I opened the crates and both dogs did a quick, mad dash around the room. I attempted to keep them quiet while Tony picked up his radio and called for Ruiz. When Ruiz answered, Tony informed him that I needed to meet with him, and we were coming up by the elevator to the gun room. When both dogs were wearing their collars and leashes, Tony said to me, "Stay here for just a minute..."

I watched through the door’s security peephole as he went towards the elevator. I lost sight of him quickly, and felt my anxiety level rise with every moment that he was gone. He was back quickly, and we made our passage down the hallway— not towards the elevators to our right, but to the emergency stairwell to our left. We descended the stairs silently, both of us deep in thought...

Both of our guns had been reloaded since the previous firefight in the parking garage. Tony’s jacket was unzipped allowing him quick access to the weapon in his shoulder holster, while my fanny pack was unzipped leaving the butt of my .357 partially extended into view. The stairwell was painted the uniform grey that’s used in all institutions and correctional facilities. Must be a cheap color, I decided. As we descended, I watched the numbers on the stairwell decrease with every flight conquered. I had no idea where we were going, but just knew in my heart I had to trust someone. Tony would have to do for now.

We arrived at the second floor and Tony opened the door a crack to check the hallway. When he saw it was clear, he whispered to me to stay in the stairwell while he went to the room. "Watch for the ball." he instructed me before slipping through the opening. "Ball? What ball?" I wondered silently. I allowed the door to click shut behind him, and counted to myself. Somehow, time seems to last longer when you’re stressed, and I wanted to know exactly how much time had lapsed before he returned for me. I got to ‘Ten-one-thousand’ when I saw through the safety-screened glass a bright yellow tennis ball bounce past my door. Now I understood the mysterious instruction.

I opened the door cautiously, scanned both ways down the hall, then heeled my dogs left in the direction that the ball had originated. We passed three doors before coming upon an open one with Tony standing in the doorway. I brought the dogs in quickly, and placed them with whispered commands on a down-stay in front of the now closed door. Apparently Tony had briefed Ruiz before I arrived, because our team leader was already on the phone, talking rapidly in Spanish.

"Just get down here now! Tell no one—- you’re the only one I can trust!" He admonished into the phone’s receiver before depositing it into the cradle with finality. He immediately picked up the phone again and hearing a dial tone, called 2 more numbers in rapid succession. Both times he spoke in German, a language I know only a few words of. I understood his sole spoken phrase, and thought it fitting that he used it at this moment.

"Ein feste burg ist under Gott." Ruiz said with finality on each call. A mighty fortress is our God. How fitting. From Martin Luther, creator of the Lutheran religion when people were damned tired of wealth controlling their chances of getting into heaven. We were in Hell now, and since money wasn’t an issue, our faith in God would be our only salvation. I felt the room tip slightly at the enormity of what had occurred in less than twenty-four hours, and the magnitude of what was to come.

Within five minutes, we heard the first knockings at the door. I recalled the dogs to me, and placed both dogs on a "watch" at my feet. As the first of the men entered, Ruiz instructed him to sit very still on the desk chair that Tony pushed towards him. Ruiz told him my dogs were likely to bite as they had become unstable in the last few hours. Scout dropped her head slightly and emitted a low growl that sent shivers up my spine. I hated it when she did that, even though she was trained to growl on command. The first man never noticed my fingertip tap twice behind her left ear. He appeared nervous, but who wouldn’t be with a 115 lbs. Bloodhound growling at him? The second man knocked and was admitted, and Ruiz instructed him to stand to the right of the chair and don’t move due to the dogs possibly becoming vicious. The routine was repeated when the third man entered, this time he was asked to stand behind the chair by the bathroom door. Scout wasn’t instructed to growl for the last two entries and so she didn’t, but both dogs stared at the seated man intently. Tony placed his back to the side of the door after turning the dead bolt. He wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t get shot through the closed door.

I could see the seated man was uncomfortable under my dogs’ intent gazes and I understood his fear. Bloodhounds are normally gentle natured dogs and are terrible at attack training. I didn’t train my dogs to attack, just to give certain signals that all criminals understood as the pre-requisite to an attack. My dogs growled, urinated, even bayed on command by both verbal and hand signal. Their size alone was enough to frighten a confession out of even a seasoned criminal. Yet all of my dogs could enter a child day care facility and be yanked on by screaming toddlers for hours, never losing patience or tolerance with even the most unruly child. At heart, they were some of the most gentle creatures I’d ever owned. Criminals didn’t know this however, and it suited me just fine.

Ruiz stood and spoke to the three men in the room. "One of you has made a serious fault in judgement by becoming a traitor to your team and country. Michael, Juan, please handcuff Steven Mills." Ruiz pointed at the seated man. The man began to rise from his chair, but was quickly restrained and handcuffed by the two standing agents. I turned to give some treats to my dogs as Ruiz laid out the exact charges brought against Mr. Mills.

The agents led Mills from the room, and he never spoke a word in his defense. He just kept staring at my dogs, waiting for the attack to come. Inwardly, I laughed and was dismayed at the same time. I wanted people to know my dogs were pussy cats at heart, and the Bloodhound was now bred for a solid temperament in addition to health and conformation by responsible breeders. However, I wanted him to remember this day and my dogs just in case he decided to try another attempt at crime if ever released from the Federal prison he’d soon call home.

When Ruiz, Tony and my dogs and I were the only ones left in the room, I spoke to them for the first time upon entering the room. "It’s the beginning of the sunset, gentlemen. I suggest we head up to the President’s home and get to work." Both men silently nodded, and Ruiz called out on his radio for all agents to assemble for the mission.

Tony and I walked to the elevator and returned to my room so I could gather the gear we’d need for this mission. We walked hurriedly down the hall to my room, not fearing our team members anymore, but in anticipation of finding our quarry. Once in the room, I grabbed the dog’s gear bag and double checked it for this mission. I’d checked it before leaving the States, but it never hurt to check one more time. The pairs of harnesses and trailing leads were cleaned and packed, as well as extra treats and my duty belt. This belt would hold two canteens of a water and Pedialyte mixture for the dogs, a canteen of electrolyte replacement for me, a compass, a double edged knife and my .357 in a quick releasing holster. You never knew what you’d need and while I packed light for a mission, I also packed for most emergencies. With bag in hand, Tony, the dogs and I headed for the parking garage to retieve our vehicles. Once loaded, we drove up the mountain to the President’s home.

We pulled up a ‘stately’ driveway that led past armed gates. Believe me, when you see something that can be considered ‘stately’, you’ll know it. The drive was done in stamped concrete, with tulips as the pattern. If I wasn’t here on business, I’d be calling out the President to ask him who did the work knowing there was only one man with this skill and precision- my ex-boyfriend. Hondo always did nice work, but this was the most exquisite art form he’d ever created in my opinion. The drive led to a portico, where we dismounted from the trucks. I looked around the bases of the portico’s support posts, searching for proof of my guess at the driveway’s artist. By the second post, I found the initials "J.W." stamped into the concrete which stood for John Wayne. I was right. Hondo had done this. The man might be a drunken asshole, but he was brilliant with concrete. He also knew a legend in the making.

I called the evidence technician towards me. He looked Anglo, but I couldn’t be sure until I tried out his English.

"I need you to present the scent article to me once we clear the brick wall from where it was taken. My dog will sniff you and then work the trail. Stand still and let her work. Any problem with that?" I questioned him. Any fear of dogs needed to be dealt with now.

"No problem." He replied in accentless English.

"Great. Where are my men?" I called out to Ruiz. I was presented with 3 strange faces; none of whom were Tony. I picked a man at random and told him he was our supply person. Jorge Cielita’s job would be to bring the extra water that we’d require, which could be what saved my dogs’ lives. It was interesting that I’d picked Cielita for this job as his name loosely meant ‘ A little bit of Heaven’ in Spanish. I then turned to Ruiz.

"I want Tony as my ‘point man’. Where is he?"

"He isn’t an ERT man, he’s personal security." Ruiz replied.

"Get him here now or we don’t move." I knew I was pushing my luck, but it was worth a shot.

Ruiz called to Tony and he walked towards us from the trucks. "Can you keep up with me if I jog for five miles up that mountain?" I challenged him.

"Ayup." Nothing like a man of few words.

"Positive? If not, say so. You’ll be risking your life and mine, including my dogs’ lives if you’re lying." I wanted him dead set on this adventure.

"Ayup."

"Great, you’re ‘point man’. You know what that is?" He’d be keeping his left hand on my shoulder and right hand on his gun every step of the way, ready to yank us out of danger. I would be watching my dog and my footing most of the time. I really couldn’t watch for snipers like I needed to and I wasn’t afraid to admit my weaknesses.

"Ayup." He replied again.

I was introduced to the other two agents and told them what their duties would be. Dante Santiago had the GPS to keep track of where we were and how far we’d come. Every 5 miles, he was to stop us so I could rest my dog. I lost track of time and distance when trailing. When the stakes were this high, I needed my dog at top performance. Most of the time a Bloodhound won’t tell you that they’re ready to drop until they actually do. I had to prevent that at all costs. There are some handlers who claim they can be aware of everything when working their dog and all I have to say to them is, "More power to ya’!" I can’t, and know my limitations.

While Santiago handled our GPS, Carl Brown would be our radio man. His job was to call in our coordinates so relief could keep abreast of our location. Every ten miles, I’d switch dogs to keep them fresh. I needed to have my other dog nearby and ready to go. While those men were about 6 feet behind us at all times doing their own jobs, they were also our security should trouble arise. With them came Cielita with our extra water and ammunition.

I loaded Bo Diddley into a Hummer, the civilian version of a Military "Hum-Vee", leaving him on the front seat with a little treat. I placed my gear bag with Bo’s stuff on the floor and turned to the driver.

"He is very valuable. Drive like you have Lalique crystal sitting here. Without him, we have no mission. Got it?" I asked the driver. I hate leaving a dog behind, but there was no way in Hell I was running both dogs at the same time. Some people call that a brace. I refer to that endeavor as suicide.

The poor driver apparently understood that I meant no harm and that I was only worried about my dog, my friend, my partner.

"I will take a bullet for him, ma’am. He is my responsibility." The driver assured me. That was exactly what I wanted to hear. Feeling better about leaving Bo Diddley with a stranger, I hugged him and told him to be good. Believe me, for a 2 year old puppy Bloodhound, I was asking a lot!