Monday, December 4
Pensacola, Florida
By the time Creed and the rest of their crew were ready to caravan to the airport, they were all exhausted and running on pure adrenaline. It was after midnight when the call finally came. Thunderstorms in the distance lit up the sky and threatened to delay the flight again.
In his head, Creed couldn’t shake the mantra: Nothing good happens after midnight. As a dog handler, he hated night searches. Avoided them if possible. There were too many dangers lurking in the dark that could harm his dogs. As their guide and protector, it was his responsibility to watch out for those dangers while the dog concentrated on and worked a scent. They were partners, and even if the dog’s eyesight was better in the low light, it didn’t matter if the dog wasn’t paying attention to what hid in the shadows.
Of course, in Afghanistan, they didn’t have the option to not work at night. The night-vision goggles helped to some extent. But wearing them now still reminded Creed of crouched enemies, hiding and waiting until it was too late for handler and dog to retreat.
He needed to stop thinking about it.
Creed probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Brodie had noticed how much this affected him. Despite a few social skills being stunted by her years of captivity, her observation skills had been enhanced and fine-tuned. She saw things that others looked right by.
And yes, he’d spent too much time thinking about the dogs and Afghanistan. Without much prompting, he could see the streets and hear the noises from their viewpoint. There was a saying that emotion ran down the leash, meaning a handler needed to stay calm and confident. But for Creed, the opposite was also true. Emotion ran up the leash. If a dog was in distress, it was like an electrical current running directly to his body.
The person who had trained Creed told him it was one of the things that made him such a good K9 handler. Sometimes, Creed considered it not just a vulnerability, but almost a curse. This was one of those times.
As soon as Dr. Avelyn had told them about the abandoned dogs, memories started flooding back. Some of them were so vivid he could smell the dust of Afghanistan and feel its grit on his skin. His nerves felt on alert as if he’d stepped outside the wire and hadn’t made it back to safety.
It probably didn’t help matters that Hannah kept reminding him how his body was still healing. Not just from what happened in Nebraska less than two months ago, but also the incident last June in Blackwater River State Forest. His bruised back still ached—it was throbbing tonight—and he wondered if it would ever be normal again.
Then he reminded himself of the men who’d attacked Sully. He was pleased he had been able to take them down in the parking lot. Truthfully, it surprised him how easy it had been. Amateurs.
Was that only last night?
Dr. Avelyn led them to a designated area at the Pensacola Airport. There was little activity. Most commercial flights were already in for the night. She stopped her mobile unit along the side of the building. Creed idled behind her in the rented van. Jason sat alongside him. Both of them were quiet. Tired.
In a matter of minutes, a man came out and gestured while he spoke to Dr. Avelyn. He pointed to around the corner of the building where Creed could see an aircraft as it taxied out to a runway. Only small bits and pieces of other aircraft could be seen.
In a matter of seconds, his cell phone lit up, the ringtone he’d designated for the veterinarian jolting both men in their seats.
“The flight just landed,” she said. “You can sit tight here. I’ll go check on things.”
“Okay.”
They watched her exit her vehicle, leaving Hannah sitting in the passenger seat. Brodie had volunteered to stay behind and keep all their dogs settled. It was the first time Creed had seen her actually make sure her cell phone was charged and close by.
Jason’s leg bounced, a nervous tick. Creed could feel the movement from where he sat.
“Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Your leg.”
“Oh, sorry.”
They were all on edge.
It must have only been thirty minutes later, but it felt like an hour when Hannah called.
“Dr. Avelyn’s on her way back. Rye, she’s pretty upset.”
“What’s going on?” He hit speaker so Jason could listen.
“The flight has only three dogs.”
“You mean on this flight? Is there another one following?”
“This is the only flight. She’s trying to get an explanation from her contacts. Evidently, they wouldn’t release the others.”
“The organization? Maybe the dogs were too weak or injured to fly.”
“No, Rye. They weren’t allowed to leave. They wouldn’t release them. Or at least, that’s what we’re being told.”
She didn’t need to tell him who “they” were. It had to be the Taliban. Dr. Avelyn had mentioned all the recent changes the animal rescue was subjected to since the Taliban took over. They restricted female workers and required the submission of dozens of documents for each animal. Not just proof of vaccinations, but ownership verification and certificates that might no longer exist.
“Sounds like they won’t let the others leave the country,” Hannah said.
“Bastards. They just realized how much the dogs are worth to us.”
As if to emphasize his point, lightning forked across the sky. A single clap of thunder followed, then the sky burst open with a downpour.