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FOX Academy Flashbacks

Scarlet Necklace

Part VI - ... Another Curtain Closes

October 1990 - October 1991

Silver almost died before Gold could get him back to Ottawa. Weakened by the torture and malnutrition, sickened by the infections from open wounds left unattended too long, he collapsed at Vancouver International Airport before Gold could transfer him to a private plane. The airport paramedics that rushed to help were astounded when they ripped open the stricken fox's shirt to discover swaths of blood-soaked bandages. It did not help Williams that it happened within sight of the customs and immigration officials either. It took several phone calls from Ottawa before they convinced of his credentials, and several more before the airport officials agreed to let him continue the voyage with the comatose fox.

Fortunately for Silver, Williams had thought to have a doctor on board the private craft. Doctor Oliver Wendell Jones was an albino wallaby new to FOX after a career spent sewing up members of Australia's Special Forces. Silver's condition was something familiar to him, and he set to work while the plane was still taxiing. He managed to keep the agent alive until they reached better facilities.

The Foreign Operations eXecutive had a fully equipped high-security hospital on the grounds. It came in handy when agents returned in more than one piece or dragging wounded scientists behind them. Senior politicians were known to take advantage of the first class facilities also. Many of its specialist staff practiced privately or in the local public hospitals, but there was a permanent staff of nurses and doctors on duty twenty-four hours a day. Besides the occasional damaged agent or captured spy, training accidents were common, and there was usually a bruised or punctured student or two in for treatment.

Alerted by radio from the plane a full operating team was waiting for Silver's arrival. Thanks to their skill, the in-air efforts of Doctor Jones, and Silver's incredible stamina, he was able to pull through. He was put in the room closest to the operating theatre though, just in case. For the next two months, he lingered in a coma. They concentrated on fighting the infection that had reached his brain, cosmetic surgery could come later.

Silver woke up just as Ottawa and most of the eastern seaboard entered 1991. The change in the pattern on his monitor set off an alarm in the nurse's station and an instant later a concerned brown otter was at the door. Seeing his confused gaze, she patted his arm and wished him a happy new year.

It was not a very happy year for Silver, the Soviet Union, the KGB, or Beijing.

In China's capitol, martial law was rescinded but the power struggle continued. Ordinary creatures caught in the most common crimes were tried as counter-revolutionaries and put to death. For supporters of the rival leaders, accusations of corruption often resulted in the same fate. Worse still, the city lost its bid to host the 2000 Olympic Games, but they vowed to keep trying until they won.

The USSR and its proxies were breaking up. Yugoslavia dissolved in a series of violent civil wars and gave rise to the phenomena that would come to be called 'Ethnic Cleansing'. In July the Warsaw Pact was formally dissolved.

Throughout the year, pieces of the Soviet Union broke off, and the government was powerless to stop them. In August, the Chairman of the KGB, Vladimir Kryuchkov, led a coup designed to return the hard-liners to power. President Gorbachev was arrested and in isolation at his dacha in Odessa, while Kryuchkov's armed Spetsnaz divisions moved in on the legislature. But Gorbachev refused to accede power and his deputy, Boris Yeltsin, managed to return to Moscow and rally the rest of the elected officials. The city rose up to oppose the KGB troops.

Kryuchkov's last chance was the Army's elite airborne units, the last of the army units still being paid and fed regularly. He called on them to break through the cordon and clear out the democrats. He was counting on the military's conservative nature and pride in the Soviet motherland to ensure their cooperation, but he miscalculated. Resentful of the KGB's arrogance, superior funding and always getting first pick of the best looking female recruits, the GRU fed false information to the Commander of the Airborne Forces. They painted a bleak picture of civilians, mostly experienced ex-military, dug in with heavy weapons and supported by mutinous KGB armour. The army turned back on the outskirts of Moscow, Boris Yeltsin became a hero, and they were forced to release Gorbachev.

The coup had failed. The USSR, the Communist Party, and all of the mechanisms that made it run for over seventy years, began to implode. The purge of the KGB began the moment Gorbachev stepped off the plane in Moscow. It was a time of constantly changing personalities, priorities and directives. A dangerous time, when almost anything could happen.

* * * * * * * *

Silver's physical recovery was slow, his mental recovery slower. By the end of January, he had regained enough motor control to move around the hospital on his own and to begin physiotherapy. Two months of carefully escalated exercises followed to rebuild and retrain the muscles lost to disease, inactivity and the torturer's knife.

Silver approached the physio program with grim determination. He worked hard, harder than he should, to get back in shape because he was defenceless in the hospital, in this weakened condition. He was vulnerable as long as the mole was still out there, because he knew that somehow the double agent had had something to do with what happened to him in Beijing. He knew that he would not feel safe and confident again until he had hunted the double agent down.

Despite the staff psychiatrist's assurances otherwise, Silver knew that he was not safe, and he could trust no one, so he drove himself to the point of exhaustion, and often beyond. This brought him in conflict with Doctor Jones. After many years with the Australian Special Forces, the wallaby was used to dealing with overly macho alpha males. Jones prescribed sedatives to slow the driven fox down, but Silver refused to take them. Attempting to force them on him resulted in several broken limbs, none of them Silver's. Doctor Jones cut Silver off from all pain medication in an attempt to control his activity, but the fox took up an exotic form of yoga that helped him regulate his own senses. He refused all medication from that point forward.

Silver could not wait to get out of the hospital, and although Jones could not wait to be rid of him, he was reluctant to discharge a patient that he considered paranoid. He concurred with the psychiatrist, the rat Doctor Gordon, that Silver needed more supervision than living in the Academy's residences would give him. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to contain the driven fox. In early April Jones and Gordon went to the Chief of Staff to discuss the problem.

"So you can see my quandary Williams." Doctor Jones summarized after detailing the case history. "The hospital can't function properly with this agent disrupting the routine and I can't in good conscious discharge him in his condition. I wish he had some family to go to, but apparently there is only a sister that lives on some tropical island with no electricity somewhere. The agent won't tell us how to contact her and I can't locate her because I don't even know his real name." Doctor Jones refused to use the Academy codenames, but this patient's file had been purged of all personal information years before so it seemed.

"Family?" Something the doctor had said gave Gold an idea. "I'm the closest thing that he has to family around here. He stayed with me when he was recovering from a bad turn in Finland."

"I don't know. You're still his superior, that may be awkward for him, and a lot of responsibility for you." Doctor Gordon pondered the problem. "Does he have any other friends in the Academy?"

"Friends? Not really." Williams shook his head. "Silver likes to say that he has no friends in the service, just temporary acquaintances. He has a lover, but it is an on-again-off-again relationship. Superficial, I believe. But I think that we made a connection back then, he and I. Hopefully it's still there."

Gordon recalled the details of the recovery. There had been a lot of guilt for Silver to deal with, and some shame. All three of them knew what Silver had been subjected to, although he had not told them. It was protocol to tape everything that went on in a senior agent's hospital room, in order to do damage control if they babbled any secrets while out of their senses. Silver's nightmares, along with the physical evidence they collected while he was comatose, were enough to fill in the blanks. The question was, would Silver recover or would he go into a spiral of self-loathing and self-destructive behaviour? People who had suffered like him had a bad habit of becoming violent towards those of a certain sexual orientation, and the Chief of Staff ... well. But there had been something between them back then, something that had helped Silver pull through the mental and physical trauma of the Finland mission.

"It would not hurt to see him and propose that he move in with you again. We'll monitor from the control room, but if he is so far gone that he reacts ... poorly ... well, then I am afraid that he will have to be institutionalized."

Gold knew what that meant, Silver would not the first agent to succumb to the pressure. A person with his skills would never be let out of restraints, it would be too dangerous. Even confronting him like this could be dangerous. Williams wondered if Silver had been clever and paranoid enough to secrete a few weapons about his person. Hospitals were an excellent source of sharp objects. Did he owe Silver anything, he thought o himself, as a friend or as his boss? Of course he did, that's the burden that went with trust.

"Let's go then."

At first, the meeting did not go well. Tancred mentioned that Silver could leave soon, but that it would not be good to be on his own, in case of a relapse, and offered to share his chalet in the Gatineau Hills again. Silver refused, stating that he did not wish to be an imposition. When Williams insisted Silver became agitated, and evasive. Doctor Gordon signalled, by sending a nurse with a certain type of soft drink, that he was ready to call security and restrain the younger fox. Tancred was not ready to give up yet. He decided to confront the problem head on.

"Is it because I'm gay, Silver? Is that why you won't trust me? Afraid that I'll do to you what they did?" He saw Silver's jaw drop in shock and continued before he could gather his wits and counterattack. "Yes I know what happened to you. I'm one of the few who knows, so whatever you imagine, no one is talking about you behind your back or blaming you for what happened."

"How the hell would you know?" Silver shot back. "This has never happened to you."

"That's true Silver." Williams answered patiently. "It has never happened to me, but not because no one ever tried. They could sense that I was different when I got into High School, and that made me vulnerable. I got chased, I got beaten, and I got cut. The bastards almost got me down once, but I got lucky and someone came along and scared them off." Anger was creeping into William's voice. "All that separates us is luck on my part and overwhelming odds against you, otherwise we could be sitting here sharing sob stories as equals. So don't ever," he poked Silver in the chest with one digit extended from his fist, "ever, compare me to the beasts that did this to you. Do you hear me?"

Silver did not answer, but he bit his lip, betraying his uncertainty.

"Is it that you're worried that I could be the mole?" Williams went on after a moment. "If that's the case then there is nothing that I can say or do to prove my innocence. I'm as likely as anyone else to be guilty, more so, considering my access and ability to intimidate my minions."

Silver barked a laugh. "Minions? Jesus Tanner, why don't you just go all out and call us peons?"

"I would, if only if I could get you to cut my grass."

"You don't have any grass at the shack you call a cottage, just rock and moss and pine needles. It looks like a reject from a Group of Seven painting." Silver was grinning openly for the first time since leaving for China.

"So are you okay with it then, moving in?"

"Not entirely, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Doctor Gordon is hiding around the corner with a large syringe of happy juice if I'm not. But I don't believe that you are the mole either."

"Why not?"

"I've been studying the psychology. A mole would deny being a mole, first of all, and then offer 'evidence' that is really not conclusive." There were other indications but Silver stopped there. "So you are either innocent or so clever that I must keep you under close observation. I'll move in, but not because I like, like you or anything. You are just a temporary acquaintance, after all."

"How temporary?" Tancred asked

"Forty years, if your health holds up."

* * * * * * * *

Scarlet could not be there when Silver was brought back from China, it was important that she be in Poland to help speed the demise of the Warsaw Pact. It was also important for her controller that she was in a position to pass information freely, with little supervision. Not that there was a lot to pass these days. Paranoia over the mole had reached new heights and most important news was being passed verbally. People didn't even want to be privy to classified information anymore. The 'need to know' had taken on new meaning. It was September before she could return to Ottawa.

A few innocent inquiries revealed that Silver had not yet returned to active duty. He was reported to be in better physical shape than ever, although he wasn't using the gym. He spent hours every day on the range improving on what was already the best shooting record in the Academy, but he talked to no one, other than to say what was necessary to book the range. He preferred to use it alone. He drove off with Gold toward the Gatineau Hills most nights, but he walked in around noon, dirty and sweaty and tired. Administrative Services said that he kept a room in the residence just to use the shower there because he would not use the common facilities in the HQ. The Chief of Staff had approved the request.

In all, Silver did not have much interaction with the rest of the Academy, other than Gold. It was obvious to most that he trusted no one else. The general opinion was that Silver had gone twitchy and should be sent to the rubber gun squad. Scarlet had seen agents get that way before. It generally followed either a prolonged period of high stress or a single catastrophic event. She wondered what had happened to cause it in Silver, and what she could do to help.

Scarlet had a feeling she knew where Silver was spending his mornings.

She could have just walked up the trail to the pond with the gazebo casually, tripping the alarms to let Silver know that she was on her way, but her competitive nature got the best of her. She went cautiously, taking a roundabout route, checking for trip wires and pressure plates as she went. It took some time, but she was in no rush. She still had not decided how to approach him when they met.

She arrived at the pond to find it deserted, yet there were signs that he had been hard at work there. The tiers of the rock garden on the north side of the pond were almost complete. Late blooming perennials of orange and blue dominated. They overshadowed the early bloomers that had long since lost their pink and white flowers, and were just taking over from the mid-summer yellows and reds. There were a hundred shades of green in the foliage he had planted.

Scarlet walked down to where the wheelbarrow stood abandoned at the far end of the pond. A shovel was leaning against it and it was half full of fresh, dark soil. Looking at the nearest section of the rock garden, she saw that several hollows in the rocks had recently been filled with the dirt. She touched one with a paw and the soil stuck to it. It was still damp, he had been here today, maybe she had just missed him. She turned to return to the Academy and there he was, standing beside the gazebo, the camouflaged assault rifle from their previous encounter cradled casually in his arms. But his paw was still on the trigger and the muzzle was pointing at her.

Scarlet did not move. She had a small pistol on her, and several other less obvious weapons, but she did not go for them. She did not even brush a stray lock of fur that was blocking her eyes, Silver's reputation for instinctive shooting and his nervous state made any movement dangerous. She stood and waited for him to make the first move. He stared at her for a full minute before speaking.

"Hello Scarlet. How are you?"

His tone of voice was perfectly neutral, and that made her spirits fall. A hint of desire would have been good, joy even better. Even anger and suspicion she could have dealt with. Indifference could only mean that he had already made up his mind about her and was determined to keep things on a professional level. She had saved the fox but lost the lover in the process.

She sighed inwardly. She longed to tell him that she had saved him but that would require an explanation that she could not give. She could never tell him who had provided the information or how it made its way into Chinese paws. She could never tell him what she had done to get it, not because the news might shock him, but because for the first time she felt ashamed. After twenty-five years of using her body as a tool and sex as a weapon, Scarlet was beginning to question her own morals.

"I'm fine Silver. I thought that you might appreciate some help with your garden." She risked a gesture, displaying her outfit with a slow flourish of her paws. She had on jeans, a plaid work shirt, sturdy work boots and a straw hat to block the sun. She cocked one hip to show that she even had a pair of gardening gloves hanging out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Silver threw back his snout and laughed out loud. It was a good honest sound, if a little deflating for her. He never took his eyes off her however, and his aim did not waver. When the laughter diminished into chuckles, he tilted his chin to her and said, "Scarlet, look at you!"

She could not help glancing down to check her clothes. The work boots were brand new, purchased just last night, and were bright pink. She had found them in a trendy shop on Bank Street. The jeans were new too, but prefaded and torn in strategic places. They were also so short that all of her thighs and most of her ass showed. The flannel work shirt had been too warm, so she had cut off the sleeves and tied the tail off under her breasts, leaving the top three buttons open to let the air in. The gloves were good sensible work gloves, lifted from one of the groundkeeper's carts and probably three sizes too big for her. The straw hat was old and worn. She had bought it from a horse who was pulling a tourist cart through the Arboretum for twenty dollars just thirty minutes ago.

She was genuinely perplexed, and it showed on her face as she looked back to him and shrugged.

This time Silver laughed so hard he had to close his eyes. He moved the rifle off and slid the safety to 'on' before he did though.

When he had recovered, they sat in the shade of the gazebo and made small talk. The earlier tension was broken but he was still indifferent, distant even. Someone who had put up defences that would take years to tear down. Well, she thought, I might as well start now.

She slid closer to him on the bench and traced circles around the old burn wound on the back of his left paw.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you were brought back, or when you woke up Silver."

"It's okay. Things are moving fast now and you are in a crucial position." He did not sound too disappointed, but he did not move away either. Scarlet moved a little closer, picked up his paw, and linked her digits through his.

"Was it bad, in China?"

"It was bad." His tone said more than his words did, but mainly it said "I don't want to talk about it." Scarlet shifted to where his paw had been and her hip was against his. Leaning against him, she rested her head on his bicep. He still didn't move, it was like she wasn't there.

"What do you want Scarlet?"

That damned monotone again, but he had a point. What did she want? Felling the warmth coming off of him, smelling the combination of clean dirt and sweat on him, it brought back memories of a time of innocence. She remembered sitting like this with her father in their backyard vegetable garden, when he was a beat cop in Toronto. That had ended when she was ten, the year he died. With a start, Scarlet realized that what she wanted was to be comforted. But did she have any right to ask that of him?

"I just want to comfort you." She said instead, and she stroked his arm through his long-sleeved shirt. When he did not react, she reached her head up and kissed him on the line of his jaw. She lifted his arm and put it around her so that she could tuck in under it. She rubbed her head against his chest and ran one paw across. Taking his silence for permission to continue, she took the top button of his shirt between two digits and went to slide it through the hole.

His reaction was swift and violent and startled her. He slapped her paw back with his right and was up on his feet in an instant, glaring down on her. His grey-blue eyes were a strange combination of pain and anger. Stranger still was the protective way he was holding his shirt against him. Seconds later he was standing straight, his arms at his sides and a neutral expression on his face. It had only lasted a moment, but Scarlet believed that she had caught a glimpse of the hell he had been through.

"Comfort me?" Silver asked, reaching out to raise her head so that he could look straight into her eyes and held it between his paws. "People like us don't need any comforting. We need to dominate, to compete, to perform." He leaned down suddenly and kissed her, forcing her mouth open and wrapping his tongue around hers. She resisted at first, but then grabbed his head and refused to let him pull back when he was done. She released him when she was satisfied.

"See what I mean Scarlet?" Silver undid the buckle of his belt and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. "Did W send you to check up on me? Find out if I could still do my duty to my country?" He dropped his jeans to the wooden floor of the gazebo and toed off his sneakers and socks. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer shorts. "Well, let's find out." A tug and a hop later Silver stood in front of her, naked except for the stained work shirt.

Scarlet was hurt, but she did not want to show it. She knew that Silver had been abused, but did not know the details. If he had been damaged in a way that might prevent him from performing ... damn, she cursed herself, now I sound just like him. If he had been damaged in a way that might affect his masculinity, that's better. If there was any question of whether he would be able to make love again, even better. Well, who better to help him back into the saddle, so to speak. She was, she was forced to acknowledge, a professional. And if she could not help him through this then no one could.

Scarlet reached up to undo his shirt. He stiffened as her paws approached but instead of reacting violently he just pushed her paws away. Gently, but firmly.

"Leave it, please."

Scarlet dropped her paws to her own shirt and undid it instead. She loosened the knot under her breasts and stood as she pulled the shirt back and off. She stood chest to chest with him, looking up into his eyes as she undid the brass button at the waist of her own jeans. She shimmied her hips as she worked the tight cut-offs down over them and let them drop. She stepped out of them. There were no panties, bras or thongs to deal with today. Keeping eye contact, Scarlet brought her right leg up straight out and rotated it around until it pointed straight up between them. She rested her ankle on his shoulder and leaned against him. Doing so brought her warm thigh and crotch in contact with his groin. As she began to untie the pink boot she felt something twitch between them down there.

She tossed the boot aside and lowered the leg. Then she repeated the manoeuvre with the left leg. When it was up she pretended to lose her footing, and ground her pelvis into his while regaining a balance never lost. The twitch became a pulse, and something warm was pressing against the strip of sensitive skin that separated her two holes. When she lowered her leg she trapped it between her thighs, but like an orchid, it grew best in hot moist places.

Silver ran his paws down her back and up her arms, under her breasts and around her waist. Scarlet did not know what to do with her paws, caressing a thick, soiled work shirt did not seem seductive to her. She put them on his hips and squeezed the soft flesh above them. She reached behind him and took a paw full of each buttock and pulled his hips against hers. She raised and lowered her feet in succession, massaging the pole between her legs.

Silver bent his head and kissed again, hard. He used to be an unselfish lover, but now he seemed intent on taking his own pleasure. His paws pressed into her, massaging as hard as his kisses, forcing the blood to flow into the tissues and bringing warmth that her body interpreted as passion. Her body reacted to this false passion by becoming moist and sending more blood to the outer tissues, thus reinforcing the fervour. The hotter she got the harder he pressed, and the harder he pressed the hotter she got. Soon she was squirming with passion, her vagina leaking juices onto his trapped cock. He was so hard that he was almost lifting her of the ground.

She made a circle with the digits of one paw around the base of his tail and raised it to pull his tail through it. The digits of her other paw strayed toward the hole at its base, brushed the sensitive skin there.

Silver froze. He stopped breathing. His erection deflated between her legs. Scarlet could feel the vibration that told her he was fighting for control. One of his paws happened to be caressing her neck below her chin and the digits tightened alarmingly for an instant. They were not tightening any more, but they were not loosening either. Scarlet had been with enough males with similar sexual problems to recognize the symptoms, and she felt pity for him. So that's what he's afraid of.

She pulled her paw away quickly and pasted a flustered look on her face. "Sorry Silver, my paw slipped." She put her paws under his jaw on both sides of his head, as far from the offending area as possible and also safely away from whatever the shirt was hiding. She softened her eyes, snuggled against him and pulled his mouth down on to hers. He responded after a few seconds and began to kiss back. The triangular space where her legs joined was soon filled with pulsing penis again, and she squeezed it with her thighs until she could feel the veins standing out against her labia.

Scarlet raised a leg behind him and brought it to rest across the small of his back. Reaching up under his arms and over his shoulders, she brought the other up and across the first. She was in a good yoga position, ankles crossed behind him, sitting on the base of his cock, her hardened clit pressed into his pelvis. Silver spread his feet a little to balance himself and leaned back to bring their combined centre of gravity over them. They had not broken their kiss throughout the manoeuvre.

Scarlet flexed her legs and raised her butt letting the length of his shaft slide along the base of her sex until the tip slid up between the inner lips. They were flush and spread out and eager to receive him. So moist was she that he slid into her with ease as she relaxed her legs and lowered herself onto him. Her clit ran down him to come to rest against its furry base. A deep breath, another flex, and the exquisite sensation of the head of his cock coming down along the roof of her cunt. She let it pop out of her and gave her clit a few good rubs against it before engulfing his prick again.

Silver was letting her do all the work. Rising up, sliding down, grinding against him, bobbing against the tip. How long since he last made love, she wondered, was it with me in Poland? Surely, he had not done it since his return from China, almost a year ago now. Besides being able to keep his balance with a squirming, undulating vixen attached to his groin, she was impressed that he could hold off so long. She was beginning to think that she would beat him to the climax despite the lack of foreplay that was normally required to close the gap in their relative endurance levels.

Silver could not last forever though. Each time she slid down his shaft brought him closer to the finish. By letting her set the pace, he had forfeited control. His brow was furrowed and his teeth were clenched in the effort to stave off the inevitable. Scarlet saw this, and the devil in her made her constrict her vaginal muscles as she rode up to titillate him further. At the top of her stoke she paused to dive the head of his cock in and out between her lips several times. Then she slithered down and repeated it all again.

"You ... bitch." He muttered.

"Bite me." She gasped.

"Aaggghhhh." He cried as his hips jerked against her descending clit and his cock danced inside her. A warm, creamy feeling filled her. He was still hard, so she rode him like a pony, driving herself down harder and harder. He had to take a step back to keep balance, but he did not fall, and he did not falter. He continued to provide the instrument of her impalement until she too could take no more.

"Ooohhgghh." She moaned, as her insides liquefied and flowed out of her. She leaned back arms-length to wiggle her clit against him while her twat rippled around his cock. It was too sensitive to endure, but she had trapped herself against him, and until he lowered her, she had to endure the unbearable pleasure.

Finally Scarlet's spasms stopped, and Silver's lust abated enough for her to climb down off of him. She leaned against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, but there was something missing. Scarlet could sense Silver's mind roving to and fro, he was sated, but not at rest. The element of tenderness that had always been there before was gone. There was no peace at the end of this road, only more questions.

"Silver?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens, remember that I believe in you."

Silver put a paw behind her head and pulled her into the nook of his shoulder, leaning his head comfortingly on hers. For a moment, she felt like she was back home in Toronto,

* * * * * * * * *

That afternoon Silver appeared at the door to the chief of Staff's office shortly after Gold's secretary proclaimed his presence.

"I'm ready to get back to work on the double agent file." He announced. "But Tanner, I'll need something from you. You told me once that no one was beyond suspicion. Not you, not W, not anyone. I need carte blanche to investigate any one, any way I see fit, and without reporting back to you until I've found proof."

Tancred looked across at Silver. He looked more confident today, more in control than ever since leaving the hospital. His eyes also looked colder than ever before, more foreboding. Williams was sure that when Silver came back to see him again, he would have a death warrant in his paw, and he would execute it, no matter whose name was on it.

Williams turned without a word and spun the dial on the four-drawer safe behind his desk. He threw the heavy handle down and pulled open the third drawer. From inside he took a single sheet of heavy paper, embossed with the seal of the Privy Council. Turning back to his desk, he took his pen from the holder and added the word 'Silver' to one of the two blank spaces and signed the other. He held the paper out to Silver.

"Bring this paper back when you have proof," he said gravely, "and I'll exchange it for a termination order."

Silver took the paper, and nodding acknowledgement, left.

His first step was to get an office assigned to him in the restricted area. As a senior agent posted to the headquarters he was entitled to one, but he had never bothered before. He could read classified traffic in the central registry and use the new classified Academy intranet in the Senior Agent's lounge. He chose an interior office, with no windows, and set the entry code himself. He also had a safe brought in and installed a separate alarm system.

Next, he used the order Gold have given him to have the originals of all the material related to the double agent file brought to him to study. He was not surprised to discover that some of this material was subtly different from the copies he had been referring to earlier. A clever mole, and this one must have been clever to survive for so long, would have thought of changing the copies while they were on circulation. It was tedious work, matching the originals to their doctored copies, and then examining the paper trail of each docket, looking for a pattern.

If there was a pattern, it was beyond his ability to see. He could have used Scarlet's puzzle solving abilities, but came up with an alternative. Explaining what he wanted to one of the new computer technicians, he had the fellow create a database and meticulously entered the names, regions and supervisors of everyone who had seen any of the documents known to be doctored or altered. Once he was done, he queried the names.

As he had come to expect, no one name matched a majority of the documents, except for Gold and the Director, who saw everything, of course. He disregarded their names for now. He then ran another set of queries, arranging the compromised documents by region, office and finally supervisor. He got some interesting results.

Silver had to think about what he had discovered. He spent the next few days working on the rock garden. The purely physical nature of the work allowed his mind to roam freely, examining facts and innuendos from every angle, arranging and rearranging them. Then he remembered his conversation with the CIA liaison in the Langley smoking area. He was back in the office the next day, carefully separating the list of documents into three. Two of the lists he kept, the third he sent down south to Red Fox.

The names on his lists were not proof however. Silver returned the material that he had signed out and ordered other files to be brought over. He poured over the testimony and evidence of Green's murder, paying particular attention to the bloody drawing his old mentor had made as he lay there dying.

He studied the background files on the Red Brigade. Scarlet's name appeared as author on many of the more detailed reports. As Yellow had noted, she had infiltrated the Maoist organization back in the seventies, penetrating a number of the Italian, French and Japanese cells. It was she who had determined that the group was being trained and funded by a foreign government.

Silver used the authority of Gold's pass again to pull the personnel files of his suspects. He looked at their posting history, their acquaintances, their reported contacts with foreigners, and the routine surveillance reports filed by counterintelligence watchers. When he was done with the files he made a schedule of places that he needed to visit and people that he need to talk to. His first stop would be right down the hall, but he had one more piece of physical evidence to examine first.

Silver left the headquarters and walked down the street to one of the many barn-like buildings that were scattered around the Central Experimental Farm. A few of these were open to tourists, but many were off limits. Some because they housed experiments being carried out by the Department of Agriculture that would give Canada an advantage in the world food market, others because they were fronts for FOX operations. The barn Silver visited that night housed the Academy's archives.

It was almost ten at night and the staff had long since left. Silver used the master code that Gold had given him to enter the building and bypass the alarm system. Jumping the service counter, he turned on the microfiche reader and pulled the binder for the month of his return from China. After examining several pages of registry entries, he found the one he was looking for and the locator for it. Checking the codes on the ends of the mobile shelving units, he separated them at the correct aisle and located the proper shelf. Using a knife and a small flashlight, he slit the seal on the box and pulled out a plastic bag that held the clothes he had left Asia in. Thank God the Academy never threw anything away.

Silver retrieved the two messages that he had hidden in his belt and returned the clothes to the bag and put the bag back in the box. He switched the box with one that had a similar number from another shelf. He left and returned the shelves to the position that he had found them in.

He had been staying in his suite on the Academy grounds since he restarted the double agent file. It was more convenient for the hours he was working. Before going to bed, he carefully unfolded the two notes, using only the tips of his claws, and placed them between sheets of clear plastic. Once safely encased, he sat and sated at them for an hour, looking for any clue he could fathom, and wishing that he knew Chinese.

* * * * * * * * *

Pavel Lobodin brushed back his grey fur as he contemplated what to pack for his upcoming trip. It was a rare occasion for the KGB spymaster, being given permission to travel aboard. Lobodin still ran the First Chief Directorate, First Department's double agents as the spymaster for the North American Region. He had also been acting Director since his former supervisor, Dimitry Filipov, had met an untimely and unexpected death. Well, unexpected by some, the act had earned Pavel a position as an operative in Department V, the KGB's assassination division.

It was difficult balancing the responsibilities of three jobs and keeping them all straight in his head, but that is what Pavel did best. With no mate or family, and the amateur chess circuit as his only hobby, he had plenty of time to devote to his various jobs. It was not an unusual situation in a regime where one division of the State's KGB assigned operatives to infiltrate the Army's GRU in order to check up on another division of the KGB. What was amazing is that no one ever got paid more than one salary regardless of how many personas they assumed. A real challenge, he thought, would be to infiltrate the pay office, they were impregnable.

The thought reminded him of a recent encounter with a former classmate from the KGB colleague, one Vladimir Putin. Lobodin had been in the administrative section dealing with personnel issues when he had encountered Putin in the hallway. Pavel had enquired as to where Vladimir was working these days, and wondered which version of the truth his colleague would recount.

"I have been working undercover at the University of Leningrad, sorry, Saint Petersburg now, keeping an eye on the academics and recruiting likely youngsters for the KGB. I am leaving the KGB, however." He had waved the paper he was holding in his paw and Lobodin could see that it was the out-clearance routine. "I have been working for the Mayor's office on the side and I am going into politics full time."

Pavel remembered how Putin, a pointy-nosed red squirrel from Leningrad, had seemed out of place in a nation dominated by bears, wolves and foxes. But the rodent had an uncanny sense of survival, one that had served him well while he was posted to East Germany from 1985 to 1990. Extensive knowledge of the martial arts, judo and sambo in particular, had not hurt either. Pavel also knew that no one ever really quit the KGB, and he had mentioned this to Putin.

"That is true," the red squirrel admitted, "but in this case I think it is that the KGB will be leaving me. No one expected Gorbachev to survive the coup, or for that alcoholic, Yeltsin to come out a hero. It is only a matter of weeks before Gorbachev disbands the service. The KGB is imploding, collapsing from within, as those in the know scramble to get out of the way. If you are smart, you will find a job with one of Gorbachev's oligarchs or align yourself with one of the new-style politicians. The motherland is changing, and only those who can adapt will survive. But there is great potential for advancement in times of radical change; who knows how far one can go?"

Lobodin could see the logic in Putin's argument. He realized that the old guard was falling, and that he was in danger of being crushed when it did. He would move on as soon as he could, but he had a few things to clear up first. Since Putin was being so candid, maybe he could provide some information on his western rivals, specifically the Canadians?

"They are a strange bunch." Vladimir had said, recalling his days in East Germany when the cold war was at its hottest. "Very small, underfunded, and poorly equipped, like their army. They are very innovative though, and not constrained by a large bureaucracy like the Americans or us. The ability to act on one's initiative has produced some of the best agents in the world."

Pavel explained that he might soon have to deal with some of the FOX agents asked for examples.

"There was one, a vixen codenamed Scarlet. She was legendary. She had infiltrated the Red Brigade in the seventies and was rumoured to be back in Eastern Europe somewhere in recent years. She was a ruthless killer, and a master of seduction ... or would that be a mistress of seduction?" The Squirrel paused.

"There was another one who was operating in Germany on and off until disappearing last year. He went by the codename of Silver. That bastard almost got me once. I was meeting with my Stasi counterparts when he ambushed us. If an East German police patrol had not detoured off route at that particular moment, we would all have been done for. Even outnumbered and wounded, the Canadian still managed to escape. It was solely due to good planning on his part. I'd be careful if you run into that one. Don't give him a chance, just kill him on sight."

Lobodin had thanked him for the advice and they had gone on their respective ways.

So far, Leonid Fedoruk, the grey wolf that ran the 'wet work' department, had only assigned Lobodin domestic work. Now, with President Gorbachev hunting down anyone connected to the attempted coup it was too dangerous to liquidate anyone in the motherland, least it be seen as an attempt to cover up one's own guilt. Direction and oversight of the KGB had become sporadic, as the senior leaders were promoted, arrested and replaced almost daily.

Fedoruk saw this as an opportunity to settle some old debts. That was why he was sending all of his available operatives overseas, to exact vengeance on the western espionage agencies and the informers that assisted them. Pavel Lobodin, an expert on the North American region thanks to his work in the First Department, was going to Ottawa to clear up a few loose ends.

Now he was packing for his first international trip since joining the KGB, and it was proving more difficult than he could imagine. The weather in Ottawa was much the same as Moscow this time of year, so clothes would be no problem, but what tools to bring? Cyanide-tipped umbrella? Potassium-Chlorine breath spray? A garrotte disguised as a rosary? Knives he could pack in his checked baggage, but guns would be pushing it, even though he would not have to clear airport security in Moscow. Decisions, decisions.

In the end, heeding Putin's advice, he packed everything.

* * * * * * * * *

The morning after retrieving the notes from his belt Silver visited the documents section of the Academy support services. As he hoped, the Arctic hare Ilya Kapustin and his mate Anya were there.

Documents section was where all the written material collected by agents around the world was sent for examination, decryption, and translation. It was also where the Academy's forger made the false documents necessary for the undercover movement of the agents and defectors. The forger worked side-by-side with the document examiners because he needed originals to base his copies on, and because he could spot a fake leaked to mislead them faster than the forensics experts.

This morning Silver found Ilya and Anya pouring over documents and arguing, as usual, over the nuances of the Russian dialect used by the author. Ilya and Anya were the two best linguists in the Canadian Government service. Between them, they spoke or could understand over a hundred languages. If they came across one they did not know, they would learn it, usually within weeks. They worked for one of the other intelligence agencies but consulted at all the others on the more important and classified cases.

Louis the forger, an aging salamander, sat beside them patiently, licking his face and polishing his glasses. He was forging a letter that was supposed to implicate one of the outer republic's communist leaders in the recent coup attempt and wanted the wording to match the subject's natural style as closely as possible. On the floor between them, under the table, an infant lemur was playing with some of Louis' pens and inks.

"Uncle Serebro!" the young lemur exclaimed on seeing Silver. It was the name Ilya had told him to use for the silver fox that stopped by on birthdays, holidays and Russian orthodox Christmas with gifts for the lad.

"Hello Joel." Silver picked up the wiggly young lemur. "No school today?"

"I'm only four." Joel said sadly. "You gotta be five for real school. Wanna see what I draw?"

"Sure." Silver examined the paper Joel was waving in his face. It was a good imitation of an Ontario Health card, Ilya's card to be precise, except for the addition of a pirate hat and eye-patch to his adoptive father's image. Anya took the copy and the original from the child and set him back on the floor.

"Remember what I said, Joel," she warned him, "be quiet or you will spend the day with Auntie Inga."

"She smells like borscht." Joel told Silver solemnly before turning back to his drawings.

"He has a talent for this." Anya addressed Silver, holding out the paper with the imitation health card. "Louis is going to give him some lessons. But he is obsessed with pirates lately. You better be prepared to show up with a handkerchief tied around your head and a rubber sword next time you come over to see him. The sitter cancelled on us at the last minute, again. Now we have to entertain him while we try to work, otherwise he gets into everything. Honestly, I'm at the end of my role with that boy." Anya tossed her long ears in frustration.

"Rope." Silver corrected her. "You are at the end of your rope."

"No, role. Like when you have no more toilet paper on the role and you feel frustrated and desperate." Anya explained. "Now, what can we do for you Silver?"

Silver put the two plastic-encased notes down on the table. "I need to know anything you can tell me about who wrote these and where they came from."

The three experts examined the notes carefully. Ilya commented on the typed message first.

"This is a very crude translation, probably by someone raised in England in the public school system there and done with the computer translation hardware 'LiangMa' from Taiwan. Not many people have that. It's expensive and has to be installed in a fairly powerful computer. The university has it, Foreign Affairs has one, and I believe the Academy had it installed for routine translation work." He wrote out a translation on a separate sheet of paper and handed the message to Louis.

"Let's see what we have here." The forger examined it, opening the plastic sheath to feel the paper and lick the ink. "Definitely made here at the Academy. Same paper as we use. Printed with one of our 24-pin dot-matrix printers, the one in the executive wing of the headquarters. See the way pin number eleven strikes on an angle here? No? Well, trust me. I can see it. You want a full examination? I can get you enlarged photos to prove it."

"No," said Silver, "that's good enough for now. What about the other one?"

"This one is hand written by someone whose first language is English, and who learned Chinese in the government language school here in Ottawa." Anya explained. "They hired Fujianese and Cantonese speakers who learned Mandarin when they were too old to form new language patterns. Consequently, all their students have the same habits. I told them they should hire new staff, but do you think they would listen? Anyway, this person went there in the late seventies, Professor Li's class."

Silver made a mental note to add the language school to his list of stops. Ilya wrote out a translation of this note also and Louis commented that the paper and ink were Chinese in origin, common stock that could be purchased anywhere. Silver thanked them, took back the notes, showed them Gold's paper and swore them to silence. He promised Joel that he would bring him some coloured pens of his own the next time he came and then he headed out to his car. His next rendezvous was off the Academy grounds.

Silver had arranged a meeting with Tanner's old friend from the RCMP counterintelligence office. The Doberman had been mentioned in Tanner's report of Scarlet being sighted at the Lord Elgin Hotel the same day that Bobylev, the KGB assassin was murdered. The Chief of Staff had sent the report to W for action, meaning that W should question the RCMP Commissioner about the disappearance of the CI report, in case the mole was embedded in CI. However, it did not appear that W had ever done so. With no report to refer to Silver wanted to hear the information first hand.

At the restaurant, Silver cut right to the chase. He told the federal cop what he wanted to know as he held out the order that even members of other departments had to obey.

"Forget it." The Doberman was not impressed by the document. He sensed that the FOX agent would not go so far as to make his refusal a public issue. If he did, the worst he would get was note on his file. But if his old CI colleagues found out that he had talked about them, that would be the end of his career in the RCMP.

Silver was prepared for a lack of cooperation. He took a large brown envelope from inside his sports coat and handed it to the dog. The Doberman took a look inside and turned white as a polar bear.

"As you can see," Silver commented casually, "you're not the only group that likes to practice its skills on its fellow public servants. Nikon f-800 with 1600 asa film and what I like to call the 'Big Friggin Lens'. Nice resolution huh? You can make out your face, that scar on your butt and the jewellery on the Assistant Superintendent's mate. And are those ben-wah beads? You dog you."

"You can't blackmail me." The Doberman sputtered nervously, a mistake if he was trying to bluff Silver. "The RCMP Disciplinary committee doesn't even consider cases of sexual infidelity anymore."

"True, the RCMP won't care, but you mate's lawyer will. Can you say 'goodbye pension'? And the Assistant Superintendent might care. I hear that he is in charge of postings now. How is Tuktoyaktuk this time of year? I heard some crazy scientists talking about something called 'global warming' and claiming that it will raise the average temperature by 2 degrees Celsius, so by the time you retire there it will be, let's see, only minus forty-five on a good day."

The Doberman left Silver to pay the bill, but he left a name and address also.

Silver went to the street that the apartment he was looking for was on. He did not stop near it, or even look at it as he cruised down the street. Using his peripheral vision, he checked for sentries, but did not spot any. He circled the block and parked on a parallel street. Taking a long coat from the trunk and a small case of tools, he entered the tallest building on that street, an office complex. He glanced at the fire suppression system diagram in the lobby, placed there for the firefighters by municipal bylaw. It showed where the stairs were in relation to the elevators.

He took the elevator to the second highest floor because there were many separate companies listed there and it was least likely to have a receptionist by the elevator. Moving quickly and confidently, he turned right and found the stairwell just down the hall where the diagram had indicated. Two flights of stairs brought him to the exit door. A quick bypass of the fire alarm and he was able to open it and access the roof. From there, it was a simple matter of leaping down from one rooftop to another until he was on top of the apartment building.

It was a little trickier this time, because he had to disable the alarm from outside, but once that was done it took only a moment to pick the cheap lock and he was in. The apartment door had better locks, but no alarm. By the looks of the place the occupant lived alone, and mainly in the living room at that. Silver positioned a chair so that he would be out of sight of the hallway and behind the tenant if he turned into the living room. He sat down and made himself comfortable, flexing his muscles every few minutes to keep limber.

Two hours later, he heard the elevator stop on that floor. A minute after, the locks on the door began to open. He did not hear the door open and close but he heard the locks re-engaged and the soft shuffle of shoes on carpet. Sure enough, the occupant turned directly into the living room and threw his coat with the others piled on the couch before turning back toward the kitchenette. At that moment Silver switched on the overhead light and said, "Hello George."

George the weasel was used to watching unnoticed, and not used to actual interaction with his subjects, especially like this. Silver let him change his pants and clean up the puddle before he continued his interrogation.

* * * * * * * * *

The National Security Committee in Canada consisted of the heads of the 'Big Five' intelligence and security agencies and the deputy ministers of several other concerned departments. As Director of the Foreign Operations eXecutive, Sir Wilbur joined them at their regular bi-weekly meetings, held in the Privy Council offices on the Sparks Street Mall. The meetings were formal, and recorded, but because of their classification, the record was immediately sealed and they were exempt from Access to Information requests. Because of this, the participants tended to talk more freely.

On this fine autumn day late in September W noticed that one of the items on the agenda read 'Realignment of National Intelligence and Counter-Intelligence Functions. There was no agency listed as the item's sponsor. He sighed. Such jargon was bureaucratic-speak for 'Let's dissolve that agency and give me all their assets'. He wondered who was trying to absorb whom this time. He was fairly well connected and had not heard any rumours of a move by any of the big players: CSIS, RCMP, DND or the Privy Council Office. If they managed to keep it secret, it must be either poorly prepared or so off the wall that even the rumour mill didn't believe it. W was looking forward to hearing the proposal, solely for the entertainment value.

He was shocked when the item came up to see the representative from Foreign Affairs rise. Although that department had a large role to play in the collection and analysis of foreign policy information, they were not considered intelligence professionals by the five dedicated agencies. Part of the problem was the inherent security leaks found in most foreign departments. They were staffed with Political Science grads, many of who may have been unduly influenced by the study of communism or socialism under liberal professors. Throw in a couple of terms under a leftist Prime Minister and the chances for contact with the other side were almost a certainty. Social or business contact could blossom into friendship, companionship and compromise. Most would not even realize that there had been an attempt at recruitment. Those that did usually realized it too late.

"We have a serious problem with compromised personnel in one of our intelligence agencies." The Foreign Affairs officer began. He was a large, dapper hedgehog of Anglo-Saxon descent, typical of the undiversified senior-layer of the public service. He stood with his small paws in the pockets of his vest of his three-piece suit. He had paused for others to comment, but no one interrupted. What he had said was common knowledge in this group.

"Furthermore," he continued, "the current organization and reporting system of our intelligence and counter-intelligence agencies is not conducive to maximizing the opportunities for resolving the situation."

"Just what the hell are you trying to say?" A large tawny coyote, the Director General of military intelligence injected. W could tell that the General was nervous, he had a large organization with many sub-agencies to hide a mole in.

"What I am trying to say is that there is not enough oversight in the intelligence community. None of you want to admit that the mole could be in your agencies, and that makes you ignore the obvious. I propose that we set up an office of Inspector General of Intelligence, under a department that is not directly involved with the clandestine collection and processing of intelligence, to oversee the rest and spearhead the hunt for double agents, spies and the disloyal."

"Like your department?" The Commissionaire of the RCMP, a large German shepherd said with a sneer.

"We do have the manpower and at the education level required for such intricate work." The sarcasm was unmistakable.

A general argument broke out amongst the rest of representatives. The proposal would mean that whichever agency or department controlled the office would by extension control the Canadian intelligence community. They would demand a portion of each of the other's budget to provide their 'services'. Some of the larger agencies saw some merit in it, provided the inspector general came from their headquarters, that is. Many of the smaller departments also agreed with the proposal, but suggested themselves as likely candidates to host it.

W did not participate in the debate, he was worried. He thought that the hedgehog was a fool, but not this kind of fool. He had to know that one of the larger intelligence departments would take the initiative away from him, unless ... unless he had something on one of or more of them, something big enough to convince the others to vote his way. Raised in England on the doctrine of 'fair play', as had W himself, the hedgehog was not one to bluff. Sir Wilbur decided to cut the argument short and see what the Foreign Affairs officer had brought to the table.

"You obviously have some example of shoddy security work to show us Henderson." W's voice boomed out, bringing silence to the room. He could be forceful when he wanted to. "Why don't you just show it to us and let us decide if it earns you the right to dictate to the rest of us." Although said in a perfectly civil tone, the choice of wording would remind the others what was at stake here.

Henderson smiled the smile of someone who has just been handed the card he needs to make a straight flush. He stepped to the door of the conference room and pulled it open.

Sir Wilbur's face did not change, but his heart went cold. Standing in the doorway holding a folder marked 'Top Secret', was his senior agent for Asia, Yellow.

* * * * * * * *

Silver had quite a productive chat with George, who knew more than his RCMP supervisors could imagine. When you are trained to be unnoticeable, people tend to forget that you are in the room, and George had overheard a number of private and sensitive discussions. Coupled with his own observations of the senior FOX agents' movements it made him a well of data. It also turned out that George was a reasonably good analyst. Not only could he repeat everything he had seen and heard, he could put the facts together to form a theory as to what was going on.

Silver had listened in fascination. The watchers were forbidden from discussing even the nature of their work with outsiders, and that included regular RCMP officers. But when they got together over a game of Dungeons and Dragons or to paint some Star Wars figurines they gossiped about the subjects they were following like old hens. They knew who was straight, who was gay, and who was sleeping with whom. They knew who was living beyond their means and how they were getting the money to pay for it, if they had the money to pay for it. They knew which of the senior cops and espionage agents were as good as their reputations and which were full of shit.

George knew that the large silver fox holding a gun on him never missed. He had heard that his eyes went dark grey just before a kill. What he had not expected was the unearthly air of calm around him. It created a vacuum that George was compelled to fill with information, lest those cold grey eyes grow any darker.

When he was done, Silver thanked him and apologised in advance for what he was about to do to him. He handed George a vial of liquid, explaining that it was calculated according to the weasel's body mass to put George out for at least twelve hours. When he awoke, Silver explained, he would have no memory of the previous few hours of their discussion either.

"Did FOX labs mix this up?" George asked, as he looked at the clear fluid sceptically.

"No. I bought that at one of the clubs in Hull before coming to see you." Silver admitted. "It's Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, or GHB for short. It's a date rape drug. Don't worry," he added as the weasel's eyes went wide, "you are not my type."

"That's true." George muttered, just thankful that Silver was not going to kill him.

Silver helped the weasel to undress and get to his bed before the full effect of the drug rendered him unconscious.

"Are you going to kill the mole?" George called after him as Silver left the room.

Silver stopped, but did not turn back. "Yes," he said, "I am."

"Good luck."

Silver hurried back to his suite at the Academy. Although he did not spend much time there he did use it to store his personnel belongings. He used as much caution approaching the Academy as he had when stalking George. The weasel had noted that events seemed to be speeding up, moving towards a conclusion. If that were the case, the double agent may know that Silver was on the move. Best not to advertise his motions.

Although the building was secure, Silver had created an escape route that bypassed all the alarms in case the Academy itself was ever attacked. Some might have called that paranoia, but it can in handy this night as means of getting inside unannounced. He lifted a tile of insulating material from the false ceiling of his bathroom and dropped to the floor. Once in his rooms he went about closing all the curtains and blinds before getting out a lantern with a red lens to work by.

Silver stripped down to his underwear and started attaching holsters and sheaths to various parts of his body. He donned thin loose layers of black clothing to cover the weapons up with. The colour and dull finish made them stealthy, but they were cut normally, and would pass as street clothes if a cop should spot him. The last item was a black suit jacket. In the inside pocket Silver placed two new, freshly sharpened pencils, the kind with the eraser attached. He placed a new deck of playing cards in each of the front pockets. A final check of his Glock-17 with its silencer and he was ready to go.

Silver stood in the middle of the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked like the devil in these black clothes with the red light reflecting off his fur, but he didn't feel like the devil, not yet. He shook his arms and rotated his head around his shoulders to loosen it up. He clenched his paws five times fast and took two deep breaths. Expelling all of the air from his lungs, he stood motionless, staring into his own eyes, emptying his mind.

"Show time." He whispered to himself. With a leap, he disappeared through the hole in the roof that led to his escape route. The tile fell back into place. Several hours later, the flashlight dimmed, sputtered and died.