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As things turned out, the dog’s forepaw was saved from being skewered by a secret agent who was protecting his honor, or at least his dessert. The cake was too perfect to be interfered with, and the one serving was quite enough on its own. By the time we were done, I felt so relaxed that I almost fell asleep at the table. Hunter took this as his cue to get us moving again. We returned to his headquarters, entering by a door more discreet than the one through the convenience store. I was again ensconced in my room, and I let the dog’s body and my mind relax into a long nap.

The soft whispering of “Comm check” in my ear woke me gently. I stretched Rawlins’ body, feeling a few joints pop and click, sounds that I wasn’t used to. Keeping my own voice soft, I said, “Hello. Did we meet this morning?”

“Yes. My name is Long, and don’t worry: I’ve heard all the jokes before. I’m Vietnamese.”

“I’ll try not be an ass.” I smiled in the dim light of the room. “What time is it?”

“Early evening. In time for dinner, although I don’t think we have anything as elegant as Dickens House.”

“No secrets around here.”

“Word of such great meals gets around,” he chuckled. “Hunter wanted to check in on you, give you some updates.”

I nodded, out of reflex, before I remembered that I wasn’t being watched. “I dozed off in my clothes. He can come get me whenever he wishes.”

“You needn’t be escorted everywhere; it’s only a question of whether or not you can find your way around the complex.”

Again nodding, I said, “I’m pretty sure I can find my way to the toilets.”

“Good choice.”

Priorities adjusted to include my bladder, I padded out of the Necessary to find Hunter waiting for me. “Yes,” he assured me, “I got a little sleep, too. Best update I have is that Novak has been doing some arranging, just as we thought he might. Also as we predicted, it’s going to be some hours before he makes his strike. In the meantime, I thought you might want to pass the time more pleasantly. Sadly, we can’t offer you a night on the town; however, we do have some other diversions available.”

Ultimately, our best combination proved to be a simple yet satisfying dinner with Andrew, Kayleigh, and a Latvian wolfhound named Valdis. Manon had indeed graced us with macarons, and Hunter was generous enough to share them with all. They accompanied some spirited play of a few games I’d not heard of before, one a game of deductive reasoning involving a specialized deck of cards representing gemstones, another a board game that I’d heard about but never played. It was an evening of camaraderie and intellectual stimulation of a sort that I — meaning Nathaniel — really enjoyed. (Being feline, I was surprised by the sensation of my happiness stimulating the dog’s tail to wag.) I didn’t feel that I had enough of my own memories with me to know if it was the sort of evening I’d enjoyed before; if not, I hoped that I would remember this night so that I might try it again in my own life, when I got it back.

For the first time since all this had begun, I really felt that would happen.

I wasn’t as wound up as I thought I might be; even after the nap that afternoon, both I and the body I was in decided that sleep might be possible. Hunter assured me that he, too, would sneak a bit more sleep. “We have a good crew on the job tonight,” he said with a lazy smile. “I don’t have to be in on all the fun.”

Back in my room, I asked the air, “Anyone listening?”

Silence, which surprised me a little. Then again, I was safe in the complex, so there wasn’t any particular need for me to be monitored. I readied myself for bed, feeling the weariness and aches of the dog’s body; Rawlins wasn’t used to this sort of thing, and although he wasn’t really old, he had a touch of what I suspected was arthritis or something similar. Joints can creak under the best of circumstances, and stress makes it worse. I thought of myself as an interloper, and the strange image of the dog’s body being like a borrowed car came to me. I did my best to massage his hindpaws, and I tried some of my stretches on him, very gently, hoping to help his muscles relax.

“Comm check.”

The female voice wasn’t one I recognized. “I can hear you. Have we met?”

“Barely,” the voice chuckled. “I’m Romy. Did you need something?”

“I was thinking of that relaxing pulse that Miranda introduced me to. I wasn’t sure if someone was listening all the time.”

“When active in the field, operatives are always monitored. Otherwise, there’s only passive listening by an AI. You weren’t given those codewords?”

“No; I didn’t know this.”

“When you’re alone, in a safe situation, say ‘Comm check,’ just like we do. That will trigger the AI to send a passive signal, and someone will get back to you as quickly as possible, never more than thirty seconds. If you find yourself in danger, say ‘Red alert’.”

“Seriously?”

“Easy to remember, and it works. The AI will sound the alarm, and you’ll have contact in five seconds or less.”

“You folks have thought of everything.”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it.” The voice smiled in my ear, or my nerve, or whatever. “Would you like to try the pulse?”

“If you’d be so kind, please.”

“My pleasure.”

The barely-audible pulse began, and I arranged myself under the covers. Like the night before, I tried to let my mind wander around as many innocuous thoughts as possible, wondering what sort of memories I’d get when I was reunited with myself. The idea was laughable, but I didn’t laugh. Somewhere around the time that I was hoping my hijacker was treating my body fairly, I slipped into sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Miranda’s voice whispered me awake, and my means of guessing what time it was came from a bladder that was requesting permission to blow ballast. I had to have slept a good while, yet my disembodied voice alarm assured me that all was well. I made arrangements for a shower and fresh clothes, to make myself presentable before I checked in with anyone else.

Andrew found me as I exited the room. “Welcome to Sunday morning,” he smiled at me. “Do you have any observances that you attend regularly?”

“No,” I admitted, unsure of the reception the comment might receive. “Do you?”

The human doctor shook his head. “Raised Presbyterian, as you might guess from the Scots name and origins. My family encouraged it, but it didn’t seem to take with me.” His smile warmed again. “I doubt that we could risk your attending church properly, but there’s more than one chaplain around the area.”

“I’m not against expressing gratitude for a good breakfast.” I grinned at him, and he returned the compliment.

“Great minds,” he said, leading the way down the hall.

We were about to tuck into a hearty breakfast when we were joined by Kayleigh, Hunter, and a tall, lean, black-skinned human male who introduced himself as Collin. The three of them pulled chairs up to the table, and the sable took his cue.

“Last night’s crew did particularly well,” he said. “I’ll let Collin tell you the good bits.”

“It was all ‘good bits’,” the Black man said, showing a personable grin. “After all, I was on the scene, right?”

“And modest with it,” the doctor chuckled.

Collin laughed. “The tough part is the waiting, but that’s always true. We were in place by sunset, just in case, and they finally came sneaking around just about 3:30 this morning. Of course, that’s a good time for sneaking; if you run into anybody, they’re sneaking, too.”

“Good point,” I agreed.

“Well, we finally get wind of ‘em, and the three of us outside signaled the two inside with something really spy-sounding, like ‘heads up.’ Or, truthful, we whispered it to ourselves and the message got relayed to their neural links. Pays to be quiet.”

“In certain circumstances, yes,” Kayleigh agreed. She appeared to be ready to explain circumstances where being noisy was the better option, and Collin jumped in ahead of her.

“There was only two of them,” he continued, “and they stayed reasonably quiet themselves. Our two kept tabs, just watching. What they said later was that one of the interlopers was a big, thick Rottweiler, and the other was a geek.” He grinned. “The official description was a young, short, white-skinned human, carrot-colored hair, who just looked like the stereotypical nerd, including the thick glasses and freckles on his cheeks. He picked one of the workstations, fired up the Busy-Box, futzed for about 15 minutes or so, while the Rottie stood guard.”

“I’m guessing that’s Everett,” I said. “He and a G-Shep named Joaquim took me back to the apartment to get a thumb drive, yesterday.”

“Whoever it was, they didn’t stick around. Once the human had powered down the computer and stood up, they got themselves out of there, quick time. They nearly got noticed by the guards. I managed to make just enough noise to get the guards distracted, and the ‘criminals’ got away.” He snapped his fingers dramatically. “Shucks, what a durn shame.”

“Do we know what they took?” Andrew asked.

“That information came from the tracking program we installed in the server software,” Hunter chimed in. “Our own geeks, bless their happily high-functioning divergent minds, plucked out the specifics directly from the server, and another few corporate-minded specialists are divining the hidden messages that might be found there. We’re monitoring Novak and Company once more, to see what he’s going to do with it.”

“Apparently,” Collin added, “Novak is Catholic, maybe from his upbringing in the Czeck Republic. He has risen — can’t resist the pun — to dress and attend mass at the cathedral downtown. If that confession thing works, maybe he’s hoping to get a clean slate on his To-Sin List before he adds a few more to the pile.”

I let out a breath, trying not to make it into a sigh. “Sounds like there’s not a lot for me to do today.”

Kayleigh pet my shoulder reassuringly. “Another day or so, maybe, and we’ll get you back where you belong. Meanwhile, we can keep you entertained with some poker.”

“Nathaniel,” Andrew warned, “unless you want to lose every cent you own, I’d keep away from the poker, especially while you’re borrowing Mr. Rawlins’ body. If last night was any indication, you have no direct control over his tail-wagging.”

The human woman pouted at the doctor. “Spoil fun,” she accused.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As I predicted, the day did drag a bit. Hunter kept me updated on the deciphering of the data that Novak was interested in. The files were mysterious only in that they seemed to have nothing the least bit nefarious about them. Manifests accessed not only described items of no particular interest or alarm, their destinations were equally benign.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” the sable mused, reclining in one of the more comfortable chairs in the common room. “Naturally, we like it better if we find files labeled ‘Top Secret Bad Stuff,’ but today’s outlaws aren’t nearly so obliging.”

I had to snort a small laugh. “Are you always like this?”

“Trying to keep things light,” he offered softly. “You’ve got enough going on, and I thought I’d try something to break the boredom. Besides, I’ve been reading Dorothy Sayers recently. Save for a few cosmetic changes, I think I’d make a fine Lord Peter Wimsey.”

“Who?”

Hunter shook his head dramatically. “The barbarians are at the gates!” He smiled then, giving me one of his warmly inclusive looks. “Not to worry, Nathaniel. Either I’ll rope you into watching some of the British video series that were made of the books, or we can just move on from my silliness and find some answers here.”

“What answers?” My voice was quiet, despite my frustration. “It sounds like we still don’t know what’s going on.”

“Perhaps we know more than we think. What do you see in what we’ve uncovered?”

“I’m hardly an expert.”

“That could be to our advantage.” Hunter gave me a look that I couldn’t fathom. “Tell me what you see, Nathaniel. Talk it out with me.”

Exhaling forcefully, I reminded myself that I was, in my real life, a manager-level specialist for a bank, working with international currencies. I didn’t feel able to bring up more complete memories for my use, but I had the sense of being someone who understood the nature of processing all kinds of data, putting it into some semblance of order.

“Okay,” I said, not feeling the slightest bit confident. “I was hijacked by some rogue spy or other agent, one who has ties to weapons smuggling and such; presumably, he hijacked me to get access to at least one foreign funds transfer sometime tomorrow morning. Novak is notorious for any number of reasons, although I don’t know how he fits into the arms dealing. We know that Novak wanted information about shipping manifests, and he seems to have arranged for Rawlins to have gotten it for him… or, actually…” I paused, considering. “Rawlins knows Novak by reputation, at the least, and Novak knows that Rawlins was to get information… but we don’t know if Novak talked to Rawlins or if he talked to the rogue spy who had been using Rawlins’ body for a while.”

“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for.” The sable smiled warmly at me. “The barrier between an agent and his host generally works to protect both parties; the host is usually not aware of what happens to him during the time that the agent inhabits his body. In Rawlins’ case, as in yours, the on-the-run method of transference creates errors, leakages. We can’t be sure if Rawlins knew of Novak first or if some of the agent’s interactions leaked into the dog’s awareness, making those memories accessible to you.”

“This old dog’s been put through the wringer,” I noted. “First, the rogue, and now, me. He’s gonna need a vacation.”

“One of the few good things to come out of the bombing of his apartment: His job won’t fire him for the absence.”

I felt Rawlins’ fur twitch, as much my own reaction as that of the dog.

“We’ll help make it right,” Hunter said softly, “for both of you. I know time is dragging for you, Nathaniel, but every moment brings us closer, as does every insight. That’s why I’m asking for your help with this.”

There are a few things about me, I realized, that are so much a part of who I am that they are still present even in this peculiar state of affairs. I appreciate being wanted, valued, useful. I’m generally good with puzzles, as I proved when playing that game with the gemstone cards. And with all due respect to canines in general and Rawlins specifically, I wanted to get back into my younger, svelte, decidedly feline body as soon as possible. I huffed out another sigh and dove back in.

“We’ve got a rogue agent, and also Novak, mixed with international money exchanges and a bunch of manifests listing innocuous goods going to innocent locations.” I frowned. “All of this appears to be linked, but we can’t see how. Is it possible that they’re not?”

“Doubtful,” the sable observed. “Our rogue seems to have taken a ride in the dog’s body before jumping into yours.” His tone softened. “I’m sorry for the rough description, Nathaniel; I mean it only as a short form, to keep the thought together.”

I nodded my acknowledgement, and he continued.

“Our rogue appears to specialize in cash-for-arms. Tapping into your position at the bank, he effectively cuts out a middleman; he won’t, for example, have to hire, bribe, or coerce someone like you in order to get the money transferred. One less loose end, and a scapegoat to take the fall.” He leaned toward me. “We have you covered, Nathaniel. You’ll be all right.”

Something in me remembered to make the dog take another breath. “Okay. Yes. Thank you, Hunter.” After a throat-clearing, to give me a moment to recover, I offered, “When Novak found me at the mall, no one here knew who he was. I said his name aloud, and someone began tracking his information… or do I remember that wrong?”

“You’re quite right. Our agents in the field, the ones covering you, spotted his minions first, then focused on him, but no one recognized him.” The sable frowned. “Comm check.”

At first, I was confused since it was clearly Hunter who had spoken. He held up a forepaw as he saw the understanding dawn in my eyes. After some moments, he said, “Long, who’s on Research today, if anyone?” He smiled. “It’s Sunday, after all.” Another pause. “Good. Could you patch him in for us? Add Nathaniel as well, please.”

“Comm check,” I heard in my own ear.

“I hear you, Long,” I acknowledged.

“Patching Valdis in now.”

The familiar voice of the Latvian wolfhound held a smile as he softly scolded me. “That should have been the red opal triplet, not the green opal triplet.”

“Two out of three ain’t bad,” I chuckled. I had just managed to win that round of the card game last night.

“Another round later, if you want the rematch,” Hunter grinned at the voice. “Right now, however, what have we found out about our Mr. Novak?”

“Jakob Bartolom?j Novak, 54, entrepreneur of no single line of business that has been confirmed from outside sources. Czech, originally; naturalized citizen, definitely a bad boy, just never proved.”

“What sort of bad? Does he specialize in any particular vice?”

“A smorgasbord, if you’ll forgive me changing nationalities, and yet again if I said ‘anything for a buck.’ He doesn’t engage in anything to do with people, unless it’s to enforce cooperation from someone he wants something from. Smuggling; black market goods; possibly piracy, although not through brute force, more through manipulation of cargo, containers, and destinations.”

“That sounds promising,” I said.

“It would explain his interest in manifests,” the sable agreed. “Anything to indicate arms shipments?”

“Not that we can find.” Sounds of keys clicking, pauses where I could imagine the wolfhound waving his forepaws in the air, as I’d seen some computer jockeys doing when I first arrived. “His market doesn’t seem to be quite that black. He’s good at shifting things around, like shipping containers, tracking them, redirecting them.”

“He’s the guy you’d contact to make things look innocent,” Hunter suggested. “Anything more in the information that he took from Rawlins’ job?”

“Nothing incriminating, not yet, at least. This guy could wreak havoc on some company’s Christmas, with redirection of toys and games, but nothing on the level of getting weapons to terrorists.”

“Toys?” I said. “What kind?”

“From what I can see listed here in the manifests, stuffies, plushies, infant stuff.”

I wasn’t sure what was going through my mind, or maybe even Rawlins’ mind, but something was trying to weave itself into the pattern, and I just wasn’t seeing it.

“Nathaniel?” the sable called softly to me.

“Where are those shipments going?” I asked.

A pause from Valdis. “The original manifest had them going to somewhere in the Middle East, humanitarian aid kind of thing. The rerouting appears to be taking them to a small sub-Saharan country that is not exactly a player on the world’s stage, at least in terms of espionage.”

“In any other terms?” Hunter asked.

“They have pockets of issues, groups of bad guys carving out some small piece of territory, like every other country; the country itself is too small to have a national internal police force large enough to cover every small cluster of law-breakers, unless those small groups interfere in national affairs.”

“Money rules all,” the sable complained softly. Catching my glance, he said, “Don’t get me started on American imperialism; let’s fry these fish first. Do we have anything on our nefarious denizens of the region?”

“Nothing relevant to international shipping, so far as we can tell.”

“Valdis,” I said, “is the country land-locked?”

Hunter looked at me sharply.

“Yes.”

“Then these containers aren’t the huge shipping containers I’ve been thinking about. The type that line the docks to be placed on freighters and such. These are crates, the kind of thing that can be flown into an airport.”

More sounds of clicking, the sense of waving paws shifting screens full of information. “That appears to be correct.”

“How did you come up with that?” the sable wanted to know.

“Follow the money.” I felt a surge of pride at having figured something out after all. “Why send money before a job is done? To get something shipped out from here might take cash, but it would be a domestic transfer. I couldn’t tell you how I do my work; I don’t have enough ‘me’ here to go into specifics. What I can tell you is that my sole job is international transactions and foreign currencies. If I was hijacked with the idea that something is happening tomorrow, when I show up for work, what’s the rush?”

“You’re thinking that the money is going overseas, perhaps to follow the toy containers?”

“It’s just a theory…”

“A good one.” Hunter again addressed the air. “Valdis, has the shipment already been delivered?”

“Yes. There’s something in the logs of the shipping company that suggests there’s been ‘an error in shipping’ and, supposedly, there are preparations being made to get the crates to the correct location ‘as fast as possible’.”

“One of the many corporate ways to describe SNAFU.” The black sable stood, his tail making an agitated flick. “A shipment of infant toys was deliberately misdirected, ultimately to be put back on track to a location in the Middle East, in the name of humanitarian aid.”

“Whatever is going on there, it has to be paid for tomorrow,” I put in. “I can’t think that the payment is for the goods, especially if they’re only going to be shipped on to their original destination. Something… drug smuggling?”

“Not likely. The toys are too small to carry much product, and the crates themselves will be gone over carefully, due to their being diverted.” Hunter began pacing, which I’d always thought of as a human habit. “Our rogue is not known for involvement with drugs; neither is Novak. They could be branching out, I suppose, but that doesn’t feel right.”

“What you’re saying,” I mused aloud, “is, once a death dealer, always a death dealer.”

“Succinct,” Valdis put in.

“Then what’s deadly about infant toys and plush dolls? I’m guessing that most parents would know not to risk choking their offspring on small toys.”

“My brother’s pups had to be watched all the time,” the wolfhound chuckled softly. “There’s a period in any yowen’s life when everything goes into the maw.”

It was then that Hunter stopped pacing. His eyes grew wide, and he all but shouted, “Patch in Dyre!”

Perhaps 15 seconds elapsed, during which time I hadn’t the nerve to ask what was going on. The fur on my host’s body shifted and tried to rearrange itself any number of times; in my feline body, my tail would have resembled a bottle brush, but I couldn’t have said why I was feeling like this.

“Hunter?”

“Andrew, are you in the complex?”

“Taking a stroll, not far away. What’s needed?”

“Remind me,” the sable asked, “of the name of your colleague in virology?”

“Caedon Provost, do you mean?”

“Sounds right. If you can get hold of him, I need to find out if my idea is as far-fetched as it sounds.”

“Bounce it off me while I send a text to see if he’s available.”

Hunter went back to his chair and leaned back in it. “Viruses can be airborne or spread by physical contact with mucus membranes.”

“Among other vectors, yes, but those are two of the most common.”

“Which is why, during cold and flu season, the best thing for you to do is to avoid rubbing your eyes, unless you’ve washed your hands first.”

“Good rule of thumb… pardon the pun.”

Valdis’ words from moments ago came back to me, and I felt my eyes widen.

“I’m thinking of the time when the United States government trying to wipe out native human populations by providing blankets contaminated with small pox.”

“Hasn’t that been disproven?” I asked.

“The history is constantly being rewritten,” Andrew noted. “Haven’t you heard that slavery was a benevolent means of teaching skills to those who couldn’t afford schooling?” A bitter, frightening pause in the air. “I’ll get hold of Caedon right away.”

“Contact me when you can. Valdis, are you still with us?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell if there has been any bioterror activity linked to the city where the crates have been misdirected to?”

“Not specifically. Initiating further search.”

“And where is the intended destination?”

Short pause. “Gaza.”

The sable looked at me with a cold determination in his eyes. “Do you retain enough memory of your work, Nathaniel, to wager with me that one side of tomorrow’s money transfer will be in sheqels?”

…to be continued