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Suspended Sentence

A Tale from the Agent's Lounge

Being a bartender at a secret espionage agency is a pretty easy gig. The only time it really gets busy is when there is when new agents are in training, and even then they are only allowed to drink here during the second half of the course.

One of the reasons they don't let the students drink in the Agent's lounge until they pass a certain point in the basic spy course is so that they can keep any potential infiltrators away from active agents they might compromise or where they may overhear some real intelligence. Every big agency tries to get their own source of information inside the rival agencies; it happens all the time. Even though F.O.X., like all other spy agencies, vets applicants thoroughly before inviting them to join there is still the possibility that a candidate has been groomed to attract the Academy's attention. By keeping them separate from the agents while they stress the students out they buy time and wait for the potential mole to slip up.

So when the students finally are allowed in they are full of questions, the primary one being why were they kept apart for so long? Inevitably someone will tell them, invoking the famous Cambridge Five or other lesser known double agents.

One particular night Silver was in the bar when the students crowded in for their first drink in the Agent's Lounge - unusual for him because as the Chief of Staff he generally avoids socializing with anyone he might have to kick out of the Academy - or order the death of. On this night he not only stayed but educated them on the intricacies of inserting infiltrators, after they bought him a couple of beers, of course.

"Interesting word, infiltrator." He mused. "A combination of infill, which means to fill a hole, and traitor. The holes those traitors fill are the ones in our security."

"I think that the root word, infiltrate, it is actually a combination of 'in' and 'filtrate'." One of the more academically orient students interrupted. "Meaning to filter in or permeate, to move in surreptitiously and gradually, especially with hostile intent ..." She trailed off when she noticed Silver giving her a stare that could melt glass.

"As I was saying." Silver continued, "after getting in the country on a fake identity with a background story, a legend as we say, that makes them desirable candidates they apply for positions in the national police, foreign affairs, the military or the intelligence agencies. Of course," he said, winking at me, "the hardest to detect are the true sleeper agents. Even if they turn you can never trust them completely."

That made me cringe, you can bet, but I covered it up by arranging the glasses behind the bar.

Just then one of the students asked Silver if he had ever had to deal with such a creature.

Of course he had, several times, and once they had refilled his glass he proceeded to tell them about the first one.

* * * * *

The training for new agents was long and involved but the former soldier Auvert thrived at the Foreign Operations eXecutive Academy where even the former Special Forces types like him learned a few things about fighting and shooting that they didn't know before. A huge doberman named "Rusty" Nayels had just started working there as the combat instructor and his first rule of combat was: "There is no such thing as a fair fight."

"Shoot 'em if they pull a knife." He advised them. "Knife 'em if they throw a punch. Knock 'em silly if they look at you sideways and set 'em on fire when you're done."

His second rule was: "Anything is a weapon."

"Bash 'em with a rock, stab 'em with a pencil or choke 'em with an underwear garrotte if you got to. There are no points for style or finesse when you are fighting for your life. Save that crap for planned assassinations." He squinted at Auvert as said the last bit, conveying his opinion about the elaborate method that the fox had devised to dispatch the double agent Colonel Boxworthy.

The agents were all foxes, based on the universal belief that their species inherent slyness made them natural spies, but the instructors and staff represented a variety of species. Besides the canine combat instructor there were several canine security guards, some feline females that specialized in teaching seduction techniques and the occasional woodchuck groundskeeper. The Director was a British walrus referred to as "W". His Chief of staff, a fellow named Tancred Williams that had recruited Auvert, was a very large fox whose muscles were overdeveloped by excessive body building and whose fur was a toasty golden hue due, he claimed, to a strict tanning regime. There was a persistent rumour at the Academy that fur dye and steroids had something to do with his appearance. It was also suspected that he was gay, but as that was grounds for pulling one's security clearance they did not see how he could be. His nickname among the students was 'Tanner'.

Most of the students were red foxes recruited from the military or police services although there were some colour variations in their fur like Auvert's silver-tinged black. Some were grey foxes or Arctic foxes, both those sub-species being common in Canada, and a couple were Asian breeds from the immigrant communities around Vancouver. None were under six feet tall and all of them were very fit. There were no female agents in their class, as none had been hired for a decade at least, although there were a couple of female senior agents left over from the early days of the Cold War still serving. One was codenamed Scarlet. She was a curvy, voluptuous vixen that every one of the students was hoping would drop by the lounge when they were finally allowed to drink with the real agents. The other went by the codename Brown. She was a middle-aged battleaxe of a vixen whose body resembled that of a professional wrestler and she had a face like the goaltender on a dart team. The students were hoping that she would not drop by the lounge when they were able to go, especially if she was feeling amorous.

Until that time however, they were confined to the grounds and left to fend for themselves. That meant sneaking out at night on beer and liquor runs and the occasional trip to the nearby pubs to pick up females. Getting caught could result in expulsion, because the Academy did not want spies that weren't capable of sneaking in and out of a secure compound. Not attempting to sneak out could also result in expulsion, because the Academy did not want cowards or kiss-asses.

Auvert excelled in these clandestine excursions. He could easily avoid the roving security patrols and was seemingly able to spot an RCMP Counter-Intelligence operator a mile away. He was not the best at convincing females to spend a few minutes in the alley with him though, that skill was perfected by a grey fox named Max who had attracted the attention of the Academy through his work with Customs and Immigration in Windsor. His post was right across from Detroit where the gangs were always trying to smuggle one illegal thing or another back and forth across Canada's busiest border crossing and Max specialized in seducing their females to get information if not outright cooperation.

Max could convince a nun to put out on the alter while the Bishop was watching, Auvert told the others, but he could not cross an empty room without setting off an alarm. That was why the two made such a great team. Auvert got them off the Academy grounds and to the bars and Max buttered up the females while his silver-toned companion played the strong silent type.

On one memorable occasion Max had convinced a pair of visiting Italian vixens to explore the dense shrubbery of the nearby Arboretum and Botanical gardens with them. Max had prepared a number of comfortable clearings there for his trysts. He kept a roll of warning tape in his pocket that read "DANGER - Trail Closed!" to deter tourists from surprising him in the act and he strung it across the entrance to one of his favourite leafy grottos to the giggling delight of the vixens. Once inside, Max sat down on a tree stump and pulled the slimmer of the two vixens down on his lap. Auvert choose a large fallen log and the other female settled in beside him. A minute later and the two student spies were each mouth wrestling with a willing partner.

Auvert had made out in the presence of others plenty of times as a kid, but the public fooling around had always stopped short of actual sex. Either he and she would retire to a private space to continue the ritual or the female would brush him off and tell him not to 'ruin it'. A best he would get a paw job under the table at the deli and then have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and wipe the spooge off the inside of his underwear. Once he got home he would rinse them and run a load of laundry through the washer and claim that wet farts were the reason for his sudden interest in household arts. He wasn't fooling anyone, especially his mother, but she kept up the charade to save him the embarrassment and besides, he was getting most of the washing done for her.

These days Auvert knew a lot more about how things worked. Fitness, good looks and experience all contributed to more successful seductions more often. Since reaching his full growth he had yiffed females in tavern washrooms and alleys, on rooftops and in closets. He had yiffed them in singles and pairs and on one memorable night had done a daughter, then her mother and then the two of them together. But he had yet to consummate the act in front of another guy.

Max, however, did not seem put off by the company at all. He already had his paw buried deep inside his partner's panties and had pulled her blouse and bra up to expose her small breasts to his lips. Auvert's vixen was rubbing his cock through the denim of his jeans and trying to pull his tongue out by the roots with hers. She was letting him put his paws anywhere he wanted, providing they stayed outside her thin layer of clothing. Every time he tried to slip a paw inside her shirt or under her skirt she slapped it away.

Auvert turned her head toward the other couple where the other vixen had Max's cock out of his khaki cargo pants and was stroking it while he continued to suck at her breasts. Auvert grunted around the intruding tongue and cocked his eyebrows to suggest that they were falling behind. Her eyes were fixed on her friend and her breathing deepened so Auvert took the opportunity to try to roll up her shirt, but she shook him off.

He disengaged his mouth. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked.

"No."

"Do you want to go somewhere else, just the two of us?"

"Oh, no!"

Her eyes were still fixed on the other vixen, he noted. He turned her around so that she was sitting on his lap and facing her friend, where she could see what Max was doing to the other female. From behind he began running his claws up and down her bare arms and the exposed portion of her thighs. He felt her relax against him so he extended the range of his caresses to include the nape of her neck and the area just above her cleavage. The light touch was raising goose bumps on her skin under the thin fur and causing her to wiggle on his lap. The movement and warmth of her soft, full buttocks was making his erection grow. The bulge was pressing up against the thin material of her panties, material that was growing damper by the minute.

Max had managed to push the other vixen's chinos and panties down to her knees and had two digits working furiously inside her. Auvert's partner was riveted on the action at her friend's crotch and was plucking at her shirt as if it was too warm in the shady grotto. This time when Auvert lifted her shirt up she did not interfere.

Looking over the short vixen's shoulder he saw that her bra was type with large stiff cups used either to contain large heavy breasts or enhance smaller ones. Auvert did not care which he found underneath as he undid the catch to set them free but it turned out to be the former. They were full, soft, bouncy and oh-so squeezable, but something about them was odd.

It took him a minute of exploration to figure out what it was - there were no nipples! Or rather, there were puckered holes where the nipples should be. It was like she had two extra navels instead of teats.

Auvert was at a loss. His paws continued to caress and massage her breasts but the nipple tickling technique he had perfected over time was totally useless to him now. He debated whether he should turn her around and try sucking them out, but by the way she was moaning and rocking on his lap as she watched her friend that could be a mistake.

The vixen solved the problem for him as she watched Max alternate between sucking and tonguing her friend's tits. She lifted one breast after the other to her own mouth and sucked on the indentations. When she released them there were two small but hard pink points of flesh poking out proudly from the sparse fur. She guided Auvert's paws to them and showed him how she liked them to be squeezed between his digits while he cupped the globes with his palms. He took over the job of keeping them erect and exposed.

Across the clearing Max was leaning back on the stump. His partner had dropped off his lap and was on her paws and knees between his legs. She took his cock in her mouth. It was an average length appendage that Max was nonetheless very proud of. When Auvert joked "Who are you going to please with that little thing?" Max invariably answered "Me!" But he also confided in Auvert that he used to stuff bananas wrapped in tinfoil down his trousers when he was a young Customs Agent to give the ladies the impression that he was well hung. He stopped doing it once he discovered that he could get laid easier using his seductive smouldering looks and glib tongue, but whenever they watched porn movies in the Junior Agents' lounge he would comment on the surreal size of the male stars' equipment and then shake his head ruefully and mutter about how nice it would be to be well hung.

Lack of a few inches did not seem to be interfering with his enjoyment at the moment, however. Catching Auvert's eye he gave him a thumbs up. Down at crotch level, the vixen that was sucking him off had shed her lower garments and was busily working her twat with one paw.

Auvert's vixen was moaning and writhing on his lap at the sight. She was working her clit through her damp panties while the big silver fox massaged her breasts and nuzzled her neck. Auvert released one of the fleshy globes and put his paw over hers. She did not object as he slid his digits up and down the slit covered by a thin layer of sodden silk. He ventured underneath, parting the soft outer lips to expose the blooming inner flaps of her vagina. He slid a digit in and felt around. She reacted with a shudder when the pad rubbed against a swollen patch of flesh a couple of inches up inside her. He added a second digit to the mix and concentrated on that spot.

The vixen reached out toward her friend, who was still kneeling, tail up to expose both holes, with her paw almost entirely inside her twat. Auvert let her roll forward, keeping his groin pressed tight against her butt as she dropped to her knees behind her friend, where she grabbed two paws-full of butt cheek and buried her muzzle between them. Sucking and lapping noises followed.

Behind her Auvert pulled her panties down and released the catch that held her skirt on above her tail. With those out of the way he undid his belt and opened his zipper. A quick shove and both jeans and underwear were at mid-thigh, allowing his aching cock to spring free. He rubbed it against her moist slit, lubricating it well before guiding the tip to her gaping pussy. He tickled her clit with it and she wiggled her butt eagerly in return. Auvert inserted the tip and inched forward until his back was bent double. Then, holding on to her hips, he slid it all the way in.

She was so wet and he had spread so much of her sweet secretions along his cock that it slid in like a sword going into its sheath. But it was a tight fit, and she paused in her eager service to her friend as her twat stretched to accommodate his girth. A soft moan escaped her lips as his hard pelvis came up against her soft buttocks and it deepened as he pulled his cock back out until just the head was left inside. Then he pressed forward again, driving it in a little harder. He he began pumping, putting a little more force into it with each repetition.

She went back to nuzzling her friend's cunt. Meanwhile her friend never lost a stoke working Max's cock with her mouth. Max was still sitting back with a huge grin on his face as she alternately sucked his shaft and his balls, licking the length of his pole and tickling the sensitive skin around the head of his cock as she transited from one to the other.

The strength of Auvert's thrusts were making the vixen he was pounding rock back and forth on her paws and knees. Her face was being driven against the other vixen's crotch by the force. The second vixen went with the motion, opening her mouth and taking Max's cock deep down her throat as she swayed back and forth in time with the other couple.

"Oh, shit, yeah." Max mumbled as his cock slid in and out of her tight throat. He leaned over to watch the vixen Auvert was pounding as she ate out the one swallowing his cock. He was getting very close to cumming, and perhaps the vixen could sense that because she chose that moment to stick her damp digit, the one she had been using on herself, up his tailhole.

"Trak-..." Max started to scream something but bit his lip instead as she twirled that digit and slipped it in and out of his tight ring piece. He finally released his bleeding lip and yelled "Fuck!" As his balls jerked, pumping what seemed like an endless stream of steaming hot cum down her throat.

The vixen responsible for his anal intrusion came next, grinding her hind quarters against her friend's open muzzle as hot, sweet waters squirted out around the imperfect seal of those lips. Her friend swallowed eagerly and continued to lap at her friend's clit causing the first vixen to experience a series of mini-orgasms.

For Auvert it was like watching a good porn movie while sitting right up by the screen. He felt his balls clench in anticipation but managed to hold off long enough to get a paw around and under onto the clit of the one he was rocking and rolling. Gritting his teeth to keep from cumming he rubbed her hard exposed clit furiously as dripping cunt juice kept it from drying out. When her lifted her head from her friend's crotch to yip and moan he pressed down even harder, increasing the pace of his thrusts as the flesh inside her tightened on his shaft.

The two of them came together, with her howling like a wolf while Auvert gasped for air behind her. He put a paw across her mouth to still the cries before someone came to investigate. Max broke out laughing at the way Auvert's face alternated between ecstasy and worry. The vixen bit his paw as he teased a second orgasm out of her before his hips slowed and his shrinking cock dropped out.

Auvert flopped back on the log, his half-erect cock glistening with their combined cum lying across his thigh. Across the small clearing Max was rubbing his cock back to life and grinning at him.

"What do you say we switch ladies and have at 'em again?" The grinning grey fox suggested. The thinner vixen looked at Auvert's thick cock, which was already twitching in anticipation, and smiled her consent. Her thicker friend shuffled around dutifully to offer her raised rear to Max.

"Hell of an outing." Auvert said as the thin one began rubbing her groin against his stiffening prick while she French kissed her companion. "Hell of an outing."

Auvert and Max had formed a partnership both in the classroom and afterhours. One had to only nod or grin to communicate their needs to the other regardless whether they were on a combat exercise or going two-on-one with a mare twice their size.

It was only natural with such a rapport that they would partner up for the mountain operations phase of the training. It was held at a facility just outside of Banff, Alberta at the base of Mount Cascade. The camp was ostensibly owned by the Canadian Army Cadet organization, which did indeed run a two-month leadership and mountaineering course during the summer. The Camp was rented out as a Ski Chalet in the winter months, but in the spring and fall F.O.X. and other agencies used the camp as a base for clandestine mountain operations training.

Unlike Auvert, who had been exposed to these conditions while working in a recognisance unit, most of the others had no climbing experience; at least the type of experience you can only get away from an urban environment. Weather, wildlife, slippery flora and unpredictable rock conditions made climbing and rappelling here much more hazardous. Each team was guided through a tried and tested process starting with simple bouldering and progressing to unsupervised ascents of the most difficult mountains.

For their last climb together Auvert and Max were sent to ascend a feature called the Devil's Chute. It was well off the regular sport climbing routes and serious climbers had to register with the Park Service before attempting it. Even the world's best climbers avoided it in late fall when temperatures were low, snow or rain was frequent and conditions inside the chute could change within minutes. But F.O.X. planners were never known to wait for perfect conditions before sending an agent in so training under the worst conditions was considered the norm.

To make things even more difficult, the students were not allowed to use commercial climbing gear. Swiss seats and chest harness had to be tied using innocent looking lengths of rope. Carabineers and caulks had to be able to pass for key holders and native jewelry. Pitons and bolts or anything else that left a trace of their presence were banned. Even helmets were forbidden, as any such gear on their persons would be a dead giveaway if stopped by an evil genius's roving security patrol at the base of their mountain top lair.

The Devil's Chute was accessed after a three-hour hike that ended at the base of a fifty-five metre wall. After scaling the wall, a difficult but fairly straight-forward pitch, one found the entrance to the chute. It was an old water channel in the rock that had worn down over the eons until all the possible foot and paw holds had disappeared. When the river that created it changed course it left a sheer tube almost a hundred metres high that opened onto a small platform. For fun, the team had the option of climbing up the final slope from there to stand on the top of the mountain where the views were magnificent before returning through the chute to the trail.

There were two things that made climbing the Devil's Chute so difficult. The first was a prohibition from using bolts, pitons or other devices inside the chute itself least the hammering damage the soft rock and ruin the passage. The second was the fact that the chute was too wide for any one creature to crawl up. The only way to make the accent, therefore, was for two climbers to lock their heads and shoulders together and walk up the full distance without a safety line. It was not for the weak, the faint of heart or for pairs of climbers that did not get along intimately.

The first wall was no problem. Auvert and Max had brought a pair of 60 metre dynamic ropes. They had a stretch factor of 6-10%, a safety feature in case of a fall. The theory was that the rope would take up some of the shock before stopping the descent, thus preventing a broken back or shattered hips from the sudden stop. Of course, it you hit the ground before reaching the end of the rope this did nothing to help you. Thinking of that Auvert recalled seeing a documentary about Vanuatu platform jumpers that tied vines to their ankles and dove off rickety scaffolds to bounce back inches from impact. He thought that they were crazy to trust the vines, their rough method of calculation and the stability of the structures. The documentary did indeed include several fatal failures, but that did not stop some students at Oxford from turning it into something they dubbed 'bungee jumping', which had already become an extreme sport fad by the early eighties.

Climbers were not so reckless, at least not the ones that wanted to be old climbers. They did everything they could to shorten the distance they could fall. Going up the lead would put in carabineers at intervals while the second climber belayed the line from the bottom. If the lead slipped the furthest he could fall would be twice the distance between him and the last carabineer. The first trick was to find good cracks to put the temporary anchors in that were not too far apart. The second was to not to put in so many that one could not haul the rope through them anymore on a long pitch. On the way down, assuming one followed the same route back, the second climber would reverse the process, giving the first an easy trip down then following along and removing the anchors and clips.

They scaled the first wall quickly with Auvert leading and rested for a few minutes before attempting the chute. They started by standing back-to-back with their arms linked and then each lifted a leg to press it against the smooth side of the vertical tunnel. By pressing back against each other they 'walked' up the narrower lower wall until their legs were parallel to the ground. Then they adjusted their hold on each other, tucked their heads together and continued upward.

It was a long chute and one that got wider as it went. By the time they were a third of the way up their bodies were stretched out so that just their heads and shoulders were touching and their legs were almost straight. Progress was measured in inches as they each set one leg firmly before raising the other, applying pressure to lift them up before releasing the lower leg. They moved in a silent rhythm, only stopping for short rests when the pain in one or the others' legs became too much to bear.

The last bit was the trickiest. The chute gave out onto a narrow shelf which climbers had to roll onto before the tube became too wide. More than one pair of alpinists had missed the ledge only to fall to their deaths a hundred meters below. Auvert and Max had practiced the maneuver in the barracks, shimmying up between the walls of their room and throwing themselves onto the top bunk of the stacked beds. They had become quite good at it.

Getting back into the tube to go down would be another challenge. Ordinary climbers would have brought extra rope and rappelled down the chute but F.O.X. Students were not allowed to leave anything behind, so they would have to take their shoulder to shoulder position and inch their way along as they rolled onto their backs over the edge of the shelf. Then it was another hundred metres of synchronized movement until their tails touched the bottom.

They arrived at the top and flipped onto the ledge cleanly. "Jesus, that's hard on the legs." Max commented as he stretched and rubbed life back into his lower limbs.

Auvert did the same, hammering his fists against tense thigh muscles that were as hard as iron. "Now I know why Rusty took us on all those early morning cross-country runs. I hardly get the urge to puke at all anymore."

"What? You puked the other night when we were jogging back from town!"

"I had drunk two pitchers of beer while you were shagging the waitress in the back room. It didn't agree with the pizza I ate."

"You were supposed to save half of that for me." Max said, punching Auvert playfully.

Auvert punched him back. "And you were supposed to share the waitress. It's your own fault for exhausting her by shagging her until closing time. They wouldn't let me take the leftover beer and pizza home so I was forced to dispose of it on the spot." Auvert stood up and checked his harness. "You ready to go?"

"Yup."

They made the short walk to the last pitch. It was similar to the first, although a bit shorter and steeper, almost vertical. Max would take the lead for this leg so he slung all the anchors and most of the carabineers across his chest. Auvert checked Max's harness, walking around his climbing partner to adjust the ropes. Max likewise performed a safety check on Auvert's equipment before Auvert took up the line to belay the other fox. Satisfied that Auvert had a good grip Max started up.

Max was almost at the top of the pitch when the accident happened. He was so close to putting a paw on the edge of the shelf that marked the summit that he had decided not to bother putting in a last anchor and clip. Instead he called for slack on the rope so that he could pull enough through the clips to reach the edge and scramble over. That meant that Auvert would have only a loose grip on the line until Max had pulled enough line and called for tension again. He was more than three meters above the last anchor with two more metres of rope in his paws when the toehold that was supporting most of his weight decided to break free from the cliff face.

Max fell, screaming out a curse as he plummeted ten metres in a few seconds. Fortunately Auvert had been keeping his eyes on his partner and saw him pinwheel backwards before he went into a dead drop. The silver-tinged fox was able to reel in some of the line and anchor himself against the base of the cliff before Max reached the end of the rope. If he had not the rope would have burned through his grip and Max would have just kept falling. Instead, Max came to a sudden halt, somewhat softened by the elasticity of the dynamic line, five meters below his last anchor. He had wrapped his paws about his head protectively and twisted his back to take most of the impact when he inevitably came into contact with the cliff. He had some of the air knocked out of him but was otherwise okay.

"I'm going to lower you down." Auvert called up. "Just leave the anchors for now."

"Okay." Max called back, staring down at his partner. "No sense pushing our luck today."

"No. No sense." Auvert said, half to himself. He lowered Max slowly, slower than usual because he needed time to think about what Max had screamed when he thought he was in for the big drop.

Having worked in a number of the world's hot spots with soldiers from many different lands Auvert knew that folk from different cultures reacted differently to life-or-death situations, but when the prospect of death appeared suddenly like it had for Max they inevitably vocalize their surprise. What they yell varies from country to country. Germans call out to their God. The English will use their popular four-letter word for fornication. French citizens mostly call out to their mothers while Americans like a good old fashioned 'Sonofabitch!' Canadians generally just say 'Shit', although they will draw it out if time permits. There were variations due to regional differences or cultural cross-pollination, of course, but they always, always, called out in their mother tongue.

Max had screamed "Fuck your Mother", a popular curse in Moscow, and he screamed it in Russian - "Trakhni svoyu mat" - a language Max claimed not to understand.

The Counter-Intelligence guys at F.O.X. were constantly drilling into them the threat of infiltration from foreign intelligence agencies. They made it sound like an everyday occurrence. Even though each student had been thoroughly vetted they had been told to keep an eye on each other for signs like eating with the fork in the wrong paw, smoking cigarettes with the butt pinched between the thumb and first two digits or preferring fish eggs on toast over pancakes with maple syrup. The students tended to laugh them off, but Auvert was not laughing now.

As he lowered Max drown he moved back toward the top of the chute, opening up the distance between him and where Max would touch down. He kept his eyes on the grey fox and noted that Max, normally jovial in such situations, was staring back silently at him. Max knew that he was on to him, he realized.

The CI boys would want Max alive for questioning, but Auvert doubted that Max would go willingly. His options were limited though. He could cut Max loose and let him fall to his death, taking most of one length of rope with him, or he could tie off the line and leave him dangling. Either way he would be left with only one length of rope to get down, and the pitches were too long to rappel and recover the line with just one rope. There was no way that he could manage the chute by himself either and no one had ever managed climbing the outside of the tube successfully.

No, there were only two ways out of this: cooperate until they were out of the chute or kill Max after lowering him and take possession of both ropes.

Max must have come to the same conclusion because he released himself from the line he was still a good three metres up. He landed in a perfect paratrooper's roll and came up with his climbing knife in his paw. Auvert had half suspected that the infiltrator would pull something like that and his knife was out and ready before Max could close the gap between them.

They began thrusting, slashing, parrying and ducking frantically while trying to keep their balance on the narrow ledge. Auvert had beaten Max easily in sparring sessions both armed and unarmed during their Academy training, but it was obvious now that the other fox had been holding back. He must have already graduated from the KGB's spy school before assuming the identity of a real Canadian, Auvert realized as he recognized some of the techniques those agents were supposed to have used in the past. Fortunately he had spent a lot of time imagining countermoves for them and there was one move in particular that he thought had a flaw. Hopefully it was a fatal flaw.

He did not have to wait long. Max's arm came up as he reversed the knife in his paw and Auvert struck when his grip on it was weakest. The blade went flying. But before Auvert could capitalize on his advantage Max hit him with a paw full of lead anchors, swinging the heavy weights on the rebound to tangle Auvert's right arm in the cords they hung from. A snap of his wrist and Auvert's knife joined Max's several hundred metres below. Auvert jerked the cords from Max's grip and shook his arm to free as Max unleashed a flurry of blows. Auvert countered, being careful to keep both feet on the ledge.

The constrained space was working against them both. Neither could spin kick or throw a round house punch for fear of smashing foot or fist against the rock wall. They were reduced to shuffling and jabbing in a way that could have gone on all day. Auvert finally stepped back and held a paw to stop the fight.

"Wait." He said. "This is pointless. The odds of one of us knocking the other unconscious and catching them before they fall off the cliff with their portion of the rope is ridiculously small. So unless both of us dying is acceptable to you then I propose that we cooperate until we get back down."

Max relaxed a bit. "What do you propose?"

"We go down the chute the way we came up, head to head. Once we are at the top of the last pitch we each anchor our own line and rappel down. Once our feet hit the ground all bets are off. We can fight or you could try to run."

Max chuckled. "You know I can't outrun you, friend. It is the prodigious size of my penis that is at fault. It gets in the way. You would catch up to me before I got a hundred metres and smash my head in with a rock from behind. No, it will have to be a fight to the death, I am afraid."

Auvert shrugged. "I've seen your penis, so don't blame it for other short-comings, but so be it. Shall we?" He waved an arm back toward the top of the chute.

"We shall."

They made their way back to the opening cautiously. Neither was afraid of falling so much as being ambushed by the other.

"I sense that you have lost your sense of trust in me." Max quipped as they tried to figure out who should lie down on the narrow shelf first.

"No shit, Sherlock. Or should I say Fandorin? What is your real name anyway?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Now it was Auvert's turn to chuckle. "Nope, I'm not going to let you laugh yourself to death. That would be too easy."

They compromised by standing back-to-back as they had at the bottom and walking themselves into a horizontal position on the edge of the chute. Then, through the silent means of communication they had built up over the months, they inched their way out until they were suspended, ear-to-ear and shoulder-to-shoulder over the long drop.

The trip down was harder, if anything, than the climb up. Unlike the ascent they could not see where to place their feet and the uncertainty added to the tension. At one point a chip of loose rock came out from under Auvert's boot as he applied weight to it. His leg swung down, threatening to pull them both off the walls of the chute. Instinctively, Max froze, keeping the pressure on his opposite leg until the silver fox found a new spot for his foot. Neither realized that they had ceased to breathe until they were able to move on again, and when they did they dared not take a deep breath while they were moving. They took two more steps down to get past any rotten rock in the vicinity of the slip and then paused to get their breathing under control again.

"Almost bought it there." Max commented.

"Less talk, more walk." Auvert grunted in return.

As they neared the bottom the tube narrowed and they were able to shift their position to be back-to-back. When the tips of their tails touched bottom they each lowered one leg and then the other before unlinking their arms. Stiffness and cramps prevented either from breaking the deal and attacking the other. They made their way to the top of the final pitch while rubbing life back into limbs starved for oxygen.

They found a spot where they could anchor both ropes a few meters apart. It would be a straight rappel down to the trail leading back to where they had parked the car. Because of F.O.X.'s prohibition on commercial gear they were forced to go down the old way, with the rope wrapped around one leg and then diagonally across the back and over the opposite shoulder. In case one slipped the rope would also be passed through a brake made of carabineers attached to their makeshift harness. If the line passed through the arrangement of carabineers too fast it would lock up, unless one held it open with a paw and let the line run freely.

Before throwing the ropes down the cliff Auvert approached Max and began tugging at his Swiss seat and chest harness. Max slapped his paws away.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm checking your gear. It wouldn't be fair if one of us got tangled up or fell because the other did not do a proper gear check." Auvert replied as he began to examine the two ropes meter by metre, looking for worn spots or cuts in the outer layer. As he passed them through his paws he tossed each length onto the ground in what were known as 'scientific coils' - seemingly haphazard piles that were all but guaranteed not to foul.

Max looked suspicious but he kept an eye on the ropes to make sure they were both in good condition and tugged and pulled at Auvert's gear in turn. Then he saw the other fox twirl his paws while holding a rope in each. "Now what are doing?"

"Tying butterfly knots so we don't run off the rope." Butterfly knots were large knots that could be tied with one paw, an advantage when you could not let go of the rock face to use both paws. They were also easy to undo but resisted slipping when they came up against a narrow opening, like the one on a carabineer brake. Mountaineers frequently tied them at the ends of their rappel lines so they did not accidentally slip off the end and fall due to the sudden lack of rope.

"There is no need for them." Max complained as he examined both knots. "We each have a good ten metres of spare rope."

"Force of habit."

Max could understand that. Some people when they were nervous became very meticulous, relying on routine to see them through an emergency. Auvert struck him as one of those types. Max himself was not, he tended to innovate on the fly and the plan he had come up with would not be affected by a knot near the end of his rope. He focused on the knots. Satisfied that they were identical he picked up his coil and threw it as far out as he could. Auvert did the same with his rope. Then they both took up their rappelling positions on the edge of the cliff.

"Hell of an outing." Auvert said.

"Sure." Max grinned, recognizing the reference. "Almost as much fun as those Italian vixens. You know, for a capitalistic tool you are not so bad."

"You too." Auvert replied with a rueful smile. "Not the capitalistic tool part, you're more of a Soviet Puppet, but you were a good friend and companion while the charade lasted. It will sadden me to have to kill you."

"We'll see about that." Max called as he stepped backwards over the edge. "See you at the bottom!"

Auvert must have been anticipating the move because he was less than a half step behind the grey fox. Without the proper gear they could not leap down in great bounds, otherwise they would have been at the trail head and fighting in less than a minute. Instead they had keep enough tension on the rope to keep from going too fast while walking themselves down as quickly as they could. Auvert knew if he went too slow Max would be on the ground looking for a weapon like a rock or a club before him. But if he went too fast the carabineer brake would engage, costing precious seconds to release the tension on it and get moving again. Disengage the brake and you risked slipping out of control with the rope burning across palms and thigh and back until the sudden stop at ground level.

He was sure that Max had made the same calculations as they moved down the cliff in unison, legs and paws working mechanically at an even pace. They hardly checked their progress but rather kept their eyes on each other. The descent became a battle of wills, each hoping that the other would lose their nerve and make a mistake. At the same time each tried to figure out how what the other might do to get down first.

Auvert knew what he would do if he had learned to master the paratrooper's roll like Max had seemed to; he would hold the brake open and let go of the line as high up as possible then come out of the roll either as far away as possible to get a head start or right under his opponent hopes of getting a killing blow in while the other's paws were still engaged on the line. Since he could outrun the grey fox Max would likely go for a direct attack from below while Auvert was still descending. The only obvious counter to that move was for Auvert to drop from the same height and hope he landed cleanly. But Max knew that Auvert had never trained as a parachutist due to an old ankle injury, so Max could reasonably assume that he had the advantage.

Like an old west gun fighter Auvert kept his unblinking eyes locked on Max's, waiting for him to make his move. He was met with an equally steady stare and a confident grin, but as they passed the thirty metre mark on their ropes he saw Max take a quick glance down. Max glanced down again at the forty metre mark and his grin deepened. Auvert ignored the temptation to look down and kept to his steady pace. It would not be long now.

A few meters later Max grabbed the brake to hold it open. He moved like a cat to clear the line so he could drop straight down rather than spin him into the cliff face where he may crack his head or get the wind knocked out of him. Clearly he had thought this through inside the chute and had rehearsed the move over and over in his mind before executing it. He was already in free fall before Auvert could react.

But Auvert had also had time to formulate a plan during the long decent, and it was already in place. So instead of following Max into a drop he was not trained to survive, he spun around on his rope so that he was facing downward as he continued to walk down the wall at a steady pace.

Max's drop must have taken only a few seconds but it seemed to last forever. About halfway down the grin faded from his face as he realized that Auvert was not following. He was just wondering what the sly silver fox might be up to when his descent came to an unexpected end.

Five metres off the ground the butterfly knot that Auvert had tied in Max's line got caught in the braking device. The sudden deceleration caused him to flip over so he was head down, but he had not ceased moving completely. The stretch in the line slowed him but did not stop him, not before his head slammed into the rock at the base of the cliff.

Max bounced back up as the line retracted. He bobbed about, the line stretching a little less each time, especially with some of the force being transferred to the cliff wall as Max's limp body bashed against it. Meanwhile Auvert continued his steady descent.

At the bottom Auvert stepped onto level ground and straightened up enough to disengage the rope. He still had two meters to spare before reaching the butterfly knot on his line. When he was checking the lines at the top he had deliberately pulled more of his through at first, so when he tied the two knots the one in Max's line would stop his descent a few metres above the cliff base. His checking Max's gear and making a show of tying the knots had been a distraction, a bit of slight of paw to keep the less meticulous grey fox from checking the actual position of the knots.

A few feet away Max hung upside down, pining slowly and bleeding profusely from an open wound on the crown of his head. Pink brain material was also oozing out of the crack in his skull. Auvert looked down and saw the sharp knob of stone which Max had the misfortune to come down hard on. But Max was not dead yet. His eyes still showed pain and confusion. Auvert walked over and steadied the rope, stopping the slow rotation as Max's face turned toward him.

"Sorry about your head, Max." He told his former friend. "I only meant to leave you dangling a few feet off the ground with too much weight on the line for you to disengage until I could come over and knock you out. Guess I miscalculated the stretch, but maybe it's better this way."

The grin returned to Max's inverted face. "At least now I am getting what I always wanted." He wheezed. His native accent was creeping back into his speech now that he no longer had the strength or the need to prevent it.

"Oh, how so?"

"I am finally being well hung." Max erupted in ragged laughter that trailed away as the light went out of his eyes. Auvert was left with only the sound of the wind in the pines and the drip-drip-drip of blood in the shallow pool that had formed beneath Max. Soon there was only the wind.

* * * * *

"So that was the end of Max." Silver said as he sipped his third beer. "I went back to the car and took the "Danger - Trail Closed" tape that Max always carried from the pocket of his jacket and strung it across the path just in case some hikers came along. Then I drove to a nearby resort to call the camp and order a clean-up crew. The CI guys went over everything Max had in the dorm and checked into his background story again. The real Max, an orphan from Regina, was believed to have died from elevation sickness in Bolivia while on a post-university world tour. The local Soviet Resident paid off the villagers to turn over his paperwork and bury the body. I was interrogated for days to pull every word Max had ever said to me out of my mind so they could examine them for clues that might help identify other infiltrators. They also kept me isolated until they were sure that I wasn't compromised by our previous friendship."

"I guess I passed the test, since they let me finish the course and go on to become a field agent. It was a close thing, but the episode taught me a couple lessons." Silver said as he stood to go. "First of all, never trust anyone you meet in this business completely. You never know what they might really be up to." He paused to drain his beer and let the silence stretch after he put the empty glass back down and headed for the door.

"And the second?" The academic one dared after the tension became too much to bear.

"Never go bungee jumping." Silver said solemnly as he paused in the doorway. "That shit is dangerous."