Page 68 of Surge

The maligator swiftly fell into working the scent cone, his pace fast, determined. He raced down the aisle, straining at the end of the long lead. Then he twisted to the left, another left. He skidded to a stop, hauling long draughts as his ears pricked on an LD3 container, then the one next to it. Both had the Sachaai S. He sat between the two, staring as if he had Superman’s laser vision and could see the stash inside.

“Good boy,” Delaney exclaimed, drawing him to the side for Garrett and Zim to step in and do their thing. “Can you imagine how long we would’ve had to search for these without this nose?”

“No kidding.” Zim grinned.

Garrett slid back the two sliding bolts on the container door and opened the hatch.

Empty.

Surge jumped in, his ears pointing everywhere, but then he downed in the middle of the container.

“Is he overwhelmed?” Garrett asked.

“Overwhelmed bywhat?” she asked, still watching Surge, confused about his behavior since the container was empty and there wasn’t a blaring or annoying sound. Yes, Surge had alerted in the center of the container. His nose kept sniffing the air, but he wasn’t confused or panting a thousand miles an hour—he was relaxed. Chill. “This isn’t overwhelm.”

A flicker spirited through Garrett’s face, as if he wasn’t sure. Or maybe he was just as confused as Delaney.

She shifted her gaze to Zim. “You have that FTIR with you?” If he could check for Sachaai lipid readings to prove the chem vials had been here . . .

“I do.” He set down his ruck, pulled out the FTIR, and stepped into the container as he quickly scanned all over the walls and the floor.

Metallic clanks sounded from outside, and Delaney guessed that was Garrett inspecting the other Sachaai S container. His low curse told her it was empty too.

“Like we thought,” he snarled. “Someone knew we were coming.”

* * *

It was an entire waste of time and assets.

“Eagle Three, exiting Building 1.” Garrett swiveled his head, watching for the roaming guards as they left the metal warehouse building. He could hear Surge panting, feel the heat of Delaney close behind him, sense Zim bringing up the rear, watching their six. Why wasn’t Caldwell communicating? Either way, Garrett would do his job, even if this op—maybe the dog—had failed.

“You okay?” Delaney said, her voice soft.

“Not even a little,” he said under his breath, not looking back.

He’d been blindsided again. Had a guess who was responsible. He slowed as they approached the office, but the Mal surged forward on the long lead, stopping right in front of him. He plopped his rear on the ground and pricked his ears, staring at the ground on the other side of the road.

“What’s he doing?” he asked quietly.

Delaney studied her working dog. “He’s alerting, but to what, I don’t know.”

Garrett jerked his head toward the spot Surge was staring at.

She and Surge walked over, and he sat again. Delaney bent and retrieved something from the ground. They returned, and she handed it to him.

“A glove,” he grunted. A random, ratty glove. He held his sigh.

The Mal seemed off today. Delaney had worked through his whole overwhelm thing, but Surge kept hitting in strange places. An empty container. A glove out here . . .

Clearly it wasn’t just the Mal that was off today.

He slid the glove into his pocket and signaled them onward.

A security guard emerged from the office, flipping off the inside lights and shining a flashlight around the area.

Garrett slid for cover, sensing Zim and Delaney diving behind the container with him.

Hunkered down, Delaney slid her hands around Surge’s tac harness.

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