Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (4 page)

T
hat is one ugly dog.” Piled into the RG-33 MRAP, Tony grinned. He couldn’t resist prodding Timbrel about her dog, panting hard in the Mine-Resistant Ambush-Protected vehicle.

She sat one man down and facing him, her left knee knocking his left. “Best-looking guy in here.”

“You saying he’s better looking than me?”

“Every day of the year.”

“Ugly? I think he’s beast.” Java secured the rear hatch and the vehicle lurched into motion.

“A beast is right!” Scrip teased.

“More than right.” Tony nodded. The dog nearly rearranged his face.

“No, beast. As in boss.” Java shook his head at Scrip. “You are seriously lacking appreciation skills.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Scrip said from the front of the MRAP as it barreled through one village after another. “We safe in here, with him?” Scrip had the most to lose since the bullmastiff sat directly in front of him.

“As long as I’m fine, you’re fine.”

“Baby,” Tony said, “you are more than fine.”

Timbrel rolled her eyes. He’d give her time, let her figure out how much she liked him. He’d been there the same day she had been when he made a move and she responded—then reacted. It’d been too fast. He figured that out. But she hadn’t returned any of his calls, e-mails, or letters.

Tony held the UAV snapshot of the village, studying the buildings, the layout. They’d gone over it before gearing up, but this was some serious stuff. WMDs. Threat of that pushed Bush to war. Many people forgot the roughly six months the UN had given Saddam. Just enough time to clear out whatever he did have. And sat imaging hadn’t caught anything. Tony didn’t think the guy was a complete idiot—the vast tunnels and underground facilities could easily have transported the material before the inspectors showed up.

But that was Iraq. This was Afghanistan. And if weapons capable of mass destruction existed here … plausible scenarios included the Taliban getting hold of it. Using it. Against the troops. Against Americans.

A hand, partially gloved, ran along the thick chest of the war dog. Tony flicked his attention to Beowulf. Right name, that’s for sure. He sat between Timbrel’s feet as she stroked his fur, her mouth against his ear as she talked to the EDD. A big pink tongue dangled from the wide mouth, which was pulled back as the dog panted.

Beowulf looked over, locked on to Tony. The tongue vanished amid a snarl.

Curse the luck. Dogs hated Tony. Always had. It’d never been mutual—until now. He hated that dog. Because he was one more barrier between Tony and Timbrel Hogan.

“Hey, Hogan,” Java shouted over the noise of the engine and road noise, “anyone ever tell you that you look like that movie actress?”

Groans and laughter choked the dusty air. Someone ribbed him.

“Lay off, Java.”

“No.” The guy sat forward, too eager beaver. “I’m serious. She looks just like that actress who came here last month. The cougar lady, who wanted to sign Candyman’s pec!”

Tony ground his molars. That had been one sick woman.

“Nina Laurens.” When the others eyed him, Scrip shrugged. “Got her autograph for my dad.”

“Yes!” Java sat straighter. “That’s her!” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Timbrel, who shot fifty-calibers from her narrowed eyes. “You look just like her. Well, except you have brown hair. But your face—”

“We’re here,” Dean announced with two bangs on the hull of the MRAP.

The vehicle veered to the side and stopped. Tony lowered his Oakleys from atop his head as Java opened the hatch, but something in Timbrel’s expression made him hesitate. Once they hustled down the deployed steel steps, he sidled up to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her smile wasn’t convincing. “You guys see a lot of Hollywood?”

“Only the ones who support us. Why?” He shifted his M4 to the front and adjusted the keffiyeh around his neck.

She shook her head and knelt beside her dog, but there wasn’t any hiding that something bothered her. She just wouldn’t talk.

“Sure is a hot mother,” Rocket said.

“Hey,” Tony said. “Check your language.”

Rocket huffed, but his gaze skidded to Timbrel, who stood with her dog off to the side. She’d been issued the Glock strapped to her leg holster, the coms piece, and the body armor that wrapped her torso. But even with the CamelBak and boots, she looked petite. Which was downright funny because there was nothing small about that woman.

Around her were the rest of ODA452 and a half-dozen EOD guys, who’d followed in a second MRAP. Candyman couldn’t help but notice the appreciative glances several of them shot at Timbrel. Made him want to punch their faces through the backs of their skulls.

“Okay,” Dean said as he adjusted his weapon sling and slid down his sunglasses. “We work till the dog finds something.”

Timbrel tugged on her ball cap. “What if he doesn’t find anything?”

Dean considered her then Beowulf before he gave a cockeyed nod. “Then we go home late.”

Meaning, they stayed till they found something.

“We’ll take it building by building,” Dean continued. “Insert, subdue the workers, split them up, and gather intel. Hogan, you and the dog wait till it’s secure. Then Tony will bring you in.”

Tony nodded. “Hooah.” God was smiling on him today.

Stacked and ready, the team prepared to insert into the first building. Burnett had authorized use of deadly force if warranted. It gave the team the ability to operate more freely. To use the means they deemed necessary in the situation.

Candyman held his hand down and to the side, indicating that she should stay with him as they inserted. Her heart thumped. She hadn’t been in combat for a while. Djibouti had been intense, but this was face-first real. Anything could go wrong. If bombs were in there, if the team rushed in and startled someone …

Crack!

Timbrel flinched, her mind snagged on explosives. But it’d only been the door that gave under the boot-first strike Rocket used to breach the entry.

Weapons ready. Tension high. Like a tidal wave, the team streamed inside.

“U.S. military! On your knees! On your knees!”

Timbrel waited with the EOD guys and HAZMAT by the armored vehicles.

“Get down, get down!”

“Don’t shoot,” a local begged.

“Down, down!”

Timbrel’s pulse sped as she heard Candyman’s voice. Knew he was in there working. Doing his thing. So sure. So confident.

One by one, they brought the workers out, cuffed, and separated them.

Candyman emerged, the sun glinting against the sandy blond beard, and stalked toward her. “Ready?”

Okay, no worries. Just do your thing
. Timbrel moved toward the building.

A man lunged with a shout.

Timbrel jerked her head away from the man. Heard Beo growl.

Crack!

The man dropped in a heap as her mind registered that Candyman coldcocked the guy.

Rocket shouted something to rest of the villagers, who seemed especially rattled by what had just happened.

Shaking out his fist, Candyman scowled. “You okay?”

Shaken but unwilling to admit it, she gave him a nod. “Tell them I’m letting Beo off-lead. If anyone moves toward me, he will attack them.”

A broad grin peeked between the beard. He rattled off the warning in Dari.

Java and Rocket snickered.

Timbrel hesitated.

“Might’ve embellished your words a little,” Candyman said.

She shook her head as she unleashed Beowulf. “But they understand the threat he poses?”

“They know.”

Inside, Timbrel glanced around, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the lighting. The captain came toward her. “It’s clear. What do you need us to do?”

“Stay out of the way.” Timbrel coiled the lead as Beowulf trotted around the room. “Beo, seek.
Seek
,” she commanded.

With Beo trailing her, she moved her hand along the perimeter, around cabinets and shelves as he sniffed. “What is this place?”

“An office,” Captain Watters said.

“No kidding.” Eyeing him, Timbrel continued, allowing Beo to process the scents. If Watters had orders to keep her information limited, getting mad wouldn’t do any good. Ten minutes of scenting and they had nothing. “It’s clear.”

Watters gave a small huff. “You’re sure?”

“No.” Timbrel let him sweat it for a minute, saw the uncertainty. “But Beo is. If he doesn’t smell it, the chemicals aren’t here.”

The two Green Berets considered her 120-pound bullmastiff.

“Next,” Candyman shouted as he started for the door.

At the next building, nothing. And the next. A dozen more. Nothing. The team swept all the buildings indicated on their map and came up with
nada
. Tension radiated off the men growing agitated at her and her beloved boy. She could almost hear their thoughts, that Beo didn’t know what he was doing.

“Okay,” Watters said, his expression grim as he considered Beowulf. “Let’s call it a day.”

“This was a total bust.” Rocket shook his head.

“Thought he was supposed to be sniffing out trouble?” Java used his sleeve to swipe the sweat away.

“He only sniffs what’s there.” Timbrel wouldn’t be goaded.

“You sure his nose isn’t … I don’t know, blocked or something?” Java tugged on his CamelBak bite valve and sipped, swished, then spit. “I mean, he’s been inhaling a lot of dirt with that snout.”

“Want him to sneeze on you to prove he’s not clogged?” Timbrel asked.

“Hey, we’ve been out here for six hours clearing buildings, and what do we have to show for it?”

“Your attitude?”

“Hold up there.” Candyman stepped up to Timbrel and touched her arm. “It’s hot, we’re all tired.”

“Tell your guy that my dog can’t sniff what isn’t there. It’s not his fault or mine if you have bad intel and we wasted a day.”

“Nobody’s blaming anyone.” Candyman’s voice was smooth as caramel, spreading over Timbrel’s frustration. “It’s just the way things work.”

“Let’s pack up and head back,” Watters said.

“I told you bringing her and this dog in meant trouble.” Rocket started back.

“What does that mean?”

“Timbrel—”

“No.” She waved off Candyman and honed in on Rocket. “What does that mean? What trouble have we brought?”

“Timbrel!”

“What?”

“What’s your dog doing?”

A quick look sent pinpricks of dread through her. Ten yards ahead, Beo sat, staring at a building. Then at her. Back to the building. “He’s got a hit!”

        Three