Tracker (Page 6)

He led her to the bench, and they sat down.

Kane came trotting up to them after lifting his leg on an old stump, claiming this street for himself. Tucker scuffled his scruff and shook the hidden tactical vest, making sure nothing rattled to give the dog away. From here, they needed as much stealth as possible. He thumbed on the camera, raised the lens, and checked the dog’s earpiece.

“All suited up, buddy,” Tucker said, nuzzling close. “Ready to hunt?”

A savage swipe of his tail answered that. His dark eyes shone in the shadows.

Aliza passed Tucker the wool sweater. Kane had already taken a good whiff of her father’s scent, but it never hurt to reinforce it.

“Target,” Tucker said as Kane snuffled deep into the woolen garment. As the dog lifted his nose free again, Tucker pointed down the tree-shrouded street. “Track and find.”

The dog twisted and took off. In seconds, he vanished into the shadows as if he were never there.

Tucker stood, freeing his cell phone. He had donned his own earpiece and taped on a throat mike to communicate hands-free with the shepherd. In his ear, he heard the dog sniffing and softly panting, the sounds amplified by the sensitive microphones of the surveillance gear.

Trying one last time, Tucker turned to Aliza. “You could wait here. If we find anything—”

She looked temped but stood up. “I’m right behind you.”

He nodded and checked on the stolen FÉG PA-63 pistol tucked into the back of his belt. “Let’s see what Kane can find.”

They set off down the road. He kept them to the deeper shadows of the overgrown lane, avoiding the pools of light cast by the occasional brick houses. Not that such caution was overly necessary. He heard Kane, and with the aid of the camera, saw through the shepherd’s eyes. The dog was as much an extension of his senses as he was a partner.

As they continued, other dogs barked in the distance, perhaps scenting the arrival of Kane. While humans had on average six million olfactory receptors in their noses, hunting dogs like Kane had three hundred million, which heightened their sense of smell a thousandfold, allowing them to scent a target from two football fields away.

Tucker kept one eye on the road ahead and an ear out for any noise behind him. All the while, he monitored Kane’s progress as he crisscrossed and pursued any evidence of a scent trail through here. Tucker felt his perception widening, stretching to match that of his dog, blurring the line between them.

He became more keenly aware of Aliza: the smell of her skin, the tread of her heels, the whisper of her breath as it wheezed. He even felt the heat of her body on his back when she hovered close.

On the screen, Kane ran low across the street one more time, circling toward what appeared to be a dead end. There were no homes back here, and the forest seemed to grow thicker and taller, the trees even older. A brick archway appeared, half-buried in the woods, its façade cracked and gap-toothed. A rusted black iron gate blocked the way through that archway.

What lay beyond it?

As Kane approached, he swept the edge of the turnaround, staying hidden. A small caretaker’s house abutted the archway, evident from the dark windows to one side. When Kane reached the gate, he sniffed along the lower edge—then his body stiffened, nose out, tail back.

The pointed posture silently heralded his partner’s success.

Tucker turned and touched Aliza’s arm. “Kane found your father’s scent up ahead.”

Her eyes widened with hope. She stepped forward, ready to move faster, but he held her in check, his fingers tightening on her arm.

“Just stay behind me.” He touched his throat mike and subvocalized to Kane. “Good boy. Stand down. Hide.”

On the screen, he watched Kane break from his position, wheel away, and slip into the shadows to the right of the archway.

Tucker led Aliza forward. As they reached the end of the road, all seemed quiet. He maneuvered her under a beech tree.

“I’m going to check on the gate,” he said. “See if it’s locked. You stay hidden until I give you the all-clear.”

She nodded, one hand rising nervously to her throat.

He then took Kane’s example and edged along the periphery of the turnaround versus going straight across, sticking to the deepest shadows. The moon was bright overhead, casting too much light.

He dropped low and kept out of direct sight of the windows of the cottage that merged with the bricked archway. Without raising any alarm, he reached the gate. He saw no chain and risked reaching out to push one side of the gate, but before he could do so, a twin set of lights—headlamps—blazed from beyond the gate, spotlighting and blinding him.

A familiar gruff voice called out of the darkness; unfortunately, it was in Hungarian. So Tucker decided to ignore it. He whipped to the side, yanking out the FÉG PA-63 pistol, and fired at the headlamps.

Return fire pinged off the gate and chewed into the bricks.

One headlamp blacked out in a shattering pop of glass.

Then the car came jamming forward.

Crap.

Tucker danced back out of the archway, diving to the side as the sedan came charging toward him. He shoulder-rolled clear, the gates banging open behind him as the huge black beast came blasting into the turnaround. Gunfire chased him into the forest’s edge. He ducked behind the bole of an old oak and caught his breath.

He subvocalized a command to Kane. “Stay hidden.”

He planned on doing the same.

Then that Hungarian voice yelled to him, heard above the growl of the idling engine. He risked a glance to the street. The back passenger door was ajar. He saw Aliza being dragged into the glow of the headlamp. The burst of the sedan must have caught her by surprise, the light reaching her hiding spot, exposing her.

The gruff Hungarian with the pocked face held her by the throat, a pistol at her temple. The man tried English this time. “You come now or woman dead!”

With no choice, Tucker stepped into the open, his hands high, the pistol hanging loosely from one finger.

“Toss gun!” he was ordered.

Tucker underhanded it toward the sedan. It skidded under the car.

“Come now!”

Now this should get interesting . . . which was never a good thing.

He joined Aliza, who cast him an apologetic look.

He shook his head. Not your fault.

After his body was given a cursory search, he and Aliza were forced at gunpoint toward the archway and the gate, now broken and hanging askew. The sedan backed up behind them, pushing them all forward.

Beyond the brick span, the forest grew even denser, overgrown with ivy and thick ferns. Graves and mausoleums looked tossed about like children’s blocks. Many looked broken into, leaving gaping holes in the ground. Other markers had been toppled or leaned drunkenly against one another. Moss and lichen etched the white marble and stone. Mounds of leaf matter and broken deadfall obscured many of the rest.