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The Love Who Spied Me - Part II

Geno couldn't stop thinking about the fox Marcel. Was he a government agent or a deluded rich boy? She wasn't sure anymore. At first she was sure that she had stumbled onto a bona fide spy, then she had been convinced that she had been fooled into thinking that. The one thing she did know, she had not had an encounter so satisfying before or since, and it had left her wanting more.

She had tried to forget him, God how she'd tried. At first she called in male friends who had satisfied her in the past, but she couldn't help comparing them to Marcel; the air of danger that hung about him, the sense of innocence in his lovemaking. Next she hit the clubs, picking up large aggressive males, sometimes two at a time. When that didn't work she went for the strong silent types; still nothing. Thinking it may have been his species she concentrated on foxes, then little foxes, then little black-furred foxes. Nothing worked, although there were a lot of happy little black foxes in Ottawa for a time. She didn't see Marcel anywhere.

Lately she had taken to drinking a lot and sleeping with anything and anyone, and while she still enjoyed the sex, it only highlighted the empty space inside her. She began to drift into fits of depression.

It had gotten to the point where her new boss, a kindly, older fellow that the new owners had hired, was showing some concern. One day he found her in the back of the video store digging a knife repeatedly into the surface of a wooden table they used to sort out the mismatched DVDs. She had carved Marcel's name and the FOX logo from the card she found in his hoodie into the table. Mr. Black had seen her doodling the name before, but this was the first time he had seen her draw the logo.

"What's wrong girl? You look like your mate has just left for Afghanistan, but I don't think that that is the case."

Geno looked up at Mr. Black. He was a mix of African Fennec and North-American Red Fox, in his sixties, with a quiet authority and a ready smile. His fur was a glossy black all over. Unlike her previous manager he had never come on to her, although he kept saying that he would if he was 30 years younger. He wore a wedding ring and although she had never met her, he talked to Mrs. Black occasionally on the store phone.

He was a good manager, telling her what was expected and giving helpful advice while she worked. For the first time in any job she had begun to feel responsible.

Mr. Black was someone she could talk to, and she needed someone like that now, but not for something crazy like this. She thought back to that day in the alley, the attempted rape, the rescue, the discovery that Marcel was a spy, and the revelation afterwards that it all was an elaborate hoax. She remembered the lovemaking and how Marcel had made her explode with passion. She remembered how Dr. Silver seemed to have an answer for everything; but now she had her doubts, after all, the Doberman going to Vienna? Toronto she could believe, Detroit even more, but Vienna? Who the hell goes to Vienna?

Mr Black might have been able to tell her who would go to Vienna. After her encounter with Marcel, a junior agent with the secretive Foreign Operations eXecutive, the FOX Academy had bought the video store to use as a drop-off point. When they put out word that they needed a manager for the front business, Mr. Black, who had left the field five years earlier, was happy to come out of retirement and get involved again. Mr. Black was not his real name, there was no Mrs. Black, and he would jump Geno in a second if he didn't think that the Chief of Staff would hand him his ass folded into a tri-corner hat for it.

He was becoming worried not only with how her lifestyle was spiralling out of control but also with her obsession with Marcel. He was forced to report his concerns to the Chief of Staff.

* * * * * * * *

Back at FOX HQ the Chief of Staff, codenamed Gold, had read Black's report with unease. Marcel was turning out to be a promising agent and something would have to be done to protect his cover. He called in Silver, the last remaining senior agent in the Academy and Marcel's supervisor.

"Have you read Black's report?" Gold asked when Silver entered the room.

"Yes. I'm afraid that I underestimated that girl."

"How so?"

"After the incident I had Joel the Lemur run a check on her school records and they painted a picture of a lazy, self-centred, pleasure-seeking airhead. At first I thought that Marcel must have come right out and told her what he was, but he denied it in the debriefing session. He made some mistakes, but she seems to have worked the rest out for herself. She must have some natural analytical talent. That's what's keeping her from letting it go, the nagging doubts left from the bits that don't fit the story." Silver concluded.

"Some bits, Silver." Although Gold was his best friend he didn't let that interfere with his role as Silver's Supervisor. "Telling her that that brute of a manager went to Vienna; what were you thinking?"

"I meant to say Vancouver, but my brain was caught up in the psychiatrist role and it just popped out. Sorry."

"The worst part," Gold continued, "is that she's bound to see Marcel's picture in his cover as a pro-skateboarder. She's probably heard his public name already and just hasn't made the connection yet. Once she does she's bound to try to contact him, or worse, tell others about him."

"Can we work on her through Black? Convince her to move on, new town, new life kind of thing?" Silver wondered.

"Probably not. I had Dr. Gordon work up a profile on her and he thinks that she is unlikely to leave her job, her school and her few remaining friends. He agrees with your assessment of her analytical talents, by the way, and thinks that offering her some windfall opportunity would only make her more suspicious." Gold shrugged. "He's working on some counselling notes for Black but the best we can hope for, in his view, is that she implodes sooner rather than later. We can then use that as an excuse to hospitalize her long enough to let him work on her."

"You're talking about having Black push her deeper into depression by providing bad advice, maybe setting her off on a binge so that Gordon can brainwash her?" Silver's frown expressed his opinion of that tactic. "You risk her getting herself killed, committing suicide or drinking herself stupid before we can intervene. She's a citizen, we don't have jurisdiction. The oversight committee will have W for breakfast."

"You see another option? We can't grab her off the streets without a warrant, which we won't get. We can't turn it over to the RCMP as a counter-intelligence threat because they'll just laugh and tell us to retire Marcel from the field. We can only wait and see what happens."

"There must be another way." Silver mused. "I hate to see a good mind wasted, let alone being the cause of it." He thought for a moment then added, "Fortunately Marcel is still out of town on tour. Very little of it is being covered by the media so I'll have the techs interfere with her cable reception whenever she tunes into one of those transmissions. I'll also have Joel the Lemur search the Internet and the media servers and remove any images that show Marcel's face."

"That will only buy you a few weeks." Gold warned. "You come with me with an alternative plan with an 80% chance of success before then and I'll consider it. Otherwise I'll have to forward Dr Gordon's suggestions to W on their own."

Gold knew that Silver had only half-heard his final comment because the silver-haired fox had already started whistling Tchaikovsky's 'The Nutcracker Suite', as Silver always did when he was caught up in a plan, before Gold had finished speaking.

* * * * * * * *

Geno was kept busy at the video store. The two other part-timers had found other, better paying, jobs and the night manager had come down sick. As they were entering the summer and Geno had no summer classes Mr Black asked her to fill in for them all. The clientele had shrunk considerably since the switch to foreign films and there was less need for counter help anyway.

This meant that she had to come in early six days a week and work the cash to closing, then close off the till, prepare the next day's float and do the deposits. It was a lot of new responsibility for her. Mr Black stayed the first two nights to walk her through it, then he thoughtfully brought her supper, prepared by Mrs. Black he said, each evening after that. Although she insisted that she could take the night deposit bag down the block to the bank herself he showed up each night at midnight to escort her there. She was so tired by the end of her day that she turned down his nightly offer of a beer in the local pub and let him drop her off at her apartment instead.

Satisfied with her work Mr. Black raised her salary. With that and the overtime, she was making good money, enough to make a substantial dent in her student loan. She was also eating better, thanks to Mrs. Black's nutritious and delicious fare. She was getting a lot more sleep and drinking nothing at all. She began to take long walks in the mornings before work, even dug her roller blades out from under her bed. All in all she had not felt better or more clear-headed in years, not since leaving the convent actually.

She still spent a great deal of her time thinking about Marcel, but in her new-found state of clarity her brain could handle that while still processing other input; that's when she started to notice the little things.

Little things like how the 'in-use' light didn't light up on the extension when Mr. Black called Mrs. Black for example. He would be chattering away about his day and what they should do that night when she went into the storeroom, but the light would not be on when she got back there. She tried calling information when she was alone one slow night and left the phone on the counter while she went to the back room. The light was on, so it worked.

The next time he was talking to Mrs. Black Geno indicated that she needed to go to his office to get the deposit slips. He gestured okay and continued talking. When she was inside the manager's office she could see that he was still talking through the one-way glass, yet the phone in here was not lit up as it should be. Keeping her eyes on Mr. Black she gently lifted the receiver to her ear. Nothing but dial tone. She replaced it, almost forgot to grab the deposit slips, and returned to the store. He was still chatting with 'Mrs. Black'.

Another thing she noticed was his tendency to hang around the express return chute at certain times. The chute was situated so that they could see who was approaching it through the store window, to discourage vandalism he said. Usually they emptied the chute first thing in the morning and just after closing. Several times however, she observed Mr. Black hanging around the chute, checking out the people who were using it. On these occasions he would pick out a DVD or game that had just been returned and check the contents. Twice she was sure that he had removed something from the case before putting it back with the rest; a folded paper once and a disc the other.

Geno watched the deposit slot the next time he was doing it. When she saw him watching a particular person approach she placed herself where she could see the parking lot. Mr. Black inspected the DVD that the customer has left and she watched him drive off in a long black sedan, one with diplomatic plates.

The final tip-off came with the mail. Under the old management the only mail they received at the store were bills and advertising from DVD supply houses, popcorn machine sales and small business accounting firms. Whoever opened up simply took the mail from where it lay on the floor inside the door and put on the manager's desk. Mr. Black had changed that, he had installed a chute and catch-box similar to the express return, and he had the only key to its lock.

Now Mr. Black would empty the mailbox himself when he came in. Geno saw that he simply tossed most of the mail on his desk to sort through it later, but occasionally he would slip an envelope into his pocket, excuse himself, and leave. Geno's tail began to twitch with curiosity.

She examined the chute that he had installed. A plastic shield over the slot directed the mail down to an old VHS tape return box that had a wide, angled opening that tapered to a slot too small to put her paw through. There was a gap between the bottom of the plastic shield and the top of the opening however, about two centimetres, or an inch wide.

That night Geno slipped a square of scrap pressboard from an old display case between the shield and the slot. She arrived early the next morning to make sure that she got there before Mr. Black. The morning's mail was caught nicely in the sleeve of the plastic shield. Pinching the envelopes together as she removed the board she was able to ease them out of the sleeve without damaging them. A quick review showed her that this morning's catch contained only the usual bills and fliers. She dumped them into the box.

Trapping the mail became an exciting game. She could only put the board in place after Mr. Black left the store, difficult with him escorting her to the bank every night. She would ask him to wait outside while she set the alarm, sliding the board in as she bent to pick up her bag. She cut the board down so that it barely covered the slot and painted it to match the box, to make it less visible just in case he came inside afterwards for some reason. One morning he arrived at the store only moments after Geno did, just as she was about to shimmy the mail out of the sleeve; she had to dump them unexamined into the box and make a show of scrapping gum off the floor.

The game was paying off in more ways than one. Geno had to memorize what had arrived so that she could compare it with what was left on the desk each morning, all while keeping one eye on the door in case Mr. Black showed up early. The daily mental exercise combined with the rush she got from playing it unleashed hidden talents in her. Preparing the deposits became easier and she began to review the material from the classes that she had failed the previous semester, amazed at how simple it seemed now.

And the rush! Trying to act nonchalant on the nightly walk to the bank after slipping the board in under his nose, her heart pounding like she had run a marathon the whole time. The anticipation when she awoke each morning, the need to hurry in and check the mail. She was getting up earlier and earlier every day, but rather than give in to the need and rush right over to the store she nurtured the sensation, finding little things to do around the apartment before leaving, delaying her arrival until it was daringly close to when Mr. Black was due to arrive.

She started eating breakfast regularly again for the first time in years. She began to roller blade across town to work every morning. Acquaintances that used the video store began complimenting her looks and physique, the males, and certain girlfriends, hinting that she might want to take a day off and join them for some relaxation. She turned them all down; she was getting all the excitement she needed now. They assumed that she was in love, and in a sense she was; she was feeling the same way she felt that day with Marcel, alive and aware as if she had been reborn.

She discovered Mr. Black's secret within a month. Every few days an unmarked envelope would come in the mail. It was always totally blank, no address, no return address, no stamp. When she checked the mail on his desk it was always gone. Mr. Black himself always left right after separating the blank envelopes from the regular mail. Geno toyed with the idea of following him but she couldn't risk him coming back to find the store empty.

She began arriving an hour early in the mornings, creating an elaborate display of classic movies as an excuse should Mr. Black check the alarm logs and ask her about it. On the third morning she found another blank envelope in the mail.

She pulled on the cotton gloves they wore for handling the discs. She pulled out a magnifying glass she had purchased second-hand for this purpose and examined the envelope. It appeared to be unmarked and unstained, not even a watermark. It was made of thin, white, semi-transparent paper and it appeared to be empty, although she couldn't be certain because the flap was glued shut.

She held it up in front of a strong light, nothing. She though of trying to steam it open or spraying it with rubbing alcohol to see inside, but rejected both ideas; she might inadvertently damage some hidden message and then Mr. Black would know that it had been tampered with.

The thought of a hidden message reminded her of Marcel's seemingly bank ID card. She carried the envelope over to the cash and passed it under the UV light they used for verifying fifty and hundred-dollar bills. The same logo that she had seen on Marcel's card glowed in the upper left corner of the envelope; the word 'Fox' on a descending angle and mirrored to form a stylized fox's head. Mr. Black was one of them too!

Damn it! She knew that she had been right about Marcel! He was a secret agent! She ran the events of that day in the alley through her mind again, her recall exact with her newfound clarity. The clues that they couldn't have known she had found, the holes in 'Dr. Silver's' story. She looked at everything that had happened since that day, wondering if it was part of an elaborate hoax put on by a deluded juvenile millionaire, as he had suggested, but it didn't add up. Working in a video store run as a front for a government spy agency wasn't bringing her any closer to Marcel, so it didn't fit the explanation the Silver Fox had given. And the former manager going to Vienna? She didn't know who was stupider, him for saying it or her for believing it.

Still, there was the tiniest shadow of doubt still in the back of her mind. Her tail whipped back and forth in frustration; she had to know the truth, but how to find out?

She was at a dead end. The enveloped had no clues to their whereabouts, the store phone bills showed no unusual numbers. She couldn't get her paws on one of the notes that were being dropped off with the returns, could she? No, probably not. Mr. Black was her only connection to this 'FOX' group.

Thinking of Black reminded her of the time, she had been lost in thought and it was almost opening time. Mr. Black would be here any second and the mail was still sitting on the counter! She rushed back to scoop it up, remembered the blank envelope at the last second and ran back to the cash to grab it. She saw the silhouette of Black's upper half in the display widow, heading for the door. She prayed that the sun's reflection on the window was preventing him from seeing her and she slid on her knees across the tiles to the mailbox. She jammed the envelopes into the slot with one paw and slid the pressboard dam into its hiding place with the other just as she heard his key in the lock. Spotting her bag on the floor beside the box she knocked it over, dumping its myriad contents on the floor. Still on her knees she began gathering it all back up again.

"Careful." she warned as she sensed the door opening behind her. "I dropped my bag when I was shutting off the alarm just now and there's sharp stuff everywhere."

"Need a hand?" Mr. Black asked from behind, where he had an excellent view of her uplifted rear, encased in the tiniest of cut-off denim shorts.

"No, I'll get it." Jesus that was close, almost fucked that time, she thought. The thought gave her an idea, and looking back over her shoulder at the mesmerized Mr. Black transformed the idea into a plan.

* * * * * * *

Mr. Black had been in and out of the store all day, checking the mail, relieving Geno for lunch, calling suppliers, and bringing Geno supper ' la 'Mrs. Black'. Frankly, he would rather have stayed the whole day, watching Geno, but the latest developments at the FOX Academy demanded his attention.

It had been a frustrating and difficult day, starting with his arrival, finding Geno on her paws and knees, butt up and tail lifted in those impossibly tight cut-offs she wore; it's a good thing he favoured loose pants. Since then everything she did made him horny.

When she leaned over his desk to ask about an entry in the books her breasts hung inches from his snout. When he explained the entry she briefly put a paw on his thigh and breathed "thank you" into his ear. Later when she needed his signature on some invoices she had squeezed in behind his chair and leaned over to indicate where to sign, one breast brushing the side of his head, the other his arm as he extended it to sign. Every time they passed each other behind the counter her ass was pressing against his crotch or her breasts were under his nose; God, he could still smell her.

He wanted to stay in his office and watch her through the one-way glass as she served customers and filed DVDs. With the warm weather and the building's poor air conditioning she wore only the tiny shorts, without the leggings she sometimes strapped on. Her top was scooped low and had an oval opening above crossed buckles, creating a double cleavage. The leather collar she wore, the single whole sleeve on her left arm, the rag of its sister on the right and the driving gloves gave her an exotic, no, an erotic tough-cat air. The way the white fur on her belly, thighs and arms blended into the darker spotted areas, the discrete piercings, her emerald green eyes, all fascinated him; she was Viagra with spots. He could imagine her slowly peeling those shorts off and ...

His erotic daydreaming would have to wait. He had to get to the Academy headquarters for a briefing on the latest developments regarding Silver and Marcel. The situation was accelerating and things were going to get messy.

When he had left after delivering diner they had gone through their normal routine of him promising to return to escort her to the night deposit and her insisting that she didn't need an escort, but his time was different. This time she held his shoulders, pressed herself up against him, looked deep into his eyes and said that if he insisted on coming back she would be waiting for him. He rushed home, showered, sprayed cologne all over, showered again, sat through four hours of ball-aching fantasizing, showered again and left for the store.

When he arrived the front door was locked, as usual, but Geno was not waiting just inside. He let himself in and locked it again behind him. He could see a light was on in his office. He opened the door but did not step inside.

"Geno?"

"I'm in here." She purred.

Mr. Black stepped inside. Geno was sitting on the edge of his desk, the night deposit bag open beside her, the deposit slip on the desk in front of his chair. The desk lamp behind her rimmed her fur with a glowing halo.

"Can you come check this figure for me?"

You bet I could, he mused as he hurried over, closing the office door behind him. She guided him into his chair and leaned over, resting her breasts on his shoulder. He couldn't hear her explaining what she needed checked over the pounding of the blood in his ears. His eyes were locked on the impression one of her nipples was making through her top. She stopped talking and took his head in her paws, turned it up to face her, and kissed him.

It was long and slow and warm. His arms reached out on their own accord and he took a firm breast in each paw. She pressed her lips harder against him in return, forcing his mouth open, exploring the inside with her tongue. His chair rolled back from the desk and she followed, pushing it up against the back wall of the office. She started undoing the buttons on his shirt, pulling it out of his pants to reach the last one.

His paws found the buckles on her top and fumbled with them, figuring out how to undo them. When they were loose he was able to reach up under and take the nipples, already hardening, between his fingers. The soft fur around them felt like silk and the tiny hairs rose to his touch. Her paws were at his belt now, pulling it out of its loops, draping it around his neck and re-buckling it behind the chair's headrest.

"Now you have a collar like me." She breathed in his ear, nibbling on it. Her one paw was caressing his chest, the other undoing his pants. He dropped his paws to her belt, a military type web belt with the kind of buckle that hooked together. She sucked in her tummy to give him enough slack to undo it. As she relaxed her expanding abdomen forced the straining zipper open, parting the fly like Moses parted the Red sea. Mr. Black watched fascinated.

Geno stood for an instant, pulled her top over her head and peeled the shorts off, slowly, just as he had imagined it. She bent toward him, breasts swaying free, head tilted back to maintain eye contact, lips slightly parted, her tongue running across them. She gathered two pawsful of pants and underwear and worked them down under him, freeing his tail, pausing when she reached his thighs, trapping the tip of his swollen and aching cock, preventing it from springing free.

Leaning even closer she brushed her lips along the black fur of his neck, around to his chest where the hairs were starting to turn grey. They swept over one nipple, hard as a diamond now, and continued down, down. The tip of her tongue came out as they reached the softer fur at the base of his penis, and she trailed it along his length to just behind the head. Then she pulled the clothes away and it sprang up like a jack-in-the-box on Christmas morning. She pulled the material down to his knees and hooked the crotch of his pants over the knob that adjusted the angle of the chair, forcing his legs together.

Now, with his neck strapped to the headrest with his belt and his legs trussed he could only use his paws to explore her. She leaned back so that he could see all of her, nipples and cunt showing pink through her fur. She pressed his arms down onto the armrests and sunk her paws in between them and the seat cushion.

"Tell me Mr. Black," She smiled and her eyes twinkled wickedly. "Do you like the rough stuff?"

"Um ... no, not really."

"Good." She pulled out the ends of the handcuffs she had hidden between the cushions and snicked them onto his wrists.

"Now Blackie, there's a few things that I want to know and you are going to tell me."

Black struggled, but the handcuffs were attached somewhere down below and looped up outside the armrests so the most he could do was wave them back and forth a few centimetres. He tried to kick but the pants were hooked tight around the knob. He could still move his neck and he tried to jerk himself forward to topple the chair, but Geno put a foot on his chest and pushed him back against the wall, displaying her sex in the process, but he had lost interest. She tightened the belt.

Black forced himself to calm down. Trapped like a novice! By an amateur! The questioning would start now, he knew. He wondered what kind of torture she had in mind.

To his surprise she leaned forward again and rubbed her head against his, purring. One paw went down to find his now deflated penis, and stroked it, massaging the back of his head with the other. She lifted one leg and rubbed the outside of his thigh with it. Black was confused, was this some sort of game? Part of him seemed to believe so, one part in particular wanted to play, swelling again in response to Geno's nurturing.

Geno planted kisses on his face and neck as he stiffened. She straddled one of his legs and began to rub her moistening vagina against his knee. When she sensed that he was as hard as he could get, she raised herself up and put one leg on each side of his. She lowered herself back down slowly, aiming his cock up at the humid pink target. The tip brushed her inner lips, and she froze.

"What is FOX Academy." She demanded.

"Never heard of it." He gasped.

She rubbed the tip of his prick back and forth along her slit, dipped so that it just began to enter, then pulled back. His need was agonizing.

"Tell me."

"No. I won't"

"So you do know about it." Softer now, "Tell me."

"I ... I can't. Rules. Forbidden." Sweat was running freely down his brow now.

Geno shifted her paw lower, caressed his balls gently, rolled them against each other as if judging their size. A whisper "Tell me..."

"N ... no ...no."

She squeezed hard, Black stopped breathing, a low-pitched whine emitting from his open maw.

"TELL ME!"

She relaxed her grip and caressed him again. He had begun to droop but tender strokes and a vaginal massage soon had him upright again. She inserted his cock a centimetre, two, pulled back to the tip, down again, his shaft lubricated more and more by her juices. She stopped half way down, her paw around his balls again.

"What is FOX Academy? Who is Marcel?"

Mr. Black was stubborn, and soon in great pain. She alternated between pain and pleasure. Bringing him erect and to the edge of orgasm then punishing him when he refused to answer. Finally he had had enough.

"Alright, I'll talk. Just leave them alone." He panted.

Geno released his sack and sat back on his knees. "So, talk."

"FOX is the Foreign Operation eXecutive. It's Canada's secret intelligence service. It does the work that the other agencies are forbidden to do. Tracking down spies abroad, killing foreign agents, stealing secrets, anything that may involve killing to complete the mission. All the agents are foxes, like me. I was an agent until I retired some years ago. I came back to run this operation."

"It's a front, right? A drop for your contacts?"

"That's right. As a senior agent my codename was, is, Black. Marcel is a junior agent, a special recruit off the streets. Brought in by Silver."

"Dr. Silver? The silver-haired fox?"

"Just plain Silver, that's his codename. No one knows his real name anymore, except maybe Gold, the chief of staff. Silver is the last active senior agent left. All of them were given colours as codenames. Me, I was Black, an Arctic Fox was White, our first female agent was Scarlet."

"I was right. Marcel is a spy. Tell me how I can contact him." She cupped his balls, anticipating a refusal.

"I don't know. Eyagghhh! I really don't know! Gimme a break here lady! Everything is compartmentalized; I only talk to the Chief of staff. Especially since the trouble began."

"Trouble? What trouble?"

"Someone has been killing off our agents, one by one. Every mission for the last year has been compromised, every move anticipated. Someone on the inside has gone bad. Now that only Silver is left Gold has been bringing back retired agents, trying to isolate the mole. Everyone is under suspicion, and all of their contacts, including you. That's why you're here, so we can keep an eye on you."

"You think that Marcel is the mole?" Geno couldn't believe it.

"Gold thinks that either Silver or Marcel may be a mole, maybe both. Marcel is being kept in isolation at the farm. Silver is too senior, and too tricky, for that. Until Gold finds out for sure who it is, and deals with them, no one is allowed contact with either of them."

Geno was thrilled. Marcel was a secret agent, not some deluded, manipulative rich prick, and he was in danger! She had landed in the thick of it, and she loved it. Her whole being tingled with excitement; she needed to release it.

"Well, 'Mr. Black', it seems that we are almost finished." She released his testicles and stroked him back to stiffness again. "Let me show you that I'm not unfair when it comes to rewarding cooperation, then you can fill me in on the rest."

She didn't untie him. She raised herself up again and this time let herself down all the way unto his shaft. With a sigh she raised up again until the tip was about to pop out, then took it all back in again. Her paws gripped his shoulders; her feet were planted on the floor. She rose up and down rhythmically, letting his pole tickle the sweet spot inside her, grinding her clit into his pelvis at the bottom of each rotation. He strained at his restraints, not for freedom, but in an effort to match her thrust for thrust.

Moving faster now she began to moan. She licked her lips and threw her head back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. His tongue was out too, hanging to one side as he panted, eyes rolling with pleasure. He held back as much as he could, wanting to be there with her to the end.

Geno buried her head in his shoulder and her tail cracked the air as it whipped to and fro. Her ass clenched as she drove herself harder and harder down on his cock. He felt the moisture begin to flow from her a second before she gasped and he let himself loose. It felt like a dam had burst in his balls as the wad of cum forced itself through the tube to explode inside her.

She continued to rock up and down on him, weaker now, as their juices mingled. She slowed to a stop, his cock still hard and hot inside, her inner muscles clenching and relaxing, pumping the last of his cum out of it.

Geno lifted up and off of him and stepped back. She pulled a small key out of her sleeve and unlocked the handcuffs. Black reached up and removed the belt from around his neck. He stood and pulled up his underwear and pants; he would cleanup later. Geno stood by the desk, still mostly nude, silhouetted again by the desk lamp.

"Where is Marcel being held?" She asked.

Not seeing any point in evading her questions anymore, Black began to answer. "The Academy is housed in the middle of the most unique government compound; where one would least expect it." Before he could continue they heard a pounding at the door.

"Who could that be?" Black wondered, and as by telepathy, was answered.

"Police! Who's in there? Show yourself." The pounding came again.

"Quick," he grabbed her clothes and shoved them into her arms. "Get dressed and head out the back way. He pushed her out of the office and into the back room. "I'll get rid of whoever it is." He closed the door between them.

In the back room Geno began to pull her clothes back on. She heard Black call to the person at the door to be patient. The bell above the door tinkled as he opened it.

"You!" She heard Black exclaim. "What are you doing here? Wait! NO!" A crash came from the store.

The door to the back room had a small window in it. Geno cautiously raised her eyes above the level of the window and looked out. Black was on his back, surrounded by DVD boxes that had fallen from the display case he had been thrown into. Another fox stood between her and him with its back to her. Black couldn't catch his breath. He clutched his neck with one paw and held the other out as if to ward off a blow, but it didn't stop the bullets that issued from the gun in the stranger's paw. Two spurts of blood came from his chest and he dropped to lie prone on the floor.

The intruder stepped forward and turned to position himself above Black. He held the pistol out at arm's length and pulled the trigger once more. Black's body spasmed as the bullet entered his head, thankfully out of her sight. The stranger looked up then, directly at the little window.

It was the fox that called himself Dr. Silver that day at Marcel's apartment, the senior agent that was suspected of being a renegade.

Geno shot the lock on the door without thinking and ran for the back door. Behind her she heard more shots, but she was unhurt. Hitting the panic bar on the exit she tumbled out onto the landing and down the stairs. Jumping back up, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she ran for her life.

* * * * * * * *

Where to go? Who to trust? What she needed was time to think. After running haphazardly for several blocks with no sign of pursuit Geno slowed to a walk. Should she go back to her apartment? She needed money if she was going to hide out, and less conspicuous clothes, and that was all back at the apartment. She decided to risk it.

There was no sign of anyone watching outside the building, but Geno went in the back entrance just in case, it was unlit. Taking the stairs to avoid the lobby she climbed to the fifth floor and peered cautiously down the hall before opening the door all the way. The coast was clear. She checked her door and lock for scratches or dents that would indicate forced entry, but found none, at least no new ones. She opened her door and turned on the light, illuminating the one-room efficiency apartment completely.

The room was a mess. Six weeks ago this would not have surprised her, or her friends, but since she had started taking care of herself she had also started to take care of her environment, especially lately when she up long before it was time to leave for work. Now the apartment looked worse than ever, books on the floor, clothes strewn about. There were broken dishes and glasses on the floor; the cupboards they were placed neatly in this morning now empty. The only neat object in the room was the fox sitting in her only chair, the silver-haired fox that was pointing a pistol with a long black tube attached at her chest.

"Close the door Geno." She obeyed. He must have driven straight here from the store, how stupid of her. But when did he have time to search the room? It took time to do this much damage, about a month in her experience.

"I didn't do this." He swept the room with his free paw. Great, he's a mind reader and a killer, she mused. "It was like this when I arrived. Someone thinks that you are connected to the current troubles at FOX Academy. Someone thinks that you are a handler from the opposition, here to manage the mole in our organization, and only three people know that that isn't true."

"Who?" she asked, her curiosity overcoming fear once again.

"You know that you aren't, I know because I know what happened that day you met Marcel, and the real mole knows that you aren't his handler. However, you make a convenient decoy to lead them away from him."

"The 'real' mole? You want me to believe that it isn't you after what you did to Black?"

"Black was working for the mole. He was reporting suspicious behaviour on your part and weaving my name into the story, making it look like we were in contact. Unfortunately the chief of staff was taken in by their lies and I had to matters into my own paws." He shrugged. "You are the only witness, you obviously didn't stop to report this horrible crime to the authorities or they would be questioning you still. So the only proof of my innocence I have to offer is the fact that I haven't killed you yet, nor do I intend to."

"What do you intend to do with me?" She tried to image something equally silencing and final as death.

"I intend to let you go." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wad of papers, tied together with a red ribbon. "New ID, new passport. A bankcard with fifty thousand dollars credit on it. An open bus ticket to New York City. You have a suitcase in the closet; fill it with whatever you need to get you there and go. I'll stay while you pack and take you to the station to see that they don't get you before you can disappear."

"What about Marcel? Where does he fit into all this? I'd like to talk this over with him first."

"This is a time-limited offer. After tonight I can't help you anymore and you are on your own. You can't talk to Marcel, no one can; he's in isolation. There is a very good chance that he is the real mole."

"How can you say that?" She cried. "You recruited him; you must know him better than that. I only knew him for a couple of hours and I know that it isn't him!"

"Gold has been my best friend for 25 years and yet he suspects that I may be the mole. Maybe bringing Marcel into the Academy was a mistake, if so I'm paying for it now." He stood, but kept the gun visible, and looked intently into her eyes. "Now decide. Are you going or not?"

Geno returned his stare as only a feline can, effortlessly, and thought hard. What would he do if she refused? What if she only pretended to go? She realized that she wasn't considering actually going away, so she decided to be bold.

"No, I'm not. I have to see Marcel first."

Silver shook his head. "That would put both of you in grave danger." She continued to stare silently at him. "Okay. I'll see what I can arrange, but it's up to you to keep yourself alive until then. How can I contact you?"

"I have a cell phone."

"Let me see it" He opened the back and examined the SIM card. "No, this is no good. The academy can trace you anytime you turn this type on; fortunately the battery's dead so it can't send out a signal. What you need to do is go to one of those discount kiosks and buy a cheap phone of this type." He scribbled on a sheet of paper plucked from the mess. "When you have it go to the alley where Marcel's apartment was; do you remember it?" She nodded. "Go there and paint the number on the wall using the 'BLACK HORSE' code. The letters stand for the digits zero to nine; 'B' is zero, 'L' is one, 'A' is 2 etcetera, got it?" She nodded again. "I'll call you when I have news. Don't use the phone for anything else."

Geno found a large handbag amongst the mess and started throwing clothes and other essentials in it. She was dismayed to find that her stash of cash had disappeared from the bottom of her underwear drawer, but at least they had left her bankcard intact. When she was done she stood at the door, trying to decide what to say to Silver in parting. She still suspected that he might be the real mole, only leaving her alive to draw the chase away from him. He spoke before she could think of anything.

"Remember, there are people who think that you are an enemy agent. They will expect you to deny this to your dying breath, so they may just kill you to send a message rather than bother to capture you." Silver leaned around to look at her backside. From that position he tilted his head to look back at her face and bobbed his brows twice.

"So watch that ass." He strode to the apartment's only window and slid it up. So that's how he got in. A second later he was gone and the window banged shut. Geno took one last look at the stuff she was leaving behind, nothing of great sentimental or monetary value for sure, and left the apartment.

She left by the rear entrance, as she had come in, and used the alley behind the building to reach the street perpendicular to the one the apartment faced. She stood for a moment wondering where to go for the night as it was past midnight now. Suddenly a car parked back at the intersection near her building roared to life, lights blazing. It squealed away from the curb in a cloud of burnt rubber, swinging around to face her as it accelerated.

The sedan mounted the curb and raced down the sidewalk toward her. With only a second to spare, she jumped back into the mouth of the alley, landing in a crouch. As the speeding car passed the alley a volley of shots rang out, and she flattened herself down on the gritty pavement. She heard the brakes screech as the sedan tried to stop, but it had already overshot the entrance.

The alley was wide enough for the car she realized, if she ran down it they would catch up in no time. Looking around she saw the ladder of a fire escape. She jumped for it, felt the last rung in her paws and pulled up with all her might. Catching the rung with her feet she scrambled up to the first landing and started running up the stairs to the next. Below her she heard the engine noises get louder until they were deafening and the crash of garbage cans being knocked into the walls.

She didn't dare look back until she had reached the roof. There she dove below the low parapet of the building and peered cautiously over. The sedan was still hurling down the alley, but they would realize that they had missed her soon enough. Geno crawled away from the edge until she could stand safely. She ran along the roof tops to the next cross street, checked for signs of watchers and, seeing none, descended to the street. Crossing where the streetlights were weakest she ran into the darkness of the neighbourhood park and crouched behind some bushes, checking her trail for followers. She had made a rare discovery: paranoia is a survival skill.

Geno knew a few places where one too drunk to walk home could sleep it off in the club district. She headed that way now.

* * * * * * * *

In a room with an airtight door but no windows, one without electrical connections to the outside world, two people were discussing the recent events. One was the head of his country's mission to Canada, but he was not the ambassador. The other was that country's senior intelligence operative in Canada.

"What does the service make of all this activity Colonel?" The head of mission asked.

"It seems that FOX has a mole. Some of their agents have disappeared recently; at least one is reported under house arrest, another is said to be on the run. Former agents have been brought out of retirement to replace them."

"Is the mole ours? Can you tell me?"

"It's not, but if we can find him before they do, before whoever he is working for spirits him away, we may learn much about both organizations. Whoever sponsored the mole is bound to be no friend of ours."

"Do you have any leads?"

"Just this; we have been watching a video store that we believe is being used as a drop. Tonight one of the known FOX agents shot the manager. The girl that works there got away. Our team followed her back to her apartment, hoping to question her, but the agent was already there. Strangely, he didn't kill her, but someone else tried to a few minutes after he left. It looks like this agent is the mole, and she may be his contact."

"You said 'attempted to kill her', so she is still alive. Did your team bring her in?"

"No. She disappeared during the attempt, but I've doubled the watchers and when they see her again they will get her. It won't take long, she is rather distinctive."

"Very well then. Keep me informed."

* * * * * * * *

In another part of town a linguist took her headphones off and checked that the recording of the conversation she had just heard was intact and marked 'do not erase'. She called her supervisor over and played the tape for him. He told her to write it up and send it to a particular addressee immediately.

30 minutes later Gold, the chief of Staff of FOX, was woken by the night duty officer, who informed him that an 'eyes only' immediate message waited in the Operations Centre.

10 minutes later, still in the track pants and sweatshirt that he had rushed over in, Gold picked up the direct secure line to the Academy's Director, known as 'W'.

"Things have gotten more complicated regarding Silver and Marcel sir." He informed his chief. "A third player has entered the picture and they will be playing for keeps."