“When they travel, the participants have to sign in to their app and let Iniquus know when they’ll be out of the country. The app sends updates and advisories. She checked to see if he was still in Israel, and McLeod updated last night that he was in Turkey, specifically our little village. She’s very excited.His place didn’t have an address. But the app did register a coordinate when he was updating his status. I’m texting that to you.”
“But you haven’t seen him.”
“No.”
“Keep the money with you,” Dakota said, “like on your back. Listen, more people will be heading your way. The village took a big hit with that last tremor. Things are a lot worse than they were.”
Dakota stretched out his hand to give the webbing to AJ, who snatched it and ran toward a backyard.
“I wonder if it affected Team Mike and the train rails. They should be getting into the station soon. The airport staff are rallying vehicles and people to help transport the supplies back to our camp. If anyone asks, our tents are all fully occupied now, and people are wandering over with rugs and blankets, making do. Sanitation is a situation. And the first aid station in the hangar is also full. Egypt can’t get here fast enough. Mandy didn’t tell me how they’re getting here. I’m assuming a container ship. That takes about twenty-four hours.”
Dakota looked at the string of GPS numbers that pinged in his messages. “Thanks for the update. Hey, Rylee, Bravo has McLeod’s coordinates, right?”
“Yes. Hailey put McLeod on their roster. They have twenty-two to evacuate. They’ve pulled out fourteen.”
“Okay, I’m going to go see if I can’t take one off Bravo’s list for them. I’ll check in later.”
It wasn’t an easy path to get to the red pin on his map.
When he got there, he found a family huddling together in the backyard, in shock.
Pulling his pack from his shoulders, Dakota dragged out his bottle of water. One by one, he helped them tip their headsback and rinse their eyes, hoping to protect them from corneal scratches, starting with the baby cradled in his mother’s arms.
Then he encouraged them to drink and clear their throats. One by one, he checked them over for breaks or bleeds and concluded that they hadn’t been hurt, though their hair and skin were caked in dust and they were obviously in shock. At this point, there was little he could do to stabilize the family other than point them toward the airport, where there might be enough water for them to wash.
Tank had lain out of the way like a good boy, but his tongue was out, and he was stress panting.
As soon as the family left, Dakota moved over to crouch by Tank, checked Tank’s video camera, and then checked his own. If this was where McLeod was supposed to be, everything they found might be evidence in a court trial.
“Do you want to show me what’s wrong? Tank, show me.”
Tank stood, shook, and trotted over to what had once been a one-story building. The walls in this back corner had been painted bright Kelly green. The bedcover was purple with silver threads. There was an overturned chair and broken glass visible.
Dakota looked to make sure Tank hadn’t pulled off one of his booties.
Tank’s snoot was working hard as he chuffed the debris. This was the part of their work that concerned Dakota: all the things Tank would pull into his system, all the ways it could harm him.
Coming back to the same spot for a third time, Tank sat and looked at Dakota. He alerted that a scent was detected.
Dakota lifted the slab of wallboard and set it aside. There he found a backpack.
Aiming his camera to capture his search, Dakota unzipped the top and pulled it wide. There he found McLeod’s passportand cell phone. There were snacks and half a bottle of orange soda. Some cords. Earphones. A leather-bound journal held shut with a loop closure.
“McLeod!” Dakota called. “McLeod, rescue. Can you hear me? Call out or bang something with a rock.”
Dakota stilled. He didn’t trust his ears, damaged through the years by explosives, but he could trust Tank. So he watched to see if Tank swiveled his ears toward a sound.
Nothing.
“McLeod! Rescue! Call out!” he stilled again.
Again, nothing.
But Tank’s nose stretched out toward the journal. His nose chuffed the air. Responding to Tank’s whine and a stomp of his foot, Dakota opened it.
There, he found that the pages had been glued together, and a hole had been neatly cut out of the middle. In the cavity was a banded stack of what appeared to be hundred-dollar bills.
Hundred-dolla’ bills, ya’ll.
