A Navy SEAL Bought a Retired Police K9 for $5 — The K9’s Next Move Shocked All
Chapter 5
Jake moved through the trees like he’d never left the teams. Silent. Controlled. Every step calculated to avoid breaking branches or disturbing leaves. Sarah followed his lead, and Atlas stayed at Jake’s heel with the discipline of a dog who’d done this a thousand times in worse conditions.
They circled wide around the searchers and approached the SUVs from the opposite direction. Both vehicles sat empty, engines running, doors unlocked. Tactical oversight. The operators had been so confident in their numbers, they’d gotten sloppy.
Jake checked the nearest SUV. Laptop mounted to the dash. Radio system. And in the back, a weapons locker with three M4 rifles and ammunition.
“Jackpot,” he whispered.
Sarah was already accessing the laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up files that shouldn’t have been accessible without multiple layers of security clearance.
“They didn’t even lock it,” she muttered.
“These guys are either stupid, or they’ve never had anyone fight back. What have you got?”
“Operational orders issued this morning.” Sarah’s face went pale. “Jake, this is a kill order signed by someone with base command authority. It lists you, me, and the dog as hostile actors in possession of classified materials.”
“We don’t have classified materials.”
“They don’t care. This gives them legal cover to eliminate us and call it justified.” Sarah scrolled down. “There’s more. Secondary target list. Witnesses who might have information about Task Force Aegis.”
Jake read over her shoulder, and his blood went cold. Twelve names. Families of the dead team members. Fellow SEALs who’d served with Cross. Even the veterinary staff who’d worked with the canines.
“They’re cleaning house,” Jake said. “Everyone who might ask questions.”
A branch snapped thirty yards away. Atlas’s ears locked onto the sound. The dog’s body language shifted — not alert, but aggressive. Someone was coming back to the vehicles.
“We need to go,” Sarah said.
“Not yet.” Jake pulled up the GPS history on the laptop. “If they’re using these vehicles for operational movement, there should be location data.”
The screen populated with dozens of coordinates. Most were clustered around Camp Lejeune and the surrounding area. But one location stood out — a property fifty miles inland, visited repeatedly over the past three months. The address was listed as a private hunting lodge owned by a shell corporation.
“That’s where Cross is,” Jake said. “Has to be.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s the only location they keep returning to that has no official military connection.”
Jake copied the coordinates to his phone. “And because Atlas is reacting to it.”
The German Shepherd had his nose pressed against the laptop screen. His whole body was tense, and a low whine built in his throat. Not fear. Recognition.
“You’ve been there,” Jake said. “That’s where they took you. Where they hurt you.”
Atlas’s tail dropped, and his ears flattened. Confirmation.
Footsteps were getting closer. Multiple sets. The searchers had given up on the woods and were returning to regroup.
“Time’s up,” Sarah said.
Jake grabbed two rifles and ammunition, handed one to Sarah, and they moved toward the second SUV. He was reaching for the door handle when a voice cut through the clearing.
“Stop right there.”
Jake turned slowly. Three operators had emerged from the treeline with weapons raised. Professional spacing. Clean sight lines. No room for heroics.
The lead operator was in his thirties, with the hard eyes of someone who’d killed before and would do it again without hesitation.
“Put down the weapons and step away from the vehicle.”
Jake didn’t move. “We’re not armed hostiles. I’m a former SEAL, and she’s NCIS. We have every right to defend ourselves.”
“You’re interfering with a classified operation.”
“What operation? Murdering witnesses? Covering up the theft of three million dollars in seized drugs?”
The operator’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Uncertainty.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know Victor Cross betrayed his team. I know twelve good men are dead because of him. And I know that dog right there is the only witness left alive.”
The operator’s gaze shifted to Atlas, and Jake saw it. Recognition. This man knew the dog.
“You were part of Task Force Aegis,” Jake said quietly. “You survived the ambush.”
“There was no ambush.” The operator’s voice had changed — harder, angrier. “There was a commander who sold us out and teammates who wouldn’t go along with it.”
Sarah’s breath caught. “Cross killed his own team?”
“Cross killed the ones who wouldn’t take the money.” The operator’s weapon lowered slightly. “Said we’d all be rich if we just kept quiet about the drugs. Said the cartels owed us for all the risk we took. Half the team agreed.”
“The other half?”
His jaw tightened. “They’re the ones in the official casualty report.”
Jake felt sick. “And the canines?”
“Cross ordered them all eliminated. Said dogs couldn’t be bought and couldn’t keep secrets.” The operator looked at Atlas. “But this stubborn bastard wouldn’t die. His handler took three bullets protecting him. Used his last breath to tell the dog to run.”
Atlas’s whine turned into a low howl — the sound of grief that had been six months in the making.
“Handler’s name was Sergeant Diego Reyes,” the operator continued. “Best man I ever served with. And I watched Cross put a round in his head because Reyes wouldn’t abandon his canine.”
Jake’s hands tightened on his rifle. “So why are you hunting us? Why protect Cross?”
“Because he’s got evidence on all of us. Photos. Recordings. Proof we were part of the drug seizure. If he goes down, we go down with him.” The operator’s voice cracked. “I didn’t sign up for this. I signed up to serve my country. But Cross made sure we were all dirty enough that we couldn’t walk away.”
“Then help us take him down,” Sarah said. “Testify. Give us everything you know. We can protect you.”
The operator laughed bitterly. “You can’t even protect yourselves. You think NCIS can touch someone with Cross’s connections? He’s got a sitting admiral running interference. Got congressional oversight looking the other way. Got enough dirt on enough important people that—”
A rifle shot cracked through the clearing.
The operator’s head snapped back. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The other two operators opened fire immediately, but they weren’t shooting at Jake and Sarah. They were shooting at the treeline where the shot had come from. Someone was eliminating witnesses. Someone who didn’t want Task Force Aegis members talking.
“Get in the truck!”
Jake shoved Sarah toward the driver’s seat while he grabbed Atlas and threw both of them into the back. Bullets punched through metal and glass as Sarah started the engine and floored the accelerator. They tore out of the clearing with rounds still chasing them.
Jake twisted around and saw one of the remaining operators go down. Then the second. Clean head shots. Professional work.
“Someone’s killing Cross’s own men,” Sarah said, her voice shaking.
“Loose ends,” Jake said. “Cross is tying up loose ends before we can get to them.”
Atlas was pressed against Jake’s chest, trembling. The sound of gunfire had triggered something deep, and the dog’s breathing was coming in short, panicked bursts.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Jake murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
But Atlas wasn’t reacting to the gunfire. His nose was working the air inside the SUV, and his body had gone rigid with that same alert posture from earlier.
“Sarah, stop the truck.”
“What?”
“Stop the truck now!”
Sarah hit the brakes, and Jake threw open the back hatch. Atlas jumped out and immediately started pawing at the rear cargo area. His alert was unmistakable. Something was in this vehicle. Something he was trained to detect.
Jake pulled up the floor panel and found it.
A brick of compressed powder wrapped in plastic. Military-grade heroin. Same packaging he’d seen in evidence photos from cartel seizures.
“They’ve been transporting the drugs,” Jake said. “Using government vehicles to move product. That’s how Cross is laundering the money. He’s not just stealing — he’s running distribution.”
Sarah pulled out her phone to take photos, and Jake stopped her. “Don’t. If they’re monitoring our signals, they’ll know we found it.”
“Jake, this is evidence. We need to document it.”
“We need to stay alive long enough to use it.”
Jake looked at Atlas. The dog was staring at him with those intelligent eyes, and Jake understood. “You know where the rest is. You know where Cross keeps the main supply.”
Atlas’s tail moved once. Confirmation.
“The hunting lodge,” Sarah said. “That’s not just where Cross is hiding. That’s his distribution center.”
Jake’s phone buzzed. The same unknown number from before. He answered on speaker.
“Mr. Brennan.” Cross’s voice was calm. Too calm. “You’ve been very resourceful. I’m impressed.”
“Where’s Reyes buried?” Jake demanded. “Where’d you dump the bodies of the men you murdered?”
“Sergeant Reyes is exactly where he belongs — with his canine. Or at least that’s where he would be, if you hadn’t interfered.” Cross sighed. “I gave you a chance to walk away. Multiple chances. But you couldn’t help playing hero.”
“You killed twelve of your own men.”
“I eliminated obstacles to a very lucrative opportunity. There’s a difference.”
Jake felt rage build hot behind his ribs. “Why? You were a decorated officer. You had a career. Why throw it away for drug money?”
“Because I spent eighteen years risking my life for a government that pays poverty wages and forgets veterans the second they’re no longer useful.” Cross’s voice hardened. “I watched good men die in worthless wars while politicians got rich off defense contracts. So when the opportunity presented itself to take what we’d earned, I took it.”
“You didn’t earn anything. You stole it and murdered the people who wouldn’t help you.”
“I freed myself from a system designed to exploit us.” Cross paused. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Jake. You’re going to bring me that dog. In exchange, I’ll give you something you want. Something you’ve been looking for since you left the teams.”
Jake’s chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”
“Your teammate. The one who died in Kandahar. Marcus Webb.” Cross’s voice dropped. “You want to know why the mission went bad? I can tell you. I was there.”
The world stopped.
Marcus Webb had been Jake’s swim buddy, his brother in everything but blood. He’d died three years ago in an operation that officially never happened. The after-action report was classified, and Jake had spent years trying to get answers about what went wrong.
“You’re lying,” Jake said. But his voice betrayed him.
“Am I? Marcus died because someone gave the Taliban your coordinates. Someone who got paid very well to make sure that mission failed.” Cross let that sink in. “Bring me the dog, and I’ll give you names. Dates. Evidence. Everything you need to find the person who killed your brother.”
Sarah was shaking her head frantically, but Jake couldn’t look away from the phone.
“Twenty-four hours,” Cross said. “After that, the evidence disappears, and you spend the rest of your life wondering who betrayed Marcus. Your choice.”
The line went dead.