell the Secretary I’ll come. I’ll take the red eye and call you when I get there.”
