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Deep Thunder

Although the spring had been cold and rainy, summer in Ottawa was shaping up nicely. The botanical gardens of the Central Experimental Farm with its fruit trees and perennial flowers was particularly colourful. The scent of their nectar and the music of the song birds that came to feed on it lifted the spirits of everyone that passed through there. Well, almost everyone.

The Foreign Operations eXecutive, or FOX for short, was fortunate to share the grounds of the farm. Its innocuous unmarked buildings blended in well with the Agriculture Canada labs and museum. Agents working or studying at the headquarters could not help breathing in the natural ambrosia and the drone of the lazy bumble bees soothed them in ways no triple martini ever could.

There were no recruits being trained that summer and no major operations on the go, so life at the Academy was ticking along at a slow steady pace that suited most of the resident staff, but not Zac Ember. The eastern grey wolf had come to dread the dawn and the sounds and smells that came with it. They meant that he would soon have to get out of bed and start another pointless day of painful therapy.

It had been several months since the affair with the Yakuza in Yellowknife and there had been some changes around the Academy. Zac's partner Kyroo was back on active duty, reporting to the tall, elegant Vikki Beausoleil now that the curvaceous Delores "Baby Doll" Johnson had been assigned to the Ukraine. Violet, the earthy poodle with the purple mohawk that had helped them defeat the Yakuza gang, had replaced the skunkess Bernadette as the receptionist in the executive suite. After hours she could often be found with Kyroo, as the two continued the affair they had started in Yellowknife. Silver, the Chief of Staff, was happy with the arrangement as Bernadette's exile back to the mail room meant no more funky, spunky, skunky smell from her self-fondling in the executive foyer. Even Bernadette was happier as she could continue to fantasize over the big silver fox in the privacy of the mailroom without fear of interruption, or any complaints about the smell.

It was assumed that the poodle that formerly held the job of receptionist, the busty and lusty Mademoiselle Chiene-Caniche, would be returning to work one day, although perhaps in a wheel chair. She was still recovering from a bullet to the spine but the hope was that she would walk again one day. Gray Muzzle, her paramour and Academy bartender extraordinaire, reported that she was slowly regaining sensation in her thighs, although he did say how he came to know this. Rusty, the huge doberman that served as the Academy's Combat Instructor confirmed Gray's hopeful diagnosis. He had put together a special regime of martial arts for paraplegics and reported that Miss CC, as she was referred to by most, was almost as deadly attacking from ground level as when she had stood on two very long, shapely legs.

She dropped by the Headquarters occasionally to give Violet pointers on the file system or how to schedule the Director's time, and would usually stop by the lounge until Grey's shift was over. If she was suffering any depression over her injuries she was not showing it in public.

Zac, on the other paw, was not doing so well. It had taken longer than the doctors had originally estimated to repair all the damage done by the arc welder the Yakuza had used on him. After removing the metal left embedded in his flesh they had to let the wounds heal before they could start the painful process of skin and fur transplants to cover up the scars. And with each new procedure Zac had to go through the process of waiting to heal before beginning painful physiotherapy to recover strength and range of movement.

Sometimes his sessions coincided with Miss CC's. But, he reflected, when she felt pain it meant that her paralysis was receding, and she was elated by each jolt. His pain meant that they were not making much progress.

Despite being assured that there would always be a place in FOX for him Zac was feeling depressed and suspicious. He could not be a field agent if he could not meet the minimum physical standards and he did not have any skills that could qualify him as a field analyst. And the field was what it was all about for Zac. All his friends and the colleagues he admired were field agents - Vikki, Marcel, Delores, Kyroo and even Dongo, the resident sniper. Kain Algorath, the Arctic fox IT genius, and Geno, the cheetah from the analytical section, both served as part-time field agents. Hell, even Gray The bartender had improved enough under Miss CC's tutelage to qualify for the field. Where would he fit in with his machinist's background? The garage? The maintenance section? He could easily image himself sweeping the floors while the others threw him pitiful looks and whispered among themselves about how cruel fate could be.

His mood had been worsening since Akira Tanaka, the Japanese tanuki from their secret service agency the Naicho, had left to take up her new duties as a fully fledged agent. With her gone and Delores away Zac had no lovers at the Academy and he was in to poor shape physically to do the club circuit in hopes of picking someone up for a one-night stand. He had had no sexual relief in months, and that was not helping his attitude any. Doctor Gordon, the Academy Psychologist had noted Zac's worsening condition in his progress reports.

Silver read those along with those of Doctor Jones, the wallaby in charge of physical medicine, who was of the opinion that the FOX physical regime may be too strenuous for what was left of Zac's chest and abdominal muscles without a substantial period of recuperation. He also had Rusty's reports indicating that the grey wolf had not yet recovered enough strength, speed or flexibility to pass either the armed or unarmed combat tests.

Silver, who had recovered from similar injuries and worse on several occasions, would have liked to give Ember more time to recover, but things had changed since his day. Now the government had standards and procedures that had to be adhered to, and as Chief of Staff he did not have the authority to extend Ember's convalescence. Tancred Williams, the Director of FOX, did have the authority to extend it, but only for a limited amount of time. After that the wolf would have to either be reassigned or placed on long-term disability. Silver had scheduled a meeting with Williams at nine to discuss Ember and another with Ember at ten to relay whatever the news was, good or bad.

At one minute to nine he left his office to pass through the foyer to the Director's office. Violet sat behind the receptionist desk swearing at the computer screen because she could not get the travel reservation software to open.

"Good morning, Violet." Silver said as he leaned over and guided the mouse in her paw to the proper button on the screen.

"Shit, why did they put it there?" She asked, looking up into Silver's cold blue-grey eyes. "And stop looking down my blouse you perv."

Silver straightened up, trying not to smile. Violet was refreshingly straightforward after the obsessive skunk. Silver had indeed gotten a glimpse down her blouse, but only because she was wearing one that was very loose. She did not have a bra on under it either, not that there was any need for one; her breasts were smaller than those of most middle-aged males. She was also wearing a skirt so short and tight that he could tell that the bra was not the only item of underwear that she had omitted that day. But he could hardly fault her on that as it was exactly the kind of thing the somewhat curvier Miss CC used to wear when she occupied that desk.

"Remember what we agreed about the swearing." He said as he turned toward the Director's office.

"Yeah, fuck, sorry. I'll try to talk nice in case some tailhole accidentally wanders past three layers of security and ends up in here, just before I blow their fucking brains out."

Silver pretended not to hear as he slipped past the heavy door with its studded green leather padding. It was true that the job description included being the last line of defence for him and the Director should an adversary penetrate their inner sanctum. It was another reason why he was glad that Bernadette was gone; she was more likely to pull out a vibrator than a .357 Magnum when faced with a threat.

Williams was sitting behind his eighteenth century desk cleaning his claws with an even older Tibetan dagger when Silver entered. Although Silver was big for a fox, six feet tall and broad across the chest and shoulders, Williams was a paw-width taller and even more muscular.

"Good morning, Tanner." Silver said as he closed the door to cut off another stream of swear words. He was the only one in the Academy who was allowed to call the Director by his nickname, Tanner. Williams claimed that the name came from his habit of nude sunbathing to keep his golden fox fur light and fluffy. Silver knew that the sixty-something body-builder's golden hues really came from a bottle purchased at a beauty salon, but he never mentioned it.

Williams waved him to one of the sturdier antique chairs opposite the desk. "Good morning, Silver." He always called Silver by his codename, as did everyone lose. Silver preferred not to use his real name, a unfortunate combination of an Armenian first name from his mother's side and his French father's surname that when combined produced something only suitable for a Mike Myers parody.

Silver sat. "Have you seen the file on Ember?"

"Yes I have. You recommend an extension of his rehabilitation but admit that the therapy we are providing is not having a positive effect." Williams leaned back and tended his digits. "You realize that with the new government's attitude toward us that we will not get a further extension. They consider us a liability as it is, and any whiff of us harbouring ineffectual employees would be an embarrassment too hard to bear. Before I could even suggest an extension to the Minister I would have to have proof that Ember was indeed on the mend. " Silver wanted to point out that Ember was a secret agent, not some replaceable bureaucrat, but he held his tongue. Williams had not said no yet.

"Which is why I am sending him away." Williams concluded.

Silver was shocked. "Sending him away? We owe him at least a chance!"

The great golden fox leaned forward and smiled. "I'm not releasing him from FOX, I'm sending him away from here, the Academy, to a place where he can relax and unwind without the stress of being watched and evaluated while getting therapy and retraining that he needs." The Director produced a thick glossy brochure and slid it across the desk's blotter to Silver. "It's a rather unique spa that I came across while researching a getaway for me and a friend."

Williams was openly gay and a dominant practitioner of BDSM, and he was in a relationship with the Academy forger Joel the lemur at the moment.

Silver eyed the brochure suspiciously. He was never the spa type and after the affair with the yellow monkey and his front organization, Eden's Oasis, he was even less inclined to patronize one.

The brochure was for a place called the Wakefield Bunker Spa. According to the information on the inside cover it was built in a Cold War bunker originally intended as a retreat for the Canadian Government and other important functionaries in case of a nuclear war. It was a duplicate of the famous Deifenbunker in Carp, forty kilometres west of Ottawa, and was built when that location was compromised by a local journalist. The idea was that the Soviets would concentrate their attacks on the Carp bunker while the government hid away in the second facility tucked a safe distance away in the Gatineau hills.

Unlike the Deifenbunker, which was turned into a museum, the government abandoned the property in Wakefield after the breakup of the USSR and the Warsaw Pact. The isolated Wakefield bunker sat empty until the previous year. Although some wanted the property turned into a scuba diving centre, the new owners felt that a high-end spa and cosmetic surgery clinic would suit the tourist trade that the picturesque village attracted. And high-end it seemed, with facilities for several types of massage, physiotherapy, chiropractic services, podiatry and a full gym. It had a pool, an archery range inside the former Bank of Canada Vault and a shooting range designed for the military that once guarded it.

According to the brochure one could book in for a few hours of pampering of for a few weeks of rejuvenating treatment. Long term residents were put on diets designed for their individual fitness goals which were easily enforced in the isolation of the underground structure. With the original perimeter security still intact it was a perfect getaway, it claimed, for famous celebrities and professional athletes to recover from work related injuries or plastic surgery free from intrusion, interruption and Paparazzi.

Well, Silver thought, agents were as fit as professional athletes, and Ember's injuries were certainly work related. A couple of months being rubbed and pampered between exercise sessions and meals of carrot sticks could not be worse that watching him wither away here at the Academy. And maybe there would be some accommodating female guests staying there; getting laid would not hurt Ember's state of mind either in his humble opinion.

"Okay." He agreed. "I see that it's certified so the government group insurance will cover most of it, and our temporary duty funds will cover the rest. Ember won't be out of pocket. How soon do you think that we can get him in there?"

Williams grinned as he took the brochure back and placed it in a temporary duty file that he passed to Silver. "He's expected tonight. That is if Violet has managed to solve the riddle of the travel arrangement software."

Silver was up and at the door in an instant. Opening it a few centimeters let in a string of foul words that Silver had never heard used in such a combination before.

"Not quite." He concluded. "But I'll show her how it's done before I call Ember in."

"You do that." Williams said leaning back in his overstuffed chair. "And don't forget we have a winnie roast planned for Saturday at the chalet."

"Coming from any other gay fox that would seem like an indecent proposal."

William's grin widened. "How do you know that it isn't?"

* * * * * * * *

Interrogation Report 1079-16

Subject: Natasha Winters

Age: 26

Sex: Female

Species: Snow Leopard

Birthplace: Chesapeake, Virginia, USA

Citizenship: Dual, American (by birth and through father) and Russian (through mother)

Reason for Interrogation: To determine if subject is employed by a foreign intelligence service targeting FOX agent Ember.

Physical description: Subject is approx 170 centimetres tall and weighs approx 70 kilograms. She is wearing faded blue cut-off denim shorts and a pale pink crop top bearing the logo of the Wakefield Bunker Spa. Her exposed fur displays typical snow leopard colouring and markings. She has shoulder-length blond hair and emerald green eyes. There are no visible tattoos, piercings or scars. She appears fit. (Video Technician observation: C-cup, no bra. Probably no panties either)

(The Interrogator's questions and comments have been removed from this transcript)

Interrogation begins at 08:07:27

What? Who's there? What am I doing here? An interrogation? I'm an American citizen, buddy. I demand to speak with my Embassy.

(Omitted: short discussion on rights, international law and treaty obligations. Sequence used to calibrate sensors for emotion detection)

Oh, a FRIENDLY interrogation. That makes ALL the difference. Well, why not, I don't have a job to go to anymore, do I? But why are you interrogating me over a speaker? Do I look that dangerous to you? Yes I see the camera. Sure, I'll speak to it.

What? Okay, for the record my name is Natasha Winters. As I said, I'm an American citizen. I was born there, my father was a mechanical engineer. Yes, I do have a slight Russian Accent. My mother was from Russia. I learned the language in the cradle and spoke it exclusively until I went to school, but after that I spoke English with my friends and all through school so my grammatical structure is more aligned with the Chesapeake region.

Yes, you're correct. My mother was technically from the Soviet Union, but she defected from the Moscow Ballet in nineteen eighty along with several other dancers. She was debriefed in a CIA facility near Camp Perry, Virginia, and cleared by them and the FBI I might add. She met my father at a social club nearby once she was allowed out on a day pass. He could speak Russian because of his military service. No, he never told us what he did in the military. (Reference: Father's Special Forces Signals Intelligence file obtained through US Liaison Officer. Attached as Annex A)

So, yeah. I grew up speaking Russian, dancing with my mother and shooting at the local range with my father. Other than that life in Chesapeake was pretty standard. In high school I dabbled in mechanics and engineering. I signed up for wood shop and metal shop and Auto Shop. I bet I can change a tire faster than most guys, and repack the wheel bearings while I'm at it. My mother took care of the cooking lessons and other domestic skills at home.

After high school I moved to nearby Hampton Roads and got a job as a baker in a local restaurant. I'm a good baker, and I love to make special things for my friends and family. It was a small shop so the work was fun, but the hours sucked, so I used what my dad taught me about guns to land a job at the sporting goods counter at the local department store.

Boyfriends? Not really. No one steady anyway. There was this one guy in Hampton Roads who used to come in and buy black powder by the gallon for these cannons he was building. Yeah, from scratch. He was a machinist. Reminded me of my father a bit. He was kind of cool, but I got an itch to move on.

I had a friend who was a masseuse and she taught me a bit about it. With her encouragement I went to the local health services collage and got a certificate as Registered Massage Therapist. The certificate is recognized in most of the fifty states and in Canada too so I was able to move around, traveling until the money got low and then working for a few months at a spa or medical clinic until I had enough to travel again. I worked in some pretty high-end places in the resort towns and accumulated a fairly impressive folio of reference letters. That's how I got the job the Wakefield Bunker.

Weellll ... now that you mention it I guess that technically I entered the country on a tourist visa and wasn't legally allowed to work in Canada. But they were looking for staff that would work cheap and accept cash without them taking off the Employment Insurance and tax deductions. Is that why I'm here? Are you guys with the Immigration Department? No? Then who ... okay, okay, I get it. You ask the questions around here.

(Subject displaying signs of mild anxiety, but not fear. Probably over threat of deportation with prejudice)

So anyway, that is how I came to work at the Wakefield Bunker. I had ridden my little 250 cc bike up there to see if any of the spas we're hiring and heard that they were looking for off-the-books temp workers.

It seemed like a really cool concept at first, a resort spa built in an old Cold War bunker. It had the kind of security the celebrity clients like, a double barbed wire perimeter fence with a controlled entrance, a long sloping tunnel behind blast doors, all out of sight of the Paparazzi. There was a reception zone on the top level to separate the day visitors from the high-end clients.

I'd visited the Deifenbunker Museum over in Carp and they are almost identical. The top level was where the old bunker administration offices were, the area most likely to be irradiated if they had a direct hit. They converted that area into a restaurant and day spa. There was another blast door separating that area from the second level where the military guards and other functionaries used to live. That was converted to offices and dorms for the live-in staff, like me. I was supposed to share a room with another masseuse but they were short-pawed so I had the room to myself. There were some smaller guest rooms there too. Third level was where the executive suites and war time operations were. A place for the Prime Minister and his family, rooms for the cabinet and the generals, a situation room, communications room, cafeteria, and such.

The suites, small by modern standards but outfitted with every luxury, were kept for the best clients. The cafeteria was converted to cater to the clients' dietary restrictions. Most of the rest of that floor was the massage room, the sauna, the chiropractic room and the physiotherapy area. I worked on that floor when there were clients and in the day spa when things were slow downstairs. As a live-in staffer I got to eat in the cafeteria too, although I don't have any particular dietary restrictions.

The fourth level was a little different. Half of it was open to the long-term guests and staff and half wasn't. The open half included a huge vault with a ten-foot high and three-foot thick steel door to store the Bank of Canada's gold in. It's an archery facility now with a running track around the perimeter where the soldiers used to walk patrol. There is a full gym on that floor and a four-lane Olympic-length pool. They also kept the shooting range from the days when military guards lived there because a lot of celebrities carry guns for personal protection these days and could use the practice. Staff could use it too if they wanted.

The closed off half? I never went in there, not before ... Okay, we'll talk about that later. We were told that it was a cosmetic surgery wing that the parent company owned. Rich clients could book in for face lifts, tummy tucks and the like and recuperate in the spa afterward. I think that they were also doing some organ transplants there. I could tell by the fresh scars and tender spots when the clients were on the massage table. Kidneys, livers, a pancreas or two I'd guess. I did see one old lady who came in with brown eyes scared by cataracts and left with baby blue peepers without a fault in them. I don't know if that kind of thing is legal here in the land of universal health care, and I wasn't about to ask given the questionable legality of my employment. Maybe that's why they hired people like me to staff the place, so we wouldn't get too curious.

Yeah, most of the live-in staff were foreigners without work visas, like me. There were only four permanent staff. The place was owned by a company called Scrublands Medical Services. I saw their return address on an envelope in the boss's office. The boss, or bosses rather, were a pair of old raccoons named Jed and Mildred Fancy. Yeah, now that you mention it if does sound like an alias, doesn't it? But I wasn't suspicious at the time, not at first.

Mildred was a tough old bitch, but she could pour on the honey like a whore house madam when the clients were around. She managed the business end of things. Jed was a prick and he took care of the maintenance and repairs. He tried to get into the pants of every female staffer, with some success I would guess from the beatings Mildred used to lay on him. Yeah, he tried to get me to put out, but not only is he dumber than a post but he's also the type that combs and scents his fur like he was Valentino reincarnated but neglects any form of real hygiene ... ugh. I can't stand that type. He tried to blackmail me with my, uh, not quite legal status but I countered by pointing out that if he turned me in I would rat on how they were hiring nothing but illegal workers and wouldn't the owners be mad if the place was closed down because of that?

Speaking of rats, the other two permanent staff were both rats, George and Lenny. They did all the heavy lifting around the spa and didn't interact with the clients. They looked more like thugs than labourers frankly. George was on the short side and thin as a whip. He was smart, in an ignorant, street wise sort of way and liked to chew on toothpicks. Lenny was huge, twice the size of George and strong as an ox. He had trouble getting through the vault doors. He was like a big dumb child, fascinated by soft fluffy things but ignorant of basic social rules like no touching without permission. Without George around to manage him he would fondle and grab things that caught his fancy, even if they were attached to someone.

One of the Physiotherapists was a white-tail doe, and while she was bending over to put some equipment away Lenny shambled by and saw that fluffy puff of a tail sticking up and got the urge to pet it. For a big guy he can move pretty quietly, and she was startled into screaming. But instead of backing off he clamped down on her tail with that huge mitt of a paw. She panicked and started writhing and jerking, trying to free her tail. His eyes rolled back and got all glassy and his other arm came around and smothered her against his chest. I tried to knock him back off her but it was like punching a rock. He was squeezing her so tight she couldn't breathe anymore. That's when George came running in shouting his name.

"Lenny, Lenny!" He shouts. "Let her go! Remember the rabbits!"

Lenny's arm loosened enough for her to draw a breath and his eyes cleared a bit, but he looked confused. "The rabbits, George? The fluffy rabbits?"

"Yeah, ya idiot, the rabbits. Remember what happened when ya went to pet the rabbits?"

"I ... I did a bad thing, George."

"Yeah, but ya don't want to do a bad thing again, do ya Lenny?"

"No, George. I promised my Ma that I would be good and not do bad things."

"And I promised your Ma that I would take care of ya. How would it look if I had to go back there and tell her that ya were locked in the nut house again, for good this time?"

"She wouldn't like that, George."

'No, and neither would ya. There ain't no soft things in there are there Lenny?

The big paw tightened on the doe's tail and she squealed a bit. "I just want to pet her tail George." The big guy said angrily, like the whole thing was her fault.

"That's what ya told the judge about the rabbits, and look where ya ended up." The smaller rat said as he gently pulled George's paws off the doe.

He saw me staring at them with my mouth hanging open and he told me, somewhat sadly "He's really a sweet guy, but be was kicked in the head by a horse in grade three, when he was fifteen, and ain't never been the same since." Then his face reverted to the sly smirk I was used to seeing and he added "So ya better keep that puffy tail out of his reach if ya want it to stay between those sweet checks, kitty."

A real class act, George. Yes, I'm being sarcastic.

The grounds? They planted some nice gardens around the hill over the bunker. The rest was covered with shade trees and walking paths. There's a garage in the back, left over from the cold war days, but it's out of bounds. Yeah, they put up a new fence to keep the guests and staff from wandering in there. There was one odd thing about it. From the fence you could see that there was a chimney built onto the garage; a really tall one put there fairly recently by the look of it. I only saw or smelled smoke coming out of it a few times. Maybe it was a garbage incinerator. How did they get the garbage there? Probably through the escape chute.

The escape chute? They have one in the other bunker. It's a shaft that runs from the lowest floor up to the surface that the residents could use to get out if the main entrance was blocked by ruble after a strike. They could also fill it with rocks to keep radiation and Spetsnaz troopers out. Just a pull of a lever was all it took to seal it off. When you do the Deifenbunker tour the guide tells how, just before it was commissioned, a workman who did not know what it for pulled that lever and sent two hundred tons of rock tumbling down the shaft. They had to remove it all and put it back in the drop bins before they could turn the place over to the Defence Department. I assumed that since the Wakefield bunker was a duplicate that it had the same feature.

I mentioned it to Jed Fancy one day. He said that the emergency exit was in the restricted part of the fourth level. Said that they had fitted it with a hoist to bring supplies in without disturbing the guests. Made sense to me. I never saw George or Lenny coming and going by the main entrance so I guessed that they used the shaft for the same reason, so not to disturb the guests.

So, yeah. It was quiet. No neighbours, no cell phone reception, no cars, no pizza delivery. No social life. Oh, a few of the rich clients tried to talk me into more than a massage by bragging about who they were or who they knew. I hate that kind of fake celebrity bullshit. If you are the most important person in your life then you aren't ready for a real relationship. And I can always tell if someone is sincere, not even the occasional actor I've had as a client can bullshit me, not when I have my paws on them. I can feel the way their pulse quickens and their muscles tense when they are lying, waiting to see how I'll respond. And then they calm down when they think they've fooled you.

Oh? You're familiar with this? Is that what the scanners on the walls are measuring? Yeah, I noticed them. This whole room is one big polygraph, isn't it? But what's with the pressure pad on the seat of the chair? Oh really? I had no idea that you could fake responses by contracting your sphincter, but I'll watch out for it next time someone tries lying to me while I have my digits up their ass.

(Seat pad registers several experimental contractions of the subject's sphincter)

Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just a little frustrated out being detained, okay? Can we speed this up? It's Zac you really want to know about, isn't it? Yeah, I thought so.

I had only been working at the Wakefield Spa for about a month and things were slow when he checked in. We had just discharged a number of athletes who were there to get tuned up before the summer Olympics and we wouldn't get any of the pro hockey or basketball players until just before their seasons started again in the fall. There were a number of surgery clients in but those types did not use the massage services so much. They still had not replaced their other masseuse, who had quit because she couldn't take being underground all the time. So there was just me

We knew his name and species from the schedule but the Fancys never told us what the client did for a living or who he worked for. I don't think that they knew themselves, not at first. I was looking forward to using my knowledge of the animal form to see if could figure it out myself. I was scheduled to have him the first afternoon, after his Physio evaluation, which can be pretty rough on the body.

He was already laying face down on the massage table with a towel covering his butt and thighs like it says in the instructions. That was a good sign since the arrogant clients tended to show up late like their time was more important than yours and the seducers ended to 'forget' the towel. But Zac just lay there, muzzle down through the hole in the headrest with his arms at his sides, quiet and passive, or so he seemed. The muscles don't lie, and I could feel the tension in them as soon as I laid my paws on his back to begin the massage. It wasn't the kind of tension you get from a good workout either, it was the kind you get when you're going into an important job interview or a court appearance; tension from fear of losing your livelihood or your freedom. Yes, I've been in court; trumped up speeding charges in Wisconsin. Had to shell out most of my savings to get my bike out of impound.

(Detecting mild indignation)

So, yeah. That first massage told me a lot about Zac. I could feel the scars on his back and sides and see where they had grafted new skin and fur over the damaged muscle. I could tell that he had been straining to strengthen and lengthen the damaged muscles to get back to some unknown level of physical activity. I could also tell that whatever he was doing up to then wasn't working.

What I could not tell was what exactly he was trying to get into shape for. He did not have the specific calluses, deformities or injuries common to any type of athlete or dancer that I knew. He was not overdeveloped in any specific area the way a person who trains to do one thing for years gets. He did have some signs of paw-to-paw combat training, but his feet has the rub marks you get from dancing, so I was thinking some kind of mixed martial arts. But the ultimate fighters I've worked on don't cover up their scars, they display them. They don't tend to be shy when you ask them to roll over on their backs either. Zac gripped that towel like he afraid a succubus was after him.

The scars in his chest and abdomen were worse than the other ones. I pointed out that if I knew how he got his injuries I would know how to work the injured muscle to get the most improvement. He just shrugged and said that he had an accident with an arc welder at work. "I've seen arc welder accidents before." I told him. "And you must have been trying to fuck this one to get burned that bad."

That got a chuckle out of him, but he was still tense. At least I had something to work with. Burned meat doesn't work so well so the surgeons have to cut out the bad tissue and sew the good stuff back together. That shortens the muscle and makes movement and exercise difficult. But you can lengthen them if you know the right technique, which I do. I promised him he would be back wrestling heavy machinery in no time if he let me have him for an hour a day before physio and another after. He agreed and we set up a schedule.

I told the physiotherapist what I had found out about the wolf and she came up with a treatment that would stress the guy, but not to the breaking point, just enough so that I could work the knots out afterward. So for the next few mornings I gave him a massage that relaxed and warmed up the muscles and one that untangled and stretched them in the evening.

Within a week he was showing signs of improvement and he was more relaxed on the table, making small talk about being a machinist and a form of fire dancing he was into. But he spoke about both in the past tense. He also started taking his meals in the cafeteria and I would wave to him if I saw him there, but there are separate tables for the clients and staff so we never sat together. But, yeah, I would say that we were getting friendly. He seemed like a nice enough guy and other than the injuries on his torso he was in pretty good shape. Yeah, I'd say he was good looking.

(Seniors indicate slight temperature rise in facial region - probably due to mild embarrassment or arousal)

No he didn't flirt with me, but that just made him more attractive in my eyes. Zac didn't need as intense a massage as when we started anymore, and I could have shortened the sessions, but I didn't. I wasn't overwhelmed with clients. I kept the twice daily sessions at an hour each, but instead of a full hour of intense muscle work I finished each session with something a little more pleasurable .... a little sensual even.

(Facial temperature continues to rise and subject is looking down to hide signs of embarrassment)

Anyway, around that time the doctors cleared him for other activities; running, swimming and the like. I would see him on the track around the vault and in the gym shadow boxing. I liked to swim and used to go to the pool before lunch whenever I was free. One day he showed up just after I did and started doing laps in the next lane, pacing me. I normally do fifty but when I saw that he wasn't slowing down I kept going, even picking up the pace a bit. He matched me at first but then pulled ahead. I poured on the speed and we did another five laps full out. I swear we touched the wall at the same time that last lap, and then we both collapsed, coughing and choking as cramps doubled us over in the shallow water.

We crawled out laughing though, and dried each other off, both of us vowing to do better next time. I think that's when we turned the corner from client and masseuse to friends. I recall thinking as he rubbed my back with the towel that there was the potential to be more than friends.

He asked me what else there was to do around here and I told him about the trails outside. They were not long but they were pleasant and climbing the hill over the bunker was a good way of exercising the leg muscles. I also mentioned the archery and shooting ranges.

He said that he had to practice some snap shooting, and something in the back of my mind registered that as being a bit off. Snap shooting, which my dad taught me, was a combat skill. I agreed to meet him after supper and show him the trails.

We ate at our separate tables. He was one of the few clients on his side of the room and the only one who was not sporting bandages. The surgical clinic had just ad an influx of patients and they must have been tucking and sewing and sucking fat from bellies all day long given the number of new clients in for recovery. Maybe in a few days some of them would be well enough for a light massage, but for now Zac was my only concern.

We met by the reception desk, near the end of the tunnel. All of the casual customers and day staff were gone already and the desk was empty. Clients would normally have to be buzzed in and out but live-in employees like me had the code to the blast door. I let us out and we walked uphill through the tunnel to ground level. Then we started up the winding trail that would take us to the top of the hill.

"What's up with the hospital patients?" He asked me as we started the hike. I explained about the cosmetic surgery. I was reluctant to mention my suspicions about the organ transplants, but something about the way he listened convinced me that it would okay to tell him.

"Do you think that they might be doing something illegal?" He asked, guessing why I was apprehensive.

I told him that I was unfamiliar with the Canadian laws, but yes, I was worried that they may be breaking the law. "Although, they are doing some Pro-Bono work too." I added.

He asked about that and I explained how one time I had found on old canine in the hallway outside the restricted portion of the fourth level. The old dog looked and smelled like a vagrant, but he was dressed in a hospital gown. He was babbling about alien abduction when George and Lenny came out of the surgery and ran over to grab him and drag him back in. I was worried about the old guy and went to intervene but Mildred Fancy came out just then and stopped me from following.

"He's just a little groggy from the anesthetic." She assured me. "We do minor procedures for the residents of the homeless shelter in town." She explained. "It's our way of giving back, and the charity work helps to offset the taxes. We don't let then mingle with the clients though, for obvious reasons." And I guess that was true because, as I told Zac, although I saw the surgical team going in when there were no clients scheduled, I never did see any more charity patients.

"They probably use the escape chute to bring them in and out." I said.

Zac was interested in that. I explained how it was intended to work and what the Fancys had told me about the modifications to this one. Zac asked me to show him the old garage. We were near the summit and there was a side trail nearby leading there so we made a detour.

We were stopped by the new fence that separated it from the rest of the grounds. From our vantage point you could see the road leading away from the garage to an unattended gate in the perimeter fence. The new chimney was on our side of the building. Black smoke was coming out of it. There was no wind so it just hung in the air above the hill, a great oily black cloud.

Zac wrinkled his nose when a bit of ash wafted down nearby. It smelled like a burnt barbeque roast to me, not offensive, per say, but not appetizing either. It seemed to upset him though, and he suggested that we head back down before it got dark. We turned to go, but something caught the corner of my eye. Something big had moved in the bushes by the fence separating us from the garage. A feral deer, maybe? Whatever it was, it was gone when I looked back. But I remember wondering how something that big could have gotten onto the grounds with all that tall barb-wire fencing.

We said our goodbyes on the third level. He held my paw for a second and said that he would see me for his session in the morning. There was no attempt at kissing, but I don't mind telling you that I was hoping he would try.

The next morning I made sure that I was in the massage room before he was. It was naughty of me but I wanted to see him try to get on the table without losing his towel. He took a half step on seeing me already there but he managed nicely, loosening the towel and rolling onto the high table in one smooth motion that didn't expose anything more than a bit of lean hip.

I started in with the usual muscle relaxing treatment, even though he hardly needed it anymore. After working on his back I moved to his legs and switched techniques to something a little more than relaxing, something stimulating.

(Signs of acute embarrassment growing)

Look, let's stop for a minute. I'm not sure how much of this I should be telling you. No, it's not that I'm shy ... I'm just trying to be discrete. Masseuses are trained not to gossip about their clients. No, we don't have a legal obligation to protect our client's privacy like a Lawyer or a Priest. Okay, if you really want to know, I'll tell you

I started with his feet. I like a good foot massage and I know how to hit all the good spots. I pressed hard to get the blood flowing and heat up the muscles before moving up his legs in much the same manner. You can do both the calves and the shins by bending the knee when they are on their stomach, and while doing so I subtly spread his legs so that his thighs were not clamped together like a Catholic schoolgirl.

Before I moved above the knees I adjusted his towel. He had taken one of the big ones and it covered him from knee to mid back. "Gotta move this." I told him as I pulled his long tail out from under and tucked the towel up around its base. Then I folded what was left in half so that if barely covered the cheeks of his firm round ass. Yeah, I said ass. Deal with it. After exposing his thighs to the cool conditioned air I started a slow, sensual skin tease, combing my claws through the short fur on his inner thighs so the tips barely touched his skin. He was trying to stay cool but I could feel his hide twitch and jump.

"What is this supposed to do?" He asked, voice muffled by the snout hole in the table.

"Pressure point stimulation." I lied. "It makes the blood rush to certain organs." Well, that part was true enough.

After a few minutes of that I told him to roll over. He didn't budge.

"Roll over." I ordered.

"I can't." He claimed.

"Why?" I said, a little smugly. "You got a cramp? Roll Over!"

He complied, but not before spreading the towel out again. It didn't help. When he was on his back the towel over his crotch resembled a teepee, an impressively tall teepee.

A lot of guys reveal a hard on when they roll onto their backs and that's when the lewd suggestions come. But he was so obviously embarrassed by it. His paws lifted like he was going to push it back down but dropped to his sides again when he realized how putting his paws on it might be interpreted. I couldn't help but giggle.

I walked around and worked on his neck and shoulders, but gently, soothingly. That relaxed him and his tent deflated, mostly. Something thick and long was still lying across his thigh. I did his arms and worked his chest for a bit, then returned to his feet and lower legs. As I teased the sensitive skin around his knees he started to fidget again, probably anticipating where my paws would go next. And he was right to be afraid. I was just reaching under the towel to tickle his thighs when the timer went off.

"That's it for this morning." I said as he let out a sigh of relief. He was off the table with a death grip on his towel and halfway to the door before I could shut off the alarm. "Have fun at Physio." I said as he left.

He stopped by the door, but didn't turn back around. "Oh, the physiotherapist has the day off." He said over his shoulder. "I was thinking of hitting the shooting range instead." And with that he was off.

The shooting range, I thought. That could be interesting. It might give me a clue as to who he really was. I gave him enough time to shower and dress and get to the range before I followed.

I could hear the shoots from outside before I opened the door. I took a peek and saw him standing at the twenty-five yard mark with an automatic pointed down at a forty-five degree angle. The targets could be programmed and when they turned to face him he raised the gun and fired two rounds into each of the four targets at the other end. After putting the gun on safe he moved downrange to check his score. I slipped of my shoes, slid in through the partially open door and followed him silently. By the time he reached the targets I could see that each had a pair of holes in the centre of mass kill zone, except the last, which had them in the centre of the head.

"Pretty good shootin', Tex." I said, thinking that I would surprise him, but I was the one surprised. He turned, drew, cocked the gun and aimed in a flash, leaving me staring into the round black hole at the business end and wondering how much pressure he already had on the trigger. He had moved faster than anyone I had ever seen on a combat range, including my dad.

His face had been a blank when he turned, but it crimped into a small frown when he saw who it was. He raised the gun and made it safe again without breaking eye contact. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he holstered it.

"I've done a little shooting as a kid." I told him. "I was hoping to find a little competition here today."

He jerked his head toward his targets. "Find any?"

I strolled over to the one with the head shots and stuck two digits into the holes. They were less than an inch apart. "You'll do." I said, tossing my hair back. "In a pinch."

He laughed, much more confident here in his element than when he was laying helpless on my massage table. "What's the challenge?"

"Random exposure of the targets. Two rounds in each one that turns. There will be enough exposures that you'll have to reload twice. You game?"

"You're on." He says.

"One more thing." I told him. "You can do anything you want to distract the shooter providing you stay out of the line of fire and don't interfere with the movement of their arms."

That got him frowning again, but he agreed. "Ladies first." He insisted.

I showed him how to set the targets for random exposures and went to the locker to get my gun. I wasn't mine in the sense of ownership, it belonged to the spa, but it was the one I used when I came here and I had it set to my eye. I slid in a full clip and put two more in drop pouches that I clipped to my belt.

I took up position and held the gun loosely aimed at the centre of the target area. One target turned and I got off a shot before Zac yelled in my ear. But I had been expecting that sort of thing and I got the second off with no problem. Two targets turned at the same time and he tried waving his arms on the edges of my peripheral vision and hooting like an ape but that didn't bother me either. My father had taught me that real shooting, the kind that saves your life, isn't done on the range, it's done in the heat of battle with rockets and grenades going off around you and bullets whizzing past your head. I was never allowed to practice in a peaceful environment.

After I reloaded the first time Zac changed tactics, dropping the lid of the garbage can behind me when there was no target to concentrate on. That had some effect I'll admit, but I recovered enough to get some decent shots off. After the second reload he switched around again, blowing gently into my ear and tickling the fur at the base of my tail. He could not have known how much I love having the inside of my ears teased but he got lucky there and I missed an entire target when his warm breath made the fine hairs in my ears sway.

I covered by swatting at the paw on my tail, and he was fooled into concentrating on it long enough for me to finish the sequence. The optimal number of rounds was thirty with five points for a kill, three for a wound and nothing for a miss. Out of a possible one hundred and fifty I had scored one thirty two, not bad if I say so myself.

Then it was Zac's turn. I set the sequence while he took his stance and shook out the kinks. When I gave him the signal he raised his gun, gazing over the barrel in the same way my father used to, not straining his eyes by trying to squint down the sights.

When the first target turned he hesitated for an instant, expecting me to scream or drop something or pull his tail I suppose, but I did nothing. Anticipation can be as bad as an actual distraction. He managed to squeeze off two shots before the target turned away but I think the second went a little wide.

I let him take a couple more targets without doing more than coming up close behind him. I could tell that the anticipation was getting to him, but he still managed to focus when the targets appeared. On the forth exposure I made my move.

As the target turned I slid a paw between his legs and gripped his penis through the denim of his jeans. He yelped, but not before putting his first shot dead centre of the target. The send, however, ricocheted off the ceiling above the targets. One miss.

He had to wait for quite a while for the next target to turn. I had omitted the fact that one could extend the delay between exposures by up to two minutes when I briefed him on the controls. But all's fair in love and war eh? I mean ... It was a competition, not a seduction ... I was just trying to win, I mean.

(Subject is showing signs of embarrassment again)

Anyway, to make a long story short ... What? You need to take a break? Sure, I can wait. I'm not going anywhere anyways, am I? No, I don't need to pee, but thanks for asking.

(Twenty seven seconds of silence passes as the subject looks around and examines her claws.)

What did you say? You need to know all the sordid details? Wait a second, you aren't the same guy that was questioning me. You're his partner? Oh, you alternate. Your name is Joel? Nice to meet you Joel, but I'd rather not describe what happened next.

(Facial temperature and fidgeting increasing)

No, I'm not a terrorist. No I have nothing to hide, but ... Yes, I'm sure that you've head worse, but ....

(Temperature reading decreasing around the snout, increasing in the temples and around the ears. Breathing becoming quick and shallow. Muscles tensing in the 'fight or flight' pattern. Teeth are clamped together and exposed. Subject is displaying signs of anger.)

Okay, you want to know what happened? I unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, is what I did. Then while he tried to concentrate on targets that were appearing after long intervals I stroked him hard and fondled his balls. He almost forgot to reload and I'm sure that he missed another shot.

He had taken a wide stance and was able to get my head between his legs and suck on his testicles while I squeezed his shaft with my paw. It was the same technique I had used on his feet and the alternating pressure drew more blood to swell his prick. Soon it was so hard that I could trace every vein and artery along its length. It felt so alive in my paw that I almost lost track of what I was doing, and it wasn't until his second empty magazine bounced off my forehead that I remembered we were in a competition.

I slid around in front of him, keeping low and out of the line of fire. I grabbed two paws full of that sweet ass as I took his cock in my mouth. It was as hot as it was hard, and had that slightly salty taste a nice clean cock has.

Oh, you're familiar with the taste? You little scamp, Joel. Well, let me tell you, Zac has a good cock, long without being excessive, thick but not too thick. It even has a bit of a bulge near the base, like a feral canine's knot. I sealed my lips around it and made it pop out of my mouth as I drew my head back. Poor Zac was gasping at first but then he found his focus and rest of his body got as still and hard as his cock. I was afraid that I was going to lose the bet but I think that it had been a while since his last orgasm, and he could only hold out so long. With my mouth loving that cock and my paws massaging the pressure points just above his tail the pressure was building faster than the targets were turning. He came just as the last one appeared, and I swear swears he cry that accompanied his discharge was louder than the one that came from his gun.

He came in buckets. Spooge shot out of the corners of my mouth and I had to pause to clean it off, wiping with my paw and licking it off while look up at him as he looked down at me. Then, while he was still watching, I put his cock back in my mouth and sucked the last few drops from it. He was still hard, a sure sign that he wasn't getting any lately. I wrapped one paw around the thick part at the base and playfully bit down on the knob, grinning up at him with a new challenge. Then I ... What's that slapping noise? Are you ....? Who just said "Jesus Joel"?

(Altercation between returning interrogator and video technician omitted)

You again. No, I had no idea. He claimed he was your partner. No, I'm not going to repeat what I told him. You can listen to it on the recording I'm sure you are making. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. With the excitement over for the moment Zac managed to eject his last magazine and clear his weapon with shaky paws. As soon as he done so I stood up, intending to follow up while he was still, uh, up for more competition. But some change in the quality of light made me look towards the door of the range. I had let it ajar when I slipped in, and I could see the glow of the red fire light through the gap. I had not noticed it before when I was down on my knees. Had I been too distracted by .... by his shooting, or had something, or someone, been blocking it? I couldn't be sure. Zac must have sensed something because he turned and stared at the door too. It was probably nothing, someone passing by on their way to the surgical clinic, but it broke the mood. I tucked Zac's, uh, shirt, back in his pants and we cleaned up the range.

Who won? The bastard beat me by one point, even with all that distraction he put every shot that went on target crept one right in the kill zone. Who shoots like that? Right, no questions from the peanut gallery.

Zac went up for lunch but I wasn't hungry. I did an inventory of the massage supplies and then went up to the store room on the first level to restock. The storeroom is right beside Jed's office and he controls the key. He takes the females he can extort into putting out in there and does then on the piles of sheets intended for the massage tables and staff rooms. I have to grab linens from the bottom of the pike to ensure I don't get any with stains.

As I approached Jed's office I could hear someone talking loudly and angrily inside. I got a little closer, keeping my back the wall so they would not see me through the gap in the door, and listened in. Not because I was eavesdropping, just because I did not want to get caught up in an argument that might rebound on me.

The angry voice belonged to George, the smaller of the rats. "I'm tellin' ya he's some kinda cop." George was saying.

"Let me check something." Jed replied, and then I heard the sound of claws on a keyboard. After a minute or so he spoke again. "You may be right, George. The payment for his stay is a Government Funds Transfer code, and it's from the Justice Department. But why would they send someone in undercover and pay using their own code?"

"They probably though we was just doin' transplants off the registry and figured we wouldn't check." George replied. "They don't know where the organs is coming from, or where the donors go."

"You don't think he knows ...." Jed had left his entrance hanging, but George apparently knew what he was talking about.

"Lenny saw that Winters pussy showin' him the incinerator." The rat replied.

A very bad feeling came over me then. In my mind a picture was forming that I didn't want to see. I forgot about my supplies and ran down the hall towards the stairs to the lower levels. Lenny, who's never far from George, was lurking around the corner by the stairwell and I had to squeeze past him. I'm sure that I felt his paw around my tail but I was moving so fast that it slid through his grip before he could clamp down on it, if that was his intent. I don't know, maybe he just wanted to feel the springy fur slide through his paw. I would have said something but I just wanted to get someplace safe where I could think.

I went to my room and closed the door. That's when I realized that here was no interior lock. Jed had a master key and could let himself in anytime, and probably had; someone had gone through my panty drawer just after I started there. I put a metal chair in front of the door but it was too short to prop it under the door handle so it didn't do much good. But it was the best I could do, all the other furniture was original to the bunker and screwed down so it wouldn't fall over if there was an earthquake or near miss with a nuke.

I had to tell Zac, I decided. I was already wondering if he was some kind of cop before I overheard George. Some kind of Canadian special agent like our FBI in the States, an undercover expert maybe. It would explain the physique and shooting skills, and the calluses on his feet and paws were consistent with a martial arts expert. Even the quiet air of professionalism fit the profile. I didn't think that he was there undercover, however, his injuries were real enough. But that would not matter to Jed and Mildred, not if what I was beginning to suspect was happening was true. I decided to wait for our regular afternoon appointment before I told him. It might look suspicious if I sought him out before that.

I stayed in my room until just before our appointment and then went straight to the massage room. I was as nervous as a cat; kind of stereotypical for a snow leopard I guess, but I was expecting George and Lenny to leap out and grab me any second. I made it to the massage room without seeing them at all though, and Zac was already there, laying face down and naked on the table with no towel for a change. I guess that was to be expected after what I did to him on the range. Oh yeah, you haven't reviewed that part of the tape yet. Let's just say our friendship moved to a higher level on the range. But I wasn't in the mood for any fun and games at the moment.

I threw him a towel. "Get up and get dressed." I told him. "I've got something important to tell you."

I laid it all out for him when he was dressed. The unlicensed organ transplants, the derelict in the hallway, Jed and George's concerns about him being a cop, and how his knowing about the incinerator upset them.

"I knew something was off as soon as I saw that chimney." Zac told me. "I had some recent experience with burning flesh and the smell that was coming off that place brought it all back. I tried to brush it off as them burning medical waste but there was too much smoke for a few pounds of excess fat and facial skin. I don't think it's a simple incinerator, I think it's a crematorium. Tell me, has the incinerator operations always coincided with transplant patients?"

As soon as he mentioned it I was sure that they did. And I recalled how the air had that burnt meat smell the night of my run in with the homeless fellow outside the clinic. I needed to throw up, and had to rush to grab a garbage can as there was no washroom attached to the massage area.

I knelt down and hugged the trash can as bile spewed up out of me. "There, there." Zac said as he rubbed my back. He passed me a towel after I was finished and I cleaned up my face.

"Are you a cop, Zac?" I asked him.

"Sort of." He said. "I can't do anything about this directly but I work for people who can call in the proper authorities. We'll have to get a message out to them."

I told him "That's going to be a problem. There is no cell phone coverage here in the bunker and all of the phone calls go out through the old cold-war era switchboard. I'm sure they monitor the calls because one of the other girls got fired for gossiping about a celebrity guest with her boyfriend on the phone."

"Then we'll have to get outside where we can use my cell phone." He said, and then fell silent as he thought for a minute. "Look, here's the plan. We go to supper as usual so we don't raise suspicions but then we meet on the first level like we were going for a walk like yesterday, but instead of going up the hill we'll head down the lane and out the gate. I'll bring my cell phone and as soon as we are clear of the site I'll call in the Calvary. If they follow us we can duck into the woods. All we have to do is avoid them until my people can extract us."

"Who exactly do you work for?" I asked, but he just shrugged and said that he would see me at the reception desk at six. He left and I locked up the massage room. As I left I looked around, sure that it was the last time I'd see it; a modern massage facility built inside a Cold War bunker. The steel walls still had the old signs and stencils warning about containment and decontamination protocols; they had left them because it added to the atmosphere of the place. Above the door there was an old steel intercom box. I had been told that they were used for reporting damage after a strike and for issuing evacuation instructions. It never occurred to me that it may still work.

I went to supper as usual, even though I still wasn't feeling hungry. On the client side of the room Zac was eating as if there was no tomorrow. Probably stocking up in case we had to spend the night keeping ahead of the rats in the woods. I ate what I could and forced it to stay down. Then I went back to my room.

Just before six I went up to the main entrance. Zac was already there, pretending to read a brochure. I walked past him, headed for the door, and he turned to follow. I punched in my PIN number, but the doors did not open. I tried again, slower this time. Still nothing. I punched it in one digit at a time. Nada. Zac stepped up and I told him the code. He tried it three times with the same results.

"They changed the codes." He concluded. "They must suspect something." He thought for a few seconds. "Let's go down to the range. Maybe we can arm ourselves before they think to change those also."

We were too late. The range was firmly locked. "Is there any other way out of here?" Zac asked. I told him about the escape chute, but it was inside the clinic where they were carving up hobos for parts. I never had access to that section and I didn't think that they were going to give it to me now.

"What room are you in?" Zac asked. I told him and asked why. He said that all the guest suites had electronic locks and the doors opened outwards. There was no way we could hole up in his room safely. He had noticed that the old dorm doors on the second level opened inward. "I have a pair of wedges in my bag." He said. "They are very useful tools, and they don't raise suspicions at customs or during random searches. We can use them to jam the doors shut, and maybe if we can hold out until morning we could rush the exit when the day staff arrives."

We went to my room. We didn't see any of the other live in staff on the way. In fact, the place was eerily quiet. But we didn't see the rats or the Fancys either, and as soon as the door was shut Zac kicked those wedges in hard, testing the door to make sure that they caught.

"We should get as much rest as we can." Zac suggested. Healy down on the single steel bed and pressed himself back against the wall. I lay down on my side with my back to him and snuggled in against him. He wrapped his arms around me and we tried to relax.

It was around three that they jumped us. What? No, nothing happened between lying down and then.

(All physical signs indicate that the subject is lying. Interrogator allowed subject to hear the alarm the system raised)

Okay, sorry. Maybe a couple of things did happen, but they are not germane to the story. Who am I to judge what is or is not germane? I'm the one who lived through them, that's who. No, believe me you don't need to know what went on between us.

(Subject showing signs of acute embarrassment again)

You need to understand the psychology of our subsequent actions? Yeah, right. You're as bad as that Joel fella, you perv. No I don't want to spend the next few years of my life in this room. Okay, okay. I'll tell you. Just don't interrupt, this isn't going to be easy for me.

(Subject took a deep breath and paused to compose herself. Signs of anxiety receding)

We were lying on the narrow bed, cuddling. I had on my cut off jeans and a tee shirt with the spa logo on it. Yes, the same ones I have on now. Yes I was wearing a bra at the time, and panties if that is what you were going to ask next. Zac had one arm under my head with his paw resting on my shoulder. The other arm was around my waist with the paw tucked between my hip and the mattress. My butt was pressed against his lap and one of his legs was between mine. Zac? He was wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt, better for the woods than what I had worn I guess. We had both kicked off our shoes and socks before getting into bed.

I shifted my weight to be more comfortable and sort of rubbed his groin with my butt. Well, maybe it was on purpose, Doctor Freud, and maybe not. But it got a rise out of him, literally. He must have been living in a monastery to react that fast to a little rub. His paws started moving on my torso and I let them. I wiggled my butt and rubbed his hard biceps as he slid one paw up under my shirt and traced the edges of my bra. He cupped a breast through the material of my shirt with the other.

(Subject body temperature rising. Increased blood flow in chest and groin area)

He started to kiss my neck up under the hair. I rubbed harder, feeling his cock growing under the thick denim. Soon my shirt was up around my neck and my bra got pushed up there too, freeing my tits for him to caress and squeeze and pinch. My nipples were as hard as his cock by the time he lifted the shirt and bra off over my head.

(Seat sensors detecting increased temperature and moisture levels)

I was ready to turn around and go for it right then but Zac had other things in mind. He laid me on my back and knelt at the end of the bed where he took my feet in his paws and began to massage them just like I had done to him earlier. He was good, and I doubt that he had learned how to do that just from my example. After he had made my feet tingle he began to massage my legs, dragging his claws through the fur to tease my skin as I had for him. He was a quick study, I must say, figuring that I would like the same things I used on others. I was wet and ready by the time his paws reached the ragged edge of my Daisy Dukes and I lifted my ass so he could pull them off easier.

He chuckled at the sight of my thong. It was red with a cat head drawing and the words "Stroke the pussy" below it. He is also good at following instructions, although he did the stroking with his long, rough wolf tongue. I didn't notice the thong come off. I have no idea what happened to it. No. I have nothing on under these shorts now. Didn't I ask you not to interrupt?

Apology accepted. Where was I? Oh yeah, Zac was eating my pussy. For a guy who doesn't talk much he has a talented tongue, Zac has. And I guess that I hadn't been in action for a while either, because I came in his mouth after only a couple of minutes of having my clit flicked.

My chest was heaving like I'd just climbed Everest. Zac didn't press himself on me like a lot of guys would have at that point. Instead he peeled off his clothes and slid back in behind me and we snuggled while I caught my breath.

My tail was trapped between his chest and my back. I could feel his hardon hot between the cheeks of my ass. I reached back and manoeuvred it between my legs, so it was rubbing against my gapping, wet cunt. We began rocking together slowly, his arms around me, his paws roaming over my body, his cock squeezed between my thighs.

We snuggled like that for a few minutes, and I could feel his cock getting harder and thicker, the band at the base in particular, as more blood was trapped inside it. When my heart had stopped racing I lifted one leg and guided the tip into my pussy. Wet from the juices of my twat, it slid in like it was made for it. Zac began by humping me from behind while we continued to snuggle, a real snugglefuck. It felt good, and we could have gone all night at that pace, but I wanted something more intense, something rougher.

The position we were in did not give Zac full penetration, my tush was in the way. Urging him to follow me I rolled onto my knees. He did likewise, kneeling between my legs as I raised my butt and lowered my shoulders to the mattress. Zac started pounding harder, driving his shaft all the way in with each stroke. That thick, knot-like band at the base stretched me nicely when it went in. I wasn't able to trap it inside with my twat, but I knew what would do the trick.

Taking my paw I gathered some of the juices that were flowing from me and, raising my tail, rubbed my anus with them. Then I grabbed Zac by the cock, pulled it out and rubbed the tip against that pink ring of puckered flesh. He got the hint.

At first he just pressed against my tailhole, spreading the lubricating sweetness. Then he dipped his digits inside my twat for fresh juice and this time he pressed hard enough to open the hole a bit. Slowly he worked his way in and all at once the knob was inside. Now my ass was producing its own lubrication and with each pump his shaft went in a little more. Finally I felt the thick band of flesh pressing against my ring piece.

(Subject sphincter muscles tending rhythmically - assesses as involuntary and not an attempt to cover an untruth)

My hips urged him to pump faster and deeper. My moans told him when he was getting it right. With each plunge his thick cock spread my anus, sending electric waves of pleasure through me. I was almost ready to cum, but he was still not yet fully engaged. The next time he drove forward I shoved back, and that knot of thick flesh popped inside. I immediately clamped down on him, trapping him inside. He squirmed and twisted, not really trying to escape but knowing the attempt would stimulate me further. It did. I was squirming too, but for other reasons.

Zac put a paw on my twat and rubbed my clit in little circles as he ground his hips against my butt. The pressure of his thick base against my anus and the heat of his shaft in my butt were doing their job. I fought to hold back, but when he managed to pull his knot out and then drove it back in again all resistance melted, as did my insides. Uh, ugh, just a. ... Gimme a second here.

(Subject appears to have experienced a minor sympathetic memory orgasm)

(Note to maintenance - wipe down and disinfect interrogation chair before next use)

I screamed, or would have if I had not stuffed half my pillow in my mouth. Waves of hot juice shot out and soaked his paw and balls as they slapped against my cunt. Behind me Zac gasped as molten spooge shot out of his shaft. He shuddered as my ass milked his cock dry.

I let my legs collapse under me and Zac rode me down to the mattress. That's the way I like a session on the sheets to end, with both of us drained and exhausted. No, I don't always initiate anal sex, or allow it when a guy does, but when I do it's always at the end. I like to do things in a certain order; it's a matter of hygiene. I don't want to suck a cock that has been inside my poop chute, and I'd rather not have it stuck back in my vagina after that either. Guys seem to appreciate the extra tightness in there, and the sensations it produces when the guy is the right size are pretty intense for me too.

So, that's what we did before we drifted off to sleep. Satisfied? Yeah, now that you mention it, telling you about it was kind of liberating. No, I don't have any other sexual adventures I want to discuss with you just now.

Yes, I had said at we were jumped. How did they manage to surprise us? It was something I should have remembered from my tour of the Deifenbunker in Carp. The dorm rooms were originally for four to eight, with steel bunk beds and a single door for each room. When they converted them for the spa staff they simply took off the top bunks to convert the rooms for two or four. But the builders anticipated that the second level might suffer some damage if there was a direct strike, warping the metal doors and trapping the occupants inside their rooms, so they made all the walls between the rooms removable. You could knock panels out and move from room to room until you came to one with a working door.

George and Lenny must have moved the beds away from the wall in the next room and used suction cups to lift the wall panel out silently. Then they turned on the lights in that room as they rushed in. With the light behind them we were blinded but they could see us fine. Zac leapt up and tried to avoid capture but he tripped and did a header into the desk between the beds. No, there was not much on it, just my journal, a couple of pens, and some documents clipped together that went flying when he was flailing about trying to stand up.

George threw a blanket over me and pinned me to the bed. Lenny grabbed Zac around the chest and started to squeeze. Zac's face was turning blue by the time George socked me with some kind of sap and knocked me senseless.

I woke up in the surgical wing. I was a little disoriented at first, never having been in the clinic, but it's walls were the same as the ones everywhere else in the bunker, and the operating tables we were strapped to provided a clue. Mildred, Jed, George and Lenny were gathered between the two tables, waiting for us to come fully to. They all had guns. We had shackles held closed by cheap padlocks. This must be where they collected the organs from their homeless victims.

They wanted to know how much we knew, of course. Mildred, the smarter of the two bosses, led the questioning. George and Lenny slapped us around if she didn't like the answers. We got slapped a lot. Jed busied himself by going through the clothes we had left on the floor of my room, looking for clues as to who Zac worked for and if I was there undercover too. He didn't find anything useful.

Yes, I had neglected to mention that we were naked on the tables. It did not bother me too much, although I could almost feel George's eyes crawling over me between beatings. Lenny was another matter. He didn't stare at my tits or crotch but whenever my tail whipped around in anger at their actions his eyes would lock on it and his paws would twitch in desire. But George kept reminding him not to touch. I thought that it bothered Zac more because he was so tense, keeping his thighs pressed tight together and his paws clenched.

After about an hour of questioning Zac gave up trying to pretend to be just another athlete on the mend. Mildred had confronted him with the medical report from the Physiotherapist, with notes from my observations I'm ashamed to say, and it was pretty clear that his injuries were from some sort of torture. Lenny had been following me around it seemed, and had reported our increased and increasingly intimate contact over the last few days. Mildred was convinced that I was a cop too.

"Okay, I work for the Government. I'm an investigator with the Justice department." Zac told them. I didn't know if that was true or not, but I had told him that they knew who was paying for his treatment and what they suspected, so it would sound reasonable to them. "The girl has nothing to do with this." He said then. "But my people will be coming to look for me if I don't report in."

"Bullshit." Mildred spat back. "You haven't called anyone since you've been here, I'd know if you did." Then she looked over at me. "But we haven't been watching this one, and she goes out for walks regularly, with her cell phone, perhaps? Agh, this is getting us nowhere. Dawn is coming and the owners will be pissed if we have to close down for even a day but It can't be helped. We need to clear out the place so we can torture these two until we're sure. Maybe we'll reopen those old wounds, eh?" She ran a claw down Zac's torso for emphasis and I could see that the prospect really was scaring the shit out of him, but he just clenched his fists harder and pressed his lips together and refused to look her in the eye. "Or maybe we'll start by dissecting Natasha, see if that loosens either of your tongues." I tried to look as determined as Zac did but inside I was whimpering.

Mildred turned to Jed. "Go up to the office and contact the day staff." She ordered. "Tell them that we are closed until further notice. George and I will get the live-in staff and the last guests out. We'll give the guests a refund and the staff an advance; tell them that there's a gas leak and we have to close until we can track it down and fix it. A couple of days maybe. This wolf will talk within a day, and if whoever he works for is on to us we'll be long gone before they think to send anyone to check on him. By then they'll have to sift through the ashes to find any trace of these two. Lenny, you stand guard until we get back. Don't leave them alone and don't give them anything."

"And no touchin', Lenny." George reminded him on his way out.

With the other three gone, Lenny dutifully took up a place by the door and stood there with an empty expression on his face.

"Lenny." Zac called over to the big guy. "What did Mildred mean by sifting through the ashes?"

"George bought a lot of gasoline." Lenny replied. "George is smart for things like that. He can open locked doors and knows what we should take and what we should leave behind. And George says that fire destroys evi-, evid- ... stuff the police can use against us. George is good with fire, and he makes sure that Lenny doesn't get burned or get sent back to the bad place. I'm lucky to have George to take care of me."

Zac tried to get Lenny to talk more but all he would say is that he was lucky to have a friend like George. Then Zac tried to get Lenny to leave the room, to get them some water or a bed pan, but Lenny was a faithful guard, following his instructions to the letter. But I could see his eyes wander to my table every few seconds.

It took me a minute to figure out what he was looking at. When George had been slapping me around my tail had flailed wildly, a feline reaction to pain and invasion of my personal space. I could not aim it but occasionally it had delivered a fairly strong blow to the rat's head. Tired of it, George had tucked it between me and the table, and now only the last few niches was sticking out, and the tip was flicking back and forth irritably.

I caught Zac's eye while Lenny was engrossed in the movement of my tail. He nodded his head to tell me to try to get the big rat closer.

"Lenny." I crooned in the friendliest voice that I could muster. "My tail is all kinked up under me and it's squashing my fur. Could you roll me over a bit so I can free it and it pouf it up again?"

Lenny looked conflicted. "George said no touching." He whined, obviously eager to do just that.

"I don't want you to touch it, Lenny. I just want you to raise me up a teeny bit so I can free it myself. You can use my clothes over your paws so you don't touch anything. That would be okay with George, I'm sure. My tail would be so much better looking if it was all out and puffed up and able to sway freely." I put a real effort into making the tip curl up in a 'come along' gesture.

It worked. Muttering to himself about not touching Lenny came up between the tables and turned toward me as he pulled my tee shirt and shorts over his massive paws. As soon as his back was turned to Zac I saw the wolf produce a thick paper clip that he must have snagged off my desk. He must have pulled that falling act when he realized there was no escape and palmed it. That's why he was keeping his paws clenched. I wondered what he might have hidden in the folds of his groin but by then Lenny had raised my hips enough for me to free my tail. I whipped it around to raise the fur and then let it sway in the air in front of Lenny's face.

"That's awfully purdy." Lenny spoke like he was in a trance. Forgetting George's instructions his paws came up. He dropped my clothes and reached out to grasp the fuzzy tube of my tail. I grit my teeth, anticipating sacrificing one of my favourite appendages for the cause. I remember praying that Zac had some kind of plan in mind.

He did. He sprang from his table like he had never had mobility issues and landed on Lenny's back. I thought that he might try to strangle the big rodent, but as Lenny's neck was probably bigger around than both of Zac's paws that would have been difficult. Zac must have thought so too because his right arm came around and he plunged something into Lenny's neck where the carotid artery would be, again and again and again.

Lenny dropped my tail and tried to pull Zac off his shoulders. Blood was spurting out in great red fountains and the rat was bouncing off the tables and the walls while Zac rode him like a rodeo rider. Finally Lenny got a grip and he threw Zac across the room. Zac landed hard, and though I didn't hear any bones crack on impact he was winded, and could not get up right away. Lenny reached up and pulled something from his neck, one of my pens, a six-inch long solid barrel number with a conical steel tip. Good thing for Zac I don't use a gel pen or a sharpie or something else silly to write in my journal.

Anyway, pulling the pen out was the last mistake that Lenny would ever make. It was plugging the artery while it was in his neck and withdrawing it released a flood of fresh blood. I don't know how much blood it takes to run a simple brain like Lenny's but by then he had lost enough to shut down essential systems like the ability to stand. He came down on the unoccupied operating table with a crash that I was sure they must have heard on the top floor.

Zac used a scalpel to cut my straps and then threw me my clothes. Yes, just the cut-offs and crop top that I'm wearing now. They hadn't brought my bra or panties down, so no, I'm not wearing any at the moment. Who just said "You owe me twenty bucks"? Was that Joel again? Are you sure you two are professionals? Yeah, I guess if you control the lock on the door it's really a moot point.

I was dressed before Zac, who was still a little woozy. I pointed at the bloody pen in Lenny's paw and asked him where he had hidden it.

"You don't want to know." He replied absently.

Once he was dressed we examined the clinic. We did not have any way of locking the doors but with my help Zac wedged one of the operating tables against the main entrance. I pointed out the escape chute and the big steel lever with a warning sign on it, explaining about the rocks. "Looks like they never got around to emptying the bins." He said.

Zac slid open the doors and looked inside. There was a switch and when he pressed it dim lights came on, illuminating the inside. The chute was a narrow vertical tunnel with a ladder embedded in the rock wall. George and Lenny had rigged an electric hoist inside it. It was just a plywood platform suspended by a cable anchored at each corner with wheels on the sides so it wouldn't bind on the rocks on the way down. Currently it was where we were on the forth level. The last cargo, which was still sitting on it, was a dozen metal gasoline cans, the kind the military use. We checked a couple and they were full.

"This must be how they planned to destroy the evidence." Zac said. He examined the Hoist controls. They required one person to hold down a button to make the platform move. There was probably a similar control up in the garage. One of the rats could ride down the first load and then bring the other down with the last. We could use it to ascend but not together. While we argued about who should go first someone started banging on the clinic door.

"Look," Zac said, "that door is not going to hold for long. We need to start up now, and together. It's four stories but I'm sure we'll make it if we use the ladder."

"What's to stop them from following on the hoist, or just dumping a ton of rocks on our heads?" I asked.

Zac thought furiously and then snapped his digits. "Go get as many strips of gauze as you can find." He told me. I ran to the operating room and dug through the shelves until I found the stuff they wrap around a broken limb to make a cast. When I got back I saw that Zac had pulled out the wires for the hoist's motor and wrapped the ends together before hiding them behind the motor.

"When they press the switch it will short out and they will be forced to follow up the ladder." He explained. "They will probably send at least one up the stairs too but by the time they get to the garage we'll be gone. As for the rocks ...." He took the gauze I had found and wrapped it tightly around the release mechanism inside the tunnel. Then he opened one of the gas cans and splashed the plaster infused bandages with it. "Hopefully this stuff dries hard quickly." He commented as he dropped the open can back on the platform. We could hear the table scraping on the floor as the three remaining murderers forced it open a bit at a time.

Zac pushed me into the chute and onto the ladder. I hesitated for a moment. I'm not afraid of heights but I do have a fear of falling, and the rungs on that steel ladder were slippery with moss from disuse. Zac asked me if I was okay and I swallowed hard, but I got moving. He was right behind me.

One paw after the other I climbed, trying not to think about how the distance to the bottom was increasing with every rung. About ten feet up we passed a alcove in the wall that was full of large rocks, enough to fill the length of the chute that we had already climbed. They were held back by a grate connected to the release mechanism. I shuddered at the thought of all that weight falling down on us.

Ten feet further we passed another grate. This one was holding back an equal amount of smaller rocks. There was a third alcove higher up that was filled with gravel. As we neared the top I saw bins with sand trickling out the rusted corners looming over the opening. I was getting the idea now. Once the lever was pulled large rocks would tumble down, to have the spaces between them filled with smaller rocks, then gravel, and then sand, effectively sealing the chute against invasion or radiation, or both.

I had to stop with about ten rungs to go because my arms were cramping. I had always spent more time working on my legs and I was paying for it now. As soon as I took the weight off my arms a scream came up from below.

"Lennnny!" George cried. "Lenny, wake up!" But he wasn't going to, and George figured where we had gone in an instant. Looking down, which almost made me faint, I saw his tiny head poke into the chute. Then I heard the release mechanism rattle as he tried to pull the lever, but it didn't move far enough to open the bins, thank God.

"Natasha, get moving." Zac ordered, and I was about to ask why he was concerned when we had such a good head start when George started firing up the chute. Bullets ricocheted off the ladder and the rock walls and one took a tuft of fur off my left ear. I moved faster than I ever had and literally threw myself out of that chute and onto the garage floor. Zac popped out like bread from a toaster and scrambled to safety beside me.

What happened next was apocalyptic. Zac saw that there was a pickup truck and he ran to check to see if the keys were in it. I heard Mildred swear at George and order him to get on the hoist. I heard the sound of him clambering onto the load of gas cans and I risked a look down the shaft. I heard the engine of the truck roar to life behind me. I heard Zac call me to hurry. I saw a flash of white at the bottom of the tunnel, beside George's head, and I heard him scream as the gas-soaked gauze we had wrapped around the mechanism burst into flame and set his head on fire. I saw, and felt, the fireball that erupted when those flames caught the vapours wafting up from the open can. The heat and the wind drove me back, out of the path of two tons of sand set free as the gauze burned through and the bar that George had tried to shift earlier dropped away from the doors to the bins.

Gravity did the rest. There was a loud rumble and the floor of the garage shook as boulders, stones, gravel and sand rained down on what was left of George. I suspect that the first rocks punctured whatever gas cans had not already ruptured because there was a secondary explosion deep in the bunker. I could imagine Jed and Mildred standing there at the entrance, probably already singed from the first explosion but still alive when the second wave of burning gas washed over them, closely followed by rocks spewing through the open chute doors. I must confess that the thought made me smile.

The shock wave must have knocked me a bit silly because I was still lying there on the floor of the garage as the ground shook beneath me. Zac grabbed me by the arm pits and heaved me up and into the cab of the truck.

"I think that the fuel tanks for the generator must have been close to the clinic." He said as he snapped the seatbelt tightly around me and did the same with his. "Because it feels like the whole place is going to blow."

With that he jammed the gas pedal against the mat and with a squeal of tires the truck shot across the garage and hit the closed doors square on. They flew open and we skidded a bit, but Zac got it under control and we barreled off down a dirt lane that led to the back gate. It was locked, but a ton and a half of Detroit's best took care of that. Zac slid onto the paved road that circled the grounds and headed back toward civilization.

"Wow." I said. "Do they teach you to drive like that at the Police College?"

"I don't know." He answered absently. "I never went. Do you have a cell phone signal?"

I checked. It went from no bars to one bar as I watched, then to two. He decided to wait until we had three before pulling over and punching a series of numbers in.

"Ember reporting." He said. "Code black at my location. Four hostiles, two down for sure, probably the other two also. No, I can't secure the egress myself, I am unarmed and wounded."

I looked at him in alarm. There was a patch of blood spreading on the inside of his thigh, where the femoral artery is. One of George's stray shots must have got him. While I had been lollygagging by the shaft he had been seeing to our escape while bleeding out at the time. I unbuckled our seatbelts and pulled him over to the passenger side. I found a first aid kit in the glove box and used the scissors to cut away his jeans while he continued on the phone.

"Oh!" He said, looking a little light headed, probably from the loss of blood. "I have a civilian with me too. I don't know how good a nurse she is but she's a damn fine masseuse. We could use someone like her at the Academy." His last words were slurred.

"Jesus, Zac. Don't you die on me." I told him. "We just you all back together and you haven't even paid the bill for that yet."

"You'll have more work to do." He said, his head nodding as if he was fighting to stay awake.

"You betcha. Just you and me Zac, like on the range. I'll take care of you. Just hang on, will ya?"

He raise a feeble paw and stroked the soft tuft of fur on my cheek. "Awfully purdy." He said as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Awfully ..."

(Thirty two seconds of silence while the subject studies her paws on her lap. Chest is heaving. Facial moisture detected. She speaks without looking up.)

I was still giving him CPR when the guys in green dropped down on us from that helicopter.

(Interrogator Conclusion: Subject is most likely being truthful.)

(P.S. Subject seems to have formed an emotional attachment to agent Embers)

* * * * * * * *

Silver closed the interrogation file and slid it back in the folio marked 'TOP SECRET - DEEP THUNDER' before passing it back to the Director of FOX. It was exactly thirty days since the meeting that resulted in Ember being sent to the Wakefield Bunker Spa. The Director's extension of Ember's disability treatment was about to expire, and Williams should be seeing the Minister to recommend retention or release for the young wolf, but that was no longer necessary, given the unfortunate turn of events.

"What do you think?" Williams asked Silver after giving his old friend time to absorb the information.

"I think that we need to find a new video technician." Silver replied. "Joel is getting a little too personally involved in the interrogations. Besides, he has enough work as the forger to keep him busy."

"You know what I mean."

Silver leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, a habit he had when he was making up a story on the fly.

"What we have here is a report from a, ah, competent medical official indicating that Agent Ember had fully recovered prior to the events we refer to under the cover name DEEP THUNDER. Returned to his former level of physical and mental prowess, Agent Ember picked up on inconsistencies in his environment, recruited local assistance and uncovered a plot to murder Canadian citizens ..."

"Homeless vagrants."

" ... Canadian citizens of no fixed address, for their organs, which they transplanted for profit, contrary to the Canadian Health Code and various other legislation. Agent Ember should be commended for his attempts to warn the proper authorities. It is not his fault that one of the criminals, infatuated with the guest worker Natasha Winters ...."

"Guest worker?"

"Joel is working on backdating the application and making up the work permit now. As I was saying, the jealous malfeasant accidentally blew Agent Ember's cover and he was captured, along with an, uh, innocent American civilian here on a work permit. Under torture and threat of death Agent Ember was forced to kill one adversary in order to affect their escape. The other three died by their own misadventure while attempting to chase them down and kill them, as evidenced by Ember's fatal wound."

Williams raised an eyebrow. "Fatal?"

"Technically he died in the cab of the truck. It was dumb luck that there was a physician's assistant on standby with the Special Ops guys that day. Ordinary medics would not have had access to the drugs he used on Ember or the knowledge of how to administer them. Even then, if Winters had not kept the blood flowing to his brain by administering CPR and artificial respiration he would not have been worth brining back. But Doctor Jones predicts full recovery, and now Ember is part of the elite club of agents who have died and been brought back."

"A club of three; Vikki, you and now Ember."

"I've died twice, so I get precedence."

"Better be careful old friend, they say that the third time is the last time."

Silver shifted in his seat, the only sign of discomfort at the prospect. Williams continued after a short silence. "So, we write Ember up as a hero. We declare that he achieved rehabilitation before being reinjured so the recuperation clock starts anew as of yesterday. I'll get to work on a Briefing Note to the Minister to that effect right away."

Silver smiled and stood up. "Just don't attach that interrogation report to it. The minister will probably be better off not knowing all the sordid details." He turned to leave but a word from Williams stopped him.

"What do we do about Winters?" The Director asked. "She is insisting on seeing Ember, and she will only leave the country reluctantly."

Silver thought about Doctor Gordon's closing comment on the interrogation report, and Ember's last words on the call that initiated the rescue. "You know, we really could use a good masseuse here at the Academy."

"One that could cross train as a video technician perhaps?"

"For sure, and who knows, maybe she will sign up for agent training one day. She showed a lot of guts in that bunker, and did some pretty impressive shooting against Ember. Her being around will also help with his recovery. I have my eye on him for our next senior agent and I'd hate to lose him."

Williams waved a paw in acceptance. "So be it. I'll put it to her as soon as Joel sorts out her work permit."

Silver left the Director's office, pulling the door closed behind him. He walked over to the receptionist's desk, where Violet the poodle was struggling to extract a code card that she had inserted upside down in the classified phone.

"Fucking thing." She muttered. "You would think that they would make the warning of which side goes up a little more obvious."

"Yes, you would." Silver agreed. "Violet, get my mate Vikki Beausoleil on the pager. Tell her to meet me at the combat range. I've just read about a new type of shooting completion that I'd like to try out with her."

Violet picked up the regular phone and punched in the number for Vikki's pager. "I hear you're the best shot in the Academy, Boss." She said as she waited for the cue to record her message. "You think she stands a chance against you?"

Silver replied with a sly grin, "I think she'll blow me away."

Zachary Ember and Natasha Winters © EmberWolf

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Violet © Gray Muzzle

The FOX Academy series:

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

Book IV - Wait for No One

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Book VI - Unnatural Selection

Book VII - Rogue Sword

Book VIII - Firestorm