Josh’s father was also in the Uniformed Division of the Secret Service, serving in almost every capacity for thirty-two years. Josh always knew he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he chose to start his career on an entirely different path. He majored in illustration at Syracuse University and became a webmaster in Virginia.
After four years of office work, he was ready to make the transition to the Secret Service. He briefly considered applying to become a Secret Service agent instead of a Uniformed Division officer, but that would have meant uprooting from his large extended family to transfer elsewhere. Agents usually start in field offices away from D.C.
Once he settled on UD, he hoped to eventually become a canine handler. “I thought it would be the coolest thing,” says Josh, who grew up with dogs.
Josh never envisioned himself in the canine world with a partner like Roadee, but the dog has proven himself a dedicated champ. He’s well respected at RTC, where he’s sometimes used to demonstrate how to do the job with focus and gusto.
Those traits follow him home as well. But at home, focus and gusto aren’t the coveted attributes they are on the job, and can quickly get out of hand.
A large yellow foam sponge rests on a counter in the kitchen. In its current state it looks like a giant piece of cheese with a corner that has been chewed away by a hefty mutant rat.
By coincidence, Roadee’s nickname is Splinter. When Roadee’s scraggly chin hairs and Fu Manchu mustache have not been groomed for a while, he bears a striking resemblance to Splinter, the wise martial arts mutant rat who mentors the four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Two days earlier, Josh had been using the yellow sponge for some tile work on a kitchen backsplash. He went out to talk with a neighbor for five minutes while Roadee was sleeping. When he walked back in, he discovered that Roadee (alias Splinter) had shredded a large chunk of the yellow sponge (alias cheese) to tiny bits. There were not enough shreds to account for the loss, so Josh knew he would be scooping the collateral damage for the next couple of days.
“Oh my God, five minutes, Roadee? Five minutes and you get into this?!” Josh knew it was his own fault, though. He doesn’t usually let down his guard with his feisty crime fighter for a second.
Ciela has the run of the whole house. She has been trustworthy since Josh’s first days with her. Roadee, however, lives the home life of someone who is not to be trusted.
He’s not as free-range as Ciela. He gets to go around most of the house as long as he’s at Josh’s side, but his room is a spare room in the finished basement. It’s a spartan room, with only a couple of dog beds and a couple of plastic kennels the dogs can use as dens. The idea is that Roadee can’t get into too much trouble there. Ciela often joins him.
One night after Josh and his family returned from a restaurant, he headed to Roadee’s room to check on how he was doing with the new cover his wife had put on one of the beds. He got to the room and walked back to the stairs.
“Honey, can you come down here, please?” he called up to his wife.
He didn’t want to face this on his own.
It looked as though a snowmageddon had stormed through while they were out. The cover was shredded to snowflakey bits all over the room. The bed itself had been divested of much of its foam.
Both dogs stood at the doorway as the couple surveyed the mess. Josh looked from one dog to the other. Ciela looked right back at him with a “You know I didn’t do this” expression. Roadee looked at him with a piece of foam clinging to the side of his mouth.
“What am I going to do with you, Roadee?”
The basement also has a living room/rec room, where Josh and the human kids like to hang out, watch TV, and play games.
If someone leaves the downstairs bathroom door open, Roadee will tiptoe across the carpeting and get into the trash can or rip toilet paper off the roll. If the children leave a toy out—which they rarely do because they’ve learned their lesson—it’s in grave danger.
Fortunately Roadee is Josh’s shadow around the house. Roadee wants to be with him all the time. When Josh watches TV in the upstairs living room, Roadee will sometimes watch him watching TV.
“It’s kind of creepy,” Josh recently told a friend. “He just sits and stares right at me with this look.”
At dinnertime, Roadee is supposed to stay far from the table, near the stairs. He usually has his favorite toy, a flexible red dog Frisbee, with him. As the family gets involved in a conversation, and food gets passed around, Roadee magically appears under the table with the Frisbee, usually folded in half like a rubber taco. He’ll place it at someone’s feet as if it’s an offering, a trade, for a bite or two.
When Josh discovers him, he has a special phrase.
“Go to your place, Roadee.”
Roadee takes his Frisbee taco and trots back to the stairs.
“Your place” does not specifically mean the stairs. It means “go somewhere farther away, please.” At the dinner table, it’s the stairs. In other situations, Roadee takes about twenty steps in whatever direction works, and settles in.
During a short lull in the dinner conversation, a little click-click-click-click is heard. Here comes Roadee again, trotting across the wood floor, the folded Frisbee in his mouth, hoping again to make a deal. Tonight it’s for chicken parm. But no one trades with him.
“Go to your place, Roadee.”
And back he goes.
At least for a while.
For all of Roadee’s foibles—Josh describes him as “just a little quirky”—Josh knows he’s worth the extra vigilance. He and the canine staff have tried to get to the bottom of the “glee pee” issue, but it appears to be firmly engrained. Josh has managed to work around it pretty well.
Roadee’s shredder tendencies can be controlled by being extra watchful. Josh doesn’t want the dog to have to live in his crate or be shut in a room all day on his days off. Roadee already gets plenty of exercise on his job and before work when he cuts loose outside, so more exercise is not the answer. And anyway, his energy is part of the reason he’s such a good detection dog.
Roadee has many admirers in the canine program.
“I may have laughed at Roadee when he came off the trailer, but he got the last laugh,” says Bill. “He’s a great dog, and Josh is a great handler. One of the best. They’re an excellent team.”
Josh has similar words about his dogs. As with most other handlers, the superlatives flow when describing his canines.
“Both my dogs have been the best,” he explains. “Ciela was the best at the EDT side when she was working. Other handlers will tell you their dog was the best but Ciela was the best. She really was the best.
“As far as the PSCO world, Roadee is the best. He really is. I have been very lucky. Both of them have been super eager to work, to please, very high drive, and I don’t see ‘quit’ in either of them.”
As the Secret Service looks at other uses for the Friendly Dog program, travel might become more commonplace. During the pope’s visit, Josh and Roadee took their first road trip. It was by van, so no planes to contend with. Roadee did well and remained focused for the detection work.
Josh carefully watched Roadee in the hotel so he wouldn’t eat the towels, sheets, and toilet paper. He wouldn’t let him out of his sight. If Josh left the room, he shut Roadee in his travel kennel.
If air travel becomes part of the job of the Friendly Dogs, Josh hopes Roadee will handle it with the cool aplomb of Ciela.
Josh smiles at the mental image of his scampish dog flying around the world in a military cargo plane on missions to protect the president with the big boys.
“I’m just as curious as everyone else how he’d do on a plane. It would be . . .” he says, and pauses, “interesting.”
CHAPTER 9
FREQUENT FLIERS
On the day after Thanksgi
ving 2015, exactly two weeks after the Paris terrorist attacks that left 130 people and a police K-9 dead, more than 100 in critical condition, and hundreds wounded, Jorge P. said his good-byes to his children on his way to a mission in Paris.
“Daddy, please don’t go!” his son, age six, pleaded.
“It’s too dangerous, Papi,” his eleven-year-old daughter told him quietly. “Do you have to go?”
They’d heard about the brutal ISIS attacks through friends and at school and for two weeks had been hoping their father’s upcoming trip would be canceled.
“Don’t you worry about anything,” Jorge told them. “Your brother will keep me safe.”
He reached down and petted his Malinois, Yuri. The children rushed over to hug the dog they thought of as their sibling.
“What about Yuri? Please bring Yuri back,” his daughter told him, tears brimming.
“Of course I will! I make sure Yuri is safe, and Yuri makes sure I’m safe.”
He crouched down to hug his children one last time. He savored the extra long embrace.
As he walked out to load Yuri into the van, his children grabbed onto his legs, one on each. He walked a few steps with the children clinging but had to get going to Joint Base Andrews.
“OK, you guys, let go. We’ll do FaceTime and I’ll be back before you know it!”
—
The Lockheed C-5 Galaxy military transport aircraft waits in hungry-shark mode on the tarmac at Joint Base Andrews. Its nose is unhinged, pointing skyward, and its gaping mouth of a cargo hold is ready to devour whatever comes its way.
The noise from its auxiliary power unit washes over the tarmac to an adjacent parking lot where eight Secret Service EDT dog handlers have been standing by since around noon. It’s been two hours, and still no sign of loading up. They’re used to delays. The planes are known for them. If it’s not maintenance or something mechanical, it’s a crew change.
They’ve got plenty to keep them busy. They toss a football, talk, walk their dogs, and catch up on texts and e-mails.
Their upcoming mission will take them to Paris, where the United Nations Climate Change Conference is being held. As usual, they’ll be sweeping for explosives anywhere the president will be going, from his hotel room to the conference sites. During the conference they’ll work wherever they’re needed to check incoming items or anything else that may need inspection.
It’s a routine mission, but the recent slaughter in Paris, with vows of more carnage from ISIS, is on everyone’s mind.
Earlier in the afternoon, handler Nate P. called his wife from his van to tell her he loves her. It’s not something he normally would feel the need to do before jetting off with his dog. He wanted to let her know, just in case.
Scott L. is thinking about his bride. They got married on November 14, the day after the Paris attacks. The trip has been weighing on both of them, but they have faith that his shepherd, Nico, will make sure nothing happens.
Jorge was going to buy the mother of his children a surprise ticket to Paris as an early Christmas gift. He had loved the City of Light during his first Secret Service trip there and knew she would enjoy it as well. But now there was no way he wanted her walking around the streets of Paris alone while he worked—or even at his side during his downtime. She appreciated the thought and said she would be fine if he just brought her back a nice purse, some macarons, and a rain check.
Kim K. had a quiet Thanksgiving the night before with her boyfriend. With all the training she’d been doing, and then getting ready for the trip, there was no time to prepare a big meal. They picked up their cooked Thanksgiving dinner at a grocery store and reheated it.
Her boyfriend didn’t let on if he was more concerned than usual. He knew she was in good hands with her dog, Astra. Even though the Malinois is trained only as an explosives detector, she is a textbook alpha dog, and he hoped this dog wouldn’t take guff from anyone who tried to mess with Kim.
Kim’s mother had been attempting to keep it normal, and to even appear optimistic. Kim read between the lines, though, when her mom was sending texts about every fifteen minutes in the week before the trip.
Most of the handlers here have worked with each other on overseas trips. They know each other well, trust each other, and have each other’s backs. They talk about this over a greasy cardboard box of cold french fries someone ran to the dining hall to buy before it closed.
“I think that our training, instincts, and confidence in our dogs will keep us as safe as possible,” Scott says. The others sharing the fries nod in agreement.
They also talk about the security plan for the Paris trip. It gives them confidence that they’ll be in a strong position to succeed no matter what.
They’re no strangers to flying to different countries during tumultuous times. Kim’s first overseas trip with Astra was to Kiev not long after the Ukrainian revolution in early 2014. Conflict was ongoing in the eastern part of the country, and the protester camps at Kiev’s Independence Square were still intact.
While the locals were welcoming, being so close to a conflict zone heightened Kim’s situational awareness. Astra’s too, it seemed. It may have gone down the leash. It seemed to go up the leash as well, with Kim becoming in tune with Astra’s breathing, heart rate, hair stance (whether it stood up or lay normally), and what she calls her “crazy eyes.”
One of the handlers at the Andrews flight line brings up the subject of Diesel, the French police dog who was sent in to search the apartment where the man suspected of orchestrating the attacks was holed up. The seven-year-old Belgian Malinois, who was going to be retired to his handler in a few months, was killed during a dramatic shoot-out with terrorists.
The hashtag #JeSuisChien (I am dog), a riff of the #JeSuisCharlie slogan born of the January 2015 Paris attacks that began at the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, had gone viral. Its presence in social media, in addition to ongoing reports of the whole Paris tragedy, reminds the handlers of how vulnerable their canine partners can be.
“It hits close to home,” says Jorge. “It makes it a reality. You think about it and realize it could be your dog.
“These dogs are one, your partner, two, your friend, and three, your kid. You can’t imagine losing them. You know it’s a possibility, but you don’t go there.”
—
Sergeant John F. walks over to the handlers with some good news. The dog handler, who is serving as the team leader, had just secured their seats on the C-5. They’re close to the steep, ladderlike rear stairs that lead down to the dogs, but not too close to the bathrooms, which tend to become ripe after a few hours. It can get cold by the stairs, but it’s worth being able to have easy access for checking on the canines during the flight.
The C-5 is one of the world’s largest military aircraft. Its cargo deck runs the length of the plane. At more than 120 feet long, 14 feet high, and 19 feet wide, the cargo area can transport some of the biggest military equipment. Today it will be carrying a variety of vehicles for the presidential entourage, other large equipment, and eight dogs in their travel kennels.
The upper deck seats about seventy-five passengers and crew. The seats face backward, toward the tail of the plane. There are no passenger windows, although some doors have tiny portholes. The setup can be disorienting, even to veteran fliers.
“It always feels like you’re crashing when you’re taking off, because you’re facing downward, like you’re falling,” says Stew.
Air sickness can be a problem, especially if the C-5 has to refuel in midair. The Air Force flight crew often passes out airsick bags before the precision operation that looks something like a giant insect mating ritual. It can become turbulent as the C-5 gets in position and extends its nozzle into the top of the tanker aircraft. Fortunately, today’s flight to Paris won’t require refueling.
John confers with the plane’s flight crew ag
ain and gulps a Red Bull as he heads over to the handlers. He’s not worried about staying up all night because of the caffeine. He manages to sleep no matter how much caffeine he drinks.
He updates the handlers with the latest. Loading probably won’t start until at least 5 P.M.
If the flight keeps getting delayed, the handlers may have to make another run to the dining hall when it reopens for dinner. They could purchase a basic cold meal on the plane but prefer to pack their own. They’ve all brought food for the trip, but more along the lines of snacks than meals. John has a hearty supply of beef jerky to go with his Red Bulls. Kim packed along fruit bars and pretzels in her stash.
With time on their hands, some of the handlers bring the dogs out for a photo in front of the air field. A couple of the dogs want to eat each other. Astra is muzzled until she gets to a place far from the other dogs, at the end of the row.
John’s dog, Ritshi, has zero aggression. If you pet him, he flops onto his back for belly rubs, much like Hurricane. John has to stop petting Ritshi so he’ll sit tall like the others. In the background, the C-5’s open shark mouth aims straight at them. So close, and yet so far . . .
—
The average EDT Secret Service dog will take 204 work-related plane trips in his or her career. Campaign years tend to be the busiest, with about thirty-six annually. But even during noncampaign years, with some twenty-four trips annually, Secret Service dogs are among the top frequent fliers of the canine world.
In 2014, the most recent year for which travel figures are available, Secret Service dogs worked in twenty-seven foreign countries, including Belgium, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, the Dominican Republic, Estonia, France, Germany, Guatemala, Israel, Lithuania, Malaysia, Mexico, Morocco, Myanmar, the Netherlands, the Philippines, Poland, Saudi Arabia, South Korea, Turkey, and Ukraine.
Dog teams rarely have to fly in commercial planes these days. Most transport is by military planes, especially for those on presidential detail. Those in the Service often refer to them as “car planes,” because they carry the vehicles that are part of the presidential entourage. While these planes are far less comfortable for handlers, they provide a much better setup for the dogs.
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