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FOX Academy:

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

Chapter 7 - Reunion

Lao Huidan was in the bar of one of his gambling dens in the virtual underworld known as Tilia Life. He was supervising a new floor manager that he had recently hired. Once he was certain that the floor manager was competent, he would leave him to run his shift alone, but return occasionally in another avatar just to keep his eye on him. That's all I do now, he sighed to himself, go around checking on my employees.

Life was becoming boring for the old criminal. A wallaby from a small mining community near Ballarat in Australia, he had grown up in a hard environment. He had started running liquor for the miners when he was just a lad, and then moved up into drugs. By the time he was a teen he had noticed that the kids who delivered the goods were the first to get caught and sent away, unless they squealed, then they were killed before the law could ship them away. He hired others to run the contraband for him, and added a line of girls to his portfolio. A mobile casino soon followed. After a while, he had enough to settle down in a permanent location, although that had entailed taking certain people in as partners.

Lao had been known as Wally Sticklebush back then, a name he hated more than he ever let on. To his delight, his business practises, especially his knack for outwitting his partners, earned him the nickname "the old bastard" when he was still in his twenties. By the time he was thirty-five he had outlived five partners and no one but the police remembered his real name. Wally decided to go international and moved out of Australia, establishing a line of combined casino-drug den-brothels across Asia. His nickname preceded him and soon everyone was calling him by the Chinese version of his nickname, Lao Huidan, the old bastard.

That had been almost thirty years ago, Lao reflected, when every day used to bring a new crisis, a new threat. He had lost count of the number of times that he had almost been convicted and the number of attempts on his life. It had been years since any other gang boss had felt strong enough to challenge his monopoly. New criminals paid tithe automatically, without protest, or one of Lao's low-level enforcers took them out. Lao had not had to kill anyone himself in what, four years? He shook his head sadly, where's all the fun gone out of life?

His latest expansion had taken him beyond the boundaries of the physical earth into the virtual worlds. Unwilling to be bound by what few rules and regulation there were in the established realms, he had sponsored a new world where there were no rules at all, except that he got a slice of everything that went on there. Only a very few knew that he owed the company that hosted Tilia Life on its servers, and fewer still knew that his combined real and virtual fortunes made him the richest creature in all the worlds. Those that did know were not inclined to tell, not after Lao had handed them the testicles of his previous, less discrete, accountants.

That, recalled Lao, was the last time he had gotten his paws dirty. Now everyone he met was afraid of him, except for the Stalker, of course, Lao smiled. The original Perfect Stalker had been stimulating, unpredictable. Lao had actually come to enjoy pissing him off, trying to make the Stalker lose his temper. It would have been interesting having the Stalker so mad that he came after Lao. He wondered how close he would have gotten.

The new Stalker wasn't quite as interesting. The replacement didn't threaten and go on about reputation like the old one did. The Stalkers Avatar was locked away when not in use and Lao missed whoring it out to the perverts that frequented his virtual brothels. The new Stalker didn't take on as much work as the original either, and that had prompted Lao to monitor the communications a little more closely, after all, there was his commission to consider. When he had discovered that the new Stalker was tracking the movements of the Canadian spy agency just like the old one had been, Lao had seen the opportunity to sell this information to a third party who was also interested in the movements of a particular few FOX agents.

But even that little bit of intrigue was over now. The client had wired the final payment, indicating that there was no further need for the information. Lao's contractor in Mumbai had yet to acknowledge, but had stopped sending material so he must have received the message. Now Lao was back to his routine of monitoring the managerial staff that kept the pennies rolling in. Someone had to do it. Lao could have established a hierarchy of supervisors leading to a vice-president of operations, but he had been someone's number two once, and he still had the knife that he had driven into that particular associate's back.

So Lao sat at the bar in his monkey Avatar, glumly sipping a drink that did nothing for one's real body. Funny that the chumps would plunk down a couple of Tilia dollars for a virtual drink, just out habit he supposed. He waved at the Stalkers tiger avatar when it entered the bar, not entirely surprised when the tiger motioned him to follow into the office.

Inside the Stalker took the best chair, the one behind Lao's desk and waved Lao into the guest seat. Now that's more like the old Stalker, Lao thought.

"Lao Huidan." The Stalker began. "You have done a lot of bad things to a lot of dangerous people but I think that you have hit a new low, lying to the world's best assassin."

"Don't kid yourself Stalker." Lao replied. "You are not half as good as the original or you would have taken some of the more challenging jobs in the last few months. You and I both know that you are just some lucky rival that happened along at just the right time to assume his identity. Now what do you want?"

"I want you to tell me everything you know about the people you sold the information to. The information from my communications."

Lao was disappointed. No anger, no threats, no jumping across the desk and grabbing Lao's avatar by the neck. What a pussy this tiger was turning out to be. "Forget it Stalker. If you aren't going to make me money by taking contracts than I'll make it anyway I can." Lao waited or what he hoped would be a violent retort.

"You should check your flat."

Lao was confused. "Check my flat?"

"That's what you Aussies call an apartment isn't it? A flat? You should check your apartment, your pad, your condo. You know, suite 7201, Jade Towers, Singapore?"

Lao did not move or reply. The old Stalker had claimed to know his real address, evidently this one did also. That did not constitute a threat though, still, it was prudent to check.

Lao left his avatar and took off the helmet and other control gear that allowed him to see and feel what was happening in Tilia Life. He was seated in a very comfortable chair in an inner room of his penthouse suite, locked in where even his personal bodyguard could not get to him. He opened the door cautiously and looked for his personal guard.

He found the pair of inner guards on the floor just outside the door. They were prone and still, but they were both alive and conscious. They did not dare move however, because someone had inserted their hair-trigger automatics into their rectums, barrel first. The slightest vibration on the trigger could set them off. Ignoring them, Lao made a circuit of the rest of the suite and found that the remainder of the day shift were in similar embarrassing positions. Leaving them to sweat for a while longer, he returned to the inner room and donned the helmet.

The tiger was still waiting patiently. "Alright Stalker. What do you want?"

"I told you already, the people you sold my information to. Sorry."

"What?"

"I just knocked over that blue vase in your inner room."

Lao whipped off the helmet, but the room was empty, the vase was still in its place on the shelf behind his chair. But it was blue, now that he bothered to notice it. He replaced the helmet.

"You've made your point Stalker." Lao said respectfully. "Where should I begin?"

* * * * * * * *

The Perfect Stalker led Lao Huidan through his story twice before being convinced that some truth was contained in it. He had little motive to lie, having been stripped of his guards and already paid by the client. When Lao was finished the Stalker had already left Singapore, having headed for the bridge to Johor Bahru, in Malaysia, shortly after incapacitating the guards. Now the Stalker was preparing the digital recording of the interrogation for transmittal to FOX HQ on the satellite phone that Gold had provided.

After receiving the acknowledgement signal the Stalker retreated to an Internet café to do some research. Using techniques developed by CIA and NSA analysts over the twenty years the Internet had been public the Stalker soon tracked down the desired information. By the time that the Stalker had absorbed all of the data, the satellite phone began to ring. It was Gold himself.

"You have done a good job Stalker." Gold said. "I am going to send you some data on the principal players involved, in case you have an opportunity to intercept them and take them out." Text and pictures began to scroll down the phone's small screen. The stalker saw images of a yellow monkey and a husky several times, alone, together and with others. While the data was flowing the Stalker pushed a sequence of keys, activating a program that an old friend had once demonstrated. When Gold's transmission ended, a faster stream of data took its place.

"Stalker, Stalker? What's going on?" Gold's voice came over the connection slightly hollow because of the encryption. "Stalker, stop that immediately." Gold's voice was coming from somewhere a little further away now. "Damn it cut it off. What do you mean you can't? Well Algorath isn't here so you'll have to figure it out for yourself. Just pull the damn plug you idiot!"

The data stopped flowing suddenly. The stalker scrolled down it and decided that it would be enough. By now, Gold would know what the Stalker knew, but it would take Gold time to arrange a rescue force, then to plan and rehearse a mission. The stalker could get there much faster, and then rescue would be unnecessary.

* * * * * * * *

Kain had regained consciousness sitting up, alone in a bright room. Over the next few minutes, he determined that he was restrained in some sort of incontinence chair. He was naked, but covered from the waist down by a green cloth, the type you saw covering patients on medical shows when they operated. He could feel the open air on his ass and balls where the chair was built like a toilet seat, and a faint whiff of chemicals told him that there must be a bucket of blue water underneath.

His arms, legs and torso were strapped to the chair, making it impossible to move more than his head. Looking around he could see only shiny white tile, interrupted occasionally by electrical outlets, pipes and gas fittings. Looks like a kitchen without the appliances, he thought. Looking down, all he could see was the cloth and the scars left by the explosion that had almost ended his life.

He did not know how long he was in the room alone. The lights were never switched off and no one came to check on him. It was long enough to grow hungry, sleep and use the toilet feature of the chair several times. Kain passed the time by doing isometric exercises that Rusty had shown them. Doing them would keep his muscles from cramping or stiffening up, so he would be able to react if an opportunity arose. For mental exercise, he tried to recall every lesson on lock picking and escape techniques word for word.

He was sleeping when a noise jolted him awake. He had been dreaming of working at a computer console while the building he was in burned. Several figures ran in and out of the swirling smoke, foxes and wolves with guns. They were shooting at each other while Kain tried desperately to break into someone's network. He saw Silver, Marcel and Vikki rush by, then he was alone again, but not for long. A large figure was looming in the shadows, approaching Kain. Suddenly Ophelia was there between them, her thick tail whipping back and forth angrily as she prepared to face whatever was coming from the mist. She crouched, prepared to spring ...

Jerking his head up in the direction of the noise, his eyes sprang open. His vision was still hazy and out of focus, but he could make out Ophelia coming toward him. He opened his mouth to call out to her, almost said her name, before his vision resolved and he realized his mistake. There was a spotted feline approaching, but it was strapped in another of the toilet-chairs that two wolves were pushing across the tile floor. It was Geno, with her gold fur and brown spots, white chest and face. It was nothing like Ophelia's storm-cloud pattern of grey on grey.

The wolves pushed her chair beside Kain's and turned it around to face the door also. Then they left without a word, leaving the door open. Kain could not see anything useful to their situation through the open door so he turned his head to study the cat. Her chin was down on her chest, just above her bare, rather large, well shaped breasts Kain noted. She too was covered below the waist by a green cloth. Her red hair was hanging straight down over her face, obscuring it, but Kain was close enough to see that the roots were starting to show their natural golden blond. Someone had removed all of her piercings, as well as the large silver cross that she habitually wore.

The sound of wheels squeaking out in the hall alerted him. The wolves returned with another chair. Kain recognized the junior agent Vikki Beausoleil. She was unconscious also, but the guards had tucked her coverlet under her arms, to cover her swollen breasts and belly. Whether it was from embarrassment or respect for the pregnant fox, Kain couldn't tell. Vikki was placed on the other side of Kain and turned to face the same way. The wolves left the door open again when they exited.

Kain just had time to ascertain that Vikki seemed to be okay, but asleep, when they wheeled Silver in. He was covered in the same manner as Kain and Geno, and Kain saw the fabled scars on his chest live for the first time. They were worse than they had looked on television, pale, puckered and fur-less. Silver was put into position beside Vikki. The four of them made a short arc slightly off centre of the door they faced.

Kain was expecting to see Marcel brought in next, but the next item they wheeled in was a cart. From the cart, they took trays that snapped onto their chairs. On each tray, they placed a large paper cup with a straw sticking out through its lid. Kain took a tentative sip as soon as they put his down. It was like a fruit shake, with fibre bits. He began to suck it down greedily as the wolves injected something into the arms of his unconscious compatriots. By the time the three were awake enough to look around the wolves had left and Kain had finished his meal.

The others were hungry also. Silver guessed that they had been unconscious at least two days by the way stomach ached and the condition of the scabs on his various cuts and bruises. They brought each other up to date as they sipped. Kain started with an account of his capture and the strange creature that he had seen.

"It's like some sort of hybrid wolf-crab." He told them.

"That can't be. Crustacean and canine crossbreeding?" Silver responded. "I don't doubt that you saw something, but you must have still been groggy."

"I wouldn't put anything past the yellow money." Vikki interrupted. "What he does with the genetic code could make a hacker like Algorath blush." She repeated for them what Miko Dourado had told her before they left Warsaw.

"So he's altering the DNA of these celebrities to perfect his technique before curing himself and others like him. How noble." Silver said. "But he has to do something else for the person who is paying for all this."

"Obviously it's the generals, the politicians and the leaders that they are really after." Geno spoke up for the first time. "But what are they doing for them, and why? Okra already has enough influence to sway public opinion, elections and national policies. What more can she hope to gain?"

Vikki had not heard of the Okra Humphreys connection so Geno reviewed what they knew of the yellow monkey's operation to that point. "I can't believe it." She said flatly when Geno was done. "I've had a lot of time lately to watch her show and read the books that she recommends and I just can't picture her as a maniacal, evil, power mad plotter."

"Unless it's all a façade." Kain chipped in. "You don't get to be the world's richest female by being nice."

"That Scottish ewe that wrote those fantasy books is the world's second richest and she's nice." Geno observed.

"Did you see what her lawyers did to those kids who tried to create an on-line encyclopaedia of terms from her novels?" Kain asked. "They're banned from even thinking about her books for the next fifty years."

The four fell silent. Eventually the three junior agents all looked at Silver for guidance.

"Whoever it is," he said slowly, "and whatever this 'claw' creature is, it's obvious that they've broken into our communications network somehow. The security features that Algorath came up with last year may provide a lead for Gold, but then again we may be on our own." Silver looked around the room again, noting the empty spot on the end of their semi-circle. "I would dearly like to know what Marcel is up to right now.

* * * * * * * *

Marcel was up to his snout in bubbles.

Marcel had woken in the dark, afraid at first, thinking that he was back in the lice-ridden apartment block in Toronto, hiding under his bed so his stepfather would not find him and beat him again. After his head cleared a little more he realized that he was being transported and he tried to remain calm. The smell had hit him then, and it was all that he could do not to vomit in the small compartment. He estimated that he spent half a day awake in the dark by counting his breaths.

When they had unpacked him the light had blinded him but the fresh air was like nectar. Having been shipped halfway across the world in the false bottom of a coffin occupied by an unpreserved corpse had given him an aura that made the guards gag whenever they came within three metres of him. Amber had been the only one who could stand to be near him. She had waved away the wolf with the syringe to put Marcel under again and sat beside him on the deck of an old cargo boat. Still bound, Marcel absorbed as much of the scene as he could. He noted the look and language of the local help at the dock, the writing on the signs, the styles. Silver, with his extensive travel experience and language ability might have identified their location from these clues alone, but the sign annotated "Gouvernement de la Polynesie Francaise" on the pier sufficed for Marcel.

The boat left the dock and headed out to sea. Marcel was tempted to start questioning Amber again but found that he did not have to. She kept up a one-sided narrative for the entire trip, relating stories of the relationship that he had supposedly shared with her as Andrew. Marcel drank it all in, in case she let something slip that he could use later. He tried to image himself dancing the way Amber described and almost vomited again.

Marcel guessed that the trip took about five hours. The island that was their final destination was about a kilometre long, with a mountain rising in the middle. The flat-topped volcanic cone was surrounded by dense vegetation. There was a semi-circular inlet with steep cliffs on this side of the island. Marcel could see that they were headed for a large cave entrance roughly centred on the cliff face.

"You'll love it here on Mehetia Island, Andrew." Amber told him "It's a very young island, but home to many exotic birds, fish and flowers. After I introduce you to the boss we can go for a walk on the beach and collect shells like we used to." Marcel doubted that the boss would agree to Amber's plan.

The boat entered the cave and it took a few seconds for Marcel's eyes to adjust to the dim interior light. The Cavern was large, but not deep, with smooth walls. Perhaps it had been a lava tube left after the last eruption, Marcel speculated. A dock had been carved out of the living stone at the far end and the boat pulled up beside it.

Before the introductions Amber decided that Andrew should be more presentable, so she had the wolves roll the restrained fox into a tiled room that had a deep therapeutic bathtub. Placing Marcel in the tub, she filled it with soapy water and began scrubbing the smell of the corpse off his fur. Her delusion did not extend to releasing him completely from his bonds, however, and the wolves never let down their guard. After five minutes under an industrial blow dryer, Marcel was dried, fluffed, tied to a toilet chair and ready to go.

"Now you be sure to be polite when you meet the boss, and don't say anything about ... just be yourself Andrew." Amber sounded nervous for the first time. Amber wondered if the boss's hold over her was as firm as her grip on reality.

Amber had not mentioned any other prisoners, so Marcel was surprised to see the other FOX agents when he was wheeled into the room.

"Vikki!" Marcel exclaimed when he saw the pregnant vixen.

"Marcel!" She replied.

"Andrew?" Amber asked, confused.

"Marcel!" Geno called, a little miffed that he had called out to Vikki first.

"Geno." Marcel returned, a little embarrassed.

"Andrew?" Anger was creeping into Amber's voice now.

"Andrew?" Vikki and Geno asked simultaneously.

"Marcel." Silver acknowledged his apprentice.

"Silver, Kain." Marcel returned, still gazing between Vikki and Geno.

"Marcel." Kain replied, amused.

"Andrew, do you know these people?" Amber asked.

"Marcel, who is that bitch?" Geno demanded

"Vikki are you okay?" Marcel asked

"Who the hell is Andrew?" This from a new voice in the doorway. Everyone stopped talking, held their breath, and looked that way.

Miko Dourado slid his thin body between the two wolves standing guard. The captives started breathing again as one, mumbling about the anti-climatic entrance.

"The boss will be here any second. Put that fox with the others." He waved at the empty spot and the guards wheeled Marcel into position. "That's better." Shushing Amber's protests he stood to one side of the door and crossed his paws to wait for the boss.

Silver heard it first. A heavy tread in the hallway, approaching their cell. They could all hear the guards in the hall jump to attention, closely followed by the two at the door itself. A sharp clap of paws on their rifles in salute and they stepped back to reveal the big boss, the mastermind behind whatever scheme was being played out in the Eden's Oasis spas around the world.

"We meet again Mister Silver."

"Vasyl Timoshenko." Silver said flatly. "The Werewolf of Odessa. I was hoping that yours was one of the bodies destroyed in the fire on Resolution Island."

The large, muscular Siberian timber wolf was standing in the doorway with his arms behind his back, gazing down on the group with a slight smile on his face.

"You were not so fortunate, my friend, but I still owe you for these." Bringing his arms out in front of him elicited a gasp from several of the captives. Both forearms and paws had been replaced with metal prosthetics, the left shaped like a giant nutcracker, the right like bolt cutters. They opened and closed with a 'clack'. "The bomb that your little black colleague left. Only the freezing temperatures saved me from bleeding to death. While the rest of my wolves hunted you down, I fled with my chief lieutenants to the dock below the lake. We kept a semi-submersible there for such emergencies. We passed within a few hundred meters of your naval vessels, on their way in to rescue you, I presume."

"You know, I was half expecting to see Okra Humphreys show up." Silver said.

The Werewolf snorted in laughter. "Her? She's a pawn. She believes in the best in everyone, and is therefore easy to fool. Five minutes of Dourado's socialist genetic bullshit and she was writing checks and endorsing his treatment like it was the fountain of youth and the solution to world peace."

"Hey," the yellow monkey protested, "you know that my techniques work."

"Sometimes." The wolf conceded. "Want to know where Humphreys is now Silver? She's in hiding because Doctor Strangelove here tried to get her in shape by introducing a gene for muscle development, rather than one for weight loss. She won't appear in public again until he can reverse the effect or she can figure out how to explain why she weighs three hundred pounds and looks like young Arnold Schwarzenegger."

"So why are you involved in this Timoshenko?" Silver asked. "You're not getting any younger, yearning to frolic in the meadows again?"

"Hardly, although when it is safe I may take a few years off. I know that your hacker was poking around in the files Silver, what do you think?"

"I think that you are doing something different to the world's leaders, something to bring them under your control."

"Correct! One of the procedures of Dourado's that does work is his gene replacement for aggression and obedience. Ever wonder why you never see certain breeds or species in charge of large corporations, criminal gangs or armies? It's because they are genetically inclined to be followers. For years I've been supporting Dourado's work, watching his pathetic attempts to bring us universal beauty while he sought the perfect balance of obedience and ability for me. Now with genes taken from border collies, mutated to enhance their effect, and some Pavlovian conditioning techniques, I can command a fair portion of the world's leaders."

The Werewolf was bobbing on his heels and toes, his eyes gleaming with madness. "In a few more months, once we have expanded into China and Russia, we will have enough leaders to tip the balance of power. The ones we have will encourage others to visit our spas and get rid of those that don't. In another year, membership in those countries will be required for anyone in authority. In the democracies, membership will become a perk of being elected, until I give the order to cease having elections. Within five years the UN will convene to establish a new world order, and I will be called to lead it."

"You are tired of serving others, always answering to people you regard as inferior to you." Silver goaded him on. "I can understand that. Your latest series of fuck-ups couldn't have helped your reputation either." The guards braced themselves for a display of the Werewolf's legendary temper.

Timoshenko didn't lose it however, he just smiled ruefully and conceded the point. "Yes, you FOX agents have managed to ruin several of my latest plots, but that ends here, today!" The big wolf dropped his arms to his sides and surveyed the group before him. "Let us see who we have here." He walked over to stand in front of Marcel "You are the fox that killed my granddaughter in Cyprus, broke into my safe in the casino and sabotaged my installation in the Arctic."

"No, Vasyl. It's Andrew." Amber stepped forward and grabbed one of the Werewolf's arms. "I've told you about Andrew." She was looking desperately up at his face, fear and hope in her pink eyes.

"Don't worry my dear," he smiled back down at her, "you'll have some time alone with him soon enough." He looked back to Marcel and his grin turned evil. "A hot time."

Timoshenko stepped in front of Silver. "Silver. Or should I say, Di...."

"Don't say it!" Silver shouted, drowning the big wolf out. Vikki could not recall ever seeing him so angry.

"....vert. Yes, I know all about you now. You led the raid on my compound in Russia. Invaded my installation on Resolution and cost me my paws." The metallic claws whipped up and snapped shut a millimetre from Silver's snout. "For that I am going to kill you myself, but first ..."

He stepped over in front of Vikki, where she sat in the middle of the group. " ... I will deal with her. You are the one that lost her paw outside my Russian compound." He caressed the stump of her left arm with his right claw. Vikki shuddered but glared back defiantly. "You took my money and cost me my best dealer and doorman. Now I see how. Was your prosthetic paw like this?" He took her good right paw in the crushing claw of his left arm and started to squeeze. Vikki grunted in the effort not to scream in pain. "Or more like this?" He held the tip of her nose between the blades of the cutting claw on his right. A drop of blood formed on each side as he increased the pressure. Vikki held his gaze without blinking. The Werewolf dropped his arms to his sides.

"Will you be so brave when I gut you in front of your mate?" He gestured at Silver, but it was Marcel and Dourado that cried out in protest.

"Werewolf, you promised! You said that I could get samples from them before ... before anything else. I will need days to clear them of the sedatives and ..."

"Enough!" The wolf turned on the diminutive monkey. "I promised, but you take your samples today, within the hour!" He turned back to face Vikki, his eyes agleam. "Then it's my turn."

"But Vasyl ..."

"You can have the baby Miko." Timoshenko ran the cutting claw down between Vikki's breasts and across her belly. "It may even still be in one piece."

Marcel screamed in rage and strained at his bonds. Silver just sat looking straight ahead, expressionless. The Werewolf ignored them both and moved over to Algorath.

"The hacker." He brushed his claw on Kain's scarred torso. "Keep it up and you'll be like my friend Silver other there. Held together by spit and wire and with no heart or soul left to him. The only difference between he and I is that I do this for profit, he does it because he's told to. He must have some collie in him." The Werewolf snorted. "Where's the honour in that?" He focused on Kain again. "You are of no particular concern to me. You'll be killed simply and quickly."

Timoshenko took a step to place himself in front of Geno. "I see that you have found some fresh pussy though Silver. This is not the same feline that you brought to my island in the Arctic. I heard that you shot the other one." Kain, Marcel and Vikki gasped simultaneously. "Oh yes." The Werewolf addressed Kain, who was nearest. "She was a bad kitty and had to be punished. That's what Silver does, that's what you would all do if you lived long enough to have his seniority. Silver is a weapon; a mindless piece of machinery that is aimed and fired at the command of idiots like that senile walrus and that swishy golden fox."

Kain was listening but he was staring hard at Silver. Silver turned his head to look back, and Kain prayed that he would shake his head, deny the accusations. Silver only stared back at him, and then he knew the truth. He collapsed as if he had been deflated, his body limp in the chair.

"Take him to another room." Timoshenko said with some amusement in his voice and one of the guards complied.

While he watched them wheel Algorath out Geno took the opportunity to look over at Marcel. She saw that Marcel's concerned gaze was fixed on Vikki, and her lip trembled. Sensing that the Werewolf was turning back to her, and remembering what Marcel had told her about the sadistic wolf, she set her face in what she hoped was an expression of fear and despair.

"Whaaagh!" She wailed as loud as she could, startling the others. "I don't want to die! Whaaaghhh!"

"Shut up you silly girl." The Werewolf's words were harsh, but a smile played about his lips. "Is that any way for an agent to react?"

"Whaaagh! I'm not an agent! I'm a hooker! These people, they recruited me to get into your spa. Told me that they would see me rot in jail if I didn't cooperate." Geno thought of Marcel's concern for Vikki and how he had forgotten that she was in the room, and she felt tears flow down her cheeks. She prayed that the Werewolf would think that they were tears of terror. "I don't know what's going on. Please don't kill me! I just fuck for a living."

"I can vouch for her there." The yellow monkey said, remembering the episode with the General in Warsaw. "She is a ... er ... professional, in that sense."

"Very well." The Werewolf waved a guard to come over. "She can service the guard force until they grow tired of her." Looking down at Geno, he continued. "Do a good job and you will live longer. If you survive to the day when I am named world leader you may even go free. We shall see." The guard wheeled Geno out of the room. Timoshenko strode back to face the remaining three and motioned more guards forward.

"Take the little black one to the lava chamber. It's a safe place for what I have in mind." Amber opened her mouth to protest but the Werewolf held up a claw to quiet her. "No. This is the way it will be. Go to your chambers. I will call for you when we are ready to deal with him."

Amber gave the wolf a hard look and then fled the room. Only Silver noticed that she had one paw deep in her pocket, fondling something in there. Marcel tried to look back at Vikki over the back of his chair as they rolled him out of the room.

The Werewolf spun on Dourado, his patience obviously at an end. "Prepare to take your samples. I will be back when I have dealt with the other two." Timoshenko strode out the door

Dourado sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He waved listlessly at one of the guards. "Bring the stirrups in and the reclining chair. The silver one can stay where he is, but I'll need the transfusion kit and some blood bags." He approached Vikki and went to put a paw on her cheek, stopped when she snapped at it. He shook his head sadly. "I'll give you something so that it doesn't hurt. Vasyl will be mad but he still needs me, so I'll be okay. I'm sorry it has to end this way."

The monkey left the guards to prepare the two foxes.

* * * * * * * *

While the boat carrying Marcel and Amber had been docking, a large jet had passed overhead. Flying at thirty-five thousand feet, in the commercial air lanes, it went by unheard, and was only marked by the slight contrail it left. The inside the aircraft held no passengers however, it was designed for military cargo, but it was mostly empty for this trip.

Inside the cargo compartment the Perfect Stalker checked the equipment one last time as the jumpmaster verified their location, the wind speed outside and their relative velocity.

"Are you sure that this is authorized?" The jumpmaster asked the Stalker.

"You saw the orders." The Stalker replied.

"Yeah, but our comms cut out before we got verification from command." The orders had looked okay, and their Group was regularly tasked to support Special Forces operations, but the appearance of this 'operative' was so unusual that the captain had second thoughts after they were airborne. Unfortunately, they were suffering radio interference and could not get through to Group command.

The Stalker knew this. The radio interference would end thirty minutes after the Stalker left the aircraft. The Stalker also knew that the SOP was to continue on the assigned mission in lieu of new orders, and so did not need to waste time worrying about it.

"It's time to get set up." The Stalker said, and pointed to the closed ramp at the rear of the plane.

The two of them hauled the contraption that the Stalker had been checking over to the base of the ramp and aimed it to the rear. The jumpmaster checked the cable that would pull the carriage back inside after deployment and shook his head.

"You would never get me on something like that."

The Stalker didn't answer. Climbing onto it required concentration, get tangled in a strap on the way down and it was game over. Once seated properly the killer gave the 'thumbs up' to the jumpmaster, who was now strapped into his post by the ramps controls, studying the display panel there.

The light above the ramp began to blink red and the first sliver of daylight showed as the ramp opened. By the time it was level with the floor of the cargo bay the light had changed to yellow. The Stalker could almost feel the tension in the launch cable

The instant that the light turned green the jumpmaster struck a large green button with his paw and the Stalker was pulled back against the harness as the carriage was jerked to the end of the ramp. With exquisitely timed precision the explosive bolts released the vehicle the Stalker rode and it flew free out the rear of the aircraft as the carriage slammed to a halt at the edge of the ramp. The aircraft held its speed and course, continuing to imitate a commercial airliner, as the Stalker dropped toward the ocean below.

The Stalker's vehicle was designed to fall nose-first, like a giant lawn dart. Tiny fins allowed the rider to adjust the trim and angle slightly, enough to change the point of impact by several kilometres. The stalker aimed for a tiny green dot on the endless blue.

The vehicle hit its terminal velocity soon enough, and the Stalker crouched behind a small semi-circular awning to keep the wind from getting between them. They were approaching the water an incredible speed. Several thousand feet above the surface a series of parachutes were ejected from the rear of the vehicle, each designed to slow them incrementally. They were still moving much faster than the high divers of Acapulco when they struck the surface, but the pointed nose of the vehicle sliced the ocean open and the awning protected the Stalker from the impact.

The vehicle dove down a hundred feet below the surface, driven by their momentum, before the Stalker could adjust the fins to bring it back up. The rear of the vehicle had broken off, as it was designed to do, revealing a small propeller and steering vane. The tail piece continued to sink, dragging the parachutes down with it. Levelling off at fifteen feet below the surface, the Stalker headed toward the island.

The Stalker had known to go Mehetia Island, part of French Polynesia, thanks to a back door into the FOX Academy servers. Kain Algorath had been ordered to create the back door, but not told why, or for who. It allowed the Stalker to access FOX files when needed without the IT Administrator's knowledge. Gold would be notified whenever it was used, but would not know immediately unless he was logged on at the time of access. Taking advantage of the time difference the Stalker had accessed the system when Gold was likely to be asleep. Once inside all the files relating to the operation were available for consultation, including the communications analysis that lead them to the island.

The Stalker had kept the personality profiles stolen earlier from Gold, and accessed them again to look for updates. It never hurt to know who the enemy was, and one never knew when some obscure fact about them would give you an advantage. Seeing Vasyl Timoshenko's file the Stalker wondered if FOX would have gone after him alone had they known whom they were up against. Doubtful. Reading Amber's file was fascinating, they had found out a lot about her since they identified her. How was it that she was never arrested for arson? I should talk, the Stalker thought, not getting arrested was a job requirement of course. The Stalker returned to her profile often.

The Stalker took further advantage of the situation to use a few tricks picked up from one of the world's premier hackers and break into the operational side of the network. By the time the Stalker logged off Joel, the lemur who did the Academy's forgery, was wondering why Gold needed fake orders for a US C-141 Starlifter based in the pacific and a bogus procurement order for some Navy SEAL equipment. The orders were marked as sensitive, limited for those with a need to know, and Joel supposed that it didn't include him, so he made up the fake orders and sent them off to their destination without notifying anyone else. Gold would not find out about the Stalkers subterfuge until the bills came in from the Pentagon in a few months.

The Stalker also knew about the dock and the basic layout of the facilities inside the cone thanks to some archived files on the Internet. It seemed that the island's former owners wished to create a bird sanctuary and finance it through eco-tourism. In order to preserve the surface of the island they drilled and blasted to extend the network of lava tubes into an underground facility. A clever geothermic installation was installed to tap the energy of the active volcano to provide power. Unfortunately, they had run out of money before they could furnish the hotel and were forced to sell several years ago.

After the purchase, someone had paid a bureaucrat in the government of French Polynesia quite a lot of money to erase all records of the island, but they had forgotten about the Internet hobbyists that copy and squirrel away obscure data. The Stalker had found photos of the island and the interior plans on a site devoted to odd items for sale. The details of the power system were found on a clean energy advocacy site.

The interior was laid out in a spiral. Leading up and around from the dock a single corridor connected all of the rooms. Those closest to the entrance were for running the facility, including offices, storerooms, kitchens and the geothermal power room. Farther up the rooms became smaller, for regular guests, and then larger again, suites for the high rollers. Unfortunately, there was nothing to indicate what the new tenants may be using the rooms for, so the Stalker would have to play it by ear once inside. So far, the plan was to get in and get back out alive, anything else accomplished inside would be a bonus.

The Stalker heard the boat returning to Tahiti and veered away to pass well to one side. The noise and the wake of the big boat helped to cover the Stalker's entrance. Once inside the cavern, the assassin stopped the engine on the craft and let it sink down to the sandy bed below. Carefully extending a fibre-optic wand with a lens above the surface, the Stalker took a look around. The dock was abandoned.

A quick swim over to the dock, another check with the periscope. Up onto the dock and behind some crates. The dock was damp, that was good, no need to worry about the water dripping from the wet suit. Remove mask and fins, tank and regulator. Stash them and other swimming gear under a tarp for possible use later. Use the scope to look up the corridor, empty. Slide up to the first door and peek under it with the flexible scope. Two timber wolves playing cards and occasionally glancing at monitors showing the dock, several stretches of the corridor and some of the interior rooms. Time to party.

The Stalker turned the knob steadily and silently until the door could swing freely, but opened it just a millimetre, to keep the latch from going back into its hole. With a silenced automatic in each paw the killer hit the door and went into a roll, coming to a halt on one knee, the pistols discharging before the guards could even look around. Dropping the guns, the Stalker pulled the bodies away from the console in case one still had enough life to press a panic button. The pistols were retrieved, each wolf received a shot between the eyes, and the Stalker reloaded both guns.

The monitors and their controls were unmarked and of no help. Arranging the wolves in their chairs, facing away from the door, the stalker cut the feed to the monitors and slipped back into the corridor. Hopefully there were no other security stations. The next few rooms were empty, but had been in use recently. Where was everybody today? A small room with a solid door turned out to be a storeroom full of cleaning supplies, spare parts and tools. The assassin had travelled light out of necessity and was glad to find it. Picking up one long-handled implement the Stalker admired it, thinking that it was sure to come in handy. Tucking it into the harness that had once held the scuba tank, the Stalker moved to the next room.

* * * * * * * *

Kain sat despondently in the incontinence chair that he had lived in for several days, and would now most likely die in. His body was limp, held up by his bonds. All life and purpose had gone out of him when Silver had failed to deny executing Ophelia, his Cass.

The Werewolf's assertion that the cloud leopard had been killed on FOX orders had made a number of previously unconnected facts fall into place. The rumours of a murder investigation back in the States. Casual mention of a former mate who was no longer a concern. Her expertise with drugs and poisons. Nelson Knight's mysterious fatal illness. Most telling, her promise at their last meeting to return and explain everything, a promise left unfilled. She had returned from the successful mission to Resolution Island, and had gone straight to debriefing, as was normal, then had disappeared. One of the Techs said that he saw her going into the school the next morning, and that was the last that anyone would admit to seeing her.

Kain had asked around but was simply told that Ophelia had left the Academy. He had tried to access her personnel file, but found that it had been closed, annotated 'terminated', with no forwarding address. It all made sense now.

Looking into Silver's eyes, Kain had known that what Timoshenko had said was true, Cass had done something unforgivable and Silver had been responsible for dealing with her. Had Silver known about their relationship and what her disappearance would do to him? Probably. Who had made the final decision, he wondered, Gold or W? What had they done with her stuff? What had they done with her body?

He had been questioning his future at FOX before this revelation. He was already stretched to the limit physically and psychologically in an attempt to get back into shape quickly, as much to forget her as to resume agent training. The emotional crash brought on by learning Ophelia's fate was the last straw. Kain had lost the will to live, he could go on no longer. He sat in the chair, eyes closed, chin on his chest, and waited for death to come.

When he heard the door creak open he opened his eyes halfway, only mildly interested in his fate at this point. All that he could see was his lower torso and the green cloth that covered his legs. He wondered how they planned to kill him. 'Quickly and simply' the Werewolf had said, but that still left a lot of leeway. Would there be a lot of blood?

He saw the claw-like cutting blades approach his chest, silver-grey against the green cloth. He was surprised that the Werewolf had come to do this himself. He was even more surprised when they sliced through the strap holding him back against the chair. Caught unawares, he slumped forward, still held by straps on his forearms and lower legs. Startled, he looked up into a pair of icy purple eyes. His jaw dropped.

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer put down the pruning shears she had liberated from the tool room. She put her paws on each side of Kain's head and leaned down close to his gaping mouth.

"Hi'ya lover. Miss me?" Then she put her mouth over his and kissed him.