Iris Johansen: Dark Summer

He punched the button.

"I'm a little busy. I'll call you back."

"Did you get him?" Raymond Danner asked.

"I shot the dog."

"Dead?"

"I'm not sure. Marrok got in my way at the last minute."

Silence. "You shot Marrok?"

"No," he said quickly. "I was trying to lure him into a trap, but then the soldiers-"

Danner began to curse. "My God, can't you do anything right? I even told you where Marrok and the dog would be tonight. All you had to do was go in and get them."

"I was waiting on the other side of the mountain where all the other rescue teams were working. He didn't go where you said he was going. I had to reposition." He quickly added, "But I'll stake out the area and watch for the helicopter. There are military units all over this mountain, so he may not be able to get the copter back into the area. If the dog's not dead, he'll have to get help for it. Don't worry, Marrok won't get away from me."

"I'm not worried. I'm pissed. That damn savage Marrok was a SEAL and has wriggled his way out of a dozen traps. You had a chance if you took him by surprise. I want the job done before Marrok leaves that disaster site." Danner hung up.

Kingston pressed the disconnect. He could feel his heart pounding. He'd seen Danner angry before and the results weren't pretty. He liked to make examples that stayed in the memories of the men around him.

Move. Avoid those soldiers.

Find Marrok.

Find the dog.

"WAKE UP, DEVON." NICK WAS SHAKINGher. "I just got a call from Captain Ramirez. They're bringing in a wounded dog to the first-aid tent."

Devon Brady shook her head to clear it of sleep. Lord, she felt groggy. She'd worked with her dog, Gracie, searching for survivors until almost midnight. She glanced at the clock. It was after two. "I thought I was the last one to break for the night. Whose dog was hurt? Jerry? His shepherd has a history of hip injuries."

"No." Nick Gilroy handed her the shirt and khakis, which were draped over the chair in her mobile quarters. "It's a Lab. Captain Ramirez said he was shot."

"Shot?" Her lips tightened as she started to dress. "Did the soldiers do it? Some gun-happy kid who thought he saw a wolf?"

"The captain swears it wasn't one of his men. They heard gunfire and went to investigate." Nick found her shoes under the bed and handed them to her. "The dog was wounded, and the man who was with him didn't give them a chance to ask questions. He said he wanted his dog taken care of, or he'd make a stink with the newspapers and accuse them of shooting a rescue dog."

Lab. She put on her shoes. The only Lab on the rescue team belonged to Phil Dormhaus. Phil was a quiet, intellectual type, and she couldn't imagine him threatening or making a stink about anything. He was a man who did his job, then took his dog home. But what did she know? she thought wearily. The dogs weren't the only rescue casualties at a disaster like this. The own ers of the search and rescue dogs could take only so much death, so much sorrow before they started to break, too. This had been a rough mission, and it still wasn't over. Maybe Phil had been so grief-stricken at the wounding of his dog that he had slipped over the edge. "If the soldiers didn't shoot the Lab, it must have been done by one of the civilians here on the island. Tell the captain that whoever did it has to be found and thrown into jail. We're all volunteers who came here to help them. I won't have our dogs endangered."

"I'll tell him. My plea sure." Nick smiled. "Do you need any help with the Lab?"

"I don't know." She looked back at him as she opened the door of the trailer. Sometimes she forgot that Nick wasn't a young man any longer. He was in his sixties but still strong and agile. She'd taken over his veterinary practice several years ago. Nick had planned on retiring but instead had stayed on and become her right hand. They had worked together for so many years that they took each other for granted. Yet tonight she could see the signs of wear and tear this mission had imprinted on him; his gray hair was tousled and on end, and his face was lined with weariness. "After you talk to the captain, go back to bed. Take Gracie with you. She needs the rest more than I do, and she'll sleep better if she has someone with her." She glanced at her greyhound, Gracie, who was beginning to get to her feet. "No, stay with Nick, baby. I'll be right back." She started down the steps. "I'll call you if I need you, Nick."

He nodded as he yawned. "I know you will. You wouldn't let a dog be given less care than he deserves even if neither of us got any sleep."

"We can say no," she said quietly. "Most of the time a dog won't do that. You know they give until they can't give any longer." She closed the door behind her and strode toward the first-aid tent across the camp. There were only a handful of people on the site at this hour. A mechanic working on the crane. A woman clerk sitting at a desk in the makeshift morgue going through rec ords. A few soldiers standing outside the first-aid tent. The twenty-four-hour-a-day drive and bustle had ended, and the mood was quiet, somber. The canine rescue part of the operation was winding down, and they only had one more day of work before they went home. The handlers and dogs were sleeping, trying to rest their bodies as well as their dogs so they could function efficiently in the morning for one more push, one more effort. She hoped Gracie would get a good sleep. The greyhound was always restless on a search and rescue, and she liked to be in the same room as Devon. But the dog knew Nick and Devon had no choice. She had to help Phil's Lab and probably Phil himself. He'd need someone to talk to and comfort if the Lab was badly hurt.

As she drew nearer to the tent, she could see a man in a black shirt standing over the examining table. Phil?

No. Phil had narrow shoulders and brown hair. This man was tall, lean, with broad shoulders, and sleek black hair cut close to his head. His back was to her, but she was sure she had never seen him before. Nor had she seen the black Lab lying on the table. Her gaze instantly zeroed in on the hurt animal, her attention focusing on the wounded dog. The own er must have taken off the dog's bloodstained halter with the Red Cross on the side because it was lying on the floor beside the table. That would help. She wouldn't have to struggle to get a pain-crazed dog quiet enough to-

"You're the vet?" The dog's own er had turned as she entered the tent. "My dog's hurt. The bullet is still in him. You need to get it out."

"I will." She came forward. "I'm Devon Brady. Who are you?"

"Jude Marrok. I stopped the bleeding, and I don't think he's badly hurt. But I want that bullet out. I can't move him with it in him."

Marrok definitely wasn't the devastated own er she'd expected to see when she walked into the tent. His voice was crisp, cool, and his tone demanding. To hell with him. "I told you I'd take it out. But not until I take some X-rays and see where it is and if it clipped an organ."

"It hasn't." He pointed to the wound. "Close. But it missed it. It would have done more damage if the bullet had been a higher caliber. I think you'll find it's a 7.62 millimeter. It was meant for distance accuracy. From the sound of it, I'd say it came from a Remington M-24."

"Sound?"

"Like an M-16, but duller. It's used as a sniper weapon."

"I doubt it was that kind of weapon." She was examining the wound. The dog was amazingly docile. He was fully awake, but he only gave a low whimper. "I'm sure the villagers aren't equipped with that kind of firepower. It's probably a hunting rifle."

"It's a Remington," he said flatly. "I've heard that sound too many times to make a mistake. Now get that bullet out of him."

"Stop giving me orders." She tried to keep the edge from her voice. She wheeled the portable X-ray unit toward the table. "I'm tired, and I'm giving up my few hours of sleep before I have to be up and starting the search again. This is our last day here, and we don't have much time left. They don't think we have a chance of finding anyone else, and we have orders to fly out this evening." She covered the dog with the protector cover. He seemed fully aware, but he still didn't move. Amazing. "I'm doing this willingly because most dogs are worth more than their masters. You included." She pressed the button. "So sit down and shut up."