Trinity: Military War Dog (29 page)

Camp Eggers, Kabul, Afghanistan

“Think this is connected to the Chinese?”

“Think? Yes.” Lance paced the small room, itching for an IV line to a Dr Pepper keg. “Prove? Not at all.”

“You going to make Colonel Zheng talk?” Otte asked.

“How? Beat it out of him? And what does that do but tip our hand?” They were trapped right now. Just enough poison to smell and know someone would die. Not enough to know who was contaminated and would fall victim. Besides, Lance would be hanged if he’d let that man out of his sight without figuring out what he knew.

He gulped the last of the syrupy sweetness and tossed the can in the trash. “Get a chopper lined up to take us back to CJSOTF-A. And find out what teams are there.”

“Sir.” Otte left the room.

Slumped in a chair, Lance steepled his fingers. What Zheng told them and what Zheng knew were two very different things. Lance could feel it. In the deep marrow of his bones. But if he pushed, Zheng would know something had happened. Would know that there was a high probability that Jianyu had struck.

If it was Wu Jianyu who hit the survey team, how in the name of all that was holy did he know Darci—or Meixiang as Jianyu knew her—was here? Her insertion into that team was a veritable locked vault. He could count on one hand the number of people who knew she was DIA.

Coincidence?

That’d be a mighty amazing coincidence.

But stranger things had happened. Like the young colonel sitting in this compound with him.

Lance had to play it slow and careful. But if things were going as expected, he also didn’t have time to lose. If Jianyu had Darci—Lance would have to send all the dogs of war after him.

Dogs …

That punk former Green Beret who’d been smitten with Darci … an MWD handler … An idea slowly coalesced—

Boots squeaked and crunched behind him.

“Lance, ODA452 at FOB Murphy just radioed in.” Early stood in the doorway. “They’ve picked up a little Afghan girl and a young woman.”

Great. More poor citizens looking for food and shelter. With this storm, he understood the concern. At the base of the mountain, that area would get hit hard by the blizzard.

“She says she was with the geology team you set up.”

Lance hesitated as he glanced at Early. “We didn’t have Afghans on that team.”

“No, the woman was American.”

Was it too much to hope? One hundred percent of his attention landed on his old friend. “What’s her name?” “Didn’t say. Won’t talk to anyone but you.”

Thunder rumbled through his chest. It had to be Kintz. FOB Murphy was about five klicks south of the Kush.

General Early bore a grave expression. “Want me to have them bring her in?”

“No.” Considering the totality of the situation and the way it seemed to be complicating matters exponentially, this was a good time to get back to where he had more assets and control. “Send a chopper. Get them to Bagram. I want them there when I touch down.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” He knew Early meant it sarcastically, but his mind raced. “Wasn’t that dog handler speaking to the troops with that team?”

“Yes, sir,” Zeferelli said from behind Early. “The team was there. Caught in a confrontation earlier. A Taliban terrorist tried to make soup out of that war dog.”

He couldn’t lose that dog. That dog was key. “Get everyone up there. Now.” He stalked to the door. “I need that dog.”

“General Burnett.”

The loud, firm call of his name stopped Lance before he hit the hall.

“I’ve known you a long time, and we’ve worked a lot of years together.” Shorter by a head and whiter haired, Early held fast. “Long enough for me to know something is off.”

“Then you also know when not to ask.”

“What am I not asking?”

“Questions.” Period. Early knew better. Particularly in an unsecure location like this. “As soon as I can, you’ll know, but …”

Early waited.

“You may not like me when all is said and done.”

“Who says I like you now?”

FOB Murphy, Afghanistan

Stretched out against some sandbags, Trinity curled up beside him, Heath smoothed a hand over her fur. Neither Watterboy nor Candyman had given him an update in the last eighty minutes. That meant one of two things: either they didn’t have anything to update, or the update was bad news/confidential.

And because Heath Daniels no longer held rank with the military, his nose was kept out of the mess.

Except, he felt waist deep in this one.

Jia had been one of the most real people he’d met. Crazy to think that, having spent only a few hours with her. She’d been undaunted by his scars and his status as a noncom.

But she’d also been lightning fast to sever the ties.

It’d rankled him at first, but maybe that was just her way of coping. Maybe …

Maybe you just need to let this go
.

Even if she was alive, even if the U.S. launched a mission to find her—the thought dragged his gaze to the rugged Hindu Kush with its winter storm clouds that stood over them like an angry god—Heath the noncom would be sent home. Forbidden from helping.

She was right. They’d never see each other again.

Heath sat up, nudging Trinity off his chest. She huffed her objection, then stretched, which drew out a groan. “You and me both, girl.” He rubbed her ears. Why did it bother him, the thought of not seeing Jia? It wasn’t like he was top candidate material for dating. Imagine passing out on a date when he got stressed over things not going right. But things had gotten significantly worse since arriving here. It was almost like he was allergic to the place.

A wet tongue slurped his face.

Instinct wrapped his arm around Trinity’s broad chest, and he tightened her in his hold. “It’s okay, girl.”

“Ghost.”

Heath shot to his feet at the sound of Watterboy’s voice. “Hey.” He dusted off his backside. “What’s the word?”

“Oh.” Watters glanced back to the doors. “Nothing. She’s not talking. But we got RTB orders.”

“Bagram?”

Watterboy nodded. “Grab your gear. Chopper’s en route.” For a moment, he stood there, as if wanting to say something. “Everything all right?”

With a sigh, Watters waved. “Yeah. Fine. Tired, I guess.” He started to cross to the bunk building, then gave another wave. “Catch you later.”

“Right.”

A strange ache wove into Heath’s chest. He’d been good friends with that man once. They’d shared command and secrets. Laughs about newbs and girlfriends. Now the guy was stiffer than the hull of an MRAP.

“Hey, Hot Snot.”

Irritation skidded into his mood as Hogan stepped out of the main building. “I don’t need—”

“Ghost, chill.” Her brown eyes held not condemnation or even a lecture but a twinkle of something. She bobbed her head to the side. “C’mere.” She stalked away and went through a side door.

Trinity looked up at him, beautiful amber eyes sparkling with a “why not” expression. He sighed. “All right. But if this goes bad, I’m blaming you.”

Trinity barked, then trotted after Hogan.

Inside, Heath paused to gain his bearings. This looked like—

“Hey.” She leaned backward, her torso peeking out from a door to his right.

Heath entered the room. An examination table hogged the room.

“What’s this about?”

A man moved in the corner. Dark eyes. Dark skin.

Timbrel bounced over to the guy in an Afghan national uniform. The insignia on his chest identified him as an officer. “This is Mahmoud. He’s a doctor.” Whoa, the smile she shot that guy could blind the unsuspecting.

Ah. He knew what was happening here. Heath held up a hand. “Look, I’ve got an arsenal of docs back at BAMC—”

Hogan laughed. “He’s a chiropractor.” She patted the table. “Face down.”

“That’s handy”—how many chiropractors were there in this area?—“but no way.”

Steel slammed into her expression. She stalked around him, around Trinity, and closed the door. “Listen, you do this or I’m going to Jibril.”

“Nothing like taking hostages.”

She sidled up next to him, her gaze imploring. “Heath, I talked to Mahmoud here, and we both think that maybe … just maybe … something might be out of line.”

“Yeah.” He huffed. “You.”

Hogan rolled her eyes. “Just … give it a try, will you?”

Heath sized up Mahmoud. The Afghan pumped antibacterial cleanser into his palms, then rubbed them and the tops of his hands with enough friction to create a fire. “You have headache now?”

Heath gave a curt nod.

“Please. Remove your shirt.”

“Look, I appreciate—”

“What can hurt?”

Heath sighed. Unbuttoned his shirt. Glared at her. “If this doesn’t work …”

“Then I still win. You’ll have headaches, and I can report you to Jibril.”

Somehow in that expression he saw a stunning truth. Hogan had his back. Despite her threats, she was looking out for him.

After a brief exam with Mahmoud tracing his spine, kneading his shoulders—which about made a grown man cry—Heath face-planted himself on the table.

Cold hands, a cold table, a cold chill in the marrow of his bones made for a chilling experience. After Mahmoud had him roll onto his back, he took Heath’s hands and held them perpendicular to his body, straight up.

“See? Your fingers not even.”

Heath did see—that his right hand rested about a half-inch shorter.

He guided Heath’s left arm down and placed it along the side of the table, then took his right, lifted it straight up, then braced the shoulder and rotated the arm across Heath’s chest and—

Pop!

Pain shot through his back. And with it an immediate … What was it? He couldn’t quite discern. And while he was thinking, the doctor held his neck with both hands.

Okay, not liking this
.

Holding a man’s neck like this …
So easy to snap my neck. Kill me. He’s Afghan. But what reason would he have to kill me?

I’m a dog handler
.

Heath tensed.

The man applied pressure to the lower portion of his neck where it curved, then whipped Heath’s head to the left.

Crack! Pop! Snap!

White-hot fire speared Heath.

“Augh!” His arms came up, defensive and ready to fight.

Trinity snarled and lunged.

In the split second that he realized Trinity was defending him, Heath also realized that a cool wash of freedom swam through his neck and shoulders. His heart rapid-fired, thinking of Trinity, his ever-faithful girl, attacking this doctor.

“Trinity, out.” Heath swung around to find Hogan held the lead, restraining his seventy-pound dog. Trinity whimpered as her gaze hit his, then she wagged her tail.

“You okay?” Hogan’s question held both expectation and concern.

“I sounded like a cereal commercial.” He rubbed the back of his neck, amazed. And searching for the pain that had hounded him over the last week.

“How’s your headache?”

He rolled his shoulder. “Gone.” Wait. That couldn’t be right.

Hogan propped her hip against the table grinning like a petulant brat sister. “It was my theory that when you took that hard hit in training, it might have knocked some things out of whack, besides your good sense.”

Ya know, for a kid-sister-type, she wasn’t bad. “That was some theory.”

“But you feel better, right?”

“If you discount the second where I felt like someone drove metal through my skull again …”

“You feel. Better. Right?”

Heath grinned at her terse words. It was so easy to annoy her. “Yeah.”

5 Miles from Geology Camp,
Parwan Province, Afghanistan

His body fell from the ledge.

Inside Darci lay a box. One in which she kept all her precious thoughts and feelings. One where she hid what could be used against her by someone like Jianyu. It was there she tucked away the brutal reality that she had caused the death of yet another friend. Jaekus. The poor, gentle soul. A kind and generous person.

Hands cuffed behind her, she stood a few feet from where he had fallen. The bitter wind whipped and tore at her thin jacket and pants, biting into her—but it was nothing compared to the immense sense of failure that chomped into her heart at not protecting an innocent. Would God hold her accountable for that? She certainly did.