Caesar the War Dog 4

by Stephen Dando-Collins

‘Poor Caesar,’ said Maddie. ‘What about Skype? Could we talk to him on Skype, like we do when you’re on ops? That way, he wouldn’t be so lonely.’

  ‘You know, Mads, I did think about setting up some Skype sessions with Caesar.’

  ‘Goody!’ she cried.

  ‘But Caesar isn’t that into technology. He doesn’t know how Skype works.’

  ‘Who does?’ Nan laughed. ‘I’m still struggling to understand how electricity works.’

  ‘Yes, but Caesar would hear our voices, and not know where they were coming from,’ said Ben. ‘I think it would confuse him too much. He would expect us to be somewhere close by if he heard us.’

  ‘It’s different when your dad is there with Caesar and we talk to them both on Skype, Maddie,’ said Nan. ‘Your dad’s presence makes up for us not being there.’

  ‘And we don’t want to make him fret any more than we can help, do we?’ added Ben.

  ‘I suppose not.’ Maddie sighed. ‘Poor Caesar is all alone.’

  ‘He’s got plenty of company, don’t worry,’ her father assured her. ‘And he’ll soon be home with us.’

  The following Monday, Ben reported for duty at the Special Operations Engineer Regiment’s EDD training centre. This was located adjacent to the army base at Holsworthy in New South Wales, southwest of Sydney. Because Ben was based there, he and his family had lived in Holsworthy since before Maddie was born.

  It was always hard for Ben to readjust to routine military life without Caesar. Whenever he had to leave his EDD in a quarantine facility following a deployment, Ben would return to base at Holsworthy and be assigned to the training of new explosive detection dogs and their handlers. With dogs and handlers retiring regularly and leaving army service, or occasionally becoming casualties on operations, there was a constant need for new recruits in the EDD department.

  Sometimes Ben’s training assignment involved a new dog working with an experienced handler. Other times he had to work with a new handler and a dog fresh from civilian sources. Both would be going through EDD training together. It wasn’t just a matter of training the dog. The handler had to be trained in EDD techniques, too. On this occasion, Ben’s assignment was to oversee the training of Lance Corporal Matthew Dunn and his dog. The fair-headed Dunn was twenty-two and had entered the Australian Army with the ambition of working with war dogs. Once he’d completed his army basic training, his wish was granted and he was assigned to the SOER for EDD training.

  On arrival, he was matched with a black kelpie named Queenie. This first Monday of Ben’s new assignment, he watched Dunn and Queenie work with five other army handlers and novice dogs on the training ground at Holsworthy. Queenie proved bright and eager. However, while Dunn was equally eager, he was uncertain with Queenie, leaving the dog confused about what was expected of her. Ben saw that he would have his work cut out turning this pair into a team. But at least the task helped to take Ben’s mind off Caesar, who he was missing terribly.

  Cindy Levine was deep in conversation with one of the Doghouse’s handlers when two male police officers walked into the lobby.

  ‘Hi there,’ Cindy said with a smile. ‘What can I do for you this fine day, officers?’

  ‘We are here for the dog,’ said one of the policemen, jamming his thumbs in his gun belt.

  Cindy’s smile wavered. ‘And what dog would that be?’

  ‘César,’ the second policeman replied in a heavy Hispanic accent.

  ‘Caesar, the Australian war dog?’ Cindy responded with surprise. ‘We were told that he was to be picked up only when his quarantine period was over, and that’s not for quite a while yet.’

  ‘Lady, we only follow orders,’ said the first policeman, sounding agitated, ‘and our orders are to pick up the dog called César.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cindy turned to her computer and brought up Caesar’s file. At the bottom it said, ‘To be collected by SAPD.’ Cindy returned her attention to the two policemen, still unsure of what to do. ‘We were expecting Caesar to be collected by the Police Department … but only at the end of his quarantine period. I’ll need to run this by my grandfather, just to be on the safe side.’ She picked up the phone.

  ‘Do we gotta put handcuffs on the dog to take him in?’ said the second cop.

  ‘Just hold your horses, officer,’ Cindy said patiently.

  ‘What horses?’ the first policeman asked, sounding confused.

  ‘Just bear with me,’ said Cindy, trying not to let the two men fluster her. ‘Let me call his cellphone.’

  ‘We ain’t got all day,’ said the second policeman. ‘Just give us the dog.’

  Cindy quickly dialled her grandfather’s number but was directed straight to voicemail. ‘Hi, Pops, it’s me,’ she said. ‘Just leaving a message to say that the SAPD is here to collect Caesar. It all seems okay, just a lot earlier than I was expecting. Give me a call if there’s a problem.’

  ‘You gonna release the dog into our custody or not?’ the second policeman pressed. ‘Or should we take you in for obstructing police officers in the course of their duty?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the first policeman. ‘Like my compadre say, you are obstructing police officers doing their duty.’

  ‘There’s no need for that, officers,’ Cindy responded anxiously. ‘I’m only doing my job. I’m sure that everything is fine. Wait here, and I’ll get Caesar for you.’ She turned to a handler she’d been talking with previously. ‘Mandy, keep an eye on the phone while I’m gone, will you?’

  After a few minutes Cindy returned with Caesar trotting along beside her. Caesar’s tail was wagging slowly; any chance for some exercise and interaction with humans was pleasing to him and would set his tail wagging. He hoped the humans might be interested in playing games with him the way that he and Ben played. He missed the games as much as he missed Ben.

  ‘This is the dog César?’ asked policeman number one.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Cindy replied, offering the leash to him. ‘I’ll need you to sign him out.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ said policeman number two, smiling for the first time. ‘Where do we sign?’

  Caesar looked up at policeman number one, who was holding the end of his leash. His tail stilled. Caesar didn’t like the look or the smell of the man. If need be, Caesar could identify every individual on the planet via their aroma, because every person has their own specific odour. In part, that odour is dictated by what they eat. The rest has to do with a variety of other factors ranging from the state of a person’s health to their personal hygiene. Caesar could also tell from a person’s body odour whether they were happy or sad, or whether they were friendly or unfriendly. This guy in the police uniform was definitely giving off an unfriendly odour.

  Cindy held up the release form. ‘Which one of you is signing?’

  ‘Here,’ said policeman number two, taking the sheet of paper. ‘I’ll sign.’ He glanced over the page, then said, holding out one hand, ‘I’ll need to borrow a pen.’

  Cindy, thinking it was strange for a policeman to be on duty without something to write with, grabbed a pen from her desk. ‘There you go,’ she said, handing it to him.

  Policeman number two signed on the dotted line before handing the piece of paper and pen back to Cindy. ‘Are we good to go now?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure, officer,’ Cindy replied, glancing at the signature. She filed the sheet in a folder labelled ‘Pending’.

  ‘What about his stuff?’ asked policeman number one. ‘You know, his dog things.’

  Cindy frowned. ‘Caesar doesn’t have “dog things”,’ she replied. ‘He is a working war dog, so he travels light. But I’ll give you his dietary and exercise requirements.’

  She quickly printed off the instructions, which policeman number two folded and slipped into his breast pocket.

  ‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said. ‘We’re outta here.’ He turned and walked toward the front door.

  ‘Come on, dog,’ said policeman number one, tugging roughly at Caesar’s leash.


  But Caesar would not budge. With a glint of defiance and suspicion in his eyes, he looked up at policeman number one.

  Policeman number one glared down at him. ‘Come on, dog!’ he growled, tugging harder.

  Policeman number two went over and pushed Caesar toward the door with the heel of his boot. Caesar looked around and bared his teeth at him, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat. Policeman number one tugged even harder, dragging Caesar toward the door.

  ‘It’s okay, Caesar,’ Cindy called reassuringly. At least, she hoped everything was okay. She didn’t like these two cops, and Caesar didn’t seem to like them either. But the cops had signed out the labrador, so there was nothing more she could do.

  Eventually, the two men dragged Caesar outside and pushed him into the back of a white four-door pick-up truck. They secured his leash to a rail running along the side of the pick-up’s tray and slammed the tailgate shut. The pair then climbed into the cab and, with policeman number one at the wheel, departed. Caesar stood in the rear looking forlornly back at the facility they were rapidly leaving behind.

  Cindy watched from the window until Caesar and the pick-up were out of sight. Something didn’t feel right to her, but before she could think about it further the phone rang. ‘Good morning, Joe’s Doghouse, Cindy speaking,’ she answered. ‘How may I help you today?’

  ‘Hi there, honey, it’s me,’ said Joe. ‘What’s this about the cops coming to collect Caesar?’

  ‘Oh, it turned out to be nothing, Pops. The SAPD came and took Caesar away,’ she replied. ‘They signed a release and all.’

  ‘The SAPD took Caesar?’ Joe sounded confused. ‘Why? He can’t go back to Australia yet.’

  ‘Maybe they’re going to use Caesar here in the States,’ Cindy suggested.

  ‘Yeah, maybe. But no one told me they were coming for him early. You say they signed for him? What was the name of the officer who signed?’

  ‘Hold on.’ Cindy retrieved the form signed by policeman number two and read the signature. ‘Officer Antonio Santa Maria.’

  ‘Antonio Santa Maria? Okay. I’ll check with Captain De Silva at the SAPD.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Cindy, her sense of unease returning. ‘Do you think Caesar’s all right, Pops?’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, Cindy. I’ll call you back once I’ve spoken with the captain.’

  The white pick-up inched its way along in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Interstate 35 heading south to the Mexican border from San Antonio. Policeman number one and policeman number two were no longer in SAPD uniform. They now wore casual shirts, blue jeans, cowboy boots and big Stetson hats with wide brims that curved skyward. The pick-up’s registration plates had been changed, its Texan plates swapped for Mexican ones issued by the state of Nuevo León. Both men were chattering in Spanish and laughing while Caesar stood in the tray, studying the scene. Finally it came their turn to show their papers to an agent of US Customs and Border Protection at the Laredo border post.

  ‘Enjoy your stay?’ asked the agent. He peered into the cab before checking their vehicle permit and visitor cards.

  ‘Just a little visit,’ the driver replied. ‘But, sí, it was good.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ The border agent looked in the back, satisfying himself that the rear was empty except for the labrador. ‘Nice-looking dog.’

  The passenger of the pick-up smiled.

  ‘Hold on.’ The border guard took the papers to another officer. Blank-faced, the second border agent checked the details on computer, then stamped the paperwork. When these two men had crossed the border from Mexico early that morning, they had not been travelling with a dog. But that was not recorded on the documentation, and the fact they now had a dog with them didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow. The US Government’s focus was on what was being brought into the country, rather than what was being taken out. The Customs and Border Protection agent handed the papers back to the driver. ‘Have a nice day.’

  The driver grinned. ‘We will be sure to do that, amigo.’

  The pick-up eased forward. As it did, Caesar looked at the agent, who smiled at him as he passed. Labradors don’t bark a lot, and Caesar hardly ever barked, but now he began to. Loudly, insistently, he barked at the US border agent, as if to say, These guys are kidnapping me!

  ‘Yeah, yeah, same to you, crazy mutt,’ said the border agent. He turned his attention to the next vehicle in the line.

  Metres ahead, the white pick-up came to a halt at the Mexican border post. After the Mexican border guards were satisfied, the pick-up drove on, and the two men in the cabin roared with laughter. Caesar, silent once again, glumly stretched out on the ribbed metal floor and rested his jaw on his front paws. He didn’t know it, but he was now in Mexico, and heading south for Monterrey.

  It was in the early hours of the morning when Ben’s phone began to ring. Ben was awake in an instant. Flicking on the bedside lamp and sitting up, he checked the time: 3.03. Then he picked up his phone and saw that it was an unidentified caller. ‘Ben Fulton,’ he answered. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Hi there, Sergeant. This is Captain Leo De Silva of the San Antonio Police Department. How are you doing?’

  ‘Well, Captain, considering that it’s three in the morning here and I was fast asleep …’

  ‘Oh, sorry about that, Sergeant. Are you ahead of us folks in Texas, or behind?’

  ‘Ahead,’ Ben answered impatiently. ‘What can I do for you, Captain?’

  ‘I sorta got some bad news for you.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Bad news? What kind of bad news?’

  ‘Well, you see, we kinda lost Caesar.’ There was an embarrassed tone in his voice.

  For a moment, Ben thought that he was hearing things. ‘Lost Caesar? How could you lose him? He’s at Joe’s Doghouse. I checked him in there myself.’

  ‘Caesar’s not there anymore,’ said De Silva. ‘Two guys posing as SAPD officers collected him this morning. We’ve found the SAPD uniforms they used, burned in an oil drum behind a gas station on the I-35.’

  Ben had gone cold all over. Very much awake now, he threw his feet over the edge of the bed and sat bolt upright. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Who would want to steal Caesar?’

  ‘I dunno. But an immigration officer at Laredo remembers seeing a healthy-looking brown labrador at the border-crossing this afternoon. He was in the back of a pick-up that matches the description of the vehicle the abductors used. It looks like Caesar could be in Mexico.’

  Ben decided to save all his questions for later. There was no time to lose, and a single thought dominated his mind – he had to get Caesar back. ‘I’ll be on the next flight out.’

  In one of the most rundown neighbourhoods in the city of Monterrey, the white pick-up truck made its way along a rubbish-strewn, unpaved backstreet. Here, a mob of barefoot children were yelling and playing soccer with the earnestness of seasoned professionals. From the back of the truck, Caesar, standing and unsteady on his feet, surveyed the scene unhappily. The children paid him no heed; there were plenty of dogs in this neighbourhood. They scampered across the dirt, imagining they were playing for Mexico in the World Cup. The children dodged and dribbled and dreamed of firing wickedly curving balls toward an imaginary net at the end of the street, scoring goals that would transform them into national sporting heroes.

  The white pick-up drew to a halt in front of a solid metal gate, flanked on either side by high concrete walls. A CCTV camera high atop a gatepost zeroed in on the vehicle. The driver leaned out of the open window and, grinning, gave a ‘V’ for victory sign to the camera. With a shudder, the solid metal gate opened and the pick-up rolled through it.

  East of the forecourt rose a grim four-storey concrete building. It was built around a central courtyard that housed a palatial swimming pool. It also had an American-style basement garage, and metal shutters adorned all its windows.

  Just as the driver and passenger were climbing out of the pick-up, two members of the Árbol cart
el emerged from a side door off the garage. They were wearing baseball caps, jeans and loose shirts, and armed with snub-nosed Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns. With fingers close to the triggers of their weapons, they watched the gate close. A cheer rose from the boys in the street – a goal had just been scored.

  From a watchtower on the roof, more Árbol guards kept watch over the scene with their M16 rifles at the ready. Once the gate shuddered to a close, one of the garage doors rolled up with a metallic clatter and a hum. A tubby man with an ugly scar down the left side of his face emerged and walked up the slope from the garage.

  ‘Vargas, my friend.’ The driver of the pick-up smiled. ‘We have that little gift for el padrino that you asked us to collect in Texas.’ He walked around to the rear of the vehicle.

  ‘I see that, Diego, amigo,’ Vargas said with delight, admiring Caesar. ‘Good job, compadre. Good job.’

  Standing in the back of the pick-up, Caesar regarded Vargas with suspicion.

  Diego lowered the tailgate while his partner, Tommy, unfastened Caesar’s leash. With a tug of the leash, Caesar reluctantly moved to the end of the tray. He sat down, looking unhappily at the ground. Diego reached into the back of the pick-up, took out a large sombrero and placed it on Caesar’s head. He then removed his sunglasses and placed them over Caesar’s eyes. The sight of the dog wearing a sombrero and sunglasses brought roars of laughter from the men.

  ‘I get a photo,’ said Diego, taking out his phone. ‘Me and César the wonder dog.’ He leaned in close to the labrador and took a selfie.

  Again, the men laughed. Caesar, knowing they were laughing at him, abruptly lowered his head, sending the sombrero flying and the sunglasses sliding from his nose.

  ‘Here, doggy!’ said Vargas, patting his leg. ‘Jump down here to me.’

  As Diego recovered his sunglasses, Tommy tugged hard on the leash, but still Caesar resisted leaving the back of the vehicle.

  ‘Come, César,’ said Vargas. ‘Chow time.’

  Caesar recognised the word ‘chow’. He and Ben had mixed with plenty of American soldiers over the past few years for both of them to become familiar with their term for food. Tempted by the mention of chow, Caesar jumped down to the ground and, with his tail wagging slowly, looked at Vargas expectantly.