War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (36 page)

As he plodded along with Jane, Tucker kept one ear on Kane’s progress and the other listening intently for any sign of pursuit on their trail. Lyon was not one to be easily fooled. After a time, the soldier would come to realize—if he didn’t already—that a skilled dog like Kane would not give away his position so readily.

Knowing that, Tucker did his best to mask their trail, carefully placing one foot after another. Kane barked sporadically, sounding farther and farther away, changing pitch and direction, drawing his pursuers first one way, then another. Tucker desperately wanted to look at his phone’s screen and check on his partner, but it was all he could do to stay upright on his burning legs.

“There,” Jane gasped in his ear.

He pulled his attention forward, to where Jane pointed.

“Is that a cave?” she asked.

Through a break in the canopy, moonlight shone down on a section of cliff to his right. At the base was a jumble of moss-encrusted boulders, but in the shadow of that nest was a darker patch in the rock face.

“Maybe,” he said, and marched them closer.

Lowering Jane to sit, he took out his penlight, blinked it once, and inspected the opening. The space was less a cave than an alcove, barely enough to hold one person.

Jane noted the same. “I can fit in there.”

“Janie . . .”

Her eyes glowed back at him. “Cover the entrance, then go find Kane. He can’t do this alone. I’ll be fine.”

As if to prove this, she wriggled into the narrow space and pulled in her knees. “See? Snug as a bug.”

The blast of a rifle in the distance was far more convincing than her assurances. He searched over his shoulder as more gunfire erupted.

Kane . . .

Kane’s ears ring with the chatter of gunfire, stripping him of one of his senses. His world is smaller now, edged by panic.

He ducks his head low as he runs, pivoting off one hind leg, then the other.

A moment ago, he had failed to note a squat shape lying in ambush under a tangle of deadfall. The moldering mound of fallen trees and branches, redolent with rot and fungus, had masked the hunter’s odor—until it was too late. Once close enough, Kane had caught the barest whiff of a familiar scent, one he recognized from days ago.

From back in the swamps, in the building of rust and concrete dust.

It was the same hunter as before.

With this brief warning, Kane had dodged at the last moment. Still, the round had glanced across the flank of his thick vest, bruising his ribs.

He ignores the pain and keeps running.

Gunfire chases him deeper into the forest.

Only after it dies down does Kane slow. He circles back around. His hearing slowly returns, filling in the blank spaces of his world. But he leans on a keener sense. He has latched on to the scent of the hidden hunter—and once captured, it is his.

He follows it around to come quietly upon the deadfall from behind.

While he could have continued to flee—which he wanted the other to believe he had—Kane’s last order burned brightly behind his eyes.

S
HADOW
ATTACK
BRAVO
.

He reaches the hunter’s hiding spot in time to hear the man crawl free. The crackle of a radio marks his position. The man’s voice hardens with command as he stands. Kane skulks forward enough to see him point toward where his partner and the woman had retreated.

Kane does not understand the man’s words, but the threat is plain in his voice. Fury burns brightly in Kane’s chest. As the man turns away, he reads the anger in the other’s scowl, a ferocity that matches his own.

Kane knows the hunter now suspects the true intent of the game here.

Before the man can head off in that direction, Kane lunges out of the shadows behind the man. He moves silently, not even offering a growl of challenge. Instead, he snaps at the tender flesh below the other’s knee. Fangs sink deep. A toss of his head rips flesh and throws the man down.

But this is no ordinary prey.

The man makes no sound of surprise or complaint. A knife flashes, whisking past the tip of Kane’s ears. Kane rolls away from that threat, bunches his hind legs, and bolts back into the forest.

He runs again as a spatter of rounds rip leaves and shatters branches overhead.

He keeps going, knowing the hunter, wounded and angry, would send others after him. Maybe not all, but enough to help his partner
.

Crouched at the entrance to the small cave, Tucker listened as the fresh spate of gunfire died away. Jane must have read his concern.

“Go,” she said, shifting deeper into the tiny space. “That’s an order, soldier.”

Tucker nodded, knowing she was right. In her state, Jane could not travel much farther. This spot was likely the best place for her to hole up, while he and Kane kept attention away from her.

He began gathering palm fronds to hide the cave entrance. “Try not to fall asleep,” he warned her as he began covering the opening, fearful that her concussion could worsen.

“Fall asleep?” she offered him a weak smile. “Not a chance in hell.”

Good
.

As he leaned down to place the last frond, Jane abruptly reached up, cupped his cheek, and drew him closer. “One last order, soldier.” She kissed him on the lips, lingering for a moment, then settled back, her eyes aglow. “Come back.”

“Abandon you on this desolate rock? Not a chance in hell.”

Another spatter of gunfire erupted behind him.

Jane waved him away. “Get moving. Your partner needs you.”

Tucker obeyed. He freed his SIG Sauer from its shoulder holster and started making his way back down the forested slope. He moved swiftly at first, aiming west, toward where Kane had been engaging the enemy. His heart pounded in his throat. After that last round of gunfire, Kane had gone silent. With each step, Tucker’s dread grew.

Had Kane been shot?

He had to stamp down that fear and keep moving, which soon became harder. As Tucker neared the western reaches of the island, he entered the search grid of his pursuers. It was now his turn to play hide-and-seek. To continue, he stuck to the deepest shadows and placed each boot down with great care. Through the forest, the sounds of the hunters grew all around him: the squelch of radios, murmured voices, the faint crunch of footfalls.

“This way,” a voice whispered on his right, sounding only yards away.

Tucker dropped flat, rolled under the low branches of a thorny bush, and lay perfectly still.

The boots of a soldier in combat gear passed within a foot of his nose.

Another followed behind him.

Tucker held his breath.

The first man leaned his cheek to a shoulder radio. “Sector Delta clear.”

As the pair moved on, Tucker slowly let out the trapped air in his lungs. He gained his feet and set off, angling away from the soldiers’ trail. Two more times, he had to quickly hide, but eventually the sounds of Lyon’s search parties fell behind him, growing fainter.

Still, there was no further sign of Kane: no barking, no growls of attack.

Where are you, buddy?

Tucker forged on for another ten minutes, moving at a glacial pace when all he wanted to do was rush to his partner’s side. After hearing no sign of Lyon’s men for several minutes, Tucker risked breaking radio silence. He tapped the small microphone taped to his throat and subvocalized a single quiet word.

“K
ANE
.”

The shepherd had been trained only to respond if doing so wouldn’t endanger his position. Tucker pushed the radio earpiece more firmly in place, but he still heard only silence.

“K
ANE
,” he tried again.

Then a faint growl tickled his ear.

Tucker closed his eyes, relieved but still fearful. For Kane to have responded, the dog must be hiding somewhere safe at the moment. Tucker intended to make sure he remained that way.

“S
TAY
IN
COVER
.”

Tucker pulled up the map on his satellite phone and pinpointed the pulsing green dot that marked the GPS transmitter built into Kane’s vest. He started moving in that direction. His gaze alternated between his screen and the terrain before him. As he drew closer, his pace grew faster, anxious to reach Kane’s side.

Almost there, buddy
.

Distracted, he stepped around the bole of a palm and found a soldier blocking his path. The man seemed equally surprised to see Tucker pop out of the shadows. Unlucky for Tucker, the man’s assault rifle was casually pointed in his direction. The muzzle of the rifle flicked toward Tucker’s chest. As the soldier fired, Tucker twisted sideways. A trio of rounds spat past his rib cage. Tucker lifted his pistol—but before he could fire, the man suddenly came tumbling forward with a gasp of surprise, sprawling facedown.

Kane bowled over the body and clamped his powerful jaws on the man’s forearm. The assault rifle clattered to the side. But the soldier rolled, hooked a leg around Kane’s body, and threw the dog down hard.

Tucker charged forward with his pistol raised, but he refrained from firing, fearful of hitting Kane as the two wrestled. The soldier’s free arm rose. Moonlight glinted off a knife blade. It seemed to hover there—then plunged into the dog’s body.

Kane yelped, but he kept his grip on the man’s arm.

Tucker’s heart filled his throat. As the man’s hand arced upward again, Tucker dove headfirst. He caught the soldier’s wrist between his palms, yanked the captured arm straight up, then shifted his hips and levered the man’s arm across his own belly. With a muffled pop, the elbow gave way.

The man let out an agonized scream.

Tucker wrenched the dagger from his grasp and stabbed the blade into the hollow of the man’s throat. The soldier’s scream turned into a strangled cry. Tucker twisted the blade, blood gushing over his fingers. The man’s body flailed for a breath, then went still.

Tucker rolled off the limp form and signaled Kane to his side. They had no time for a warm greeting or to check Kane’s injuries. Lyon and his men had surely heard the commotion. Tucker headed out with Kane, moving farther west, away from Jane.

As he fled, the forest grew thinner around them. Ahead, he heard the pound of surf on rock. He was running out of island.

Behind him, panicked shouts rose.

“Here! I need some help!”

“Gleason’s down!”

“Leave him. Spread out!”

The last command was frosted with a French accent.

Lyon . . .

Tucker ran faster. He weighed the odds of cutting back north to where the jungles were thicker, but Kane had started limping. The shepherd slowed rapidly, panting hard in pain. No way Kane could move swiftly enough to stay ahead of the closing net behind them, and Tucker would never abandon his partner.

Tucker kept them going straight. In less than a minute, they reached a cliff. Standing at the edge, he stared down at the dark water crashing against the rocks below. He could only imagine the currents, riptides, and undertows beneath those churning waters. To his right, he spotted a tiny area of flat water—no larger than a kiddie pool—sheltered in a U-shaped pocket of an outcropping.

It’ll have to do
.

He looked down at his friend. “Ready, pal?”

Kane wagged his tail.

Good enough
.

Tucker holstered his pistol, reached down, and hauled the shepherd into his arms. Kane winced. Fresh blood squeezed out of the dog’s fur and warmed Tucker’s palm. The dagger had cut deep—but
how
deep would have to wait.

“Sorry, buddy,” he whispered in Kane’s ear. “Here we go!”

He tightened his arms and jumped.

28

October 25, 10:04
P
.
M
. AST

Patos Island, Venezuela

With Kane wrapped tightly against his chest, Tucker plunged beneath the surface of the roiling surf. He didn’t know how deep this pool was, so he kept his legs slightly bent against the coming impact. Still, the collision with the seabed drove him to his knees, then forward onto his face. The air shot from his lungs. Pain flashed behind his eyes.

Pinned under Tucker’s torso, Kane got slammed flat into the sand and began squirming. Tucker rolled and shoved the dog upward, then followed. They broke the surface together.

At Tucker’s side, Kane paddled hard, his mouth agape, his eyes wild with fear. Surf crashed against the nearby rocks, heaving up in great plumes of saltwater.

Tucker grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled him close. “Easy, buddy, easy . . . it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Kane relaxed in his grip. The shepherd’s head lolled back, and a hot tongue licked Tucker’s cheek and chin.

Love you, too, big guy
.

Then from above, a shout rose over the pound of the waves.
“Got tracks over here! Headin’ toward the cliff!”

Tucker kicked madly toward the rocks, fearful of being spotted. Once close enough, he boosted Kane onto the outcropping that framed the pool and crawled up after him. He searched for a hiding place, but there was no convenient sea cave in sight. Their best bet was a slight overhang, a lip of rock that stuck out less than a foot from the cliff’s face. With his boots sliding on the slick surface, he led Kane to the spot and hugged the wall under the overhang.

Kane followed suit, pressing against the rock at Tucker’s feet.

As they hid, rocks and dirt cascaded past their hiding spot from above.

“Watch your feet!”
someone shouted from above.
“Edge is crumbling away!”

“See anything?”

A pair of flashlight beams speared down from the top of the cliff and panned over the rocks, skimming just past Tucker’s chest. He sucked in a breath, trying to narrow his silhouette. He could only watch as the beam skittered at his toes.