Robert Crais - Suspect

“Heads up. Vil ahead. We take fire, it’ll come from there.”

They were rounding the last curve in the road toward the village when Maggie heard the tinkle of bells and bleating. She stopped, pricked her ears, and Pete stopped beside her. The Marines stopped in place, still well behind.

“What is it?”

“She hears something.”

“She got an IED?”

“No, she’s listening. She hears something.”

Maggie tested the air with a series of short, fast sniffs, and caught their scent as the first goat appeared through the shimmering heat. Two teenage boys walked near the front and to the right of a small flock, with a taller, older male walking on the left. The taller male raised a hand in greeting.

The Marine behind Maggie shouted a word, and the three oncoming men stopped. The goats continued on, then realized the men had stopped, and milled in a lazy group. They were forty yards away. In the rising, windless air, it took a few seconds for their smells to cover the distance.

Maggie didn’t like strangers, and watched them suspiciously. She sampled the air again—sniff sniff sniff—and huffed the air through her mouth.

The taller male raised his hand again, and the molecules that carried their smells finally reached Maggie’s nose. She noted their different and complex body odors, the coriander, pomegranate, and onion on their breath, and the first faint taste of a smell Pete taught her to find.

Maggie whined and leaned into the leash. She glanced at Pete, then stared at the men, and Pete knew she was onto something.

“Gunny, we got something.”

“Something in the road?”

“Negative. She’s staring at these guys.”

“Maybe she wants the goats.”

“The men. She doesn’t give a shit about the goats.”

“They carrying?”

“We’re too far away. She smells something, but the scent cone is too big. These guys might have residue in their clothes, they might be packing guns, I dunno.”

“I don’t like it we’re standing here with the buildings right there. If someone lights us up, it’s going to come from the vil.”

“Let’m come to us. You guys stay put, and we’ll give’m a good sniff.”

“Roger that. We got you covered.”

The Marines spread to the sides of the road as Pete waved the goatherds forward.

Maggie swung her head from side to side, hunting for the strongest scent, and felt alive with anticipation. The scent grew stronger as the men approached, and she knew Pete would be pleased. He would be happy with her for finding the scent, and reward her with the green ball. Pete happy, Maggie happy, pack happy.

Maggie whined anxiously as the men drew closer and the scent cone narrowed. The older boy wore a loose white shirt and the younger a faded blue T-shirt, and both wore baggy white pants and sandals. The taller man was bearded, and wore a dark loose shirt with baggy long sleeves and faded pants. The sleeves hung in folds, and draped when he raised his arms. His body reeked of days-old sour sweat, but the target scent was strong now. It came from the taller man, and Maggie’s certainty flowed up the leash into Pete, who knew what Maggie knew as if they were one creature, not man and dog, but something better. Pack.

Pete shouldered his rifle, and barked at the man to stop.

The man stopped, smiling, and raised his hands as the goats now herded around the boys.

The man spoke to the boys, who stopped, and Maggie smelled their fear, too.

Pete said, “Stay, girl. Stay.”

Pete stepped out ahead of her to approach the tall man. Maggie hated when Pete moved away from her. He was alpha, so she obeyed, but she heard his heart beat faster and smelled the sweat pouring from his skin, and knew Pete was afraid. His anxiety coursed through the leash, and poured into Maggie, so she became anxious, too.

Maggie broke position to catch up with him, and shouldered into his leg.

“No, Maggie. Stay.”

She stopped at his command, but gave a low growl. Her job was to protect and defend him. They were pack, and he was alpha. Every DNA strand of her German shepherd breeding screamed for her to put herself between Pete and the men, and warn them off or attack them, but pleasing Pete was also in her DNA. Alpha happy, pack happy.

Maggie broke position again, and once more put herself between Pete and the strangers, and now the smell was so strong Maggie did as Pete had taught her. She sat.

Pete kneed her aside, and raised his rifle as he shouted a warning to the other Marines.

“He’s loaded!”

The tall man detonated with a concussion that slammed Maggie backward so hard she was thrown upside down. She lost consciousness briefly, then woke on her side, disoriented and confused as dust and debris fell on her fur. She heard nothing but a high-pitched whine, and her nose burned with the acid stink of an unnatural fire. Her vision was blurred, but slowly cleared as she struggled to rise. The Marines behind her were shouting, but their words had no meaning. Her left front leg collapsed with her weight. She shouldered into the dirt, but immediately stood again, propping herself on three wobbly legs that stung as if being bitten by ants.

The bearded man was a pile of smoking cloth and torn flesh. Goats were down and screaming. The smaller boy was sitting in the dust, crying, and the older boy stumbled in a lazy circle with splashes of red on his shirt and face.

Pete lay crumpled on his side, groaning. They were still joined by the leash, and his pain and fear flowed into her.

He was pack.

He was everything.

Maggie limped to him, and frantically licked his face. She tasted the blood running from his nose and ears and neck, and flushed with the need to soothe and heal him.

Pete rolled over and blinked at her.

“You hurt, baby girl?”

A burst of earth kicked up from the road near Pete’s head, and a loud crack snapped through the air.

The Marine voices behind her shouted louder.

“Sniper! Sniper in the vil!”

“Pete’s down!”

“We’re taking fire—”

The crazy loud chatter of a dozen automatic weapons made Maggie cringe, but she licked Pete’s face even harder. She wanted him to get up. She wanted him to be happy.

A heavy crack of thunder so close it shook the ground exploded behind her, and more dirt and hot shards blew through her fur. She cringed again, and wanted to run, but went on with the licking.

Heal him.

Soothe him.

Take care of Pete.

“Mortar!”

“We’re gettin’ mortared!”

Another puff of dirt kicked up from the road beside them, and Pete slowly unclipped Maggie’s lead from his harness.

“Go, Maggie. They’re shootin’ at us. Go.”

His alpha voice was weak, and the weakness scared her. Alpha was strong. Alpha was pack. Pack was everything.

More thunder shook the earth, then more, and suddenly something awful punched her hip and spun her into the air. Maggie screamed as she landed, and snapped and snarled at the pain.

“Sniper shot the dog!”

“Take that fucker out, goddamnit!”

“Ruiz, Johnson, with me!”

Maggie paid no attention as the Marines ran toward the buildings. She snapped at the terrible pain in her hip, then dragged herself back to her pack.

Pete tried to push her away, but his push was weak.

“Go, baby. I can’t get up. Get away—”

Pete reached under his flak and took out the green ball.

“Get it, baby girl. Go—”

Pete tried to throw the green ball, but it only rolled a few feet. Pete vomited blood, and shuddered, and everything about him changed in those seconds. His scent, his taste. She heard his heart grow still and the blood slow in his veins. She sensed his spirit leave his body, and felt a mournful loss unlike anything she had ever known.