by Robert Crais
A skinny white dog raced to the ball, but Maggie paid no attention. The green ball was no longer her favorite toy.
Maggie returned to Scott’s side.
Wag.
Scott was pack. Her favorite reward was baloney.
Scott and the woman were talking. Maggie knew they weren’t talking to her because Scott looked at Maggie when he spoke to her, and now Scott and the woman were looking at each other. Maggie did not understand their words, but their tone was warm, and Scott often laughed. Laughter was play. Maggie felt joy when Scott laughed.
Wag wag.
The woman was not pack. Maggie was comfortable with the woman, but Scott was her world.
Maggie was a German shepherd dog. She was bred to protect what was hers, and selected by the Marine Corps based on the strength of her drives. Maggie stayed close to Scott. She watched passing dogs and people for signs of aggression, and checked the air for unusual or threatening scents. She smelled coyotes and deer, and the rabbits that crossed the trail before dawn, and the dogs and people who had walked the trail earlier, and the dead eggs of a lizard at the base of a yucca. She smelled gophers hidden in tunnels on the slope above them, and the fading scent of a dead owl in the canyon below. None of these scents were unusual or held special meaning. This was good. In Maggie’s German shepherd world, the familiar meant safety.
Scott safe.
Maggie safe.
Pack safe.
Wag.
Scott touched her head.
“Good girl.”
Wag wag wag.
Maggie loved being near him. This close, Scott’s scent enveloped her. Maggie did not know she was smelling the millions of skin cells a person sheds with each step and the bacteria that thrived on those cells and the amino acids and oils produced by Scott’s skin. She did not know this snowstorm of cells swirled in the air—falling, climbing, drifting, settling—and left a spreading cone of scent like a boat’s invisible wake. Maggie knew nothing of skin cells and amino acids, but she knew what she needed to know.
Maggie knew they were returning to the car. She knew this because their walks always followed the same pattern. Ride in the car, get out, walk, return to the car, get in, ride. Now, as they neared the gate, she smelled the two sweating men and the older female with the little pug dog. The men smelled of sweat, but not the threatening scent of adrenaline. The older woman smelled of bitter flowers, and the little pug dog smelled of fecal matter and a growing infection.
Maggie followed Scott around the gate into the parking lot, and that’s when she caught a faint scent. The scent tickled a memory, but was too faint to identify, so she lifted her nose, and tasted again.
Sniff sniff sniff.
Each time she sniffed, scent molecules collected on bony plates in her nasal cavity. These molecules collected a few at a time until enough were gathered for Maggie to recognize. This didn’t take many. With more than two hundred million scent receptors in her long shepherd’s nose, and almost a fourth of her brain devoted to her sense of smell, Maggie could recognize scents so faint they were measured in parts per trillion.
Sniff sniff sniff.
Sniff.
The memories of Pete and the special scents he trained her to find rushed back, exactly as they had the night before, and joy filled her heart. Finding the special scent led to a reward. Love. Approval. Baloney.
Maggie trotted away, working the edges of the scent cone. She sourced the scent to Scott’s car, where the air underneath was hot with the special scent. Pete had taught her never to approach or touch these special scents, so she pegged the hottest point, and dropped to her belly. Maggie glanced proudly at Scott, pleased and giddy with anticipation.
“Maggie, out! Out!”
Scott’s alpha voice was commanding.
Maggie bounced to her feet and ran to his side.
Scott squeaked approval, stayed her, and went to his car. Maggie sensed something was wrong by the change in his gait. She desperately wanted to follow, but Scott had stayed her. She obeyed, but whimpered anxiously when he crawled under the car.
Maggie saw him tense, and the frantic way he scrambled to his feet, and heard the strain in his voice when he spoke to the woman. Then the woman shouted, and Scott ran to the street. His smell reached her, and was ripe with the thorny scents of danger and fear.
Maggie trembled and quivered.
Scott’s fear poured into her.
Danger.
Threat.
Maggie broke from her stay, and ran to him. His thundering heart filled her with fury.
Protect Scott.
Defend.
Scott pulled her close, but his closeness did not comfort her. His fear screamed they were in danger. She bunched and coiled, and tried to pull free to find the threat, but Scott held her close.
Her huge ears swiveled and tipped, seeking their enemy. She sniffed frantically, searching the air, but found only Scott’s fear.
His fear was enough.
Scott was hers.
Maggie growled, low and deep in her massive chest, a primal warning to whatever might hear.
This pack was hers.
The fur on her back and shoulders bristled like wire, and her nails raked the asphalt like claws. A danger she couldn’t see or smell or hear was coming, but a fire passed down from a hundred thousand past generations prepared her. Maggie knew what she needed to know.
Hunt.
Attack.
Pull the threat down with her fangs, and destroy it.
Maggie didn’t need to know anything else.
Nothing else mattered.
19
Scott James
AFTER THE AREA surrounding the gate was cleared, the Bomb Squad’s senior bomb technician, Jack Libby, asked Scott to describe the box and its location on Scott’s vehicle. Libby was short and dark, with calm eyes and a spiky flattop. Scott and Cowly wanted to watch Libby de-arm the bomb, but were moved to a protected location on the far side of the curve.
Two Criminal Conspiracy Section detectives named Mantz and Nagle were waiting. CCS handled investigations involving explosives and explosive devices for the Major Crimes Division. Mantz identified himself, and asked Scott to join him in the command vehicle.
“My dog has to come.”
“Sure. Bring him.”
Scott followed until Nagle told Cowly to remain outside.
Scott said, “What the hell? You don’t have to separate us.”
Joyce said, “It’s okay, babe. Go. It’s how we do it.”
The command vehicle was a motor-home-size bus packed with communication equipment, computers, and video monitors. Mantz steered Scott to a narrow table, and told him to sit. Maggie settled at Scott’s feet, filling the aisle like a black-and-tan island.
“Okay, let’s assume this box is an explosive device. Why do you think the Echo suspect is involved?”
“I saw his face. I can identify him.”
Mantz was a slight man in his forties with wire-frame glasses. He listened to Scott recap the events in Echo Park, and seemed dubious.
“This was what, twelve hours ago? The guy found you, followed you, and hung a bomb on your car in all of twelve hours?”
“I’m K-9. He probably staked out our training site. It doesn’t take a genius to hang out and wait.”
Mantz took out a notebook.
“This is in Glendale, right?”
“I was there this morning after I left the Boat.”
“You think he put it on your car in Glendale?”
“No, here. My dog alerted when we got back to the car. If it was on the car in Glendale, she would have alerted there.”
Scott realized his voice was rising. He was tired, and angry, and told himself to slow down.
“Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep.”
<
br /> “No worries.”
Mantz studied Maggie. She was lying on her belly with her chin on her paws. Her ears were tipped and her brow was bunched. Listening.
“Bomb dog?”
“Used to be. She still remembers. She alerted to the stuff we found last night.”
Mantz scribbled a note, and asked Scott a series of questions about his movements that morning, including the names of anyone who knew where Scott was going, any stops Scott made between the Boat and the park, his routes, and the times of his arrivals and departures. When they finished, Mantz shouted for Nagle, and spit out instructions.
“Where’s Carter?”
“Inbound.”
“We need the suspect likeness for the door-knocks. Have someone email it. We’ll print’m here.”
“Did it.”
“Ask Cowly if anyone knew she was meeting him up here. Get her times in and out. I’m showing a window of forty minutes.”
“She says forty-three minutes, start to stop. She got here first.”
Scott said, “Can she come in now please?”
“No. We aren’t even close to finished.”
Mantz adjusted his glasses, and went on with Nagle.
“Scott didn’t see anyone following him. Ask if she remembers a vehicle pulling in behind him, or off the street, or slowing down, or whatever.”
“Already asked. She doesn’t.”
“Check these houses for security cams, here to the east for half a mile. Street views. We see the K-9 car, we’ll see who was behind him.”
“Got it.”
“Ask the hikers and the dog lady if they took any pictures.”
“I know. I’m on it.”
“How’s Jackie doing?”
“Playing with his robot.”
“Go.”
The door slammed when Nagle left, and Mantz peered at Maggie.
“I heard something about a German shepherd. Was he blown up in Afghanistan?”
Maggie’s brow beetled again.
“She. She was shot. Twice. She wasn’t blown up.”
Mantz leaned closer to study her scars. Maggie gave a low gutter, and Mantz leaned away.
“You need the bathroom? You want some water?”
“I want to finish.”
“Describe the box. I know you told Jackie, but describe it to me.”
Scott was describing the box when a uniformed lieutenant came in, and introduced himself as the incident commander. The lieutenant asked how Scott was doing, and whether he needed anything. Five minutes after the lieutenant left, a uniformed captain from Hollywood Station interrupted them, and Scott could tell Mantz was getting irritated. They had just returned to work when Kemp and Leland arrived. Scott wasn’t expecting them, but was pleased.
Kemp was furious. His face glowed like a boil, and his jaw flexed with anger.
“We’ll get the bastard, Scott. This sonofabitch, he’s working on borrowed time.”
“Thanks, LT. Thanks for coming.”
“We’re here for the duration. You need anything?”
Mantz offered his own answer.
“He needs to be left alone so we can finish.”
Kemp wheeled toward Mantz.
“This man is in my command. I’ll pitch a goddamned tent in here, if I want.”
Mantz showed his palms, taking himself out of the fight, as Leland eased forward, taking Kemp’s place.
“They say she alerted.”
“Like today and last night. If she hadn’t—”
Scott shook his head.
“I can put her in my car, if you like. Until you finish up here.”
Scott saw Maggie’s eyes shift between them.
“She’s fine where she is.”
Leland managed a smile.
“As it should be.”
When Kemp and Leland left, Mantz went to the door.
“Nagle? Nagle, you know how to lock this damned thing?”
Carter and Stiles arrived six minutes later. Stiles entered first, and made with the wide Betty Boop eyes.
“Oh my Lord, this must have been scary, finding a bomb on your car! I would’ve just died!”
Scott was getting tired of the wide-eyed act.
“My dog found it.”
“Well, I guess Mr. Dog earned an extra biscuit tonight, now didn’t he?”
Mantz said, “She’s a she.”
Carter came in holding a phone.
“Get the art? We sent it.”
“Nagle. Did you ID the suspect?”
Carter waved his phone at Scott.
“Glory just sent him a mug file. Give me a break.”
Mantz took off his glasses.
“I guess that means no.”
Carter’s phone buzzed. He checked the incoming number, and turned away as he answered. Mantz asked Stiles about Echo Park, so Scott took the opportunity to text Cowly.
I’M STUCK. SORRY.
A few seconds later, Cowly responded.
BUD HERE. GOTTA GO. CALL LATR.
Scott replied.
KISS.
A few seconds later, Cowly answered.
KISS MORE.
Scott was putting away his phone when Jack Libby entered. Carter acknowledged Libby, but stayed on his call. Libby held up a plastic evidence bag and tossed it to Scott. The bag held a metal wafer the size of a postage stamp.
“This is why he didn’t wait. Assisted-GPS chip like we have in our phones. It reads your location change. If you’d driven away, we’d be at the morgue.”
Scott stared at the little chip.
“This was in the box?”
“That, an initiator, and a quarter pound of plastic explosive.”
Libby grinned.
“Blew the sucker apart with a water cannon. Rolled a robot under your car. Blamo. Disrupts the device.”
Carter moved closer to examine the chip.
“Same plastic as Echo?”
“Same white-white color, but that’s up to the lab. I’ll put it together when we get back, and toss it to SID.”
Libby would reconstruct the device at the Bomb Squad office, looking for details of design and materials that might match with the techniques of known bomb builders.
Mantz took the bag, and studied the chip.
“A quarter pound isn’t much bang.”
“It is if you know what you’re doing. Whoever built this isn’t a wannabe. It’s a smart device. Excellent workmanship.”
Libby looked at Scott.
“He put it on your gas tank.”
Scott flashed on Stephanie Anders, her blood glistening on the street, her red hands reaching, and was trapped in the memory until Libby spoke again.
“A flatbed’s coming for your vehicle. We’re trucking it in for the criminalists.”
Mantz gave back the bag.
“Good work, Jackie. Email the serial number off the chip, and I’ll start the trace.”
Scott thought about the device as Libby left—the work that had gone into building it, and the risk someone took to put the device on a police car in a public space in broad daylight.
“It would’ve been easier to shoot me.”
Mantz checked his watch, and stood.
“Shooting you didn’t occur to him. The person who built this gets off by the power inherent in an explosion, like a pyromaniac setting fires.”
Stiles made a big deal out of shivering.
“You are creeping me out.”
Mantz stared at her for a moment, and Scott sensed Mantz didn’t buy the wide-eyed bit, either.
“So, as of now, we assume the Echo Park suspect or an associate has targeted Officer James?”
Carter and Stiles answered at the same time.
“Yes.”
“I’ll start the canvass. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Carter waved his phone toward Scott.
“We need him. You get anything, copy me.”
Mantz stepped over Maggie to leave, but turned back.
“This person is dangerous. He’s organized and capable. Work under the assumption you are not safe.”
Scott wasn’t sure what to say.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Stay alive.”
Scott touched Maggie’s head. She stood, shook herself, and the two of them watched Mantz walk away.
20
CARTER DROPPED into the seat Mantz had been using.
“Bet you’re sorry you let this asshole get away last night.”
Scott told himself to let it go but a tight knot clenched in his belly.
“Are you getting in my face, Carter?”
Carter raised his hands.
“It was a joke. Hey, I’m the guy trying to find this asshole.”
Stiles said, “Brad didn’t mean anything.”
Maggie shifted and whimpered. Scott realized they had been on the bus for almost two hours, and stood.
“We need a bathroom break.”
Carter frowned with irritation.
“Let her wait. We have a couple more questions about last night.”
“Brad, between you and this dog, don’t hold your breath.”
Scott picked up Maggie’s lead, and snagged a bottle of water on the way out. He felt better once they were outside, but he was angry at Carter’s stupid comment, and also embarrassed.
Mulholland had become an LAPD parking lot behind the CV, with black-and-white vehicles and unmarked sedans extending around the curve. A circle of command officers and detectives had gathered by the CV. Scott saw Kemp and Mantz, and realized most of the officers were focused on a tall uniformed woman in her fifties. She was a deputy chief. Targeting a police officer was an aggressive move, and almost never occurred. Even stone-cold gang killers knew better than to green-light a cop, so the department had rolled out in force.
Scott led Maggie to a gnarled oak overlooking the Valley and thought about what Mantz told him. This person is dangerous.
