Dakota had been down in Colombia, working a Secret Service mission. For two months, Dakota missed Tank with the same intensity of homesickness he had fought down when he deployed to the Middle East back in his military days.
Dakota had only just arrived back in the States Friday night. He had spent his Saturday doing the domestic things that needed attention after a long time away—filling the fridge, chucking the dead house plants, and opening the doors wide,despite the March chill, airing out the stale, unused smells that expand in a home when a door never opens to let in a blast of wind or sunshine.
That night, while Dakota was busy emptying his suitcases and throwing a load in the washing machine, Reaper, the lead trainer over at Iniquus’s Cerberus Tactical K9, had called to check in. “Hey, man, I know you’re scheduled to come to the campus and work with Tank on Tuesday, but we’re a man down on our race team. We’d appreciate it if you could run Tank for a good cause.”
“How’s that?” Dakota asked, pouring a capful of detergent into the washer tub. He’d get to see Tank earlier than planned, so whatever this was, the answer was an eager yes.
While Dakota was on mission, Tank had been living at Iniquus’s Cerberus Tactical K9 kennels for advanced scent training and certification in printing ink detection, along with sharpening Tank’s tactical skills to the razor-blade’s edge of Cerberus standards.
“Grace Del Toro, one of the Strike Force wives, is on a team that’s putting on a charity event for the children’s hospital tomorrow, and things took a step sideways.”
Dakota had no idea what his “Sure, I can help. What do you need?” was going to get him into.
But that’s how he now found himself laced up in his trail running gear this bright Sunday morning, standing with all three Cerberus Tactical K9 teams—Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie—in the roped-off parking lot of some Virginia farm just off the highway south of D.C.
There must have been close to two hundred people with dogs of all shapes and sizes scattered around the lot. Most of the dogs had basic leashes clipped to their collars, not this crazy setup he’d pulled from the bag with what looked like straps that went around the thighs.
Like a garter belt, maybe?
That’ll be a new sensation.
With a flick of his wrist, Dakota unraveled the rope system so he could see the length of the contraption.
Tank knew exactly what this was and exactly what came next. His tongue hung low as he panted in anticipation.
“Okay, good, that’s one of us who has a clue.” Dakota looked over as a couple of the Cerberus operators strapped their tethers around their hips.
“Here we go.” Dakota put his foot into the loop. He tried to mimic how the men stepped into the center, pushed the wide panel low on the back of their hips, then secured it in place with the various straps. “You’ll give me a heads up before I get tangled in this spider web of a contraption, right?”
Tank’s yip could be anything from “Let’s go!” to “You look like a fool, dude. You’re wearing it backward.”
Dakota would guess Tank probably meant that second one.
The goal for today’s event was to raise money for the children’s hospital project—building an accessible playground and a safe trail to get the kids off the pediatric floor from time to time and out into the sunshine and fresh air.
Who could turn down an opportunity like that?
The way the hospital was going about raising that money sounded genius. The event paralleled their hospital’s end goal of gathering outside in nature to feel better and have fun in community.
The charitable committee had hired an outfit that put together K9 obstacle runs. Doggos from all over signed up to race five miles, running the hills, lizard crawling under netting, splashing through ponds, and climbing walls.
It was the kind of event that got lots of people posting about their cool experience.
Lots of rattle and shake.
Lots of eyes on the event would hopefully drive a steady flow of funds from far and wide to fill the coffers, and the project would get the funds needed to greenlight the playground.
The problem for the committee was that a pop-up outdoor concert by some new social media sensation was suddenly soaking up local interest, and the competition for eyeballs would overwhelm the charity event's pull. The hospital committee had really leaned into the idea of getting exposure from viral posts and influencer participation. And it didn’t look like they were going to fill the spectators’ ranks the way they’d anticipated.
Grace believed they needed a wow factor, not just Joe Blow running his chihuahua, Spike. Though, honestly, if Spike came in a tutu, Dakota could see how that might work just fine.
Grace decided that Cerberus was the secret sauce for success.
Phone calls were made.
Iniquus Command was thumbs up.
They invited Dakota to join, wondering if a Secret Service special agent could keep up.
