Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(99)

After a time, I was done with my tears, and Clyde had drifted back to sleep. I knuckle-bumped his paw and joined the others on the patio.

While we stared at the food and waved away the occasional wasp, I listened to Dougie fill in Cohen and Avi on the events of the last few days and tell them about Malik’s video—what it was and how we’d tracked it down.

What it meant to lose it.

“Even if we can’t prove Valor’s relationship with Iran, we can put Almasi behind bars,” Cohen said. “Kidnapping and torturing a cop, for starters. And if we can link her to Fadden, she’ll go to prison for Kane’s murder.”

“It’s good,” I said. “It’s necessary. But it isn’t enough. What she did is treason.”

“So we build our case piece by piece.” Cohen pushed food around on his plate. “We start with Kane and the motivation for his death and work back through time.”

Dougie gave a soft snort. He stretched out his legs and crossed the ankles. The aviators were back in place as sunlight found a way through the trees.

I knew what he was thinking as clearly as if he had spoken. When the system failed, you took justice into your own hands. The idea was as old as civilization, as common as yesterday’s news.

Cohen honed in on Dougie, his eyes sharp. He’d picked up on it, too. “You’re thinking about extrajudicial means.” He paused. “Execution.”

Dougie folded his arms.

“That’s nothing but vigilante justice.” Cohen’s smile was bitter.

“But,” Dougie said, “it is justice.”

“It makes us no different from her.”

Dougie uncrossed his ankles and sat up. “She’s killing innocents. We aren’t.”

“We don’t have the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.”

But Dougie and Avi exchanged glances. Mutual understanding and a bond over similar battles. Some of which, I imagined, they were still fighting.

I watched Avi from beneath the brim of my hat. There was something contained about him. Like a sheath over a knife. He was tightly controlled in a manner that suggested if he were to move just a fraction faster, you would lose your wallet and maybe your life before you even knew he’d shifted position.

I’d never seen Avi in this light. Now I shivered in the warm breeze.

Cohen was looking at me. “You haven’t said anything.”

“I’m a cop,” I said quietly. “That should be enough.” But I was thinking of my ghosts. Fadden and the Six. I’d passed judgment in the wink of an eye. What did that make me?

Agitated, I scooped an ice cube out of my water glass and pressed it to my neck. “So what do we do?”

“We think on it,” Avi said. “What you Americans call brainstorming. But for that we need a little help.”

He went into the building and returned a moment later with a bottle of clear liquid and four shot glasses. He poured until the glasses were filled almost to the rim, then passed them around.

“I’m not exactly in a drinking mood,” I said.

“It is arak. It will feel like a fresh breeze through your mind. Then we will determine our next step.”

We each picked up a glass.

“To Sarge,” I said.

“To Sarge,” said the others.

We clinked glasses and slammed down the liquid. It blazed a line down my throat, then popped up into my sinuses and swept through my head like a storm. For a second I couldn’t breathe. Then I felt like I could breathe better than I ever had.

I also felt as though someone had applied a welding torch to my insides.

Cohen placed a fist to his chest. “Are you trying to kill us?”

“Usually, we mix arak with water. Or perhaps grapefruit juice or lemon. But medicinally, it is best this way.”

I set the glass down and let my eyes water.

Only Dougie looked unfazed.

“Now we will come up with our answer,” Avi said.

Sara, the tech, appeared in the doorway. “If you guys aren’t too busy, I have a question.”

“Of course.” Avi pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. “What is it?”

She dropped into the seat and grabbed a piece of pita bread. “I was looking at the X-rays.”

A flutter of panic. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Clyde is fine. But I’ve worked with several combat assault dogs. MWDs. They all have microchips, right?”

Dougie and I nodded.

“But just one chip.”

“Go on,” Avi said.

“Clyde has two chips. As you may know, chips are normally injected under the skin between the shoulder blades. That is where one of Clyde’s chips is. Now, occasionally a chip might migrate down a dog’s body. But this second chip is located under Clyde’s right hind leg. It’s an odd place for it to end up.”

My eyes met Dougie’s. A whisper of hope ran a finger across my skin, light as a feather.

“Has Clyde had another owner?” Sara asked. “Someone else who would have chipped him?”

“No.” I was still looking at Dougie. “You said you trusted Clyde with Rick Dalton.”

“I left him with Rick several times.”

“And you said Rick was Mr. Triplicate.”