CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
In the early days of their relationship, before either of them seriously considered the prospect of marriage, David’s chief complaint with Faith was her stubbornness.
That same quality that led him to fall in love with her, the quality he eventually came to admire more than any other, was the cause of a great deal of contention between the young couple.
Most of it came down to Faith’s inability to walk away from a career that had risked both of their lives on multiple occasions.
David had seen the bruises after Franklin West beat Faith.
He had suffered bruises of his own at the madman’s hand, being beaten within an inch of his life when West invaded his home in Philadelphia.
He had seen Faith come home with fresh scars from injuries suffered at the hands of other killers.
He had pleaded time and again for her to be willing to let others pick up the responsibility she had shouldered.
She had done enough. It was time for her to let go, give Turk a chance to rest during his twilight years, and give them a chance to spend their marriage in safety and comfort.
But here he was anyway because there was a chance he might find something, and if there was even the slightest chance he might find something, he wanted to take it.
He popped the last mozzarella stick in his mouth, chewed the rubbery supposed cheese until it was softened enough that he could follow it without choking, then put on a song.
He was nine hundred yards from the base, far enough that his engine rumbling softly and his music playing softly couldn’t be heard.
His lights were off, and his interior lights were dimmed enough that he couldn’t see more than ten feet past the hood of his car.
But the night vision camera setup that he’d spent close to ten thousand dollars on, the other thousand buying him a carrying case, a tripod, and a four-terabyte SD card so he could take 8K video of anything he saw within the base.
At that high resolution with the extreme magnification afforded him by the lens, he could get clear evidence of anything untoward going on.
Assuming anything happened. So far, he had seen nothing.
He checked his phone. No texts or calls from Faith. He was bored enough that he almost texted her just to give himself something to do other than wait around for something to happen, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do that.
Just stubborn enough to put himself in danger pursuing a case that he had no chance of accomplishing anything with.
“I’ll bring it to Faith,” he said. “Once I have evidence, I’ll bring it to Faith.
I’ll ask her what to do. She has connections.
The Director knows her personally. She can tell me where to go from here.
I’ll tell her that I don’t want her involved where she might get hurt.
She’ll listen. Or if she won’t, then she’ll know how to pursue this while keeping us both safe. ”
The devil’s advocate in his mind didn’t reply out loud, but the accusation was clear anyway.
“What am I supposed to do?” he demanded. “I can’t just let this go. They’re abusing those dogs. If it was Turk, I’d want someone to care enough to do something about this.”
His conscience once more chose to remain silent.
“Faith followed her conscience even when it put her in danger,” David insisted. “I have a right to do the same.” He frowned. “To follow my other conscience.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Christ. Now I’m literally talking to myself.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Look, I’ll just stay here tonight. Not even the whole night.
I’ll stay here for another hour, and if I don’t see anything, I’ll just drive back home.
I’ll return the camera and equipment tomorrow and get my money back.
No big deal, right? No harm, no foul. I’ll let this go without having to feel guilty about not doing everything my little civilian butt can. ”
He tried to force laughter, but it came out flat and hollow. He looked at the camera screen with a frown. “Come on, you bastards. Show yourselves. You damned cowards.”
This was more vulgarity than he normally released. Faith swore like a sailor, a fact he loved to tease her about, and one she always excused by reminding him that she was once a Marine. He, on the other hand, blushed whenever a curse harsher than “crap” escaped his lips.
He wasn’t sure what this obsession was unlocking within him and even less sure that he liked it.
But he had to do something. He couldn’t let Sierra continue to suffer.
A shadow drifted in front of his windshield. He stiffened and cried out, “Jesus fuck!”
The raccoon that had cast the shadow jumped with equal shock. It hissed at him, pooped deliberately on his hood, then scampered off.
Laughter bubbled up inside of David, escaping in a tense, restrained chuckle.
He wiped tears from his eyes and reflected that the raccoon had elicited what was easily the most vulgar curse he had ever released.
He couldn’t wait to tell Faith about this.
Maybe a few years from now when this case and whatever came with it was a distant memory for both of them.
He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and let the tension fall from his shoulders. He looked back at the camera screen and froze.
The loading dock was open. Sergeant Whitaker stood next to Sierra. On the other side of the dog, a short, thin man wearing the eagle pins of a full colonel on his epaulettes held a leash. He handed it to Whitaker and said something to her that caused the staff sergeant to laugh.
The three of them left the loading dock and walked to a waiting vehicle, a jet-black armored SUV like the ones the Secret Service used to transport the President.
David snapped out of his funk and pressed the record button.
He swallowed and said in a slightly shaky voice, “This is David, uh, Dr. David Friedman of the FB… Well, I’m not an FBI agent, but…
Shit. I’m Dr. David Friedman, and I’m watching Staff Sergeant Whitaker and Colonel Chastain of the United States Marine Corps lead a German Shepherd working dog, a female named Sierra, to a waiting SUV.
This dog is being abused. I noticed the signs when Sergeant Whitaker brought her to my office for an examination.
She has multiple scars on her body and exhibited trauma-induced behavior during my examination.
I was coerced into providing a clean bill of health despite these signs.
My submission to this coercion is my greatest regret to date as a professional.
I hope that by gathering this evidence, I can make up for my failure. ”
He paused and watched Chastain and Whitaker load Sierra into the SUV. He was hoping to catch one of them striking Sierra, but Sierra climbed readily into the vehicle. David frowned. He wasn’t getting any real evidence here. He was just watching a couple of Marines load a dog into an SUV.
The two Marines climbed into the front cabin of the SUV and pulled out of the gate.
David put the Outback in gear and prepared to follow, but reason finally reasserted itself.
Reluctantly, he said, “I’m not going to follow this vehicle because…
Well, simply put, I will likely end up badly hurt or killed if they catch me.
They’ve already threatened me, and I have that email. ”
His expression hardened. “I’m going to keep looking, though.
I’m not going to stop. I’m going to find out what’s going on with Sierra, and I’m going to bring Colonel Chastain, Staff Sergeant Whitaker, the 93rd Testing Brigade, and the entire damned United States Marine Corps to justice if I have to.
You don’t get to abuse dogs. You don’t get to harm defenseless animals and get away with it. ”
He watched the SUV’s headlights cut through the night as the vehicle sped north toward the nation’s capital or any number of destinations beyond. “I’m going to put an end to this if it’s the last thing I do.”
He stopped the recording and descended the hill, turning onto the road and heading for home. He kept his headlights off until he was away from the base, then switched them on. The normalcy of the roads he’d known for nearly a year now seemed almost offensive in light of what he’d just witnessed.
He repeated his promise, this time keeping his thoughts silent. I will put a stop to this if it’s the last thing I do.
He hoped those words wouldn’t turn out to be prophetic.
***
Corporal Ervin Charles took one more photograph of the Subaru, then tapped his earpiece. “Charles to Colonel Chastain.”
The colonel’s smooth baritone replied instantly, “Go ahead, Charles.”
“Dr. Friedman is heading home. Should I pursue?”
“Negative,” Chastain replied. “Send me the photographs. I’ll prepare a message for him.”
Charles frowned slightly. The last message hadn’t worked. He doubted this message would work either. “Perhaps that message should be delivered in person, sir.”
“Thank you for your concern, Corporal,” Chastain said, a slight edge to his voice. “Carry out your orders.”
Charles knew better than to argue with that. “Of course, sir.”
He closed the connection and sent the photographs to the colonel.
He had several high-resolution images of the doctor spying on the base using his brand-new camera.
He had images with the license plate and clear images of Dr. Friedman’s face.
Essentially, he had proof of espionage that could get the good doctor life in prison if they threw a good enough lawyer at the case.
Charles doubted it would make it to court. Chastain was being cautious for some reason, but Charles didn’t imagine he would be cautious for much longer. Right now, Dr. Friedman was an annoyance. Give him enough leeway, and he would become a threat.
That was something they absolutely couldn’t handle.
Charles tore down his camera and carefully placed it back into its case.
He stowed it in the saddlebags of his Harley Davidson Road Glide motorcycle, then started the motor and headed toward the barracks.
He didn’t approve of Chastain’s caution, but the man had earned every ounce of his reputation.
Charles was certain that he would protect their project.
And he was equally certain that Dr. Friedman’s days on this Earth were numbered.