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FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

The Werewolf of Odessa - Chapter 5 - Out of the Dark

The next day Kain reported to the lobby of the Headquarters building for his interview with the RCMP constable. He found the Cloud Leopard, Ophelia Sommer, already waiting, along with a number of others that he didn't recognize. She had sat apart from the others near the security desk. As there were no chairs left Kain ambled over to where she sat, dropped the canvass bag he habitually carried to the floor and squatted against the wall beside her chair. Ophelia didn't acknowledge his presence, but she looked around the room, almost got up, then settled back in the chair.

"Is it my breath or my pits?" Kain addressed her while making a show of sniffing the air around him. "You can tell me, I can take it."

"Huh, what?"

"You were about to move but there was nowhere else in the room where there isn't somebody already. Look, if it's about the washroom thing, you got a right to be pissed but I want to let you know that I had nothing to do with it." She gave no response. Kain tried another approach. "Pairs and small group exercises start next week. The handout says that regardless of how you feel about your partners you have to demonstrate teamwork and communications skills; were you planning on saving up all of yours until then?"

That got a smile out of her, a small one.

"So why not start by introducing yourself to your fellow American expatriate? I'm Kain, Kain Algorath. I'm 23. I was actually born here in the fair city of Ottawa but I was raised in California. I'm a hacker." He adjusted his rimless glasses and looked up at her inquisitively. After a moment's thought she responded.

"Ophelia Cassidy Sommer." She paused to gauge his reaction to the name but his expression didn't change. "I'm 28. Born and raised in Newport News, Virginia, but I moved up here a while back and became a citizen just this year." She stopped and Kain let the silence draw itself out. Finally, with a resigned sign, she filled it. "I prefer that people call me Cass rather than try to shorten Ophelia down to 'Opie', 'Ophie' or 'Philly'. So you're a hacker eh?"

"Nice to meet you Cass. Yeah, I was hackn' and crackn' down south but they ganged me into working for the government spy boys. Turned out to be not as interesting as Tom Clancy makes it out to be. I came up here when my stint was over looking for something different and got approached by this place. They offered me a shot at field work. How did you end up here?"

"Just lucked in I guess." She didn't elaborate further. "Why do you carry that bag around?"

"Force of habit. I keep all my toys in there. My private laptop, peripherals, that kind of thing. You never know when you're going to need a debit card reader or a PIN sequencer do you?" He asked rhetorically.

Kain, wanting to keep the conversation going, was thinking of some way to ask about her purple eyes when the doors to the lobby flew open.

"Nobody move!"

A large German Shepherd in a corduroy jacket and slacks stood at the entrance holding up some sort of badge. Behind him stood a frowning Ring-Tail Lemur who was turning the dials on a piece of portable electronics and repeatedly tapping the headphones that he wore.

"You got it?" The cop asked the Lemur.

"It's in here somewhere but I can't get a fix on it with this piece of crap." The Lemur pointed a metal wand that was plugged into the device at various parts of the room and started to circle the lobby. When he neared the spot where Ophelia and Kain sat, he paused and passed the antennae above and around them. "We're very close."

"Alright you two," the dog addressed the two students, "Get up and get against the wall." He patted them down quickly and expertly then dumped the contents of Kain's bag on the floor.

"Hey, be careful with that stuff. Some of it cost more than you make!" Kain protested.

The cop was poking at his stuff with the toe of his shoe, flicking notebooks and the laptop aside to reveal several circuit boards loaded with electronics and wire connectors.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. This it Grigori? Is this the source?"

The harassed Lemur held the antennae above the pile and even touched some of the more exotic-looking items with it, but he shook his head.

"Hirt!" Everyone looked toward the voice. Silver was standing by the door to the restricted area. "What are you doing now? And what are you doing with him Joel?"

The Lemur shrank down behind the constable. "He made me help him Silver. I told him I was a forger, not a technician, but he made me help him." Joel held out the device he was carrying.

Silver walked over and took the box, examining it carefully. When he was done, he put it on the chair Ophelia had recently occupied. Ignored now, Kain picked it up and examined it also.

"You're looking for a radio transmitter?" Silver said to Constable Hirt.

"I've found a transmitter Silver. I borrowed this from the RCMP and had your lad here," he indicated Joel, "the computer expert, run it. It picked up an illicit signal right away. We tracked it here, to this Fox's bag." Noticing that Kain had the device, the dog snatched it back.

"But none of that stuff is transmitting, I think." Joel added in a small voice from behind the constable. "We can't narrow it down closer than somewhere in this room."

"No wonder, you couldn't track a fart in an igloo with that piece of shit." Kain interjected. Try this." Digging into the pile of electronics at his feet, he came back up with two boards and a number of connectors. He made a few connections and went to plug it into the device that Hirt held. The dog withdrew but Silver motioned that he should comply. The connector was wrong. Stripping the ends of the wires and wrapping them with some black tape from the pile Kain tried again and was rewarded with a small green light on one board.

"Now try it."

Joel took the assembly and plugged the headphones back in. A smile lit up his face as he moved around the room, waving the antennae in successively shorter arcs. Finally he stopped two feet away from where Ophelia had been sitting, the antennae held steady above a trash can at the security station. Silver reached into the can and pulled out several papers before finding something inside. With a tug, he pulled free a package of sugar-free gum. It had been stuck to the side with a well-used piece of its former contents.

Joel flipped the headphones around so that they could hear and brought the antennae close to it. The buzz got louder as it came closer.

"Prints?" Silver asked the police officer.

"Doubt it, but hold it by the edges anyway. Explosives maybe." Hearing the dog say that Joel jumped back three feet.

"No, too small and light. Still, the rest of you stand back." Silver pushed the contents out from the package with a nylon comb he produced.

At first glance, the contents looked like a typical blister pack of gum. It was mint-green like the package and had twelve bubbles for holding gum, one of which was still occupied. The back was covered in matching foil with the company logo printed in white at regular intervals. Looking at the edge however, you could see that the base was too thick, almost 2 millimetres, and some of the blisters were only clever paintings. The lone piece of 'gum' even had two tiny wires attached to it. The pattern on the foil disguised lines of solder. It was a circuit board.

Kain leaned in. "UHF transmitter. Range 300 meters or so. Always live but the receiver could be set to record only when it recognizes speech. Would last about a week if that 'gum' is the kind of battery I think it is; I thought only NASA and the NSA had those. That garbage can would have helped to focus the sound coming from the guard station above it."

"He was trying to get codes for the restricted area." Silver mused. "Visitors with the appropriate security clearance are given a swipe pass and a code for the door. If he overheard enough codes and could duplicate the pass card," Silver picked up a grey plastic device that looked like a calculator and had come from inside Kain's bag, "with something like this, he could get into the restricted area." Silver was looking at Kain as suspiciously as the cop now.

"You've got some explaining to do Kid."

* * * * * * * *

Vikki wondered about her relationship with Silver as she packed her bags for her flight to the Ukraine. In another month he would be declared fit again and then what? The service prohibited couples from working together in the field, but Silver's was the only field team left, and Vikki did not want to be tied to a desk here at the headquarters. That left three choices: break off the relationship, take a foreign posting or sneak around behind everyone's backs.

None of them sounded like good options. Sneaking around was against their natures, and they were bound to be found out; the people at FOX were good at finding things out. It would be frustrating and end badly, she knew. Taking a foreign posting was the same as breaking off the relationship, they would only see each other for brief periods each year when they could arrange simultaneous vacations, and either could be called away at a moment's notice.

A few months ago, when she was a student here at the Foreign Operations eXecutive, the thought of having a relationship was the furthest thing from her mind. After coming back from the mission in Russia, wounded physical and mentally, she didn't think that she would ever have one again. Her relationship with Silver had saved her, brought her back from the edge of despair. Thinking that she had lost him, when he had been reported dead, had made her stronger, made her realize that she could carry on through the bad times. Now he was back, and they were together again, but would it last?

Eventually she would be a senior agent, of that she was certain, and then they could carry on openly. Silver was almost twice her age however, if she waited until then how old would they be? Silver also had a reputation. Was he ready to settle down? Was she? They had not talked about the future. Vikki didn't know if Silver had wanted children before his recent injuries had made that impossible. Would they adopt? Try artificial insemination? Cloning? What would they name the children?

Vikki shook her head to clear it, her mind was wandering. How could she be thinking of children with Silver? She didn't even know his real name! All in all, she thought, it was probably best to break it off cleanly when he was declared fit again; well, maybe a week after that, she blushed.

She tried to concentrate on her packing. When Marcel's message about the casino in the Ukraine had arrived last night, it had caused a flurry of activity in the operations centre. Bill 'the Professor' Hanlan, who had gone from their course straight onto the planning staff, had spent most of the night conferring with their sister agencies, checking databases and running scenarios though the simulator. This morning she had been informed that she was flying to Odessa where Marcel, his tour cancelled for now, would meet her.

The professor hoped to have more details for them by the time they arrived, but for now, she had to be prepared for anything. The Academy seamstress has brought over a number of gowns and outfits in Vikki's size, the casino catered to the elite and had a dress code. The underwear that went with it looked like it cost more than Vikki spent on clothes in a year. The Seamstress had thoughtfully added several pairs of opera gloves that would cover Vikki's prosthetic. Vikki had googled 'opera gloves' to get some tips on glove etiquette and had ended up on some very strange sites. She should have known better when the main menu said 'click any kink to continue'.

Vikki threw in some casual clothes and went to the bathroom to collect her toiletries. Toothpaste, liquid make up and mouthwash all went into zip-lock freezer bags in case they leaked inside her luggage. Smaller versions went into another bag for inspection before being carried on. She checked that she had enough 'feminine necessities' for the expected duration of the trip, certain that she would have to stock up before he left. Funny, she thought, seeing the full box, I was sure that I'd be low on these by now. When had she bought this box? Three, four months ago? When was she due again? She tried to remember when her last period was.

She had had one four weeks ago, hadn't she? Yes, she remembered now, a small one. She had been worried enough to look up the symptom on a medical site on the Internet. Apparently, stress or a change of activity level could make you skip one or reduce it to mere spotting. That fit her profile so she had left it at that. So, she should be due any day now. Although she had never suffered the more severe symptoms of PMS, she usually felt a little cranky and bloated around this time. Maybe she should schedule a visit to the clinic when she returned; she had been pushing herself rather hard lately.

She opened the box and took out a couple for her purse. She closed the box and threw it into her suitcase then went to the kitchenette to see what sort of snack food she had available to take on the airplane.

* * * * * * * *

Silver had spent the rest of the morning interrogating the American Arctic Fox and arguing with Hirt. Unfortunately, being the senior field agent didn't carry a lot of weight when it came to headquarters policy and procedures. Hirt wanted to lock the academy down and search it, and everyone within 300 meters of it. He wanted real technicians brought in to look for a rebroadcast device; Silver doubted that there was one. If the Stalker was inside the Academy, the transmitter would have had enough strength to reach him without it. Kain pointed out that a receiver could look like anything; a soda can, A CD player, any laptop could be converted to act as one. Hirt wanted Kain locked up as a suspect. Silver wasn't keen on that either.

Silver didn't know how to take Algorath. He seemed smart enough, the smartest of the bunch if his test scores were any indication, and NSA had had him studying with some of the best during his stint there, but he acted like a high school dropout sometimes. Compensating? Silver wondered. Trying to fit in? By all accounts, the Stalker was an expert in electronics, or had one working for him. He made a mental note to check Algorath's whereabouts during and immediately before the Stalker's known hits. In any event, he decided, friend or foe, he could use Algorath's expertise.

Gold intervened eventually, sent Kain back to the school, and didn't order a lock down, but he called in the techs to monitor the area to placate the constable.

At lunch, there was a small staff gathering to say goodbye to the old dispatcher. The Raccoon who had run the motor pool since the late sixties was retiring and this was his last week on the job. As they said farewell with cake and humorous cards the Raccoon spoke of how fine a bunch they were at FOX Academy and related stories of how the field agents were always smashing the hardware.

"And you, Silver," he pointed to the last remaining senior agent, "you still hold the record for most automobiles totalled in a single year. That reminds me, come by the garage after lunch and pick out a new car. We had to retire your old one."

Silver walked to the building that the motor pool shared with the ground keeping division with the old Raccoon after all the cake was gone. At this time of day all the ground keepers were out, although some of their tractors were parked against one wall. Normally the main floor of the garage was filled with ordinary sedans that had been modified for handling and performance. Silver was surprised to see it empty.

"Where are all your cars Gus?"

"Students are starting their anti-terrorist driving course today so the new dispatcher has them all down at the old airfield. You don't want one of those anyway. Come see what we have today." Gus led him to the back where there were a number of individual stalls.

The most senior staff, the Director W, his Chief of Staff and the senior agents, were provided with specially fitted automobiles. W's was fitted for protection, but his secretary/bodyguard, the Party-Poodle Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche, could make the Rolls turn on two wheels when she wanted. The Chief of Staff, Tancred 'Tanner' Williams, codenamed Gold, had a gold-coloured Mercedes convertible fitted with the latest in secure communications. The senior field agents tended to favour cars with big engines, hidden guns and lots of legroom for seducing enemy agents in, but since the end of the cold war, cars and budgets had both gotten smaller. Lately Silver had been using leased Toyota's.

"Our procurement budget has been slashed again." The Raccoon explained. "So we can only choose from cars that the government has seized, but our maintenance budget is fine. We can make any modifications you want." They came to the first stall. "This here is your classic 1933 Bentley convertible. It has a supercharged engine, not original, so it moves fairly fast given its age. A very agile car but not much room for 'extras', if you know what I mean."

Silver did. "I never did have occasion to use the machine guns you put in my last car, except for parking, but it's a bit too old." The gunmetal grey paint job didn't help its looks any either Silver thought.

"Okay, something newer here, but still classic, an Aston-Martin DB4. Confiscated from a drug lord. Has all sorts of gadgets, oil slick dispenser, read shield, extendible wheel hub spikes, even an ejector seat."

"Sure, press the wrong button looking for the registration during a spot check and the passenger seat ends up in the cops lap. What else do you have?"

"Nice Mustang Ghia here. Unique styling. V-8 and all the goodies." The car was bright red with a white vinyl roof.

"It looks like the kind of car Captain Canada would drive, and it's a Ford. Come on Gus, I need something less obtrusive and more dependable."

"I guess we might as well forget the last one then, but that's all I have for now Silver. You'll have to sign out a car from the fleet in a few days after the students are finished with them, if any still work that is." Gus led Silver past the last bay back toward his office. Silver glanced at the car as they went by. He slowed and started to turn, all the while keeping his eyes on the car inside.

"Do you know what this is Gus?"

"Sure it's a ..."

"This," Silver interrupted, "is a 1969 Pontiac Firebird 400 Convertible." He glanced at the fender vents and hood scoops; saw that they were functional, not decorative. "It has the 400 V-8 engine rated at 345 horse power," the power top was down so he checked the interior, "and a four-speed manual transmission." He ran his paw along the body's contours, a millimetre above it, not actually touching. "But the original paint job on all of these was white with blue racing stripes. This is solid ... silver."

"Well, yeah. That's a special paint job the last owner had done before his failure to pay taxes on a few million dollars of gambling profits made it the property of the Queen. It's the same paint that Rolls Royce uses. Makes it shine like a mirror doesn't it? But, like you say, too flashy." Gus turned to go.

"Let's not be hasty Gus." Silver was actually drooling. He opened the door, slid in behind the wheel and patted the passenger seat. "What say we take her for a little spin?"

* * * * * * * *

Marcel was glad to receive new orders. He was getting tired of Bern, or Berne, or whatever it was they called this place. His tour dates after here had been cancelled and he had been told to wait for further instructions, much to the delight of the Otter, Sharon. She was right, this was no Paris. Oh, the dining was fine, if you liked chocolate, and as for sightseeing, there were plenty of ... fountains. When Sharon was at the bank there was nothing much else to do but wander the streets. Marcel was almost desperate enough to go back to the bear pit and throw buns at the mimes.

The time when Sharon was off work was another matter. She seemed determined to get a year's worth of sex into a couple of days. That was fine with Marcel, but what was it with Otters and water? Had they never heard of beds, or even floors?

When he came back to her efficiency apartment after his show the first day, he found that she had indeed repaired the shower they had damaged that morning, and then some. Chrome bars had been added to the walls and no-slip strips had been added to the floor. She had kept him in there so long his skin started to wrinkle under his fur.

When she left for work this morning she had mentioned that the landlord would be letting some workmen in to do some more modifications in the bathroom, so he'd better scoot. Marcel had left and wandered the streets until it was time to go to the coliseum for his second, and last, show in Bern. The orders had come in on the encrypted mobile device he carried and he had read them after the show. Bill Hanlan had promised to send an outline of Marcel's part in the plan and details along with the next transmission.

Now he was back in the Otter's apartment, standing in the bathroom, stunned. The shower looked like a gymnasium from Battlestar Galactica now. The floor and walls had been retiled to make the entire room part of the shower. New pipes, spray heads and faucets ran from the floor to the ceiling. A flip-up seat and stirrups had been added. Marcel had turned one knob experimentally and received a blast of cold water up the snout. Another sent a jet of steaming water up from the floor through a hole in the new seat.

Marcel liked to think of himself as open minded, but just the fact that she had been able to get this all installed in a little less than eight hours was scary. He had just decided to leave when he heard the door open. Too late, Sharon was back; and from the sound of it, she was not alone.

One of Marcel's knives appeared in his hand. Was this a trap? Had she led the opposition to him? Suddenly the new shower fixtures took on a more sinister air. Add a couple of leather straps and this setup would make a handy little interrogation chamber, with convenient clean up features! Marcel peered through the crack between the bathroom door and the jamb.

Sharon was standing in the middle of the apartment's single large room, talking to a Seal. A female by all the available evidence, and there was plenty of that. She didn't look dangerous, unless you counted the possibility of smothering between Double-D breasts as dangerous. She was dressed in what passed for work clothes around here, white blouse, conservative skirt, black leather shoes, matching purse. Not bad looking, no one that you would kick out of bed for eating sardines. Marcel wondered what she was doing here, the possibility of torture still lingering at the back of his mind. Marcel slid the knife back up his sleeve but stood ready.

You didn't see many Seals in this part of Europe he reflected, too high in the mountains and too far from the sea for their tastes. Of course, he had seen quite a few in central Canada. They came from the Maritimes looking for work in the cities of Ontario. Hell, half the armed forces seemed to be made up of them, especially the navy. Wasn't the last Chief of Defence Staff one?

Marcel had left his bag in the main room and Sharon spotted it. Since the number of hiding places was limited, she headed straight for the bathroom and walked right in.

"Hey honey." She waved a paw around the room, "You like?

"Uh, yeah. Great. Hey, you know, I just stopped by to ..."

"There's someone that I want you to meet." She interrupted. She grabbed his paw and dragged him out of the bathroom and spoke to the Seal in a language he didn't understand. He recognized his cover name, Anthony Fox; he hadn't told Sharon his real name. She turned back to Marcel.

"I just introduced you Anthony. This is Alvilda, she's Danish and she is a big fan of skateboarding. She saw your show yesterday. She follows all the big names and she didn't believe me when I told her that you were staying here."

"Gee, swell." Marcel stated to edge toward his bag and the door. "Tell her that it's always a thrill to meet a fan and that I wish that I had time to stay and chat but ..."

"Alvilda works in my bank, in the IT department. She is in charge of making sure our clients can link into our mainframe securely and that nobody hacks in and steals their personal or account information."

"That's nice. Glad she likes her work. Well, look at the time ..."

"Of course Alvilda has to have access to all that information and has the ability to trace the links back in order to verify credentials and electronic certificates." Marcel could sense that this was going somewhere. "When your agency showed so much interest in that irregular account I asked her to take a look into it on the side, as a favour."

"And meeting me was the return favour?" Marcel continued hopefully. "Good thinking. I, um, don't suppose that you have the information on some convenient media like a memory stick or flash card that I could take with me?" The Otter smiled and shook her head no.

"DVD maybe? CD? Floppy disc?" Sharon began to remove her blouse.

"Micro film? Hard copy? Sanskrit even?" Sharon spoke to the Seal and Alvilda too began to strip. Despite his desire to flee he watched, fascinated as her breasts popped free. Her short fur made her look a bit butch. It lay flat against her skin, sleek and a bit oily, to repel the water he guessed.

Marcel suddenly realized exactly what fate had in store for him. The newly fitted bathroom, two water mammals; he was going to be tortured for information ... theirs. Still, he thought as the Seal peeled white cotton panties off a well-rounded bum, it probably beats water boarding all to hell.

The two females began to pull his clothes off as they pushed him toward the bathroom. Marcel concentrated on slipping the sheaths for his various knives off and letting them fall with his clothes before either of them saw them. By the time the bathroom door closed behind them, all three were naked.

Sharon immediately set to adjusting the various knobs and faucets. Marcel used the time to examine the Seal more closely. Her fur was light grey with dark spots in front, dark grey with light spots in back. She had large dark eyes and a pleasant face. She had round hips, full breasts and just a tiny tail between her muscled buttocks. No taller than Marcel or the Otter, she was more fully packed. As the water began to flow, it seemed to bounce off her without ever touching her fur, surrounding her in a glowing mist. Marcel was beginning to feel better about being forced into the shower.

The two began by soaping each other up, giggling as sponges circled breasts and paws rubbed thighs. At first they were face-to-face, half an arm's length apart, but soon Sharon slipped in behind Alvilda and began to rub the length of her body against the back of the Seal's, her paws working the soap into the fur on her belly and breasts.

Marcel sat down on the toilet to watch, neglected for now. Sharon had a breast in each paw and was tweaking the Seal's nipples until they stood erect. Alvilda had thrown her head back and the two were kissing passionately. Now Sharon had one paw between Alvilda's legs, running it back and forth over her mound, tickling the tops of her thighs.

Alvilda turned to face the Otter and held her jaw in her paws as she sucked on Sharon's lips and drove her tongue deep into her mouth. She dropped one paw to Sharon's breast, then lower, reaching around under the Otter's thick tail to caress her between her legs. Sharon lifted one leg and rubbed her slit on the Seal's hip. She lowered her head and tried to swallow one of the enormous breasts.

Marcel felt a stirring from below and looked down. Things were looking up, one thing at least, and he was still dry! His optimism was short lived however. Sharon turned her back to the Seal and spun two of the knobs while Alvilda dropped to her knees and tongued her between the cheeks. Suddenly jets of water began shooting horizontally across the room. Cold torrents crossed over hot streams. Geysers of steam shot up from the floor to meet a rainfall of cool drops.

Marcel tried to dodge the streams, but they changed source and direction too fast. One second he was standing from the blast of steam up the backside, the next he was crouching under a cold deluge from above. His head was flung to the right by a blast of cool water, then to the left by a scalding burst.

Sharon and Alvilda seemed oblivious to the watery mayhem. When he wasn't squeezing water from his eyes Marcel could see that the Otter was bent over at the waist, tail up, holding onto a pair of chrome bars. Alvilda was on her knees behind her, licking and sucking at her twat. Sharon looked over her shoulder and saw him there.

"Come here." She ordered.

Marcel moved toward her, careful not to slip on the slick tiles. When he was close, she let go of one of the bars she held and guided him between them, so that he was standing with his back to the wall in front of her. This wasn't too bad, he thought, this corner was almost sheltered and the girls were blocking most of the more aggressive bursts. The water had soaked through to his skin by now and he was feeling warm and wet all over.

An instant later one part of him in particular began to feel warmer and wetter than the rest, in a very good way. He looked down. Sharon had his penis in her mouth and was she was slowly raising and lowering her head on it. Inside her mouth, he could feel her tongue wrapping itself around the shaft. She moaned softly as the head of the Seal bobbed up and down behind her, still pleasuring her from behind.

Unable to do much from where he was, Marcel gripped the bars over her paws, closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of two types of liquid warmth alternating along his length.

After no more than a few minutes, Sharon lifted her head from him and began to gasp. Evidently, the Seal was having some effect. Ignored for now, Marcel let himself slip down to the floor. From there, he could see Alvilda's tongue rapidly circling the hard button of sensitive flesh at the top of Sharon's slit. He rolled until his back was to the floor and his legs were up the wall. Now he was looking straight up at where they were joined, mouth to mound. Tilting his head back, he could almost reach Alvilda's sex.

He pushed himself away from the wall, reached around to grab each of the Seal's buttocks and pulled his head between her legs. She raised her hips and repositioned her knees to accommodate him. She was wet, but whether from excitement or the shower he could not say. Tentatively he extended his tongue and slid it along her, parting her vulva, tasting her. It wasn't just the shower. He savoured her juices.

His tongue penetrated deeper, drawing out the inner lips so that he could suck on them. He caressed her butt and her thighs, tickling the insides with the tips of his claws. She responded by gently squeezing his head between them. He found her clit, teased it with his tongue until it hardened, rubbed his chin against it, and licked it again. He felt something and stopped long enough to confirm that Sharon had bent further down to take his pole in her mouth again.

The three of them formed a triangle with Marcel on his back, Alvilda on her knees and Sharon with her butt up and her head down. Marcel continued to tongue the Seal's clit, using his fingers now as well. Down below he could feel the steady rhythm as Sharon's lips squeezed his shaft tightly each time she pulled her head back. When he paused for breath he could look up and see that Alvilda was giving as good as she was getting, spreading Sharon wide and working her tongue around her clit while two fingers probed her insides.

Sharon stopped sucking him again. With gritted teeth, she was grinding herself into the Seal's face. Alvilda was pushing back, licking faster and harder. With a soft cry Sharon collapsed onto Marcel, her ass still up, but Alvilda had ceased licking, and was gently running one digit in and out and along Sharon's clit. Marcel slowed his tongue, wondering what came next.

Sharon didn't keep him guessing for long. After a minute to recover, she stood up and shook her head as if to clear it. Then, taking the Seal by the paw, she flipped down the small leather half-moon seat attached to the wall and sat her on it. She lifted Alvilda's feet and put them into the stirrups. Now Alvilda could grasp the handles on each side, leaving her wide open and exposed. Sharon extended a paw to Marcel and helped him stand. She prodded him toward the waiting Seal.

Marcel went willingly, his prick leading the way. Unerringly it sought the warmth inside her. He felt it touch the portal and he let it push its way in. Alvilda sighed as it did. Still holding the handles and with her legs spread by the position of the stirrups she could only use her hips and the muscles inside her. She stroked him by flexing her glutes and squeezed him inside. Marcel ran his paws up and down her torso, under her breasts, under her arms, wherever he could find a sensitive spot.

Marcel let her do most of the moving, concentrating on positioning himself so that the back of his cock rubbed against the swelling mound of spongy flesh inside her with each stoke. He wanted to hold out long enough for her to come, and then some if possible, but Sharon had another idea. A twinge and sudden warmth told him that she had ducked underneath and had taken one of his balls into her mouth, and was sucking on it gently.

He could feel the pressure building. He dipped a paw down to caress Alvilda's clit, letting the water from the shower lubricate it, as his cock continued to slide in and out. It felt like Sharon was doing something to both of them down below and the Seal began to mumble in her language, perhaps urging them on. The faster her hips flexed the louder her muttering became, until she was shouting a single word over and over.

With a high-pitched scream, she drove herself down on him hard. Simultaneously Sharon licked him from sack to tail hole. Driving his hips forward, he buried himself in her and he came, feeling the molten fluid course through his shaft and out.

The three of them hung on the bars and straps, exhausted, until Sharon pulled herself up and turned off the shower. Slicking most of the water off her fur with her paws she trotted out and returned with fluffy bathrobes for everyone. As Alvilda helped Marcel towel off his less than waterproof coat Sharon stepped into the kitchenette to prepare hot chocolate for them.

A few minutes later, steaming hot chocolate beside him and his mobile device on the coffee table before him, Marcel was ready to take down whatever information Alvilda had to give.

"Okay," he addressed Sharon, "tell her to start talking and you translate."

"Oh that won't be necessary." Sharon turned to address the Seal and Alvilda dug into her purse, producing a thumb drive. She handed it to Marcel with a smile.

Marcel smiled back, but was secretly fantasizing about stranding Sharon in a dessert with no water.

"Well, thank you Alvilda. Sharon, it's been nice knowing you but I really gotta run along now." Marcel got up and started to pick up his clothes. The Seal said something to Sharon. Sharon turned to Marcel, a sly smile on her lips.

"She says you'll need the encryption code to read the file."

Marcel's smile was beginning to show signs of strain. "Can you ask her to give me the code Sharon ...honey?"

Sharon stood and dropped her robe to the floor. She crossed the room and stood by the bathroom door; smiling.

Marcel got up, resignedly. He vowed that after this he would only take dust baths.

* * * * * * * *

Five pm was a busy time for Gus at the motor pool. He had the Firebird up on the stand for a last check-up before issuing it to Silver. The students were back with the cars, the ones that they had not broken, to do basic maintenance and wash them. The ground keeping staff was back, trying to manoeuvre their lawnmowers and tractors through the melee to their parking spots along the far wall. His replacement was plying him with questions about priorities and even the stationary engineer was there, looking for the key to the garage boiler room. Gus directed students, redirected tractors, answered questions and dug out his keys simultaneously; he was glad that this was his last week.

There was a sudden lull and Gus drank it in, relaxing for a moment. When the quiet voice came from behind him, he didn't even turn to see who it was.

"Those the staff cars back there?" The voice asked sociably.

"Yep." Gus answered lazily.

"Which one is Silver's?"

* * * * * * * *

After getting the thumb drive, the encryption code, the password for the file and the password to prevent the file from self-destructing Marcel sat in the corner of Sharon's room shivering, a nervous wreck. The sound of a toilet flushing next door made him jump and cry out.

The females had gone out to fetch more soap but would be back soon. Sharon had alluded to more information that may be available if he cooperated when they returned. Marcel didn't think that he could take any more. He made a mental note to ask Silver about that training he took in Bangkok.

Marcel used the time to send the information he had obtained and check for new messages from FOX headquarters. Bill Hanlan had sent the details of the plans and a list of the things that Marcel would need. Oh oh, he thought as he scrolled through the plan, don't have that, don't have that, never even heard of that. What did Bill expect him to do? Find a Swiss Wal-Mart?

While he was pondering whether or not to email the Professor and request that the necessary supplies be sent to him in the Ukraine he heard giggles in the hallway announcing the return of the soggy sisters. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. Should he try to fight his way out? Jump through the window? How could he divert them away from another session in the shower of evil?

Sharon opened the door and they entered. Ignoring his trembling chin and darting eyes she proceeded to show him the selection of soaps, brushes, sponges and scented bath oils that they had purchased. They had bags with the logos from several different stores on them, and they had evidently enjoyed their little diversion. Marcel had an idea.

"Sharon, you know this town pretty well don't you." He asked nonchalantly.

"Sure." She answered absently as her and the Seal compared scrub brushes.

"Maybe you could help me then. I need to pick up a few things and I have no idea where to go shopping in this town. Money is no object."

Sharon swivelled and fixed him with an intent stare. Alvilda did likewise, some words are universal.

"Shopping?"

* * * * * * * *

Taking the Firebird out for a test drive had cleared Silver's mind and put him back in a good mood. Good enough that he was able to spend the rest of the afternoon with Hirt and Gold going over the files of all the newest employees. The three of them had formed an unofficial task force to try to identify the Perfect Stalker or his agent inside FOX.

"What do we know about him so far?" Hirt asked.

"Not much." Gold replied. "The Perfect Stalker has never been seen in person, as far as we know. He has always used electronic means, email, chat and virtual environments, to contact his clients. In the virtual world, he depicts himself as a large male predator, Tigers, Wolves and Komodo Dragons have all been noted; but there is really no evidence as to his, or her, real species. Dr Gordon, he's our staff psychologist Hirt, thinks he may be a Fox, sex indeterminate. Other profilers think that he's definitely a predator of some kind."

Gold consulted his notes. "His age has not been determined, although despite his reputation he has only been operating for about five years now, so he could still be under 30, theoretically. He's assumed to have some military or security training in his background, as he's too familiar with weapons and procedures to have picked it up on his own. Language analysis on the little that we have intercepted indicates either the child of native German speakers who moved to central Canada or the US, or someone from North America who moved to Germany as a child."

Hirt interrupted. "South-western Ontario and a big chunk of the US south of the Great Lakes were settled by Germans. My hometown, Kitchener Ontario, was originally called Berlin. Big Oktoberfest parties there every autumn. A lot of European Mennonite immigrants still settle in that area. On the other hand, he could be an army brat whose father was posted to Germany. I lived on the air base in Baden when my old man worked as a MP there in the eighties."

Silver did a mental comparison of the RCMP German Shepherd against the Stalker's profile. Big, aggressive, security background, right linguistic profile, access to security information through the police network that would be invaluable to an assassin; but why would he volunteer information? Could the irritating habits and openness be part of an act, hiding in plain sight? Silver made a note to get Hirt's file sent over and get a positive ID check done on him also.

Gold must have been thinking along the same lines. "There's the possibility that our assassin has been working in security all along. I want files for everyone with less than ten years of government service ordered from their former employers. In the meanwhile, we'll keep an eye on the high-risk candidates. Who do we have so far?"

Hirt consulted his list. "Your two Americans, Algorath and Sommer, top the list; although he's probably too young and she's, well she's a she. The Stalker could have stolen their identities however, and since neither has relatives in Canada it will be difficult to get positive identification on them."

"The NSA can help with Algorath." Silver noted. "They'll have his biometrics handy and can track down his family for us. As for Sommer," Silver paused, "I know a way to verify her credentials." He ignored Hirt's inquisitive look. "Who else is on the list?"

"The rest of the students. All of them are Foxes with security or intelligence backgrounds. I'll take the prints and photos your people took at the beginning of the course and send them to their former agencies for comparison. Then you have the three new outside employees. The first is a beaver in the motor pool. He's a retired Transport Officer from the army. According to his file, he spent a lot of time in Germany; retired from there to take this job. If your Stalker was looking for someone to switch places with, and he happened to be a beaver, that would be a good candidate." He flipped to the next file.

"Next, the new Stationary Engineer; a groundhog for Sarnia, that's close to Kitchener. Although female and not a predator either, her job gives her access to every building in your Academy. The technical background fits too." Flip, another file. "Last candidate is the new ground keeper. Not much on him. He's a turtle from a group home that trains his type for these kind of government placements."

"His type?" Silver asked.

Gold answered. "The government gives priority to contractors and casual employees who meet certain selection criteria, like Native Americans, minority species and the handicapped. Physically or mentally challenged, both qualify."

"Should be easy enough to verify." Hirt said. "I'll go down there tomorrow with his file and show it to the group home's supervisor. Maybe I'll bring him back here for a personal confirmation. I'll call tonight to arrange it, they're usually in at night." The constable settled back in his chair. "Look Gold, I don't want to bring this up again, but if you won't let me take these people in, then you have to give me access to a secure workstation. It's the only way I can get these files out to the agencies and get the confirmation back in any reasonable amount of time."

Tanner thought for minute, the request made sense. "Go get yourself some supper at the cafeteria and meet me back here afterwards. I'll see what I can arrange for tomorrow." Gold signalled for the escort. Hirt nodded, got up and went to the door where he turned back to them.

"We still need to discuss the mysterious Marcel." He said, and then he was gone, down the hall following the escort.

"Persistent bugger, isn't he?" Silver noted.

"Just doing his job I'm afraid." Williams turned to Silver. "What do you think? Could Hirt be the Stalker? If we give him access he'll be free to go anywhere, get any information, lie in wait for you."

"You'll have to check him out before you give him any new privileges. Can we get one of his old supervisors down here to look him over first thing tomorrow?"

"I'm sure that I can arrange that. I'll tell him tonight." He saw Silver Frown. "With the escort present. If he's bent he'll run."

"Or try something drastic."

"In that case you had better make yourself scarce. Don't sleep here tonight; meet me out back later and we'll drive over to my chalet."

"Okay. Around ten fine with you? I want to check something out tonight."

"Sure. See you then."

* * * * * * * *

It was getting darker earlier now that autumn was changing to winter; early enough that the students could do night exercises right after supper. Tonight they were on the rappelling tower at an army training facility west of town. They were dressed in black. Their equipment was black. A black backpack full of sand simulated specialized equipment. Even the ropes they would use were black.

The object of tonight's exercise was to assemble their equipment and rig their lines in darkness then rappel down. Once they could do that without tangling their lines or plummeting into the soft sand at the base of the tower they would try it on the rocky cliffs of the Gatineau Hills, where a mistake could leave them crippled, or dead.

In order to make best use of what little light was available from the stars they first sat on the platform for a full forty-five minutes, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. If a vehicle drove by during that period they covered both eyes, after that time they had to close and cover one eye to preserve the night vision and carry on with what they were doing. Just as they were laying out the ropes, a car entered the area.

"Damn it." Algorath swore.

"What's up?" one of the other students asked.

"I forgot and looked right at it. Now I have this bright ball in front of my eyes wherever I look, damn it." Some of the others laughed. Nelson shook his head. Ophelia said nothing.

"Damn nice one though." Kain added. That got their attention, and someone asked what he meant. "Some kind of old muscle car, didn't you hear that engine? That thing purred like a cat in h...hi there Cass, didn't see you there."

"What did it purr like?" Sommer asked pointedly.

"Like it was happy, happy to be out on a fine night like this with good friends, for a little stroll down the tower. Right?"

"Shit, that'll be the day." She turned back to her ropes.

"Forget it Algorath." Nelson advised. "You aren't getting any pussy tonight." His followers joined him in laughter. Ophelia ignored them, the darkness hiding the sudden flush of anger.

They continued their preparations. They had practised repelling in the gym, on low walls, and they each had a set of ropes in their room to rehearse the rigging procedure with. Some, like Knight, had been on SWAT teams and were familiar with the procedure already. Others, like Algorath, who had the benefit of attending expensive and exclusive sports camps when he was young, just needed to practice in the dark to equal them. They swapped insults and crude jokes as they worked, often aimed at Americans or felines.

Ophelia had been trained by her father, who had been just as demanding but less patient than Rusty, and she rigged her gear quickly and silently. She fantasized about the day when she would get to repel down a real cliff carrying one of the other students as a simulated casualty. Maybe, if she was very lucky, it would be Knight; then she could drop him from fifty feet up.

One by one, the five other students made their first descents as Ophelia, Kain and Nelson waited their turns. Down below, Rusty called for the next student. Kain struggled into the heavy backpack and clipped on his ropes. Ophelia, as next up, checked Kain's rigging, pulling straps tight and jerking on the ropes to verify that they were secure. As He disappeared over the edge, she began to don her own gear, as did Nelson. Since they were the last two they had to check each other before they descended.

"Now where are those straps?" Nelson said as his paws groped her chest, squeezing her breasts through the black jumpsuit. She slapped his paws aside.

"That's enough!" There was venom in her tone. "I swear that if you ever lay a paw on me again I'll cut off your balls and shove your cock up your snout." She was in a fighting crouch now, ready to pounce, her tail whipping back and forth as if it was looking for an opening.

"Sure you will. Now come here so I can check your ropes."

"Forget it." She stood and swung the backpack full of sand easily onto her back. "I'll see you at the bottom." Ophelia snapped her ropes into line and ran backwards for the edge, ready to leap halfway down in her first bound. She glanced back to find the edge and ...

"STOP!"

She almost couldn't. The toes of her climbing boots clung to the edge and her arms pin-wheeled as she fought the momentum of her and the backpack's combined weight. A dark figure appeared out the shadows where the stairs were and she felt a paw grab her rigging, drag her back upright. When she was safely back on the deck, the figure let go then raised an arm and pulled the camouflage mesh from its face; it was Silver.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" They both shouted simultaneously. Silver held up a paw, indicating that she should be quiet, and repeated the question in a normal tone.

"You were there on the stairs. You must have heard what was going on. You think that I should let him touch me again?"

"Having your gear double-checked is for your own safety. You can lodge a complaint about his behaviour when you get down."

"Like that will do any good. Complain about a Fox to a Fox, I might as well have jumped without the ropes."

Silver shook his head and signed. "How much do you weigh?"

"One hundred and twenty pounds, about fifty-five kilos."

"And your rigging is set for how much?"

"One-fifty, that's seventy kilos."

Silver reached out and detached her rigging. He grabbed three of the backpacks and used it to strap them together. He dragged them to the edge and shouted down to clear the pit.

"These packs weigh thirty kilos each. So you with you pack would have weighed eighty-five kilos." He took one five-kilo sack of sand out of a pack. "Eighty-five kilos. Even rigged for seventy your gear should be able to handle that, on a normal descent. But you were about to jump and use the rope to brake yourself weren't you?" Silver suddenly bent and lifted the assembly up over his head then threw it over the edge.

Her ropes followed, running through his paws, still connected to her gear that held the packs together. After two seconds, Silver set his feet and jerked the rope that would apply the brake. He swayed forward as the bundle came to an abrupt halt. Then there was a loud 'twang' and he ducked as the rope snapped up past his face. An angry voice shouted from below.

Silver leaned over and talked to Rusty for a moment, and then he turned to Ophelia. She realized her mistake, having let their taunts distract her, she had forgotten about the extra weight.

"Who taught you to rig your gear?"

"My Father." She spat back; embarrassed at her mistake, angry that Nelson had witnessed it.

"So, did he do a lousy job or were you just not paying attention to him?"

She hissed and drew her paw back to strike, claws out and teeth barred. Silver stood impassively before her, arms crossed and staring straight into her eyes. Nelson stood behind him fascinated by the scene.

The hatred was welling up inside her. Hatred for all his kind, but for Silver in particular. Ophelia wanted to strike, needed to strike, but her arm wouldn't move. Part of her realized that Silver had probably saved her from a broken back; but the worst part, the part that filled her with emotions that she couldn't define, was that he sounded just like her father used to when she screwed up.

Recalling her father's training sessions, how he could be so harsh when she made a mistake, brought back a pain she hadn't felt for years. It was quickly followed by the memory of how full of praise he had been when she succeeded, how he would lift her up, no matter how big she got, and twirl her around his head, laughing and smiling with her. The wave of affection it brought washed over the pain, leaving nothing but confusion.

Silver reached down, grabbed some spare ropes and thrust them at her.

"Did he teach you how to rig a Swiss Seat and chest harness?" She nodded. "Then show me." She measured the rope and cut it with her buck knife. Quickly she tied the two pieces into the configuration that climbers had used for centuries before technology replaced them with nylon webbing and tungsten clips. Silver handed her a new rope and without a word she wrapped around herself for a manual rappel.

Silver walked her to the edge and tugged on her rigging, checked the rope.

"Down you go." His voice was light and neutral, as if they hadn't been about to go at it tooth and claw a minute ago; again, just like her father. He stood back from the edge, and she lost sight of him as she took her first steps down.

As soon as she was gone, Silver turned and walked up to Nelson and began to check his gear.

"You sure put her in her place." Nelson said admiringly, forgiving Silver for showing him up on the range the other day. Silver finished checking him then put a friendly arm around his shoulders to walk him to the edge. His fingers found the nerve they were seeking and he slowly increased the pressure on there. Nelson was unable to speak; his neck and jaw were frozen. Excruciating pain spread from where Silver's fingers pressed and his legs began to buckle. Silver eased off when Nelson was on his knees.

"Nelson," Silver said in a nonchalant tone, "if I hear of you joking about, insulting or touching one of your fellow students inappropriately again I will come to you out of the dark and I will cut your balls off and shove your cock up your snout. Do you understand me?" A pinch for emphasis. Nelson nodded as best he could.

"Do you believe me?" He relaxed his grip slightly. Nelson nodded more vigorously and managed a grunt.

"Smart boy."

* * * * * * * *

The Students returned directly to the Academy by van. Silver had stayed to supervise the remainder of the practice. After they left, he stayed on the tower for a time, gazing out along the Ottawa River toward the lights of the City. A confrontation was coming and he didn't know how to handle it. There was an easy way out; but he knew that it was the wrong thing to do. A good friend had once said to him "You can't not do the right thing just because it's easier to do the wrong thing, or nothing." If he owed that friend anything, it was time to pay up.

He climbed down and walked over to where he had parked the car out of sight. He got in, keeping his camouflage gear on, but forgoing the face covering. When he arrived back at FOX Academy most of the buildings were dark, it was almost eleven o'clock. The students would have gone to bed as soon as they got back, they tended to do that unless they were studying for an exam. Silver parked behind the staff quarters building and put the roof up before getting out.

He pulled his face covering down and kept to the edge of the woods as he circled around behind the headquarters building. Tanner would be waiting for him, possibly having spoken with Rusty already. Sure enough, he could see that Tanner's office window was lit up while all the rest in that wing were dark. Silver stood still where he was, listening and for odd noises and looking for movement in the dark. If someone wanted to ambush them leaving the headquarters, this area would be the best place to set up.

After a full two minutes, he was ready to move in and call Tanner. Then the quality of the light coming through the window changed, attracting his eye. Silver frowned; Gold had silhouetted himself by getting between the light and the window. Even though it would take an armour piercing round to break those windows it was unusual for Tanner to do something like that, but he could plainly make out the long snout and pointed ears in the silhouette. Gold seemed to be stretching, probably tired and wondering here the hell he was, Silver thought. Better go let him know I'm here.

Silver's thoughts were shattered by a double blast fifty meters from his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he registered twin tongues of flame that illuminated the bushes around them, but his eyes were fixed on the window. The window shattered, the figure behind it obscured by flying particles of glass. An instant later, it dropped out of sight, but not before Silver saw the head explode in a spray of red.

Our life is defined by the choices we make. The second shot had been fatal, of that he was certain. Silver took only a split second to pull his gun and fire behind where the flames had been, but he knew he already too late. The sounds of someone crashing thorough the bushes had already started before he fired. Alarms were sounding inside the headquarters building and security personnel would soon be rushing to the scene, but no one but he knew which way the assassin was headed. Ignoring the growing commotion and consigning his best friend to their paws, Silver plunged into the woods after the Stalker.