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The Courier Run

One of the most common questions agents ask each other is how did they end up in the spy business? Hardly anyone, myself excluded, ever grows up intending to be an espionage agent, intelligence analyst or assassin. Most never think of it until they are approached by a recruiter.

Analysts mostly come from the universities, although they might be recruited from other branches of the government. Agents that operate unarmed in foreign lands, collecting intelligence and recruiting sources either openly or under cover, can come from anywhere; from academia, from industry, from the military, to name a few. Language skills, cultural assimilation and quick wits are their key attributes. Armed couriers, saboteurs and assassins generally come from the Special Forces branch of the military, although a few of the larger agencies, like the former KGB, had in-house training for that.

Our agency was too small for a full-blown school of assassination, but it did provide a finishing course on the subject. Even though he worked over at the Headquarters now Silver was a frequent guest instructor.

But back to my story, or rather, Silver's story.

On several occasions the question of what he had done before coming to the Academy had been put to Silver. He usually answered that he had been in a Reconnaissance Unit in the Army and had been assigned as a courier at the office in West Germany where the agency's local detachment got most of their material shipped in from. He would then claim that his close association with the agency operators had lead to his recruitment.

One night when the drinks were flowing faster than usual a new agent asked Silver if he had done anything in particular to attract the agency's notice.

"There must have been a dozen couriers in your office, and I'll bet that they did not recruit them all." She speculated.

"No indeed." Silver replied after taking a long sip of his beer, a Czech Pilsner we stocked just for him. "Although all of us had some Special Forces experience and were selected based on a merit system most of them did not like being assigned there. By the end of the seventies things had calmed down considerably and courier packages were not being targeted like they were in the fifties and sixties. But Regan's election and NATO's build up in Europe changed all that. The west and the east were engaged in an expensive arms race at was more about economic endurance than firepower, and each side needed intelligence as to the true status and capabilities of the other's military very badly. We, the couriers that is, began transporting more and more material than ever before. Mixed in with them were the occasional intelligence assessment of the opposition's readiness; another valuable target. Sometimes the courier packages could get quite large."

The older fox had finished his beer and he fell silent. The younger agent took the hint and ordered another round.

When he had a full glass in front of him again Silver started talking. "It was a routine courier run ...."

* * *

Sergeant Auvert was a tall fox with broad shoulders and black fur that was turning prematurely grey. The numerous white hairs gave the impression that he had been frosted with silvery sparkles. It would have looked cute on a smaller, happier looking creature, but his muscular build and perpetual scowl prevented him from every being burdened with the title cute.

Auvert was in good shape from spending several years in a Special Forces reconnaissance unit. He scowled because of the name his immigrant parents had inadvertently burdened him with, a homonym for the male sexual organ. Auvert had spent the first nine years of school being teased and beat up by the older kits. Then his growth came in and he became the one doing most of the beating. Thereafter he was constantly in trouble over the intensity with which he defended his name, to the point where the school Guidance Counsellor, the local Chief of Police and the District Judge all recommended to his parents that the army might be a better outlet for his aggression.

After a few fights that served to gain the respect of his fellow soldiers and which drew only minimal punishment he earned the right to be addressed solely by his last name. An eager and talented warrior, he was soon transferred to an elite unit. There he continued to impress his superiors, earning a prestigious assignment at the Canadian Headquarters in Europe.

The position was with the office of Military Intelligence. Auvert was part of the security detachment for the section. They provided the muscle and the firepower so that the collators and analysts could concentrate on their intelligence work. They served as guards for the vault the intelligence operators worked in during alerts and provided escort and courier services when classified material had to be moved from one headquarters to another; in the days before inter-agency computerized communications networks that was quite a bit of material.

There were codes to carry from the Supreme Allied Command back to the Canadian HQ, intelligence reports to be taken to allies and others to be brought back. Classified briefs had to be brought to the offices of the intelligence agencies in the allied section of Berlin, to be sent on to the field agents that Auvert and the other couriers never got to meet, and on occasion there was material acquired on the other side of the iron curtain to be returned to Canada for analysis.

It was an exciting time, with the Cold War heating up again as Regan and a succession of Soviet Premiers faced off in an accelerating arms race centred on Europe. Business was brisk, and dangerous, as each side tried to out-spy the other. More than once Auvert heard the Intelligence guys whispering about operators that had gotten killed because they were caught in the wrong place or because their identity was leaked by a double agent. But the tall fox did not have a need-to-know for such information, so they hastily changed the subject whenever the hired help appeared.

Despite the fact that no NATO courier had been attacked in at least ten years they still went armed, and Auvert considered it only a matter of time before someone had to use their gun in defence of the courier package. If it was him then he intended to be ready. That was why he was standing on a shooting range in Ramstein with a heavy courier case chained to his left wrist and a piping hot coffee in his right paw.

More accurately, that was why he had joined the International Practical Shooting Confederation, or IPSC. He and several other Canadian Forces members travelled to the nearby allied bases to participate in their competitions. Some did so to climb the ranks of IPSC in hope of competing at the world championships one day. Others went out of a simple love for shooting. Auvert went to keep his skills honed and to practice with his personal sidearm.

Auvert used a Glock-17, a nine millimetre recently invented by an Austrian plastics manufacturer that had a milled steel receiver, an advanced rifled and honeycombed barrel and a plastic polymer frame, grip and magazines. The result was a lighter, easier to manage pistol that could hold seventeen rounds. It was durable, reliable in all climates and could fire cartridges loaded to twice the NATO standard, which gave it the same striking power as the larger forty-five. But that was not taken into account on the IPSC competitions - the nine millimetres scored the same as the forty-fives and the .357 Magnums for a kill but one point less for a severe or light wound. The only way to beat the guys with the big guns, therefore, was to not miss.

Auvert seldom missed, and so far he was tied for the overall lead in today's competition with only one stand to go.

The competition they were in had four stands, and this was the last one. The scenario was that the shooter was a courier that was about to enter the office he was delivering the briefcase to. As the area was considered safe the courier had grabbed a hot coffee on the way into the building and was carrying it in his shooting paw. A tall canvass wall served to block the view of the target area. When the double doors they had built on the range opened the courier would discover that someone had taken his contact hostage. This would be represented by two targets, one of which would have a diagonal red stripe to indicate that it was the hostage and not to be shot at.

The shooter that put two bullets in the kill zone of the hostile target. Whoever did that the fastest would get full points, and everyone else would score somewhat less on a graded scale based on time and score. You had to get two rounds in the kill zone to score full points, but you could fire as often as you wanted to ensure two good hits - only the best were counted - but the timer started when the doors opened and did not stop until your last shot, so taking the time to fire insurance shots would cost you on the time side.

It was a simple, quick scenario, complicated by the heavy briefcase that would slow and hinder a two-paw grip and the scalding hot cup of coffee in the paw that was needed to pull and fire the gun. The shooter had to hold the briefcase by the handle and keep the coffee cup at waist level until the doors opened. After that he could do anything he wanted with them, but the case would remain connected to his off arm by a short chain until after the shoot.

Auvert realized that it was nothing like real courier work. For one thing they never chained the package to themselves. If it got caught in a revolving door it could pull your arm out of its socket for one thing. Then there was the story of the courier who had been drugged on a train and had his paw cut off so the opposition could get the package intact. Auvert always wondered if it was a true story or some Hollywood invention. In addition to that, he would never hold something in his right paw when there was even a slight chance that he might have to go for his gun. Regardless, he would have to figure out how to deal with these complications before the doors opened.

Out of fairness, the competitors had not been allowed to watch the shooters that went before them, but those who had already finished were allowed to observe. Auvert noted that some had red marks on their wrists from trying to lift the heavy case and fire at the same time. Others had coffee stains on their clothing because they tried to shift the cup or forgot to dispose of it before starting their draw. None looked happy or satisfied, and they all looked cruelly eager to see another shooter screw up. Auvert was determined to disappoint them.

He ran options and scenarios through his mind at lightning speed as he waited for the range officials to get into position. It would take a tenth of a second to react to the doors opening and determine which of the two targets to shoot at. Throwing the cup clear in any direction would cost as much as two tenths of a second. That was how long it took the best shooters to draw and fire their guns, and Auvert was one of the best. By the look of their clothes and way they were nursing their shooting arms it looked like some of the other good shooters had risked a bad burn in order to get their shots off quickly. Auvert would have to do the same and hope that the shock of the hot liquid did not throw his aim off. Or, he thought, perhaps there is a way to avoid getting burnt at all.

Having worked as a Jump Master on high altitude exit - low deployment jumps Auvert knew the formula for objects dropping freely with only gravity to accelerate them. If he simply released the cup and let if fall t would be one metre in height times two divided by nine point eight metres a second which made the time from paw to ground about two tenths of a second. Just enough time, if he was quick.

His eyes were steady and calm, his breathing was slow and even, but inside Auvert was tense with anticipation. The instant the doors began to move his eyes sought out the targets and found the one he needed to shoot at. His digits spread ever so slightly as his paw pulled away from the cup, which seemed to hang in mid air for an instant before dropping straight down. It was barely out of the line of fire when his paw came back with the Glock. The safety built into the trigger meant that he did not need to fumble with a safety catch. His index digit found the trigger and squeezed while the muzzle was still coming up and forward. The bullet struck the hostile target before the paper cup hit the ground. Just as it did, Auvert stepped back with his right foot, moving it out of the splash zone while bringing the briefcase around in front of his groin to protect it. By doing so he was able to rest his gun on his left forearm for the second shot.

Auvert stopped there. The timer showed the elapsed time between the doors opening and his second shot as .310 of a second. The buzz from the crowd at the back of the range told him that it was the best time so far. Clearing and holstering his gun he followed the ranger officer to check the target. There were two holes in it, one just cutting the line between the bottom of the kill and the severe wound zones and the other in the dead centre of the target - full points. Auvert looked down. Other than a few drops of coffee on his jeans he looked the same as when he started the shoot.

The day ended well for him. His closest competition was using one of the big American forty-fives with a safety catch that added a fraction of a second to his time. Auvert won the stand and the completion, receiving a small plaque, a couple of free beers at the bar after, and an elevation to a higher class; not that any of that mattered to him. He did not even bother telling the other security staff the following Monday when they gathered for their weekly briefing and assignments.

One bit of intelligence that he and his fellow couriers needed to know was of any threat to their specific mission and the allied intelligence efforts in general, so every Monday they gathered in the conference room to listen to the Canadian Military Intelligence Liaison Officer for Europe, a gruff old canine named Colonel Bloodworthy, deliver a brief on the topic. The boxer always tried to wrap up the brief with the latest Counter-Intelligence information.

"We have reports of a new Soviet agent in the area." He read from the podium. "Well, not a new agent but one new to this region. It is a female of unknown species that specializes in interception and assassination. According to our source on the other side they call her the Preying Mantis, that is preying with an 'e', because she likes to mate with her targets before moving in for the kill."

"Why didn't they call her the 'Black Widow'?" A German Sheppard dog named McCoy called out.

"It would have been a marvellous choice," the Colonel shot back, "but Marvel comics already had the copyright on that one. In any event, we don't have as much as a description of her, but ugly and unimportant as you are, McCoy, you are unlikely to be a target. Now the Lieutenant will pass out your assignments for the next few weeks."

Auvert and McCoy drew courier duty for the upcoming month. Along with the scheduled routine runs to the Allied headquarters there was a special run slated for two weeks hence.

"It's a big shipment." The Lieutenant told them. "Six cartons at least, so get a Range Rover or something similar if you can. It's all going to Heidelberg."

"We carrying the material for some sort of top secret conference?" McCoy asked. There were annual gatherings where the allied nations compared classified reports, lots and lots of reports, but there had been one just a few months previously.

"No, this is all for the civilian intelligence guys. You know the ones."

They did and they didn't. The Canadian agency operating in East and West Germany was so secretive the couriers were not even allowed to know what it was called. They were not even supposed to speculate as to what it might be, on penalty of spending the next few years in the Service Detention Centre in Edmonton. They only knew that the local guy in charge, a red fox of Irish descent, was to be called "Mister Green" and nothing else.

"Think that Mister Green will be alone to pick this lot up?" Auvert asked as he studied the manifest of numbered cartons that held no clue as to their contents.

"I hope not." McCoy answered. "I don't want to have lug all those boxes up to whatever rat hole those guys work out of."

That weekend Auvert was hanging out at a small bar off the Marktplatz in the village he lived in. His German was good, it was one of the reasons he had won this assignment, so he fit in quite well, although he would have stay at least twenty more years before being allowed to sit at the regular's table. He usually came here for a few drinks before hitting the more expensive clubs in search of a female to spend the night with; one who came without any commitment. This generally excluded the daughters of the locals, still, there were a few that had intercepted him in the shadowed lanes between here and his apartment, on the condition that he kiss but not tell.

Auvert did a lot more then kiss, but he never said a word about those encounters, not even to the other soldiers at the base. He expected the local girls to be equally discrete, so he was somewhat surprised when a lovely female mink entered the bar and, after looking around, came straight to his table.

"Mind if I join you?" The creature asked. Her German had a slight accent, much like Auvert's, but different. He could not place it.

Auvert studied her. She was a curvy blond with a long luxuriously fluffy tail. Auvert suspected that the golden hue of her fur came from a bottle, as he could see some paler roots on her upper lip, where all European mink and some American ones had a patch of white fur. But the rest of her looked real enough under that clinging red silk dress.

He gestured to the empty seat beside him. While she settled herself Auvert raised a digit to the waitress and indicated that he would take another beer for him and a drink for the lady.

Their drinks came and he paid the waitress who was giving him a strange smirk. "New here?" He asked the mink.

She turned golden eyes that matched her fur on to him. "It is my first time in this particular bar, but not the village; I am a computer engineering consultant and one of my clients is a firm near here."

"Ah!" Auvert exclaimed. That was not unusual, the Rhein Valley was full of high-tech establishments. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?"

Her smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. "To be quite frank, I came here because I'm only in town for one night and I want to get fucked, I want to get fucked well. I do not have time to wait around and play games with young pups and kits who are likely to cum just trying to get it in. I'm looking for the kind of male that can hold his own against a real female. I've always found that it saves time to confer with the local ladies when seeking such a male. The girls that work at the firm I consult with were whispering about a Canadian soldier with a reputation for satisfaction who hangs out at this bar." She paused and took a long sip of her drink. "That would be you, would it not?" She punctuated her question with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, I guess that would be me. It's a strange tactic though, if you don't mind me saying."

"I'm sure that stranger things have happened to you." She said with a hint of a smile. It lit up her face, but Auvert's eyes were drawn to her ample cleavage and a single well-formed thigh that was exposed through the slit in her dress.

Yes, he thought, stranger things had happened, like that time in Banff. He shrugged the memory off in favour of the current reality and drained his beer in one long draught. "Let's go then. My place is just down the street." He had a one bedroom apartment in a small complex near the bus stop. He tried to recall when he had changed the sheets on the bed last.

"I rented a suite in the hotel next door." She replied. "It has a king-sized bed and a whirlpool bath."

Even better, he thought. He stood, came around to her end of the table and held out his paw to assist her. She left her half-finished drink on the table and allowed him to lead her out onto the street. He heard several giggles from the waitresses behind him before the door fully closed.

God, I hope she's not another transvestite, he said to himself, like the one that picked him up in Montreal one time. Still, he thought looking down on her wonderfully curved bottom as it rolled under the tight silk, I might be tempted to overlook a couple of things to get my paws on that.

She led him through the lobby of the hotel, ignoring the look that the night clerk was giving her as she picked up her key. They took the elevator to the top floor, the Honeymoon suite.

As soon as the door closed she turned and embraced him, offering her scarlet painted lips. He leaned down and took them with his, pleased at the way her smaller muzzle managed to seal against his long pointed vulpine jaws. His paws explored her through the sheer material and he was relieved to find that she was not packing any surplus equipment between her legs. His other paw found the tab on the zipper hidden under a fold of cloth at the back of her neck. He pulled it smoothly down to the base of her tail where it came free, allowing the material to fall from perfect braless breasts and gather about her waist.

He broke off their kiss and leaned further down to seal his lips around a nipple that was already erect and sticking out from the soft golden fur. As he sucked and teased it with his tongue he backed her up to the edge of the bed; the tub could wait for later. When the mattress pressed against her calves he pushed her back onto it, following her down without ever breaking the seal on her breast.

Things moved quickly after that. Her paws were all over him, tugging his shirt out from under his belt, plucking the buttons open, tearing at his trousers to free the beast that was growing beneath the woollen material. He let his mouth do most of the exploring, moving from breast to breast, occasionally going up to engage her in a bit of tongue wrestling or down to tickle the shorter fur on her belly. She had pulled her dress down over her hips to reveal lacy red silk panties. One of Auvert's paws was already underneath them, digits buried in her warm wet slit. The other was behind her, trailing down her spine to tease the sensitive spot underneath her tail before moving up to the base of her neck to start over again.

He felt her paw wrap around his throbbing member. Clear fluid was already dripping out of the hole in the tip and she spread that lubricating fluid along his hot shaft. It felt good, too good. Even after a few drinks he was in danger of embarrassing himself. He steeled his nerves and pulled away, inching backwards out of her palm until he was knelling on the floor between her legs as they dangled off the bed.

He eased her sodden panties off, pulling the dress along with them as he rolled them down her tick, firm thighs. He kissed her between her breasts as he did, letting his lips and tongue caress the line of fur that started just below them. They followed it, across her navel and down to where it met the thicker patch of fur at her groin. When he got there he lifted and bent her legs until her feet were on the mattress on either side of her sex and her thighs formed a wide 'V'. Then he bent his head to their junction and began to lick.

His long clever tongue explored her blossoming mound, drawing the inner lips out like fleshy petals. It poked between them to taste the sweet nectar that was already flowing and circled the hard button at its apex until it strained against him. Meanwhile his paws kept busy, caressing and massaging her thighs one moment, her feet the next. When she was moaning with pleasure he released them and reached up to do the same for her torso and breasts, never losing contact or slowing the pace of his tongue while he did. He kept it up until her mons glowed read with the blood that infused it and her hips started to rock involuntarily against his muzzle. Then he stood back and let his trousers fall to the floor, adroitly stepping out of them and kicking them under the bed, out of the way.

The mink raised herself up on her elbows to see him better. He was a fine specimen, firm and muscular and hard where a male should be hard, especially between the legs where she estimated a quite reasonable eight inches of throbbing pink prick awaited her. Before he could move in she took the initiative, raising her webbed feet to wrap them around his cock, rolling her hips to draw them back and forth along its length.

Her feet were soft, and she kept the sharp claws that tipped each digit well away from anything that might suffer damage. If the sensation of soft pads and fur on him was not enough to drive him around the bend the view of her laying back on the bed, legs spread to expose her open and dripping cunt was. He grew even harder as his prick tilted up, sniffing for its final objective.

He pressed forward, leaning over her and placing his paws on either side of her shoulders. She curled her spine as he did so that her feet never left his shaft as it homed in on her twat. She giggled as he came up just short, due to the feet pushing back against him.

"Ha!" She cried as he tried to move forward but failed.

He gave her a cruel smile, pulled back slightly and then used all the strength in his considerably thick thighs to drive his hips forward again. He succeeded in sinking his cock halfway in her silken, sodden sheath.

"Ha!" He exclaimed.

"Ha-ha." She replied as she wrapped her legs around him, locked her ankles just below the base of his tail and then flexed her own muscular thighs to plunge his cock balls deep inside her.

Auvert liked her spirit. He drew back, using his arms and legs to lift his weight off her until the head of his cock popped out from her tight twat and then let her drive it home again by the strength of her legs. They pounded each other in that manner for several minutes, each doing their part, neither tiring too much. For Auvert the best part was the warm wet sensation and the firm grip of her twat as his prick slid in and out. For her it was the way his cock stretched her wide and rode over the swelling flesh inside her. She had been close when he finished with his tongue and it wasn't long before the sweet friction and frequent bumping of pelvis against clit brought her right to the edge.

Auvert was nearing his climax also, the first of many that night he hoped. He had been on the night shift the previous month and had not been with a female for that long, so his balls were eager to dispose of the old spooge and refill with fresher stuff.

"Don't cum inside me, not yet." She ordered as his breath became ragged and he began to moan in short sharp gasps.

Auvert obediently pulled out, jumping up on the bed to straddle her as his prick danced in the air. One paw went to her groin where he sank two digits inside to rub the swollen flesh while his thumb made mad circles on her exposed clit. He had intended to rub his cock between her ample breasts until he came but before he could she leaned forward and took it in her mouth. Head bobbing in counterpoint to his thrusting hips, she let him fuck her face until his shaft exploded with spooge, simultaneously soaking his paw with a spurt of hot watery ejaculate.

She gulped down his load, never letting a drop squeeze out from lips that had sealed themselves around his shaft. She continued to suck and rock her head on skin gone super sensitive after his orgasm. He gasped and jerked at sensations so intense as to be painful, but did not pull away. Behind him, his paw chased her retreating clit back into its folds of protective flesh, tickling out a series of small orgasms along the way.

She finally threw him off with a laugh, rolling onto her side and curling up to protect her overworked joy button from his paw. "So, the local fräuleins were right. You are somewhat adequate." She teased.

He stood up from the floor where he had landed after she pushed him off the edge. His cock was glistening with her juices and still hard as a rock. He stroked it as he contemplated her lying there, naked and with patches of damp fur outlining the lovelier features of her body.

She ran a paw over her breasts and it came up wet from their combined sweat. "We should get the tub going." She suggested as she rolled onto her back and held out her paws for his assistance.

"Not yet." He said as he took her arms, but not to help her up. Instead he rolled her onto her stomach and grabbed her hips, lifting them until she was on her knees with her head and shoulders were on the bed. He lifted her tail away from the two holes it was protecting and laid it along her spine before dipping his digits into her still dripping twat. He spread the moist natural lubricant around and up, making ever diminishing circles centred on her tailhole. She smiled and snuggled down into the soft mattress as his thumb brushed against the tender ring.

"We can save the tub for later." He crooned. "I have a feeling that we're going to get a whole lot dirtier first."

At some point during the night she had asked him what he did for a living. He had admitted to being a soldier but avoided mentioning where he was currently assigned, as Colonel Bloodworthy had briefed all the new security personnel on their first day - operational security was paramount and bragging about your assignment will make you a target.

She had followed up with another question. "You Canadians are still using that old Browning nine millimetre pistol, aren't you?"

It was no secret, but the question piqued Auvert's curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"My brother shoots in the International Practical Shooting Confederation. He uses a Colt 1911 pattern .45 caliber with the extended ten-round magazine. He says that the Browning is underpowered and less accurate."

"But it holds thirteen rounds, compared to the Colt's standard eight, or ten with the extended magazine." Auvert countered.

"My brother says that it is only the first bullet in the kill zone that counts."

"I'll put one in your kill zone." He had replied, rolling her over. Gun talk was for the mess and beds had better uses. Since he had not mentioned his specific duties to her he did not bother telling her about his Glock, or the fact that he was allowed to carry it when on plain-clothes courier duty, which he did, along with two spare magazines in his belt. With one up the spout that gave him a total of fifty-two rounds in a fire-fight, and real fighting wasn't like the IPSC scenarios - the enemy shot back, for one thing. In order to move up on them one had to send a lot of lead their way to keep their heads down and throw off their aim. Of course, they would be doing the same thing.

The last thing that she had said to him before they finally drifted off to sleep was that she had to come back to village regularly on business, and that it was hard enough being a female in business without having a reputation for sleeping around. "Can I count on your discretion?" she had asked. Auvert assured her that she could.

When Auvert awoke the next morning she was gone, along with all her clothes. All that she had left to remind him of her was an imprint of her lips in red on the pocket of his white shirt. He thought nothing of it. They had had a good night on the bed, on the floor and in the big bathtub, but it had only been sex and lust and passion, no commitment, just the way he liked it. If she wanted to hook up with him again she knew where to find him, at least for the foreseeable future.

Auvert put his shirt on without bothering to clean the lipstick off the collar. His dry cleaner had dealt with worse stains in the past. Besides, it was Saturday and he had no duties until the scheduled courier run on Monday, so he could afford to take his time getting home and changing.

Thinking of the courier run reminded him that he did not have enough of his special ammunition to fill three magazines. He would have to go to the base gun shop and buy some more. And while he was there he could get in a little practice with the free ammunition they supplied to the security forces.

Outside the sun was shining, there was a pleasant breeze and the trees were full of early summer foliage and birdsong. Auvert was rested, sexually sated and still full from a late-night supper ordered from room service along with two bottles of wine. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day.

On Monday morning Auvert and McCoy arrived at the base transportation office at almost the same time. Auvert got out of his silver Firebird convertible and licked the crumbs from the pastry he had bought in his village bakery from his paws. McCoy stood with one leg on the ground and the other still inside his Opel sedan as he finished off his fifth cigarette of the morning and drained the liquid from a two-litre soda bottle. From working with McCoy before Auvert knew that the bottle would have been full when McCoy left his apartment, as would the bag of snack food that was now sitting empty on the passenger seat of the Opal. McCoy took in a lot of calories in the form of sugar and high-sodium, fatty snacks but he never seemed to gain weight. Auvert could only imagine what his heart and lungs looked like. The canine wasn't spending much time in the gym now that he was away from his combat unit either, but other than those vices McCoy was a good partner, friendly, funny and willing to do his share of the hard work. It was unlikely that either of them would be called on to run an obstacle course, although they may have to drive through one if there was another hundred car pileup on the Autobahn like the last time they went up to Heidelberg.

They went into the security office to get the paperwork for the task - the manifest for the shipment, their courier letter and, in the case of McCoy, his service revolver. Auvert had registered his Glock-17 on the courier certificate in case the Polizei pulled them over and asked why he was carrying a gun in their country.

"You bringing that plastic toy again?" McCoy commented as they signed the papers and the duty officer countersigned them.

"Yep." The gun had been approved by the Military Police and Auvert had already pointed out to McCoy that the Glock had performed very well in independent trails, so much so that Austria and Sweden had recently adopted it for their Armies.

"One more thing." The duty officer stopped them before they could leave. He slid a green plastic tubular device that had a ring like a grenade on one end over the counter along with a card for them to sign for it. Auvert recognized it as an incendiary device used by the Special Forces for starting small intense fires.

"What do we do with this?" McCoy asked as he signed for it.

"If there is any chance of losing the shipment you ignite the device and toss it into the back of the vehicle and run like hell." The duty officer told them. "I'm told that whatever it is in the cartons will go up in a very impressive fireball that you don't want to be part of."

"Cloak and dagger shit." The Sheppard muttered as he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

They picked up the car, a left-paw drive Range Rover, and proceeded to the airfield. Their identification and courier certificates got them into the restricted cargo area, where they were told to wait for a plane that was due to touch down momentarily. Once the aircraft was down and the engines were off they were allowed to bring the car to the cargo ramp, where a black bear from the Queen's Courier Service was waiting for them. They checked the boxes he had for them against the manifest and finding all in order signed for the shipment.

The two soldiers looked at the pile of heavy cartons, glanced at the burly bear, looked back to the cartons and finally returned their eyes to the bear. They lifted their eyebrows in a silent entreaty.

"Don't strain yourselves loading it all in your vehicle." The bear called down, declining their silent request for assistance. "They're full of paper, and you know how much that shit weights."

Auvert and McCoy hefted a carton each and made their way down the ramp to the Rover. The rear axel sagged significantly by the time they were done.

"Good thing I had the Breakfast of Champions." McCoy wheezed, tapping the package of cigarettes in his shirt pocket as he made his third trip back up the ramp for another carton. "Otherwise this may seem like work."

When they finally had the half dozen or so crates loaded Auvert closed the rear door, locked it with a heavy padlock and sealed it with lead tag that could not be removed without ruining the seal. It was a precaution against opportunistic robbers only. It would be a long drive and with McCoy's soda consumption they would have to stop at least once on the way. One of them would always be with the vehicle but thieves were known to sneak up and pick a lock to see what could be so valuable as to need one. Whether it was cash, electronics or secrets, there was a buyer for everything, especially for the latter in Cold War Europe.

Once they were on the road McCoy Started whistling and chuckling to himself. Auvert had come to recognize that as a sign that the canine had something to share, news of his latest sexual conquest or a rumour he had overheard in the halls of the headquarters. Auvert had learned that it was better to get it out of the sheppard sooner rather than suffer the increasingly more obvious and bothersome hints for the whole drive.

"So," The fox asked wearily, "how was your weekend?"

"Oh, I got laid. How about you?"

"I went to the shooting range."

"Exciting. I was shooting off too, but at a livelier target."

"Yeah, I've heard about you and Captain Kennedy." Captain Kennedy was a fit, tawny lioness who worked for counter-Intelligence. She had been seeing McCoy for a few weeks now, and did not seem to mind that McCoy was married. She had made a pass for Auvert also but he preferred to keep the complications that came with sexual relationships away from work. Besides being a lover she was also McCoy's source for office gossip from the classified side of the operation.

"Oh, it wasn't her." McCoy said, a little too nonchalantly.

"Really? Who then?" Auvert was only interested because he would like to know who else would be silly enough for fall for McCoy's line.

"My lips are sealed. As were hers around my smokin' hot barrel, you might say. But I promised not to sully her reputation, so I can't say anymore."

Auvert knew that McCoy would eventually recount his entire encounter in nauseating detail, perhaps only revealing who he was with at the last minute in hopes of shocking his partner. Auvert prepared to tune out the canine for the next few hours, but what McCoy said next surprised him into listening.

"Do you know why we are carrying so many documents on this trip?" McCoy asked. Auvert admitted that he did not. "It's because the secret agents had a little accident. Someone dropped a Molotov cocktail down the chimney of the building their offices were in. Maybe it was the owner just trying to collect on the insurance, or maybe it was the opposition trying to take out a few of the spy boys. In any event, all their records were kept on paper, highly flammable paper. These are the backup files from their headquarters in Ottawa, also on very flammable paper if the duty officer is to be believed."

Auvert thought about it. It made sense for the secret agents to keep their files in an easily disposable format, and paper was still the most reliable medium for record keeping. Here at the Military Intelligence offices they had dozens of filing cabinets of material that had to be shredded or burnt out back in case the balloon went up, but they were a lot farther from the front lines than the spies were. They also had a few small computers but their storage capacity was limited and the hard drives were a bugger to destroy, yet they seemed quite capable of garbling the information they contained all on their own, making paper backups a necessity.

"I suppose that you got that from Kennedy?" Auvert ventured.

"Hmmm ... maybe. But I got something a lot fun from someone else, if you know what I mean. It's true what they say about that touch of .... but I digress. My source tells me that the spies are worried that someone in either their organization or ours sold the location of their offices to the Soviets."

"A double agent?"

"Possibly. It would have to be someone who knew the exact address." That eliminated us couriers, Auvert thought. They always met Mister Green at a location rented for the occasion, in a different city each time. They had no idea here the Irish fox took the material after they dropped it off, and it would have been jail time for them if they attempted to follow the spy to find out.

Speaking of being followed, Auvert thought as he scanned the mirrors automatically every few seconds, there was a car a kilometre behind that seemed to be keeping pace with them. He asked McCoy to speed up gradually and watched as the car initially fell behind but then caught up gain, keeping the same distance as before. When they came up on a slower vehicle Auvert told McCoy to slow down rather than pass it. The tail car did likewise.

"Looks like we're being followed." The fox commented.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

That was true; couriers had been followed before. With all the locally engaged staff and uncleared personnel around the airfield it was impossible to keep everything a secret. They relied on scheduled check-ins and the hope that the opposition did not know how valuable the shipment was to keep them from getting too bold. But if McCoy knew what was in this one then others must also, the fox said to himself, and who's to say who else they told?

"Maybe we should forego the rest stops and carry on straight through to Heidelberg." He suggested.

"Fuck that. I can't smoke in here because of that fire hazard we're transporting and I have to pee like a bandit." McCoy whined. "We need to make at least one stop."

"So pull over on the side of the Autobahn."

"Naw, the polizei would freak if they caught us peeing on the fatherland and our regular rest stop is coming up. It's always crowded with families and business people. They wouldn't try anything there.

Auvert reluctantly agreed that the threat was probably negligible, but he insisted that McCoy pull up by the first washroom rather than park in the lot with the other cars. He did not say why but what he wanted was a clear field of view.

He kept his eyes on the car that he believed was following them. I kept a steady pace, catching up slightly as they slowed down for the exit ramp. It only slowed down after McCoy was committed to entering the rest area, but it did not follow. Auvert watched the Autobahn out of the corner of his eye as McCoy pulled up in front of the brick building with the toilets, stopping in the handicapped parking space. The car in question had slowed to a crawl in the outside lane beside the rest area. He could not make out the driver as it was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a coat with a high collar. He did see a flash of blond fur as he driver glanced in their direction, but any facial features were immediately blocked by a gloved paw holding something rectangular and black.

One of those new mobile phones, Auvert wondered, or an old fashioned walkie-talkie? If the latter, whoever the driver was communicating with would have to be nearby.

McCoy was already out of the car and halfway up the low-walled concrete ramp leading to the washrooms. He was puffing a cigarette madly and loosening the cap on another soda bottle as he went.

"Hey, McCoy!" Auvert called and the sheppard turned to him and raised his eyebrows but continued to walk backwards towards the toilet entrance. "Were you about to say 'that touch of mink' earlier?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothing, maybe. Just hurry it up in there. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Sure."

McCoy disappeared into the brick building. Auvert scanned the rest area. There were the usual week-day travelers, trades people on their way to a job in another town, family from the north with enough luggage tied to their car to indicate that they were moving, and a couple of pretty female mountain goats with Swiss tags on their vehicle. There were also four burly badgers in ill fitting suits at the table closest to the washrooms. A good place to ambush anyone coming or going from the regular parking lot, Auvert thought. They were not talking, nor were they looking at the pretty goats nearby. Three of them were just sitting there and staring at Auvert and the Range Rover as if Jesus was scheduled to appear in that spot soon and the forth was watching the autobahn.

Auvert spied a rectangular black object on the table and tried to make out what it was but one of the badgers moved a newspaper to cover it when they saw him looking. He positioned himself on the far side of the engine compartment to put as much metal between him and them as possible and loosened his gun in its holster. By parking in the handicapped space the couriers had the solid brick building at their backs and the wheelchair ramp to use for cover if they needed. He debated calling for McCoy but decided that he could hold them off should they attack before the canine was done in the toilet.

Auvert followed the gaze of the badger that was watching the road and was not surprised to see the car that he thought had been following them coming back the other way. Just as it drew even with the rest area it swerved, crossing the grassy median and the two lanes of pavement before bumping over the low curb that separated the breakdown lane from the rest area. It gained speed as it tore across the picnic area, sending panicked creatures fleeing in all directions. Auvert crouched, drawing his Glock, concentrating on the four badgers that were using the pandemonium as a distraction to charge the Rover.

Aiming for the centre of mass Auvert put two rounds into the chest of the nearest badger and the next before the careening sedan skidded to a stop between him and them. As expected, both badgers were driven back by the force of the impact of the hot loads before falling, but to Auvert's surprise both regained their feet and took up positions behind the sedan. They must be wearing bullet-proof vests under their suits, which would explain the awkward fit, he deduced. He would have to go for head shots if he wanted to reduce the odds.

He heard a noise behind him and he whirled around. McCoy was just coming out of the washroom building with a soda in one paw and a freshly lit cigarette clamped between his lips. A hail of gunfire greeted him. Auvert fired back, emptying his first magazine in an attempt to keep the badgers from taking good aim.

"Son-of-a-Bitch!" McCoy screamed as he spit out the cigarette and fumbled with the soda, passing it from paw to paw as he tried to decide how to hold it and draw his gun at the same time. He finally threw the bottle in the direction of the sedan and brought his Browning up in a two-paw grip. Auvert tried to lay down more covering fire but he was too late. There was a pair of booms and matching fireballs from the open passenger window of the sedan and McCoy was driven backwards in a spray of blood.

Auvert sent two rounds through the window of the sedan to keep the driver down. Two of the badgers, he could not tell if it was the ones he had hit earlier or not, took courage seeing the sheppard go down and rushed Auvert's position firing as they went. The fox waited until he heard the click of hammers on empty chambers before popping up and putting a round into each of their faces. He followed up with two more each just to be sure. He ducked down and changed position before coming up and spraying the sedan with bullets again. He was empty again. Auvert dumped his second magazine and inserted the third.

The driver's door of the sedan opened and the mink that Auvert had suspected was driving rolled out, taking a position behind a nearby tree. He had no doubt that she was the agent known as the Preying Mantis that they had been briefed on. She was firing back at him with a big Colt 1911 pattern forty-five and Auvert could see that she had the extended magazine in it. So much for a brother in IPSC. He tried to shoot the exposed paw and gun but the range and her habit of moving it in an unpredictable pattern defeated his efforts.

Killing two of the badgers had made the remaining pair more cautious. Auvert used the lull in the battle to slip back to where McCoy was laying, sheltered between the low walls of the wheelchair ramp.

"How you doing?" He asked the wheezing Sheppard as he examined him quickly.

"Just fine. Please tell me that the mink that laid me last night is not the same one that just shot me."

"I didn't see the one that laid you but it is the same one that laid me the night before that." McCoy had two holes in him, one on either side of chest high up by his shoulders. A couple of inches either way and one of them would have hit his heart. As it was he was bleeding profusely and one of the wounds was bubbling as air from a punctured lung escaped through it. Alternating between firing towards the sedan to keep the attackers' heads down and tending to McCoy, Auvert tore off his short and used it to pad the wounds before folding McCoy's arms across them to hold them down. Then he used McCoy's belt to tie them down firmly. The dog would live if help arrived soon ... and if the mink and her crew did not kill them first.

He fired off another two rounds and slipped back behind the Range Rover. He put a paw to the ground to peek under the truck and pulled it up quickly. He had placed it on the still smouldering butt of McCoy's cigarette. He brushed it aside and took a look. One of the badgers was peeking back from under the sedan. Auvert fired several shots and the scream that was suddenly cut off told him at least one had put an end to another opponent. His gun was empty so he let magazine fall to the sidewalk as he reached for another, but his paw found nothing, he had used his three.

The sound of the empty magazine as it took a bad bounce and clattered out onto the pavement was loud in the sudden silence.

"Hey, soldier!" The mink's voice rang out. Auvert had not told her his name, either of them, and had not bothered asking for hers. "You've done some good shooting, but I've been counting, and even if you grabbed both magazines from your partner's gun I believe that you are out of ammunition.. Surrender the shipment and I'll let you both live."

Auvert calculated quickly. She had assumed that they were both carrying their issued sidearm. Four magazines at the Browning's capacity of thirteen rounds was fifty two shots, but three magazines from the Glock held fifty-one rounds, plus the one he had put up the spout before leaving the apartment made fifty-two. Pretty good counting considering they were in the middle of a fire fight. She must have trained to tell the difference between the sound of different pistols, as Auvert had done for the assault rifles he might encounter on the battlefield. She and the remaining badger probably did not have more than a few rounds between them either but he doubted that she would just go and leave them, from what the Lieutenant had said about her in the briefing she was not in the habit of leaving witnesses that could identify her behind.

He looked around desperately. The incendiary device was still in McCoy's pocket and he could not hope to get there and back intact without some form of covering fire. But the only gun with any ammunition in it was McCoy's Browning and it was sitting on the sidewalk ten feet in front of the Rover. Although all the windows were shoot out the rover was still running as McCoy had left the engine on in case the police came along and Auvert had to move it out of the handicap space, but if he got inside to drive over to the gun the mink would shoot him through the thin metal door.

"What's it going to be fox? The papers or your life, and we still get the papers."

The voice was closer, just behind the disabled sedan. She must be coordinating the final charge with the remaining badger. He could expect them to come around from opposite ends of the car to split the target zone and increase their chances of catching him in the crossfire. He would have to go for the gun before they came for him.

He was about to dive for the Browning when a wisp of smoke made his eyes water. He looked down and saw McCoy's cast off cigarette, the last of the tobacco still burning. It gave him an idea. Pulling out the courier letter he crumpled it up into a ball. Then he pinched the butt of the cigarette between two digits and blew on it to make the tip glow red hot before he stuffed it in into the middle of the ball of paper. He tossed the smouldering ball into the back of the Rover, between two of the cardboard boxes.

"Okay!" He yelled as he sensed some shuffling about on the far side of the sedan. "You can have the shipment. Come and get it."

On the last word he leapt as hard as he could, rolling on impact with the pavement. He snatched up McCoy's gun as he rolled past it and came up in a shooting crouch with the gun aimed at the front of the sedan. Sure enough the last badger came out from behind it at a run. Expecting his adversary to be standing by the Rover with his paws in the air he was looking the wrong way at first. By the time he turned his head toward the fox Auvert's bullet was already on its way.

The bullet only clipped the moving target that was the badger's head and that only seemed to infuriate the creature. It turned on the fox worth a roar and stumbled across the lane toward him firing its pistol wildly. Auvert pulled the trigger three more times before he was certain that it was dead.

He jumped up and spun to face the Range Rover just as the mink he suspected was the Preying Mantis came around the driver's side. She had her big Colt up at eye level in both paws just like he was doing with the Browning. He squeezed the trigger again, felling the jerk of the bullet leaving the barrel just as fire and smoke erupted from the Colt's muzzle, and then the Browning was ripped from his paw.

Looking down he saw the twisted wreck of the Browning on the pavement between his legs and the blood dripping from his paw from some shrapnel from the bullet that had hit the frame. He looked up and saw that his shot had also stuck the Colt just below the muzzle driving it up into her face and cutting her forehead. But she had already recovered from the shock and was climbing into the driver's seat of the idling Range Rover. She gunned the engine, put it in gear and charged foreword directly at Auvert. He jumped out of the way, onto the concrete wheelchair ramp where the utility vehicle could not go. As she passed over the spot where he had been standing a moment before she stuck up a paw with only the second digit extended and cried "HA!" just as she had in the hotel room when she thought she had the advantage on him.

Auvert did not return the gesture, but he followed the progress of the Range Rover and noted the smoke coming out the shattered rear window. Before it was halfway up the exit ramp there was a flicker of flame followed by a fireball and a dull "whump". Auvert could feel the heat of the shock wave all the way back by the washrooms.

"Ha." He said flatly before turning back to see how McCoy was getting along.

***

"So," the new agent asked after Silver had finished his story by telling how he had kept his partner alive until the air ambulance arrived, "F.O.X. recognized your talents and recruited you out of the army. But did they ever find the mole?"

"Oh yes." Silver replied. "In fact, my recruitment was not finalized until the double agent was taken care of. The sanction became a sort of a entry exam for me."

"Tell me about it." She begged.

Silver drained his beer and slid the empty glass across the bar at me. "Not tonight, I have to go home and get ready for a concert my mate and I are attending. It's Tchaikovsky, my favourite, and I don't want to be late." He stood and turned to go, giving me a wink in the process. "But if you are here next Friday I'll gladly continue the story ... if you're buying that is." And then with a flourish of his bushy silver tail he was out the door.

"How many missions has that guy been on?" One of the students asked no one in particular.

"Dozens ... hundreds maybe." I answered.

"Jesus!" The agent that had bought Silver his first beer swore. "This is going to cost us a fortune."