Prologue
Iniquus’ Cerberus Tactical K9 is Building Team Charlie
1
Halo
Shenandoah, Virginia
Basil St. John—code-named Halo—unfolded himself from the back of the gunmetal gray passenger van. For an hour and a half, he’d traveled west with Cerberus Team Alpha from Iniquus Headquarters in Washington, D.C., to the Shenandoah Valley.
“Shenandoah.” Halo moved those unfamiliar sounds around his lips and tongue, thinking it had a forlorn kind of feel to it. As Halo set his rucksack on the ground at his feet and sent his gaze up into the hills, he remembered an American Marine from Wyoming he’d met behind the wire of a UN military base back in Halo’s early days as an Australian Commando. With his sweat-stained cowboy hat, that Marine sat near the campfire, strumming his guitar, singing about home—lush with prairie grasses dancing under a bright sun during the day and the night’s sky a riot of diamonds overhead.
Those moonlit songs painted a picture of the mid-west in Halo’s imagination.
The pictures he’d formed of the East Coast, including D.C., the city he hoped to call home, came from the movies. Five days ago, Halo had flown in from New South Wales to interview for a job that had come available with world-renowned Iniquus Security.
Halo’s military record stood strong. But that record alone wasn’t going to get him a place on the teams. Even with the special operator boxes ticked, the Iniquus hiring process was a thorough one. Halo had spent days moving through daunting security scrutiny, followed by physical, ethical, and psychological tests. Iniquus had a worldwide reputation for integrity and excellence; they weren’t going to take on anyone who didn’t fit their specs, and that included American citizenship, high-level security clearance, and loyalty to the U.S. Constitution. Lucky for Halo, though he hadn’t been to the United States since he was a month old, he had, in fact, started this life in a New York City hospital.
As Halo stepped off the plane in D.C., he thought his mental pictures had pretty much lined up. But standing here in the parking lot with the sun just breaking over the horizon in the east, sending a golden glow over the height and breadth of the mountain range sprawling across the horizon, Halo had to admit that he hadn’t expected this—not so close to the capital city, anyway.
Today, Cerberus Alpha was at the base of the mountain, taking on a real-world mission.
The team had invited Halo along. It was a final test to see if he was a good fit for Iniquus’s K9 Tactical Team. Just like in all special forces units, only a portion of the job was about skill proficiency and technical knowledge. A big chunk of success was personality. Could you get along? Did you have a team mindset? Did they have confidence that you had their back when things got wild and hairy?
When facing life-or-death scenarios, trust was everything.
And today, there was a life on the line. A woman had wandered from her care facility into the foothills after a delivery man didn’t wait to hear the door snick shut behind him.
Throwing his borrowed pack over his shoulders, Halo watched a car park in the back corner of the lot. The driver jumped from the car and ran to the knot of distraught family members huddling close. A high-pitched wail rode the wind, and Halo imagined that could well be his own family if something like this were to happen to his gramps.
Halo turned to scan the sleepy-looking hill in front of him. It was hard to imagine that someone was out there and would soon be struggling to stay alive if the search teams didn’t get to her in time.
The family was lucky, though, in this one regard, trained search teams were amassing.
Max let out a high-pitched bark, looking for Halo and wanting out of his crate. Halo fell in line behind Ryder as the team unloaded their dogs from the follow van. Ryder was an Australian Commando brother. On his recommendation, Iniquus Command extended an invitation to Halo for the interview. And he was grateful.
Ryder tipped his ear toward the family, and Halo gave him a nod of understanding. It was tough to watch that kind of pain.
On the way out here, Ryder had told him that at times when circumstances presented as acutely perilous—be they missing children, someone with a medical condition, dangerous weather, or a suicidal war veteran—area officials often reached out to Cerberus to lend an assist while State resources scrambled.
When the Iniquus search teams were in town, they did their best to help. But they were often elsewhere—Team Bravo was training in the Caribbean, and Alpha was just now getting back from an Italian mudslide that trapped three contract-protected students for days in the debris.
Team Alpha was jet lagged and exhausted from the physical demands of their time in the dirt but put their personal comfort aside to be here.
Tripwire efficiently unloaded his German shepherd, Valor, from the K9 transport and stepped out of the way for Ryder to get Voodoo.
Today, Halo wanted two things very badly. He wanted Iniquus to offer him a contract, yes. But mostly, he wanted to be a force multiplier as the team worked to save a woman’s life.
Halo turned his attention to the van; it was his turn to get his dog.
Max sat proudly waiting, the tip of his tail vibrating with excitement. He knew they were going to work, and Max loved every minute of the physical and mental challenge.
“Ready to go, boy? Today, we’re not playing. Someone needs us to be in top form.” He unclasped the lock, and Max jumped down, rounding to flank Halo.
When Halo stepped out of the way for the next guy, Max pressed to his side. “Come on, Maxi, let’s get you into uniform. Today, you get to wear your helmet and goggles. Let’s see what Ryder says is in store for us.”
Halo had been training his K9, Take It to The Max, since he was about eight weeks old. As they got the call to interview for the position with Iniquus, Halo was celebrating Max’s second adoption day anniversary, which launched the Malinois full-blown into his doggy adolescence. And like human teens, that had its challenges.
Back in their early days together, when he was still a K9 handler with his Australian Commando unit, Halo would get home at night and work with his pup, patiently building the skillsets Max would need to reach his full potential. Tactical work, apprehension work, scent work, Max was a nose and a bite. And he enjoyed all of it—especially when he got to wear his doggy goggles. Dressing out in his tactical kit seemed to make Max feel badass.
Clipping the last buckle on Max’s borrowed blaze-orange vest, Halo checked his collar with its tracking and comms units affixed. “All’s good, Max.”
Ryder came over to sit on the bumper beside them. “You’re going to need the three Gs here, mate: goggles, gloves, and gators.” Ryder opened his pack and pulled those items out. “They’ll hand you a can of bear spray as we set out. Powerful stuff, you want to make sure it doesn’t leak on you or Max.”
Halo opened the loaner pack and pulled out a pair of gators. Just like in the Commandos, every item in the ruck was essential and organized into specific spaces. No matter what went down—no matter the field conditions—an operator could grab up anyone’s pack, reach in, and through muscle memory, put their hand on the lifesaving piece of equipment.
Problem was Halo hadn’t trained on the configuration. Handed this pack on the way out to the site, he learned a lot about what he might expect from today’s mission just from the equipment inside. Almost all the weight came from the water bladder and climbing ropes. Each tool could serve multiple purposes, and all were special forces quality construction. The wraparound goggles and the thickness of the leather gloves were a bit of a mystery.
Max watched with interest as Ryder and Halo attached the gators to their boots, pulling the thick, water-repellent cloth up over their pants legs, tightening them with the pull cord under their knees. This addition might help to protect from snake bites. More likely, though, they’d be serving to guard against ticks and a bug the Americans called “chiggers.” They were “scrub-itch mites” back home, and Halo would go a far piece to avoid those nasty buggers.
Goggles around his neck, gloves slipped into his belt, he squeezed the pocket on the left thigh of his borrowed gunmetal gray tactical uniform pants to double check his first aid kit, then to his lower leg pocket for his emergency sleeve with fire starting materials and signaling backup. With a sat phone in his right pocket, sealed safe with hook and loop fastener, Halo stood and pulled the rucksack over his shoulders as he saw the team heading toward the team leader, Ridge.
With a tap of his thigh, Max plastered himself to Halo’s side, and they set off together.
With his K9 Zeus at his side, Ridge had been conferring with the sheriff, but now he strode a distance from the building, and the team formed a horseshoe around him to gather the necessary mission details. The dogs sitting between their handler’s feet were ready to spring forward and get on task.
“Gentlemen.” After Ridge lifted his phone and swiped, each man reached down to retrieve the pinging phone in their pocket. “The first picture is our lost person. Gloria Haze, female, eighty-one. The only name she will answer to is Grammie. Diagnosed with dementia, she is, for the most part, non-verbal and non-responsive. She’s a new resident at this facility and has no history of wandering from here, so there are no historical search finds to check out. She’s not from this area, so she won’t be trying to return to a place from her past. Five foot two and a hundred pounds, Mrs. Haze is frail. Her carers last saw her in blue striped cotton pajamas and tennis shoes this morning. The camera that monitors the delivery door isn’t functioning. A hall camera last recorded Mrs. Haze at zero-five thirty. That means she has a two-hour jump on us. Now, frail and elderly does not always indicate the ability of a missing person.” Ridge turned to catch Halo’s gaze. “Last year, we were on a search for a man with dementia who was remembering his days on the cross-country team for his university. And every member of special forces knows that the brain can make the body do astounding feats. In that case, he was thirty miles down the trail when our ATV caught up with him. My understanding is that in her youth, Mrs. Haze was an avid hiker, which means we’re changing up our search protocol.”
Tripwire asked, “Only Mrs. Haze? The other residents are accounted for?”
“When they found the door ajar, they did a census,” Ridge said. “Mrs. Haze was the only one unlocated. We’re fortunate we aren’t looking for more.”
“Any information about a shoe tread?” Ryder asked.
“The sheriff is working on that for you.” Ridge looked toward the family huddle that had just grown by another carload. “The granddaughter is going to the store when it opens to see if she might recognize the style. If they get anything, they’ll send a picture of the tread to our tactical operations center, and you’ll get it on your sat phones.” He posted his hands on his hips. “On the subject of tracking, in this area, they’ve had rain showers off and on for the last three days. This might make for good track traps, so while you’re watching your dogs, keep an awareness. The ground, being wet, however, poses a threat should Mrs. Haze sit or lie down. With little fat or muscle protection, the ground will quickly wick her body heat away. I want each of you to grab a hypothermia bag from the duffle.” Ridge turned to Halo. “Wool socks, fleece hat, four hand warmers, and an extra mylar blanket.”
Halo nodded his affirmation.
“Since the time of disappearance, there’s only been a light breeze. The scent cones should have held close to the ground for your dogs. Your search areas.” Ridge handed out maps, marked in yellow highlighter, to all but Halo. The men looked down at their task sheets and then off into the distance, getting their bearings.
“There are no high-hazard areas in our search perimeters other than the terrain and the weather,” Ridge said. “Make absolutely sure that all structures and heavy brush are thoroughly investigated.”
“Sir,” the team said.
Ridge turned his attention to Halo. “I’ll talk to you about your duties momentarily.”
“Sir.” Halo had assumed he’d be trailing one of the others to learn their methods.
“A Virginia land navigation team is en route. They’re about two hours out. They’re also mounting an equestrian team. It’s going to be an all-hands-on-deck event. We’re running against a clock. In three hours, the weather front we were talking about on the way here this morning is going to make Mrs. Haze’s survival tenuous. I just got an update from our command center that we should expect sustained, heavy rains that will significantly limit our visual field. The temperature will drop into the lower fifties. So, let’s get on task. Blaze orange beanies, team, small game hunting season has begun in Virginia.”
Tripwire jogged off toward one of the vans while the others held tight, dropping their maps into silicon sleeves that hung from their packs. Arriving back in the circle, Tripwire handed Ryder one of the duffels. Ryder distributed the hypothermia packs around while Tripwire handed out the promised bear spray. After storing the additional support pack in his ruck, Halo clipped the pepper spray on his left, ready for a quick draw.
Tripwire nudged him. “Hey, in case you’ve never experienced this level of capsaicin, pointing downwind is your friend. If you spray into the wind, and it dowses you, the bear just thinks he’s having gourmet for dinner.”
“Fair warning,” Halo said.
Tripwire caught Halo’s gaze. “It’s fat bear season. They’re getting their last bites in before they settle in for a long winter’s nap. They’re out looking for food. Keep an eye on your dog.”
“Yeah.” Mental note: research American bears and survival techniques. There were lots of deadly critters in Australia, but bears weren’t on that list.
Ridge did a comms check, and the team each took their compass direction and headed out.
Max looked up at Halo expectantly. He got a hand signal that told him to sit and wait.
“Typically, we have our two bloodhounds, Whisky and Chaser, out on a trail,” Ridge said. “They weren’t available today.” Ridge sent a glance down to Max. “Reaper was impressed with Max’s stamina while trailing, especially for such a young dog.” Reaper was the Cerberus chief training officer. If he was impressed, that was good news. “While the others are air scenting, I want Max working nose to the ground.”
“Sir.” Max was going to love that. Trailing was one of his favorite things to do.
Ridge bladed his hand toward the building. “The sheriff is beside the door they found open, which he believes was Mrs. Haze’s exit point. He has a plastic bag with the subject’s scent source—a nightgown she wore yesterday.”
“That’ll work.”
“I know we’re throwing you into the unknown,” Ridge said, “but that’s why we hire special forces. Roll with it. But when you come against questions, I expect you to radio them to the team. The main thing you’re to remember is that if you spot our subject, in the civilian world, we treat every find as if it were a crime scene, so minimal trace on your part.”
“Sir.”
Ridge clapped his hand onto Halo’s shoulder. “Let’s hope someone makes that call and makes it soon.” Ridge looked up at the sky. To Halo, it looked like a fine day. But Ridge pulled his brow together.
Checking his compass and grid, Ridge and Zeus took off into the woods.
When Halo looked down, Max’s muscles were taut, his eyes expectant. He was ready. “All right, Maxi, here we go.” Though their window for a successful recovery was narrow, any anxiety for Mrs. Haze’s safety had to be set aside so stress didn’t interfere with their task as they worked the problem. “We’re going to treat this day like any day we’re out there training. Calm and steady, good focus, hey?”
The only thing was this wasn’t a typical training day. Ridge trusted them with the trailing task, a position of high importance.
This was Max’s first time putting his skills to the test on a mission with real-world consequences. Halo shifted his attention to the family huddled together, arms holding each other tight, the sounds of broken sobs fracturing the otherwise silent soundscape. A family was desperate for the team’s success—their loved one’s life on the line.
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