The Assassin's List Read Online Free

your time, and I’ll deal with that. I could visit tomorrow, if you want.”
    Martin continued to look out over the lake, then nodded his agreement as the Senator walked out and put an arm around Martin’s shoulders.
    “Richard, you could use a decent night’s sleep. Why don’t you head home? Let us help you with this tomorrow. You have a tough week ahead of you.”
    Martin didn’t argue and said goodbye, with a little wave of his hand, before he allowed the Senator to walk him to his car.
    The dinner was subdued, despite their best efforts to talk about everything except the empty chair across the table. Drake thanked Meredith for preparing his favorite paella, told the Senator he’d call him after he visited Martin Research, and headed home.
    Kay had fallen in love with a run-down vineyard and an old stone farmhouse in Dundee, the heart of Oregon’s wine country, and had convinced him to make it their first home. A retired orthodontist from New Jersey had grown tired of farming grapes and sold the vineyard. The farmhouse needed a lot of work, but it was home.
    In twenty minutes, he drove beyond the suburbs of Portland into wine country and the wineries dotting the gentle western slopes of the Willamette Valley. The region was magical to him. Its rows of grape vines, undulating over rolling hills of red earth, and the year-round white peak of Mount Hood in the distance surpassed anything Napa Valley had to offer.
    Tomorrow, he’d go for a long run with his dog, then try to help the struggling CEO.

 
    Chapter 5
    Twenty miles to the north, in an upscale condo in the Pearl District of Portland, Kaamil paced, looking out onto a small terrace. He had a call he did not want to make. Jazz playing on his Continuum Audio turntable system didn’t help to calm his nerves. Expensive things and good music only helped when you weren’t afraid.
    The keylogger he retrieved last night from Richard Martin’s computer did provide next week’s password. He confirmed that no changes had been made to the security system at the chemical depot. He did what he was asked to do, but killing Martin’s secretary would still be counted against him.
    The man he was about to call gave him nightmares. He had seen men killed before, shot several himself, but the images of men beheaded by this man still haunted his mind. Two or three strikes with a sword and the screaming stopped. Sawing with a knife to finish the job was bloody, but the victim was quiet by then. It was what followed that scared him. The man’s eyes turned red, blood red, as the capillaries in his eyes exploded with the pleasure of killing.
    The man was older now, and looked like any other successful western CEO, but Kaamil knew a raging fire of hatred burned in the man’s heart. He was, without a doubt, the West’s worst nightmare.
    It was nine o’clock, and the call had to be made before nine thirty. The leader lived in Las Vegas and, despite all its distractions, still followed a rigid prayer discipline which included Eshaa, the evening prayer.
    Kaamil wasn’t as disciplined and poured himself a second tumbler of Scotch before walking to his study. He entered the number for the day, on a disposable cell phone, and tried to slow his heart rate. Any sign of weakness, any sign of hurried speech or unclear thinking would be noticed. The man was uncanny in his ability to detect deception.
    When the connection was made, he sat forward in his chair and prepared to report on last night’s event.
    “Kaamil, my brother, I am worried. I thought I would hear from you last night.”
    “I’m sorry, Malik. I wanted to make sure of something before I called,” Kaamil explained.
    “Like how close the police are to finding out who killed that woman? Is that what you wanted to make sure of before you called me? Or were you hoping I wouldn’t hear of your failure before you worked out your excuses?”
    “Malik, please, killing the woman was a mistake, but it couldn’t be avoided.