Jake had read about amazing advances in medical science that improved the lives of soldiers who lost limbs in combat. The itch of working with dogs remained, but how could he ever look another one in the eye without seeing Koa?
Jake lifted himself out of bed with a grunt, wincing as he held his ribs. He limped to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Instead of his usual grind, he grabbed his favorite beans from the freezer to brew a special batch. He had a feeling it would be the highlight of his day.
THREE
Jake got off the Metro bus near 8th and John Street. It was a quarter to noon under a bright, overcast sky the color of liquid silver. The air was warm, and a slight breeze carried with it the briny hint of Puget Sound a mile away.
The city was a different beast during the day, alive with different sights, sounds, and smells. Construction racket banged away from every direction. Traffic-clogged streets barely moved. Jake passed hordes of corporate types with vacant looks in their eyes as they shuffled along the sidewalk. They reminded him of zombies dressed in khakis and button-down shirts.
He arrived at 555 Westlake, and unlike at night, it was now a beehive of activity. Construction workers in white and green hard hats hurried about. Trucks were being unloaded by forklifts in the muddy parking lot. The only other vehicles, most of them pickup trucks, belonged to the workers, foremen, and project managers.
Jake walked through the main entrance and waved to Jim “Slim” Perkins on duty at the guard shack. The old black man slid the side window open and scratched his bald head.
“What the hell you doing back so soon?” he asked.
Jake’s shift ended at 0600, when Slim showed up. It was standard procedure to have a hand-off meeting during a shift change, but they usually talked about anything else over coffee and a Top Pot donut or two. Jake didn’t necessarily consider Slim a friend, but close enough and it relaxed him. A sense of anxiety had persisted on his way to work, and now he had a gut full of butterflies.
“I have a meeting with Todd.”
Slim often wore an expression that was part smile and half scowl that made him look insane. The smile part faded.
“Oh? Now what’d you go and do this time?”
Jake forced a smile. He trusted Slim but hadn’t mentioned anything about last night during their hand-off. He even skipped their morning bullshit session, too, but that was mostly from the migraine. He also didn’t want to get Slim in trouble if Todd questioned him.
“Not sure. He said to come in early, so here I am. I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“Good luck, my man.”
Jake slapped the side of the guard shack as Slim shut the window.
The superintendent shack was a single-wide trailer where the managers and foremen sat and planned when not out supervising. At the front entrance was a weathered, dirt-caked set of two-by-fours nailed together for a set of stairs.
Jake walked up, pulled the door open without knocking, and stepped inside. It smelled like a pottery shed from all the tracked-in mud. Hard hats, safety vests, and rain gear hung on the walls.
A couple of foremen were hunched over a wooden table and studying a set of blueprints. They looked up, and Jake recognized them but had never talked to them. They both nodded without a word and went back to their prints.
“Jake. Back here.”
His boss, Todd Bronson, had come out from a back office. The room was supposedly for drop-in visitors, but was more often used for disciplinary meetings and layoffs. The room’s nickname was the Execution Chamber.
Todd stood there in his power pose with his hands on his hips, all three-hundred-plus pounds of him. He had been waiting. Todd disappeared back into the office and Jake sucked in a breath to steel his nerves.
Jake entered the office and was instantly reminded of Todd’s nickname: Toad. He sat behind a tiny desk, much too small for someone Todd’s size. A computer and monitor sat on the desk. Todd motioned to an empty chair.
“Shut the door and grab a seat, Jake.”
Jake closed the door and sat. He locked his fingers together so he wouldn’t fidget, but he couldn’t resist cracking his knuckles. His mind was already racing. Getting fired would pretty much guarantee he wouldn’t be hired by another security firm.
“So what’s this about, Chief?”
Todd swiveled the monitor on the desk so they both could see it. The KING5 News website was open.
“You went off the Rez last night, Jake. I warned you not to do that.”
Todd spoke in an Angry Dad tone of voice that got on Jake’s nerves. His chest rose along with this blood pressure.
“Oh? How do you know that, Todd? Were you around?”
“No. I was in bed dreaming about my last Vegas trip with big titties rubbing in my face when I get a phone call from a foreman yelling at me about missing power tools. Thousands of dollars’ worth, Jake. And you know why? Because you had to be a hero and go off the Rez to help some meth-head scumbag.”
Todd turned back to the monitor and clicked a play button on the website. The video began playing as a reporter’s voice narrated.
“A bystander’s cell phone captured this scary scene in downtown Seattle last night as a security guard went to the aid of a man being assaulted—only to become assaulted himself. The assault happened just outside the new 555 Westlake building in the South Lake Union neighborhood. Witnesses say the unknown security guard ran across the street to help when—”
Todd stopped the video and turned back to Jake. His face was flushed, a bead of sweat on his forehead. It didn’t take much to get Todd worked up, but Jake had often thought his boss had something against him. Jake heard a rumor that Todd was rejected for military service due to his weight problem, which might explain his inferiority complex. Word spread about Jake’s military service, which earned him the respect of many of the construction workers—some of them veterans.
“Stuff got stolen, huh?” Jake asked.
It was all he could come up with as his mind raced for excuses to save his job. With any luck, maybe he’d just get suspended. Todd looked as if that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.
“What were you thinking? The gate was left wide open when you ran over there like goddamn Batman. They’re probably still high from selling the tools they took. Nail guns, couple saws, even a goddamn air compressor. Insurance will cover it, but corporate is pissed, Jake. This is not good for the company’s rep at all.”
Jake’s face grew warm. Okay, I fucked up. While he could understand the company’s rep being damaged, getting berated by this prick was starting to piss him off.
Todd put on his I’m-sorry-I-have-to-do-this face. “I have to let you go, man. You’re fired.”
So much for getting lucky. Todd opened a folder in front of him and handed Jake an envelope.
“Here’s your final check. I added an hour for coming in. HR will handle the rest.”
“Gee, thanks. You’re a swell fucking guy, Todd.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Jake. I’m just doing my job. If you would have done yours—”
Jake jumped out of his chair and kicked it backward, smashing it into the wall. Todd rolled his chair back from the desk and pointed to the door.
“Take it easy, now. I made sure there were witnesses around who know why you’re here. No sense making things worse for yourself.”
Toad was right; he wasn’t worth going to jail for. Jake almost flipped him the finger, but another thought occurred to him. He pointed to the monitor.
“Since you’re so concerned about the company’s rep and all, how’s it going to look when KING5 hears about a combat vet getting fired for helping somebody?”
Todd seemed to sink lower in his chair and at that moment, the no-neck fathead really did resemble a toad. After a few seconds, Todd shook his head and opened a desk drawer. He pulled out another folder and tossed it onto the desk.
“Two months’ severance pay and an NDA for you to sign. No signature, no severance.”
>
This asshole was just going to let me walk out of here with nothing? Jake opened the folder and scanned the document. After signing and taking the check, he looked up at his former boss.
“It’s a good thing you were never in the military, Todd. Back in Vietnam, they used to frag guys like you.”
Jake turned and left, barely glancing at the foremen at the drafting table on his way out.
“Good luck, Jake,” said one.
“Yeah, Jake,” said the other. “Take care.”
Jake slammed the door behind him. His head was spinning. Fired for trying to help someone? Great fucking way to treat a veteran.
Slim was waiting outside the guard shack. By now, Todd would have already called to say that Jake had been fired and was not allowed back on the property. Slim wore a frustrated, awkward look on his face. Jake hated saying goodbyes, especially under the circumstances, but he stuck out his hand.
“Been good working with you, Slim. I’ll miss our morning conversations.”
The old black man scowled and gripped Jake’s hand tight. “Man, this ain’t nothin’, Jake. You take care of yourself, alright?”
FOUR
A week later, Jake still resisted the urge to sleep in, but he enjoyed these moments of quiet introspection, sipping his coffee from the deck of his apartment in West Seattle. He reminded himself of the discipline and strong habits he’d formed from years of military structure and routine. With his body torn by war, his mind and will were his most valuable assets. He couldn’t afford to let them go soft. There was no one to rely on but himself.
It was a drizzly wet, gray afternoon. Dark clouds the color of polished gunmetal hovered ominously in the distance. Summer in Seattle was usually nice—all two weeks of it—but he wasn’t concerned about the shitty weather. He had to find a new reason why, a purpose to walk out the door every day.
More importantly, he had to find a new job before ending up on his ass in the street. While it would be nice to find those homeless guys, getting revenge wasn’t going to pay his rent, and two months’ severance wouldn’t last long.
His cell phone vibrated on the plastic table, jarring him from his thoughts. The caller was UNKNOWN and the cracked display reminded him he was too fucking poor to buy a new phone right now. He scowled and took the call.
“This is Jake.”
“Jake Decker?”
The voice’s tone had the authoritative bark of a drill instructor, but it belonged to someone he didn’t recognize.
“Yes, sir. Who’s this?”
“This is Colonel Charles Geddon with the U.S. Army. Decker, I need to talk with you about something very important and it’s urgent. Could we meet for a few minutes, in person?”
“Uh, meet? Why?”
“I will not discuss this over the phone, son. We’re downstairs in your lobby.”
We? Here? What the fuck?
“Is this about downtown last week? Because I don’t know anything about—”
“There’s no problem with you, Decker, but it does involve national security. You’d be doing us as well as yourself a big favor. It won’t take long.”
Jake’s instincts began firing. He didn’t like anyone just showing up unannounced. And national security? What kind of bullshit was that? The man did sound like a military officer—or a good con artist. Jake gripped his phone tighter.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes… sir.”
Jake hung up, his mind swirling with questions. Was this a prank? A setup? If so, why him? Screw it. He’d go downstairs and probably find nobody there. Then he’d feel stupid but at least he could check the mail.
He went to his bedroom and changed out of his lounging shorts and into a pair of jeans. He looked at his disheveled self in the mirror, decided he looked like shit, and didn’t care. He slipped on his running shoes and left his apartment.
On his way to the elevator, he took the stairs instead. The elevator doors were right in front of the guest lobby, and he didn’t like that idea. If there were people down there waiting for him, he wanted to scope them out from a distance.
His apartment was on the fourth floor, and he took his time going down. He used the handrail for assistance to minimize the throbbing in his leg. He exited to the side of the lobby near the mailbox area and peeked around the corner.
Three men stood around the coffee table in the lobby. All were dressed in civilian clothing. Jake had expected the so-called colonel to be in uniform. He decided to quit being paranoid and see what the hell they wanted.
“One of you must be Colonel Geddon,” Jake said, walking up.
The men turned as if startled. They were expecting someone to exit the elevator, not a guy with a hitch in his step sneaking up from behind. The tallest man looked to be in his late fifties and in ripping-good shape. He had white cropped hair in a military cut. The man spoke first.
“Jake Decker?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jake said.
“It’s an honor to meet you, son. I’m Colonel Geddon with USAMRIID.”
Jake kept his poker face on. What would a biological warfare officer want with him? Jake noticed Geddon take note of Jake’s facial scar. Most people did the first time they met him. Geddon stuck out his hand and gave Jake an unnecessary bone-crushing handshake. Typical military brass bullshit. The colonel turned to the man on his left.
“This is Dr. Levski, one of my colleagues.”
The doctor was a thickly built man at least a decade older than Geddon.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Decker.”
Dr. Levski enunciated every word clearly with a European accent. His smile showed small teeth, as if they had never fully developed. The colonel then introduced the other man on his right.
“And this is Cole Cooper, one of my associates,” Geddon said.
Cooper looked about Jake’s age and had greasy brown hair and narrow, squinty eyes. He had a grim hardness about him that Jake had seen before, those who killed for a living and liked it. Cooper offered his left hand and they shook. Jake wanted to get this over with and put his hands on his hips.
“So what’s this about, Colonel?”
Geddon motioned to a set of chairs around the coffee table. Everyone grabbed a seat. Geddon leaned forward, clasping his hands together.
“First, Decker, I want to commend you for your service and sacrifice. I read your file. Top of your class at dog handler’s school and served with distinction in Afghanistan. I don’t recall the number of IEDs you found, but it no doubt saved countless lives and injuries. That’s a goddamn hero in my book.”
They were only words, but they resonated more coming from a full-bird colonel, and Jake’s chest filled with pride. Even though Koa wouldn’t have understood the words, Jake wished he could hear them.
“Two hundred eighteen, sir. That’s how many IEDs and explosive munitions my dog found. He’s the hero, not me. But thank you.”
Geddon nodded. “Outstanding… I understand you lost someone on 9/11 as well.”
Jake blinked and wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t know of any file that had that information about him.
“Yes, sir. My dad was in one of the towers. I was eighteen.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Geddon said. “Many people lost someone they cared about that day. It’s a big reason why we’re here, so I’ll get right to it. Dr. Levski and I are part of a classified program on military working dogs based out of Hawaii. Cooper here is our head trainer.”
Geddon paused as if expecting a visible reaction but Jake couldn’t move. Upon hearing about MWDs, the colonel had his full attention.
“As you know,” Geddon continued, “MWDs are a valuable resource, now more than ever—patrol and detection, special ops, not to mention the morale boost to our troops. They’re invaluable in the war on terror. Considering the time and resources it takes for dog selection, dog training, handler training, care and feeding, our MWDs are the best in the world. They’re also the most expensive. Just like S
pecial Forces, they’re not expendable—not that they ever were.”
Jake nearly called bullshit on that. At the end of the Vietnam War, the U.S. abandoned all their MWDs in the fucking jungle. The dogs served and suffered but their handlers weren’t allowed to take them home. Dogs weren’t used in combat again until the second Iraq war, when IEDs began taking their toll. By then, the lessons of previous wars had to be relearned at a huge cost in injuries and lives.
Geddon continued. “Our program was making great progress until our prototype began showing PTSD symptoms: avoidance, extreme aggression, unresponsive to commands. During a bite drill, he wouldn’t release and… Well, he chewed one of our trainers up pretty bad. Let’s put it that way.”
Cooper was staring at the floor when a grin broke across his face as if recalling a fond memory.
“Sorry to hear that,” Jake said. “Dogs get PTS, too, just like people. Everyone has their breaking point.”
Cooper shook his head. “Yeah, but the best dogs don’t. A good dog is like that old battery commercial. You know, takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’.”
What? Jake frowned and was about to tell Cooper that was the dumbest metaphor he’d ever heard until Dr. Levski jumped in.
“Our program, Mr. Decker—”
“Call me Jake.” He didn’t like civilians addressing him by his last name. It sounded weird.
Levski nodded. “Very well, Jake. Our program involves canines that have proven to be the very best at what they do. Unfortunately, like their handlers, many get seriously wounded or even killed in the line of duty, so we have done our best to save them and make them stronger—much stronger—and turn them into weapons of canine destruction.”
Levski flashed a baby tooth smile at his own little joke. Images of cruel animal experiments entered Jake’s head. Cooper wasn’t the only one starting to piss him off. It was time to go.
“Whatever you say, Doctor,” Jake said. “Well, Colonel, I’m sorry but—”
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