Derek flipped the safety on then off again with a loud click to remind her to try no tricks. Cutcher’s fingers shook for a moment before she managed to steady them and pull her radio from her belt rather than reaching for her sidearm. They were dead steady as she dialed in a frequency. Almost as chill as Abby—but not quite to her high standard.
“This is Group Captain Cutcher. Form a perimeter. Do not approach. Acknowledge.”
“Are you sure, Captain?”
“That’s an order.”
The irritating nee-naw, which had been escalating to painful as the open front of the hangar captured and focused the sound, faded away. But the flashing blue lights continued to paint the walls and everyone inside.
“Captain Rose,” one of the helos reported. “We can see a non-RMP vehicle at the perimeter. Colonels are getting out.”
Abby confirmed the radio call then nodded to Derek.
He took a careful breath, safetied his weapon, and took a single step back.
Cutcher again waited the count of five before keying her radio. “Three Americans at the perimeter. Let them through.”
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Except Zackie when Dilya whispered, “Treat.” She raced to her mistress, terribly pleased with herself.
“Sorry we’re late to the party,” Mark drawled out as they drew close. “Couldn’t pass up that fine sticky toffee pudding for dessert. Always did like that.”
He rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment as if just noticing the situation. His smile said he was enjoying the moment though Derek couldn’t imagine why.
“Well, this is quite the change. What did you do this time, Fay? You didn’t brick over Principal Humphrey’s office door with him in it again, did you?”
“No! She?—”
Abby’s glare stopped Dilya cold.
Which impressed Derek no end. After even his few minutes’ talking with her, he knew that silencing Dilya wasn’t as easy as Abby made it look. In fact, she made the whole FUBARed situation look easy and smooth. If he was ever going to choose a woman to follow, he’d never find one better.
She addressed the colonels without looking away from Cutcher. “Zackie has identified a scent on Captain Cutcher’s hand, apparently from contact with a hospital bed.”
Oddly, Mark and Emily stayed silent. It was Colonel Gibson who moved forward. Rather than facing Cutcher or even Dilya, he squatted in front of Zackie, keeping one hand in his jacket pocket. The dog stretched out her neck to sniff at the pocket, gave a happy wag, but stayed where she was.
Derek guessed at what the man was up to. “Under half the reaction she had to Captain Cutcher, sir. And she broke away from Dilya the instant she picked up the scent.”
Michael didn’t turn, though he nodded, then looked up at Dilya. “Who else?”
“Only three that she’ll rush to greet. She forgets heel or stay around her hero, a German Shepherd named Rex who works at NASA. Also around First Lady Anne and Miss Watson. That’s it.”
Michael petted Zackie. “And you.”
Dilya blinked, then nodded. “Okay, four. Except we’re rarely apart, so she doesn’t get a chance to show it much.”
Michael stood, pulling out his hand and showed everyone that he had several slices of crispy bacon wrapped in a paper napkin. Then he handed it to Dilya.
Derek laughed. “Like a war dog?” They were trained to only accept food from their handlers to reduce the risk of poisoning. War dogs were highly valuable assets with bounties equivalent to a decade’s income in some zones, typically double the bounty of their handlers.
“Mostly it’s Secret Service trainers rather than war dog handlers,” Dilya broke off a piece and fed it to Zackie. “She’ll also accept food from Anne or dog biscuits from Miss Watson. But, yes, that’s it. Not even the President.”
Cutcher was staring so wide-eyed at the girl and dog that Derek wanted to laugh.
Michael turned to look at Cutcher. “I accept Dilya’s assessment. Where is she?”
Derek couldn’t see her face, but he could see Cutcher’s confused shrug. “Where is who?”
53
