FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Chapter 5 - Infiltration

Marcel had a comfortable and quiet flight to Paris. As 'Anthony Fox' he travelled first class, where he was able to relax as there were rarely any skate fans travelling in that section to bother him. One of the younger stewardesses, a cute ferret, seemed to be giving him the eye, but Marcel had his fill of females at the moment. He wasn't staying over in Paris anyway; a limo was meeting him to drive him straight to Brussels. The three-hour journey by car was much faster and more convenient than changing planes and flying the short distance to Belgium.

It was dark when they left Paris and almost dawn by the time he was settled into his hotel room. To Marcel it felt like early evening, but he had the developed the habit of sleeping wherever and whenever he could during his years spent on the road and living in the streets. Used to napping in abandoned buildings, gas station washrooms and bus depot waiting rooms, he had no trouble falling asleep between the old-world feather mattress and down-filled comforter the hotel provided. Five hours later he was up and ready to perform.

The Academy had arranged for him to join a touring group of boarders, in-line skaters and bikers on a day-to-day basis, in case he had to drop out suddenly, so he was billed as a 'special guest attraction'. He knew most of the others and they didn't care as long as he didn't cut into their share. He would be on the half-pipe twice today, once in the morning and again in the afternoon. The evening was for drinking in the tents set up by the brewery that was sponsoring the tour.

With his evening visit to the Belgium branch of Eden's Oasis already arranged, Marcel decided to avoid the beer tent altogether. He returned to his hotel to equip himself for the visit.

Guns were out of the question, and even the blades he normally carried would be suspicious, although a single pocketknife would be okay, he supposed. He would have to leave it with his clothes when he went in though; there would be no place to hide it on the massage table, at least no comfortable place. More importantly, he needed to don the jewellery that the technicians had provided. They included a diamond encrusted cross that would send out a locator signal on the cell phone network, ear studs and a fake tongue piercing that doubled as headset and microphone, and a gold bracelet with a miniature camera inside. Joel had suggested a 'Prince Albert' piercing for the camera. Marcel was going to suggest somewhere else that Joel could put it, but realized that the lemur probably would, so he kept his yap shut.

Dressed in his most expensive and impressive clothes, Marcel called the car and set out for the spa. It was in the wooded area south and east of the city. As they sped along the quiet streets, he recalled what Silver had told him about the area. How they spoke French and Dutch here and the difference between the City of Brussels and the Capitol Region of Brussels. He had shown Marcel air photos of the European Union buildings and the NATO headquarters, explaining the political significance of the region. If you wanted to find politicians from anywhere in the world, he had said, or the more permanent senior bureaucrats and soldiers that implemented their policy, then Brussels was a good place to start.

When he arrived, he dismissed the driver, explaining that he did not know how long he would be and that he would have them call a taxi for him when he was done. This was not true. In his persona as the spoilt Anthony Fox he should have kept the driver there waiting on him, but he really wanted to use the need for a ride as excuse to hook up with one of the attendants. If one would offer him a ride maybe they would invite him to their place, or join him at the hotel. Either way, he would use the techniques that Dr Gordon and Silver had taught him to get her talking. He reminded himself to turn the phone off in case Geno called. She would guess why, and she would be pissed when they got back to Ottawa, but he would have to deal with that later.

This branch of Eden's Oasis was in an ancient building that had somehow survived the wars and revolutions that Belgium always seemed to get in the way of. It looked like some Grand Duke should live here, he thought. Typically, the sign denoting it as Eden's Oasis was discrete and the entrance was out of the public view. Marcel mounted a short flight of worn stone steps and opened the crystal-inlaid door to enter the establishment.

He was greeted by a mouse with light brown fur and an accent that he couldn't identify. At first glance, she didn't look like anything special, Belgium was full of mice; they were practically the national species. On approaching however he saw that what he had taken for plain looks and dress was in reality very expensive and exquisitely simple designer clothes and makeup, both carefully applied. The way she cocked her head and looked up at him through those long dark lashes with a little smile, it almost made his heart stop. God, I hope she has a car, Marcel prayed.

"Good evening Mister Fox." She crooned. Her name tag read 'Carmen'.

Good God you're gorgeous, he wanted to say, but he just said "Good evening" in return.

"Your sponsor did not leave any instructions as to what treatment you may prefer." She leaned closer across the counter and rested her chin on one fist. Marcel was close enough to see the sparkle in the black of her eyes. "Had she recommended anything to you, or should I go over the list with you?"

Marcel leaned on the counter also, bringing his snout close to hers. "Go over me, I mean, go over it for me." Her smile broadened, assuming that his slip was deliberate. She began to explain the various procedures, taking his paw to explain paw massage, reaching over to show him where the spinal massage would help loosen his back. Her scent was heavenly, a mix of her natural odour and some kind of flower he almost recognized.

"What would you suggest?" He asked.

She recommended an introductory package of massages and sensory treatments designed for total relaxation. "Because you feel a little tense." She added.

"Sounds good to me." He signed the forms that she put before him, remembering to use his cover name. "Will you be my attendant?"

"On no." She looked down shyly, but Marcel noticed that she wasn't blushing. "I just work the reception desk. I would be too afraid to be alone in the treatment room with a big strong fox like you. You might eat a poor little mouse like me."

"Amongst other things." He mumbled, and then louder, "will you still be here when I am done? I need to arrange a ride back to the city."

She gave him an appraising look. He was young and fit, as evidenced by a skin-tight muscle shirt under the open hoodie; both from his signature clothing line. His jewellery was gaudy, but still worth more than a small house in the city. He was short for a fox but a good match for her. His baby-faced looks would make her feel like the teacher seducing her student, and that prospect sent a delightful chill down her tail. Half the fun of this job was the people you meet.

"I'll be here to take care of you." She let her paw linger as she handed him the key to the change room locker. All right, he thought, I'll have to call the hotel and arrange for a little wine, a little cheese, maybe a lot of cheese. Marcel gave her a smile and headed back to get undressed.

* * * * * * * *

In the control room, situated in the former wine cellars of the chateau, the local manager watched 'Anthony Fox' on the main monitor. She was a tough old mouse named Bernadette who had worked the docks from Le Havre to Amsterdam, rolling sailors and seamen when they were drunk enough, drugging their drinks when they weren't. She should have been jailed for murder a dozen times over, but she had learned that by the time the authorities got around to investigating she could be long gone. With her youthful beauty gone and an array of scars that drove away even the poorest of the trade, she had turned to work on the protection and enforcement side of the business.

She had been surprised to be approached by the exclusive chain of spas, but she supposed that things weren't so different for the elite, just more expensive. So she was even more puzzled when she was told that there was no sex for hire business going on behind the scenes; the big boss wouldn't allow it. Instead, her job was to keep the riff-raff out, keep the girls in line, and if necessary, make the nosier investigative reporters disappear, permanently. She was also in charge of selection for special treatment.

As she watched the black fox undress, she went over the list in her head. People of political, military or financial influence would be offered Doctor Dourado's special 'cleansing process'. Certain celebrities qualified also, those with super star status whose statements could sway world opinion. Anthony Fox didn't meet the requirements in either regard.

Other types were singled out as collection subjects. They were those with unusually strong and desirable traits. Particularly vibrant fur or good teeth without artificial assistance, especially in old age, counted. A perfectly proportioned physique, naturally dense musculature, youthful appearance and strong bones did also. Marcel met the criteria in several areas, and was a proven athlete, but his height disqualified him. Apparently the yellow monkey had not been able to separate the genes for height from those for muscle development yet, so he only took samples from tall subjects.

She put two 'X's beside his name on tonight's list. He would not be offered membership in Eden's Oasis. The politician who had sponsored him would be told not to invite him back again if she wished to continue her own 'cleansings'. If he returned on his own, the doors would be shut to him. If he raised a fuss then Bernadette, or someone like her, would take care of him. Maybe a beating would suffice; she would be able to tell by the look in his eyes when she did it. If not, his body would be found in the red light district with empty pockets and enough drugs in his system to give the gossip papers a month worth of stories.

She switched camera feeds as he entered the room he had been assigned. It was done in the Louis XIV style, with the massage table cleverly disguised as a replica of the couches from the grand hall of Versailles. Maria, a large white mouse that was all business, had been assigned by Carmen, the receptionist. Maria could pinch and pound her clients into a state of utter relaxation and compliance, but would never suggest or accept an invitation to meet later, no matter how rich or famous they were. Bernadette suspected that Carmen had chosen her deliberately. No matter, it was allowed, provided they didn't get emotionally involved.

While she watched Maria begin, a door on the left of the control room opened. It led to the locker room used by the staff, although only those assigned to the control room had the code to come in this way. Bernadette glanced over and saw that it was the husky, standing naked, still towelling herself off after a shower. Bernadette shuddered at the sight.

It was not that the husky was ugly; she was quite the opposite in fact. Fit and trim, at five foot four inches, a hundred and ten pounds and with firm C-cup breasts she was well proportioned. Her fur was shiny and lush, her markings were distinct and balanced, her tail made a perfect loop behind her. Her face was pretty, rather than beautiful, but her pink eyes, though startling at first, gave her an exotic air. Bernadette, who like many in her business preferred the company of women, would normally have appreciated the sight. It was the scars that made Bernadette shudder, scars that gave even the grizzled veteran of a hundred knife fights goose bumps each time she saw them.

From hip to knee, the front and inside of Amber's left leg was bare of fur, a twisted, yellowish mass of exposed tissue. It looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to a plastic doll.

Bernadette didn't know how the husky had gotten those scars, but she could guess. Amber had given her a tour of the facility when she was hired last year and specifically pointed out the cans of chemical that would reduce the building to ashes and loose stone in under an hour should she activate the emergency 'clean up' sequence. Bernadette had seen the psychotic gleam in Amber's eye as she described the fireball that would ensue; and then there was the story of her predecessor.

The girls had told her that the resident enforcer before her had been an evil bitch of a mouse, big, capable and unafraid of anything. Years spent dealing drugs with American biker mice had made her overconfident. She had no respect for the yellow monkey or Amber, and barely acknowledged the authority of the big boss. One evening after having had a few drinks, she supposedly taunted the husky, calling her 'Ember' and asking if she wasn't really a dalmatian. The next day, when they arrived to open up, they found a metal pole in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by ashes and melted pavement. There was a warped pair of handcuffs in the pile of ashes, and the steel skull ring that the enforcer had worn constantly, because her digits had grown too thick to get it off again. Amber had arrived at that point and ordered them to clean the mess up before the first clients arrived. The search for a new supervisor had begun that day.

When Bernadette had asked about her predecessor during the interview Amber had said curtly, "She was fired."

Bernadette didn't know if all the details were true, but she did not doubt the outcome, so she remembered to be polite whenever she talked to her. She also looked away and tried not to let her nervousness show when the husky was walking about nude or in panties. Fortunately, Amber wasn't around often and when she was she usually went about in her customary long left-legged pants.

"Busy tonight?" Amber asked idly.

"Not very." Bernadette replied. "Most of the world leaders are in Japan for the G8 summit, so the really import people from the EU and NATO are all there too. There is just some Canadian skateboard celebrity in at the moment. A little black fox named Anthony or Andrew, something like that.

Behind her Amber's head came up and her ears went erect. Andrew? A little black Canadian fox named Andrew? She moved closer to see what was on the monitor, and then reached over Bernadette's shoulder to zoom in on the figure on the table.

"Andrew." She breathed.

Bernadette had checked the list again when she saw Amber's interest in the fox. "No, sorry, it's Anthony, Anthony Fox." She held the clipboard up to show Amber, but the husky was ignoring it. Bernadette looked over her shoulder at her, a little irritated, Amber's pink eyes had gone blank.

"Get the drugs ready." Amber told her in a voice that would tolerate no argument. "We're taking him."

"What? The whole fox?" Bernadette had never heard of such a thing.

Amber turned on her, her pink eyes flashing, almost red now. Bernadette sunk back in her chair with a fear that she had not experienced since she was a little girl. "Yes the whole fox. Send Maria the signal. I'll prepare the drugs myself." With that, the husky strode back to the locker room door and disappeared.

Bernadette sent the signal, a soft 'ping' that blended into the music in the room. She saw Maria look up, puzzled, so she had heard the signal the first time, no need to resend it. She heard Maria tell the fox to wait while she went to fetch him some special herbal tea that he must drink, part of the treatment.

After Maria returned with the brew that Amber had prepared in the adjoining room, she had the little fox sit up to drink it. Within five minutes, the cup fell from his paw and shattered on the tile floor. Bernadette watched as Maria began to clear it up, saw Amber enter and wave her out of the room. The enforcer wondered what was going on. The husky was just standing there, gazing down at him and brushing the fur back away from his face tenderly. She wondered if she should report this. Her paw slid toward a phone with no dial or buttons on it, a private line directly to the boss.

As if it had read her thoughts the telephone beside her rang at that instant. Startled, she picked it up and said only one word, "Brussels", as she had been taught.

"Do you know who this is?"

Bernadette recognized the voice of the big boss. She acknowledged that.

"You may have a visit from a small black fox named 'Anthony Fox'. He is to be brought to me unharmed. Do you understand?" Bernadette did, and said so. "Good. See to it." The line went dead. She checked the clock above the console; the conversation had lasted only fifteen seconds. She picked up another phone, a local line, and started to punch in the number for one of her underworld connections, a species smuggler who could move a warm body anywhere in the world for a price.

Strange, she thought as the phone at the other end began to ring, how had Amber known about the fox before the call came in?

* * * * * * * *

Silver and Geno had to change planes in London to get to Poland. Silver had told her to stay in the connecting flights lounge for the three-hour layover and not to approach him; he didn't want anyone who may be sharing both legs of the flight to Warsaw to associate them with each other. Not that she could have approached him; he had disappeared out of the lounge immediately and did not return until their flight began boarding. Standing in line, trying to look nonchalantly around, she had seen him being let back in through a door marked 'employees only'. The fox that was holding the door open for him was dressed in what Geno thought of as the 'Old Boy Spy' style; blue blazer, light slacks, worn shoes, white shirt and ugly regimental tie. Silver could frequently be seen dressed in a similar manner. The British fox also had a security badge and a bulge where his gun would be.

The flight to Warsaw was unremarkable. The old goat in the seat beside her tried to engage her in conversation but she pretended not to speak any of the languages he knew. A baby started wailing loudly three rows back an hour into the flight. When she turned to look irritably at the mother she saw that Silver was sitting in the seat next to the exasperated parents. He was reclined in his seat with his arms crossed, his eyes closed and his face totally relaxed, as if he was asleep, but Geno could see his ears twitch the slightest bit when the baby hit 'E' above high 'C'. She turned back to the front, if he could take it so close to the source then so could she.

A few minutes later, the cries began to abate, and she could hear an intricate lullaby being whistled. It was having a calming effect on the infant and on her as well. She turned to smile in gratitude at the parents, hoping to make up for her earlier glare, and was shocked to discover that they were smiling in gratitude at Silver. Silver had not changed position or opened his eyes, but his lips were pursed and the pinkie of his right paw was waving in the air in front of the cub's face, keeping time with the music. The baby was blowing bubbles and trying to grab his finger. It succeeded a moment later and then it settled into its mothers shoulder and fell asleep, still clutching the silver fox's digit.

Silvers eyes opened a slit and the blue-grey orbs found hers. Geno suddenly realized that she was still staring at the peaceful scene, along with half the plane. She wiped the insipid smile off her face and looked to the front of the plane again, going just a bit red.

At the Warsaw terminal she remembered to get into the immigration line for Polish citizens, her forged passport and other papers ready in her paw. The line was moving quickly, and she was catching up to then passing Silver who was in the next line over, the one for non-European Union foreigners. She put her passport on the counter and the bored coyote in the immigration officer's uniform picked it up, glanced at the photo and asked her for her name.

"Aniela Jaworski"

The immigration officer's head snapped up and he fixed his eyes on hers suspiciously. "You mean Aniela Jawor-'ska', don't you?"

Oh my God, she thought, she had been living in Canada for so long that she had forgotten about that. Males pronounced certain words and surnames with a 'yi' sound at the end, and females pronounced them with an 'ah'. When they lived in Canada everyone had used the same pronunciation for their last name, that of her father's, as that's what the Canadian immigration officials had put down for the whole family. What should she do now?

She froze four an instant, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Silver tense up; he had noticed the officer's sudden attention. She forced herself to stay calm, although panic was rising in her. She visualized the pages of her fake passport, trying to remember for which countries Joel had put visa stamps in for, and in what order. Did they match Aniela's actual movements? Would Polish immigration have access to the real records? All this went through her head in an instant. She prayed that Joel had done his homework, took a deep breath, and dove in ...

"Gowno, you're right," She slapped her forehead, "at least here in Poland you're right." She converted her panic to indignation and glared at him angrily. "Do you know how they pronounce my name in France? Jah-rue-sk. And in Germany? Yah-vorse-ka. And the British! Don't get me started on the British. After a trip like this I don't even know who the hell I am anymore."

She leaned on his counter, giving him a generous view of her cleavage. "When I was in Thailand last year, learning how to do the Thai massage technique on the lower back, right here," She put her paws just above her tail and thrust her chest forward and up, just under his snout, "that feels sooo good. Well anyway, they have a whole different language for females to use when they talk to males. Like, we would greet them differently than we would greet each other and when the session started, as I pulled off my robe," she made the motion of undressing with her paws in the air. The immigration official's eyes were now fixed on her bust. "I would have to say ... Oh; I'm taking all your time and blocking the line." She took her passport from his limp paw. "Are we done here?"

The official blinked twice and shook his head to clear it. Wiping an errant line of drool from the corner of his mouth, he waved her though. On the far side of the security barricade, she saw Silver heading for the taxi area.

At the hotel Silver gave her a decent amount of time to settle in before showing up at the door to her room. He had a satchel with electronic equipment similar to that supplied to Marcel, and he spent the next hour showing her how to work the devices and discussing how to get the information they wanted. After he was satisfied that she knew what to do he changed the subject.

"This Okra Humphreys person keeps popping up in this investigation. You seem to be current with the entertainment and celebrity scene Geno, tell me about her."

Geno searched her memory and arranged her thoughts before beginning. "She's a muskrat from a poor Mississippi family. Her mother took her to the city when she remarried but things didn't go well for her there either. She was abused and ran away, started hanging out with a bad crowd, got pregnant. The baby died and it looked like she would end her days on the streets, but she was sent back to live with her real father, who was pretty strict. He straightened her out. Soon she was a model student, top of the class."

"After college, she became a journalist and actress. She helped shape the daytime talk show format into what it is today. Don't look like that, Silver." Silver's had rolled his eyes back. He didn't watch a lot of TV and rated daytime talk shows just below public television fund raising pleas. "The lady is worth over a billion dollars and millions of people do what she tells then to do and buy what she tells them to buy. There are countries with less money and influence than her. She has major interests in television, radio, movies, magazines, web sites ... she can make or break people. The president of the United States wouldn't be the President today if it wasn't for her. Silver, she is the most powerful female in the world."

"What does someone that smart and powerful have to do with this Eden's Oasis set up?" He asked perplexed.

"I don't know," Geno answered, "but she's always been a big supporter of self-help gurus and the latest heath fads. She swings from one end of the bathroom scale to the other like clockwork and tries every new thing that comes along, and so do her followers. Christ, every time she gains or losses ten pounds she sells an extra million copies of her magazine. She's been keeping out of sight these last few months though. Opinion is split between her having gone on another eating binge or that she's undergoing a radical new treatment." Geno sighed. "It must get harder to lose the weight and get back into shape each time she tries, I mean, after all, she's not getting any younger."

"Younger." Silver muttered. "All the spa's special clients look years younger than they did before. Is that what she's after? The fountain of youth? Is this whole deal some sort of medical experiment?"

"In that case, why give it away to other influential people?" Geno pointed out. "Why not try it out on nobodies until its perfected then take it yourself?"

"Those daytime talk shows are full of nobodies with a story to tell. What if one of her rivals found out and offered more for an expos'? The people we're dealing with have an interest in keeping something like this quiet, and the power to see to it." Silver shook his head. "But you're right; it still doesn't make sense. We must be missing something." He stood and stretched. "Well, that's what we're here to find out, right? You report in at ten tomorrow morning. I won't see you again before you go in, but I'll be nearby in the car. Remember what I told you, and be careful in there; Marcel will never forgive me if I don't bring you back."

"Silver," she asked out of curiosity, "who was the fox you were with at Heathrow today?"

He looked at her as if weighing her up before he answered. "That was our British liaison from MI-6, Blue Fox. I needed to duck out to pick up a few things and use a secure computer and he kindly obliged. He was also very helpful in getting me back to the lounge without the usual bother of going through security." Silver opened his jacket to reveal the pistol on his hip. He let it drop back into place and gave her a little salute as he stepped backward to the door. Then he was gone.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning Geno rose early and decided to take a taxi tour of the city that she had not seen for almost twenty years. According to their records, the real Aniela had never worked in Warsaw, so she didn't need to have any particular familiarity with the city, but it wouldn't hurt to orient herself.

Once known as 'The Paris of the East' much of the city's original splendour had been lost in the wars of the early twentieth century. The soviet sponsored replacements were more imposing than impressive, more massive than magnificent, but they were slowly disappearing. After democracy came and they broke away from the Warsaw Pact, the government had worked hard to restore the economy, with great success if the newer glass-and-steel office towers were any indication. It certainly wasn't the Warszawa of her childhood anymore. From a distance, it looked like any other sizable western city.

From up close it was more recognizable. There were still dozens of rail lines leading to the city centre, as Warsaw was still a major railway hub for Eastern Europe. Buses and Streetcars still crowded the streets, adding to the traffic congestion. The Wisla River still flowed slow and shallow through the centre of town, with only small craft able to navigate it in many parts since the 'new' lock system had never been completed. Geno had read that the city had a population of almost two million now, the largest in Poland.

As ten o'clock approached she directed the taxi to one of the few neighbourhoods that had survived the wars, the Soviet Architects and the modernization. She paid the fare and stood on the street consulting the map. The lane she wanted connected two larger streets and was only wide enough for a single vehicle at a time. Halfway down she found the entrance to a courtyard shared by several town homes, the last of which bore the placard of Eden's Oasis. Geno rang the bell.

Once admitted, she was greeted by a smaller version of herself, a cheetah with white markings on the knees and elbows. The resemblance was amazing, and only the makeup applied back at the Academy made Geno look older and tougher than the receptionist. She had never though about her species too much before this, but lately she had come to realize that her family belonged to a small exclusive group. A bit of research had traced them back to a group of African Cheetahs sent as slaves by Alexander the Great to the chieftains of what was to become Warsaw, and later Poland. The group had prospered, buying its way to freedom and establishing itself in the artisan class thanks to skills unknown to these regions. Mixed marriages being frowned upon until just recently, the small tribe of cheetahs had breed pure and grown until it numbered several thousand families in and around Warsaw. Geno supposed that all the attendants here were probably cousins of some sort, and was dying to ask, but had to keep in the Aniela Jaworski character. Jawor-ska, damn it, she chided herself, Aniela Jawor-ska, remember it.

She grunted in response to the receptionist's greeting and was ushered back into a large office where a small yellow monkey sat behind a large oak desk. Doctor Dourado, she presumed. The monkey was working on a pile of papers covered with calculations and molecular diagrams. He looked pale and haggard.

"Aniela Jaworski?"

"Jawor-ska"

"Whatever." He waved at her to sit. "You are a week late."

"The, uhm, 'agency' gave me the wrong date. I had to finish another job before coming here."

"Did they explain what your duties would be?"

"They did," Geno improvised, "but perhaps you better go over them again. If they could screw the dates up who knows what else they got wrong."

The monkey launched into a description of the manager-enforcer's job. Geno hoped that Silver was getting all of this. The supervisor of each branch was always from the same species as the attendants in order to establish a rapport. Someone that he referred to as 'the Big Boss' insisted on tight security, which was why they hired females who were not afraid to do what was necessary to enforce discipline and order. She had to keep an eye on the girls, make sure they showed up for work on time and sober. No drugs, no trying to find a husband or sugar daddy. If they transgressed, she could correct them as she saw fit. If they repeated an offence, they were to be dismissed. If they talked about the spa outside of work, they were to be disciplined most harshly. If they became a security risk, they were to be 'taken care of'.

Aniela would live in the building, handle the maintenance and supply contracts, and see that the girls keep it clean. He said that he would give her a tour of the rooms and explain how the operations centre worked later.

He explained who was allowed into the spa and why. Dourado gave her a booklet to study. It was filled with examples of desirable traits that they were after and undesirable ones that must be avoided. All of the attendants had all been trained to extract samples from these clients, but only a few knew how to administer the 'cleansing process. That process was done by appointment only, and usually with either himself or his assistant, a husky named Amber, in attendance. Aniela should watch for new prospects however, and the monkey gave her a checklist to consult. He told her that she would have to learn quickly. Normally he would stay and supervise a new manager for a week, but the delay in her arrival had already ruined his schedule and he would have to leave the next morning at the latest. When he was done, he sat back in his chair and took a closer look at her.

"You know, for someone with your experience you don't look half bad. Your underlying structure is quite sound for your age. Maybe I will take a sample from you before I go."

The real Aniela was much older and careworn than Geno, but the makeup technician at the Academy had not wanted to make any too-obvious alterations. A few lines of henna around the eyes and lips, frilly blouses like the older felines wore to cover wrinkles and stretch marks, the garish red dye job to draw the eye away from other possible faults, and she looked like a female of a certain age trying to look younger. Geno wasn't comfortable with the idea of him taking a sample. She thought hard, summoning the list of disqualifying features from the back of her mind. Although she had only glanced at it, she could see it as if it were back on the desk before her.

"Does it involve taking blood?" She asked innocently. "I'm one of those rare female haemophiliacs."

The monkey looked disappointed. "Well, don't worry about it; but you look as good as some of the attendants, and you have some massage experience?" Geno nodded affirmative. "We are very short of attendants at the moment, perhaps it was a mistake choosing such a rare breed as yours. If we get swamped you may want to fill in; we can't have important clients waiting in the lobby all day, after all. Come, I'll show you around."

The yellow monkey took her on a tour of the facility. He showed her room and explained how she could have her baggage shipped there. He introduced her to the attendants that were on duty. Geno remembered not to act friendly, and she noticed that they all shied away a bit at first. When they were alone in the control room, she asked him what had happened to the previous manager.

"She tried to skim a little too much off the top of the operations budget. When we confronted her she said that we couldn't touch her, that she could take us all down with what she knew about our operation."

"What did you do?"

"I had Amber fire her." He giggled at some private joke. "That's what she does."

Dourado left her in the control room for several hours to familiarize herself with the surveillance system, sending lunch in from the kitchen. Geno found it boring, mostly older females being pounded and mudded and having various vegetables put on their faces to tighten the skin. Geno had done a few things with a cucumber that she wasn't proud of, but she had never thought of wearing one as a face mask. She wondered if Silver was bored also, sitting in a rented car somewhere nearby, listening to nothing at the moment. Geno started describing the procedures going on in the various rooms, as if speaking aloud to herself, to help amuse him.

After fifteen minutes of describing kiwi rinses, clay packs and dandelion tea seeping, a series of beeps came back through her earpiece. She recalled the codes and fit the words they represented together to decode the message from Silver.

"Shut up or I will kill you." It read.

Just trying to help, she fumed, and went back to watching the monitors in silence.

At dinner time, the monkey came to tell her to take a break. "We usually don't monitor during the day," he informed her, "evenings are when the really important clients come in."

After eating alone in the kitchen, Geno headed back to the control room. Maybe after the money leaves tomorrow I can get some of the girls talking, she thought. She had only started climbing the stairs to the control room when she met Dourado coming down in a rush.

"There you are Aniela." He said out of breath. "We have an emergency. The Polish representative to NATO has shown up unexpectedly. One of the other generals told him about the place. He is exactly the kind of client that the boss wants us to retain, but the attendants are all engaged with important clients also." He took her paw in his tiny ones and looked up at her with pleading eyes. "He is a straightforward fellow, an old war-horse from the Warsaw Pact days. He just wants a regular massage, nothing fancy. Can you help us out?"

"Sure Doctor, which room?"

"Call me Miko, please." He pulled her toward the attendants changing area. "Now he doesn't know anything about the place so he won't be expecting much. Just remember to smile and be accommodating. 'Friendly Service', that's our motto, give the customer what he wants and all that crap. Okay?" They had arrived at the door. "Room five. Break a leg, or, whatever." He hustled Geno through the door and ran off, to return to the control room she supposed.

Geno looked around the Attendant's room. It had partitions for each attendant to keep their street clothes in and shelves for their valuables. With the constant monitoring no one would dare steal anything. A rack along one wall held the uniform for this branch, loose peasant dresses with low-cut blouses that gave them the appearance of tavern wenches from the Middle Ages. Geno had seen the girls remove the dress to work in the long blouse alone during some of the more strenuous massages. She quickly stripped off her own clothes and donned an outfit. She ignored the bras and kept her own little purple thong, the one that split just below her tail and went high on her hips; it was Marcel's favourite. The outfit was a little snug, she was taller and bustier than most of the local girls. Probably all that good Canadian food, she thought.

A short hallway led from the change room. Along it was a series of numbered doors. She stopped before number five and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she crossed herself and opened the door.

The room was cleverly disguised to resemble a medieval chamber. The walls were covered in real stone and there was a large fireplace on one wall. The inside of the door Geno had just come through was dark oak and studded with black nail heads, as was the one opposite it, which was for the clients. Beside her door was a sturdy oak table covered with the tools of the massage trade; oils, sprays, creams, vibrating devices and the like. The centre of the room was dominated by a large massage table that was also made of dark wood and covered with leather to fit the décor. Lying on his stomach on the table was a small, elderly horse. He was a Konik, an ancient line of sturdy horses indigenous to Poland.

He looked like a war-horse, despite his size. His dun coat was well combed and his dark mane was clipped short in the military fashion. He was in good shape for someone who was obviously nearing retirement age, with large, well defined muscles, although his feet showed damage from years spent in the field, often with inadequate boots. On his left shoulder there was an old tattoo, the red and white chequer board icon of the Polish Army. On the right arm was a newer tattoo, the imperial eagle.

Friendly Service, Geno repeated to herself, give the customer what he wants; but what did he want? According to Zali you had to wait until the customer said what they wanted, otherwise it was solicitation. She supposed that it was the same here. But then again, she thought, this was a fancy place; maybe the old fart really just wants a massage. Kali had described some tricks of the trade however, that Geno was dying to use on Marcel, and she would welcome the opportunity to try them out beforehand.

She moved over to the table where the horse lay with his eyes closed. Evidently, he heard her barefoot approach because he opened them as she neared. He looked at her tight dress and full blouse appreciatively.

"General Gorski didn't mention that the attendants were so ... so ... notable." He smiled. You can call me Andrzej, but my special friends call me Drugi."

"Welcome to Eden's Oasis Andrzej. I see we have you down for a straight massage tonight." Geno replied with a smile of her own. "Is there anything extra you would like with that? Scented oil, vibrating massage, curry comb?"

"Just do whatever you normally do, but no oils, I have to go home to the old mare after this, and she was a sniper when we met."

Geno rubbed her paws together to warm them up and started in on the General's shoulders. Was that a proposition she wondered? Should she suggest something? What about price? Was this one of those all-inclusive places or was there a price list? Christ, why hadn't she asked the monkey all this before accepting the assignment. She would just have to play it by ear.

Working her way down the horse's spine after massaging his arms she soon broke into a sweat. The fire made the room very warm and loosening the General's solid, bunched muscles was hard work. Geno paused and slipped off the dress, leaving just the sweat soaked blouse clinging to her. Because of her size, the blouse ended above her hips, exposing her shapely thighs, buttocks and the little purple thong. The horse had been relaxing with its eyes closed before the break, but they were wide open now. As she moved back in to continue, he shifted his eyes to a mirrored panel on the wall behind her.

She had reached the towel that covered his backside. Now what, she wondered? With her back to his head, she slid her paws underneath and gently massaged the cheeks of his ass. This was the point, according to Zali, when males interested in something more than a massage usually indicated so. Geno was wondering if the General would say something when she felt a sharp pain on her own ass. Looking around quickly she was just in time to see his arm drop back down and to catch the little smile on his face. All right then, if that's the way he wanted it.

Geno remembered something Zali had told her. Probing with her paws, she found the tender triangle of flesh between the horse's balls and anus and let the tips of her digits brush against it while she pretended to massage his thighs. The General grunted in astonishment. She leaned farther over him, letting her breasts push the towel off his ass and rub against it while she worked her way down his legs. After taking particular care with his damaged feet, she made her way back upwards again, easing his legs apart as she went.

One of her breasts was between his thighs, the erect nipple moulded by the damp material sliding though the fine hairs. It was making his leg tremble, but the General was doing all he could to keep still. Geno slid her paws further down and under, grazing his balls. The General shifted around on the table; clearly he was not as comfortable as when they started.

"Time to turn over Andrzej." The General coughed and lifted himself up gingerly. He turned over slowly and carefully, much more cautiously than Geno would have thought for an old soldier used to physical activity. Then Geno saw what the problem was.

"Oh dear," she crooned, "someone is enjoying their massage." She took the shaft that was making it difficult for him to move around, or balance, barely able to close her paw around it, and stoked it slowly while she undid the soaking blouse with the other paw. Horses were one of her favourite species.

"Is, uh, this is part of the service?" The General didn't sound so forceful now.

"For you 'Drugi', it's on the house." Geno licked her lips and bent down.

* * * * * * * *

In the control room, Miko Dourado almost choked on his sandwich. What the hell did the new girl think she was doing, he wondered? He zoomed in with the camera hidden over the fireplace to get a better view. Okay, that's kind of obvious, he thought, as he watched her stoke the eighteen-inch pole that had sprung up between the General's legs. She was naked too, and her large breasts swung gently back and forth in time with the rise and fall of her paw. He zoomed in a little more, until he could see the nipples peeking out. She really would look younger as a blond he thought.

His paw was on the joystick that controlled the camera and he had unconsciously started following her paw as it made its trip from one end of the horse's penis to the other. She was gripping it lightly at the base, twisting and tightening her grip as she neared the tip, using the clear fluid that leaked out as a lubricant. Behind the penis, he could see that the General's hand had found her slit, and was rubbing her there. As he watched, her vagina opened, showing the pink inner lips. The General wasted no time, burying his middle digit inside her as he continued to caress the swelling mons. He went over the speech that he had given her earlier. He had mentioned the bit about no sex on the premises, hadn't he?

Dourado knew that he should stop this, but how? She was supposed to be the enforcer here. He picked up the microphone and was about to use the intercom, then he remembered who she was with. If he embarrassed the General, the Warsaw branch would probably be shut down, and if word got out that they were monitoring the clients they would be ruined. More importantly, the boss would be pissed, and was likely to remove Dourado's head from his shoulders because of it. He had no choice but to let them continue.

He watched fascinated as Geno leaned down and took the tip of the horse's cock in her mouth; it made her lips stretch alarmingly. She bobbed her head up and down on it, taking in a little more with each repetition. Soon she was taking half of its length, but that seemed to be her limit. Her head moved slower now, her eyes closed, saliva leaked out of the corners of her mouth and dribbled down until stopped by the paw that continued to stoke the lower half. The microphones picked up a purring sound that slowly grew louder. The monkey switched cameras to see if the sound was coming from the General.

The General's head was thrown back, his eyes were glazed and his mouth was open; his tongue hung out one side. Oh my God, she's killed him, his mind screamed; but the rational part of him realized that it could not be true. Blood pressure drops to zero when you die and that erection would have died with him; besides, his hand was still working away at her slit, plunging in then pulling back to tickle her clit before repeating the motion. It was an awkward position for him though, so he switched. Pulling her rear around to face him he put his hand between her legs and sank his thumb into her cunt until it could go no further. The monkey had to change cameras again and zoom in to see what he was up to. From a vantage point above the accessory table Dourado saw that the horse was rotating his thumb in and out of her, separating the now fully exposed lips and rubbing her clit with the outside of his first finger as he did.

The purring grew louder as Geno continued to take his prick deep into her throat. She was bent over almost double now, legs spread, pressing herself against his hand and steadying herself with both paws on his cock. From this angle, Dourado could see how her lips were driven inside as her head descended, and how they were pulled back out as it rose. He wondered if the lips of her pussy would do the same. He did not have long to speculate.

Lifting her head with a gasp, Geno reached down and pulled the General's hand from inside her. Turning to face him, she sealed his mouth with hers. She kept one paw on his balls, rolled them together gently while they kissed. Without looking back or breaking contact, she lifted one leg up and over the General and then gracefully levered herself onto the table so that she was sitting on his thighs, his cock sticking up between her breasts.

With her paws on his shoulders, she pulled herself forward and Dourado saw the lips of her pussy part as she massaged the horse's cock with it. Back and forth she slid, spreading the moisture that came from within her in ever increasing amounts until his pole glistened. Her back was arched in pleasure, her tail held high above her. Her mouth was open as she panted, the purring noise was louder than it was before. The monkey watched the muscles on her legs and arms flex, admired the way her breasts hung tight to her chest. Haemophilia be damned, he decided, I really have to get a sample from her.

The General was fondling her breasts, tipping his head forward to suck on them when she drew close enough. Then Geno took his hands in her paws and straightened up. Planting her feet beside his hips, she squatted, and then raised herself up, steadying herself on his strong arms. Dourado watched in fascination as she sought the tip of his penis, gently bouncing on the tip until she felt it at the entrance to her cavern. Then, with a long sigh that made the monkey's balls ache, she lowered herself onto it.

Inch by inch it disappeared inside her. The bright pink inner lips were pulled back inside and soon the outer lips followed, but he had been well lubricated and she continued to take more and more of him in. Nine inches, halfway Dourado calculated, ten, eleven; how much more could she take? Twelve, thirteen, the slippery pole was being consumed. Fourteen, fifteen. She must have had an operation, he thought, recalling his early days in Brazil when he traded breast implants for blow jobs and removed the cervixes of females that wanted to take all that the beach studs had to give them. Sixteen, seventeen, the horse's cock disappeared as her ass settled in his lap.

Geno's arms and legs strained with effort as she began to rise, and the cock began to reappear like the moon after an eclipse. The General was straining too, his arms trembling as he fought to give her a steady foundation. He was also fighting the urge to come, Dourado could tell; he was fighting it himself.

Geno's purr had been replaced by a series of sharp cries as she rose and fell, rose and fell continuously. Her pussy was turned inside out and then back in on itself with each rotation, the lips sealed tightly around the massive cock. How long this went on Dourado could not tell; he had lost track of time a while ago. Geno was breathing in short gasps now, crying out continuously. Then she stopped plunging the prick into herself. With her legs cocked and her arms almost fully extended, she began to rock her hips rapidly on the last few inches, letting it rub on her clit and the sweet spot inside just behind it. She let loose with one long moan as hot fluid gushed from her, soaking his cock and balls, and still the General did not come.

Dourado was sweating freely now. He suddenly realized that he was squeezing himself through his pants. On the screen, Geno has collapsed and lay on the General's chest, her breasts flatted between them. As he watched she reached under the Horse's arms to put her paws on his shoulders and she began to slide along his torso, their combined sweat making them slick, the juice of her cum still shining on his cock. Her breasts massaged the General's chest and engulfed his face momentarily with each stoke. The giant penis disappeared and reappeared as she slithered back and forth. Dourado could not help but be reminded of the steam locomotives of his youth, the massive pistons turning the drive wheels, the bursts of steam and the moan of the gears as the massive engines strained to pull the cars full of ore past their shack in the mountains.

On the desk, the phone with no buttons began to ring. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached over, picked it up and brought it to his ear. He heard a familiar voice say "Do you know who this is?" and his sweat went cold. He listened while Geno continued to ride the General.

"She's with an important client," he replied, "I can't interrupt them right now." He nodded as he listened, turning away from the distracting scene. A noise from the speakers made him turn back, the General had cried out. He clutched Geno to his chest as his hips bucked. The final few inches of his penis jerked in and out of her as milky fluid leaked out around it. The cry trailed off as his spasms slowed.

"He's just coming, I mean going, leaving ... he'll be leaving soon." He told the caller. "Are you certain? Very well. I will bring all of them there." Dourado hung up and looked at the couple on the monitor. They were still now, the General's penis pulling out of her moist hole as it shrunk.

Dourado flipped several switches on the console. A small green screen to one side lit up and a second later a spiky white line appeared on it. He shook his head sadly and activated another screen, one that showed a map of downtown Warsaw. Vertical and horizontal lines swept across it several times then came to rest centred on an alley several blocks away from the spa. The monkey picked up a different phone and pushed the button that connected him to the receptionist.

"Kassia? After the General leaves I want you to offer our new manager a cup of our special tea. Yes, you heard me correctly, and while you are waiting, call our friends in the sanitation department, we have a pick up for them."

* * * * * * * *

Silver sat in the rental car questioning his own judgement. At first things seemed to be going well, Geno's microphone had picked up the yellow monkey's speech and she had sent back some very interesting photos of the control room. There was definitely something sinister going on behind the facade of the luxury spa chain, but what? Hopefully the analysts back in Ottawa would be able to figure it out, and if not, Geno might pick up on something.

When he overheard the monkey's request for her to fill in with a client, he had felt vindicated in having provided the extra training for her. Then he heard the noises coming through the speakers a while later and started to doubt himself. Having watched the surveillance tapes of her and Marcel's activities a few months prior, before she was hired, he recognized the sounds of her lovemaking. Maybe, he thought, hiring a hooker to teach her the fine art of massage was not such a good idea.

After wishing the General a good night, he had heard only the sound of doors closing followed by a double 'clink'. She must have taken the electronic jewellery off. Now he could only hear faint sounds of running water; obviously, Geno was in the shower. Silver debated whether he should take this opportunity to move the rental car again, as he had done every two hours since starting the surveillance, but saw that the alley was blocked at the far end by a large garbage truck and decided to wait until they were done.

He idly watched the truck move from one dumpster to the next while he waited for Geno to finish her shower. He would send her the signal to get somewhere private and then ask her for an explanation of that little erotic interlude. The truck was the type with twin forks on the front for lifting the dumpsters up and over to empty into the large container in the rear, where the compactor was. He could hear the whine of its motor after each load was dumped. The monkey had not asked her to seduce the General, unless he had missed that part. Had she hoped to get some information from the old warhorse? There was something brothering him about the truck. He sat up and watched it more closely.

The speakers picked up the sounds of another creature in the change room of the spa. The truck forked another dumpster and lifted it up and over. The newcomer called out the name of the cheetah whose place Geno had taken and Geno answered that she would be right out. The truck lowered the container and Silver heard the compactor start up. The truck moved to the next dumpster and repeated the process. The unknown voice asked Geno if she would like to share a cup of fresh brewed tea and Geno replied that she would love some. Another container flipped over, whine of the compactor, lowering the container. He heard Geno pick up the earrings and put them back on, the sound of slurping as she drank her tea.

"That is tasty." She said and drank some more. What was it about that truck that had set his senses tingling? Lift, dump, whine, lower, move ... dump? Dump what? Silver could not recall seeing any garbage fall from any of the dumpsters into the back of the truck, it was if they had been emptied earlier that day. A loud yawn came over the speakers.

Silver started the engine and put the car in reverse without taking his eyes of the garbage truck. He glanced in the rear-view mirror to confirm that his escape route was clear and got a shock; the mirror was filled with the grill of another garbage truck. It must have coasted up in neutral, using the slope of the alley to get behind silently him while the noisier one distracted him. Silver jammed the lever into first and prepared to make a run for it as soon as he could see some air between the oncoming truck and the alley wall, but before he could pop the clutch he heard a grinding sound and felt the rental car shudder. The truck behind him had him in its forks.

He tried the door, no good; the forks were holding it closed. He started to lower the window but it jammed as the forks squeezed the sedan, flattening the doors and breaking mechanism. The car began to crumple inward, threatening to trap his legs under the dash. Silver struggled to release the seatbelt but he could not get his paw between the seat and the console anymore. He reached into his pocket for a knife to cut it with as he felt the car being lifted from the ground. He managed to saw through the belt just as the car was flipped upside down and suspended over the open compactor compartment. With a scream of metal the forks parted and the car dropped into darkness.

Silver's head was driven hard into the roof of the passenger compartment and the steering column cracked him in the chin. Glass from the widows that had shattered on impact filled his unprotected face and paws. Upside down, dazed and trapped, he waited for the whine of the compactor motor to signal his end, but the only thing he could hear sounded like someone snoring. It was coming thought the speakers that carried Geno's audio signal.

* * * * * * * *

Kain had a quiet flight to Sydney. As André Renard, French politician and sole heir to a famous vineyard, he flew first class to Vancouver and from there direct to Australia. He let the Quantas stewardesses know early on in the flight that he wanted to be left alone. He wanted to think.

His life had changed, several times, over the last year. Joining FOX, almost getting killed, falling in love, maybe, Ophelia's sudden departure. Since then, he had not really taken the time to reflect on what he was doing, where he was going. He had thrown himself into a regime of physiotherapy, training and work that kept his mind off her, and off his own loneliness. Then yesterday, plucked from the Ops Centre, intensive preparation for his first field mission, the night spent with W's secretary; he still ached in places he hadn't known he had. He realized that Silver had set it up, to get his mind off the cloud leopard, but whatever else the poodle had done for him, she had snapped him out of the trance he had been in for almost six months.

Everyone, including himself, assumed that he still wanted to be a field agent for the Foreign Operations eXecutive, and eventually a senior agent. That's what it was supposedly all about, but he wasn't so certain anymore. Ophelia's disappearance had opened up a hole inside him that still had not closed; he wondered if it ever would. How many holes like that could a guy take?

The Academy was rife with stories about agents boiling over. The instructors and other staff would point out patched walls or replacement woodwork and note in whispers which agent had lost it in what manner. "Here's the door that Black drove his fist through." They said, or "See those holes? This was Silver's room when this building was the junior agent's dorm." Kain noticed that all of the marks were old, maybe decades old. None of the stories seemed to involve older agents, so he supposed that you got over it, eventually.

He thought about Silver, the last senior agent remaining from the cold war days. He was a chilly bastard. How many kills did he have now? Dozens, hundreds? How many friends, partners and lovers had he lost over the years? A lot, if the rumours were true. Now his latest lover, the one carrying his child, was gone, and Silver was right back to work, plotting and planning, manipulating people to get the results he wanted. Did he want to scream and curse and drink and break things? Did he have to restrain himself, or had he gotten so used to it that it was just another mission now? Either way, Kain wondered if he really wanted to end up like that.

He thought of his life at the Academy. He counted Joel as a friend but not the kind you hung out with after hours. Joel's interests were too different from his own; Kain's did not involve latex, leather or long rubber objects for example. Marcel was cool, but when he wasn't out of town, he was off doing something loud with Geno. The rest of the staff was friendly at best, indifferent otherwise. Kain had little in common with them; he was younger, self-educated, an American baseball fan in a hockey town.

He was still pondering his future when he left the plane, but soon had other things to think about. Walking from the gate down the long corridor leading to customs and immigration he could not help but notice the barrels with signs demanding that he deposit all foreign foodstuffs, including anything he may have been served on the plane. Australia was under permanent quarantine it seemed. At first, the signs were polite but as he progressed their tone grew steadily more threatening. By the time he reached the end of the corridor he had searched his clothes twice and had turned out his pockets in case an errant crumb had lodged there.

He remembered to keep in character as he passed through customs and immigration; 'André Renard' did not have diplomatic immunity and was not here on official business, but they would expect a politician, especially a French aristocrat, to act as if he was, so he did. True to Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche's prediction, his exaggerated accent passed without comment. Assured that he was not attempting to sneak a croissant and jam into their island fortress, he was allowed through to where the chauffeur and rented limousine waited.

His first stop was the Observatory Hotel, one of the more luxurious spots in the heart of the city, but one that the real Renard had never stayed in according to the records Kain had hacked. The spa was in the hills north of the city, good hour drive what with the traffic, the chauffeur assured him. After showering and changing Kain donned his own electronic jewellery and was ready to go.

Crossing the bridge and leaving the city behind, the limo climbed into the hills, into a green area overlooking Sydney. The Eden's Oasis branch here occupied a rambling Victorian structure, an old manor house from the looks of it. Kain told the chauffeur to wait and walked up the steps to the ornate doorway.

He didn't know what to expect. He knew that prostitution was legal here and had visited the web pages of a few brothels around Sydney, but he doubted that this establishment would have anything like Tiffany's 'Jungle room'. Then there was the staff; whereas the bawdy houses tended to diversify the Eden's Oasis staff would all be the same species. He tried to guess what it would be here. Probably kangaroos, koalas, wallabies or wombats, he mused, I hope it's not platipuses, or platipi, or platipussies, whatever.

The decorations and furniture in the foyer might have come from the original manor; it was delicate, ornate, colourful and obviously antique. Even the carpet and cloth wall coverings looked original. The reception desk, placed where a grand piano might have stood once upon a time, had been selected to match the decor in style and era, as had the appearance of the receptionist.

It took Kain a few seconds to recognize her species, he had been so expecting to see something stereotypically Australian. In fact, it was only when she stood in greeting, revealing that her dress had been cut to accommodate the skin that connected her front paws to her feet, that he realized what she was. The pearl-grey, black and cream fur, soft as chinchilla, the large black eyes, the pert little pink nose; she was a sugar glider, and the Victorian setting seemed to fit her subtle beauty.

She came around the desk with her paws extended to grasp his, greeting him in passable French, and he remembered at the last second who he was supposed to be. Taking both of her paws in his, he leaned in and bestowed the double kiss on the cheeks she must have expected, but he responded in English, heavily flavoured with his exaggerated accent. He operated the camera hidden in his stylish wristband as he did.

"This is an unexpected visit Mister Renard." She continued. "According to our records you are not scheduled for another cleansing treatment until August, at the Paris branch."

"Yes, I am finding myself here un-ex-pec-ted-ly." He replied, pronouncing each syllable of the longer English words distinctly. "The summit in Japan, she demands my at-ten-tion, and the family business has some interests in your vineyards, but why fly all this way for business only, heh? I am come to relax also; and if you could speed up my treatment schedule?" Kain raised his brows until he thought they would fall off the top of his head and left the questions hanging.

"I understand how, uhm, addictive, the treatments can become, Mister Renard, but you know how strict Doctor Dourado is about the treatment schedule. How about a nice massage and aromatherapy treatment tonight? It will help make the craving go away."

The craving, Kain thought, are these people that good? He had heard of gambling addicts and sex addicts, but spa addicts? He looked the receptionist over again. Definitely cuter than your average wombat, he thought. Maybe he could get used to being a field agent.

Kain allowed himself to be talked into a massage and went to change. Silver had briefed him on what to expect, how to wear the robe and what items of loaded jewellery he could get away with keeping. On entering the room reserved for his session he was pleased to see that the attendant was even better looking than the receptionist, but maybe that was only because she was dressed in a loose white robe with open sides made of some clingy material that managed to outline and accentuate every lovely curve.

He dropped the robe and lay face down on the table as instructed. Apparently, Andr' Renard was not shy. She belatedly covered him from just below his tail to just above his thighs with a soft white towel. She lit a candle and placed a glass bowl with scented oils above it. A small fan circulated the aroma through the room. Kain was beginning to relax even before he felt her digits on his shoulders.

There was a soft 'ping' mixed in with the music. On hearing it, the attendant left the room through a door at the rear. She was back a few moments later with a steaming cup. Squatting by his head, a move that made the robe reveal more than it perhaps should, she offered the tea to Kain. He asked her what it was.

"Herbal tea. Soothing sights, smells, tastes, sounds, touch ... they all contribute to the total relaxation experience we offer possible. Drink up."

"If she tastes half as good as the visual off-fer-ring," Kain quipped in his French accent, lifting his eyes from her open robe to look in her eyes, "she must be to die for." He took a tentative sip. It was good, very good. He drank more.

"Oh, it's not that good," she answered with a smile, "but it will give you sweet dreams."

* * * * * * * *

The control room in the attic was dim. The local manager sat in the chair centred on the large monitor and watched as the fox struggled to keep its eyes open. She could feel hot breath on the back of her head. That was the big boss back there, and recently the boss had taken to standing close behind her, literally breathing down her neck, but she didn't turn around. The boss didn't like to be looked at, not anymore. On the screen, the fox threw the cup to one side and lunged at the attendant; but only succeeded in falling off the massage table.

"He's resisting." The manager said. "He must be stronger than he looks."

"Probably one of the new 'special' agents our informant mentioned." The boss pondered. A steady 'clack-clack' that made her spine itch started up behind her; another bad habit the boss had acquired lately. It betrayed an uncertainty that had developed in recent months.

The Sydney branch was one of the first of the spa's franchises, and the manager one or their oldest employees. She had started even before the big boss appeared on the scene, when Dourado was still in charge. Emboldened by her seniority, she dared to question the new boss.

"I hope that you know what you are doing. If that really is Andr' Renard this will get us in a lot of trouble."

She regretted her boldness immediately. The clacking noise ceased and her neck was squeezed in a grip of steel. She felt her rear coming off the chair as she was lifted by the neck into the air. She struggled to get her feet under her and free her neck but her vision was already shot with streaks of black as the increasing pressure of the bosses' grip cut off the blood supply to her brain.

"Listen to that accent! If he is French then I'm a pretty pink poodle." The boss snarled in her ear but thankfully eased up on her neck. "I paid a lot of money to some old bastard in Singapore for this information, and so far he has proved to be reliable." This reminded her of the calls the boss had made to some of the other branches earlier. Confirmation had indeed come back that the subjects were found to be wired.

"Tell the chauffer that his charge has decided to stay here for the remainder of the day. Get our van ready and have the boat stand by." The boss released her and she fell to the floor gasping for breath, rubbing her neck. Her anger boiled and she almost attacked, but self-preservation stopped her in time; the boss ruled with an iron fist these days, best not to volunteer as the punching bag. She nodded acknowledgement and pulled herself back into the chair as the boss stomped heavily out.

* * * * * * * *

Despite his best efforts, Kain was drifting off. What an inglorious end, he thought, poisoned fifteen minutes into his first assignment. He had not drunk all of the tea before noticing the first effects, and with all the dense muscle he had built up in the last few months, they may have miscalculated the dosage, but he could tell that he was losing the battle to stay conscious. He lay limply on his back on the floor, head lolling to one side, arms flung out and paws curled, unable to move now. He could only keep his eyes open to slits, but his narrow field of view included the door that the attendant had brought the tea through.

The edges of his vision were growing dimmer, the darkness spreading inward. The door was a blur now, but he saw the quality of light change, growing brighter as the door swung open. Suddenly most of the light was blocked as a large figure filled the doorway. The figure stood there silhouetted for an instant, and Kain heard a strange noise come from it, a 'clack-clack', like when he used to play with the salad tongs while waiting for diner.

The figure stepped forward into the room and stretched out its arms to engulf him as the last of his vision faded. The appendages grew impossibly large as his brain refused to accept the change in perspective. His last conscious thought as they passed out of view to grab his arms was "The claws! My God, I'm being attacked by a lobster!"

* * * * * * *

The Stalker was beside the pool when the triple tone came. The sound was coming from a phone in the bag beside the lounge chair, the bag that the Stalker carried everywhere in case of emergencies.

This particular phone was odd. It had no screen, making it useless for displaying phone numbers or text messages. It went off when it detected its particular signal on the network, but it did not respond like normal cellular phones did in order for a call to connect or a text message to be delivered. The signal would have continued going out around the world, seeking a phone that would never answer.

Now that it had gone off the Stalker picked it up and pushed the speed dial button. A series of clicks and dial tones followed as the phone routed through a number of dummy sites, filters and links before finally connecting to a voice mail account. The assassin listed to the short message twice and then pressed the code to erase it. Neither this phone or the voice mail account would ever be used again, but they had served their purpose.

The day the new Perfect Stalker had waited for had arrived; FOX was exposed and vulnerable. Time to move in.