else in the war room.
“The first idea that strikes me,” Maureen said, “is to construct a filter to screen out the typical neo-Nazi stuff. The n-word, Jews, kill, murder, gas, that kind of stuff.”
“That might work. I’m not going to micromanage you. I just know we can’t overlook the most easily accessed info.”
“I’m on it.”
Before Lana turned to Steel Fist’s website, she knew she had to look as closely as possible at Tahir. She was back to triaging terror again.
And hack where you need to , she thought, echoing the advice she’d just given Maureen.
• • •
Don and Emma headed north in the old pickup. She busied herself texting Sufyan until school started, then bemoaned her boyfriend’s unwillingness to stay in touch during class time. “He’s so serious!” she complained, putting aside her phone.
“You are, too, taking all those AP classes. Does he take any?”
“All of them, including AP physics.”
“No kidding.”
“He’s really smart, Dad.”
“I guess. That’s all college-level stuff, right?”
She nodded. “And I’m guessing you weren’t like Mom in school.”
“If you mean 4.0 and all that, you’re right.” He shook his head. “I’m a terrible role model.”
“Not so bad now.”
“Thanks, Em. That’s generous. My biggest regret was missing so much of you growing up.”
“Better late than never.”
She put her earbuds in and propped herself against the passenger door.
Don looked over to make sure it was locked, then glanced at the road ahead before checking the side- and rear-view mirrors. He’d been keeping a discreet eye on them while he and Emma talked, though he expected no problems today; by heading north to meet the dogs they were breaking all the driving patterns Steel Fist had put up on his website. And Don’s pickup hadn’t gained any notice yet. Nevertheless, he had the compact Glock in the door pocket next to him. It was far less cumbersome for travel than the shotgun.
Once they escaped the grip of morning traffic, the trip took less than two hours. The kennel was about seven miles southeast of Hagerstown, Maryland, not far from the Pennsylvania border, marked only by three numbers on an eight-foot steel gate. It closed off a formidable stone wall that might have hailed from colonial times.
Don had to call the kennel to announce their arrival. Then Emma and he waited a few more minutes before a dusty SUV pulled up and the gate opened.
A portly middle-aged man in a Baltimore Orioles cap checked Don’s driver’s license.
“I was kind of surprised there were no guard dogs to greet us,” Don said.
“They’re too valuable. I had one killed in a drive-by shooting about five years ago, and that was the end of that.” The man stuck out his hand.
“Ed Holmes.”
Don introduced himself and Emma.
“You can follow me in,” Ed said.
The kennel grounds spread out over more than a hundred acres. As Don drove they heard gunshots. Emma tensed.
“They’re training dogs, Em. Dogs for the military and police work are exposed to gunshot sounds from a pretty young age. You don’t want them freaking out over live ammo.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“Google.”
Ed led them to an open, large white barn with cyclone fence kennels along both sides. Don could see that each kennel extended indoors via a dog door.
The breeder and trainer walked up to the pickup as Don and Emma climbed out. “How much experience do you have with dogs? You grow up with them?”
“I did,” Don said. He glanced at Em, who shook her head.
“Security dogs?” Ed asked.
“No. Just an old mutt,” Don replied.
“Time for a primer then. Our home security dogs are very different from the ones we train for the military or police. They’ve been socialized a lot. My wife has personally taken Jojo into Hagerstown from the time he was six weeks old. We wanted to make sure he was comfortable around people, unusual sounds, alarms, all that city
“The first idea that strikes me,” Maureen said, “is to construct a filter to screen out the typical neo-Nazi stuff. The n-word, Jews, kill, murder, gas, that kind of stuff.”
“That might work. I’m not going to micromanage you. I just know we can’t overlook the most easily accessed info.”
“I’m on it.”
Before Lana turned to Steel Fist’s website, she knew she had to look as closely as possible at Tahir. She was back to triaging terror again.
And hack where you need to , she thought, echoing the advice she’d just given Maureen.
• • •
Don and Emma headed north in the old pickup. She busied herself texting Sufyan until school started, then bemoaned her boyfriend’s unwillingness to stay in touch during class time. “He’s so serious!” she complained, putting aside her phone.
“You are, too, taking all those AP classes. Does he take any?”
“All of them, including AP physics.”
“No kidding.”
“He’s really smart, Dad.”
“I guess. That’s all college-level stuff, right?”
She nodded. “And I’m guessing you weren’t like Mom in school.”
“If you mean 4.0 and all that, you’re right.” He shook his head. “I’m a terrible role model.”
“Not so bad now.”
“Thanks, Em. That’s generous. My biggest regret was missing so much of you growing up.”
“Better late than never.”
She put her earbuds in and propped herself against the passenger door.
Don looked over to make sure it was locked, then glanced at the road ahead before checking the side- and rear-view mirrors. He’d been keeping a discreet eye on them while he and Emma talked, though he expected no problems today; by heading north to meet the dogs they were breaking all the driving patterns Steel Fist had put up on his website. And Don’s pickup hadn’t gained any notice yet. Nevertheless, he had the compact Glock in the door pocket next to him. It was far less cumbersome for travel than the shotgun.
Once they escaped the grip of morning traffic, the trip took less than two hours. The kennel was about seven miles southeast of Hagerstown, Maryland, not far from the Pennsylvania border, marked only by three numbers on an eight-foot steel gate. It closed off a formidable stone wall that might have hailed from colonial times.
Don had to call the kennel to announce their arrival. Then Emma and he waited a few more minutes before a dusty SUV pulled up and the gate opened.
A portly middle-aged man in a Baltimore Orioles cap checked Don’s driver’s license.
“I was kind of surprised there were no guard dogs to greet us,” Don said.
“They’re too valuable. I had one killed in a drive-by shooting about five years ago, and that was the end of that.” The man stuck out his hand.
“Ed Holmes.”
Don introduced himself and Emma.
“You can follow me in,” Ed said.
The kennel grounds spread out over more than a hundred acres. As Don drove they heard gunshots. Emma tensed.
“They’re training dogs, Em. Dogs for the military and police work are exposed to gunshot sounds from a pretty young age. You don’t want them freaking out over live ammo.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“Google.”
Ed led them to an open, large white barn with cyclone fence kennels along both sides. Don could see that each kennel extended indoors via a dog door.
The breeder and trainer walked up to the pickup as Don and Emma climbed out. “How much experience do you have with dogs? You grow up with them?”
“I did,” Don said. He glanced at Em, who shook her head.
“Security dogs?” Ed asked.
“No. Just an old mutt,” Don replied.
“Time for a primer then. Our home security dogs are very different from the ones we train for the military or police. They’ve been socialized a lot. My wife has personally taken Jojo into Hagerstown from the time he was six weeks old. We wanted to make sure he was comfortable around people, unusual sounds, alarms, all that city
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