Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (16 page)

“This side, yes.” Dane sat on the edge of the seat, forearms on his legs. “Go farther north or west, and you’ll find a stark difference.”

“Why?”

“French embassy.” Dane pointed to the building on the corner. “Farther down, a right onto Lyautey, and the American embassy is on the left.”

Ah. Of course. Couldn’t let some dignitaries or politicians live in poverty.

“Is that your way of saying we need to know where they are?” Timbrel’s words held accusation.

“Ignorance is a swift road to death.” Dane braced himself as they turned into a drive. The gate’s overhead ornamentation reminded her of the outline of a stepped pyramid. The vehicles pulled forward.

Concern rippled through Aspen. “Why are we here?”

Hand on the door, Dane hesitated. “To deliver the doctors.”

Her stomach twisted at the buildings around them. This? This was the hospital? She stepped into the unrelenting and balmy heat and stared at the buildings. Perhaps an inner-city clinic might look so dilapidated, but the main hospital for the city?

Talon sat by her feet on the dirt, panting. Aspen looked from one building to another, the familiar arches and the stark white, the smattering of pebbles that almost formed a road through the compound…She couldn’t fathom seeking medical help in a facility like this. She fed Talon some water then ruffled his fur. Red lettering over the doors—in French, leftover from the French influence and control of the country—identified the buildings.
O
RL
M
AXILLO
F
ACIALE
.

“See?” One of the doctors pointed down the drive a bit. “New facilities. Slowly, they are making progress.”

“U.S. has donated a lot.”

“Including hands-on help.” Aspen nodded as they followed the medical team into the multistoried building.

Over the next half hour, they toured the grounds. No marble tile or slate linoleum that lent a sterile feel to the hospital. Cement served its purpose, and where more sterility was demanded, tile covered 80 percent. Her heart misfired as she saw the building marked
P
ÉDIATRIE
. Around the entrance of blue-painted wrought iron stood several Muslim women, covered head to toe. Some held the hands of children.

Oh, Father, no
. Aspen’s stomach tightened. She could endure and tolerate a lot of things, but seeing children in pain or hurting…A touch at the small of her back startled her.

“You okay?”

She peered up into the steadfast gaze of Dane. And felt foolish. “Yeah. Sure.” She shot a look at the pediatric unit. A cold, wet nose nudged her hand, pulling her attention toward Talon. As quick as she looked down, he trotted ahead, aiming straight for the children’s building. Blue trimmed the windows, curiously drawing her attention to the window AC units that had discolored to a dirty tan. Shrubs poked up from a hard-packed dirt flower bed. Not exactly the lush green lawns found at most American hospitals, but it added a bit of green to the stark landscape.

“This is unbelievable,” Timbrel whispered.

“Djibouti struggles,” said one of the doctors who led them onward. “Two out of three children will face life-threatening medical problems due to poverty.” He grinned and pointed to Talon. “I bet the kids will love to see him.”

“He’s not a pet,” Timbrel warned.

The doctor hesitated. “Will he be okay?”

Aspen smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” In fact, she’d taken Talon to parks to help him adjust to sounds, to learn that not every loud noise was a threat. He still had a long way to go, but the handsome guy had come far.

Inside, the doctors quickly made their way to a multibed open area where children lay in hospital gowns, bandages here and there, IV lines snaking in and out. Brightly colored cartoon characters were painted on some walls, their perspectives a bit distorted and odd against the aging wood, peeling trim, and dirty tile. Aspen cringed. This would never fly in America.

As they made their way over to the bed of a little boy, who sat up in the bed, his leg propped on a pillow, Aspen steeled herself. Why was it always so hard to see children suffer? Because they were helpless? Because it exposed her own vulnerability?

Dr. Gutierrez nodded to Talon. “Hassan would like to pet your dog.”

Gathering her courage, Aspen kept the lead loose so Talon wouldn’t feed off her tension if she’d kept it tight. “Tell him to hold out his hand, palm up.”

Gutierrez relayed the instructions, and the boy extended his hand. Small, brown, marked with scars.

Without any instruction, Talon nosed the boy’s hand then swiped his tongue over it, eliciting a peal of laughter from the boy. Pride ballooned through Aspen’s chest. It reminded her of what Austin’s partner—and superior—had done for her when he’d first joined her family.

Talon sniffed the air. What, had he detected the strong antiseptic odor? He shifted back and glanced to the hall, bathed in shadows.

Trained on the hall, Talon barked. Then quickly sat. Aspen’s heart climbed into her throat. She couldn’t see anything down there, but Talon was rigid as a board.

The boy jerked visibly. Let out a scream.

Talon bolted.

    Eleven    

H
e didn’t see that coming. Aspen blurred past him. Cardinal glanced to the rest of the team, already swarming toward them. They broke into a sprint down the hall. She whipped to the right, out of sight. Pushing himself, he fell into the training that was first nature as breathing: memorizing his path, monitoring his surroundings, listening ahead and behind, formulating a plan, then a backup.

Boots and shouts erupted from behind. Another turn. A flight of stairs presented themselves at a cross section. He peered up then right and left. Behind him.

Watterboy pointed to Cardinal’s left. “You go right, we’ll cover this.”

Cardinal lunged down the hall. Empty. He glanced back. The others were already backtracking. Hogan’s face bore the fury of fear.

“Where is she?”

Thud!

To his right, light burst from another hall.

“Talon,” came Aspen’s faint call.

She’d gotten farther away than he thought. He hopped back a step and spun around. They were on top of him. He felt the friction of someone else’s elbow near his own. That ticked him off. Aspen was his responsibility. His priority to get her back home safely. No way would he be the cause of her death, too.

He burst out into an alley marked with aged buildings, dirt, a few dehydrated shrubs, dirt, a chain-link fence to the right, more dirt, and sun. Lots of sun. It felt like they’d stepped into a sauna. Sweat streaked down his back.

One of the men cursed.

“Aspen!” Timbrel shouted.

“What do we do?”

“I didn’t think Talon could move that fast,” Timbrel said. “He’s been nothing but lumbering and moping since I met him.”

“What spooked him?” Watterboy asked.

“No idea.” Cardinal stalked south of the pediatric building. There were any of a half-dozen routes they could’ve taken.

Hands cupped over her mouth, Timbrel shouted, “Aspen!”

Another curse.

“Hey,” Candyman said, “watch the language. There’s a lady present.”

“You wouldn’t know one if you saw one.” Timbrel called out to her friend again.

Candyman grinned. “She’s in love with me.”

For that, he was punched by two of his teammates as they fanned out, tense and alert, checking corners, alleys, buildings. Cardinal felt the heat—the 110 degrees and the scalding his conscience gave him for losing his target.

He turned, thinking he’d heard a dog bark. Head cocked to the side, he listened…

Hands stabbed at him.

Deflecting the move was instinctual. But he hauled those instincts in as he registered Hogan shouting something. “…fault. You better find her.” She’d drop him in a heartbeat. That is, if he let her.

“Shouting at me won’t help us find her.” Cardinal ripped out his phone. Punched in a number. Then a code. “I need eyes.” Teeth grinding, he stalked toward the gate, checking in, around, under, and over anything possible.

“Aspen, where are you?” Hogan’s shout reverberated through the hospital compound. Curious eyes peeked out of windows. Others stepped outside, watching as if they were some freak street sideshow.

“Here.”

The ever-so-faint word threw him around. He sprinted down the dirt road. South. Straight south. That’s the direction it’d come from. Aspen. He wasn’t one to panic. But this was close.

“Here.”

Just as her voice reached him, he saw paw prints in the dusty dirt.

“Over the fence,” she called.

Unbelievable. The dog had to have hopped up on that crate and leapt over the fence. It was several feet. But if he never stopped…incredible. Cardinal vaulted over it without a second thought. He touched the tarred alley that led back to Avenue Marechal.

Another dozen thumps and he knew the team had made it. He reached the corner, his breathing just above normal. Staying in shape benefited his career. Scratch that. It benefited staying alive.

Across the unenforced intersection, past a cluster of trees, a street led to what looked like a field. He shifted around and looked down the road…alley. Nothing.

A flicker to the left snagged his attention.

Aspen around the corner, already on Lyautey, waved before she started running again.

“Got her,” he threw over his shoulder. He stepped into the street. The wail of a horn nudged him back. Another car practically kissed the bumper of the first, but Cardinal launched himself over it to get to the other side. He aimed left—then skidded to a stop.

A rippling movement.

There, down that alley that led to an open area.

Talon!

Cardinal plunged down the alley. Pumping as hard as his legs would carry him. Blanketed in the shade of the buildings and the small trees lining the road, he pressed on. Thudding boots trailed him, followed by shouts and streams of communication one of the men had with Command.

He burst into the sunlight again and slowed. Where had she gone? He searched the circular area that looked as if it’d been cleared for building something. He breathed a little heavier, ignored the sweat sliding down his chest. His neck. His back—for cryin’ out loud! He was drenched.