The uneventful drive to the hotel lasted almost 2 hours. We headed up into the mountains and thankfully cooler temperatures than the stifling 100 degree heat at the airport in the city. I was already checked in, courtesy of the Government, and crates were provided to use for my dogs. The agent said, "Call 1160 when ready for de-briefing." and took leave of my room. It wasn’t much, but it would be home for a few days. I couldn’t see the ocean from the windows, just some small villages and lots of trees below us in the valley. The dogs were fed and I leaned out my door to ask some agents to walk my dogs while I showered and grabbed some room service lunch. I was just finishing pulling on my shoes when the agents returned with Bo Diddley and Scout.

I let the dogs have a bite of my Lobster and Conch bisque, but not too much for fear of them farting later at the meeting. When we were ready, I called 1160 as directed.

"Yes?" It was answered by a woman with a Spanish accent.

"We’re ready," I spoke curtly into the phone.

"Come to Room 1200." the woman replied before hanging up on me.

I grabbed the dogs and we headed up by elevator to start the de-briefing. A Latino man answered the door and looked me over well, including the dogs. He didn’t look happy. In Spanish, he told me the dogs would not be welcome in the meeting. Just as I was getting ready to explain to him that where I go, so do my dogs, he was pulled back from the door by a wiry looking Latino.

"We didn’t just call the girl, we called her dogs as well, you idiot!" He hissed at him. Oh boy... we’re off to a great start already, I think.

"Please, come in. I apologize for his error..." I entered with my Bloodhounds and the man who answered the door was told to leave the room. Now he was very unhappy with me. I knew that look he gave me and vowed to watch out for him in the future--he’d be trouble.

I was seated at a large conference table with 12 other men and women including the wiry Latino. He was apparently in charge, as he started the meeting.

"Dog Lady, my name is Agent Ruiz. You’ve been called down here to track an attempted murderer. He set off a bomb in the President’s home which killed the Vice President and seriously injured the President’s little girls. We know the name of the assailant and the general direction he took up into the jungle. We believe him to still be in the jungle awaiting transportation out of the country."

"Dog Lady, my name is Special Agent to the President, De La Garcia," another agent piped up. "The man we’re looking for is in this general area we believe." De La Garcia stood up to point my attention at a map hanging on the wall. She circled the area with her finger as she continued to speak. Her tall body leaned into every circle of her index finger gracefully.

"The area is heavily treed, but filled with numerous small landing strips used by smugglers. The man is armed with an AK-47 and was seen with a sidearm that we believe to be a 9 mm."

Ahhhhh, I think. No imagination! Easy weapons, but not the best for a man in his position, I think to myself.

"He tripped as he was running away, leaving some blood and skin on a brick wall outside the Presidential mansion. The bricks were carefully removed by our technicians, and they have been preserved for a scent article and later DNA testing," she continued. I was pretty sure that I’d died and gone to heaven at this point. Scent article... Mountain trailing... nice weather... sounded too easy! Alarm bells began to go off in my head.

"The only possible problem is that there are booby traps in the jungles set up by drug smugglers. These traps are generally land mines and other explosive devices."

So, that was the big catch I’d been waiting for! Oy Vay... I looked down at Bo Diddley and remembered what had just happened at the airport. It was now my turn to tell them what I needed to have the best chances for trailing and capturing the wanted fugitive. I might have an explosive detection dog here but without testing him, I couldn’t risk his life on a hunch.

"I need to see the bomb site. We’ll start the dogs from there. I want to start tonight before total darkness sets in. I’ll need a three-man ERT unit with me who can keep up with us in this heat. We need a fourth man to carry supplies. I’ll need a vehicle capable of meeting us occasionally in the jungle to bring more water. I need a .45 automatic and a S&W .357 revolver loaded w/ hollow points. These are the only guns I will carry. For my fee, I require a wire transfer to be made payable to a list of Bloodhound Rescue groups. Here is the list." I handed the list to the agent standing to my side to take to Agent Ruiz. I looked at this agent carrying my list, and realized he must’ve been assigned to me as he’d never left my side since we arrived at the airport. I probably needed to get his name, didn’t I? So far, he was doing a damn fine job.

"The individual amounts are listed beside each rescue group’s name. You will see that the total is one million American dollars. Is this a problem for the President to pay for the capture of his Vice-president’s killer and the man who hurt his little girls?" I asked Agent Ruiz. He seemed relaxed when he turned to whisper into a man’s ear sitting next to him. The man picked up a digital phone and made a brief call.

I took that moment to see my two chow-hounds begging for treats from the seated agents. Some were surreptitiously handing them crackers and cheese under the table while appearing to not know that the dog was even there. They knew of my dogs’ histories and all were wanting to be a part of this successful mission. What they didn’t know was that cheese and crackers now would mean farting later. Bloodhounds expel gas at a rate that melts the ozone layer given the opportunity.

All agents would go home to tell their families that they met the famous Bloodhounds when this was over with, but not before. They were sworn to secrecy until the Vice President’s killer was in custody. To reveal that this tragedy had occurred before then could send the nation into a panic. Even the agents who were uncomfortable around giant breeds of dogs were quickly softened by the black pools of droopy eyes on my dogs.

All of my working dogs are rescued Bloodhounds, meaning that for whatever reason, they didn’t work out in their first home and needed to be placed into a new home. I don’t need to buy puppies, nor do I particularly like puppies. These dogs that I got as adults came to me with a variety of problems, but with time, training and patience, they became wonderful friends and co-workers. They had saved lives in the past, including my own, and were a testament to the breed.

The previously silent man said into the phone, "One Million?" The person he called must have been waiting with a ready answer as the caller disconnected the line and whispered into Agent Ruiz’s ear.

"The President will pay the one million American dollars as you requested. The wire transfers have begun. You will get written confirmations within the hour. We’ll bring them to your room and then we can begin, yes?" Ruiz asked of me. Another agent got up and walked into an adjoining room and returned with my requested weaponry and several boxes of ammunition.

They knew what guns I’d request, I realized quickly. The U.S. Government probably gave them my whole life’s dossier before getting them to accept my help. Well, there were no secrets then, were there?

I informed Agent Ruiz that his arrangements would be fine, and I left with my dogs to lay down for a little while before the night’s adventure would begin.