Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (27 page)

Control. What an illusion. She remembered when Tony said letting God have control was crazy-scary. He had that right. The thought of
not
trying to protect herself when she’d had to do it her whole life …
Just not
ready to go there yet
.

She sat on the grassy knoll, Potomac waters glistening like diamonds in the setting sun, and hugged her knees to her chest.

Beo trotted to her side and plopped his backside down. Chest puffed, snout in that pout that made him seem like an old Englishman staring at her, he faced her as if to say, “Go ahead, the doctor is in.”

Timbrel rubbed the side of his face then his ear between her thumb and forefinger. “I did it, Beo. I ran him off.” She managed a smile. “Just like all the other guys.”

He sighed as if to say, “Finally.”

“I know you’re happy he’s gone, but …” Her chin bounced. She fought it. “I’m not.”

She hadn’t been. Not in a long time. Hate, the heaping dose of family medicine that had been doled out since childhood, poisoned her to accepting love. Forbid her from even taking antidotal portions. Hate she could deal with.

This … this acceptance, this—what was it? Tony seemed completely unaffected by the attitude she’d delivered with a baseball bat and power swing. A sob wracked her. Add to all that, she’d lost her home. All her possessions went up in flames. Photo albums, computers, clothes, rings …

Now she’d also ruined a vital relationship—Burnett. As a handler, she depended on those gigs. Lately, the only ones coming her way were with DIA. If he saw her as reckless and incompetent, he wouldn’t request her again. She’d be jobless.

You’re useless
.

Arms wrapped around her knees, she hugged them tighter and cried onto her jeans.
How do I always screw it up?
Without handling, without Tony … what did she have to live for? Carson had been right all those years ago. She’d fought it. Hated that he’d said it. But he was right.

I’m useless
.

She stared at the water, felt the undulating invitation to sink to its depths.

“Life isn’t worth doing.”

Present Day

“Raze it.”

Karzai stood in the middle of the pothole-laden road, hands behind his back as he stared down the main route into the village. All looked innocent and quiet, but within her borders reeked a foul disease.

“Is it necessary?” Dehqan asked, his question quiet, contemplative. Not defiant. Or angry.

“Allah puts us on this earth to test us,” he said to the boy who had become a man. “Trials are presented to us to determine our loyalty to Allah. It is of the utmost importance that we consider the al-Qiyama.” He eyed Dehqan.

“The day of Judgment and the Resurrection.” Dehqan’s gaze hopped around the small, crude buildings.

“There are twelve-hundred verses in the Qur’an that speak of this.” Karzai gave the signal to Irfael, who waved the men into the village. Fires were lit. Weapons discharged. Screams spiraled.

Karzai breathed in the smoke, the sacrifice of the impure, the evil. “These people lurk like serpents in the desert, and with their smooth talk and their adulterous words, they brainwash our friends, our loved ones, into believing in Isa.”

A boy darted from a house, quick as a mouse, and started straight toward them. “Please, Imam Karzai, help us!” His mouth opened, but the scream that seemed ready to leap from his lips morphed into the sound of a gunshot. The boy dropped like a wet blanket.

Karzai nodded to his captain but noted the absence of his son and protégé.

Dehqan turned and slumped against the armored vehicle. Head tucked, arms folded, he seemed shaken. The popping jaw muscle spoke of his anger.

“What troubles you?”

Wide, expressive eyes shot to his. “That boy—how … how could he have done anything that warranted being shot in the back?”

Were he not certain the boy before him, the one who had witnessed far greater things, would not normally be affected by this cleansing of the unfaithful, Karzai would not mentally search to understand this reaction. Was it the age?

All at once, he understood. Yes. The age. “You see yourself in that boy.” He went to the one he’d raised for the last decade. “Dehqan, come.”

“No, I’m through. I want to leave.” His panicked expression gave way to a wild frenzy. “This … I can’t—”

“You will obey me!” Karzai snapped each word out. Breathing hard, he drew himself together. Held out a hand. “Come. I would show you something.” He took him by the upper arm, only now realizing the boy stood several inches taller. His bicep, too, had filled out. It stirred pride in Karzai to know that Dehqan had become a man under his tutelage. But the mind—the mind must be molded like clay. And if he must break that clay and start over, he would do it.

Hauling Dehqan down the pocked road, Karzai led him to the boy. He motioned Irfael to his side. “Turn him over.”

“No, please!” Dehqan’s voice pitched. “Leave the dead in peace.”

Fire lit through Karzai’s soul as the body made a soft thump as the boy rolled onto his back. “You must look at him.”

“No.” That wild frenzy returned. “I have seen death. There is no need—”

“Look. At. Him!”

Nostrils flaring, shoulders squared, Dehqan stared back unabashedly at Karzai without complying. Then he sagged. His eyes dropped to the body.

Despite the processional of gunshots, crackling fire, and screams that mingled into a day of sacrifice, Karzai took in the boy. Black hair hung in his face, matted by the blood that had soaked the ground and his shirt from the chest wound. Even with the dark stain, the lettering was still visible.

“What is on his shirt?”

Dehqan wilted even more. “A cross.”

“That is right. A gift to him, no doubt from Christian missionaries. A shirt that is paraded around this village. The people see it, accept it, grow
used
to it until the symbol itself is acceptable.” Karzai felt the cauldron of fury bubbling up through his chest. “But it is
not
acceptable. We cannot allow the Christians to spread their lies! Not here. Not in our land. Not with our people.”

His spittle struck Dehqan and made him flinch. Good. Something needed to make the boy snap out of his stupor.

“It can
never
be acceptable. Do you see this? We cannot tolerate this. Surah 3:18 says, ‘There is no God but He, the Mighty, the Wise.’ ” Vindicated and awash with a sense of victory as the words from the Qur’an spilled over his tongue, Karzai let himself breathe a little deeper. A little slower. “As imam, it is my duty to administer this justice. It is your duty as a follower of Allah.”

Dehqan lowered his head and bobbed it twice. Defeated.

“This boy, if he is by some miracle innocent, Allah will judge that. His life does not end here. Remember that, Dehqan. What is here is fleeting. He is in a better place.” Karzai gave a smile. “We have done him a service to deliver him from the influence of the Great Satan before he could be pulled away by their tainted and perverted ways. Remember, some go to Paradise. Others go the fire.”

“You are right,” Dehqan finally said, standing taller. Swiped a hand over his face. “Yes. You are right. Forgive me for being weak, sir.”

“No, no.” Karzai clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Not weak. You value life, and that is good. You value our people—that is better. This—
this
is my mission. To protect our people. To rout the Great Satan from these lands.” He swept his hand around the village and extended it toward the mountains in the distance. “This is our land, Dehqan.” He wanted to turn this around, show Dehqan that he was strong. He patted his chest. “Surah 9:5.”

With a small snort and smile, Dehqan nodded as he took one more look at the boy, then turned back to the car as he recited the words, “ ‘Fight and kill the disbelievers wherever you find them, take them captive, harass them, lie in wait and ambush them using every stratagem of war.’ ”

        Seventeen        

Leesburg, Virginia

S
he’s been missing for three days.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood in his bedroom in jeans, a shirt dangling from his hand that held the phone. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I just need you to find her.”

“Sir.” Tony’s chest tightened as he thought of Timbrel. Thought of her missing. Thought of how she’d just left him there in Little Rock. No, she fled.

“She came here, heard about her home, and then she and I had words over that lab coat.”

Tony ground his teeth. Unbelievable. She’d ditch him but not the coat or her belief that Bashir Karzai was up to no good. Why couldn’t she be that dogged about their relationship? “What kind of words?”

“I told her to quit playing detective and left. I had a meeting.”

“Look, I’m sorry, sir, but Timbrel severed ties with me a week ago. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“I don’t care what she did. Find her.”

“Why?”

“Because … I think she may be right.”

A firm knock banged on the door and his head.

“Tony?”

“I think this is a futile mission, sir. If Timbrel took off, and I know personally she has a tendency to do that, we can’t find her. Because she doesn’t want to be found.” At another knock on the door, he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Um … okay,” his mom said, but her voice… “But—”

“Two minutes.”

“There’s … Oh, Tony, please hurry.”

Frustration strangled him. He yanked open the door—and froze.

Face knotted, she was wringing her hands.

“What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

“No.” Her face was alive yet tormented. “Well, sort of.”

“VanAllen.” Burnett’s voice boomed through the cell phone. “Find her and get back here. Tomorrow morning with the team.”

“Yes, sir.” It was the expected answer. “You know my feel—”

The line went dead. Tony flung the phone.

“Hurry, son,” his mom prompted quietly then hesitated. Looked at his chest. “Might want to put on that shirt.”

He couldn’t help the laugh as her form retreated down the hall but pawed his way through the sleeves and made his way to the living room. Empty. He headed for the kitchen. “Mom?”