by Ronie Kendig
Cardinal sniffed. “Neither do I.” He stepped back and lifted his hands. “He’s all yours.”
“Nightingale, you have the all clear. ODA452, circle up.”
Cardinal strode toward the much-shorter villager, the man who must be the sultan by the way the others deferred and hung back—and ironically, the way the bodies of the villagers were angled toward him. “You are Sultan Souleiman?”
Wire-rimmed glasses framed a weathered, sun-darkened face. He stood a little straighter with the acknowledgment. “I am. You are Mr. Dane?”
“It is an honor.” Cardinal inclined his head to offer his submission to the man’s position within the community. When he looked up, the sultan’s eyes were wide and focused on something behind Cardinal. He glanced back.
Aspen. With Talon, who darted back and forth on the sixteen-foot lead, sniffing. Hauling in big, hard breaths through his nose. What had he hit on? He traced the path from the children—who squealed and jumped back but then burst into laughter when Talon nosed their legs—back toward Cardinal.
He shot a questioning look to Aspen, who shrugged.
A slew of Arabic flew from the sultan.
And that’s when it hit Cardinal.
He needed to bridge this gap now. “Sultan Souleiman, this is Lieutenant Courtland. The dog is a working dog named Talon.” Again, Cardinal inclined his head. “I hope his presence will not be offensive to you.”
“They are not clean.” He seemed aghast that they’d brought this animal into his village.
“Please, Sultan, do not be concerned. The dog will stay with his handler. Nobody should touch him. He’s trained to protect the woman with his lead.” As am I. Cardinal pointed to the village, away from Aspen. “Ready?”
With one last concerned glance to Aspen, or more specifically, Talon, Sultan Souleiman shifted around and headed toward a hut. It did not surprise Cardinal that the sultan of this village wasn’t even old enough to be his own father. With the median age of twenty-two, most males had a life expectancy of only sixty or sixty-five. And of the entire population in Djibouti, only 3 percent were of that age. Daunting and haunting to know you wouldn’t live long.
“Stay close,” Cardinal said to Aspen. As the words sailed out of his mouth, he stiffened, praying she didn’t take them wrong.
“She’s not a dog that obeys your commands,” Timbrel said.
“You’re right. She’s a smart woman who wants to stay alive.” He glanced back, so proud of her unwavering resolve and grit-determination. “Ready?”
Aspen gave a nod. “I think he has a hit, but on what, I have no idea.”
“Think it’s your brother?”
“Out here?” The question wasn’t one of information but one of confirmation. She’d thought the same thing and wanted him to confirm it.
“Keep your eyes out. You never know.”
“Roger.”
Already, the gaggle of children had crowded in around Aspen and Talon. She’d have her hands full keeping them away. Maybe he should offer…
“Talon, heel! Sit! Stay!”
The Lab trotted to her side, sat, and squinted up at her as if to say, “Yeah, okay, it’s hot out here and I can smell something, but you’re cute so I’ll sit.”
Cardinal felt a smirk tug up the side of his face. She’d read his mind. In that case, time to divert the sultan’s attention. “It’s so good of you to talk with me, Sultan.” He pointed to a shady spot beneath the only two trees he’d seen for miles. No doubt the reason the nomadic villagers had set down stakes here. “Perhaps we could sit here and talk?”
The sultan lifted his chin a little higher. “Good, good.”
As they walked, the sultan spoke of the poverty, of the search for jobs, of battling the refugees, and the effect not having rain had on the villagers. For a second, Cardinal worried about leaving Aspen alone. But when he glanced back and spotted the Lab with her—and Timbrel behind them—his fears were allayed. Talon would maul anyone who tried to hurt Aspen, and Timbrel would finish them off.
“He’s dehydrated.”
“I’ll grab the water.” Timbrel jogged off.
Whimpering, Talon panted and paced, his tail flicking, but Aspen kept a tight lead on him to keep him in the shade and from wearing himself out. “Talon, heel. Sit. Stay.”
He complied, his belly jiggling in and out rapidly beneath the frenetic panting. She glanced back to the vehicles. Timbrel and Candyman were digging through a bag, searching. He must’ve made some comment because Timbrel shoved him. He grabbed the edge of the vehicle to catch himself. She was sure a smile hid beneath that gnarly beard.
Whimpering tugged her attention back to her partner. She smoothed a hand over his coat. “Easy, boy.”
Talon had all the earmarks of dehydration or heat exhaustion. Jibril’s sister, Khaterah, had warned her to watch for it.
Still whimpering, Talon lowered himself to the ground and lay on his side. His panting was ramping up. She checked his gums and cringed. Losing pigmentation. “C’mon,” she called to Timbrel.
“Here, here.” Timmy dropped the bottles.
Once she uncapped the bottle, Aspen doused Talon with the water, coaxing the liquid into his dense fur. Dogs only sweat through their bellies and the pads of their feet, which was why in this heat, she had avoided using the protective paw covers, though with the raw pad of his right foot, she feared they might have to use them.
They tugged out a collapsible waterproof nylon bowl and filled it so Talon could lap up the water. “It’s okay, Talon. You’re going to be fine.” He fed off her emotions, so she worked to stay calm and confident—two things she wasn’t feeling right now. As he drank, she doused him again. “It’s too hot.”
“I’d turn down the heat, but it seems the man upstairs likes it hot here.” Candyman stood over them, his headgear, keffiyeh, and vest making him look forbidding. When he spoke she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or what. She’d seen him in Afghanistan and the guy had been as cool and at ease as if he were back home at a barbecue—just like today.
Aspen poured another bottle over Talon and noted, with pleasure, that his panting had grown a little more regular and had slowed. “I knew you’d reset, buddy.” She rubbed the spot between his eyes, and he slumped back, totally relaxed.
“Here they come,” Candyman said.
Aspen swiped the sweat from her forehead as she looked toward the huts.
A group emerged with the sultan explaining something to Dane. The two had talked for more than thirty minutes beneath the shade of these trees. With one leg drawn close and the other hooked, Dane had seemed so at home. Was there anywhere he didn’t manage to fit in? Fresh waves of respect and admiration sluiced through her. And, of course, the younger, unmarried women—at least she hoped they were unmarried, or maybe it would be better if they were married—trailed Dane like lovesick puppies.
His gaze slid across the open area and rammed right into hers. She felt it. All the way in the pit of her belly. She looked away and focused back on Talon, who stood on all fours now, as if to say, “Okay, I’m done with this heat stuff. Let’s get outta Dodge.”
Then he lifted his head and drew in a couple of big sniffs. More whimpering ensued. Talon trailed back and forth between the trees. Sniffing, whimpering, trotting. Blood blotted the sand.
She winced.
“Aspen, his paws.”
“Get the protective booties.”
Shouts and a loud bang exploded from somewhere.
Talon yelped and tore off.
Aspen held the lead, but it ripped out of her hands. “Talon, heel! Heel!”
He slowed, turned a circle, then scampered under the Jeep.
Disappointment and concern flooded Aspen. She trudged over to the truck, her head pounding from the stress of tending Talon and the unrelenting heat. Sweat streamed down her face and back as she went to her knees.
A soft touch on her arm. “You okay?” Dane asked.
“Yeah.” Who was she kiddin
g? “No. I don’t know.” Did she sound as psychotic as she felt? She gave a soft snort and wiped her forehead again. “Talon’s been on edge for the last thirty minutes, whimpering. He got dehydrated, but I think it’s under control. But now he’s whimpering again, then that noise—” She stopped short. “What was it?”
“A couple of kids horsing around crashed into one of the metal walls.”
“Oh.” And the poor dog had lost his courage. So did she, knowing Talon still wasn’t ready. It broke her heart. Tugged at her. Like that mother standing with the sultan beneath the shade tree now, with an infant strapped to her breast with a scarf-like sling, and another in another sling dangling against her hip. She held tiny little fingers of an older child. Three children. All skin and bones. All looking hungry, sad. Just like Talon.
Just like me.
Dane’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Aspen?”
The tears were coming. She could feel them. Pushed them back. “It’s all…wrong.” Her eyes burned.
“Hey.” Dane’s hand slid to her neck, and he nudged her chin up with his thumb. “Aspen.”
She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Hey.” He waited for her this time, but as soon as she looked into the eyes of iron, the squirming tangled up her stomach again. “It’s good—good that you’re feeling this way. It means it’s changing you, that you won’t forget. The worst thing we can do is walk out of here and forget.”
She loved that he didn’t want to forget, that the world around them impacted him. But more than those concerns plied at her. “It’s not just that—Talon’s not ready. If he can’t even tolerate loud noises, how on earth can he find Austin? And the heat is getting to him, and he’s injured his paw, so he has to rest for days if not a week, and—”
“Whoa.”
She looked up at him and once again shook her head. “Why did I think I could do this? He was Austin’s partner. His superior. They were inseparable. What am I doing out here?”
“Getting answers.” Dane lowered his head and peered into her eyes. “Let’s get him out from under there and get back to Lemonnier. We’ll debrief.”
Yanked out of her emotional collapse, she widened her eyes. “What’d you find out?”
He smirked. “A few things.” He patted her shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get Talon and move out.”
On her knees, she peered under the vehicle.
Talon sat beneath the Jeep, head up—as much as he could manage. He scooched forward on his belly and paws then dropped something at her feet.
Aspen gasped.
Twenty
Camp Lemonnier, Combined Joint Task Force—Horn of Africa Republic of Djibouti, Africa
You’ll need to work her. Find out what she found. What it means.” Breathe. In. Out. “I will not work her.” Pinching the bridge of his nose—and grateful it didn’t hurt as bad as it did a week ago—Cardinal clamped down on his frustration.
“Cardinal, we don’t have time. Understand this: General Payne went ballistic when he found out you were there.”
“And how did he find that out?” Showered, he stuffed his arms in a clean shirt.
“No idea, but he’s yelling and threatening to have you hauled back here and thrown in prison for the rest of your life.”
“My job is to figure this out and find Courtland.” Cardinal stuffed his feet in his boots as he talked. “Your job is to keep the hounds off my back.” He huffed. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out what she knows, but I won’t work her. I’ll ask her.”
Burnett laughed, and the slurping of a soda filled the line. “What’s the difference?”
“Night and day.”
Burnett cursed. “For the love of Pete.” He muttered something. “Look, Payne’s storming down the hall, obviously planning to be a pain in my backside.” He grunted. “Listen, Cardinal—get Courtland and get back here before the dragon breathes fire down your neck.”
“Understood.”
Now to find Aspen. Talk to her. Give her the chance to be straight with him. So he could keep his conscience clear.
Feeling as if he’d been through a sauna after his shower, Cardinal made his way past the containerized living units, heat wafting off the cement. At least they’d been accommodated in the portable buildings rather than a tent—that, he knew, was for Talon to stay cool in the AC-regulated environment. When they’d arrived back at Lemonnier, Aspen and Timbrel went with the med staff to get Talon hydrated and cleaned up. They’d agreed to meet at the cantina after showers and a change of clothes.
The central path that snaked around “downtown” Lemonnier was known as Broadway and led Cardinal toward the cantina, theater, PX—and Aspen. At least, he hoped it did. She wasn’t in her building. As he made his way through downtown, he spotted a group playing basketball down the road a bit. Candyman with his thick beard and thick build stuck out. And so did Timbrel, though she stood at least a head shorter. She had more spunk than most women—especially to play a game with men nearly twice her size.
Cardinal slipped into the cantina, scanning the area. No go. He stepped back into the heat and made his way to the gym.
Bag in hand, Watterboy strode toward him.
“Have you seen Aspen?”
“Saw her heading to the chapel on my way in.” He shouldered past another soldier but called over his shoulder, “Hey. Briefing with Burnett in twenty.”
“Thanks.” Cardinal jogged toward the chapel, which looked more like something that belonged on the plains of America than in Eastern Africa.
Stepping inside stripped him of any preconceived notions as music rushed into him, drawing him deeper into its sanctuary. The door closed, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the Spartan interior. Certainly no St. Mary’s Cathedral. With wood paneling, fluorescent bulbs on the sloped ceilings, and black vinyl chairs serving as pews, the chapel was functional at best.
Sitting at the black upright piano, Aspen had her back to him. Immersed in the music filling the air. Peaceful. The tune coiled around his chest and drew him to the front.
As he came up beside her, she jumped and lifted her fingers. Silence dropped like a bomb and felt just as destructive. Somehow, her playing soothed the savage atmosphere.
“Please,” he said as he eased onto the bench with her. “Don’t stop. It’s beautiful.”
“I’m a closet pianist. I don’t play in front of others.” Her embarrassment glowed through her cheeks and shy smile.
“Where’d you learn?”
“My mother was a concert pianist, and though I inherited her skill, I did not inherit her desire and ability to perform in front of others.” She shrugged and flexed her hand. “It’s easier on the knuckles than boxing.”
Cardinal ran a hand along his face. “And jawbones.”
Aspen laughed. “Blocking helps that.”
“So, it’s my fault?”
She wrinkled her nose. “You just need more practice.”
The challenge sat in the quiet building like a warm blanket. Finally Aspen plunked a few keys, the higher notes tinkling through the cozy chapel. Then a heavy sigh. Her countenance was depressed, her song now somber.
“What’s going on?”
Chewing her lower lip, she again dropped her hands into her lap and stared up at the framed print above the piano. “I came in here to try to think through it all—why would he leave me, be alive and never tell me? Let me think he’s dead?” She bunched her shoulders. “I don’t get it.”
Considering he had something to do with all that, he had to tread lightly. “There are those who make sacrifices for their country most people will never understand.”
She considered him, her pale eyes piercing. “Are you saying he’s making a sacrifice?”
Whoa. Too close there. “What I’m saying is, unless you can talk to him, don’t try to understand. Just go with your facts. Let them talk to you.”
Aspen looked down at her hands. “They don’t make sense, like they’re speaking a different langu
age.”
He’d have to nudge her. “You found something at the village.”
She whipped her face back to his. “How…?”
“There’s not much I miss.”
Guilt crowded her soft, innocent features. She was so easy to read, so easy to…Cardinal fisted his hand. He would not work her. This had to be natural. But his curiosity was killing him. “If you hid it from us, I assume you had a reason. A good one. At the same time, you’ve separated yourself since finding it.” He cocked his head and arched his eyebrow. “Those facts are talking to me.”
Her expression shifted, but was it one of being caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar or one of genuine curiosity? “What are they saying?”
“That you don’t trust me.”
She opened her mouth to speak and drew back. “I—”
“Let me finish.” He noticed her hand had moved to the pocket, probably where she hid the item. “Second, your seclusion and pensive disposition tell me whatever you found probably has personal meaning or evokes a memory. And somehow, it has pushed you into self-preservation mode.”
Her gaze darted over the white and black keys, her mind seemingly somewhere else.
“And last…you don’t trust anyone with what you’re thinking, what you’re considering, which is why you’re here in the chapel.” He lowered his voice because it just seemed appropriate. “Seeking the counsel of the divine.”
Just rip her open and read her heart like a book! How on earth had he figured all that out?
A nervous tickle pushed out an equally nervous laugh. “Remind me never to ask you to evaluate me again.” It was hard, sitting here next to him. Smelling the freshness of him after a shower. He hadn’t shaved again, and a thin layer of dark stubble shadowed his mouth and jaw. His black hair dropped into his face, still a bit damp. Hard to think. Hard to hold her ground.
“So, I’m right?” Something shadowed his eyes.
It almost looked like disappointment. Why did that thought corkscrew through her chest, the thought of letting him down? She couldn’t hurt him. Didn’t want to lose the little connection they’d established, even though he’d shoved her away not two days ago.