Chapter 4

4

CORE, SINGAPORE

Garrett walked through the foggy downtown singapore street market toward the circular skyscraper law building that stood among tall gray buildings for his undercover meetup. Made him think of a World War II spy—which was Delaney's fault. She'd offered him a headset while she streamed Casablanca on the C-130 flight over. He still hated the movie, but the haze swarming around him this evening, the buzzing of relentless traffic, reminded him of that "beginning of a beautiful friendship" scene.

Get your head in the game. He stretched his neck and kept moving. Caldwell had arranged for the Sachaai guy to meet him nearby to sell Garrett a sample of the chem vials. So here he was, walking past vendors selling wares in stands and shops. He eyed a display of watches—for five Singapore dollars? But how long would a cheap watch last? He took a second to inspect one of the watches—or at least look like he was. The tension for the mission had ratcheted with Tyson Chapel's warning from an hour ago that, apparently, after working a deal with an African chem supplier, Hakim was returning to Core. And the guy liked hands-on control of Sachaai's movements within planned attacks. So it wouldn't be out of the question for Garrett to find himself facing him.

Garrett roughed his hair, slid into his undercover devil-may-care persona. Chems were the sole focus of this mission. Not him constantly fighting his instinct to eliminate the source of so many deaths and the anticipated Wednesday attack. But that was revenge. The attack was on Americans—innocent bystanders in this game.

So Garrett refocused. "Everybody there?" he subvocalized.

"Overwatch here. Where else would I be?" Caldwell said from the safe house computer room. "I've accessed street cams and local business security cams."

Sarcastic as usual. Caldwell had been frustrated his sources hadn't alerted him to Hakim's incoming return, that Damocles had preempted him.

"Eagle Three in position with Cerberus One and Two," Zim confirmed, indicating he was at the corner rendezvous site with Thompson and the mighty mutt.

"Approaching stand." He reached it and walked the perimeter of the busy eating area with shop vendors, trucks, stands, and a few tables and chairs. Garrett studied the signs on the side of the truck, made a show of eyeing the various pots sitting to the side, knowing the contact would likely be watching for him.

"Heads-up, Bear," Caldwell comm'd. "Andre incoming on your three."

"Copy." Garrett slid his gaze to his right and saw a twenty-something guy saunter from the law office's side door. Despite the darkness, his black hair and cheek mole were easily identifiable beneath the streetlights. He wore standard jeans and a hoodie. Just like the image Caldwell had found.

"I see him," Garrett said as he angled back around. No sign of Hakim, thank God.

Lord, let this work. No going sideways. Please.

Andre ambled up, passed the truck, his gaze sliding along the truck and hitting Garrett, then he stepped in line next to him.

Garrett scanned the pots and the menus plastered to the interior walls of the truck, the lone lighted sign casting a strange orange glow over him. "Would you pick chicken clay pot rice or Chinese sausage with rice?"

"Chicken," the guy responded, giving the prearranged answer.

Garrett eyed the twenty-something. "I'll take the sausage, I think."

Andre shrugged as they stepped to the counter.

"For your help, I'll pay." Garrett stood at the counter with the contact and pulled out five Singapore dollars. "One chicken, one sausage," he told the vendor.

At his left, Andre placed his hand on the counter, then removed it.

There lay a small baggie with the lipids—ten blue and ten yellow—which Garrett palmed. Tucked in his pocket.

Amid the sizzle of chicken and sausage being cooked, Andre spoke quietly. "Rashid will have your order by tomorrow."

Garrett kept his face blank. Give Surge a sniff of these, and he'd meet Rashid much sooner. Unlikely he'd get anything out of this punk, but he'd try. "Where did he get these?"

Andre shrugged. "He just told me to bring the sample."

The vendor piled two boxes of food on the counter and stared at them, waiting for them to leave so he could get to his next customers.

Garrett took his and banked away from the stand. "Package secured," he comm'd. Didn't matter what Andre didn't know. Surge's nose would know. He ducked into a side alley and pivoted back, eyeballing the punk as he returned to the law building. "Overwatch, we know anything about that building?"

"It's legit," Caldwell said. "No connection to Hakim or the chems that we can find."

"Watch the building," he stated and headed to rendezvous with Thompson and Surge.

"Already on it," the spook said, a little irritation in his words. "Contact just exited the front of the building."

"Cerberus One and Two, en route to your position."

"Copy that," Zim reported. "We have you in sight."

Streetlights glowed brighter here, where the street vendors and businesses didn't dampen their power. A dull ache in his shoulder reminded Garrett of sparring with Thompson. He'd never tell her, but that chop she'd delivered to his shoulder had left a little bruise. She was stronger than he'd expected. And she had worked with SEALs to help specialize their combat assault dogs. She might have a lot of attitude, but the girl clearly knew her stuff.

He slipped into the small alley. Steady panting drew him to the right, where he found the trio, blending well into the shadows.

"You have them?" Zim asked.

Garrett showed them the baggie and eyed Thompson. "Ready?"

"Yes." Nerves quavered in her answer, but her shoulders were squared, and she seemed to draw up her courage as she looked at Surge, who was on all fours. "We both are."

Garrett mentally patted the weapon holstered at his back and the one in his ankle holster. He eyed the bulge in the pocket of Delaney's green denim jacket. "Ninety degrees and you're wearing a jacket—it could stand out. But let me guess. KONG?"

"Of course."

Garrett passed the sample packet to her. "The vials." He swung around and aimed toward the street again. "He went back into the law building, so that's probably the best place to start. I'll let you take the lead and trail you, so we aren't obvious."

"As planned." She flashed him a nervous smile and another nod.

Surge's golden eyes went from eager to intense, his tail whipping the air. He sniffed the vials a couple seconds and lay down, ears forward, staring at them.

The tubes definitely had Sachaai lipids.

"Okay, handsome," she said and strode out of the alley. They made their way back to the street market and the truck vendor. Delaney took her time, like a pro, eyeing the shops, letting Surge do his thing.

The MWD stuck his nose in the air, turned a half circle, and paused. He loped the few feet to Garrett and lay down, his black ears pointed at him.

Delaney watched him for a moment, then her lips screwed up. "Garrett, you have any other chem tubes?"

"Nope. You have them."

"Right." She frowned, then drew Surge around to face the opposite direction. She guided him to the stoop the contact had entered through, then repeated the command. "Seek." They made a slow, steady circle around the alley.

Garrett paced the vendors, never more than twenty feet from the two. He skirted a small jewelry vendor when the Mal trotted back to him, sniffed him, then went into a down.

Ears forward, Surge stared at him.

Delaney huffed, apparently feeling the same frustration as Garrett, but she kept her voice light and firm. She drew him back to the alley entrance. "C'mon, Surge. Seek." More than once, she stepped toward the dog, then back.

At the end of the long leash, he went a little way down the street, and Garrett had hope this might actually work. But then the Malinois returned to him, throwing his front paws onto his shoulders, knocking him backward a step.

"Out!" Delaney ordered, and he sat looking at Garrett, ears pointed at him.

Frustration tightened Garrett's shoulders and jaw. "What's going on? Why's he coming back to me? We're going to give ourselves away."

"I don't know." Delaney pursed her lips, then considered him. "You held the baggie. I'm guessing you got more than a residue in your pocket."

Caldwell chimed in on the comms. "Hey, team. Got a problem. Need to clear out. In reviewing footage of the drop, I have positive ID on Rashid. Recommend you clear out in case he ID'd you and returns with backup."

Frustration morphing to irritation, Garrett clenched his jaw. "Rogue, try seeking from the building Andre went into, then we're out of here."

"Stay here," she said, her expression knotted. "Maybe if he doesn't keep thinking it's you, he'll catch the real trail."

"I'll hang back," Garrett said, understanding her concern, "but leaving you unprotected isn't happening."

"Fine, but Zim is with you."

She backtracked to the building. Circled and patrolled. She stroked Surge's head. "Nothing. No hits," Thompson said.

He strode to Delaney, ticked at himself for trusting a newb with no military experience on such an important op. This was on him. He should've known better. "Are you doing something wrong?"

Her jaw dropped. "Of course not!"

"Well, now we have to go through with the buy from Rashid. He's a—" Garrett paced into the alley's entrance, trying to find a word that wouldn't have his grandmother rolling over in her grave. "Rashid is extremely dangerous and ruthless. I told you we needed Surge to find the stash. Now the risk to life is elevated." He shook his head. "You told me you could do this—that he could."

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

He looked down at Surge. Tsunami wouldn't have missed the scent. Now that stakes were up, they had one last chance to fix this. But . . . facing Rashid—man, it scared him. More than it should. A trained SEAL, and he was afraid. For himself. His team. For Thompson. Even for the dog that had failed them.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. Something nagged at him—Surge came from A Breed Apart. Ghost had vouched for him, so . . . what was wrong? "Back to the safe house. Let's go."

* * *

Delaney stepped into his path, locked her eyes on his. "Hey, there are off days for every MWD."

"I know, I know." Garrett looked at his feet, lifted his gaze back to hers. "But if things go south at the buy . . ." He waved his hand in the air.

Surge sat up, wagging his tail as though a ball game were about to start.

Delaney rubbed Surge's velvety black ears. "Garrett, this is going to work. We just need to figure out what's tripping him up."

He nodded. "Then work on it at the safe house. And once there, don't go out alone. There's a garden on the lower level for him to relieve himself."

They silently got in the SUV and headed back to the safe house, and Garrett vanished. Needing to work off her own frustration and nerves, Delaney headed into the kitchen and made a towering plateful of turkey sandwiches for the team while she thought over and over every moment of the meetup and Surge's fails. No idea what'd happened with Surge tonight. Too bad she hadn't had a camera on Surge to review and figure out what'd gone wrong.

She carried the sandwiches and a platter of veggies into the living room, set them on the coffee table next to a party-sized bag of chips.

Caldwell walked in from the Command room and plopped down on the couch. "Walker is used to bearing the burden of the team and mission success, so naturally he's not happy. Luckily we had the buy already set up for tomorrow. At least he didn't punch you. He did punch me when things went wrong on our Djibouti mission."

With a half laugh, half sigh, she sat in the office chair. "Garrett punched you? What happened?"

He shrugged. "My intel sucked."

"You had bad intel?"

His eyebrows gathered in a pained expression for a split second, but he focused on a random piece of soft purple plastic he was squeezing between his fingers.

Delaney started to repeat her question, but Zim walked in.

"Starving!" he announced.

She pointed at the plate on the coffee table. "I made turkey sandwiches."

"Thanks." He grabbed one and settled in the recliner. Surge jumped up to sit on his lap. The Malinois licked his chops. Zim took a huge bite, Surge leaning closer and closer with hope.

Delaney laughed. "Surge, let him eat. I've got food for you. Come here, boy."

Surge jumped off and sat in front of her, still licking his chops. She scratched behind Surge's ears. "Caldwell, is there a way to get footage from the search?"

"Sure. The law building even had security cams in the alley." He stuffed chips into his mouth. "Get it to you in a minute."

She nodded her thanks, piling her sandwich and some veggies on a plate. Surge followed her back to her room, eyeing the sandwich the whole way. She set the bowl on the side table, then headed to the food container stowed in the corner and filled the bowl. Goofy dog dug in as though she hadn't fed him that morning like usual.

"Hey," Caldwell said, rapping on the open door. "I sent you the files from the search. Should be in your inbox."

"Perfect. Thanks." She took a bite of her sandwich and grabbed her laptop. They'd secured it and set it up to work here with the secure satellite. Now . . . time to figure out what happened. She opened her email, and there was the video from Caldwell. She owed the man some pizza when they got back to the States.

Delaney plugged in her earphones and hit play. She watched the whole search until Garrett walked away from the team. She plumped up the pillows to lean against, then started the video back at the beginning, crunching on some carrot sticks as she watched.

First one, Surge was standing there, watching her for a cue, then he suddenly turned and stared at Garrett on the other entry to the alley. But when she called his name, he jumped up and followed her seek cue.

Wait . . . that . . . wasn't a hit on Garrett.

Oh no . . .

She forwarded the video to the second hit. Surge was focused on Garrett, maybe because of the remnant from the vials he'd handled. Then she saw it—the moment she turned and looked at Garrett, Surge hit on him, ears pricked forward, staring at him. Following my cue . . .

It was the same at the third hit.

Why had she turned her head, looked at Garrett? Oh yeah, she'd thought she'd heard him say something. When she looked back, Surge went to the end of the long leash, practically knocked him to the ground.

Garrett had been right—she had done something wrong.

Inadvertent cues.

She had inadvertently given Surge cues on where to find the source. False leading. It was her fault. All because she'd been so worried about what Garrett thought, feeling his gaze tracking her every move, assessing her, judging her . . . finding her wanting.

Augh! For crying out loud, she was a professional. Not like she had some high school crush on a former SEAL. Even more than that, she cursed herself for pressing and urging Surge all through the search instead of trusting him to do what he did best.

Finished gobbling his dog food, Surge mouthed his KONG tug on the floor and dropped it at her feet, staring at the toy expectantly.

She picked it up and whispered, "Surge, we aren't targeting Garrett. Only tube vials that smell of Sachaai lipids. Okay?"

He barked.

Delaney laughed, and the game of tug began.

"Zim, is that thing some sort of outer space alien detector?" Caldwell's voice carried easily through the thin walls.

"No, Mr. Intelligence." Zim laughed. "It's a handheld FTIR, a Fourier-Transform Infrared spectrometer. I need to test the sample tubes Walker procured. Surge's nose is awesome, but courts want science."

Delaney tossed the rope on the bed and dove for the door. She jogged out to the cramped living room, Surge behind her. "Zim, you have an FTIR spectrometer?"

He lifted the device that looked like a camera with a trigger and a screen all attached to a plastic dumbbell. Surge went up on his hind legs and sniffed at it. Laughing, Zim hefted the device higher. "No nose prints, thank you very much."

Surge sat, looking at it.

Zim grinned at her. "Rogue, you've heard of these?"

Oh boy, the call sign was catching on, apparently. "Science has always been my hobby-passion since Mrs. Hayes in seventh grade." She squinted at the device. "I didn't know there were handheld FTIRs. This is so cool."

He waggled his brows. "You can help me test the chem vials, if you want."

"Of course I do!"

Bored now, Surge hopped up on the couch and lay down.

Zim pulled the baggie of tubes out of the equipment bag, and they walked over to the kitchen table.

"You point it at the vials and pull that trigger, right?"

"The lens has to touch them." He shrugged. "Otherwise, yep, basically the same as taking a picture."

She grinned and stretched her fingers in and out.

He opened its case and took out a different type of lens. "Damocles loaned this to me, and I am definitely nerding out." He took off the lens casing and switched lenses, then popped the casing back on. "Here you go."

She touched the spectrometer to them, pulled the trigger, and handed it back to Zim. Twenty seconds later, it beeped. He looked at the screen and tilted it so Delaney could see. "And there's our proof."

The screen read: LIPID 2304A.

"Scientific evidence to back up what Surge's nose detected—this is definitely Sachaai's lipid," Zim confirmed.

They whooped and slapped high fives.

Garrett walked in. He stood inside the door, staring at them, arms crossed.

She and Zim looked at each other like they'd been caught. Caught doing what, Delaney had no idea.

"FTIR spectrometer," Zim explained. "It identified Sachaai's lipids in your sample tubes. Success today."

"No success today." Garrett's voice was soft. "Surge failed, and despite having the buy tomorrow, I have no confidence he won't fail again tomorrow."

Her stomach fell, having an inkling where this was going.

"I think it best?—"

"Garrett." She was not going home. "Could I talk to you, please?"

He lowered his head for a moment. "Fine."

"Wait here a second." She jogged to her bedroom and brought out her laptop, opened it up on the kitchen table. "I was trying to figure out what went wrong with Surge out there."

With a grunt, Garrett drew closer.

Stepping up behind them, Caldwell and Zim crowded the small kitchen. She'd known this would happen. But what was she going to do, hide this from the rest of the team to avoid being embarrassed?

Surge joined the crew, looked at the screen like he knew what he was looking at.

"I had Caldwell send me the video of the search this morning." She hit play.

They all stood there silently as the video ran.

It finished, and Garrett said, "I know what happened—I was there."

"This time watch what I do." She rewound and showed them the hits again, skipping the first one.

"Huh," Caldwell said. "You look at Garrett, and Surge hits on him."

"Yes," she said quietly. "An inadvertent cue—leading, as it were. Surge thought I was cuing him to hit on Walker. My fault. I own that."

Garrett's lips twisted in thought. "What about that first hit?"

"It's not a hit." She rewound to it and hit pause when Surge turned to stare at him. "He's on the other side of the alley, by me." She zoomed in. "He's caught sight of another dog. No behavior break, though. When I said his name, he immediately focused on me and went on the seek. Like I said, not a hit."

Zim started laughing. "A dog in the middle of an MWD detection."

Garrett's jaw jerked to the side. "Inadvertent cues were your fault, Delaney?"

"Yes. I own that."

He didn't respond. Just stared at the video, jaw muscle twitching. Hard.

Man . . . tough audience. Delaney gulped, thinking of going back to Heath as a failure and with no new titanium prosthetic leg for Dad. She was a disappointment to God. Again.

Zim shrugged. "Boss, we need Surge. Especially now. Inadvertent means inadvertent—unintentional."

"What it means is that she cost us time and possibly the chance to get this sorted and stop the Sachaai."

"C'mon," Zim said, his voice quieter. "She's here. Our only chance to get Surge in the field. If Ghost sent her . . . maybe let her do her job. So she messed up. It happens. We all make mistakes. Let her try again."

Caldwell nodded. "Delaney keeps looking at you because she's worried that you're going to cut her. You lasered her the whole time during that search. You interfered, so if you want to blame someone?—"

"I want the op to succeed," Garrett said.

"Then let her focus on what she's doing."

Obviously irritated, Garrett signaled Caldwell and Zim aside.

As usual, God wasn't letting her have a chance. Her stomach clenched.

Garrett's right cheek twitched, and he jerked his thumb at the screen. "These inadvertent cues are solvable, right?"

She straightened. "Absolutely. Now that I know what happened, I fix it."

Silence stretched between them for a long second. Then he exhaled heavily. "I'm not sending you home." He met her gaze. "You found your mistake. Owned it. And you paid attention to Surge this time."

This time? Oh, wow—he'd heard that dressing down from Heath? She bit her lip.

"Yeah. I heard Daniels call you out about that."

But he wasn't firing her? "You still sound unsure . . ."

"A lot is riding on you doing your job correctly. A lot of lives." He stood silently for a second. "Meet me downstairs in twenty." He pivoted and walked down the hall into his room.

He had something up his sleeve.