Landshark

by Brian Tormanen

  “Montoya’s not needed for this meeting. Grab a seat.”

  Decker sat next to Dr. Levski, who nodded and tried his best to smile.

  “Once again, my apologies for yesterday, Jake,” he said.

  Decker shrugged it off, but he still seemed pissed about it. Maybe it was the scar. Geddon recalled reading in his file how shrapnel from the IED nearly ripped his face off. When they found him, Koa had somehow crawled back and was lying on his chest, half-dead.

  “Alright, let’s get started.”

  Geddon played a video from his laptop. A giant wall-mounted monitor to their left came to life. The video clip showed a Belgian Malinois surrounded by a group of Taliban. The dog was wearing a black tactical vest and his ears were pinned back in fear. The insurgents were waving their guns in the air, praising Allah as if the bastards had just won some great victory. Geddon began narrating.

  “The Taliban released this video in February 2014, but it was believed taken in December the previous year. A British MWD went missing and turned up captured. NATO command confirmed the video was real.”

  “I remember hearing about that,” Decker said. “What happened to the dog?”

  “Unknown. Dogs are nothing but mongrels to most Afghanis. They’re dirty animals with diseases, and most of them are—as you know. But the Taliban aren’t idiots; they know what MWDs are capable of. Indications were the dog was well cared for and used as bait for a prisoner swap.”

  Geddon ended the video and pulled up a picture of a young kid who was about fourteen years old and sitting on a colorful rug outside a mud-brick hut. He was smiling and had his arm around a mixed breed dog that clearly had some shepherd in him. The dog’s face had a striking resemblance to Koa’s, but his body was less black, more tan. Geddon circled the boy’s face with a laser pointer for several seconds before he spoke again.

  “This is Hamza bin Laden. Son of Osama, martyr of Al Qaeda, and murderer of three thousand American lives on 9/11. Our source was killed after providing us this intel. Skinned alive.”

  A sour bile taste filled Geddon’s mouth. He took a drink of water and continued.

  “As a kid, Hamza had a thing for Western movies and TV shows featuring dogs. Seeing American and NATO troops with MWDs made him want a dog of his own, and he finally got his wish. Unfortunately, the dog got in a fight and died of rabies.

  “Years later, SEAL Team Six takes out Osama and other high-value Al Qaeda targets. They were all but beaten until Hamza came of age and began calling for Jihad against the Afghan government and coalition forces. And he did it from Pakistani soil, our supposed ally. Now Al Qaeda’s ranks are increasing while ISIS is on the run and we’re stuck playing whack-a-mole.”

  “So the kid likes dogs. What’s this have to do with Koa?”

  Geddon answered by closing the picture of Hamza bin Laden and playing another video.

  “Watch this one.”

  The video began with a blank, dark screen. Geddon adjusted the volume until they heard a shallow rhythmic sound. Then there were voices.

  “Hey, boy. Who’s that?”

  …

  “Koa. Seek, seek!”

  It was Decker’s voice, then others.

  “What are you doing?” Montoya asked.

  “Open this fucking gate. I’m going in.”

  “Uh, the hell you are.”

  “Let him in,” Geddon said. “He’s going to have to sooner or later.”

  “Then I say later. Let them get used to—”

  “Montoya. Just open the damn gate or I’ll do it myself.”

  Decker leaned forward in his chair. He looked at Geddon, then back at the video. After a few more seconds of darkness, the world suddenly came into focus. It was from the ground level of Koa’s kennel. Blue digital markers in the corners of the frame displayed the date, time, and GPS coordinates.

  The video blurred and spun around, zooming in on the shocked look on Decker’s face, his mouth agape. Decker fell back and began kicking to ward off Koa’s attack. He yelled out, his voice cracking from fear.

  “Koa, down! Platz!”

  Geddon studied Decker’s reaction. He didn’t look so good. His reunion had been recorded like a first-person-shooter video game. Geddon paused the video.

  “What the…? How did you get all that?” Decker asked. “Koa wasn’t wearing a vest. There was no mic or camera.”

  Geddon waited for Decker to figure it out for himself. The answer washed over his face.

  “His eyes,” Decker said. “There was something about his eyes.”

  Geddon nodded. “Tactical vests have been used by SEAL dogs for a while. Kevlar, embedded cameras, mics, nothing new. But with these augmentations, no tac-vest is needed. Vladi can explain more.”

  Dr. Levski cleared his throat.

  “Koa had severe damage after IED attack. In fact, he arrived dead after explosion. You were told the truth about this, Jake, but he brought back to life shortly after. We stop bleeding using synthetic plasma to repair damaged tissue—”

  “Hang on. Synthetic plasma? What kind of shit are you putting into him?”

  Levski smiled, apparently pleased.

  “Plasma only one part of blood, yes? We make all parts better. First, better coagulation agent to stop bleeding faster. This number one cause of death in combat injuries. We then engineer special cells with hyper-mitosis so cells replicate much faster.”

  Decker looked like he was drinking from an information fire hose. Levski smiled and continued.

  “Yesterday you see result of bio-prosthetic I mention. Legs work very well. They contain AI microprocessors that learn and adapt. Can even be used as weapon. As you see, Koa move very fast, like normal. His eyes also badly damaged from IED. Completely blind.”

  Levski shrugged.

  “Replace eye cornea no big deal. Easy transplant for old dogs these days. But we create light-sensitive cornea lens with video-capture ability.”

  “And his eyes, they can transmit?”

  Levski pointed to the wall monitor.

  “You see proof yourself, yes? Cornea lens capture data and transfer to receiver in ear through nanocircuits wired to brain. Maybe you see small mole inside ear, yes? That no mole. It just looks like mole, but it can receive audio-video signal and then transmit to satellite.”

  Levski paused at Decker’s reaction.

  “I know what you must be thinking, Jake. This all sound like crazy Mission Impossible type stuff, but it is true.”

  Decker turned to Geddon.

  “Can we skip the James Bond shit for a minute, sir? What’s the objective here? I know what my role is, but what’s Koa’s job in all this?”

  Geddon took a drink of water. Now for the fun part.

  “Koa will be inserted by a black ops team into Pakistan, close to where we believe Hamza bin Laden is located. He’ll be left for capture—a Trojan Horse, if you will.”

  Geddon held up a hand at Decker’s reaction.

  “Let me explain. Once Koa’s found, he’ll be brought to Al Qaeda leadership because they’ll see they have another MWD they can use for propaganda. But once Hamza sees the kind of MWD they have, a stud German shepherd with bionic toys, he’ll want to see Koa for himself.”

  Decker leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

  “And Koa will be used for what exactly?”

  “By tracking Koa’s embedded GPS, he’s going to lead us to Hamza’s exact location. And not just him, but his entire Al Qaeda cell. We’ll gather any intel we can from captured audio and video, and when the time’s right, we’ll send in a team to smash those fuckers.”

  Decker grew quiet. Geddon knew he’d be thinking of the million things that could go wrong on any mission. Many of them were possible—if Geddon had told him everything.

  “I don’t know,” Decker said. “Koa’s not exactly your average-looking MWD anymore. His legs are a dead giveaway. They’ll be suspicious.”

  “Right, and that’s just it. He’s not jus
t any MWD. With metal prosthetics and augmented technology, he’s an MWD on steroids. Our enemies love capturing our high-tech toys, and this one will literally bite them in the ass.”

  Geddon was afraid he almost said too much, but he could tell Decker’s mind was spinning too fast to notice.

  “Why not just take them out with a Predator drone?” Decker asked. “Drop a JDAM on their ass.”

  “We still need to find him first, but on Pakistani soil? He’s not in the autonomous tribal areas where we can just bomb the shit out of people. Wherever Hamza is, you can bet your ass he’s better guarded than Osama was. That likely means a densely populated area where a drone strike would take out too many civilians. Unfortunately, we can’t get away with that shit anymore… Look, it took us damn near ten years to get Osama because of a lack of intel. Ten years. We can’t make that mistake again.”

  Decker leaned forward in his chair and thought quietly. After a minute, he tilted his head back and chuckled. It wasn’t the reaction Geddon was expecting.

  “Wow,” Decker said. “A doggie drone. I’m sorry, sir, but that sounds pretty crazy and a helluva lot like a suicide mission.”

  Geddon gritted his teeth, feeling his hackles rise.

  “Now, hang on. Nobody’s talking about a suicide mission here. We don’t leave anyone behind, and that includes our dogs, understood? But this kind of war requires thinking outside the box, just like those bastards did to us on 9/11. Now we have a surprise for them, and when the hammer drops, SEAL Team Six will be there to pull Koa out. You have my word on that.”

  The last part was a lie, of course, and he couldn’t care less about collateral damage from a drone strike. There would be no SEAL Team Six extraction just to save a damn dog, but it would be a noble sacrifice. For Geddon, this was the beginning of the end, where the angels of death would rejoice at the enemy souls he would cast into hell to avenge the death of his son and America’s fallen, to—

  “Colonel?”

  Decker and Dr. Levski were both staring at him. Damn, he must have blanked out again.

  “Sorry,” Geddon said. “I was just thinking of something, but as I was saying, this mission is vitally important to national security and we need your help. Koa needs your help. We need Cooper able to give remote commands to Koa once he’s on the ground and in position.”

  And then unleash hell.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Decker said. “But this doesn’t seem right. Sounds risky—too risky. And Koa’s rehab. His stress levels are off the charts. He didn’t even recognize me yesterday.”

  “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, sir, but our trust relationship has to be rebuilt from scratch. That’s not going to be easy.”

  “Didn’t say it was going to be easy.”

  Decker exhaled, appearing frustrated already.

  “How much time do we got?”

  Geddon glanced at Levski.

  “We still have work to do, so just do your best. Regardless of how crazy this plan sounds, you don’t know the half of it because, frankly, it’s not important for your role here and you don’t have the clearance. All you need to know is that Koa’s my top dog, and I need him ready ASAP.”

  Decker stared at the paused video on the wall display, his horrified expression staring back at him like a mirror. Finally, he stood up with his game face on.

  “Then I better get started.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  Decker left, limping from the conference room. Levski waited for Decker to be out of earshot.

  “I think he believe you. He will do his best.”

  Movement outside in the distance grabbed Geddon’s attention. On the training field, Cooper and Harding were warming up Odin on the agility course. The Mal ran and jumped, clearing the obstacles effortlessly. Damn, what a specimen. Ahi joined them and began putting on his padded decoy suit.

  “I hope so, Vladi,” Geddon said. “I hope so, or it’s going to get really fucking ugly around here.”

  ELEVEN

  Cooper brought Odin outside for his morning exercise and training session and already it was hotter than a chili pepper. When he had learned of this gig in Hawaii, he had imagined lush green landscapes, blue surf, and tight bodies in bikinis. Not this lifeless, rocky landscape of parched grass and ugly trees inside a goddamn crater.

  He longed for the green, wide-open spaces of his home state of Tennessee. At least they had proper seasons, college football that didn’t suck, and real barbecue. But by his reckoning, he wouldn’t be here much longer. Oh, no. They were close—he could feel it. Hell, there were only two dogs left, anyway. Odin, and that freak Koa with his gimpy joke of a handler.

  Harding was walking alongside and putting on the bite sleeve.

  “What are you gonna do after this is over, Harding?”

  Harding finished buckling the straps. His bottom lip stuck out from a wad of chewing tobacco.

  “Head back to the mainland, I guess. Just want to get off this rock and take a long drive again. One coast to the other. You?”

  “I got it all figured out. ’Member them SEALs that killed Osama bin Laden, wrote about it, and got in a heap of trouble? Well, since I ain’t military no more and this mission’s off the books, I don’t have to worry about none of that. After I take that boy and his clan down, I’m gonna write me a book and get my fifteen minutes of fame. Then I’ll buy me a bunch of acres back in Tennessee and open my own MWD and K9 academy. After savin’ America from another 9/11, shit, I’ll have my own TV show.”

  Cooper didn’t mind government work. The money was good, especially for nasty black ops projects like this one. Colonel Geddon had bought off everyone with bonuses, incentives, and a thinly disguised threat of death for talking. Cooper didn’t care at the time, but the colonel seemed more uptight, even unhinged lately. It was best to be moving on.

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Harding said and spat. “You gonna breed, too?”

  “Yup. Gotta start with good stock, though. Man, I wish I could breed this boy right here, but he ain’t gonna be around much longer.”

  Odin yanked on the end of his leash, pulling it as tight as a rubber band. He was a handful, as most Mals were, but prey drive wasn’t something that could be taught, and this bad boy had it in spades.

  Harding spat again and wiped his lip.

  “You don’t think that Decker guy can turn Koa around?”

  Cooper scrunched his face.

  “Gimpy? Hell, no. That dog’s too far gone—Decker don’t look much better. I tried tellin’ Geddon a good dog’s only going to obey one handler, but he won’t listen. He’s convinced it won’t matter ‘cause of them high-tech toys. But Odin don’t need any of that shit. I told him all we need is a vest and camera. We’ll mic him up and take them boys out old school.”

  They were near the start of the obstacle course now and Odin was vocalizing excitedly. Cooper felt the dog’s tension and boundless energy at the end of his leash. It was time to play.

  “When you want to start?” Harding asked.

  “Let’s warm him up first,” Cooper said, looking behind them. “Going to take fat boy a while anyway.”

  Ahi was still struggling with the bite suit while trying to catch up.

  Harding smirked.

  “Yeah. Looks that way.”

  Cooper unclipped Odin’s leash and pointed at a four-foot wall. The dog jumped and sailed over the obstacle with ease, completing the rest of the course without a word.

  After a few minutes, Cooper recalled Odin and grabbed his leash. Harding pointed a black rubber pistol at Cooper while keeping the bite sleeve down at his side.

  “Hot sauce!” Harding yelled. “Hot sauce!”

  Odin barked furiously and yanked on his leash, pulling Cooper forward. The words hot sauce were used in apprehension drills to agitate the dog, but they sounded funny coming from a corn-fed country boy like Harding.

  Cooper yanked back on Odin’s le
ash.

  “Zit!”

  Odin sat and stayed as Harding raised the pistol in the air.

  “Hot sauce!”

  Odin looked up to Cooper with his sharp, gold-brown eyes, and it was what he loved about being a dog handler—seeing that burning, primal desire, the pleading in its face. Can I, daddy? Oh, please, let me bite him!

  “Stellen!”

  Cooper dropped the leash and let Odin have his reward. The Mal flew at Harding’s arm holding the gun. Harding pivoted and gave Odin the bite sleeve. Odin bit into it with two hundred pounds of pressure per square inch. It was enough to break a man’s arm, and Cooper would know. He’d seen his dogs do it.

  “That’s my boy,” Cooper yelled. “Get some. Get some!”

  Odin growled savagely and shook his head. After a minute, Harding began gritting his teeth and his face turned red. He tried pulling his arm away, but Odin’s jaws were sunk in deep.

  “Fuck—call him off!”

  Cooper picked Odin’s leash off the ground.

  “Los!”

  Odin wouldn’t release. He was going to rip Harding’s arm off.

  “Call him off!”

  “Los! Loslaten!”

  Odin ignored the Dutch commands. He rushed over and grabbed Odin by the back of the neck.

  “I said los, goddammit!”

  Cooper smacked Odin on top of the head with the leash and he finally let go. Odin yelped and recoiled with a snarl. Even Cooper had to admit his damn dog was too much at times. Odin may be an alpha dog, but Cooper was sure as shit the pack leader and that was that.

  “Dammit, boy, you better listen to me!”

  Cooper checked on Harding. He already had the sleeve off and was massaging his forearm. Frustrated with Odin, Cooper whipped around, looking for Ahi. The fat bastard still didn’t have his bite suit on.

  “Hey, retard, we ain’t got all day. You need instructions for that thing?”

  Ahi just finished squeezing his left arm into the suit and zipped it up. He was sweating already. How pathetic.

  “Sorry, Cooper. I think I need a bigger suit.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with the suit. You’re just too damn fat. What you need is more cardio.”