The woman was stitching a pair of shorts while the man read a book. Two young kids, a boy and a girl, were playing with toys in the grass nearby. They stood up and began chasing each other, laughing. Each was old enough to be in school.
None of them noticed Noelani or her colleagues. She didn’t want to startle anyone—or herself—like last time, so she coughed. The woman looked up first. She didn’t wave or even smile. Instead, she swatted at the man reading the book. It took a few tries before she finally caught his attention and he looked up. Must be a good book, Noelani thought.
“Hi, excuse me,” she said. “My colleagues and I are from Civil Beat. The online news journal? We’re doing a special report on homeless in Hawaii and was wondering if we could ask you some questions?”
The man and woman stared at them blankly while the kids ran off. Noelani reached into the plastic bag from the convenience store and pulled out one of the bottles.
“Would you like some water?”
The couple still didn’t react.
“Maybe they don’t understand English,” Evan said.
After a beat, the man slowly stood up and stepped forward. He had white hair and a beard and wore a crimson red Washington State Cougars T-shirt.
“Of course we understand English, young man. And you, young lady. What makes you think we’re homeless and not just having a family outing, spending the day in the park?” The man motioned to his belongings. “Perhaps we’re independently wealthy, free from the shackles of consumerism? Ever think of that?”
Oh God. Noelani’s ears began burning from embarrassment. The man stood straighter, raising the tip of his nose. He expected an answer.
“I… Ah, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”
The man raised his nose slightly.
“Apology accepted.”
He motioned for them to join him and the woman. The woman stood and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t mind him, and whatever you do, never marry a philosophy major. This is where you might end up. I’m Audrey. This is Martin.”
They all shook hands and introduced themselves. Noelani gave Audrey the water. Evan excused himself to wander around and take pictures—with permission. Martin noted Noelani’s roving eyes.
“You’re free to form any impressions you like,” he said. “But for the record, I dislike the term homeless. Our home is here, for the time being, but I prefer the term displaced population. It more accurately reflects our recent misfortunes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Noelani said. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Martin sat in his camping chair with a resigned look on his face.
“Thanks, Martin,” Noelani said. “As I mentioned, we’re doing a special report on the shrinking homeless—sorry, displaced population—in Hawaii. There’s been talk of decreasing numbers but nobody’s sure why. What’s your take?”
Martin leaned back and seemed deep in thought for a moment.
“Hell if I know,” he said. “But it sure isn’t affordable housing or better-paying jobs. More going to shelters, probably.”
“I checked into that,” Rachel said. “No increase in head count. In fact, it’s even dropped. There was a rumor that Honolulu was flying displaced people to the mainland but I couldn’t find any evidence of that.”
Martin shook his head. He had no further ideas or wasn’t about to share them.
“I know why,” Audrey said.
“Audrey,” Martin said sharply.
Noelani and Rachel exchanged looks. Audrey scanned their surroundings as if they were being watched. Noelani followed her gaze and saw nothing out of the ordinary but the back of her neck prickled.
“A few weeks ago,” Audrey began, “a man we knew, not closely, but enough to know he was… normal. You know, no drugs, not crazy. He chose this life, like us. A couple of men dressed in black took him in the middle of the night. They took him.”
Audrey’s voice was barely above a whisper. Noelani had to listen closely.
“How do you know this?”
“A lot of us were staying on Sand Island, near the BMX track. There’s room to spread out, but after a while you get to know your neighbors, watch out for each other. After he escaped, he came back to warn us. He heard the men talking, joking about cleaning up the streets. How they would come back for more. He left in a hurry and we never saw him again.”
“He didn’t go to the police?” Rachel asked.
Audrey smiled for the first time.
“HPD wouldn’t believe a word from someone like us. They think we’re all crazy or high. Sadly, that’s often true, but nobody’s going to care about less homeless on the streets, no matter the reason.”
“Did he say where they took him?” Noelani asked.
Martin shifted in his chair, looking uneasy to say more.
“Diamond Head,” he said. “It was Diamond Head for sure, and he told me he thought he was going to die. He warned us to leave Sand Island, so we did, and we’ve been here ever since.”
Rachel looked confused.
“Diamond Head’s been closed for years. If someone was kidnapped, why take them there?” she asked.
Noelani was short of breath, her stomach twisted in knots. Diamond Head was the last place her brother was seen before disappearing without a trace. The police had scoured the area before she searched with family, friends, and neighbors. Nothing.
The hopeless emptiness she felt that day returned, and with it, her mother’s drunken voice whispering in her ear: Did you find your brother?
FOURTEEN
Jake’s watch beeped, letting him know it was time. He wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and left the chow hall in a hurry. He went to the kennel, badged himself in, and went to see Koa. Every time since yesterday, Koa was waiting and watching alertly from his bed. Jake would rather have seen him up and pacing, displaying the pent-up energy required for a working dog. Perhaps he was still detoxing from whatever meds Montoya had him on.
“Hey, boy. How ya doing?”
Koa sat and watched him and began panting with his long pink tongue.
“You know, you should be careful that you don’t trip on that thing.”
Jake forced a laugh, trying to sound confident despite the silent pressure building in his head. Jake’s plan to reassert himself as the pack leader still depended on Koa. He stood there admiring his dog before reaching for the two empty bowls on the floor outside his kennel. Ahi had already fed and watered him this morning and would do so again later. The kennel was clean and spotless.
When Jake took the bowls away, he saw Koa watching him from the corner of his eye. He brought the bowls back to the food station and refilled them. He waited about a minute and then took it back and set it down in the same spot.
He’d been doing this since yesterday morning after Ahi had given him the idea. Providing Koa’s food and water was one of the quickest ways to build trust with a dog. But while it had taken Ahi a week to build that trust—still amazingly fast—Jake had to assume he didn’t have that long. So instead of bringing food and water twice a day, he brought it twice per hour.
“You ready to get back to work? Go outside and play?”
Koa looked at him, then looked away.
“Oh, you’re gonna play hard to get now, huh? I see how you are. Alright, I’ll be back soon, buddy.”
Jake left for the food station and began cleaning and organizing. There was always something to be done in a kennel and it usually involved cleaning. Jake didn’t mind; it had a Zen-like relaxing effect where he could zone out and think about what to do next.
Concerns about Koa’s mission kept gnawing at Jake like a dog chewing a bone. He couldn’t let it go and too many questions remained. Who was calling the shots for the mission? It couldn’t be just Geddon. And if not, who was he working for?
Earlier that morning, when he first showed up to the chow hall, Cooper, Harding, and a security guard abruptly quit talking the mom
ent he walked in. With hardly a nod, they got up and left, leaving Jake to eat alone. It was like being embedded with a new unit in Afghanistan. Nobody knew, trusted, or even talked to him. Until he proved himself, he was just a piece of meat for the grinder with a job to do and he had better not fuck it up.
While scrubbing the sink, his mind drifted back to his time at Lackland Air Base in San Antonio, Texas. All military dog handlers, regardless of branch of service, learned their trade with the 341st Training Squadron. The instructor for Jake’s class was Staff Sergeant Krueger. He was a short, thickly built man with a shaved head. It wasn’t hard to see the resemblance to a bulldog, which also matched his personality.
“Let me see a show of hands,” Krueger asked. “How many of you ever been bit by a dog? Not many. I’m just going to get this out of the way. It’s not a question of if you’ll ever be bit by your dog. It’s just a matter of when. It will happen. The good news is that no military working dog handler has ever been killed by their dog, at least not by mauling.”
Jake and some of his fellow trainees shifted uneasily.
“But the truth is, the sooner you get bit, the better. It’s like getting into a street fight. You’re nervous, anxious, not sure what to do. But the moment you get punched in the face, all that goes out the window and now it’s on. You can rely on your superior kung-fu fighting skills—unless, of course, you suck.”
That drew a few chuckles until someone raised a hand.
“Sir, what if the dog is just too aggressive?”
Krueger pondered the question.
“I’m glad you asked that. Some of the patrol dogs and breeds we use—Belgian Malinois, German and Dutch shepherds—have very strong prey drives. In fact, it’s a must. Only a small percentage of dogs even qualify for MWD training and about fifty percent of those graduate and certify. The ones that make it that far can be extremely alpha, so you must always remember that you are the pack leader. If you don’t claim that spot in your relationship, the dog will. Guaranteed.
“Now, the best thing you can do, and the first thing you must do, is establish trust. Even then, perhaps after a while, that trust can be taken for granted and tested. All good relationships have occasional setbacks that require maintenance and sometimes repair. Sound familiar?”
More chuckles.
“Handling a dog is no different than raising a child or dealing with a spouse or a fellow soldier. It’s based on earned trust and mutual respect. We have learned, and it’s been my experience, that dogs, like children, respond best to positive reinforcement. Those are the methods you will learn and follow.
“However, there may come a time when your dog physically challenges you to a point where you must respond appropriately. Under extreme circumstances, you may have to perform what is called an alpha roll. Anyone heard of it? Go ahead.”
“Basically, it’s when you wrestle the dog,” Corporal Nelson said. “Put him on his back to establish dominance.”
Krueger nodded.
“Very good, except there’s nothing basic about it. Putting a pissed-off, eighty-pound military working dog on his back is not easy or recommended. It is a last resort after all else has failed.”
Krueger rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and showed it to the class. Several crooked white scars were carved into his forearm. The sight drew several mutters and whispers.
“I hope you never have to perform an alpha roll with your dog. But if you do, it’s better to give up an arm than your neck or your face. Reduce your exposure, hold the dog’s legs securely to prevent injury, and hang on for dear life.”
Jake’s watch beeped. He’d been cleaning and spacing out for thirty minutes already. He put the broom away and noted the white scar on his left hand. He smiled and took the food and water bowls back to Koa. His dog looked up and began panting as Jake put the bowls on the floor.
“See you in half an hour, bud. And remember what I told you about that tongue.”
Koa tilted his head, watching Jake leave.
FIFTEEN
Montoya led Odin into the exam room for his checkup. He wasn’t due, but Cooper had insisted Odin needed one after he detected an irregular heartbeat. It wasn’t uncommon but was usually nothing to worry about.
Of course, she didn’t mind checking. It was not just her job—she cared about all the dogs as if they were her own. Odin had always been in perfect health, but if there was something wrong, she wanted to catch it early.
Her more immediate concern was being alone in an exam room with Cooper, and she surmised he was using Odin as a bullshit excuse to get close to her. The man creeped her out to no end, so she asked Davis from the front desk to assist and take notes.
“Alright, let’s get his weight,” Montoya said.
The exam room had a walk-on platform scale between the sink and supply cabinet. Davis went to grab Odin’s leash from Cooper, but Odin growled and bared his teeth as Davis approached. Odin was wearing a muzzle, as required for examinations, but the veterinarian assistant still froze in fear. Cooper glared at Davis and shoved him aside.
“Let me do it,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re even here.”
Davis looked like he didn’t know, either. Montoya gave him a reassuring smile. Don’t worry about it.
Cooper tugged on Odin’s leash and walked him onto the scale. After a few seconds, a digital number displayed and stabilized.
“Sixty-eight,” Davis said, writing it down.
“Okay, let’s put him on the table,” Montoya said. “Cooper, perhaps it would be safer for you to do that.”
Cooper laughed.
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
He reached down and wrapped his arms around Odin’s chest and under his hind legs. Odin growled, but once Cooper spoke a command into his ear, the dog complied. He then lifted Odin onto the table.
Montoya had been caring for the Belgian Malinois for nearly a year. He was a handsome dog with dark markings and exceptional drive, but lately he seemed to be growing more dominant. She was glad not be alone with Odin, either.
She pressed her stethoscope to Odin’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. She checked his lungs and intestines as well. After a few moments, she checked his heart again. As she expected, there was no evidence of an irregular heartbeat.
Montoya glanced up to Cooper, who was studying her closely. A creepy grin formed at the corners of his mouth, and she could only imagine what he must be thinking. God, she wanted this to be over with. It was like she was the one being given the exam as he touched her with his eyes.
She put her stethoscope away and began petting Odin’s back to relax him and get reacquainted with her touch. She then began gently massaging his body while checking for lumps and areas of discomfort.
“Wish I was a dog about now,” Cooper said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just jokin’, Beth.”
Cooper was close enough that Montoya could smell his body odor. She tried not to gag by focusing on her fingers raking through Odin’s coarse hair. She felt nothing but compact muscle. Satisfied, she went to the sink to wash her hands and breathe some fresh air. She grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands and turned to Cooper.
“Odin appears to be in excellent health, as always. I didn’t observe any evidence of arrhythmia or irregular heartbeat. His other organs seem fine as well. Perhaps his heartbeat seemed irregular after exercise, but if it continues, I’ll have to run more tests.”
“Naw, that’s alright. I trust you. I just wanted to pay you a visit, too, Beth. I don’t see you ’round much. Hope you don’t mind.”
Montoya huffed. So that was the real reason. Seriously? Davis looked away, visibly uncomfortable.
“I do mind, Cooper, especially if it’s not work-related. Davis can help you with anything else and update Odin’s records. We’re done.”
Cooper’s mouth opened to say something more, but she left in a hurry. Feeling his eyes on her, she shivered on her way out the door.
Bac
k in her office, she went to her desk and plopped down in her chair. A bitch of a migraine was coming on. She pulled a bottle of Excedrin from a drawer. She popped the last four with a drink of water and rubbed her temples. If only it could make the memories of this godforsaken place go away.
Her eyes fell on the picture taped to the side of her computer monitor. She was ten years old, and in her arms was Sheila, their Australian sheepdog puppy. Montoya was grinning from ear to ear and missing two front teeth. Her late father, José, stood next to her with his hand on her shoulder, his smile hidden under a bushy black mustache.
“Living the dream, Pop.”
She wondered what her father would think of her after everything he had sacrificed to give her a better life. Now she was part of a twisted program run by a sick man who hid behind the American flag to defend his actions.
To this day, she recalled the chilling conversation she had with Geddon as if it were yesterday. He had called her into a meeting in the main conference room after she gone into the tunnels unescorted. Expecting to be fired, she was quite surprised—and uncomfortable—to find it was only the two of them.
“Grab a seat, Montoya,” he said, noticing her hesitation. “And close the door.”
She closed the door and sat opposite him at the table. She pulled a pen from her coat pocket and began turning it in her fingers. Saying nothing for several long seconds, he just stared at her with his icy blue eyes.
“Excuse me, Colonel, but is there a reason for his meeting?”
He smiled, as if enjoying her sense of unease.
“Indeed there is. I thought it would be helpful to review our expectations around here, especially with someone of your background.”
“My background? I’m confused.”
“Your Ivy League credentials don’t mean shit here, Montoya. It takes a certain kind of individual to do this job. There’s no room for weak-willed bleeding hearts. A program like this, most dogs aren’t going to make it and many will have to be put down. That’s emotionally draining, but I thought you could hack it. I hope I wasn’t wrong about you.”
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