Einstein Dog (23 page)

“Canine Operative One. CO-One. Acknowledge.” Hindquist's voice crackled in her earpiece. “Status changed,” he said. “Code Red. The mission is now Code Red.”

He had upped the urgency to the highest priority. Code Red meant she had to reach her objective as quickly as possible by any means available. They wanted her to flush and destroy the enemy aggressively.

Genie backed away from the window, removing herself from Bob's probable line of fire. She was out of range for a paintball gun, but some day might be up against live ammunition. When
that
day came, she wanted her actions to be instinctive. The whole time she'd been watching the forest, she'd also been checking for any signs of Bob in Amosville, listening and sniffing at the still air.
He's not here,
she said. Just in case, though, she carried out a quick sweep of the streets and buildings. If he
were
in hiding, she would make an easy target while heading out of town.

She clacked her teeth, calling up the aiming system of the assault rifle built into her body armour. Crosshairs appeared inside the curve of her helmet visor. She also activated the K-Pac's motion and infrared detectors.

Satisfied Amosville was clean, she headed down to the water obstacle. She could have rounded the pond, but Bob would be expecting that and she hoped to gain the element of surprise by mounting an amphibious attack. She sliced into the water, adjusting the buoyancy of her vest to keep her gear dry. In less than a minute she reached the far shore. Genie cocked her head and listened. She clacked again, calling up the directional amplification function of her helmet.

There! Swiveling her head left and right, she pinpointed her quarry's distance and direction: about fifteen metres straight in from shore, dug in at a low berm that ran between the forest and the desert. The spot provided good cover from front and back, but was exposed on the flank, her angle of attack.

He's really afraid, she noted. Hindquist must have threatened him with some truly dire consequence. In dozens of trials, Bob had not managed a single hit; she, on the other hand, could have painted a mansion with all the dye she'd spattered on him. If she'd been feeling generous, she would have let him have a win.

Genie wasn't in a generous mood, though. She wanted to humiliate Bob Gowler.

She slipped into the underbrush, creeping toward his foxhole. Less than five metres from his position the vegetation thinned. Bob lay on his stomach, keeping an eye on the desert approach. She could have pumped a couple of rounds into him then and there; would have if this had been a real encounter.

She held her fire, though, wanting to see his look of surprise when he realized she had beaten him again.

She advanced into the clearing, keeping him in her sights as she snuck up to a position less than three metres to his right and slightly behind.

“Woof!” Genie said.

Bob twisted and screamed, jumping to his feet in one motion. Dropping his paintball gun, he held up his hands in surrender.

Code Red. Take no prisoners. Kill.
Genie's training kicked in.

“Don't!” Bob pleaded. “Don't shoot! I don't want to — ”

She clacked her teeth three times in quick succession; three rounds spurted out of the rifle.

Genie couldn't comprehend what happened next.

Three red puncture marks dotted the front of Bob's shirt.

This isn't a paintball unit,
she thought, watching him spin round and collapse like a rag doll. Why wasn't he standing there, looking stupid? Why wasn't he grinning sheepishly at the enemy who had bested him again?

Then, like a sickening implosion, the truth closed in. She couldn't breathe.

Live rounds!
she gasped.
They outfitted me with live rounds!

She charged over the berm and up the ridge of the first dune to where she could see the control room. Frank Hindquist regarded her, a mixture of pride and amusement distorting his chiseled features.

“Well done!” he congratulated, his voice taunting in her headphones.

You tricked me!
she howled, her fury aimed at him like a shockwave. She trained the crosshairs to her rifle on him. Wondered if the glass in the tower was bulletproof.
You tricked me into killing him.

“Into doing something necessary,” he corrected. “You are now ready for your first mission. Ready to take up the threads of your destiny.”

Just a couple of clacks and he would be dead, too. She kept the rifle aimed at him. Every shred of decency that remained in her urged Genie to shoot . . . But she couldn't.

Hindquist grinned. “I thought you would make the right decision,” he said.

Suddenly, as if her will had collapsed, Genie felt herself sliding, tumbling down the shifting slope of the dune. She wanted to die, begged her fragmenting consciousness never to return, to simply dissolve forever.

Even as she toppled, though, she knew she would awaken, and that her future would be something she could never have conceived. In her heart she knew Bob's murder had not been a completely accidental act on her part; she was guilty too. Now she would be Hindquist's dog, and everything would turn out as he had decreed.

At least the nights are warm, Einstein thought, counting his blessings.
Imagine if you'd run off in the middle of winter, when it does nothing but blow, and thunder, and pour buckets.

He shivered just thinking about it. As a domestic he'd often seen strays slinking out of the Nicomekl, but Einstein never imagined he might find
himself
in such circumstances, estranged from his home and his humans. Now he took comfort in the knowledge that he'd always treated strays kindly.

Enough daydreaming, though,
he snorted.
I've got to fetch my dinner.

He cocked his head at a plump squirrel, scrabbling around the base of a maple in Nicomekl Park.
Don't worry,
he chuckled at the uncomprehending creature. There were plenty of squirrels, of course, and frogs, and field mice. All these creatures were his friends, though. They trusted him and he didn't have the stomach to betray them.
I'd rather die than start snacking on the local wildlife.

That left one option: dumpster dining. He trotted down the path that led out of Nicomekl Park toward Fraser Highway and Langley's restaurant district.
What will it be tonight?
he mused.
Oriental? French? Italian?
He decided on seafood, making for a fish and chip shop on Salt Lane.

It had taken the better part of a week to lope back from the Okanagan to Langley, and he still wasn't sure it had been right to come at all. But he knew Langley, and probably had a better chance of surviving in his hometown, even if it was closer to the enemy.
It's also closer to my best friends,
he reminded himself, and they might need him on short notice. So Langley it was.

In time he might be able to establish contact with his family. Not yet, though. AMOS would certainly be watching and any attempt to communicate would endanger the Smiths as well as him. The only thing to do was survive and bide his time.

Passing by the brightly lit front window of the Codswallop Café, Einstein glanced in at the patrons forking in home-cut fries and chunks of battered fish slathered with tartar sauce. He licked his chops and hurried on, turning into a narrow gap between the Codswallop and a pawnshop next door. Darkness had gathered in the brick and mortar canyon, but Einstein saw no reason to be afraid. If AMOS operatives had been onto him, he would have known; there wasn't a human alive who could tail a SMART dog without being spotted.

Halfway down the gap, though, these careless thoughts evaporated and the hair stood up along the ridge of Einstein's back. Eyes! In the waning light at the far end of his route a pair of eyes glinted.

Uh-oh. Einstein swallowed. No sense picking a fight. Plenty of dumpsters in this town.
Maybe I'll go up to Han's and eat Chinese.
He turned just in time to see a silhouette move into the other end of the canyon.

Trapped,
Einstein thought.
Shoot!

He'd been careless. It was no time for self-criticism, though. He had to think very seriously about his next move.

The best chance would be to take a run at the street end of the gap, bowling over his opponent and making for the open. If he could get out onto Salt Lane he could make a run for it. More room to manoeuvre, he calculated. And if he
did
get knocked down, the noise of a fight would draw humans, who might intervene. He didn't want to think what would happen if he got swarmed in the alley behind the restaurant. He was about to charge when another dog joined the figure at the street end of the tunnel.

Change of plan! He turned again to face the lone challenger at the lane end. Stiff-legged and growling, his adversary advanced steadily. Behind him, the other two had broken into a run and would be on him in a second. Time to move.

With bared fangs he launched himself at the lone assailant. One miniscule glimmer of hope remained, but it depended on his adversary bracing for a furious, head-on attack. Adrenaline kicked him into high gear, but Einstein's mind remained clear and calm as he closed on his adversary.
Wait, wait,
he told himself . . .

Then it happened: his opponent crouched, lowering his centre of gravity in preparation for the inevitable collision.

Now!

Einstein vaulted up and sideways, a movement that momentarily confused his foe. Springing off the wall, he barrel-rolled and righted himself, landing behind enemy lines.

Yahoo!
he whooped.

His attacker barked furiously.

At full tilt Einstein rounded the corner into the alley behind the Codswallop. He'd bought himself a fraction of a second, no more. A lone dog couldn't outrun a pack on open ground. Packs were a formidable kind of creature that encircled and engulfed, cutting off angles and pouring around corners. Packs killed! He'd dodged them, but now he needed obstacles, diversions to disperse them and throw them off. He didn't stand a chance in the back alley.

Light! The bright rectangle of the restaurant's open kitchen door.
Cooks, tables, chairs!
Einstein streaked into the Codswallop.

Get him!
the enemy leader barked in hot pursuit.

“Hey!” a human in a white uniform yelled.

“Ayeee!” a waitress screamed.

Einstein's claws scrabbled on the polished tile as he skittered into a kitchen helper carrying a stack of dishes. Suddenly it rained plates. They crashed and shattered on the floor, startling his pursuers as they swarmed into the kitchen. The split-second pause gave Einstein the opportunity he needed: he barged through the swinging doors into the dining room.

“I'll kill you!” the chef bellowed. “I'll kill every last one of you damned mutts!”

Now the pursuers were pursued. The leader tumbled out of the kitchen, followed by his partners and the red-faced cook wielding a meat clever. Einstein darted under the nearest table, but was exposed when the screaming patrons tipped it over, desperate to get away. Shouts, the clatter of falling cutlery, the thump of the chef's cleaver . . . Einstein couldn't ask for more diversions than they'd triggered in the Codswallop Café, which was quickly being reduced to chaos.

One problem, though: if he couldn't escape the pandemonium he'd brought down on the place, it was only a matter of time before the chef's cleaver found its mark.

Summoning all his speed and courage, he accelerated across the room toward the diners he'd glanced at earlier from the other side of the front window. The wide-eyed couple watched his charge in disbelief, the man still holding up a glass of wine, the woman a forkful of fish. Einstein launched himself, bounded off the teetering table and crashed through the window in a shower of glass onto the sidewalk outside. He didn't stop to examine his wounds. Gathering all his strength he ran for his life, chased by the rants of the apoplectic chef.

As he pulled away he became aware of other sounds following him: the steady patter of canine paws. Einstein glanced over his shoulder and, sure enough, the pack was still on his tail. Far from looking savage, though, his adversaries were laughing hysterically.

Slow down!
the leader gasped.

Talking dogs!
The realization struck Einstein like a lightning bolt. But he didn't slacken his pace.
Leave me alone!
he growled.

No! Please. I promise we won't hurt you. Dog's honour. Ha ha ha! Never seen anything so funny in my life. Did you see the look on his face? Ha ha ha.

Einstein stopped dead.

Cap?

He turned, allowing his pursuer to come nose-to-nose.

Cap? Is that you?

Cap frowned, then grinned.
Einstein?

The two of them were still yipping and wagging joyfully when Breeze and Blizzard caught up. Barking and yowling, they joined in the celebration. Libra's litter was back together . . . all of them, minus one.