Chapter 2: The Photograph
I didn't leave town.
That was my first mistake.
My second was asking questions.
Twenty minutes later, Rex and I were sitting in an old motel room three blocks from the Rusty Spur.
I had locked the door.
Checked the windows.
Pulled the curtains.
Rex lay beside the bed, but he wasn't sleeping.
Neither was I.
I kept thinking about the deputy's face.
“That’s impossible.””
Those words wouldn't leave me alone.
I pulled my laptop from the truck and opened the files I'd carried for years.
Rex's service records.
Training records.
Medical reports.
Deployment history.
Everything.
His official name was Rex.
His military identification number was printed across the top of the paperwork.
I searched through old photos.
Afghanistan.
Training grounds.
Military transports.
Dust.
Fire.
Blood.
Then I found one particular photograph.
Rex stood beside me near the remains of a destroyed convoy.
His left side was burned.
A medic was kneeling beside him.
Behind us, a black SUV had been reduced to twisted metal.
I remembered that day.
Three soldiers dead.
One missing.
No explanation for how an enemy unit had known our route.
At the time, command called it bad intelligence.
I never believed that.
I enlarged the photograph.
Then I saw it.
Someone standing in the far background.
A man beside a damaged vehicle.
I didn't recognize him.
But there was something familiar about his jacket.
A black leather vest.
I zoomed farther.
The patch was barely visible.
A snake wrapped around a skull.
Iron Vipers.
I stared at the screen.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?””
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
“You should leave before midnight.””
“Who is this?””
“You don't understand what you found.””
“What did I find?””
The caller breathed slowly.
Then he said:
“Rex was never supposed to survive.””
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
Rex raised his head.
A second later, there was a knock on the motel door.
Three knocks.
Slow.
I stood.
“Who?””
No answer.
I moved silently toward the door.
Rex followed.
I looked through the peephole.
The deputy stood outside.
Same man from the diner.
I opened the door halfway.
“What do you want?””
He looked down the hallway.
“Can I come in?””
“No.””
His eyes returned to mine.
“Then listen.””
He lowered his voice.
“The truck that followed you belongs to a man named Everett Kane.””
I waited.
“Who is he?””
The deputy swallowed.
“Former Army contractor.””
That meant very little.
Then he added:
“Former intelligence contractor.””
That meant everything.
“What does he want with Rex?””
“I don't know.””
“You're lying.””
He flinched.
I stepped closer.
“You knew Rex's name before I gave it to you.””
He stared at me.
Then he said something I wasn't expecting.
“I've seen him before.””
My stomach tightened.
“Where?””
“Here.””
“When?””
“Six years ago.””
Rex suddenly growled toward the window.
I turned.
Nothing.
The deputy whispered:
“Don't look.””
I ignored him.
I moved the curtain aside by half an inch.
Across the parking lot stood a woman.
Late thirties.
Dark hair.
Gray coat.
She wasn't looking at the motel.
She was staring directly at Rex.
Then she walked away.
“Who was that?”” I asked.
The deputy didn't respond.
I turned.
He was gone.
The hallway was empty.
I stepped outside.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a folded paper beneath my door.
I picked it up.
A photograph.
Old.
Yellowed around the edges.
My hands went cold.
It showed a military kennel.
At first glance, nothing strange.
Then I looked closer.
There was Rex.
Younger.
Standing beside another Belgian Malinois.
The second dog had the same scar across its left flank.
And standing behind them were three men.
One was the deputy.
One was Dale Mercer.
And the third man was me.
Only...
I had never seen that photograph before.
I turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
Six years ago.
Project Sentinel.
Two assets recovered.
One deceased.
One transferred.
Below that was a handwritten sentence.
*Rex remembers the missing one.*
I looked at my dog.
“Rex?””
He slowly stood.
His eyes locked onto the photograph.
Then he began trembling.
Not from fear.
Recognition.
I placed the photo on the bed.
Rex approached it.
He sniffed the paper.
Then he backed away.
A soft whine escaped his throat.
The only time I'd ever heard that sound was when he'd woken from surgery.
I knelt beside him.
“Buddy.””
He looked into my eyes.
Something was wrong.
Something buried deep in his memory had just been pulled to the surface.
Then came another noise.
A vehicle door slamming outside.
Rex spun toward the window.
I grabbed my weapon.
May you like
This time, I was certain.
Someone had found us.
