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R** OGUE SWORD**

Chapter 9 - Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Silver sat back at his desk and sighed. Things were not going well for F.O.X. as far as their Rogue Sword assignments went. Zac Ember had just called in early that morning Ottawa time with news that their target was dead before they got there and now Kain Algorath was on the phone with news that the scientist that should have been the target all along was dead too. And on top of that he had been up all night studying Kain's training package on Internet sleuthing and basic hacking techniques. Oh well, he thought, at least Miss CC and Muzzle seem to be making some progress in Argentina.

"Walk me through it again." The F.O.X. Chief of Staff told his absent cyber expert.

"I was monitoring the security channels," Kain omitted to add why, "and when the news came across I recognized the name of Abdan Barbar as one of the scientists that had been involved in the background research for the military project we were interested in. Then I hacked into the institute he heads I discovered that he was doing more than just background work ... he was the lead researcher for the whole project. The military was just taking the credit for it."

"And you are sure that he was murdered by whoever killed the others?"

"Definitely." Kain went on to detail the evidence as if he had found it all himself through the cameras that were still operating in the dead snow leopard's office. He did not mention Ophelia's role in the break-in because he did not know that Silver had engineered her presence there. "All the digital files were tampered with and the way it was done really reminds me of the Koreans, the North Koreans that is."

"Delores thought that they might be involved too." Silver mused. "But we won't have confirmation until tomorrow. I have my doubts though."

"Oh, why?"

"I can't see this Barbar inviting a Korean assassin in for a coffee, and none of the scientists from there that he might know fit the profile you created. Are you certain the cover up was done by their guys?"

Kain had to admit that he was not one-hundred percent sure. "Not yet anyways. But given time I will be. And there is another angle I can pursue. This crew wiped all the data from inside the institute but I'll bet that they didn't bother with the traffic and surveillance cameras from the surrounding area. I can hack into them, download the data from the periods before and after the murder and run it through some software that will trace any vehicle that came and went in that time frame. If we're lucky we'll get an ID through the car registration or a good facial shot."

"I guess we better get you back here pronto so you can start pursing that angle."

"Gee, you know boss, I can do that better from here with the equipment I brought with me because, ah, the bandwidth I, uh, have to cross is shorter ... from here."

Silver knew he was being snowed just from the change in Kain's tone of voice. And he had completed enough of the training package to know now what bandwidth was. He had a pretty good idea why Kain really wanted to stay. The thought reminded him that it was time to send Ophelia her monthly dose of antidote. He weighed the pros of letting Kain stay out there where he was sure to work extra hard between unwinding sessions with the deadly cloud leopard, versus having him back here to help with their other problem. The fact that he would be off line and unproductive for almost twenty-four hours as he made his way back to Ottawa decided the argument in Kain's favour.

"You can stay." Silver told him. "But get me some answers soon."

"I won't let you down boss."

Silver signed off with a non-committal grunt. Algorath was very good at what he did, he had to admit, and his training package was easy to follow. He turned to the screen on his computer to see the results of the trace-routes and DNS look-ups he had started before the call from Pakistan came in. The software he was using, designed by Algorath, would defeat simple methods of disguising one's origin on the internet and reveal all the sites associated with the target site. That included sites registered to the same entity and the sites hosted on the same server as the target. "Because," Algorath's notes explained, "sometimes bad guys are smart enough to register nefarious sites under a false name, but stupid enough to host it on the same physical space as their legitimate business." Silver wondered how often the young arctic fox used the word 'nefarious' in real life.

The results were pretty conclusive. They pointed firmly to one of the Academy's oldest employees, someone with almost unlimited access to the type of material that had been posted. Silver was not surprised, he had guessed as much, but it was a delicate case because of the relationship between the culprit and Williams, and with Silver also. So far the world at large seemed not to have noticed the little corner of the web that the perpetrator had created to post their secrets too, but if word got out before they managed to contain the damage it could mean the end of Tancred's career. Hell, his old friend had such a high sense of honour that the fool was likely to resign to avoid any possible stain on the Academy, and where would that leave Silver? He did not want to work for anyone else and he was not ready for retirement either. Best to handle this himself and inform the Director later, he decided.

Silver copied the material to a special file he had created that only he and the Director could open. No one, not even their trusted secretary Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche could get at it. He doubted that even Algorath could hack into it. After he had placed all the evidence in the file he parked it in the archive folder, where Tancred was unlikely to see it. He confirmed the whereabouts of the leaker and then shut off all the tracking and probing software, leaving the desktop of his workstation empty ... except for a flashing icon shaped like an envelope. An alert for another process he had initiated had arrived. Silver sat back down and opened the notice, nervously biting his tongue in anticipation.

He skimmed the text and reviewed the photos attached to the email. He clicked the links that took him to the original sites. He mentally compared the data supplied against such things distance, cost and risk. One choice stood out above the others, an almost perfect match to what he sought, but there was limited time in which to act. Could he afford that time? If Algorath was here he could have him take down or block the illicit site in some clever manner, but Silver had not gotten that far in the tutorial yet. He would have to confront the site's webmaster using the tactics he had mastered, intimidation and force, not necessarily in that order, and make him shut it down. Until he did the site would remain active.

Silver reopened the tracking software and checked the activity on the site. Other than the fake persona he was cruising the web under there was only a few other hits, and no downloads of the goods being offered. Silver decided that he could risk a few more hours before shutting the offending site and its creator down. He made a phone call to a number in the email and was fortunate enough to be put straight through without having to leave a voicemail.

Leaving a note in the Ops Centre that he would be out but available on his Blackberry, Silver walked out of the headquarters and got into his Porsche minivan. Leaving the Central Experimental Farm by Prince of Wales Drive he crossed Carling and cut over to Rochester to get on the Queensway and then headed west. Within twenty minutes he had left the city behind and was passing through the long stretch or rural land that lay between the urban core and Renfrew County. If he was quick he could be back in Ottawa to confront the web villain and still pick up Leslie from daycare at the regular time.

* * * * * * *

Marcel kept in touch with the F.O.X. operations centre simply by using his cell phone. To all appearances it was an ordinary smart phone, an older model that had been available in the Ukraine for several years. Even the SIM card would pass a quick inspection at the border. But insert that SIM card upside down, something that could not be done on any normal phone, and it turned Marcel's phone into a secure mobile device. He simply had to park the limo with its tinted windows somewhere out of the way and call in.

So he knew about the murders in Pakistan and South Africa, but he was not worried. Their situation allowed Geno and him to keep a much closer eye on Brodsky. So far there had been no sign of any untoward interest in the widower. Geno had gotten access to his home computer by simply asking to use it to email her poor mother in Warsaw. Brodsky had given her his password and told her to use it anytime. He should have known better, but he had a soft spot for the pretty cheetah and all of his personal and professional files were password protected in any event. Granted, he had no idea that she would plug a USB with some of Algorath's favourite malware into it. The next time she signed on he had access to all his encrypted documents, including one that contained his username and password for work. Marcel took that information and snuck into the institute at night to do the same thing to the scientist's work computer. Neither had produced any leads.

The older fox had a tablet that he carried around with him also, but the code to unlock it was not stored on his home computer. Geno found it on a slip of paper that she fished out of Brodsky's pants pocket. Marcel used it to transfer all of the files on it to his phone when the scientist was in the bathroom, but again found nothing.

Security at the institute was good, but someone had gotten through equally good security to get at Barbar and Madika, so Marcel usually positioned the car where he could watch the entrance to the institute after dropping Brodsky off in the morning. He had privileges on the Doctor's electronic schedule so that he could be in the right place at the right time to take the busy fox to meetings around town, but he also noted when the scientist was expecting visitors and checked them out when they showed up at the front gate. None of them looked like a threat ... not yet ... but Marcel was prepared to take out anyone that did.

Sometimes when Brodsky was working with his team in the lab for extended periods Marcel would take the limo back to the mansion to eat. He kept some snack food in the glove box however for those days when Brodsky went out to lunch. Today was one of those days. Brodsky had a mid-morning appointment at the Ministry of Energy downtown, uncomfortably close to the square where the protesters had erected their barricades. Marcel had to stay on the street to protect the car, but other than a couple of passing protesters spitting on it there was no trouble. He had the door open the instant that Brodsky reappeared and took a safe route back to the institute where he dropped the scientist near the labs.

"Nothing on the schedule until tonight." Brodsky told him as he exited the car. He looked up into the clear blue sky. "It's a beautiful day. Why don't you take the afternoon off?"

"Maybe I will, sir. Maybe I will." Marcel did not like addressing anyone as sir, it reminded him too much of his abusive step-father who had insisted on being addressed that way. But he had grown to like the somewhat befuddled scientist so he did not mind playing his role so much. But he would not take the day off. He would take another look at the files they had taken from Brodsky's computers instead, in case they had missed something during the first quick review. If Geno could put the kit Aldwin down for a nap maybe she could help him. She was better with computers than he was.

He arrived back at the mansion just before lunch and was disappointed to find that Geno was not there.

"Jena packed a lunch and took the baby to the park." Petro Mysha, the elderly mouse who worked as the caretaker told him, using the name Geno was working under. "And my Luba is gone shopping so it us just us guys, eh. You want a beer?" Mysha's wife did not let her husband drink during the day, not when she was around, but it appeared that he had taken one or two already. A light drinker himself, Marcel did not want to encourage him.

"No thanks. I might get called to pick up the doctor." He explained.

"Suit yourself." Petro said, opening a fresh one. "How about that Jena, eh?" He continued, already at the talkative drunk stage. "I wouldn't mind playing cat and mouse with that one, eh?"

Marcel went to the counter to make himself a sandwich. "Not my type." He shrugged.

Petro laughed. "Probably best that way." He said.

"Sorry?"

"What I mean to say," the inebriated mouse leaned in, "is that she is Brodsky's type. So it's good that you aren't interested in her too."

"I didn't think that the doctor was the type to fool around with the staff." Marcel and Geno had determined that the scenario did not call for her to seduce the older fox, and he was sure that she would have consulted him, as lead on this mission, before doing anything if she thought otherwise. But he felt a familiar burning on the back of his neck despite that.

"People in grief do strange things." Petro said. "I saw enough of that during the Great War to know. He is lonely, she is nearby. He is a good father, she dotes on his son. They are together those three whenever he is home, just like a little family. And at night, well ..." The mouse made an expansive gesture with the paw holding the beer bottle and almost fell off his chair.

"At night?" Marcel prompted. The heat on his neck was joined by a pain behind his eyes.

"I've seen them at night." Petro whispered, or tried to. "In the nursery."

"They did it in the nursery?" Marcel's pain receded a little. Geno would never do something like that in front of a child, even a sleeping baby.

"No, no, of course not. They probably go into her bedroom next door for that. But I have seen them in the nursery with their paws all over each other."

The pain returned tenfold. "And of course that means that they are doing it." He tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding angry to his ears. He was suddenly wondering how Geno's paws had happened to be in the scientist's pants to find the paper with the tablet code; Missus Mysha was the one who did the laundry.

Petro winked knowingly. "He is a very well respected and very rich fox. She has already gotten to him through his son. It's the next logik ... locic ... logical step." He burped.

Marcel was fuming, but his face did not show it. One of the tricks he had learned from Silver was that even if you were roiling inside it was best to maintain a facade of complete calm. He munched on his sandwich and gazed out the window as if he could not care less about the affairs of the boss and the nanny, but he was considering what the old mouse had said. Geno did indeed dote on the motherless kit, and he had seen how she smiled at the baby's father when he joined them after dinner. Although she loved the life they had at F.O.X., and professed to love him, there was one thing she desired that he could not give her, and he was terribly afraid that she had found it here. When all this was over, no matter how it ended, would she come back to the Academy with him or stay to raise the kit as its step-mother? And if she did, would she be happier? He really did not know the answer.

Confused and angry on the inside Marcel decided to return to his post outside the institute. He wanted to think this through, and that would be difficult with the drunken mouse constantly speculating on what acts the master might or might not yet be committing with the busty cheetah. He excused himself and went back to the car. He returned to the institute taking a circuitous route to avoid the roadblocks that the riot police had erected to keep more citizens from joining the protesters in the square. When he got back to his spot opposite the gate he parked in the shadows of a large lilac bush and leaned back in the seat. He stared at the gate while he considered whether he should fight for Geno's love or step back and let her decide what she wanted for herself.

There were no meetings or visits scheduled so Marcel was surprised to see Brodsky appear at the gate fifteen minutes later, blinking in the bright sunlight. Clutching a briefcase to his chest the tall fox looked around before turning left and heading up the street. He was heading toward downtown where the rioting had been the fiercest. He had probably not seen the black limo in the shadows and Marcel wondered if he should not pull up beside him and offer him a lift. But something about the way the scientist was moving and looking around piqued his curiosity, and if he wanted Marcel to bring the car around he could have called on the cell phone. So instead of following in the car he got out and followed on foot.

Marcel recognized the briefcase as the secure model, used to transport classified documents. It had two dial combination locks, a one-of-a-kind key and seals to indicate if it had been tampered with. Built from steel covered in fine leather it was heavy and not Brodsky's first choice when transporting administrative notes or personal papers. The meeting he was going to must be something important, Marcel surmised, _something secret that he did not want his driver to know about. _ He was so intent on keeping the fox in sight that he did not notice the tall thin mountain hare that was keeping pace several hundred meters behind him.

He was afraid that Brodsky was going to one of the Ministries right downtown off Independence Square, but the fox turned up a quiet side street before he got close to there and entered a restaurant halfway up the block. It was late in the day for lunch patrons so anyone else showing up was likely to be there to meet the scientist. Marcel waited a few minutes to see if any would show, but the street remained empty. They were probably already inside. He moved up the street on the side opposite the restaurant and checked it out. The front was mainly glass, affording a view from the street of the entire dining area. It appeared to be empty. Marcel doubled back on the near side to get a better look. It was indeed empty; there was no sign of Brodsky or anyone he may be meeting. Marcel decided to go inside.

Once in the door Marcel recognized the restaurant as the kind of neighbourhood place that would have a back room for guests that wanted to hold private meetings. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the waiter, a canine of mixed heritage, take a tray with two drinks and some light snacks down the short hallway that led to the washrooms and kitchen. One of the other doors must be the private room. Marcel sipped on his beer and after a few minutes went to the washroom so he could determine which one it was. It was a heavy wooden one with padded leather squares to make it sound proof. Marcel did not bother trying to listen at it.

Back in the main room Marcel took his beer to a lonely corner table, snagging a copy of the Ukrainian-language _Ekspres_on the way. He held it up and pretended to read as he watched the hallway over the top of the popular national newspaper, sipping his beer occasionally. Time passed slowly, but Marcel was patient. He had once seen Silver sit in a sweltering hide in the wilds of Northern Ontario for ten hours without moving while black flies and mosquitoes buzzed and bit at them. When he tried to copy the feat Marcel, a city boy, had broken down and run screaming through the woods after less than an hour. Since then he had managed to stretch that out to two hours.

About thirty minutes after moving to the corner the waiter went to the back to check on the guests but returned immediately with a worried expression on his face. He called the owner, an elderly badger, over and told him that the door to the private room appeared to be stuck. He was not sure if the guests inside were okay or not because they had not responded to his knocking. The owner turned to remove his apron before going to get his tool box. Sensing trouble, Marcel was on his feet in an instant and rushed across the room and into the hallway before the others. He braced himself against the opposite wall and kicked the door just where it was weakest. Fortunately it had been designed to suppress noise and not to delay a determined burglar and the inner jamb broke with a loud crack. Marcel flew through the door, drawing a knife with each paw as he did. What he saw froze him in his tracks.

Brodsky was slumped over the round table that sat in the middle of the room in a pool of blood. His blood, if the gap in his throat where his neck should be was any indication. His briefcase was sitting open and empty on one of the chairs. The window looking out onto the alley was wide open, and there was no sign of whoever Brodsky had come to meet. Overcoming his surprise Marcel rushed over to the fox's side and felt around for a pulse, but having inflicted more than his share of fatal knife wounds he knew that it was already too late.

He heard a noise behind him and turned to see the restaurant's owner and the waiter crowding the doorway. Their eyes went wide when they saw the blood on his paws and the knives he still held.

"Murderer." The owner gasped.

What Marcel did next did nothing to change the old badger's opinion. Marcel jumped up with a snarl, leapt through the open window and ran off down the alley in a desperate attempt to catch the real killer. But the witnesses could not know that. The owner turned from the grisly scene to call for the police and came face to face with a mountain hare.

Leonid Mendev, Russian FSB agent and reluctant lover of the corpulent head of the regional office, produced forged identification identifying him as a Ukrainian official.

"What has happened here?" He demanded.

"A short black fox in a dark suit broke in and killed Doctor Brodsky." The badger moaned. "Then he ran out the window."

"After the Doctor's guest to kill him too, no doubt." The waiter added.

Mendev pushed them aside and looked around. The scientist had obviously been bleeding for some time before the F.O.X. agent had broken the door down, but by the time the police, who were all busy fighting the rioters, got anyone down here the evidence would be stale and they would have to rely on the word of the owner and his staff to reconstruct the scene. It's perfect, he thought. I can manipulate this so that Canadians spies get blamed for assassinating a national hero. They don't stand a chance with the whole country searching for them. Of course it would be better if the FSB caught them and found out why they were there in the first place, but at the very least they would have to silence them before the Ukrainian authorities could question them. With a pro-Russian government in charge of the ethnically divided country that should be no problem.

And best of all, Olga Tatranov was sure to take all the credit, resulting in her transfer back to her beloved Moscow, relieving him of the odious task of satisfying the obese brown bear in bed three times a week. Everyone wins, except the Canadians.

"I will pursue the culprit." He informed the owner of the restaurant. "Call the police and preserve the scene. Don't worry, we will catch the bastard who has killed one of our greatest scientists."

* * * * * * *

Grey Muzzle and Miss CC were indeed making progress in Argentina. They had showed up at the Centro Atómico Constituyentes research reactor in Buenos Aries where Agustina Fernandez was the Vice President in charge of research and the culpeo had meet them personally at the entrance. Grey marveled at how fresh she looked after the exhausting session of sexual tango the night before.

They spent the morning touring the facility, including the Tandar accelerator and the Instituto Sábato, where students in advanced nuclear material studies did their post-grad work. At each site they were introduced to the principal scientists and given a detailed explanation of the work being pursued there, but none of it had anything to do with Fernandez's research. They left the centre to eat lunch at an outdoor cafe a few miles away. At one point during lunch Grey found himself alone at a small table with her and took the opportunity to turn the talk away from the work of others and back onto her.

"I hear that you studied under that German shepherd, Roland Richter." He mentioned between bites of a very savoury slab of barbecued beef. The culpeo sat back when he mentioned the German's name, a sign of suspicion. When her mentor was discussed it was usually with disdain. Grey hurriedly continued. "I've always been fascinated by what he was trying to accomplish, small scale fusion that is. It's a shame that he had to leave before he could bring his research to a conclusion."

Fernandez relaxed a bit. "It is a shame." She agreed. "But even back then he knew that the materials available at the time were not suitable for the designs he was working on. While he was in semi-exile he conferred with other advanced thinkers, Gerald Bull and others. When he came back to die here he was able to draw up the requirements for material that are just now entering the market."

"Oh, really? Has there been any incentive to try and build his devices now that it is possible to do so?"

Fernandez gave Grey a sidelong look through narrow eyes. He sat there silently and tried to look innocent. Apparently he succeeded because she leaned in and whispered. "It is what I have personally been working on."

"Have you made any ... progress?"

"Some." Fernandez toyed with her tail.

"I'm no nuclear physicist," Grey leaned over and put his paw on top of hers, "but I know that sustained fusion is one of the most difficult but potentially rewarding goals in the field. I also know that no one has been able to achieve it yet, although some are getting close. Are you ... one of them?"

She tossed her head back and sighed. "I am afraid not. We too have managed to get small amounts of material to react under incredible pressure, but it is initiation that eludes us."

"Ah." The fusion process had the potential to produce endless amounts of clean power, but only if the reaction could be sustained, and the first spark, the one that would light it up like a miniature sun, was called initiation. Grey recalled reading about another fusion research institute with the same problem. "You can't get it to initiate."

"On no, that is not it." She said to Grey's shock. We can get it to initiate, but we cannot regulate it. The complete mass converts to energy instantly. It is quite a bother. We use tiny amounts of material, on a molecular scale really, but the explosions are still quite dramatic, and damaging. We have been forced to move our research out to the old army ordnance disposal range for safety's sake."

Grey tried to picture a lab being destroyed by a miniature nuclear explosion. That would definitely have some military applications. If some of the third world countries or terrorist organizations got hold of something like that ... then he remembered something she had said the night before. He clasped both her paws between his and tried to keep his voice calm. "Miss Fernandez ..."

"Agustina, por favor."

"Agustina, last night you said that others had been around asking about your research. Tell me, were they interested in this, uh, undesirable side effect at all?"

"Yes. I thought that he would want to help me solve the problem but he was just interested in recreating it at different masses. I think now that he was only interested in military application of my discovery, like they did to Bull's work."

"He?" Grey asked. "Who is he?"

Before she could answer the calm of the afternoon was ripped apart by the sound of racing engines.

Grey spun around just in time to see four black panel vans screech to a stop in a semi-circle around the seated diners. Even before they came to a halt the doors were opened and a dozen armed creatures poured out. Grey's recent training took over and his paw came up before he remembered that he was not carrying a gun. It would never have passed the security at the Atomic Centre. Miss CC was similarly unarmed, and her face showed how much she regretted being so, but she leapt between the culpeo and the assailants with a bodyguard's instincts despite that.

Grey surveyed the gang and made a quick assessment. They looked like local thugs, not professionals. They waded into the group on the patio, making straight for Fernandez. It was not at all the type of threat that Grey and Miss CC were expecting, and they were ill prepared to face it. But the striking party poodle looked like she was going to try to take them all on herself.

"CC!" He hissed. "Don't resist. We need to go with them."

Miss CC gave him a puzzled look, but she backed away from the advancing horde, pressing herself up against the scientist they were supposed to protect. Grey crowded in too, calling out to the thugs in Spanish. "What do you want with our boss?"

"Your boss is coming with us." The leader, a thin red wolf with a black mane and fighting scars on his face said as he came to a stop before them. "Now get out of the way."

"Take us instead. She has no family to pay ransom and the Centro Atómico has a no negotiation policy. But me and my colleague here," he pointed at Miss CC, "we have wealthy relatives and come from countries with weak governments. We would make much better hostages."

"Pah! We are getting paid enough just to bring her in. It's not money our patron wants out of her. She knows something he wants to know." The wolf went to push Miss CC aside and was surprised at how solid she was.

"Then we should go." Grey insisted, looking to Fernandez and pleading with his eyes for her to play along. "We are on her research team. We can tell you want you want, but leave her alone, please."

The wolf thought for a second, but no more. "Maybe what you say is true. In that case we will have a fall back plan if she proves to be not so cooperative, or durable. She does look very frail, eh boys? Well chica," he grabbed Fernandez's arm and twisted it cruelly, "is what he says true? Does he know what you know?"

Fernandez stared into Grey's eyes and answered. "Yes, yes. They are my ... personal assistants."

"Good." The wolf turned to his pack. "Take all three. Shoot the rest."

Fortunately for Grey they put a bag over his head just them and he did not have to see the slaughter of Fernandez's real colleagues, but he would wake up with their screams ringing in his ears for many nights to come.

* * * * * * *

Kain had recovered a number of deleted files from Barbar's workstation, files that had been wiped at about the same time the snow leopard had been murdered. Most of them seemed to be related to work on weaponizing a nuclear warhead for an artillery piece, but Kain suspected that the data might be corrupt because the dimensions were all wrong. No artillery piece that he had ever heard of had such a large bore or could shot as far as the one described in the specs for the warhead. Ophelia was sleeping so he decided to do a little research on artillery to see if the numbers were even close.

The First World War had seen guns of incredible size and power, the famous Paris gun had a range of over a hundred and thirty kilometres. But they were fixed in place and there had been no nuclear weapons back then. Nowadays they would be huge sitting targets. Some modern artillery pieces were large enough to take small tactical nukes, but their range was limited to 40 kilometres. The one in Barbar's files was supposed to be able to hit targets anywhere in the world and still be portable to a degree. Where have I read about something like that, he wondered.

A few more minutes of searching and he had it. Gerald Bull's ballistic cannon design was a close match for the specs in Barbar's files. Kain checked the files again and compared the figures to Bull's theoretical calculations. Back when Bull had designed his ground-breaking cannon he had used materials and mechanisms based on nineteen sixties technology. Now with new alloys and carbon fibre technology the cannon could be made much smaller and lighter than the fifty-foot monster the Americans had found in Iraq. And with Barbar's miniature warheads you could get a multi-megaton device into orbit and bring it down anywhere in the world, theoretically. There were a few pieces missing, like how to refine uranium to the highly enriched state required for Barbar's device and how to initiate fusion in something that small.

His computer pinged. A message had come in from the Academy. Kain opened the message and saw that it was a mission update. Delores and Zac had been cleared on the death of the South African scientist. That portion of the mission had been a failure, with Zac only getting a little bit of information about what the springbok had been working on. Laser molecular separation or something like that. Kain googled it out of habit as he read the next entry about how Muzzle and Miss CC had managed a visit to the institute where the Argentine was seeking to achieve sustained fusion with a miniature reaction and ... Kain shook his head. He opened the browser where he had googled the African's laser separation technique and saw how it had the potential to bring uranium up to concentrations unheard of .... if certain technical problems could be overcome.

He went back to Zac's report. According to the Deputy Director Madika had solved the problem and developed a more efficient method for laser enrichment. But it used a lot of power, a constant twenty megawatts. In order to produce the materials for the warheads that could be launched by the ballistic cannon in secret you would also need a small but powerful cold fusion reactor.

He quickly recalled the file with all the other dead scientists in it and compared their work with the projects he envisioned. There were fusion experts, containment system experts, material engineers, enrichment specialists, and each one was working on some sort of cutting edge innovation. _ That's it_, Kain realized after seeing how each ones specialty could contribute to the whole. But if they were killing them openly now they must be very close to realizing their project. He had to warn the others, especially the teams in Argentina and the Ukraine. But wait a second, he reminded himself, what about Vikki and Dongo? If he was right then they were sitting in the dragon's den with no way of knowing it. Silver would have to send someone like Hu in to warn them, but he would not authorize that without more proof.

Kain decided to make himself some coffee with the stuff that came with the room so he stood up. He had been sitting in front of the computer for so long that when he got up he almost fell over and he did knock his chair to the floor. The sound brought Ophelia to her feet in a fighting stance looking around for a threat. When she saw the fatigue in Kain's eyes she relaxed and yawned.

"Hey, baby. You still up?"

"Yeah. He fumbled with the coffee maker but could not get it open.

Ophelia stepped forward. "Here, let me get that." She rotated the top and tore open a foil packet to retrieve a bag of ground coffee and put it in. She took the carafe into the bathroom and filled it with cold water. Before she poured it in she paused and looked at Kain.

"You sure you want this babe? Shouldn't you get some rest?"

"I'd love to get some shut eye, but this is important. I have to track these guys down while there is still time to act." He filled her in on what he had found so far.

Ophelia shrugged, poured the water and started the coffee maker. "Anything else I can do to help?"

Kain was already back at the keyboard. "Not really." He said absently.

Ophelia got her tablet out of her bag and signed into the regular hotel internet. One way or another this would be over soon and she would need to get out of the country. She began checking flight connections that would get her back to her home base. Then she changed her mind and added an extra leg to the journey.

Beside her on his laptop Kain pounded the keys madly as he switched back and forth between applications. He was tracing the serpentine trail of the hackers that had wiped Barbar's computer files in one set of windows while he monitored and adjusted the video search for anyone that might have visited the institute around the time of the murder. There were three possibilities but the farther father away from the institute they got the harder it was to predict where they would show up next. He eliminated one by the time he tracked the hackers back to East Asia. A second possibility proved to be unrelated just after he found a previously unknown peer-to-peer connection into the web's backbone outside of Seoul. Moments later he had traced the ultimate source of the hack, just in time to see a security video of the last possible suspect vehicle taken earlier that night. As he watched figure in a long coat and wide hat walked into the shot and opened the door of the car. As it bent to get in its hat caught on the edge of the roof and flipped off its head. It turned to grab it, and in doing so exposed its full face to the camera.

Kain grabbed the best frame from the camera and used several others to enhance the image. As soon as he had a good likeness he ran it into a facial recognition program that could search the entire internet if he let it run long enough. But he had a hunch based on the body language and the shape of the creature's head, and he restricted the search to the mission file. In less than a second he had a match with ninety-nine percent certainty. He split the screen between the security camera shot and the file photo and turned his laptop around to show Ophelia.

"Look who's working with the Hermit kingdom."

Ophelia, who had studied the files through Kain's backdoor into the F.O.X. servers, recognized the photo immediately.

"The catch of the day." She commented dryly.

* * * * * * *

There was no sign of whoever had killed Brodsky in the alley or on the street. Marcel debated whether he should go back to the Institute for the car or cut through the neighbourhood and head for the mansion. He decided to go for the car on the assumption that it would take a while for the police to identify him as the Doctor's driver. He made his way back quickly and checked the area for unusual activity before getting in. All seemed normal. He slipped in and started the car, tuning to an all news station so he would know when the story broke. Aware that the Ukrainian security forces had a number of unmarked cars he kept an eye out for signs that he was being followed. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was a van from a security company parked in front of the property next door to Brodsky's mansion. That property had been sitting empty since Marcel had arrived, but the 'For Sale' sale sign that had been there this morning was now gone. Pair of wolves in coveralls with the security company's logo on the back were working on the intercom beside the front gate there. Marcel filed the information away and turned into the mansion's circular driveway.

The first person he encountered as entered the mansion was Geno, who was descending the grand staircase after putting Brodsky's kit down for his afternoon nap.

"We have to go, now." Marcel informed her. "Emergency escape protocol. Get changed and grab whatever you need. Carry on baggage only." She was wearing a shapeless black dress that suited her role as a nanny but it would be a bit conspicuous without a child to go with it. Marcel intended to change into jeans and an old leather jacket to blend in better with the crowds. They would have to make their way to the safe house being held by the local F.O.X. operative, the squirrel Aleksy Lutsenko and it was on the far side of Independence Square. They could use the crowds of young Ukrainians milling about the area to cover their movement. He pulled out his cell phone and started switching the SIM card around to make a secure call to the squirrel.

"What happened?" Geno asked, coming down the stairs to join him rather than immediately following his instructions. Marcel felt some of the same frustration that Silver experienced in working with Marcel.

Before Marcel could answer Missus Mysha came running into the lobby wailing. "The doctor is dead! Oh, Jena the doctor is dead!" The elderly housekeeper froze when she saw Marcel standing there, his black paws stained with dried blood. "Jena," the mouse warned, "come away from him."

"Missus Mysha, what is the problem?" Marcel asked, clasping his paws behind his back, but he suspected that he already knew the answer.

"They just said on the radio that the doctor was killed by his chauffeur." Missus Mysha said, he voice trembling. "They said that you were a foreign spy."

"Don't believe everything you hear." Marcel said with as much calm as he could muster. "But it is true that the doctor is dead. I was trying to watch over him but I was too late to save him. Now I have to go, and I am taking Jena with me as an, uh, hostage, until I can surrender to the police and tell my side of the story. Can I trust you and Petro to stay here until we are away?"

"Petro is passed out." Missus Mysha said with a grim expression. "And you will have to kill me too if you want to take poor Jena." Without warning the feisty old rodent leapt at Marcel. With his phone in one paw and the SIM card in the other he was forced to fend her off with his forearms and he was surprised by the ferocity of her attack. The SIM card was knocked free, landing on the polished hardwood beneath their feet. Marcel pocketed the phone but he did not pull any of his knives. He just couldn't bring himself to kill the dowdy old mouse that was fighting like a wildcat. When he grabbed her wrists she lashed out with hard, pointy, orthopaedic shoes. When he ran her up against a wall to trap her she began to bite him on the shoulder with sharp incisors. Marcel turned her and pushed her toward the stairs, hoping to trip her on the bottom step.

There was a crash and Marcel blinked as shards of porcelain flew around his head. The mouse went limp in his arms. Behind her Geno loomed on the stairs with the broken base of an antique lamp in her paw. "Is Brodsky really dead?" She asked, a stricken look on her face.

"Yes." Marcel answered curtly as he bent to check Missus Mysha for a pulse. He found a strong one. She would wake with a hell of a headache but she would be fine. "I'll explain later. Grab what you need and meet me back here." Before he finished talking he stooped to pick up the tiny mouse and then he carried her back to the kitchen where he found her husband passed out across the table. He put her down gently on a bench by the back door and verified that Mister Mysha would be out for some time still. From the number of empty bottles he guessed that Mysha would also wake with a splitting headache, a self-inflicted one. Marcel's room was in the back, near the garage, and he rushed to it to wash and change into less conspicuous clothing.

He emerged in jeans and a tee-shirt under an old leather jacket, the kind that the youth of Kiev were wearing these days. Knowing that the murder was already in the news made him anxious. He still had his essential knives strapped to his arms, but he had added several others wherever he could conceal them. Spare clothes and other useful items were stuffed in a pack that he slung over his back. Neither of them had brought a gun with them in case Brodsky or his housekeepers searched their rooms, but Lutsenko would have a variety of them at the safe house. There was one in Brodsky's desk too but he was in a rush. Perhaps Geno would think to grab it. Striding to the entrance way, he was disappointed to find that Geno was not already there. He was about to go up the stairs to hurry her along but just then she appeared at the top of the stairs.

She was back in her normal attire, shorts so short that they disappeared between her ample buttocks, a top so skimpy you could breast feed twins through it, and little else. She had brushed out her blonde hair, applied makeup, and replaced her piercings to boot. Sturdy boots completed the ensemble. She too had a backpack, and she slipped it on gingerly as if it contained explosives that might go off with the slightest jostling. For all he knew it did; blowing things up to cover their escape was one of Geno's favourite parts of the job. She descended the stairs soundlessly, her long spotted tail swaying behind her.

Marcel opened his mouth to ask if Brodsky's kit would be okay until the Myshas recovered but the sound of an approaching siren cut him off. The police! He still could not figure out how the news had gotten out so quickly, or how they knew that he was a secret agent, but he had been expecting the cops to show up eventually. He was hoping to get away before they arrived, maybe take the car as far as the border, but it was not to be. "Out the back door before they surround us." He instructed Geno. He started to follow her and them he remembered that he had dropped his SIM card. He searched the floor around where he and Missus Mysha had been tussling and found it, or part of it at least. Either he or she had stepped on it during the fight and it had snapped in two. He tossed the useless shard across the room and ran after Geno.

He caught up to her by the wall at the back of the garden. "Did you grab Brodsky's gun?" He asked as they used a small ladder he had left there in case of such an eventuality to scale the wall.

"Yes, but I did not have time to search for ammunition. There are only five shots in it." The broken glass embedded in the top of the wall had been knocked off at this point, and Geno was able to stand safely as she pulled up the ladder behind them.

"Don't use it unless you absolutely have to." Marcel advised as they positioned the ladder and climbed down the other side. "Do you need a knife?"

"No, I have one." Geno tapped the large silver crucifix that hung between her breasts. A press of the thumb on one of the ornamental protrusions would produce a slim two-edged blade, essentially turning the cross into a dagger. Together they carried the ladder to a thick bush on the neighbour's property and hid it underneath. Unencumbered, they broke into a trot.

The affluent neighbourhood was divided by broad streets and narrow service lanes, but the police would be familiar with them. Marcel and Geno followed a route memorized on the simulator back in Ottawa, one that took them several blocks away by following property lines and using forgotten servants' entrances. Soon they were in a more populous part of town, nearer to Independence Square. Separating themselves by several meters in the light crowd of curious onlookers outside the police lines they made their way towards the building where Lutsenko had established their safe house.

Marcel did not approach the building directly. He signalled Geno to stay on the street near the entrance to an alley that ran behind it while he entered the apartment building next door. A few minutes later he appeared on the roof and checked the apartment's windows with a small pair of binoculars from his pack. He remained perfectly still with the binos focused on the window across the alley and below him for several minutes. In case of trouble Lutsenko was supposed to hang a cloth of a certain colour to indicate that it was all clear, and another of a different colour if he thought that the location was compromised. The squirrel must have heard the reports on the radio by now, but there was no cloth of any colour in the window. Just the white lace curtains that had been drawn together.

Marcel continued to watch for another minute and his patience paid off. The curtain twitched and parted slightly. A canine snout appeared in the gap, swivelled left and right and then retreated. The curtains dropped back together as the hairy canine paw released them. The apartment was a trap, Marcel realized. Lutsenko must be captured or dead. Marcel moved to the other side of the building to give Geno the signal to move to their rendezvous but he was upset when he saw that she was fooling with something in her backpack rather than keeping an eye out. She finally looked up and he gave the signal again. She immediately picked up her pack and headed toward the agreed upon location. Marcel left the rooftop and took the fire escape to the ground floor.

The RV point was in a small park three blocks away. It was secluded with high walls and only two entrances, both of which could be seen from the concrete gazebo in the centre of the park. Geno was waiting there for him when he stopped at one of the entrances. She gave the 'all clear' sign for him to come ahead in. He moved directly to the gazebo and explained what had happened to Brodsky and what he had seen at Lutsenko's apartment.

"Poor baby." Geno shook her head sadly.

"I'm okay." Marcel said with a small smile. "Most of the damage came from when Missus Mysha attacked me."

"Not you." Geno said absently. "Aldwin. He's an orphan now. Brodsky had no close relatives, neither did his mate."

"I guess that he'll end up a ward of the state until someone adopts him." Marcel shrugged. "They are bound to find a good couple for him quickly. He's the perfect age and he'll inherit all of Brodsky's fortune when he's an adult." He patted Geno's paw, aware of how attached she had been to the kit but secretly glad to have the issue finished with. "But a cute kit like that doesn't need a trust fund to find good parents. Don't worry about Aldwin. I'm sure he'll go to someone who loves him."

Geno scratched her head and look up at the sky. "Yeah, about that ..."

"Wait." Marcel cautioned. A tall slim mountain hare had just entered the park. He was strolling along as if he was out enjoying the sun on a beautiful day, but the gate he had come through was now occupied by a wolf that could not stop staring at Marcel and Geno. He glanced in the other direction and saw another wolf lounging there. Even though they were no longer wearing coveralls Marcel recognized them as the ones next door to Brodsky's. Folding his arms he filled his paws with the hilts of several knives, but he kept them hidden under his jacket.

The hare stopped a few meters away and looked around as if surprised to find himself in such a nice little park. He saw the fox and cheetah in the gazebo and wandered over, perhaps to ask for directions. His paws were in the pockets of his light jacket and he appeared not to have a care in the world, but the wolves continued to stare at them and their body language screamed tension as the hare closed in on them.

"Good morning." The hare said in Ukrainian as he stopped just outside of the gazebo. He spread his arms without removing them from his pockets to reveal that there were holes in the backs of them and that he was holding twin automatics. He pointed them in their general direction. "You are coming with me." He informed them. Marcel detected a slight Russian accent. Now he knew how the police and the media had known of Brodsky's murder and about him so quickly. The FSB must have stumbled upon them somehow and been following him. He wondered if they were the ones that had killed the doctor or whether they were just taking advantage of the situation. But he doubted that the hare would tell him here in the park and he had no intention of sticking around to question the Russian.

Jackets with holes to draw guns through were amateurish, and Marcel could see that this was a homemade job by the loose threads around the separated seams. That told him that the hare was not a true field agent, but more likely some over-eager headquarters type looking to impress the boss. Such a one would likely feel superior to someone he considered little more than a hired thug, especially if he only examples he had to go by were the likes those wolves he brought along. He probably thought that that he was pretty clever trapping them in this enclosed space, and he probably had not even bothered to tell the wolves backing him up just how dangerous the pair they were trying to capture were supposed to be. Marcel smiled. This would be fun.

He used a code phrase to tell Geno to get ready. "Looks like you got the drop on us." He sensed her sifting position behind him. He released his grip on his knives. He was going to need both paws free. He let his backpack slide off and motioned for Geno to do the same.

"The thing about the old holey jacket trick," Rusty, the F.O.X. combat instructor, had told Marcel in one of his early lessons, "is that you can't really aim well because the jacket impedes the free movement of your arms." He had demonstrated by putting such a jacket on Marcel and asking him to try to point at various things. "As you can see," the big doberman had continued, "extending one arm pulls the other off its aim. There is an easy counter-move for this kind of situation."

Marcel glanced at the hare's wrists. His wristwatch was on the left one, so he was probably right-pawed. Marcel stepped to the hare's left, and when the right paw followed his movement it was confirmed. "You know what I like best about this park?" He asked as he took another step to the left, while Geno took two to the right.

The hare did not where to aim with which arm, so he responded to the short black fox's question while he tried to figure that out. "What do you like about it?"

"The sewers."

"The wha- " His question was cut off by Marcel's sudden leap. He had anticipated the Canadian trying to dive off the gazebo and flee, but he was not expecting the fox to jump straight at him and drop to the floor. At the same time he was distracted by the cheetah, who dove to the left, where the fox was an instant ago. His arms crossed as he tried to bring the pistols to bear on the two moving targets. As they did Marcel came up from the floor, grabbed the tails of the jacket and pulled it up and over the hare's head. Now the FSB analyst's guns were trapped inside the reversed jacket and he would have shot himself, if he had remembered to take the safeties off before approaching the two Canadians that is.

With his face covered he did not see the wolves rush in, but he heard the double crack of a pistol near his head and a sound like metal scraping on metal. A single shot came in return, and then there was another sound, a high pitched wail, and he wondered if it was the black fox's or the cheetah's battle cry. It certainly was piercing enough to set his teeth on edge. Before he could throw off his jacket to see what was going on he was turned around and propelled by a large foot in a sturdy boot into the arms of one of his wolf guards.

Struggling and swearing he finally managed to free himself. The wolf he had collided with was dazed from the impact. The other was holding a paw over an expanding blood stain on its abdomen. He thumbed the safeties on the pistols he still held, looked at the gazebo and saw that a round metal cover had been shifted from the centre where it had capped a sewer entrance. He rushed over to it and stuck his head and shoulders inside to see where it went, which left him perfectly silhouetted to anyone inside.

He felt rather than saw the knife come up and across his throat. It passed through him smoothly, slicing arteries and veins but not going deep enough to grate on bone of get caught in the powerful muscles of the esophagus. It hardly hurt at all. Leonid Ilyich Mendev, analyst and part-time sex toy in the FSB's Ukrainian division, sat back on his heels and felt the warm blood roll down his chest. He was a goner, he knew, but perhaps it was for the best. When Olga Tatranov, the obese she-bear in charge, heard about this fiasco she would have everyone involved skinned alive, and that would hurt a lot more than this ... this almost pleasant way to die.

Mendev tilted his head back, speeding the rush of blood from his veins, and took one last look at the beautiful blue sky.

* * * * * * *

He almost choked to death in the confined space because of their chain-smoking captors, but Grey tried to keep track of how long they spent in the van and the turns they took. But the noise and the erratic driving style of the black-maned wolves threw him off after just a few minutes. Still, when they stopped he was sure that they had not been driving long enough to have left the city, and he thought that they had been heading generally east. When they pulled him roughly out onto the road he caught a whiff of salty air and heard the cry of sea birds over the growl of engines, so he guessed that they were in the industrial area near the port. He was not sure if that information would prove useful or not, but perhaps it would, if they managed to escape that is.

Paws pushed him forward through a space that echoed their footsteps, an empty warehouse perhaps. The group separated and some went in another direction. Grey could tell that Miss CC was still with the group escorting him because of her perfume and the distinct sound her high heels made on the concrete. He could not tell if Fernandez was still with them or not though. They entered a room and he was shoved down onto a wooden chair where they tied him with rough ropes. When they were done they pushed the chair up against another that presumably held Miss CC and tied the two together, back to back. Then they removed the bags from their heads.

The wolves were already leaving the room. Their local jargon was very different from Grey's school book Spanish but he managed to make out that they were being saved for torture if Fernandez died before she told them what they wanted to know. But if she talked they would use Grey and Miss CC for sport. That seemed to involve something sexual and fatal for both of them, and Grey was not sure which came first.

Grey tested his bond, as he could feel Miss CC doing in the other chair. The ropes held firm, the knots were solid. They could not do much more than wiggle their toes and clasp paws behind their backs. He tried to crane his neck around to get a better idea of their situation. He could not see much of Miss CC except her ear and the tip of her snout when they both turned their heads in the same direction. What he could see of the room was featureless. There were no sharp objects or protrusions that they could use to cut or abrade the ropes. He asked Miss CC if there was any on her side and she answered that there were not.

"Damn." Grey breathed. If only he had thought to grab a steak knife from the table before they were hauled away. The gang had searched them quickly back at the cafe before pushing them into a van and a well hidden weapon might not have been noticed. But there was still hope. "Shall we try to break the chairs?" He suggested. "If we wait until Fernandez starts screaming it will cover the noise."

"We don't 'ave to wait that long." The busty poodle replied, straining in her seat, but straining for what Grey could not tell.

"These chairs look pretty solid, CC. I don't think that even Williams could break one alone." Tancred Williams, the Director of the Academy, was the largest fox that Grey had ever seen, and the fittest. He bench pressed more than Grey could lift with a jack.

"I am not tryeeng to break the chair." Miss CC grunted. "I am tryeeng to get a knife to your paw so you can cut us free."

"A knife?" Grey was surprised. They had made love in the shower before leaving the hotel that morning and he had dried and dressed her himself afterwards. He was certain that she did not have a knife on her. He had not seen CC take anything at the cafe either. "When did you get a knife?" He asked.

"Before we left Ottawa."

"You've had one the whole time?" He wondered if she had a hidden pouch surgically fashioned near the base of her tail like the one the regular agents had. But if so she could just grab the knife since her paws were already behind her back, or he could do it. So if not there, where was it? Not being able to figure an alternative he put the question to her.

"Have you ever read the story of zee French poodle who escaped from Devil's Island, Papillion?" She asked between grunts of effort.

"Sure." Grey admitted. "They made a movie of it with Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman."

"But did you read zee book?"

"Yeah, once." Grey remembered how Hollywood had glossed over some of the rougher parts of the story. Like what Papillion had to do to survive in solitaire, the torture, the brutal deaths, the way they had to smuggle money and other valuables in by sticking it in a tube up their ....

"Uh, CC, darling?"

"What? Can't you see that I am busy?"

"It's just ... well ... are things going to get ... messy?"

"They weell eef you don't shut up and catch zee .... ohhhh, merde!"

Merde indeed, Grey thought as he stuck his paws under her tail, pulled her thong aside with one digit and cupped the others to receive the prize. Fortunately the only thing that came out, other than a burst of noxious fumes, was a hard tubular object coated in grease. It was slippery but with the fear of Miss CC's wrath firmly in the forefront of his mind he managed to keep a grip on it long enough to pass it to her paw. She wiped it on the back of his jacket to get a better grip and then she did something to it that produced the sound of metal sliding against metal.

Grey felt the ropes around his arms go loose. He leaned forward and those around his chest gave way enough for him to twist around in the chair and take the knife from her. It was a razor sharp stiletto with a four-inch retractable blade. He shuddered to think what it would have done to her if it deployed accidentally while inside her. Speaking of which, had he not been balls deep inside that hole just the other night? How far up was it, he wondered? He carefully but quickly cut her bonds and then set to freeing his legs.

He was free before her and he hurried around to help her get her feet free. "Now what?" He asked.

"Now we take the leetle gun from your tail pouch and go save your Tango partner." She said with a grin.

Grey sat back on his heels, a worried expression on his face. "Yesss. About that gun ..."

"You don't have zee leetle gun een zee pouch? You 'ad zee operation before we left. Did not Rusty give you zee gun?"

"He did, he did." Grey stammered. The all plastic three-shot pistol was standard issue. "But I was afraid that it would be picked up if I got selected for a full body scan at the airport, so I ... I didn't bring it." He looked up at her angry visage and pleaded. "Don't get mad CC. You know me and guns. I can't hit even a paper target if it comes at me aggressively. I'm ... it would be ... useless." He cast his head down.

She jerked it back up roughly. "Zee gun was for me you inbeecile! They could not cut a hole een my ass for one because zee fur ees too, what ees the word? ... sparse, oui, too sparse to cover eet up. Mon Dieu. Now what are we going to do?" She looked around desperately, there was nothing but the chairs. She examined them to see if she could break off a leg to make a club, but Grey had been right, they were too solid. "Eef only your pouch was not empty." She moaned.

"Well, it's not exactly empty."

Her head snapped around. "No? What ees een eet then?"

Instead of explaining Grey showed her. Reaching back he fumbled with the patch of faux fur that had been sewed over the depression they had carved out of him and produced a small, clear, plastic bottle. It was filled with a colourless fluid.

"What ees that?" Miss CC asked with a frown. "Nitroglycerine?"

"Almost. It's Baijiu." Grey pronounced it Bye-Joe. "Ninety-nine percent pure alcohol from China. It smells like fuel oil, tastes like paint thinner and feels like a liquid lobotomy, but it grows on you. Genghis brings it in when he comes back from Beijing for debriefs. I was saving it for our after-mission celebration, but I suppose a shot each to bolster our courage before we charge suicidally into that pack of armed wolves would be in order now."

The poodle took the bottle in her paws and looked at it skeptically. "Ees eet dangerous?"

"Only if you ingest it. Oh, and it's highly flammable, the most flammable alcohol there is. So stay away from open flames when you drink it." He looked around at the bare room. "Not a problem here, I think. Shall we?" He reached out for the bottle

But Miss CC clutched it tightly as her eyes darted back and forth. "Wait. I 'ave an idea. Get back in your chair."

Grey complied wordlessly and Miss CC wound him with ropes that she secured with slip knots. "They weell come off easy enough, but wait for my signal." She said as she sat down and looped the remaining rope around herself. She had tied the chairs together side by side so he could see what she was doing.

"What is the signal?" He whispered.

"No time, they are coming." She tucked the end of the rope under her arm and ducked her head down to grab the bottle of Baijiu with her mouth. Using her tongue she spun the lid off in a manner that rivalled his first girlfriend, the one with the prehensile oral appendage, and gulped down the entire contents. With a jerk of her head she sent the bottle flying into a dark corner where it would be hidden by the door once it was opened.

"Hey, be careful with that stuff," Grey warned, "it's ..." but before he could finish the door burst open.

Six wolves crowded into the room. Two of them had their guns drawn and they flanked the leader as he stood in front of the prisoners. "I thought I told Hulio to tie them back to back?" He said to his escort. He lit a cigarette from the butt of the one he had in his mouth before addressing Grey and Miss CC.

"You two do not work for the culpeo at the Centro Atómico." He snarled, leaning in. "You are some kind of spies. You better tell us who you work for quick so you die quick too. Otherwise it will take a long time and hurt very much. Well?" He looked down at Miss CC, who had a strange expression on her face. "Hey Chica, why are you staring at me like that with your cheeks all puffed out? You think that this is some kind of joke?" He raised his paw and slapped her on the side of the muzzle.

Grey assumed that the ball of fire that erupted when Miss CC sprayed Baijiu in the wolf's face was the signal he was supposed to act on.

As the tree wolves in the front flailed at the flames that had suddenly engulfed them the two agents leapt up from the chairs. The armed guards had dropped their guns in order to beat out the fire that was rapidly consuming their greasy clothes and by unspoken agreement Grey and Miss CC each went for the gun on their side of the leader. The three in back, those that had been sheltered from the firestorm by the others, were shocked into immobility long enough for the two Canadians to grab the small automatic machine guns and bring them up into firing position. They then sealed their fate by going for their own weapons. Grey's digit pulled on the trigger instinctively, and the muzzle blast pulled the aim from low left to high right, effectively bisecting the thug nearest to him diagonally. Miss CC let off two controlled three-round bursts, stopping the hearts of the other two before they could bring their paws up to fire back. The poodle that he had loved and suffered under then turned and, flicking her gun to single shot, put the tree burning wolves out of their misery. The entire episode had lasted no more than thirty seconds.

"Queekly. We need to find where they have taken Fernandez." She said as striped the smouldering wolves of their spare magazines. Grey did the same with the three that had only been shot and followed her out of the room.

Fortunately the warehouse they had taken them to was dusty enough for them to follow the gang's tracks to a former workshop on the far side of the building. It had double swinging doors with opaque windows. Through them they could make out at least two forms moving about in there. Sharp cries of pain came at irregular intervals from somewhere near the centre of the room. Using paw signals Miss CC indicated that Grey should go in low and take the right side of the room while she went in high and took care of any enemy on the left. She gave a countdown with her digits and when she got to zero they pushed open the doors.

A large wolf with his back to them was leaning over the naked body of Fernandez and tightening a clamp on one of her nipples. The blood that flowed from where its teeth dug in stained his paws. A second, smaller wolf was busy jamming metal shards under the claws of her feet. Neither looked up from their work at the sound of the squeaky door opening, but the larger one spoke in Spanish.

"What was the shooting all about? I thought El Pescador said to keep them alive and find out who sent them?"

It was impossible to shoot either without hitting the scientist also. So Miss CC reversed the machine gun and raised it over the larger ones head. She brought it down hard. Grey did likewise for the smaller wolf. CC's blow landed just behind her wolf's ear and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Grey had less room to manoeuvre and his jab only dazed his target. He had to smack him several times before he stayed down. By them Miss CC was already freeing the bleeding culpeo.

"What did he say before I hit heem?" She asked as she carefully removed clamps and slivers from the recumbent form.

"Something about a Mister Pescador not wanting us killed until we talk." Grey found some clean towels on a table nearby and tore them into strips to use as bandages.

"Pescador? Zee name is not familiar to me. Do you recall seeing eet een the files we studied?"

"No. I've never heard of anyone with that name. It means someone who catches fish for a living. Must be one of those occupational names like Baker, Cooper, or Smith. We could strap one of these wolves to the table and ask them." He said picking up a cruel looking pair of pliers.

"There ees no time. There are at least another four wolves from the vans unaccounted for and we must get this lady to an 'ospital." The big poodle hefted the slight fox-like creature over her shoulder and turned toward the door. "Finish them off." She said as she strode to the door to watch for the others.

Grey looked down at the still forms of the two wolves and swallowed. He toyed with the gun.

"What ees taking you so long?"

"Miss CC, I ... I can't .... it's just ...." She was beside him in a flash, taking the gun from his paws and shifting the body of Fernandez onto his back. The expression on her face was fierce and determined. "Please .... don't be ... don't be mad." He begged as a tear escaped the corner of his eye.

Miss CC paused. She gave him a look of compassion and brushed the damp fur of his cheek with the back of her paw. "Thees work ees not for everyone, cher. That is why there are so few field agents like Silver. We'll leave these two as they are, except ..." She dealt each of the recumbent forms a fierce kick in the groin. "That ees for what they did to her. Come, we go."

Miss CC led the way, guns up and ready in case they ran into the other wolves. When they came to the front of the warehouse they could see that one of the vans was missing, presumably taken by the absent wolves. The others all had keys in them. Miss CC snapped two of them off in the ignition before helping Grey put Fernandez in the back of the third. She pulled out with a spray of gravel.

"How ees she." She asked as soon as they were out of the warehouse district.

"The bleeding has stopped. None of the wounds are deep or serious, but she is in shock from the pain." Grey reported. "She needs a doctor, but taking her to a regular hospital is sure to raise a few eyebrows."

"Can you keep her alive for a few hours?"

Grey struggled to recall the first aid courses his parents had insisted he take as part of his KGB home-training. Treating for shock until medical assistance could come was one of the first and most important lessons.

"Sure. If we can keep her warm and hydrated."

"There ees a market today on Florida Street. We can buy blankets and water there. Cushions too. We should be there een about ten minutes. Meanwhile ..." she fumbled in her pocket as she wove through the traffic like a true Buenos Airian. She pulled her cell phone, which she had found on the leader's body, out and tossed the slightly charred unit to Grey. "Give Headquarters a call and report what has happened. Maybe they will have a file on El Pescador."

* * * * * * *

His cousin Nathan had to go to his restaurant so Kyroo Echos was left on his own. He filled the time by familiarizing himself with the market area. Parking was scare, and the street pattern discouraged traffic, but it was a pedestrian friendly district, with pathways that connected the various shopping streets. It was the kind of area where you often saw the same folks over and over again as they wound their way around the narrow streets. And Kyroo was on nodding acquaintance with several other tourists by the time he had made two loops of the district, but something was not right.

Most of the encounters occurred head on, because it was unlikely that he and some random tourist were following the same erratic route. Also, both the friendly shoppers and the local merchants had no qualms about making eye contact. So why was there one creature that not only avoided his eyes but also always seemed to be going in the same direction?

Kyroo used an angled store window to check his six. Sure enough, the civet cat that he had first noticed at the botanical gardens and then several times again in the market was back there, studiously regarding a display of wedding dresses. Just as he had been engrossed in the display at the tattoo parlour five minutes ago, the organic vegan produce earlier, and the butcher shop before that. Unless the civet was planning a Goth weeding between a carnivore and an herbivore Kyroo guessed that he might be being followed.

He was not surprised. Having wandered all around the secret lair of the Canadian spy agency all morning was bound to attract attention. They were probably always on the lookout for former subjects whose memories came back dropping in to see if they were nuts or not. He supposed that the protocol was to jump them in some secluded spot and re-wipe their frontal cortex, or wherever it was those kinds of memories resided. He wondered how often one could get wiped without causing permanent damage. Probably not very often. He for one was not keen to find out, but not just because of the risk of brain damage. What he really wanted, he was mildly shocked to discover, was what the mysterious vixen had. Security work for charitable organizations operating in the third world no longer seemed enough. He wanted, in the end, to be a secret agent.

But how does one apply for an agency that is so secretive that no one outside knows it exists? Except for him, that is. But he could not go in there with nothing but a wish and a dream. He needed an edge. Then Kyroo had an idea. A personal reference would do the trick! And since the tall vixen was away on a mission he would have to find another one of their agents to bring with him when he applied, and there was one of them conveniently just down the street behind him.

The tricky part of course, Kyroo thought, would be to get the agent following him to cooperate. The vixen had put up quite a fight when she thought their session was supposed to be an unarmed combat test. She would have killed him with that pencil if he had not convinced her that he was hired for a seduction scenario. She had been a student spy, he guessed, while this civet looked like a more experienced type, but Kyroo had learned a thing or two also since that day on the blue couch five years ago. Security work in the devastated, war-torn regions was tough, and many of the folks getting into the specialty did not survive more than a few contracts, but Kyroo had, and he had a survivor's reflexes and instincts.

Kyroo pulled a map of downtown Ottawa that Nathan had given him out of his pocket and studied the roads and trails. He studied it the way he would if he was moving an aid convoy somewhere dangerous. He looked for the narrow and out of sight spots where an ambush could be mounted, but not to avoid them, he wanted to lead the civet into one. There was a spot halfway between the market and the Central Experimental Farm, about twenty minutes walk from here that would do nicely. But he would need a few things first. Fortunately he had seen a hardware and appliance store on the last block. Kyroo revered direction and headed for it, smiling slightly as the civet pretended to admire the display in a used books store before falling in behind him.

* * * * * * *

Marcel and Geno ran down the sewer line. She was hunched over with her backpack clutched to her chest, he was almost upright and with nothing but a bloody knife in his paw. This was another route that they had visited thanks to the simulator, a plan C for when plans A and B went south. But it was only a means to escape capture; it did not lead to a cache of fake papers and weapons. Marcel had no plan D to get them safely out of the city, and with at least one wolf still alive the FSB would be after them in force very soon.

He stopped under a street grate that let in enough light to see by. There was enough room for both he and Geno to stand up. She did, but she kept her pack hugged tight to her chest. Marcel frowned at it.

"I told you to ditch that pack in the gazebo." He said angrily. "You barely made it into the hole with that thing. And what was that noise up there all about? Warn me next time you decide to wail like a banshee, okay?"

Geno nodded, a worried look on her face. That was unusual enough, but then Marcel noticed that she seemed to be struggling with her pack, fighting to hold on to it, as if it were alive.

Concerned he asked "What's wrong? You didn't get hit by that shot the wolf got off did you?"

"No, I ... " The pack slipped from her grip, she caught it and the high pitched wail came again, but not from her mouth. She moved her paws and the noise was cut off, but the pack continued to squirm.

"Geno." Marcel said firmly. "Give me you pack." Looking away she held it out to him. Something inside shifted. Marcel took the pack and opened the main compartment. There was more than enough light to illuminate the contents. Two dark brown eyes stared up into his. A tiny red snout opened and closed in silent cries of hunger and frustration.

"Jesus Christ, Geno! You took the baby!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, "they'll hear you on the street."

"Don't you tell me what to do." He said, but in a loud whisper. "Why did you bring the baby?"

"I couldn't leave him there. No mother, no father. Bouncing from foster home to foster home until some stranger adopted him."

"That's what's supposed to happen to orphans."

"He needs someone familiar, someone that loves him." She reached into the pack, took Aldwin out and clutched him to her chest. Scrambling inside the pack again she produced a bottle of milk. The kit took the rubber nipple immediately and began sucking on it loudly.

"What he doesn't need is to be dragged around Kiev while we dodge bullets. What were you thinking?"

Geno did not speak, but she begged him with her eyes. That and the way she held the tiny fox told him everything he needed to know.

"Shit. How do we get out of here now?" He swore as he zipped her pack shut and slung it on his back. The airports, bus and train stations would be watched by the Ukrainians. They couldn't use the metro either, the FSB were sure to have hacked into the camera network there. About the only good thing going for them was that most of the police were busy trying to contain the protest in Independence Square where the pro-Western Ukrainians continued to occupy several government buildings in their attempt to convince the President to abandon ties to the Russians. Fat chance of that, he thought. The county of his ancestors was split along ethnic lines, with the western half, including the capital Kiev, being ethnically Ukrainian, while the third in the east, especially the Crimea, were of Russian heritage, and if they spoke Ukrainian at all they did so with a Russian accent, like the hare in the park.

The Russians didn't want the Ukrainians to join the European Union and NATO, Marcel recalled from the background file, and were willing to cut off the flow of Natural Gas to Europe to keep them from doing so. The pro-Russian President had cancelled the trade agreement with the EU and sided with the Russians. That had made the Ukrainians in the western part of the country really mad.

A whiff of smoke drifted through the grate and penetrated the sewer. Smelling it Marcel was reminded of the smoke he had seen rising from the Square earlier that day. Then he remembered one of Silver's sayings: "The enemy of my enemy is my friend". He had been avoiding the area since he got to Kiev. Maybe it was time he changed tactics.

"Follow me." He said, shouldering her backpack. "And keep the baby quiet."

* * * * * * *

Silver returned to the Academy at four in the afternoon. That left him an hour to deal with the illicit webmaster before picking up Leslie at the day care centre. He parked the minivan that Vikki had insisted they buy when Leslie was born and strode toward the headquarters building, the same one that a certain American Arctic fox had been checking out earlier in the day.

He was barely in the lobby when the grey fox, Bill Hanlan, came rushing out from the restricted area. "Silver! We just got a call from Argentina. Someone grabbed their target and tried to get some information out of her about her research."

Silver stopped in his tracks. "Miss CC and Muzzle?"

"They managed to talk their way into captivity and escape with the scientist, but not before the opposition did some damage to her. We got a doctor we can trust to them but we'll have to extract them before the opposition can regroup."

"The opposition? Do we even know who the opposition is yet?"

"No. But Algorath is working on it. And Muzzle got a name."

"Anything from Beausoleil and Fett?"

"Not yet." Hanlan could not keep the worry from his face. He did not want to continue but he had to give the chief of Staff all the relevant information. "Hu's contact inside the complex has disappeared."

Silver knew that was a bad sign. He opened his mouth to ask when the fox had disappeared but before he could speak another analyst burst out of the double doors separating the operations area from the lobby.

"Sir! Sir!" She rushed up to Silver. "Kain Algorath is on the secure line from Pakistan. He needs to talk to you right away. He says that he has found something important."

"I'll be right there but first I want to see the report from ..." He got no farther because just then the director, Tancred Williams, came out of the executive wing in a rush. The big golden fox waved Silver to come over to him.

"Silver, I just got off the phone with the RCMP Cyber Squad. Apparently someone has put up a web site about us and ..."

Silver cut him off. "I'm on top of it chief. But right now I have to see to ..." A crash from the front of the building interrupted him. All around him guards in Commissionaire uniforms were drawing hidden guns and Silver followed suit, drawing his Glock in one smooth motion as he spun to face the entrance. He saw a fit looking arctic fox standing in the open doorway, holding a shorter figure in a trench coat that was doubled over. Before anyone could challenge him the fox pulled the coat off of the other figure, revealing a very upset civet cat bound with duct tape. The cat had a black metal tube that looked like a shotgun barrel taped to its neck. The other end of the tube disappeared under the folded trench coat, which also hid the fox's other paw.

The fox ignored the dozen or so guns aimed at his head and looked around the packed lobby with a grin. "Hey hey!" He called as he examined the faces of the crowd for a clue as to who may be in charge. He ended up with his eyes locked on the cold blue-grey orbs of a big silver fox with a vertical scar through its left eyebrow. "Who wants to trade a secret agent for a job interview?"

Silver cocked his bisected brow at Bill Hanlan. "Do we know either of these guys?" He asked the senior analyst.

Hanlan had a photographic memory, and could identify creatures he had only seen in grainy surveillance photos ten years ago. "I've never seen the fox before, but the civet works for the Chinese. Part of their surveillance team that's been poking about lately."

Silver made a quick assessment of the situation. He motioned for the guards to holster their weapons but he kept his Glock pointed dead between the intruder's eyes. "He's not one of ours Kid, so go ahead and shoot him if you want."

If he expected the younger fox to be put out he was mistaken. "Okay." The white fox said. "But I've just come from China where I bumped into a tall red vixen that I met here in a room with a blue couch five years ago and I think that these guys have been following me ever since. Maybe you'll want to ask this one why and whether your agent is under surveillance too."

Silver considered what the fellow had said. They did indeed have a room with a blue couch where they did seduction drills and the occasional combat scenario, or did until the old sofa broke last year. There was a red one in there now.

"Loose the shotgun and we'll talk."

The kid grinned again and pulled the coat aside to reveal that he was holding the other end of a plain length of iron pipe.

Silver laughed as he put his gun away. "Kid, you're either crazier than a shit house rat or you've got balls bigger than a moose. You've earned your interview ... but not today." His face turned stern again. "Charlie." He addressed one of the guards. "Take the prisoner to the interrogation rooms. I want a team to start on him immediately, and Hanlan, show this kid to the guest quarters."

"Got it Silver. Come with me kid." He took the arctic fox by the arm as the guards surrounded the struggling civet.

"Say," the younger fox said as they left the building, "you wouldn't be able to tell me the name of the vixen I was talking about would you? About six-three, bright red fur?"

"Don't push your luck, kid." Hanlan advised him. "Don't push your luck."

The FOX Academy series:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Book IV - Wait for No One

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Book VI - Unnatural Selection

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Grey Muzzle © Grey Muzzle

Kyroo Echos © Kyroo Echos