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Prologue

Early 1965 - Outside Vladivostok

Dimitry Filipov was a young brown bear who was new to the KGB, but he hoped to make a career there. As a chess master he thought that his ability to analyze and see five steps ahead would be useful to the organization, an organization that was locked in a cold but deadly war with the western spy agencies. But he was only a junior KGB agent at the moment, and he would have to build a reputation if he wanted to be promoted to where his talents would really shine.

He had come to the secret KGB facility outside Vladivostok on the orders of his current supervisor, a wolf who was a former Nazi-turned Soviet agent named Vasyl Timoshenko. Timoshenko had made a name for himself as a ruthless operator in the city of Odessa during the Great Patriotic War, earning the nickname "the Werewolf of Odessa", although Dimitry was not sure which side Timoshenko had been fighting on at the time.

Not that it mattered. Dimitry was loyal to himself first, the USSR second, and his current boss third. He would work for this Timoshenko and learn from him while he did, and the moment it was to his advantage he would jump to another division of the KGB, if he didn't turn in the wolf and take over his division himself, that was.

It would help if he knew which division that was, and where it fit in the hierarchy of the KGB, but he was not senior enough to know such things yet. He would need at least one promotion before finding out, and if he did well on this mission, he just might get one. The problem was that Timoshenko had not told him why he was sent here, or what he was supposed to do in the frozen hind-end of the Socialist Republic. Dimitry shrugged. As when he faced an unknown opponent across the chess board, he would watch and wait and strike when he saw an opening, all while protecting his King, or in this case, his ass.

He quickly discovered that whoever Timoshenko was working for was senior enough to open doors eight thousand kilometers from Moscow, as the Eurasian skylark flies.

The head of the facility, a KGB Lieutenant-Colonel who far outranked him, welcomed his fellow brown bear coolly and cautiously. Dimitry noted the distress underlaying the senior officer's expression and was impressed that the name of Timoshenko could elicit fear in those everyone else feared. He decided to try a bluff, something not exactly popular in chess but not unheard of.

"Do you know why I have been sent?" He asked as if their ranks were reversed.

"I assume it is because of the British spy we are holding."

Dimitry nodded as gears spun in his head. "Take ne to him."

The officer led Dimitry into he secured zone of the facility, using his position and authority to quell any questions about his guest. The journey ended outside a cold underground cell.

Dimitry peered inside. Laying on the bed was a tall, ragged red fox that looked vaguely familiar. It's ice-blue eyes were staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, and it paid them no attention.

The fox was obviously unwell, with a dent in his head from some recent injury, but his frame was large and solid. Dimitry mentally added some muscle to that frame and erased the dent. Then he dressed the image in a well-cut English suit and gave it a contemptuous sneer. Something clicked in his brain and he spoke the name that was attached to his mental file.

"Yes." The facility commander confirmed. "The famous British MI6 agent that has caused us such trouble in the past."

Dimitry nodded slowly while he digested the information. He could not quite figure out which of Timoshenko's many projects the secret agent could be used for. The wolf was not involved in interrogating common spies, the Second Chief Directorate was responsible for that, and the British fox would not have any of the scientific expertise the wolf needed for his guided missile program or the radar intercept project. He covered his uncertainty with more questions.

"Did you give him that dent?" he indicated the wound on the fox's head. "The Second Chief Directorate will not look kindly on receiving damaged goods."

"He arrived that way." The KGB officer sneered. "He rowed in from Japan and walked right up to the KGB Border Guard post with an absurd story about being the husband of an Ama Diver with amnesia. The Second Directorate's people have already, ah, examined him and the First Chief Directorate's people in Japan have confirmed that part of his story. It seems that he went rogue and attacked the compound of a personal enemy of his and got injured in the process. Neither the Japanese Secret Service nor the British know that he is here. He is presumed dead.[1]"

"What do they intend to do with him?"

"His brain is too befuddled from his injuries to make him useful for interrogation so some Korean friends of ours are coming to help brainwash him, after which we will re-educate him, but with a twist. We'll instill a hatred of everything British and of his boss, the infamous 'M', in particular. The Chairman of the KGB has decided to use him as a programed assassin, with lurid press releases ready to be released when he is caught."

Dimitry admired the cunningness of the plot. "If he succeeds, we'll be rid of Britain's most valuable spymaster, and if he fails MI6 will be discredited yet again, fatally perhaps."

Dimitry was referring to the defection of Harold 'Kim' Philby two years earlier, which had damaged the British organization severely. If the British public thought that the now-famous agent was working for the Soviets all along the hue and cry that the First Directorate would orchestrate could result in the British Secret Service being shut down permanently, a great boon for the USSR. But what did the wolf have to do with it?

Dimitry only had one move to make. If it failed, he would reveal his ignorance and leave Vladivostok empty-pawed. But if it succeeded it may show him the path to checkmate.

Dimity feigned indifference to the audacious plot. "I suppose you know what Timoshenko wants?"

The commander turned on his fellow bear with a frown. "Yes, but I'm turning it over under protest, and only because that damned Werewolf has so much influence on the Chairman. One slip and this whole operation could be blown before it's started, and if that is traced back to the Werewolf, he's the one going down for it, not me."

Dimitry was even more confused, but he did not let it show. "Best hand it over then and I'll be on my way."

The Lieutenant-Colonel gestured to one of the guards, an amur leopard, and the cat came forward with a wooden box the size used to store cigars in.

"Verify the contents and then sign the papers confirming transfer of the samples." The officer demanded.

The leopard opened the box, inside were two large vials filled with red liquid and a folded paper. Dimitry took the page and unfolded it. It stated that he, KGB Lieutenant Dimitry Filipov, was to sign for two vials of blood taken from the British spy whose code number was 007. He pulled out a pen, a gift from his mother when he became a Grand Master and signed while his head was still reeling from shock. Dimitry closed and locked the box before cradling it under his arm.

"Keep them cold." The commander advised.

Still in a daze, Dimitry answered, "That will not be a problem. The plane Timoshenko commandeered for me has no heater."

* * * * * * * *

Timoshenko never did tell Filipov what he wanted the blood of the secret agent for while the bear was working for him. As he rose in the organization though, Filipov found others like him who had, over the years, been sent to collect blood or tissue or other samples from other secret agents. In the sixties they had collected samples from an American foxhound named Matt Flint and a British walrus who had just established a new secret agency in Canada. In the seventies and eighties they added to their stock by collecting blood and tissue from near kills on foreign agents from the CIA, MOSAD, FOX, and Australia's DINGO. But it was not until well after the fall of the Soviet Union that Dimitry discovered why Timoshenko was collecting the DNA of all the best secret agents in the world.

The break-up of the USSR and the Warsaw Pact put the Werewolf's project and Dimitry's career on the back burner, but when a former colleague of Dimitry's became President of Russia he reinstated his friend in the KGB foreign intelligence service's successor agency, the SVR, and gave him carte blanche as to which projects should be given priority.

In 2010 Timoshenko, now sporting mechanical claws where his paws once were, invited Filipov, now the Director of the SVR, to his Moscow labs to discuss reviving his DNA program.

"I have plans to manipulate the DNA of the world leaders." He told his former underling when they met at his lab in the south pacific. "I have recruited a yellow monkey, Miko Dourado, the foremost geneticist in the world. With his help we will be able to alter the nature of the world's democratic leaders, make them compliant to our bidding.[2]" The wolf went on to describe the project in detail.

Dimitry had his doubts, but Timoshenko's description gave him another idea. "Do you still have all your old DNA samples, the ones you collected from all the secret agents?"

"Yes."

"What were they for?"

"I wanted to breed super agents for the Soviet Union."

"You mean for the highest bidder."

Timoshenko shrugged. "Same-same. You Russians make good planners but lack loyalty, what with Polyakov and Gordievsky and all running to the British the first chance they got. I though that there might be a market for good agents here."

"Show me your samples."

Timoshenko led him to a freezer full of vails, test tubes and zip-lock freezer bags.

"Here's the blood you collected in Vladivostok." Timoshenko showed him the familiar vials. "This is a piece of Matt Flint's ear in this bag here. The little finger of a MOSAD agent we never did identify, so he must have been good. Oh, this is special." Timoshenko said, passing a vial full of a frozen white substance to the Director. "Sperm from the FOX agent Silver who has been giving us so much trouble lately.[3]"

Dimitry cringed and passed the vial back. "How did you get his sperm?"

"Easy enough." The werewolf laughed. "It is contaminated by sable saliva but the yellow monkey assures me he can filter that sort of thing out."

Dimitry regarded the dozen or so samples and made a decision. "I'll fund your project, but you'll turn over all these samples and any others from spies you encounter here on in, as well as all of this monkey's research on a regular basis."

"Deal." Timoshenko stuck out a mechanical claw that looked like a nutcracker. Dimitry ignored it.

The new director of foreign intelligence never saw the old wolf again. Timoshenko's island base was destroyed by an unexpected volcanic eruption, but not before the Werewolf sent in one last shipment from the project.

Dimitry opened the package. It contained a DVD with the latest updates on the yellow monkey's DNA replacement research and several samples from captured FOX agents that were presumed to have perished in the eruption. Among them was a large, sealed tube full of amniotic fluid labeled 'Vikki'.

Dimitry buzzed for his executive assistant.

"Get the Deputy Director of Directorate X on the line." He instructed the wolf. "Tell him that Project Amalgam is a go."

* * * * * * * *

Chapter One - "Before the Storm Comes the Calm" - Nicki Minaj, Blazin

Silver's eyes opened to near total darkness. He stayed perfectly still as he assessed the situation. There were very few clues, but the warmth against his back and the soft breathing told him that he was home in bed with his mate, Vikki Beausoleil, and that all was well.

There was no hint of daylight peeking around the edges of the blackout shades on the windows, but Silver knew what time it was. It would be five twenty-five in the morning, five minutes before his alarm was due to go off. He typically went to bed at eleven thirty and got no more than six hours of sleep a night, less if he needed to ponder a problem when everything was quiet.

When he had been a soldier in a reconnaissance unit Silver could look at his watch and make a mental note as to when he wanted to be up, then fall asleep immediately. Although his soldiering days were far behind him the ability had not entirely left him, but he used an alarm nowadays just in case. At sixty-four trying to hold down a demanding job and keep up with a much younger mate and a precocious eleven-year-old kit sometimes exhausted him more then he cared to admit.

Silver took a moment to assess his condition. This was something he used to do when regaining consciousness in stone cells or strange bedrooms. It was useful to know what was working and what wasn't before sprinting into action, whether that meant throttling a guard or rolling over onto some KGB seductress looking to be promoted to assassin. In order to do so he had adapted a method of Tantric meditation where he could isolate each part of his body, becoming fully aware of that parts condition, position and sensory input before blocking it off and moving onto another part. It was a good means of delaying orgasm by ignoring the physical sensations of lovemaking and it was also useful for locating then isolating the pain from wounds or broken bones.

A quick once-over revealed that he had a slight headache, probably from the bottle of Pinot Grigio he had drank last night while welcoming Vikki back from a long mission, and that his right paw was locked into a claw-like rictus again.

He soothed the headache by increasing the flow of blood to his head and tried to open his paw. It took a moment, but the fingers snapped open with an almost audible 'click'. According to his research the condition affecting his best shooting hand was, called 'trigger finger', aptly enough. It was caused by a swelling of tissues around the tendons on the back of the paw caused by overwork, like tightly gripping the butt of a pistol constantly over many years or spending too much time tapping away on a keyboard, as he did lately.

In its early stages the snapping sensation could be alleviated by warming up the paw with a few quick flex exercises, but the ability to grip was still affected. He had to concentrate to apply the right amount of pressure when picking something up, otherwise it was likely to slip from his paw. So far he had not dropped anything breakable, or dropped much while Vikki was around, but the condition would only get worse as he got older. Eventually he would not be able to open his paw completely or feel what was in it.

It could be fixed though, with a simple operation to loosen up the tissues around the tendons. According to most reputable on-line medical sites the operation had a decent rate of success and if done before all feeling was lost the chances were good for full recovery.

Of course, in order to get treated he would have to report the condition to the agency's Chief Doctor, and that was where things got complicated.

As Chief of Staff and Senior Agent of the Foreign Operations eXecutive, FOX for short, Silver was still rated for field work. Failure to pass the quarterly field tests or the annual physical would cost him that rating, and probably his job. The only position in FOX That was not currently rated for field work, that of Director, was occupied by his friend, Tancred "Tanner" Williams. Tanner, a fitness fanatic, was only four years older than him and looked to live forever.

There was also the fact that he and Doctor Oliver Wendel Jones, who had started his career as a doctor in the Australian Special Forces, hated each other's guts. As the Chief of Medicine at FOX Jones would have to sign off on any changes to the ratings or exemptions that would let Silver stay on the job. He could see the gleam in the albino wallaby's eyes already as he signed the papers declaring Silver medically unfit, and all because Silver threatened him at gunpoint when he didn't want to sew agent Scarlet's head back on that one time ... and because he tortured one of his patients ... and almost killed another by interrogating him after his car exploded in the fellow's face ... and maybe a couple of other incidents, but they had all lived, mostly.

There were other things besides the paw issue. Headaches were becoming more frequent, his eyesight was getting worse, and there were aches and pains in places where he didn't know he had places before they appeared. Most of those could be managed with ibuprofen, and he was still the best instinctive shot in the agency that they referred to in-house as "the Academy", but it would only take one fumble with a live gun on the combat range to trigger a review, and then his condition would be exposed.

Trigger finger, indeed.

All this went through Silver's mind in less than a minute because he had gone over it while laying awake many times already. His watch now read five twenty-nine.

Silver flexed his paw several times until it opened and closed smoothly before reaching out and shutting off the alarm seconds before it was due to go off. He had to work that day, but Vikki was on leave after her mission and could sleep in.

Which was fine, except that during his bodily survey he had detected a raging hard-on, probably due to a full bladder pressing on the veins that allowed blood to drain out from his cock. A good slow piss would fix that, but these opportunities were not to be wasted. Age and the damage done by the fiendish sexual torture devised by Vasyl Timoshenko had reduced the frequency of morning erections, whatever the cause. He did not really need to be in the office first thing, and besides, he told himself, Leslie, their kit, was now boarding at the private school he was enrolled in because of the latest Covid restrictions, so if he 'accidentally' woke Vikki she could go back to sleep after he left.

Silver rolled over. Although there was hardly any light his night vision was as good as ever and he could see that she was sleeping on her left side, facing away from him. She liked to sleep that way, with her butt pressed up against him. He liked it too, because her butt was big and round and soft and sometimes her tail got between his legs. It was an exceptional full and thick brush, even for a red fox, and it felt good there.

Another thing that felt good was her firm breasts in his paws. He reached over and cupped one. They were not small, but they were not overly large or ponderous either; just right for her slim six-foot-three frame, he thought.

Like most older Canadians, Silver did distances and temperatures in metric but height and weight in imperial measure. The morning commute was fifty-five kilometres, but he was six-foot tall. More like five-foot-ten he admitted, as age and jumping out of airplanes tended to compact the spine. For him, water froze at zero degrees and boiled at one hundred, but his weight in pounds was ... actually he had recently switched to measuring that in kilos also, because it was still in the double digits that way ... barely.

Vikki murmured and brushed at the paw on her breast without really waking. As usual they were both sleeping naked and she had left her bionic left forearm on the dresser, because lashing out with it during a bad dream could severely damage the wall, or Silver. Although, the PTSD she suffered after the mission where she had lost the arm had largely disappeared thanks to Doctor Gordon's therapy and the support group consisting of current and former agents with similar issues.

Silver had his own way of handling stress, but he often marveled at her ability to turn off after a stressful mission and sleep like an innocent child. He could never do that. The slightest noise in the night had him fully awake, even if it was only the wind shifting to make the trees creak in a different tone. He pressed harder on her breast and leaned over to nibble at the base of her ear.

"Not now." She said still half asleep as she swatted at his muzzle, missing by several inches. "Leslie will hear."

Silver had to admit that their lovemaking could get very energetic and loud, and that the kit was already probably warped for life, but he was not here, so he continued, inching forward so that his erection was nuzzled between the twin hemispheres of her ass.

"Let me sleep." She muttered, but her hips were already slowly grinding her butt against his cock. He let his paw drift down her torso to the tuft of curly fur where her thighs joined. The mound beneath it was warm, and damp. Had he interrupted an erotic dream, he wondered ... had he been in it?

He rose up on his elbow and found her mouth with his as she rolled towards him. Their lips sealed instinctively as their tongues began a slow dance inside the cavern they formed. His digits found and spread the slit in the damp mound. Soon they were working their way in and along the gap that formed there, spreading the blossoming petals of flesh that were exposed and teasing the hard little nub that grew at their apex.

"Don't you have to go to work?" She asked when their mouths separated, now fully awake.

"Not right away. I'm the boss, after all."

"I thought Williams was the boss?" She teased.

"So is Bruce Springsteen, but neither of them are here right now, so I'm in charge."

"Oh? What happened to 'equal partners and mutual consent'?"

He leaned back in to kiss her. "Stop me any time you want to."

After thirty more seconds spent with tongues engaged she pulled back enough to reply. "I will ... but not just yet."

Silver had two digits deep inside her now and they had found the patch of spongy flesh that grew inside there when she was excited. He rolled over on top of her without breaking their kiss, tapping and rubbing the spot alternately as he rotated his wrist, until he was on his knees between her legs. Then he sat up, and she reached for him, begging him with soft moans and wiggles to take her. Shifting his weight, he inched forward as she raised her knees to her chest, rotating her hips until her gaping cunt was staring up at him.

Silver rubbed some of the slick, warm fluids sticking to his paw along his shaft, adding a bit of saliva for good measure. Then he rubbed the first few inches against her exposed inner lips.

"Now." She demanded in a husky voice. "Now!"

He pressed the tip down and it disappeared between those wet lips. They sighed simultaneously as warm flesh welcomed hard meat.

He rolled his hips to sink it in a bit. She dug her claws into his ass to encourage him to go further. He complied, leaning over her more and more as each twitch and shimmy drove his cock a little farther in. In a minute he was looming over her, holding his weight on the knuckles of his paws as his hips did all the work, lifting his cock out until just the tip remained inside then plunging it back until his balls slapped against the base of her tail.

His tail was up over his back, with the silver tuft at the tip hovering over his head. She stretched out her long legs and locked her ankles just below the base, where a quick clench of the calves could drive him in harder.

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Silver leaned farther forward until he was on fingers and toes and his cock was drilling straight down, bending as it followed her love canal. That increased the contact against her clit as his shaft throttled in and out of her.

It also increased the stimulation on a cock numbed by prior injuries and the need to pee.

It was a move calculated to bring them both to climax sooner rather than later, and Vikki contributed by rubbing his flank with the stub of her left arm and pinching his nipples with her right paw while craning her neck to keep up the tongue battle.

When he dropped her head back to the pillow and started to gasp for air Silver knew that she was close. He was too, and increasing the pace would bring them both there, hopefully at the same time. If not, he could pause to let her cool off a bit or use his tantric meditation techniques to keep him from cumming too soon.

Neither option was necessary. She came with a gush and a gasp that was almost a howl and he followed a second later with a cry that had once made Leslie rush to their room thinking daddy had hurt himself. That one had taken some quick explaining and he was supposed to bite down on something now if the kit were home. For several years the fur on his forearms had been looking pretty ragged, but now the kit was away at school during the week and, when he was home, knew better than to intrude if Silver forgot.

Silver collapsed on top of his taller mate, resting his head between her breasts as his pulse, blood pressure and breathing returned to normal. It did not take long, another benefit of the meditation. Vikki took a little longer to regain her composure, but within a minute Silver could feel her chest rising and falling at its regular pace and hear her heart beating rhythmically inside. He began licking lightly at the nipple right in front of his nose and stroking her thigh with one paw.

"Don't you have to go to work?" She asked again from underneath him.

"Eventually. Want to join me in the shower?"

Vikki knew that would add another thirty minutes to their morning, ten for them to wash, ten while they made love with the water streaming over them, and another ten to wash again.

"You're incorrigible, Mister Silver." She said pushing him off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. "Grab some extra towels while I get the water going."

* * * * * * * *

Silver usually arrived at the office at FOX headquarters at seven-fifteen these days. Waking at his habitual time and taking less than an hour to prepare for the day meant that he could leave by six-thirty, before the worst of the morning rush. Before the Covid lockdowns and the uptick in home workers that drive usually took an hour, but now the traffic was much lighter and he could get there in forty-five minutes, or less if he drove his Porsche the way it was designed to be driven. He only did that in emergencies though, even though his licence plate was on the 'do not stop' list not every cop bothered to check it before attempting to pull him over and high-speed chases could be dangerous, for them at least. Silver had been in enough to know his way around.

He liked commuting, it gave him time to think, especially now that Leslie did not need to be dropped off at school every day. The kit was a treasure, but his observations and questions were non-stop. Vikki, when their schedules coincided, knew when to leave him alone or to be a sounding board. Likewise, she knew when he was being quiet because he was bored by the administrivia that came with being Chief of Staff and how to fill that kind of silence with amusing stories about colleagues. Those in the Intelligence trade were all outrageous gossips. Since they could not talk about work related topics, they fulfilled the need to communicate about the job by talking about their co-workers.

Intelligence work was also one of the few government professions where one could not work from home. All the raw material and the resulting reports, as well as the computer networks that delivered and distributed them, were so highly classified that they could only be housed behind many layers of security. Even the encrypted smart phone that Silver carried could not be used to do more than pass on the most minimal and basic of information until he could get to a secure facility with dedicated comms equipment.

So, for the last two years while the streets of Ottawa were mostly empty Silver and his mate had been making the daily drive into the city, along with any agents or staff that lived farther than walking distance. As the Academy was hidden in plain sight amongst the buildings of the Central Experimental Farm, the largest undeveloped piece of land in the city proper, they all carried papers identifying themselves as Biologists with Agriculture Canada, seeking a plant-based vaccine for the Covid-19 virus. That made them essential workers.

Except for Marcel and Geno, neither of which any cop worth their salt would ever believe was a scientist; they had papers claiming that their job was to sanitize the Level-Six containment labs for the project.

"This Covid shit is nothing compared to the moulds and viruses we have to clean up." Marcel would tell the roving curfew patrols before sneezing dramatically. "Contagious as shit too." Geno would add. The cops never failed to wave them through the checkpoints as fast as they could back out of their way.

There were no checkpoints or blockades this time though, and while traffic was still not back to pre-pandemic levels it was still slow in the construction zones. Having left an hour later than usual Silver pulled into the executive parking lot just before eight-thirty.

Tanner's parking spot was empty. The golden fox drove in from his chalet in the Gatineau Hills to start his day as Director at nine if he did not have to attend a morning meeting with other Government officials, which he frequently did. The space reserved for the Senior Agent was empty, as Silver was serving in that position concurrent with being the Chief of Staff. The only other parking space was reserved for their Executive Secretary, the poodle Marie Chienne-Caniche, or Miss CC for short. It was never occupied lately though because she and her partner, a fox named Gray Muzzle, now lived in one of the suites on campus and walked, or rather rolled, to work every day. She had been partially paralyzed during an attack in Brussels and was slowly regaining mobility in her once powerful legs.

When he opened the door to the executive suite with his pass-card he found that she was already behind her desk, with one paw out of sight underneath in case whoever came through the door unannounced was a threat. When she saw who it was, she pulled her paw out empty and smiled up at him.

"I have beat you here, for a change." She said, then she added with a snarky, poodle grin, "Did you sleep in, puet-etre?"

She knew that he had not. The smell of slightly damp fur and Vikki's body wash was strong enough for her long snout to detect, and she knew he never used scented soaps when he showered alone.

Silver knew that she knew what he had been up to, the two of them had been together too often back when he was unattached to ever fool her, so he said nothing. He was just happy to have her back. Her first replacement had been an overweight skunkette from mailroom who kept staring at his picture and masturbating whenever she thought Silver wasn't looking. The second was a rather crude poodle with a purple mohawk named Violet, who was competent enough but a little too earthy for Silver and Tanner's tastes. Although she was now training as an agent she still filled in when Miss CC was away at her physiotherapy sessions, but never when visitors were expected; other government functionaries had issues with being told to "Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up while I try to remember how this intercom works."

"Anything new on the schedule?" Silver asked the poodle who could still take the breath of most males away.

"Non, Monsieur, although zee Director said he would be at zee Minister's office all morning."

"Great." Silver mumbled. The agency used to be under the Minister of Defence, but after the terror attacks in the early twenty-first century the Government had formed a new Ministry, Public Safety Canada, which tackled such diverse issues as border strategies, emergency management, crime prevention and national security. Over the years it has sucked in every independent agency whose work had any relation to those topics, including Border Services Canada, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It had only been a matter of time before FOX was drawn into the black hole of what was rapidly becoming a super-ministry.

Unlike the Ministers formerly responsible for those organizations, who usually had some expertise in the business of those agencies under them and the good sense not to ask too many questions so as to maintain deniability, the position of Minister for Public Safety was usually given to those members of the Parliament who were more powerful politically than intellectually. Their inflated egos compelled them to interfere in what were otherwise smoothly operating and well managed agencies.

When they did that to CSIS, the RCMP or the border guards, however, the heads of those agencies usually appealed to the public through the press directly or via "confidential sources". FOX, being the only one of the agencies whose existence was a secret, did not have that option, and threatening to sanction the Minister with extreme prejudice was considered bad form. Besides, the Minister had to sign the sanction orders and was unlikely to sign one with their own name on it.

Somehow the incumbent had figured that out and was fulfilling his need to lord it over someone more competent than him by trying to micro-manage the Academy to death. Silver was glad that it was the even-tempered Tanner's job to deal with the prick and not his.

Miss CC noticed that her boss was opening and closing his right paw with a flourish of his digits like he had the sudden urge to draw his gun and shoot someone. He had been doing that a lot lately, she noted. The only other person she had seen doing it was a former agent who came to the Academy hospital for recurring pain from a paw injury that had ended his career as a field agent. She looked away and put any speculation as to whether the movement was an unconscious urge or a mobility exercise out of her head. She would be obliged to report any undocumented medical issues she observed that may affect FOX operations so it was best if she did not see any. She did make a mental note to corner Vikki in the dining hall when she came back to work though.

Silver entered his office and closed the door before firing up his computer and signing onto his secure account. Paper files and reports were almost non-existent now, and he could access the daily reports from each of the Academy's divisions as well as all the raw intelligence from the other agencies that he was allowed to see. That was a lot of intelligence as there was very little that someone at his level of clearance could not access.

Settling back in his chair he began to scroll through the reports, starting with the administrative ones because they could put you to sleep if you left them for last.

Everything was well at the Academy. Everything was working, the roster of agents was full and the current class of would-be agents was doing well. No one was missing and the only staff in the hospital were there for minor injuries like pulled muscles and sprained ankles from the rigorous training regime. Even the overnight duty officer had nothing to report.

Silver tackled the other Canadian agency reports next. Each put out one or more collections based on their area of expertise and responsibility. Each item had an executive summary and the best had titles that put the bottom-line up front, like a good BBC article, making identifying the relevant ones easier. That way a busy executive could skip over the dross and get straight to the pure golden nuggets hidden inside.

The bulk of the material was the type considered background intelligence that the analysts might file away for consideration. Some of it was finished intelligence, extensively researched and processed which could be relied on to remain valid for a long period of time. Some rare bits could be considered warning intelligence, the kind of information that was time sensitive but could have a great impact on current operations. That kind of intelligence could save lives and would have been sent out instantly to the relevant agencies, but they were included in the summaries to show other departments that the reporting agency was on the ball.

Some of the articles were unclassified, but designated as protected information because of privacy concerns, witness protection or criminal informants. Others were classified confidential or secret to protect intelligence sources or methods. Top secret reports usually held information that could cause severe damage to the country or its intelligence collection efforts if it got out. Those that included raw intelligence were designated as Special Intelligence. They required special indoctrination, and that intelligence could not be acted on without the permission of the originator, or someone higher up on the food chain, like the Minister.

Access to all of those reports was granted on the "Need to Know" principal. As the Chief of Staff of a major Intelligence Agency Silver had the need to know everything. But there was another category of report, classified as Special Access Required. Access to those materials were granted on an individual basis, and only to those who could contribute to the project. No one was granted access simply because of their rank or position. SAR reports were not distributed over the common intelligence network, in fact they were usually kept on paper. One had to sign the actual paper file folder each time you accessed it, and them only in a dedicated Special Access Program Facility. The most Silver ever received in his computer was a notice that one was available to be reviewed under its unclassified cover name.

As with most days, there were no such notices today.

Regardless of the source or the classification, half of what he did receive was pure crap, in Silver's humble opinion, no more than highly classified gossip. The big three, Human Intelligence, Signals Intelligence, and Imagery Intelligence each had their strengths and limitations, but none of them were definitive on their own, as much as the agencies that specialized in each would have the politicians that set their budgets would have them believe. Silver relied more on the product of the fusion centres, where the three different types of analyst and other experts worked together to solve an intelligence problem.

After the Canadian reports he started in on the ones friendly allied agencies sent them. They were usually more interesting, as some of their NATO partners were closer to the problems that affected them all and had unique insights.

He was almost finished when he noticed a report from India that had been passed to then as a courtesy. It dealt with the theft of a missile control module, and the Government of India was concerned that it might end up in the wrong hands, which Silver took to mean Pakistan, in this case. FOX had agents in the region and Silver was in a mind to have the information passed to them so they could keep an eye out and an ear open for any sign of it, so he read on.

Analysis of the security system and the witnesses involved indicated that the module had been taken by someone who gained entry to the facility by posing as a waste disposal driver after having stolen the regular truck and posing as the real driver. He, or possibly she, then picked the lock to the staff room, stole a lab coat, donned a wig and high heels and used an actual employee's card, presumably lifted from her apartment two hours earlier after what she admitted was the shagging of her life, to enter the secure portion of the plant. Then they climbed up into the false ceiling, bypassed several locked doors and dropped back down in the room where the test module was kept in a safe. That safe was only unlocked twice a day, to retrieve the hard drives for the project engineers in the morning and again when they were returned at the end of the day. His, or her, entry was timed perfectly, and the intruder had incapacitated the Chief Engineer and his two bodyguards, grabbed the module and left the way they came before anyone became suspicious of the garbage guy taking so long.

The number of people involved was in question. The witnesses at each stage described the culprit as a different species. The scientist said that some kind of white wolf seduced her. The garbage guys said someone as big as a bear had overpowered them and taken their truck. The guards identified the fake driver as a brown pariah dog, the most common canine in India and the same breed as the guards. Employees in the hallways described the intruder in the wig as a small bengal fox, similar to the scientist that was sleeping off a multi-orgasmic experience on the other side of town and the Chief Engineer said that the attacker was definitely a white-furred canine slightly larger than his big bodyguards.

The seducer and the thief that stole the truck may have been different individuals from the one that was caught on camera entering the loading dock, but the national security investigators could not figure out how that person had managed to pull off three different looks that involved dissimilar body sizes, because they were certain that only one intruder had entered or left and they had conducted a thorough search just to be sure. They concluded that the intruder must be a master of disguise and asked all allied agencies for help in identifying them.

That was an intriguing point, but not what interested Silver the most. What caught his attention was the fact that he had been involved in an operation exactly like it back in the eighties; not a similar one, but the exact same plan.

As a junior agent stationed in West Germany back in the eighties, Silver had seduced an East-German missile scientist while passing himself off as an arctic wolf with the help of some muzzle prosthetics. Agent Green, a large Irish fox and Silver's supervisor, had stolen the truck and Silver, now made up as a German shepherd, had talked his way past the guards. Switching to a wig, skirt and lab coat he had hidden in the garbage cart, he boldly strode through the security doors and into the females' washroom. He had not been trying to imitate the seduced scientist in particular but had counted on the extreme level of fitness displayed by senior East-German functionaries that had been raised by the state to explain an overly muscular female in the halls of a secret state enterprise. He had ditched the wig, heels and coat in order to wiggle through the ductwork to subdue the guards and Facility Director while they had the safe open. Then he had reversed his course and walked out with the module in the garbage bin. He and Green had switched vehicles and, back to his usual appearance, he had driven to the nearest check point and crossed back into West-Germany with the guidance module in a box labeled vacuum cleaner parts, as that was his cover - a vacuum repair person keeping the hard-to-get appliances running for his family and friends on the other side of the wall.

Evaluation of the modules had revealed just how accurate the new Soviet short-range missiles were and had allowed NATO to counter them with the new Patriot anti-missile system. The Soviets had nothing that could penetrate that shield and that gave the West another advantage in the arms race that eventually bankrupted the USSR.

Silver did not know if the crew that pulled this off was one, two or more people, nor did he know how they had gotten hold of the plan, which should still be locked up in the Academy's Special Access Files, deep inside FOX. One thing he did know for sure though, he mused as his right paw opened and closed rhythmically, there was a mole in FOX That was about to have a date with the Chief of Staff.

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Grey Muzzle © Grey Muzzle

Kyroo Echos © Kyroo Echos

Natasha Winters © EmberWolf

Violet © Gray Muzzle

Saira Rasielle © SilentRampancy

Carlos © Carlos the Penguin

Dante Draco © Dante Draco

The FOX Academy series:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Book IV - Wait for No One

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Book VI - Unnatural Selection

Book VII - Rogue Sword

Book VIII - Firestorm

Book IX - Diamonds in the Rough

Book X - Agents Lounge

FOX Flashback Novels:

Scarlet Necklace

The Finland Express

Other FOX tales:

Accounts Payable

A gambler's Share

An Opus for a Penguin

Daffodils

Deep Thunder

Fear

Hard at Work

It's a Wonderful Furry Life

La Vie en Rose

Life of the Party

Not a Bed of Roses

Rest Stop

The Dead of Night

The Mark of Cain

The Volunteer

When Worlds Collide

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[1] This bit of homage fits between "You Only Live Twice" and "The Man With the Golden Gun" by Ian Fleming

[2] See "The Curse of the Yellow Monkey" by Dikran O.

[3] See "The Werewolf of Odessa" by Dikran O.