At the Clearest Sensation

by M. L. Buchman

  “Private outfit in Montana—some place called Henderson’s Ranch. Didn’t make their MWD program,” his scoff said exactly what he thought the likelihood of any dog outfit in Montana being worthwhile. “They wanted us to try the little runt out.”

  She’d never heard of a training program in Montana. MWDs all came out of Lackland Air Force Base training. The Secret Service mostly trained their own and they all came from Vohne Liche Kennels in Indiana. Unless… Special Operations Forces dogs were trained by private contractors. She’d worked beside a Delta Force dog for a single month—he’d been incredible.

  “Is he trained in English or German?” Most American MWDs were trained in German so that there was no confusion in case a command word happened to be part of a spoken sentence. It also made it harder for any random person on the battlefield to shout something that would confuse the dog.

  “German according to his paperwork, but he won’t listen to me much in either language.”

  Might as well give the diminutive Thor a few basic tests. A snap of her fingers and a slap on her thigh had the dog dropping into a smart “heel” position. No need to call out Fuss—by my foot.

  “Pass auf!” Guard! She made a pistol with her thumb and forefinger and aimed it at Jurgen as she grabbed her forearm with her other hand—the military hand sign for enemy.

  The little dog snarled at Jurgen sharply enough to have him backing out of the kennel. “Goddamn it!”

  “Ruhig.” Quiet. Thor maintained his fierce posture but dropped the snarl.

  “Gute Hund.” Good dog, Linda countered the command.

  Thor looked up at her and wagged his tail happily. She tossed him a doggie treat, which he caught midair and crunched happily.

  She didn’t bother looking up at Jurgen as she knelt once more to check over the little dog. His scruffy fur was so soft that it tickled. Good strength in the jaw, enough to show he’d had bite training despite his size—perfect if she ever needed to take down a three-foot-tall terrorist. Legs said he was a jumper.

  “Take your time, Hamlin. I’ve got nothing else to do with the rest of my goddamn day except babysit you and this mutt.”

  “Is the course set?”

  “Sure. Take him out,” Jurgen’s snarl sounded almost as nasty as Thor’s before he stalked off.

  She stood and slapped a hand on her opposite shoulder.

  Thor sprang aloft as if he was attached to springs and she caught him easily. He’d cleared well over double his own height. Definitely trained…and far easier to catch than seventy pounds of hyperactive Malinois.

  She plopped him back down on the ground. On lead or off? She’d give him the benefit of the doubt and try off first to see what happened.

  Linda zipped up her brand-new USSS jacket against the cold and led the way out of the kennel into the hard sunlight of the January morning. Snow had brushed the higher hills around the USSS James J. Rowley Training Center—which this close to Washington, DC, wasn’t saying much—but was melting quickly. Scents wouldn’t carry as well on the cool air, making it more of a challenge for Thor to locate the explosives. She didn’t know where they were either. The course was a test for handler as well as dog.

  Jurgen would be up in the observer turret looking for any excuse to mark down his newest team. Perhaps teasing him about being just a Marine hadn’t been her best tactical choice. She sighed. At least she was consistent—she’d always been good at finding ways to piss people off before she could stop herself and consider the wisdom of doing so.

  This test was the culmination of a crazy three months, so she’d forgive herself this time—something she also wasn’t very good at.

  In October she’d been out of the Army and unsure what to do next. Tucked in the packet with her DD 214 honorable discharge form had been a flyer on career opportunities with the US Secret Service dog team: Be all your dog can be! No one else being released from Fort Benning that day had received any kind of a job flyer at all that she’d seen, so she kept quiet about it.

  She had to pass through DC on her way back to Vermont—her parent’s place. Burlington would work for, honestly, not very long at all, but she lacked anywhere else to go after a decade of service. So, she’d stopped off in DC to see what was up with that job flyer. Five interviews and three months to complete a standard six-month training course later—which was mostly a cakewalk after fighting with the US Rangers—she was on-board and this chill January day was her first chance with a dog. First chance to prove that she still had it. First chance to prove that she hadn’t made a mistake in deciding that she’d seen enough bloodshed and war zones for one lifetime and leaving the Army.

  The Start Here sign made it obvious where to begin, but she didn’t dare hesitate to take in her surroundings past a quick glimpse. Jurgen’s score would count a great deal toward where she and Thor were assigned in the future. Mostly likely on some field prep team, clearing the way for presidential visits.

  As usual, hindsight informed her that harassing the lieutenant hadn’t been an optimal strategy. A hindsight that had served her equally poorly with regular Army commanders before she’d finally hooked up with the Rangers—kowtowing to officers had never been one of her strengths.

  Thankfully, the Special Operations Forces hadn’t given a damn about anything except performance and that she could always deliver, since the day she’d been named the team captain for both soccer and volleyball. She was never popular, but both teams had made all-state her last two years in school.

  The canine training course at James J. Rowley was a two-acre lot. A hard-packed path of tramped-down dirt led through the brown grass. It followed a predictable pattern from the gate to a junker car, over to tool shed, then a truck, and so on into a compressed version of an intersection in a small town. Beyond it ran an urban street of gray clapboard two- and three-story buildings and an eight-story office tower, all without windows. Clearly a playground for Secret Service training teams.

  Her target was the town, so she blocked the city street out of her mind. Focus on the problem: two roads, twenty storefronts, six houses, vehicles, pedestrians.

  It might look normal…normalish with its missing windows and no movement. It would be anything but. Stocked with fake IEDs, a bombmaker’s stash, suicide cars, weapons caches, and dozens of other traps, all waiting for her and Thor to find. He had to be sensitive to hundreds of scents and it was her job to guide him so that he didn’t miss the opportunity to find and evaluate each one.

  There would be easy scents, from fertilizer and diesel fuel used so destructively in the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, to almost as obvious TNT to the very difficult to detect C-4 plastic explosive.

  Mannequins on the street carried grocery bags and briefcases. Some held fresh meat, a powerful smell demanding any dog’s attention, but would count as a false lead if they went for it. On the job, an explosives detection dog wasn’t supposed to care about anything except explosives. Other mannequins were wrapped in suicide vests loaded with Semtex or wearing knapsacks filled with package bombs made from Russian PVV-5A.

  She spotted Jurgen stepping into a glassed-in observer turret atop the corner drugstore. Someone else was already there and watching.

  She looked down once more at the ridiculous little dog and could only hope for the best.

  “Thor?”

  He looked up at her.

  She pointed to the left, away from the beaten path.

  “Such!” Find.

  Thor sniffed left, then right. Then he headed forward quickly in the direction she pointed.

  Clive Andrews sat in the second-story window at the corner of Main and First, the only two streets in town. Downstairs was a drugstore all rigged to explode, except there were no triggers and there was barely enough explosive to blow up a candy box.

  Not that he’d know, but that’s what Lieutenant Jurgen had promised him.

  It didn’t really matter if it was rigged to blow for real, because when Miss Watson—never Ms. or Mrs.—asked
for a “favor,” you did it. At least he did. Actually, he had yet to meet anyone else who knew her. Not that he’d asked around. She wasn’t the sort of person one talked about with strangers, or even close friends. He’d bet even if they did, it would be in whispers. That’s just what she was like.

  So he’d traveled across town from the White House and into Maryland on a cold winter’s morning, barely past a sunrise that did nothing to warm the day. Now he sat in an unheated glass icebox and watched a new officer run a test course he didn’t begin to understand. Lieutenant Jurgen settled in beside him at a console with feeds from a dozen cameras and banks of switches.

  While waiting, Clive had been fooling around with a sketch on a small pad of paper. The next State Dinner was in seven days. President Zachary Taylor had invited the leaders of Vietnam, Japan, and the Philippines to the White House for discussions about some Chinese islands. Or something like that, Clive hadn’t really been paying attention to the details past the attendee list.

  Instead, he was contemplating the dessert for such a dinner that would surprise, perhaps delight, as well as being an icebreaker for future discussions. Being the chocolatier for the White House was the most exciting job he’d ever had.

  Keep reading at fine retailers everywhere:

  Off the Leash

  About the Author

  USA Today and Amazon #1 Bestseller M. L. “Matt” Buchman started writing on a flight south from Japan to ride his bicycle across the Australian Outback. Just part of a solo around-the-world trip that ultimately launched his writing career.

  From the very beginning, his powerful female heroines insisted on putting character first, then a great adventure. He’s since written over 60 action-adventure thrillers and military romantic suspense novels. And just for the fun of it: 100 short stories, and a fast-growing pile of read-by-author audiobooks.

  Booklist says: “3X Top 10 of the Year.” PW says: “Tom Clancy fans open to a strong female lead will clamor for more.” His fans say: “I want more now…of everything.” That his characters are even more insistent than his fans is a hoot.

  As a 30-year project manager with a geophysics degree who has designed and built houses, flown and jumped out of planes, and solo-sailed a 50’ ketch, he is awed by what is possible. More at: www.mlbuchman.com.

  Also by M. L. Buchman

  * also in audio

  Thrillers

  Dead Chef

  One Chef!

  Two Chef!

  Miranda Chase NTSB

  Drone*

  Thunderbolt*

  Condor*

  Ghostrider*

  Romantic Suspense

  Delta Force

  Target Engaged*

  Heart Strike*

  Wild Justice*

  Midnight Trust*

  Firehawks

  Main Flight

  Pure Heat

  Full Blaze

  Hot Point*

  Flash of Fire*

  Wild Fire

  Smokejumpers

  Wildfire at Dawn

  Wildfire at Larch Creek

  Wildfire on the Skagit

  The Night Stalkers

  Main Flight

  The Night Is Mine

  I Own the Dawn

  Wait Until Dark

  Take Over at Midnight

  Light Up the Night

  Bring On the Dusk

  By Break of Day

  and the Navy

  Christmas at Steel Beach

  Christmas at Peleliu Cove

  White House Holiday

  Daniel’s Christmas*

  Frank’s Independence Day*

  Peter’s Christmas*

  Zachary’s Christmas*

  Roy’s Independence Day*

  Damien’s Christmas*

  5E

  Target of the Heart

  Target Lock on Love

  Target of Mine

  Target of One’s Own

  Shadow Force: Psi

  At the Slightest Sound*

  At the Quietest Word*

  At the Merest Glance*

  At the Clearest Sensation*

  White House Protection Force

  Off the Leash*

  On Your Mark*

  In the Weeds*

  Contemporary Romance

  Eagle Cove

  Return to Eagle Cove

  Recipe for Eagle Cove

  Longing for Eagle Cove

  Keepsake for Eagle Cove

  Henderson’s Ranch

  Nathan’s Big Sky*

  Big Sky, Loyal Heart*

  Love Abroad B&B

  Heart of the Cotswolds: England

  Path of Love: Cinque Terre, Italy

  Where Dreams

  Where Dreams are Born

  Where Dreams Reside

  Where Dreams Are of Christmas*

  Where Dreams Unfold

  Where Dreams Are Written

  Science Fiction / Fantasy

  Deities Anonymous

  Cookbook from Hell: Reheated

  Saviors 101

  SF/F Titles

  The Nara Reaction

  Monk’s Maze

  The Me and Elsie Chronicles

  Non-Fiction

  Strategies for Success

  Managing Your Inner Artist / Writer

  Estate Planning for Authors*

  Character Voice

  * * *

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  Copyright 2020 Matthew Lieber Buchman

  Published by Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

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  Cover images:

  3D Golden Greek Letter Psi © georgios | Depositphotos

  Blue Water © Arena Creative | Depositphotos

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