Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(86)

We disconnected, and I elbow-walked back to Dougie and filled him in on Sarge’s news.

“We’re going to nail her.” He lowered the binoculars and reached for his backpack. “I’m going in now. Wait ten minutes, then follow me once the guard is on the far side. As soon as Clyde locates Cohen, notify me. Then find cover and wait.”

“Got it.”

“If I’m not there in ten minutes, extricate Cohen and get to the truck. Keys are on the driver’s side front tire. Then get the hell out. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

“Check.” As if I’d leave him.

“No heroics. You wait for me, you could die.”

I crossed my fingers. “I won’t wait.”

“Go in fast and go in hard. Don’t give them time to react. Anyone sees you, take them down.”

The thought of more deaths made the air in my lungs evaporate.

“Lethal force, Rosie. If we don’t extricate your friend, they’ll kill him. Even if they’ve kept him blindfolded and drugged, he’s too big a risk. He’s a cop. So don’t hesitate. Because they won’t.”

I sucked in air and gave him a single clipped nod. “Chin up, head down, one round in the chamber. Let’s do this.”

His grin was fierce. “See you on the far side.”



I watched through the binoculars as Dougie crouched in the grass at the base of the ridge, waiting for the man on the tower to finish his study of the horizon. Waves of heat flickered up from the ground, turning Dougie into an apparition.

As soon as the man put down his binoculars, Dougie sprinted toward the complex.

At the fence, he knelt and used bolt cutters to snip an opening in the metal. He wriggled through and darted to the nearest structure—the first trailer in the section we’d designated T1—then began working his way around the complex in the direction of the airplane hangar.

I watched him until he disappeared behind the training center—the Country Club—then coordinated my own approach with the actions of the guards. As soon as the tower guard returned to his phone and the grounds patroller was out of sight, Clyde and I took off at a full sprint. At the fence, we dropped to our stomachs and wriggled through the gap. When we reached the cluster of trailers designated T1, we snugged up to the closest. I signaled Clyde to stop and crouched next to him.

The wind moaned around the buildings. I heard a door and a snippet of voices, but they quickly faded. The wind caught something on the obstacle course, a plastic flag maybe. It snapped over and over.

“I’m in,” I whispered on the radio.

“I’m at bravo,” Dougie answered, letting me know he’d made it to his first destination. We’d decided to skip what would normally be our term for the first designation—Alpha.

Alpha had a whole different meaning for this operation.

Now for the hard part. Staying out of sight while Clyde did what he did best.

I gripped his harness to signal the start of his work. He watched my face, ready.

Game on.

I gave him a hit from Cohen’s jacket. His tail wagged.

I said softly, “Seek!”





CHAPTER 25

Sooner or later, we all come to the ultimate contest, when it’s just us and the devil.

And the devil hates to lose.

—Sydney Parnell. Personal journal.

Clyde lifted his head, scenting the air. My heart crawled all the way up into my throat while I waited. What if I was wrong? What if Cohen was a hundred miles away, his hand splayed on a table, his torturer standing over him with a knife, ready to butcher him?

The seconds ticked by as the wind continued its incessant moan and the nearby crack-snap of plastic on the obstacle course sounded like small-arms fire. Clyde worked against the wind, struggling to pull out every scent molecule that whirled by.

Then his ears perked, and his tail rose like a flag.

He had a hit.

Relief swept through me. Cohen was here.

I kept my grip on Clyde’s vest and signaled him to go slowly as we clung to the cover of the trailers.

We moved east.



“Charlie,” came Dougie’s voice in my ear. And a few minutes later, “Delta.”

That was three targets, wired and ready to blow if we needed that. The big stuff, probably. The training center. The airport hangar. Maybe the Saudi planes.

Leverage.

Clyde and I moved forward, staying at a good pace despite our stops to duck behind cover and avoid the guards. Clyde halted at the corner of each structure and waited for my go-ahead before proceeding. After the third perfect performance, I took him off the lead.

Twice he lost the scent in the boom and shudder of the wind.

Each time my heart stopped. And each time he found the scent again, and we kept moving.

Our next dash took us to the training center. I caught a glimpse of the sign over the front door as we sped around to the back.

VALOR INDUSTRIES

TRAINING CENTER

At the back of the building, a section of the airplane hangar was just visible. Beyond that were the two jets parked outside and the runway. I kept my eye on a single door set smack in the middle of the otherwise featureless exterior wall.

“Frosty on,” Dougie said. “They know we’re here.”

As if in response, the door flew open. Clyde and I slipped back around the corner and then to the nearest set of trailers. We crawled underneath. A minute later, two men walked by, accompanied by radio static.