Chapter 7 - THE TRACKER IN THE BONE
The Pullman railyards rose out of the Chicago fog like the skeleton of a dead industrial giant.
Dozens of rusted freight cars stood frozen on abandoned tracks.
Weeds choked the gravel beds.
Rain fell in a steady, icy drizzle, turning the ground into black grease and mud.
Luca killed the Subaru’s headlights half a mile out.
The engine idled with a soft, nervous rattle.
"There are six lookouts on the water tower," Luca whispered, peering through binoculars.
"Thermal scopes."
"They'll spot anyone crossing the open yard."
Dominic checked his tactical watch.
"Three minutes until Frankie's diversion team hits the north switch."
He turned to look at me in the back seat.
"Nora, you stay in the car with Luca."
"No," I said instantly.
"This isn't an argument," Dominic snapped, his boss persona clamping down.
"You're an animal behaviorist."
"You don't have a weapon."
"And you don't know how these men kill."
"I know how that dog thinks," I replied, pointing at Zeus.
Zeus had his nose pressed against the slightly open window.
He was smelling the rain.
He was smelling the rust.
And beneath it, he was smelling the terror of his past.
His pupils were dilated.
His breathing had become shallow and fast.
"Look at him, Dominic," I said, my voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper.
"He is entering sensory overload."
"If you take him into that yard without me, his trauma will take over."
"He won't fight Moretti's men."
"He will freeze, or he will turn on your soldiers out of blind panic."
Dominic looked at Zeus.
The massive dog was beginning to tremble.
A tiny, involuntary tremor in his hindquarters.
The exact same tremor he had when he stood under the chandelier at the mansion.
"You can keep him focused?" Dominic asked.
"I am the only thing keeping him from tearing his own skin off right now," I said.
Dominic cursed under his breath.
A sharp Italian oath.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a compact, matte-black Glock 19.
He checked the chamber and handed it to me grip-first.
"Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to destroy whatever is in front of you," Dominic commanded.
The gun was surprisingly light.
Cold as ice against my palm.
"Understood," I said, slipping it into the pocket of his oversized wool sweater.
Suddenly, the northern horizon lit up in a series of violent orange flashes.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Frankie’s diversion team had struck the fuel depot at the north switch.
Secondary explosions rolled through the night, rattling the Subaru's windows.
Sirens began to wail across the industrial sector.
The lookouts on the water tower swung their spotlights toward the fire.
"Move!" Dominic barked.
We slipped out into the freezing mud.
Dominic moved with terrifying, fluid speed.
A predator in his natural element.
Zeus stayed glued to my left thigh, his shoulder brushing my knee with every stride.
I kept my hand buried in his scruff, murmuring continuous, low-frequency reassurances:
"Good boy. Steady. I'm here. You're safe."
We slipped beneath a string of rusted coal hoppers.
The smell of old creosote and rotting timber was suffocating.
Ahead loomed Yard 4.
A massive brick locomotive repair barn with broken skylights.
Yellow work lights hummed inside the cavernous space.
We climbed the rusted iron fire escape to the catwalk overlooking Pit Three.
Dominic pressed his back against the brick wall, peering through a broken window pane.
I knelt beside him, holding Zeus tight.
Below us, in the sunken concrete pit where steam locomotives once had their wheels serviced, stood thirty armed men.
Victor Moretti sat on a leather sofa placed absurdly on the greasy concrete floor.
He was sixty, overweight, wearing a floor-length fur coat and smoking a thick cigar.
Beside him stood Matteo.
And in the center of the pit, tied to an iron stanchion, was Sofia.
Her face was bruised, her clothes torn.
Two massive, scarred Presa Canario dogs were chained to the railings near her feet, barking frantically at the shadows.
Victor looked up at the empty ceiling.
"Dominic!" Victor’s voice boomed through an amplified megaphone.
"You're two minutes late!"
"My men at the shelter just poured the third gallon of kerosene!"
Victor pulled out a gold lighter and struck the flint.
"Bring me the dog, Dominic!"
"Or I swear to God, I burn the girl here and the animals on 47th Street at the exact same second!"
Dominic looked down at the Glock in my pocket.
Then at Zeus.
Then he looked at me.
"Nora," Dominic whispered.
His hand reached out and touched my cheek.
His fingertips were warm against my freezing skin.
"If this goes wrong..."
May you like
"It won't," I whispered back, my heart pounding like a war drum.
"Trust the dog."
