Wait For No One - Chapter 6 - The Storm Breaks
#6 of FOX Academy 4 - Wait For No One
FOX Academy** :**
Book I - The New Breed
Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa
Book II.5 - The Love Who Spied Me
Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey
Book IV - Wait For No One
Chapter 6 - The Storm Breaks
Due to the poor condition some of the agents returned in the infirmary at FOX was well equipped. It even included facilities for Intensive Care and terminal patients. Chief of Staff Tancred 'Tanner' Williams stood outside this facility now, watching the figure under the sheet through the observation window. Beside him the party poodle Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche sobbed quietly and daubed at her reddened eyes.
"Will he live?" She asked between sniffles.
"For now," Williams answered, "but ..."
"Is there no chance?"
"No." The monitor in the other room seemed to agree with him as the line on its screen went flat for a few seconds before continuing to trace an irregular saw-tooth pattern.
"All those times we made love on my desk, under the desk, in the closet ..." She trailed off, closing her eyes and shivering in remembrance. After a moment she swallowed and opened her eyes again. "What will happen now?"
"He will be replaced." Tancred replied. "Business at the Academy will go on as usual."
"After all those years working together that is all that you have to say?" She spoke sadly as she continued to watch the figure under the sheet. "You are a hard one Monsieur Williams." Without another word or a glance his way she turned and strode from the observation room.
Williams stayed for a few more minutes, his cheeks growing steadily damper from a line of unnoticed tears.
* * * * * * * *
Marcel spent the early hours of the morning practicing at the local skate park in the persona of his cover identity, the professional skateboarder Anthony Foxx. The cover allowed him to move around the world freely, joining the international tour when convenient or scheduling 'goodwill shows' for those countries off the circuit. Practicing at the public park helped maintain a fan base for the persona. It also helped keep Marcel up to date on the street style he preferred over the more technical tournament style.
There were always a few kids hanging around the park, hoping that Anthony Foxx would show up. Marcel dutifully signed skateboards, shoes and t-shirts with a Sharpie marker he kept for that purpose, but declined to autograph the breasts of an obviously under-age rabbit doe when she presented them. He also ignored the phone number written on her chest.
After chatting with the kids for a few minutes he went to join the serious boarders at the top of the half-pipe. He knew most of them from the practice sessions, and a couple of them from before when he was just a street punk with a cast off board. Those that knew him as Marcel never mentioned his name change, hardly anyone on the street used their real name, and they would change them in an instant if a sponsor asked them to. They challenged each other perform increasingly trickier and more complicated shreds.
Marcel was trying a balanced landing on the edge of the half-pipe when his board snapped. It took finesse and a light touch, but Marcel had five kilos of Academy electronics and weapons distributed about his person and the FOX physical regime had put another ten kilos of muscle on him over the last two years. When he landed the laminated wood cracked, and when he pushed off it broke clean in two. Only quick thinking, naturally fast reflexes, and Academy training prevented him from castrating himself on the hard steel lip of the half-pipe. He converted the involuntary splits into a paw-stand and flipped into a standing position beside the other boarders. The small crowd of fans clapped in sympathy for the mobbed trick and in admiration at his recovery.
Marcel picked up the two halves of his board and made his apologies. He had not brought a spare with him. In fact, he was all out of the made-to-order skateboards. He would have to see Joel for more. Throwing his pack on his back he evaded the more ardent fans and headed back to the Central Experimental Farm grounds at a trot.
He found the lemur fussing over some passports that he was trying to copy. Marcel threw the broken board down on Joel's work table.
"I think I need a sturdier board, Joel." The black fox said. "This is the third one that's broke in two weeks."
"I told you that you were getting heavier." Joel scolded. "You should have moved up months ago."
"Yeah, but I find the thicker boards to chunky. They're not nearly as agile in the air. I guess that I'm just going to have to get used to them though."
Joel beamed. "Ah-ha! Maybe not. I've been working on a few things. Come with me." Joel led Marcel down the hall to an older section of the building. They entered a workroom that was small, dusty and poorly lit. This was where Joel cut and laminated the skateboards for 'Anthony Foxx'. Marcel could also see bits of leather, rope and a few links of chrome chain lying around, from Joel's other hobby no doubt.
"I've been working with some new materials I borrowed from Gus and Rusty." Joel explained. "Kevlar from the bullet-proof vests, resins from the armoured cars; that kind of stuff. I think I can give you more fore and aft strength and increased flexibility while reducing the overall weight." He picked up a rough green board with no wheels and tossed it to Marcel.
Marcel caught it carefully, expecting it to be much heavier, but it was very light. He twisted it to test its flexibility and was pleased with the results. He tried to bend it but found that he could not. Finally, he placed it on a block of wood he found on the floor and jumped up on it, landing with a foot at each end and all with his weight. He and the board bounced back into the air, and he flipped it 360 degrees before landing back on the block, perfectly balanced.
"Not bad." Marcel said with admiration. "But it's ugly as hell."
"It's just a prototype." Joel snatched it back, frowning. "I still have to trim it, sand it and paint it. I was thinking a black base with the Academy fox head logo in red. What do you think?"
"Uh, won't the Chief of Staff mind you using the top secret logo on a skateboard?"
"That's the beauty of it!" Joel exclaimed with a wide smile. "Because it's secret no one will recognize it as belonging to the government and the Academy can use it freely. We can get Hockey jackets with it, and ball caps and t-shirts." Joel was dancing with glee as he continued, his stripped tail whipping back and forth. "And the Academy can charge royalties for clothing lines and the other sports gear you're going to promote and ..."
"Whoa, whoa!" Marcel interrupted. "What other sports gear? I'm a boarder, plain and simple."
"Exactly! You are a boarder, but not just a skateboarder." Joel grabbed Marcel's paw and began pulling him to the back of the room, toward a large steel locker. "Your skills are transferable. You can ride any kind of board, I bet, snow board, surf board ... " They had arrived in front of the locker. Joel reached behind and threw the double doors open. Inside there was a series of boards made from the same material as the sample Joel had just shown him. But they were larger and more advanced in their workmanship. Marcel recognized the outlines of a snow board, and the one with the fins must be a surf board, he thought.
"Are you crazy Joel?" He asked, although he thought that he already knew the answer. "I grew up in the slums of Cabbage Town. The closest thing we had to a ski hill was when the garbage collectors went on strike and we used cardboard to slide down the mountains of garbage bags ... until they burst in the heat. And there ain't no surfing in Lake Ontario. The boards would dissolve in the acidic water."
"But the principle is the same." Joel insisted, pulling a snowboard complete with bindings out of the locker. It was as tall as Marcel. "I've got one for every style. They are stronger and lighter than anything on the market and the edges will never wear down. These surf boards won't snap in a tsunami and they are unsinkable. Silver could ride one, they are that stable. What do you say?"
Marcel was still sceptical, but with no snow in the forecast for another month and the nearest surfing beach several thousand kilometres away he wasn't worried about having to try them out today. "I'll, uh, think about it, okay?"
Joel nodded his head enthusiastically, his green eyes shining out from his black face. "You could take them to the Sea and Sky Surf and Snow tournament on Vancouver Island next week. The surf is up in Tofino and Mount Washington already has a hundred centimetre base. It's the perfect place to try them out and establish Anthony Foxx as a multi-disciplined, triple-threat all-season athlete!"
"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you, Joel?"
"Well ... yeah." The lemur blinked, temporarily taken back. Marcel decided to change the subject.
"Leslie got out again last night. During the power failure." He said casually as he pretended to examine the snowboard.
"What!" Joel sputtered. "That's impossible! What did the video .... oh." Joel looked sheepish. "No backup power, no video." Joel stared at the wall and bit his claws nervously as he thought hard. "I can fix that. We have some spare power cells for the emergency lights and some sensor strips from the intrusion system. If I can get some six gauge wire and two capacitors from the electric fence ..." Joel's voice tapered off as he calculated.
"Don't sweat it Joel. I'm sure that Vikki will be back in a day or two. Then she and Silver can figure it out." Marcel stopped, suddenly unsure as to whether Silver would ever be back. Vikki had asked Marcel to keep an eye on him for her and he didn't even know where the old fox was. He began to feel very uncomfortable. He and Geno had made promises to their fellow junior agent, and none of them seemed to be working out. Maybe, he thought, we should give Vikki a call. He pulled his cell phone out and dialled the Duty Officer number. Geno would be able to contact her quicker than he could.
* * * * * * * *
Vikki regained consciousness slowly. At first there was no sound, no vision, no physical sensations, just a sense of being. This was an improvement from the pain, buzzing and explosions inside her head that she remembered last. She savoured the peace for a few moments.
The memory of the violence before she passed out lead to her remembering more. She had been tasered by the platypus that she was supposed to be helping. Why? She could not remember that, not yet. She needed to focus.
There was a sharp 'clack' of metal on metal as something, heavy shears perhaps, were closed forcefully.
"I know that you are awake." Bardo Gaya-Dari's tone was matter-of-fact. He was not guessing.
"How did you know?" Vikki opened her eyes slowly. The room was covered in white tile that reflected the light from a bright ceiling fixture fiercely. The platypus was alone.
"Your right ear twitched ever so slightly when I closed the bone cutters." He moved closer, filling Vikki's field of view, and held something up. It was her robotic paw. "Interesting device you have here, from an engineering point of view. And very lifelike." He spread the artificial digits and manipulated a sensor inside the base to make the paw open and close like a child waving bye-bye.
Gaya-Dari held his own paw up beside it. Vikki had not noticed how large and powerful they were before. They were as long as hers, but twice as wide when spread, and the webbing between the digits looked thick and strong. Sharp curved claws completed the picture.
"People mistake us for vegetarians." The platypus continued. "But we are hunters, more so than you foxes. More like wolves, wolves of the water." When he pronounced the word 'wolves Vikki could see the boney plates that served as teeth inside his rubbery beak. She was reminded of the scrapes and cuts on the body of the rottweiler, Corporal O'Malley. He had died of drowning, not from his wounds. Like he was attacked in the water, she realized. A number of facts and observations fell into place, but the picture still did not add up.
"You are behind all of this." Vikki stated. "But why? What are you trying to accomplish? Why the extra dams, dikes, and levees?" Gaya-Dari continued to compare his paw with her bionic one. "This is some sort of scam to control the water rights after global warming turns most of the mid-west into a desert, isn't it?" He stayed silent. "A plot to control the price and distribution of electricity, right?" Still no reaction. She was getting desperate. "A secret missile base?" Nothing. Damn, she thought, evil geniuses almost always had a secret missile base somewhere. What's up with this guy?
Vikki looked around. She was dressed only in a loose robe of coarse material. They were in a room that looked like it could have been intended to be a kitchen, but never finished. There were stainless steel sinks but little else in the way of fixtures. There was a rolling table covered with the kind of tools a surgeon would use. She appeared to be strapped to a large display board set on a forty-five degree angle. There was a floor drain right in front of her. Vikki had a fair idea of what was in store for her.
"You can torture me all you want, Gaya-Dari. I'll never talk." Vikki needed to get the platypus talking. She knew that her only hope was to live long enough to find an opportunity to escape or be rescued.
"Oh, I don't intend to torture you for information." The platypus took notice of her finally. "I am going to torture you for fun."
"You don't want to know how much I've found out and reported back already?" She asked, puzzled.
"I don't think that you have found out much of anything and I am certain that you have not reported anything of consequence back. Nothing that will matter before the storms peak tonight anyway." He went back to examining her detached paw.
"But ... but ... reinforcements could be on their way to arrest you at this very moment." Vikki was flabbergasted by his lack of interest.
The platypus set the arm down firmly, an irritated look on his face. "Will you keep quiet?" He demanded. "I'm trying to look at this. I know what you found on the rottweiler's computer because I have had access to it from the start. I know what you sent back to your headquarters last night because I have your rooms monitored. I know what you found this morning because I can control the surveillance camera in the security office. I also know that you have no idea what it means because you do not have an engineering background. Your feeble attempts to guess earlier just reinforced that. The storm will interfere with all forms of communication tonight, so you will probably not even be missed until late tomorrow, and by then it will be too late. By then, events will be set in motion that will be irreversible. By then, I'll have what I want."
He was insane, Vikki could see it in his eyes, but that did not mean that he was stupid. She wracked her brain trying to remember how to manipulate someone like him, but she had very little to go on. He did seem to have an excessive ego and an arrogant sense of his own superiority, but should she suck up to him, feign ridicule, or disinterest? Using the wrong approach could have negative outcomes, sudden death being the chief one.
Chief ... the word struck a chord. The alligator's new name translated to Chief. Chiefs and Indians, leaders and followers, newcomers and natives. Hadn't Gold mentioned another project like this, shut down by the aboriginal groups of his homeland? This time all of his partners, backers and lieutenants were natives, not a European, African or Asian species in the bunch. Could this be some sort of political move? Was he seeking leadership of the aboriginal population? It still did not make sense. Here in North America they were a miniscule portion of the population and owned hardly any valuable land. Unless ... it was suddenly, and unexpectedly, part of a new transcontinental power generating system of course.
"So that's it." She said. "Your Indian buddies make a fortune in land speculation and you become a hero to your own kind, even if it's on another continent. Bardo Gaya-Dari, the great native engineer. Bet the boys back home will be kicking themselves for not letting you flood their desert, eh?"
She was expecting an intense reaction, either a fervent speech on the greater good he was serving or anger at those fools who refused to recognise his greatness, or both. She was totally unprepared for the fit her comment caused.
Gaya-Dari doubled over, he was laughing so hard. He could hardly breathe, but he managed to slap the table three times in mirth, making the scalpels rattle. When he finally straightened up, gasping for air around the last few chuckles, his eyes were watering and the lips at the base of his black beak were pulled into a wide smile.
"You think ... native pride ... my dams ... oh this is too much." He held his belly as more peals of laughter rang out. "Land!" He managed to spit out at the end. "You think that this is about land? Young lady, this is about territory, but it isn't about land." Gaya-Dari rolled the table over beside her and re-arranged the scalpels, cutters and probes as he spoke.
"Ever since the Europeans first left their continent they and their descendants have focused on two things: control the seas and conquer the land. After mistaking this region for India, and giving the natives here that unfortunate name, they moved inland, wiping them out and taking their land, but how did they move inland? Where did they find the native cities and wealth that they stole?"
"Along the waterways?" She answered tentatively, continuing with more assurance when he nodded for her to go on. "All the tribes lived along the waterways where food and transport were plentiful, but that was the easiest route for the Europeans to follow too." Now she could recall paintings she had seen of natives and Europeans traveling in huge canoes, made of birch bark, logs or reeds, depending on the region. And in the background, European-style villages rising, with streets, stores, and houses, all centred on the town mill. The towns grew up where the rivers joined, because a mill was essential, and the mills ran on water. Water, the original source of artificial power.
"They settled the land but they brought everything down to the water." Gaya-Dari continued her thoughts. "They raised cattle, planted crops and cleared the mighty trees but it all depended on the water. Livestock had to have access to water. Logs traveled by water to sawmills that ran on water. Grain was ground into flour by the force of the water. But you didn't understand the water, or take care of it. You built roads beside the rivers and forgot about them. You took all the fish out and let the lakes become muddy. You drained the swamps to create more land. And you shipped the people who you found living on the water to dry, barren reserves and left them to die. A cultural death if not a physical one."
"So, what then?" She had him talking, now she had to keep him going. "You become the master of the waters, the saviour of the continent and the hero of both peoples? Clean water and green energy for all? Or just for you and your ... friends?"
"It is not about energy!" He screamed in her face, spraying spittle all over her. "It is not about prestige. It is not about supplying you ignorant and wasteful species with more water to squander." He snatched up a scalpel with a long curved blade that looked like it would serve for filleting fish and looked around for a spot to begin cutting. Vikki was getting desperate.
"Then what is it about? Tell me! I don't ...I don't want to die not knowing." He looked up, hesitated. "Please, I have to know. What is it you are trying to do?"
"I'm colonizing, you silly vixen. The Europeans came to my homeland and destroyed our tribe and our culture and then they destroyed our habitat with development and pollution. It's payback time. But I'm not looking to establish a new homeland, oh no. I'm after creating new home waters."
Suddenly it all made sense. The geologic references, the plan to flood the Australian dessert, the tribes of water-dwelling species partnered up with the project, even the large number of platypuses he had brought here.
"You are going to flood the entire mid-west, just to have a nice damp place to live?" Vikki was astounded, and forgot about her own safety. "Are you crazy? You'll never be able to flood that much land before they stop you. Then they will just blow your little system up and everything will go back to the way it was."
"Oh, I'm not crazy Miss Beausoleil. I tried to take just enough for my people once before, and look where that got me. You can't go small on a scheme like this, that's what I learned. You need to consider all of the players, all of the angles. Who to pay off, who to take out, who to bring along for the ride in case you need a fall guy. And it's not just the mid-west. I'm taking the north-east of the US and all of industrial Ontario and Quebec too!"
Vikki remembered the double horseshoes outlined on the map. Ottawa was right in the middle of the one that surrounded northern New York State, southern Ontario and west Quebec. Leslie was in Ottawa! She struggled against her bonds.
"So, you are starting to believe me now I think." Gaya-Dari observed. "Do you know how fast water can move Miss Beausoleil? What do the victims of a flood always say on the nightly news? 'There was no warning; it rose too fast to get out'. Fifty centimetres of rain in six hours over one hundred thousand square kilometres of ground that is already inundated to capacity, flowing at an average of ten kilometres an hour toward a central catch basin only ten percent the surface area of the total ... well, you can do the math Miss Beausoleil." Vikki could not, but she could remember the pictures of the floods in England earlier that year. She remembered wondering how all that water had gotten there so fast.
"I've been building and filling reservoirs for months." The platypus declared. "I've been filling basins and cisterns and old mines until they overflowed. And it has been a very wet year, the ground could not absorb another drop. But tonight Hurricane Eunice is moving north and expected to dump a metre of rain as it passes. I'm going to capture all of that water, from the continental divide to the Appalachians, and direct it into my corral. Then I'm going to release all the water I've stored up outside and redirect every river between the Arctic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico this way. Not a drop will escape. In the centre, at Saint Louis for example, the water will be a kilometre deep in three days, while it's just lapping at the edges of Prince Albert. Later, the weight of the water will push the land down just like it did a hundred million years ago, and the new inland sea will spread. That outline you drew on your map is just the start of the world's biggest liquid ecosystem."
"You can't expect to get away with this?" She intended to make it a statement, but it came out as a question.
"Oh no? How long did it take the US government to react to Hurricane Katrina? Or to the flooding along the Red River last spring? They tell you that you are on your own for the first seventy two hours in the best case scenario! But they only think of disasters that affect a city or two at most. What happens if the government itself is one of the casualties? How do they coordinate relief to an area that covers twenty states? Their emergency headquarters were put into the same area I intend to flood because they were deemed to be the safest areas. So was the nuclear arsenal, the rapid reaction forces and the servers that control all of the government's communications and contain all of the countries corporate knowledge. The president will be shivering in a cold mountain cabin wondering why he can't get anyone on the phone by this time tomorrow."
"And as for Canada," he sneered, "the fact that Toronto is under half a kilometre of water won't make anyone other than Torontonians angry. And we can use the antennae on the CN Tower as a mooring post. No, both federal governments will be crippled and helpless. Anarchy will rule until the state governments establish control. And I have made provisions for them."
"You were partially right, land around our new territory will become very valuable, but we don't own it. We have made sure that it is owned by a group of developers that have never kept the best interests of anyone other than themselves in the forefront. They would build the next Disney theme park on their mother's graves after burying the dear old thing alive if that is what it took to seal the deal. And they are all major contributors to the current crop of dandies, prima donnas and figure heads that call themselves elected officials in those states. They will consul cooperation, live and let live, what's done is done. And they will be listened to because none of the surrounding state's National Guard has any Marine equipment or training, but my people do. One or two skirmishes should be enough to convince them."
"You have a high opinion of yourself." Vikki shot at him.
"Let me show you something." Gaya-Dari put his foot up on the edge of the table and removed his shoe and sock. "See this little spur here? Just above my ankle? It is as sharp as a cat's claw and as venomous as a snake's bite. That's how I took down Corporal O'Malley, a trained fighter twice my size. He was too big to kill with one dose, but the pain, the incredible pain the neurotoxin causes stopped him in his tracks. I have thousands of water warriors prepared. My entire clan of Platypuses, Armies of alligators, Brigades of bullfrogs."
"Battalions of Beavers?" She ventured.
"No. They are all in the engineering units. But enough of this prattle." He pawed at the instruments on the table. "Now, where shall we begin?"
Just then music filled the room, a bouncy little tune that Vikki found somewhat familiar. Wasn't it that what's-his-name song? The one they played when they 'Rick Rolled' you on YouTube? Where was it coming from?
Gaya-Dari reached into his pocket and sheepishly pulled out his cell phone.
"Sorry. Won't be a minute. Yes. Who? Why, yes she just happens to be right here. She's a little tied up at the moment though. Well ... sure ... okay, just a second."
He looked perplexed and held the phone out to her.
"It's for you."
"I gave your number to the sitter, in case of emergencies. I hope that you don't mind." Vikki apologised.
"No, no. I know how it is. Go ahead." He held the phone open near her head.
"Thanks." Vikki leaned closer to the phone. "Hello? Katherine? What? Oh, we're having a great time. No, you're not disturbing us. How is Leslie doing. No, that's normal. Its always that colour after he eats carrots. Don't worry about it. Sure, just make sure you dry him and fluff him good afterwards. Use the zinc cream if he has a rash, you know, under his tail and that."
Gaya-Dari began to look impatient. Vikki ignored him.
"Can you hold the phone up to him? Leslie? Hi snukkums, it's mommy. You be good for Miss Black and remember that mommy loves you big big big. You're my head guy. Bye bye Leslie." There was a moment of silence, during which the platypus flicked his digits in a 'hurry up' gesture. "Katherine? Look, I've got to go. I'm sure that you'll be fine. Right, nothing to worry about Miss Black. Catch you later." Vikki brought her head back to rest on the hard surface of the display board. Gaya-Dari closed the phone.
"Sorry." Vikki said. "It's the first time that I've left him with someone else for so long, and you know, I'm a little nervous about it."
"Sure sure. Been there, done that." He retightened the straps holding Vikki down, pretending not to see the tear in her eye.
"You have children?" She lifted her chin as he adjusted the belt that ran across her throat.
"Oh yeah. Three. Living with their mother now, we're divorced. You just have the one?" He finished adjusting the restraints and rolled the table with its load of deadly tools closer.
"Just one. I think that's it for us." Vikki watched in interest as he toyed with an array of scalpels, probes and drills. A loud knock came from the door.
"Damn it, what is it now?" He spun on the younger platypus that had already opened the door and entered.
"Excuse me sir, but you asked to be notified when the commercial reservoirs neared capacity. We will have to initiate the override very soon and you are the only one here with the codes at the moment."
Gaya-Dari's shoulders slumped in disappointment and he threw the large tweezers he had finally chosen back on the table. He turned slowly to face Vikki.
"It looks like you get to stay intact for our victory celebration." He picked up her bionic paw and looked from it to her. "Completely intact maybe. It could be an interesting challenge." He put the paw back down and backed toward the exit. He called to her as he disappeared out the door.
"I'll see you on the hunting grounds Miss Beausoleil."
* * * * * * * *
Two thousand kilometres away, Geno stared in confusion at the handset of the Duty Officer's phone as it beeped in complaint. The call had been terminated, but Geno was unconsciously hoping to get some more information.
She had just worked her way through a list of contact numbers for Vikki, starting with her cell phone and working her way through the office phone, the dormitory phone and the project's receptionist before trying the cell phone number for Vikki's contact, the head of the project. Whoever answered had passed her to Vikki. Geno had only managed to say "Hi, Viks, It me ..." when the vixen had cut her off and started babbling about Leslie. Then she had hung up before Geno could ask her what was going on. Finally, Geno put the handset back in its cradle and turned to the situation board.
The situation board was a large black panel with a few thousand LED bulbs embedded in it. The Operations Centre staff programmed it to show the contact numbers for key staff members, the missions that were underway, and the common code words currently in use. At the very top of the list was the entry for the duress code, the code words that would indicate that the agent communicating was not free to speak or being forced to. This month's code word was the name 'Katherine', and the conditions that applied to it were listed as 'Green', 'Brown', and 'Black'.
Using the name Katherine Green in a conversation meant that the agent was not able to speak freely, but that they were in no danger. Katherine Brown meant that the situation was confused and that the Academy should standby to help. Katherine Black meant that the agent's life was in imminent danger and rescue was needed immediately. Geno cursed and spun back to face the phone.
She searched for the button that would save the last call as a digital file with one paw as she flipped through the Duty Officer's guide book with the other. She remembered reading something about this sort of situation. She found the reference and turned to the checklist in the annex.
Save the call, check. Alert the Chief of Staff. Okay, there was a red button on the desk for that, check. Send the call to linguistics for analysis. She used the drop-down menu on the computer to do that, check. Contact other agents on the same mission and confirm their situation, advise them of the duress code received. Geno put the guide aside and grabbed the contact list, searching for Dongo Fett's numbers. There were only two, his cell phone, and the satellite phone in his vehicle. Geno dialled the cell phone first.
She was still trying when Gold strode into the Ops Centre soaking wet, demanding an update.
* * * * * * * *
The clouds moving in on Prince Albert that had threatened rain fulfilled their promise by mid morning. At noon the wind joined in and made getting about by vehicle difficult and on foot almost impossible. Dongo was thankful that Gus had modified the truck for better stability and handling, otherwise the stronger gusts might knock him over.
Micco Holata, the head of Project security, had called to cancel their tour of the local farms. He had sent Dongo on an inspection tour of the local dikes instead, something that took almost six hours. Dongo was not even sure what he was supposed to be looking for. All he knew was that his assigned route took him far away from the project headquarters, and cell phone coverage. He could not get Vikki on the phone and would not be able to see her in person.
Even the satellite phone in the truck was acting up. The skies must be charged with electrical energy, he supposed. Whenever he did get a signal he used it to autodial Vikki's cell phone and office number, they were the only two that he knew. She did not pick up either, and he did not dare leave a message. He still had no success by the time he got back to Prince Albert. His cell phone came back to life one he entered the town, and it pinged to announce a new text message. Dongo pulled over to read it.
It was from the Alligator, Holata. He wanted Dongo to meet him at the clubhouse when he got back. Dongo debated going to talk to Vikki first, but the clubhouse was on the way and if Holata saw him drive by without stopping he would be angry, and suspicious. He felt a phantom itch in his missing left arm and scratched at the metal through the material of his jacket absently while he considered it. Putting the truck back in gear he turned the windshield wipers to high and continued north.
The clubhouse seemed deserted. There was a couple of the security force cars parked in front, but nobody in the salon. Even Cindy the collie was absent from behind the bar. Dongo pulled out his cell phone and checked the message from Holata. It was sent less than an hour ago. Could he have beaten the alligator to the clubhouse?
"Cindy? Wendy? Misty?" Dongo called as he circled the salon and other public rooms at the front of the building. There was not even a whisper of response. It was early, and some of the girls might have gone to town before the storm came in, but where were the rest? Could they all be in the back rooms entertaining whoever had driven the cars here? Dongo ventured down the hall to see what he could find out.
The rooms were empty, their doors ajar. A check on a few found their dressers and closets empty. The girls had deserted, or been sent away. It looked like the project inauguration might mark either the end of the need for security or the start of a celibate period for the guard force. So why did Holata want to meet here? Dongo continued checking rooms.
He did not find a living soul, but he did find Misty. She was in her room, in the shower, hanging from the ornate showerhead by a stocking that was knotted tightly around her neck. The mink had lost her beauty in death, and her dignity. She had been treated badly before she was strangled. Dongo reached up with his metal arm to steady her as he cut the silken noose with his pocketknife. He cradled the limp body and carried her into the bedroom. She was still slightly warm and rigor mortis had not set in. He laid her on the big four-poster bed he had shared with her just the night before and covered her with the blanket that was folded down at its foot. He stood facing her, crossed his arms and bowed his head.
He heard the floor in the hallway creak before he heard the sound of several pairs of footsteps approaching. They were trying to be quiet but they were too heavy and unskilled to be silent. Dongo remained with his paws tucked into his armpits and his head lowered as they entered the room and fanned out behind him. He presented no threat, and they did not immediately attack him. He guessed that there were five of them, and from the heavy breathing the one directly behind him was Micco Holata.
"Why did you kill her?" He asked.
"Because she came on to me all friendly all of a sudden." The big gator said. "Why should she suddenly find me desirable, especially after making such a show of being in love with mister two-cocks? A little friendly persuasion and she spilled the beans. I had you figured for a cop all along. Now we'll deal with you like we dealt with your two female partners."
A cop, Dongo thought, he thinks I'm a cop. The alligator would therefore expect him to act like a cop. Cops had rules, cops needed evidence, cops threatened you and tried to arrest you. Unfortunately for Holata and his boys, Dongo was not a cop.
There was a thunderous noise, and the guards to each side of Holata fell to the floor spurting blood. Dongo's paws, one real, one metal, came out from under his arms with a smoking pistol in each. He dropped as he turned, bringing his artificial arm up to protect his head. Two bullets pinged off it and a third passed through his hat before he could return fire. The guard to his left was still foolishly standing his ground as Dongo's pistol swept past. Dong pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession and that guard's insides decorated the wall behind him.
Dongo had the impression of something green and scaly disappearing around the edge of the door. Holata had high-tailed it! But he could not follow, there was another guard around somewhere. If he was not in sight then he must be ... Dongo leapt straight up in the air just as several shots rang out from under the bed. The bullets passed where his legs had been a split second before. With the extra weight of his left arm as a counterbalance, Dongo flipped and twisted in mid-air to land full length on the bed beside Misty's body. Using the springy mattress as a trampoline he spun off the bed as more bullets ripped through it and buried themselves in the ceiling. Dongo landed on his chest with both pistols pointed under the bed. He was firing before he hit the floor. The fourth guard's body was jammed against the far wall by the force of multiple impacts.
Dongo stood up and surveyed the room. Outside he heard the sound of a car roaring to life and skidding out of the parking lot. One of the first two guards was only wounded. He did not have time to question or restrain the unfortunate creature. Dongo dispatched him with a quick shot to the forehead before running out of the room.
He ran through the brothel with his coat flapping behind him, his battered felt hat pulled down low, and a pair of pistols held out in front of him. He looked like a customer of a hundred and thirty years prior, when the brothel had first opened its doors in the frontier town. He was ready to cut down any opposition he encountered, but there was none. He paused at the door, peaking out the side window to make sure that no one was laying in wait. The porch was deserted. Only one car and his truck remained in the parking lot.
Dongo crossed to the truck at a run, holstering the guns through the slits in his coat as he went. He had the keys out by the time he slid to a stop by the driver's door and was in and going in seconds. He accelerated as he spun the wheel, pleased with the way the truck dug in and hove around in the wet gravel. A jerk of the wheel straightened the truck out when it was pointed north on the highway. He could still see the traces of Holata's tire tracks indicating he had gone that way. Dongo would have gone in that direction in any event, because of the alligator's statement in Misty's bedroom, "like we dealt with your two female partners."
Vikki may already be dead, but he had to find out.
The highway curved back and forth, following the slope as it climbed up out of the river valley. Dongo was able to cover the ground fairly rapidly, thanks to the modifications Gus had made. When the highway straightened out he was pleased to see that the black sedan Holata had taken was in sight, less than a kilometre ahead. Dongo shifted up and dropped the accelerator to the floor. The truck surged ahead, pushing him back into the padded seat. He let go of the wheel with his real paw just long enough to tighten his seatbelt. The space between the truck and the sedan shrunk rapidly.
Holata must have been startled to see the red and white Ford filling his rear-view mirror because he almost drove off the road when he glanced up. He recovered well enough and began to accelerate also, but the gap continued to shrink. The truck had power to spare. Dongo debated whether to ram the sedan or pull up beside it and force it into the ditch. While he decided the rear window of the sedan shattered and something chipped the glass of his windshield. A bullet. Thank God, and Gus, for bullet-proof glass. Two more shots dinged the glass before the alligator gave up. Holata began to decelerate. Was he going to surrender?Dongo slowed down too.
Dongo was lucky that he was sitting back in the seat with his arms straight out. Otherwise he might have broken his neck when the second sedan slammed into the back of the truck at full speed. Holata hit the brakes at the same time and the Ford was sandwiched between the heavy-framed sedans. Dongo was driven back even further in the seat and held there by the exploding air bag, another addition of Gus's. He was disoriented though, enough to drive off the road as the sedans separated from the truck and moved to ram him again.
Dongo shifted down and spun the wheel, fighting for traction. He thought furiously, trying to remember every gadget Gus had piled into the rebuilt Ford. Dongo tried them all between fighting the wheel to get back on the highway. The oil slick dispenser was jammed. The foreword machine guns were blocked. The flame thrower fuel was leaking and likely to catch fire any second. Why was it always the fancy options that aren't covered by the warranty that went first?
Dongo fought to keep on the road as the two sedans hammered at his truck. They must be reinforced too he realized. One lucky hit sent him spinning and he caught a glimpse of the other driver. It was a small alligator that matched the description of the missing Minko Imastabi. Had he been hiding out at the clubhouse the whole time, Dongo wondered?
Dongo's cell phone started ringing. He didn't dare try to answer it as he fought to straighten the truck out. After ten rings it fell silent. A moment later the satellite phone began to ring. It had a paws-free system, if Dongo could only free a paw long enough to activate it. He checked the position of the sedans, braked hard to evade one and then accelerated to dodge the other. The move sent him into a skid and he needed both arms to bring it out. He was ahead of the two cars now and he intended to stay that way. He floored it and reached for the phone. It went silent just as he pushed the answer button.
Dongo would have to lift the phone to use the call back feature. He checked the mirror, the sedans were behind him but not gaining. He checked the road ahead. There was trouble there. The highway curved left and then made a sharp 'S' where it crossed a small river. From this angle he could see that the river had flooded and was over the pavement already. The road could be washed out, and even if not, he would never be able to make the sharp turns at this speed. But to slow down would mean letting the sedans push him into the river.
Dongo decided to use the last gadget Gus had showed him back in Saskatoon. In case of theft or kidnapping, a code dialled on his cell phone would activate an immobilization system. But its similarities to On Star ended there. The vehicle would not simply shut down and coast to a halt, Gus preferred more dramatic results.
Dongo kept the speed up as he approached the flooded area, knowing that the alligators would have to match him or risk his getting away. He undid his seatbelt while the road was still fairly straight. As he drew close he steered with his artificial paw and entered the first few digits of the code with the other. He let the truck slow down just before the sharp curve, and the sedans lined up on his rear end to push him off the road when he braked for the turn. As soon as they were committed he entered the last digit, and bailed out.
He landed on his artificial arm, using it to absorb the shock of impact before going into a roll on the wet grass beyond the pavement. Behind him, all four tires of the Ford blew off and the chassis dropped to the pavement. The nose dug in and the truck flipped onto its cab, just as the two black sedans reached it. One swerved slightly as it hit and it glanced off to the side, disappearing into the opposite ditch. The other was almost centred on the truck when it hit, and it flew up and off it like a stunt car. The sparks cast by its passage ignited the spilled fuel from the flame thrower.
The sedan emerged from the ball of fire and smoke, just like a stunt car. Dongo saw the smaller of the alligators plastered against the windshield, his mouth open in a silent scream, as the sedan did a lazy flip in mid-air. The sedan landed hard on its roof, not like the stunt cars at all. Half of Minko Imastabi squirted out between the pavement and the hood. The rest of him was trapped inside, presumably.
Dongo crawled out of the ditch and stood up. The other sedan was several hundred feet off the road, also on its roof but not crushed. Dongo checked his guns before approaching it. He was down to only four rounds of ammo between them. By the time he reached it he knew what he would find. One window had been smashed out and a trail of flattened grass lead away to the riverbank. There were no traces of blood either in the car or on the trail. Micco Holata was alive, apparently unhurt, and probably armed. He was also in his natural element, the water.
Dongo made his way back to the truck, wary of the riverside in case the gator attacked from its muddy depths. The Ford was a write-off and most of his gear was still inside, burning merrily. Some wreckage had been thrown clear of the fire, and he dug through it, keeping one eye on the river and lifting his eye patch to use the other to search. When he was done all he had found was some camouflage clothing that was badly ripped, a few plastic garbage bags, a small tool kit for his missing rifle and a bag of cookies that Gus's wife had sent along. Gus had warned him about her cookies; she was not the world's best cook.
Dongo looked around. He was twenty kilometres north of town. It was another twenty kilometres to the project headquarters, where Vikki was probably already dead and maybe the Platypus too. There was no traffic on this road and the storm was intensifying. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere with an armed foe on unfavourable terrain with nothing but some plastic bags, torn trousers, two pistols, four bullets, and a bag of rock-hard cookies. Obviously he had to go after the alligator.
Dongo was a sniper and snipers stalk their prey. He removed is clothes, poked holes in the garbage bags for his head, arms and legs and got dressed again. Her tore the camouflage material into strips and used it to tie clumps of the local grasses on him. He made sure that he could draw his pistols cleanly, put the tool kit in one of the jacket's big pockets and the bag of cookies in the other.
Ready for battle, Dongo headed toward the river and the dike that separated it from the area the guards had referred to as the hunting ground.
* * * * * * * *
It was early evening in Ottawa when Gold called a meeting of the staff to discuss the situation in Saskatchewan. Kain Algorath was present as the incoming duty officer. Geno was there to represent the analysts and as the outgoing DO. There were also representatives from communications, linguistics and Joel from documents. Marcel was sitting in the back although he had not been invited. The Chief of Staff nodded to him, indicating that he could stay.
"We are almost all here," Williams began, "but before we start I have another announcement that I'd like to make." He sounded more serious than usual, sad almost, and everyone leaned in to hear the news. "You may have noticed a particular person's absence lately."
"He's dying isn't he?" Marcel spoke out. Several people around the table gasped. It was about time they discussed Silver's condition, he thought.
"Yes, to put it bluntly." Williams looked disappointed at how abruptly he had been forced to get to the point. "I just left him in the Intensive Care room at the infirmary." Marcel just then remembered that the big yellow fox had been friends with Silver for over twenty-five years. He hung his head shamefully.
"I'm sorry for you Gold. I know you two were close." Geno apologised for him. "Do you know what the cause is?"
"Just age and lots of mileage." Gold sighed. "He's had a long and hard life, it was bound to catch up with him one day. Still he has lasted longer than most. I don't think that he would have wanted it any other way."
Lasted longer than most, Marcel reflected. Certainly longer than any of the other senior agents, all the rest of the cold war crowd were dead or retired. But Gold made it sound routine, like he was a commodity that had been used up. Was this to be his fate too? A quick mention to open a meeting and then on to the next item of business? Well, nobody ever got famous in this line of work, except for that British guy. Still, he was going to miss the old fox.
"Will there be a funeral or something official?" Geno asked. Her mind was reeling. Intensive Care! Vikki was in deadly danger and Silver could be dead any minute. What would happen to Leslie? Maybe they could ... she glanced at Marcel. He was still looking down at his shoes, his eyes hidden, but there was a wet spot on the toe of one sneaker that had not been there before. She reached over to rub his shoulder and he sat up and looked around.
"I'm not really needed here." Marcel addressed Williams. "I think I'll go over to the hospital for a bit." He stood up and reached behind him to open the door, but someone coming in beat him to it. Marcel stepped to one side without breaking eye contact with Gold to let them in. "Is he, you know, conscious? Will he know I'm there?" His eyes were bright with moisture as he struggled to keep his voice even.
"Is who conscious?" A gravely voice came from behind Marcel. The young fox spun. His eyes widened in shock.
"Silver!" Marcel shouted. Silver winced. "You're okay!"
"Of course I'm okay. What are you talking about?" Silver looked from Marcel to Williams and back several times.
"Sir Wilber is in intensive care." The Chief of Staff explained for those who did not know. "He is not expected to last the night. The Minister will be making an official announcement tomorrow but I have been told that my post as acting Director will be made permanent." There was some polite clapping and mutterings of sympathy for the old walrus. None of the staff present had been at the Academy for long, and they did not have much contact with the reclusive Sir Wilbur.
Marcel and Geno looked stunned. Marcel turned back to Silver and looked his boss over. The older fox looked ill, and his brow was furrowed like he was in pain. Was there something different about him, he wondered?
"Hey," he said, "what's wrong with your face?"
"Those are glasses you idiot." Geno whispered harshly from behind, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I know they're glasses." Marcel spun on Geno, embarrassed that he had not recognized the heavy black plastic frames for what they were. He turned back to Silver, waiting for an explanation. Silver raised a paw to the glasses. Marcel saw that one stem was broken and had been repaired with black electrical tape. Silver saw where he was looking.
"Somebody stepped on my glasses." Silver said, shooting Williams a quick look. "Seems that not all of my headaches were being caused by you Marcel. These are only temporary, until the good ones are ready next week."
Marcel recalled the battery of tests that he had gone through when Silver brought him into the Academy. Your eyesight had to be almost perfect to be selected as a field agent. Unless you had unique skills, he thought, glancing at Kain. He recalled the photos of the former senior agents that decorated the walls of the lounge. Not a single one had worn glasses, not while they were serving.
"Are you going ... blind?" Marcel looked stricken.
"No. It's just common hardening of the lens from age, along with an uncorrected astigmatism. I've had the standard annual checkups, but I seem to have memorized the eye chart here. I've been compensating for years apparently. In the end the eyestrain was producing symptoms I could not ignore. The glasses reduce the strain and allow me to function again, somewhat."
"But this is like, temporary." Marcel said hopefully. Some agents became instructors at the Academy when they grew unfit, others became 'security consultants' in places like Iraq or Sudan. Marcel could not see Silver doing either. "You can get an operation to fix it, right?"
"I'm afraid not." Silver replied.
"But I ... but Vikki ... you can't retire now!"
"He is not retiring." Gold interrupted. "As of now he is the Chief of Staff." Williams waved Silver toward a seat at the head of the table.
Silver sat. "Let's review what we know." He began the meeting.
One by one they reported, starting with Geno who played the recording of the call to Bardo Gaya-Dari's cell number first of all. The forensic linguist commented on Vikki's choice of words and the stress in her voice. His computers had compared her voice to a sample in her file and declared that it was Vikki Beausoleil, she was under duress, and she was afraid, very afraid.
"And she was restrained when she was talking." He added "The phone was being held up to her. You can tell by the hollow sound that she had to turn her head to talk. However, she had enough presence of mind to give us a few clues. Her repetition of the word 'big' for example, and calling her kit her 'head guy'. Those did not flow off her tongue naturally. I think that she is trying to say that the head of the project is the one threatening her, and that whatever he is up to, well, it's big. And that we here in Ottawa are in danger also."
They discussed the idea, but none of them could see how they could be in danger. The platypus had not even been told what agency Vikki was from, and she would not have been broken enough to tell so soon. Silver motioned for the next briefer.
A squirrel from communications explained about the problems that the storm was causing with the telecommunications system, but concluded that Dongo Fett's cellular and satellite phones were both dead. Neither had sent their locator signals out in over an hour. Even with the intermittent communications that signal should have gone out at least four times in that period.
"So they are either turned off or dead." The squirrel concluded.
"And the agent?" Silver asked.
"There is no way of knowing." The squirrel shrugged.
"Joel." Silver turned to the lemur. "What have you found?"
"We had copies of the permits and plans for the project faxed over. Almost all of them have been tampered with. The ones filed with the Department of Public Works don't match the ones filed at the municipalities. The permits issued for one dike have been used for two or sometimes three different sites. It's going to take some time to unravel, but it looks like a lot more work was going on than we or the Americans knew about."
"Are the Americans helping out in the analysis?" Silver enquired.
"Where they can." Williams answered. "But the hurricane is their priority right now. It's disrupting their command and control systems too. At least they won't have to worry about floods this time."
"I'm not so sure." Kain spoke up. "Before I left last night I came across a network that connects and overrides all the existing hydroelectric and water control systems. I thought that it was part of a new international control system, but now I'm not so sure. What if this Gaya-Dari fellow is trying to use the flood control to blackmail? Pay up or lose Regina kind of thing?"
"They'd want to pick a more popular city." Silver mused. "No one would notice Regina was missing. Besides, there has been no contact made. You can't extort money from someone without telling them how much you want and what the consequences are." Silver pointed out.
"Unless you want to prove that you can do it first." Geno added. That made Silver pause to reflect.
"Alright." He said after a minute. "Kain. You get back on your computer and monitor that network. I want the night shift to dig up everything we have on this platypus and anything the allies can get through to us. Linguistics, go over any audio and video we have of him, get Doctor Gordon to help you work up a profile on this guy. Communications, communicate. I want a channel open to Washing and I want it kept open. Also, find out where Fett's last locator signals came from. That will give us a starting point. We'll need all of that imagery you found Geno, and more."
"I'll go see the Privy Council for the warrants we'll need." Williams spoke up. "That's my job now."
"And I'll see about getting some more bodies in here to help." Silver stood up, obviously finished with the meeting.
"Wait!" Everyone froze at Marcel's shout. "What about Vikki? Who are you going to send to rescue her?"
Williams opened his mouth to answer but Silver raised a paw and the new Director stayed silent. Operational decisions were the Chief of Staff's responsibility.
"We don't know enough for a rescue mission yet Marcel." Silver answered softly. "Going in too early could be disastrous, for her and for the mission."
"She could be dead already!"
"She could be, and nothing we do now or later will ever change that." Silver fixed Marcel with a stare so forceful he could feel it pressing him back. "You heard the linguist. She believed that she was about to die, yet she still managed to warn us, and tell us who was behind it. Do you want to throw away that advantage? It is essential that we know what Gaya-Dari is up to and figure out how to stop it before we act. We will save them if we can, if they are still alive, but Vikki and Dongo knew the risks when they took this job. The mission is more important than their lives."
Marcel matched Silver's stare in a silent challenge of wills. He wanted Silver to rip the ridiculous spectacles off, grab his guns and commandeer the next plane to Saskatchewan; with him in tow. He could read it in the silver fox's eyes that it's what he wanted too, even through those thick lenses. But Silver did not move, or blink. The rest of the creatures in the room were frozen in place, fascinated by the intensity of the contest. Time seemed to stand still.
"But when we go, you'll lead us?" Marcel broke the spell by asking. Silver did not reply immediately. He reached up and removed the ugly black glasses. Marcel saw his eyes lose focus. He squinted and rolled his head in an attempt to re-establish the powerful glare of a moment ago, but he could not.
"I'm not fit for the field like this Marcel. Without the glasses I can't focus at any distance, and the headaches would soon come back. I don't have any peripheral vision and I can't see close up at all without changing glasses, or wearing progressive lenses. The Academy has tried adapting tactics and equipment to compensate for things like this, but it is not safe. Not when we have such a small group. Speaking of which, with only you available for the field at the moment, the rescue, or recovery, will not be an Academy operation. We'll have to call in the Army's Special Forces."
Marcel began to protest but Silver silenced him with a shake of his head. "Now is not the time or place for this argument." He said. Silver put the glasses back on and looked around, noticed the rest of the staff was still there. "The sooner we get moving the sooner we'll know what needs doing." He reminded them all. They began to file from the room to their assigned tasks.
Silver turned from Marcel after giving him a warning look and went to confer with Williams. Marcel followed him and stood behind them, waiting to be acknowledged. After waiting for a minute he cleared his throat loudly. Silver turned to him, his eyes and his voice were calm but his brow revealed that he was upset with his protégé.
"What is it now Marcel?" He asked curtly.
"It's about Leslie." Marcel saw Silver's expression change to one of surprise. Before the fox could regain his balance Marcel spewed out the story of the elusive escape artist the kit was turning out to be. He even told him about recruiting Joel, and was relieved to see some humour in the grey-blue eyes when he recounted how the elaborate camera system had failed when the power went out.
"There's no mystery Marcel. The middle two bars on the railing are not solid. They are mounted on springs; you pull them up and out to remove them. It provides a gap for him to climb in and out during the day. He must have figured out how to remove them from watching us." Silver said proudly. "He's so meticulous, he probably puts them back before he leaves the room. Funny, eh?"
Marcel didn't think that it was funny. Silver told him how to lock the bars in place with screws mounted out of sight under the rail. Then he asked if Marcel wanted anything else. Marcel told him no, thanked him and left the briefing room. He had made a decision while talking with Silver. The old fox may have a higher duty but Marcel did not. He went to find Joel.
He found the forger in his lab, using the powerful graphics computers and software to reconstruct partial files from the packets that were coming in intermittently through the interference. Joel did not notice him, he was so intent on fine-tuning the process.
"Hey Joel." Marcel said when he was standing behind the lemur. Joel jumped five feet straight up.
"Jesus, you scared me!" He complained when he landed. His eyes were blazing with irritation, and then he saw Marcel's face. The hard line and lack of expression reminded him of the look Silver's face took on when whenever he was about to break the rules for a good cause. "Uh ... can I help you with anything, Marcel?"
Marcel's lip curled in a grim smile. "You still have those boards hanging around?"
* * * * * * * *
Marcel came back to the bedroom to find Geno lying on her side on the bed. She had removed her pants and he could see that the bright yellow thong she wore matched her hair.
"It's all fixed?" She asked lifting her brows. "He can't get out anymore."
"Not anymore." He said wearily. The sound of wooden bars rattling and a frustrated cry came over the baby monitor to back him up. Marcel slumped down on the bed, his back to Geno.
"You are going after her, aren't you?" She lifted one paw and rubbed him between the shoulder blades.
"I was going to tell you as soon as I finished with the crib. How did you know?"
"You've been moping about looking guilty since the meeting. And since you haven't been out of my sight long enough to get in real trouble I figured it was over something you were going to do." She reached down and produced Marcel's backpack from under the bed. It was full. "Do you have to leave soon?" She asked.
"As soon as Joel gets the stuff together. Then we have to wait for a military plane that Joel forged the orders to reroute." He leaned back into her caress. "I swore not to go out to the field again without you, Geno. Do you want to come?"
"I promised to take care of Vikki's kit until she came back." She pulled her knees up under her and used both paws to massage his shoulders and neck.
"I'm afraid you might hate me for going ... for going after her." Reaching back he rubbed one thigh. "You know, with how I used to feel about her."
"I know that you still feel for her, like she was your big sister." Geno leaned against his back and wrapped her arms around him. One paw drifted down to rest on his crotch. "And I know how you feel about me, so I don't hate you. You are their only hope of getting out of there. This is your duty. You bring her back home to her baby. You know that's what Silver would do if he could."
"I should be going." Marcel was feeling uncomfortably warm. Geno showed no sign of releasing him. In fact, her grip on his groin tightened and she nibbled on his ear before speaking again.
"It'll take Joel at least thirty minutes to here to pick you up." Geno's paw loosened its grip long enough to find the buckle on Marcel's belt and flick it open. The button below it came open an instant later. Her paw snaked inside the waist band of his jeans and found the opening in the front of his boxer shorts as if by instinct. Cool paw meet hot flesh and she wrapped her digits around something that was already pulsing with new life.
Marcel opened his mouth to protest but could only moan with pleasure. Geno had stuck her tongue in his ear and was wiggling it deep in the canal. She knew he could not resist that. Already the combination of ear snuggling and cock caressing had made him uncomfortably stiff inside his jeans. Geno was moving back and lowering him to the bed as she went. Her wrist was pressing back against the zipper of his pants, forcing it open. Her other paw was cradling his head. He struggled to speak.
"Okay ... okay. But leave me enough time to take a shower after." He gasped. Geno pulled her tongue out of his ear and smiled down on him.
"Don't you worry about that Hun." She twisted her paw and his prick popped out of his shorts, standing straight and tall. "I'll make sure you're ready to go." Her paw moved up and down on his cock as she lowered her lips to his.
Marcel closed his eyes to savour the sensations, but his paws moved with no need for guidance. She was wearing a white blouse that buttoned up the front and a black lace bra that was held together, he recalled, by a bow between her breasts. Marcel had quick paws. A moment later her blouse and bra hung loose and his paws were supporting her breasts, his thumbs circling the nipples as they hardened. Geno rubbed his chest through his t-shirt, but it wasn't the same as fur on fur. He released her breasts, broke off the kiss, and pulled his shirt up and over his head. Geno shrugged her top off, switching paws as she did so that the rhythm of her stroke was not interrupted. Marcel reached for the waistband of his jeans but she slapped his paws away gently.
"Later." Was all that she said.
Marcel lay back. Geno shifted around so that she was kneeling beside his shoulder, facing his feet. For an instant she sat above him, stoking his cock, and then she leaned forward. She kept going until her mouth was on the tip of his prick, and there she paused, rubbing it against her lips. They were moist, and warm. She parted them slightly and took the tip inside, probing the slit on its end with her tongue. Her paw continued to move on his shaft as she caressed the head of his cock with her mouth.
Marcel eased his arm from between them and ran his paw down her back, along her spine and onto her tail. It waved slowly from side to side in response. He repeated the motion, but this time he let his paw continue across her buttock and down the inside of her thigh. He felt her shiver at his touch. The next time he let his claws snag the thin yellow cord that held her thong up on her hips, and he pulled it down on one side, then the other. Only the pressure of her thighs pressed together was holding it on now.
Marcel slid his paw down her back one more time. As it passed over her butt he changed direction, sliding his digits into the open space between her sex and the tops of her thighs. He nestled them in there, his thumb between the cheeks of her ripe ass, his index digit pressed against her mons, his other digits gently urging her thighs apart. She shifted a knee and the yellow thong dropped to the mattress. Marcel began to clench and unclench his paw slowly, while keeping it pressed up hard against her.
Down below, she had progressed to hold half of his penis in her mouth. Her lips were squeezed tight around him and her head bobbed slightly as she took more and more of him inside. She had to lower her paw to the base at first, and release the shaft altogether eventually. She then put a paw on each side of his hips and straightened her arms for support, forcing her to crane her neck to continue devouring him. But she had such a long, lovely neck, he thought idly. Her breasts were hanging down and one was blocking his view of the action, so he raised his free paw and pushed it aside. His paw remained there, and he rolled the nipple between two digits as he watched her lips descend to the base of his cock. The nipple hardened again under his caress.
His other paw was getting a reaction also. The mounds of flesh on each side of her sex had grown warm, then hot, and finally wet. As they did they parted and his paw went deeper, still sliding along the slit from the base of her tail to the tuft of yellow hair on her abdomen. As it traveled it spread the moisture so that she was slick from tailhole to clitoris. Her hips moved in involuntary circles as her clit came out to greet his paw. Marcel was reminded of the way that kittens rubbed their heads on you; more so when Geno started purring deep in her throat.
He could feel the rumble of her purring where his cock was lodged in her throat. It was a sensation that he never felt with his canine lovers. Like the way she licked the inside of his ears, it was something he would gladly die for. He had to concentrate to keep his paw moving on her, he was becoming that lost in the sensation.
Geno let him stay there for another moment before she pulled her head up and back. His cock emerged slick and wet from her mouth. She stopped with her lips resting just on the tip, keeping it pointed to the ceiling. After drawing a deep breath through her nostrils she lowered her head again, her lips parting enough to let him in, but still tight enough to feel every bump and vein on the journey down. She reached the base, and the top was once again filling her throat. She paused again to let him absorb the vibrations of her feline pleasure. Then she did it all over again.
Marcel's balls twitched each time she reached the base of his cock. Watching her was bringing him close to the edge, and it was much too soon for that. He rolled his head right and released her breast so he could not see anymore, and instead found himself looking up at his paw as it kneaded her. I can do better than that, he thought.
He nudged her leg with his head and guided it back and over with his unoccupied arm until she straddled his head. He had to turn his busy paw as she moved and now his thumb was on her clit, sliding across it and into the wet cleft behind. Marcel lifted his head slightly and opened his mouth. He released her and brought both paws around to spread her cheeks as his snout settled comfortably between them. His lower lip found her clit, still hard and protruding, and he guided his tongue to it.
Geno's purrs changed to moans as he alternated between licking her clit and lapping at the lips of her vagina. Every few turns he would press his mouth hard against her and drive his tongue in as far as it would go and wiggle it about. He pulled her butt apart to allow him to get deeper, and he even dipped a digit in his mouth to moisten it before toying with the clenched orifice just below her tail. She pressed back against it, so he wet rotated it carefully into the small tight hole. He pumped it, one knuckle deep, as he dined on her sweet juices.
Geno grabbed the waistband of his jeans and shimmied them out from under him. There was a moment of confusion when his tail became tangled, but he raised his hips, driving his prick even deeper down her throat, and she was able to pull the pants off cleanly. She released his cock with a gasp, sucking much needed air into her, as she pulled his boxer shorts off. His erection bounced back up as the shorts went down and Geno caught it skilfully in her mouth before it slapped against his belly. She continued where she had left off, but she was moving faster now, with more urgency.
Marcel could tell that she was close to orgasm just by the way she flowed. If he concentrated on her clit now she would go off like a fire hose in his mouth. But her removing his pants made him suspect that she had other plans. Sure enough, before he could ease his digit out of her she sprang up and away from him, leaving him with his tongue sticking out comically. She spun on the bed, straddled his hips and in one smooth motion reached back, guided his cock into her cunt and drover herself down onto it hard enough to make his balls slap her ass.
Geno flexed her thighs, rotated her hips and raised her ass up several inches before slamming herself back down on him again. She did it again and again and again. Her paws were on his shoulders, holding him down. Otherwise he would have embraced her and sought her mouth with his. The best he could do now was to fondle her breasts and hold still while she bucked like a rodeo rider above him. He knew he could outlast her in this position because it made her clit rub against his shaft, while avoiding the sensitive tip.
He was right. With a yowl that probably woke several of Vikki's neighbours she sank down on him one last time and collapsed on his chest. She lay there, wracked by spasms that originated between her legs. Marcel felt the wave of wet heat pass over him and escape around the base of his cock to soak his balls before dripping down on the sheets. The heat felt good. He wrapped his arms around her as he dug in his heels. He pulled back until the tip was just at the entrance to her throbbing twat and then shot his hips forward in a series of short sharp arcs that made his cock pop in and out. The tender but tight lips of her sex slid back and forth around the head of his cock just where he was most sensitive. And although she was spent Geno responded, tightening her twat and rocking in time with him.
Marcel's balls seemed to fill and his legs shot out. He pulled her down on him so that he was fully seated inside her as he came. She clamped down on him and the spooge fought to get by, making it jet out in spurts that both of them could feel. For a few seconds they were one creature, sharing the sensation. They clutched each other tightly, frozen together.
They lay like that for a few minutes, staying as still as possible because even the tiniest movement sent almost unbearable tremors of pleasure through them. The only sounds were the soft babble coming over the baby monitor and the loud ticking of the wind-up clock in the hallway. The ticked reminded Marcel that he was on a schedule, and he sat up suddenly to look at the alarm clock on the night table beside the bed.
"Jesus, Joel is going to be here any second. Let me up so I can grab a quick shower." He struggled to get out from under her, but she was not cooperating.
"Oh, no you don't" Geno pushed him back down. "You pull your clothes on and go as you are."
"But ... but ... I smell, of ... you know." He said, confused.
"Yep, I know. And I know what kind of place Dongo has been laying his, er, head at." She was frowning down on him disapprovingly. "When you get back here the first thing you are going to do is march yourself straight back here and stand for inspection. And if I smell anyone other than me on you ..." She did not have to finish for Marcel to get the picture, her expression and the claw poking him in the groin said it all, but she continued anyway. "I'm going to hang our balls from the mantle of that fake fireplace in the living room on a twelve inch railway spike!"
"Geno, you can't do that." Marcel said seriously enough to make her expression change to one of puzzlement. "Vikki will lose her security deposit if you damage the fixtures."
If Geno had caught him the beating would have been severe, but just then the apartment shook as a tremendous thunderclap broke directly overhead. Lightning lit up the interior at the same time. Leslie began to cry loudly, and Geno broke off the chase to see to the frightened kit.
The storm is getting worse, Marcel thought as he pulled his clothes on over his damp, sweaty fur. A bad sign for travelers.