The Two Dog Solution, page 4
Dilya! She’d shoved hard against his shoulder, driving him out of the aisle—plummeting to the floor out of harm’s way. He saw her swing her arm down and a black folding knife dropped into her palm. She snapped it open with a practiced flick.
The blonde in the scarf remained perfectly still as a man in khakis and a black dress shirt eased toward her along the aisle from close behind his and Dilya’s positions. He ignored Jimmy and Dilya as if they were of no consequence.
From his vantage sprawled on the floor, Jimmy saw the man cock his hand back like Spiderman ready to throw a sticky web. Then he recalled an exhibit in the CIA’s Cold War museum. A gun that strapped onto the underside of a person’s forearm. When fired, the hand had to be raised to not shoot your own fingers.
He had it raised halfway to the blonde’s chest but he hesitated. With an upstroke of her arm, Dilya’s jabbed her knife deep into his forearm. The man screamed as blood poured out of the wound.
Zackie jumped up high enough to clamp a hard bite on the man’s injured arm. When he moved to strike at Zackie, Merle latched onto his crotch, which elicited another scream.
A woman as dark as Dilya but several inches shorter stepped up behind the man. With no hint of mercy, she sent the man crashing facedown onto the floor mere inches from Jimmy.
He rolled aside to avoid the blood pouring from his arm.
The woman held him pinned there with a boot on the back of his neck as she searched him for other weapons.
The blonde knelt down and zip-tied his hands and feet.
And one of the older women behind the table struggled to her feet—Miss Watson! She reached out to pet Zackie, who nudged her shin.
Then she looked down at the man. “Carlo.” She casually rested a foot on his bloody forearm, “Now tell me who sent you after all these years.”
12
For all of the training she’d had, including growing up in a war zone, Dilya had never actually hurt someone before.
Carlo screamed his pain and fury as Miss Watson questioned him and Emily Beale knelt on his back to keep him pinned.
Dilya could only bury her face in Kee’s shoulder.
Her stepmom held her close and stroked her hair. “I’m so glad you texted me yesterday, Dilyana.” Her whisper was too soft to carry beyond Dilya’s own ears but hearing her full name felt like a wake-up call, as if a memory had suddenly jostled her. A memory of…Jimmy saying her true name. And while trying to be angry that he’d discovered it, realizing that she liked the sound of it coming from him.
She forced herself to look back at the scene.
There’d been some additional screams from those who’d witnessed the moment but those rapidly subsided.
Now the tableau had changed.
The man still lay facedown on the floor with a white handkerchief turned red with blood bound around his arm.
The tall blonde, who Zackie had recognized, held an impressive array of weapons. As she handed the massive scarf back to Miss Watson, Dilya spotted the edge of the bulletproof vest Emily Beale wore under her elegant jacket.
As she and Jimmy had left the Cog Railway forever and twenty-four hours ago, she’d sent two texts. The first to her stepmom and the second to Emily Beale at her Montana ranch. She knew that she could rely on them to handle any situation. They were the two most dangerous women she’d ever met.
Frank Adams stepped into the room. He picked out the disturbance before his second foot made it through the doorway. Two other agents followed him over.
“Is it done?”
Emily smiled at him. “Your timing is perfect as always.”
His grunt at the jibe didn’t sound pleased. Another story Dilya didn’t know and would have to ferret out of them—some other day.
Frank picked up the prone man by the scruff of his neck as if he weighed less than a Sheltie dog. He shook him once—hard—then tossed him to the two other agents and waved them away. “What am I charging him on?”
Miss Watson stepped forward. “Five counts of murder, the details are already in your email inbox, and the attempted murder of Major Beale while posing as me.”
Frank blew out a sharp breath as he squared off to face Miss Watson. “So, the mystery lady has emerged from the basement.”
Miss Watson tipped her head graciously. “By the way, you’ll want to have a chat with the President. The new head of the Russia Desk at the CIA is the one behind the murders. Carlo’s talents were engaged against US citizens on US soil—which breaks every CIA rule, in an attempt to hide a dirty past of the Russia Desk. He knew that I knew about that past. I stayed in one place too long and rumors of my existence leaked out. Discovering I still lived, he came hunting me—assassinating my peer group of librarians as he tried to trace me. I’ll also send you the recording I just made of Carlo fingering him.”
Frank’s smile promised full retribution. “Consider it done.” Then he scrubbed a hand in Dilya’s hair—the only person to ever get away with that—and strode away before she could bat his hand away.
Miss Watson led them all to a quiet corner of the room before turning to her. “Thank you, my dear. Calling in your second mother and Emily was very well done. I’m glad you learned the lesson I so failed at, to seek the help of others when needed.”
Dilya barely managed a nod. She could still feel every moment of stabbing Carlo in the arm. The slip of the blade as it impacted the hidden arm-gun. Then, as the razor-sharp tanto point slid into flesh and impacted bone, twisting it to drive it deep into his wrist tendons to disable his attack.
Emily used a water bottle from a nearby table to rinse off her knife over a handy garbage can, then folded it closed and held it out.
Dilya shook her head. She never wanted to see it again.
Emily grabbed her wrist, pushed up her sleeve to expose the sheath, and slid in the knife. Without letting go, she looked down at her with those perfect blue eyes. “You did what was necessary, no more. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
Dilya wanted to turn away.
Ever since she’d first met Emily, as a terrified orphan refugee meeting the Army’s best attack helicopter pilot, she’d wanted to be like her. “How…?” but she couldn’t form the question. How did women like Emily, like her second mom Kee, kill people?
Being Emily, of course she had no problem reading Dilya’s expression. “By never becoming used to it. I still feel every single one. And I can only hope that the world is a better place for each of those I or my team took down.”
Kee was nodding her agreement.
Emily patted the knife now hidden against Dilya’s wrist one last time as if confirming that’s where it belonged—and how could Dilya ever argue with Emily—then turned to Miss Watson. “Any plans? Returning to the White House basement?”
Miss Watson now stood almost as tall as Emily. She’d been a great beauty in her youth and it still showed. Her hair had come loose and now hung in a silver cascade past her shoulders. “I was thinking about finding a place in the sunlight after all these years hidden away.”
“I happen to know a nice ranch in Montana. You’d be more than welcome.”
“That, my dear, is one of the nicest offers I’ve ever had. None better since Dilya agreed to let me teach her eight years ago.” Her nod accepted the invitation, then she glanced at Dilya. “There remains the final disposition of my library.”
Dilya didn’t know what to say. If she took over the library of Miss Watson’s tradecraft books, then she’d be setting herself on a path that would only lead to more situations like this one—or worse. But she’d spent so long training for this, much of it without realizing, that she didn’t know where else to turn.
It was the obvious choice. So why was it churning her stomach into knots?
Then a hand slid down her hair before tucking around her waist.
“Super wicked über extra cool, Dilyana,” Jimmy whispered for her alone.
She’d peripherally been aware of him righting tables, calming people, rearranging scattered books and flyers. The geeky boy had turned into a geeky man who was good with people and knew what he wanted. Far more than she did.
And one of the things he wanted was her.
New Hampshire. What might await her there?
She remembered last year’s conference at the Bretton Woods Resort close by the Cog Railway. Remembered the Secret Service agent and her dog who had saved hundreds of lives there, then retired to become their new head of security. Perhaps she’d like an assistant.
Dilya looked at the three women awaiting her: Kee, Emily, and Miss Watson. Each had filled such a huge role in her life. Yet each had traveled along such different paths—shooter, pilot, and spy now turned stepmother, friend, and mentor.
She looked up at Jimmy. Patient and doing his best to hide any sadness from her. Hiding it for her sake.
She’d felt safe since the first moment Kee had rescued her long before she became Dilya’s stepmom. She’d felt when Carlo had picked up their trail. And now she felt ready to choose her own path as they had.
Dilya looked down at Zackie and Merle, who were lying across her and Jimmy’s toes, and couldn’t help smiling. When she looked back up, all three women were smiling at her as if they had read her decision before she knew it herself. Read it and approved.
“I think that what I need to do next,” she looked at Jimmy, “is go train a dog in New Hampshire.”
“Really?” Jimmy cried out as he tried to spin her to fully face him. But both of them had twenty pounds of Sheltie lying across their toes and ended up tumbling to the conference floor. On the convention floor of the Special Librarians Association was a weird place for their first kiss. She could think of many worse places to be, but not many better ones.
Ignoring the two dogs happily attempting to join in did cause some problems though.
END NOTE
Regrettably, I was unable to locate Sylvester Marsh’s survey map in the Library of Congress database of their collection, if there ever was one. However, as they do still possess a number of as yet uncataloged maps, I continue to have hopes.
On that note, my amazing research librarian wife found these, which might amuse:
For a deep dive, there’s a book titled Sylvester Marsh and the Cog Railway.
The 1894 Railroad Map of New Hampshire, which does include the Mount Washington Cog Railway. However, it is mislabeled as still belonging to the Concord and Montreal Railroad though it had been transferred to the Boston & Maine Railroad in 1889 (note the detail section showing the Cog Railway line itself).
http://www.old-maps.com/nh/nhs_1894_Railroad.htm
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White House Protection Force #1: Off the Leash
OFF THE LEASH (EXCERPT)
IF YOU ENJOYED THAT, YOU’LL LOVE THIS TALE!
OFF THE LEASH (EXCERPT)
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. That’s his name. And he’s yours now.”
Sergeant Linda Hamlin wondered quite what it would take to wipe that smile off Lieutenant Jurgen’s face. A 120mm round from an M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank came to mind.
The kennel master of the US Secret Service’s Canine Team was clearly a misogynistic jerk from the top of his polished head to the bottoms of his equally polished boots. She wondered if the shoelaces were polished as well.
Then she looked over at the poor dog sitting hopefully on the concrete kennel floor. His stall had a dog bed three times his size and a water bowl deep enough for him to bathe in. No toys, because toys always came from the handler as a reward. He offered her a sad sigh and a liquid doggy gaze. The kennel even smelled wrong, more of sanitizer than dog. The walls seemed to echo with each bark down the long line of kennels housing the candidate hopefuls for the next addition to the Secret Service’s team.
Thor—really?—was a brindle-colored mutt, part who-knew and part no-one-cared. He looked like a cross between an oversized, long-haired schnauzer and a dust mop that someone had spilled dark gray paint on. After mixing in streaks of tawny brown, they’d left one white paw just to make him all the more laughable.
And of course Lieutenant Jerk Jurgen would assign Thor to the first woman on the USSS K-9 team.
Unable to resist, she leaned over far enough to scruff the dog’s ears. He was the physical opposite of the sleek and powerful Malinois MWDs—military war dogs—that she’d been handling for the 75th Rangers for the last five years. They twitched with eagerness and nerves. A good MWD was seventy pounds of pure drive—every damn second of the day. If the mild-mannered Thor weighed thirty pounds, she’d be surprised. And he looked like a little girl’s best friend who should have a pink bow on his collar.
Jurgen was clearly ex-Marine and would have no respect for the Army. Of course, having been in the Army’s Special Operations Forces, she knew better than to respect a Marine.
“We won’t let any old swabbie bother us, will we?”
Jurgen snarled—definitely Marine Corps. Swabbie was slang for a Navy sailor and a Marine always took offense at being lumped in with them no matter how much they belonged. Of course the swabbies took offense at having the Marines lumped with them. Too bad there weren’t any Navy around so that she could get two for the price of one. Jurgen wouldn’t be her boss, so appeasing him wasn’t high on her to-do list.
At least she wouldn’t need any of the protective bite gear working with Thor. With his stature, he was an explosives detection dog without also being an attack one.
“Where was he trained?” She stood back up to face the beast.
“Private outfit in Montana—some place called Henderson’s Ranch. Didn’t make their MWD program,” his scoff said exactly what he thought the likelihood of any dog outfit in Montana being worthwhile. “They wanted us to try the little runt out.”
She’d never heard of a training program in Montana. MWDs all came out of Lackland Air Force Base training. The Secret Service mostly trained their own and they all came from Vohne Liche Kennels in Indiana. Unless… Special Operations Forces dogs were trained by private contractors. She’d worked beside a Delta Force dog for a single month—he’d been incredible.
“Is he trained in English or German?” Most American MWDs were trained in German so that there was no confusion in case a command word happened to be part of a spoken sentence. It also made it harder for any random person on the battlefield to shout something that would confuse the dog.
“German according to his paperwork, but he won’t listen to me much in either language.”
Might as well give the diminutive Thor a few basic tests. A snap of her fingers and a slap on her thigh had the dog dropping into a smart “heel” position. No need to call out Fuss—by my foot.
“Pass auf!” Guard! She made a pistol with her thumb and forefinger and aimed it at Jurgen as she grabbed her forearm with her other hand—the military hand sign for enemy.
The little dog snarled at Jurgen sharply enough to have him backing out of the kennel. “Goddamn it!”
“Ruhig.” Quiet. Thor maintained his fierce posture but dropped the snarl.
“Gute Hund.” Good dog, Linda countered the command.
Thor looked up at her and wagged his tail happily. She tossed him a doggie treat, which he caught midair and crunched happily.
She didn’t bother looking up at Jurgen as she knelt once more to check over the little dog. His scruffy fur was so soft that it tickled. Good strength in the jaw, enough to show he’d had bite training despite his size—perfect if she ever needed to take down a three-foot-tall terrorist. Legs said he was a jumper.
“Take your time, Hamlin. I’ve got nothing else to do with the rest of my goddamn day except babysit you and this mutt.”
“Is the course set?”
“Sure. Take him out,” Jurgen’s snarl sounded almost as nasty as Thor’s before he stalked off.
She stood and slapped a hand on her opposite shoulder.
Thor sprang aloft as if he was attached to springs and she caught him easily. He’d cleared well over double his own height. Definitely trained…and far easier to catch than seventy pounds of hyperactive Malinois.
She plopped him back down on the ground. On lead or off? She’d give him the benefit of the doubt and try off first to see what happened.
Linda zipped up her brand-new USSS jacket against the cold and led the way out of the kennel into the hard sunlight of the January morning.
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Of dogs, chocolates, and villains.
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Off the Leash
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The Two Dog Solution
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today and Amazon #1 Bestseller M. L. "Matt" Buchman has 70+ action-adventure thriller and military romance novels, 100 short stories, and lotsa audiobooks. PW says: “Tom Clancy fans open to a strong female lead will clamor for more.” Booklist declared: “3X Top 10 of the Year.” A project manager with a geophysics degree, he’s designed and built houses, flown and jumped out of planes, solo-sailed a 50’ sailboat, and bicycled solo around the world…and he quilts. More at: www.mlbuchman.com.
ALSO BY M. L. BUCHMAN
* ALSO IN AUDIO
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One Chef!
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Thunderbolt*
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