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Accepting his assignment, Jonathan Steed is bound for Turkey, where new friends and new foes await...

Part 2 of my newest story series. Hope you all enjoy it!

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The artificial smell of pine invaded Jonathan's nostrils the second he stepped through the door. Mixed with the not unpleasant smell of leather upholstery, it permeated the room whilst masking entirely the outside world from which he had stepped. His fur ruffled slightly from the cool air blowing from the industrial air conditioner above the door, sending a tingling sensation down his spine as it found the gap between his neck and collar.

Taking off his coat and hanging it loosely over his arm, Jonathan surveyed the modestly furnished room with a faint smile, knowing very well that looks can be deceiving. The inconspicuous nature of the mahogany paneled space, so much so that it could be mistaken for a reception lounge of a very cheap hotel, hid under its surface a world that over the years had thrown Jonathan more than he cared to remember. And he had the scars to prove it, not all of them physical.

Glancing down at his watch briefly, Jonathan threw his coat down onto the leather sofa next to the door and took his usual position in the middle of the room, arms folded in front of him and an almost bored expression crossing his muzzle as he watched the second hand tick past the twelve, making it exactly one o'clock.

A low hum from behind him caused the fox to swivel round on his feet, facing the opposite wall as the entire section of mahogany panel slid aside, revealing what lay beyond. No matter how many times he had seen it before, Jonathan never got bored of seeing his superior's office appear before him out of nowhere, as the panel slid completely aside to reveal the massive and well furnished space beyond. Whereas the reception area was bare floored, the newly revealed enclave office was luxuriously furnished with a thick shag carpet that was so thick ones ankles would sink right into it, and every wall was adorned with paintings and pieces of art that would put any museum to shame. Dominating the room was the huge oak table that sat in the exact center of the floor, and it was behind this that Jonathan laid eyes on his superior for the first time that day.

In complete contrast to the grandeur of the room Jonathan was now stood in, the small husky that sat behind it couldn't be any more inconspicuous. Dressed in a plain gray suit, perfectly tailored so not so much as a single fibre was out of place, and sporting a pair of thin glasses perched on the tip of his muzzle, Charles Wilton was the ultimate man in a suit. And yet despite this meager demure, Jonathan was in no doubt of the power the older dog possessed. For he was Jonathan's boss, as well as the head of MI6. With power like that, you didn't exactly need to stand out from a crowd.

"Good afternoon Steed. Please take a seat". Wilton spoke for the first time, nodding towards a chair directly in front of the desk with a single pad.

"Thank you sir". Jonathan smiled and sat down, ears flicking slightly at the sound of the wall panel sliding back into place behind him. Folding his paws in his lap, he waited for his superior to speak.

Wilton flicked through a sheath of papers laid out before him with a blank expression, apparently not acknowledging Jonathan as he neatly folded them up and placed them back down in front of him. Finally, his dull gray eyes flickered up at the fox.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your time off, and I'm sure you and Val will forgive me. But certain situations have come to light that require your urgent notification".

"I understand sir". Jonathan replied, not doubting for a moment the severity of the situation if it meant he had been dragged in at short notice. It wasn't the first time.

Wilton nodded slightly and cleared his throat. "I'm not exactly fond of dragging my agents in front of me when they should be enjoying their well deserved time off, but then again if I wasn't that fond of it I wouldn't have taken this job". The top lip of the huskies muzzle twitched upwards in what passed for a smile. Wilton wasn't exactly the smiling type, and Jonathan sometimes wondered if anything more than the lip twitch might cause the canine grave injury.

Pouring himself and Jonathan a glass of water from a nearby jug, Wilton stared directly at Jonathan. "A few hours ago in the early hours eastern time, a high ranking member of the Georgian government was shot by an unknown assassin in the main city of Tbilisi".

Wilton pushed a print out across the desk, which Jonathan took and lifted up for a closer look. On it was a picture of the dead official, a middle aged Dalmatian with graying fur.

"His name was Mikhail Vostovich, and prior to his death he was the defense secretary working closely with the Georgian government. As a result, its not surprising that tensions are running high".

Another print out found itself in front of Jonathan, this time showing a heavy looking doberman in full army attire. A thick moustache adorned the dog's muzzle, and judging from the numerous medals pinned to his chest, clearly a high-ranking member of the military.

"This is the man that the Georgian government is worried about, General Dimitri Koldunov. Heard of him?"

"Only from a few headlines, sir". Jonathan replied, trying to remember what little he knew. "High ranking Georgian general during the Cold War, defected to Russia in 1990, currently believed to be residing either in Moscow or Petersburg".

"That's the official account, the truth is a lot more complicated". Wilton removed his glasses and started polishing them with a handkerchief pulled from his lapel. "Koldunov was indeed a high ranking general in the Georgian army, one of the best in fact. But after the fall of the Soviet Union he became disillusioned with how the new regime in Georgia was running the country. Thought they weren't right in how they distanced themselves from Russia after gaining independence. So he left the army, and took up residence in the province of North Ossetia within the boundaries of Russia".

Wilson replaced his glasses back onto his muzzle. "But a few years later he began getting involved in the independence movement going in Ossetia at the time. You see, whilst the north remained a part of Russia the south became a part of Georgia. Koldunov became agitated when he saw the Georgians refusing to grant the province independence, and then when the fighting started he coordinated and trained the northern forces against his own country under the One Ossetia Party. Hundreds were killed, and Koldunov went into hiding when the war ended. Until recently".

Jonathan looked up at Wilson as the husky paused, knowing that what his superior was about to say was the reason he had been summoned.

"The Balkan region has become far more dangerous in the past few years, and the independence of Kosovo has opened a can of worms that has serious ramifications for the entire continent. The Russians insist that Ossetia should be granted independence, and up until now the Georgian government has managed to keep the peace. But we now know that Koldunov is still working towards gaining that independence. What we don't know is how."

"The assassination last night has come at a very sensitive time for Georgia. Koldunov's supporters aren't just in Ossetia; a lot of Georgians are now starting to support his cause. And the reason for that is why I've brought you here today".

A third print out was thrust in front of the fox, only this one was in colour and the photo took up the entire page. Taken from close-up, it showed a white furred fox in a form-hugging suit. Smaller than Jonathan himself, the fox could easily have passed for 18 due to his soft, youthful features. But the black fur around his eyes and the arrogant grin dragged attention away from those finer points, the photo almost sneering at Jonathan as it had been taken with the fox looking directly into camera.

"Richard Mason Straken. Former British resident, immigrated to Russia two years ago and worked in one of Moscow's more prolific media organizations. Obtained a journalist degree whilst still in Britain, and became known for his hard-line political leanings and xenophobic editorials. Up until last year he was still living in Moscow".

"What happened to him?" Jonathan asked, still eyeing the smug face of Straken staring up at him from the photo.

"Straken made a lot of enemies due to his species-ism, especially in Georgia when he began supporting Koldunov and his allies. When two non-canid students were killed in Moscow last year, they blamed Straken for inciting religious and racial hatred and threatened to charge him. That's when he disappeared".

"So what does this nasty little fuzz ball have to do with MI6, sir?" Jonathan asked, confused as to how exactly the entire story linked up in his superior's head.

Wilton cleared his throat. "Six months ago, we received intelligence that Straken had been sighted in Ossetia. We believe he was attempting to contact Koldunov. Then he was spotted boarding a plane to Siberia, and massive transactions between his overseas bank account and that of an unknown organization have been logged in the last couple of weeks. 100 million dollars exchanged hands whilst Straken was in Siberia, and that's far more than what you get on a journalists salary. We think Straken and Koldunov are working together in planning to assassinate key members of the Georgian government using terrorist contacts. If this situation gets further out of hand Steed, we could be looking at a political powder-keg that could spread into neighboring countries".

The gray canine stood up from his desk and walked over to Jonathan's side, sliding a small card into the fox's paw.

"We want you to locate Straken and interrogate him as to the whereabouts of Koldunov and the identity of his financial backers. You'll meet your contact in Istanbul at that address".

Jonathan looked down at the card, and his eyes widened in disbelief. On the slim white card was a rainbow paw print with the words "Erotica Club" in neat print long with the address. The fox stared up at his superior in disbelief.

"Erotica?"

Wilton's upper lip twitched as he patted the fox on the shoulder. "Our man in Turkey insisted on it. Apparently it's to avoid suspicion as well as ensuring his cooperation, and as long as you dress appropriately he'll fill you in on your objectives in an environment you will find...comfortable. His words, not mine".

Jonathan continued to stare in bewilderment as Wilton sat back down behind the desk.

"I trust you have something in your wardrobe that will be sufficient to meet his concessions?" the husky asked with his usual po-faced expression. Jonathan sighed and allowed a thin smile to cross his muzzle.

"I'm sure I have something. How will I meet this guy?"

Wilton shrugged. "He didn't say exactly, but you'll know him when you see him. Again, his words not mine".

Noting that the meeting had come to an end, Jonathan stood up whilst still holding the card tightly in his paw.

"Oh, and Steed?" Wilton called out as the wall panel began to slide aside.

"Yes sir?" Jonathan turned back round to face the husky.

"Wear something leather. I'm told you pull that look off well".

Jonathan wasn't sure how to feel at that compliment, but he was determined to find out who exactly was informing Wilton of his private kinks.

****

Fine art had always been a passion of Darius Sneider, the more expensive and grand the better. So it was no surprise that the vast office that the wolf resided in was adorned with more treasures of the artistic world than one cared count, paintings and murals depicting vibrant sunsets and lustful posing figures. Sneider always liked to come to this room to while away the hours before business called, which in his profession it often did.

Combing his pads through the soft black fur adorning the murring Labrador curled in his arms, Sneider drew a single claw across the laminated printout laid in front of him, a cruel smile playing across his muzzle.

"And this is the agent they are most likely to send?" the wolf asked casually, tracing the claw across the outline of the figure depicted in the photograph.

"Almost definitely sir" the gruff reply came, belonging to a muscular rottweiler in full combat fatigues that hugged his toned form.

Sneider clicked his tongue and flicked the photo aside with a casual flick of the wrist, before bringing his arm round to hold Stubbe's limp frame against his chest lovingly. The lab's naked form felt warm against his clothed body, and he couldn't help but tease him by scratching around his floppy ears, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from the snoozing dog.

"Well then, in that case we should inform the necessary parties. You may leave".

The rottweiler saluted and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sneider lifted up the receiver of the telephone on his desk and dialed in a number, shifting slightly to keep the snoozing lab comfortably against him. The dial tone rang only once before it was picked up on the other end, eliciting a smile from the wolf.

"Put me through to Carlos".

****

Harsh panting was the only sound that filled Carlos's ears as he leant back against the toned abs of the German Shepherd behind him, clenching his lower muscles to milk the rod impaled inside him for every last drop. He could feel the warm fur of the Shepherds lap underneath him, the feeling comforting and ticklish at the same time against his sweaty and overheated body. He winced as the dog released his shoulder from the hard mating bite inflicted on it, droplets of blood seeping into the jackals dark fur and adding to the myriad of sensation flooding his head.

His own organ continued to stand erect, pre trickling down its length and seeping into his pubic fur. He paid little mind to it as it continued to throb with the beat of his heart, desperate for release. Carlos always enjoyed the thrill of pleasing another whilst denying himself the pleasure of release. It kept him on edge and he enjoyed going for weeks at a time without release, the constant frustration merely a part of adding to the enjoyment of his sexual escapades. His tongue hung from his muzzle as he felt the Shepherd lick over his ears tenderly.

The blare of his mobile brought him out of his reverie, and the jackal had to lean sideways in order to reach it, the thick doggy pole inside him flexing and teasing his battered prostate as a result. Lifting the mobile to his ear, Carlos tried to ignore the muscular arms wrapping round his tummy from behind.

"Yes....I see....uhuh. The usual fee? Very well. I can make the next flight in an hour. I'll send my equipment ahead. Out".

Casting the phone aside, Carlos fell back against the warm body of the Shepherd, feeling the knot lodged inside him begin its slow deflation.

"You've got half an hour. So make the most of it" the jackal closed his eyes, and waited for the time he could dislodge himself and begin preparations for his latest assignment.

The death of a spy.

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