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ROGUE SWORD

Chapter 7 - It's not the heat, it's the humidity

Although they left Ottawa for Argentina shortly after Vikki and Dongo departed for North Korea, Grey Muzzle and Miss CC arrived in Buenos Aires on the same day that they left because they only changed planes once, in New York. They were travelling under the cover of a couple of energy investors from the European Union - a Scottish fox named Liath Craos and a French poodle called Clarice Charlevoix.

"These profiles are based on real creatures, real dead creatures, but the Argentinians don't know that. Your name is Gaelic for 'grey muzzle'," Bill Hanlan had explained to Grey, "and it is pronounced 'lee-ah crah-oos', remember that. Mademoiselle Chiene-Caniche can go by the nickname 'Miss CC' while she is there, it will simplify things."

Grey, who knew how much Miss CC disliked being addressed by her nickname in public did not think that it would simplify things at all. He decided to call her Clarice when they were with others and save the nickname for more personal circumstances, but he kept that to himself.

Their target was one Agustina Fernandez, a female culpeo, a type of South American fox similar to the red fox. She was an elusive and mysterious figure, a very private creature. She did not have a Facebook or a Linkedin profile and even the institute where she worked did not have her biography or academic credentials online. She had never been of interest to any of the allied intelligence agencies before now, so none of them had anything on file either. They only knew of her in the context of her work for the Comisión Nacional de Energia Atómica, or CNEA.

The CNEA ran a Canadian CANDU reactor at Embalse and one of a German design at Atucha, which was first in the world to burn slightly enriched uranium according to the background briefing. Two more of those reactors for Atucha were being built and the first was said to be 80% complete. They were also responsible for five small research reactors. CNEA was started in 1950 as the Huemul Project by then President Juan Perón as an attempt by the German Scientist Ronald Richter to produce safe, sustained energy from nuclear fusion. Such a reaction would produce huge amounts of energy, like the sun does, and it was considered the holy grail of the sustainable energy community. Richter claimed success, stating that he had produced a sustained reaction in a container slightly larger than the steel containers used to ship milk from the farms to the dairy, but teams of Argentine scientists reviewing the project said that it was not possible. Since then many others had tried to produce the effect Richter claimed, but none had come up with a solution to sustained nuclear fusion. Their work had, however, resulted in improvements to nuclear weapons design.

Richter travelled around the world after that fiasco, popping up in Libya and other places that Gerald Bull was working. It was widely believed that the two had collaborated on some projects. Richter returned to Argentina in the late '80s and died there in 1991, shortly after Bull was assassinated.

"His life inspired a moderately successful opera." Hanlan had told them. "But as far as we know he had no connection to the work Bull was doing when he was assassinated. He did have a disciple though, Agustina Fernandez, who has now risen to Vice-President of special projects at the CNEA despite her unorthodox mentor. She has not published much, but we suspect that she is engaged in some secret work related to miniaturization for the fusion process. She works at the Centro Atómico Constituyentes research reactor in Buenos Aires. There they have the Tandar accelerator and the academic Instituto Sábato, which grants graduate degrees in nuclear materials science. But you won't be able to get an appointment with her there, not in the time we have available. She is notoriously reluctant to see visitors and never gives interviews to the press."

"How do we approach her then?" Grey asked. "Does she have any hobbies or hangouts where we could 'accidentally' bump into her and bring up our interest in the nuclear industry?"

"No, we have no details on her private life or her habits. You two will have to find an opening on your own." He did not add that Grey's bartender's ability to get people talking was why the older fox was chosen for the mission in the first place.

They checked into the Miravida Soho Hotel, which featured a wine bar, in the Palermo district of Soho, the hippest part of Buenos Aires because Agustina Fernandez lived and worked nearby. It was a classy, upscale place that advertised Tango contests every Thursday night in the ballroom. From there Grey and Miss CC took turns shadowing her.

Despite Hanlan's warning that a direct approach was unlikely to be successful they nevertheless tried to initiate contact through a fictitious European office for energy investment. Because Argentinians were known to be mad about football, or soccer as Grey was used to calling it, they sent her a ticket to a match between the national team and their arch-rivals, Brazil, but a bespeckled armadillo who worked as a janitor at the institute showed up in her place. They tried again, inviting her to a Pato match but the national sport, a type of basketball played on horseback, held no more interest for her than football did. Invitations to the theatre, another favourite pastime for the locals, were similarly ignored. The surveillance was proving to be equally unproductive; the mysterious culpeo spent fourteen hours or more at work each day and retired directly to her modest apartment in Soho immediately after.

On the third night they convened in the wine bar to strategize after following Fernandez back home.

"There ees an Asado on Saturday, two days from now." Miss CC suggested halfheartedly. Asado was the national dish, a form of barbecue where whole carcasses were impaled on crosses around a pit full of glowing coals until done. Argentinians were as passionate about it as they were about sports and the national theatre, but that did not bode well for their target. From what they had seen of her the middle-aged culpeo was too slim to be a big barbecue fan. "She must eat like a bird," the big-breasted, big-bootied poodle sighed, "because she certainly does nothing I have seen to burn off any excess calories."

"What else do Argentineans like to do?" Grey wondered. Across the lobby from them the ballroom was just opening and a number of males and females in colourful costumes were gathered in front of the double doors, signing up for the weekly tango contest.

"Aucune idee." Miss CC shrugged as she replied in her native French. "What ees the English expression? Beats me?"

Grey leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I would if you gave me the chance." They had packed a number of harnesses, paddles and whips but so far had found no time to use them. The wicked party poodle smiled and was about to reach out and give her little slave a squeeze somewhere intimate and painful when her eyes went wide.

"Mon Dieu!" She exclaimed. "Eet is she ... her ... Fernandez!" Her nose was pointing out the door at the group gathered across the lobby.

Grey turned to look at them again. The females were slim and long legged, the males lean and muscular. The males wore dark suits, the females colourful dresses that could best be described as "slinky". The couples ignored each other as they waited their turns to sign up. He did not see the culpeo in the crowd at first. Then he spotter her. She and her partner were standing off to one side, checking their claws and adjusting their dress as the others filed in.

She was wearing a knee-length red dress cut down as far as the base of her tail in the back and slit far enough up the sides that Grey could tell she wore nothing larger than a thong underneath, if that. She had a matching red bow in her blonde hair and red stilettos completed the ensemble. After tailing her for two days and never seeing her in anything sexier than a lab coat Grey was shocked to discover how fit and shapely the middle-aged scientist was. Her partner was a younger jaguar with an unruly stock of black hair on his head. He was oozing machismo in a black silk tux with a red shirt that matched her dress in hue and style and a black bow tie. His shoes were shiny black pumps and when he bent his knee to adjust them Grey could see that his socks were red too. As a couple they were a matched set.

Grey signalled the bartender over and pointed to the couple, asking if the gin slinger knew of them.

"Everyone at the Miravida knows of them, Senor. They are the city tango champions, and this is their home dance floor. The others are signing up for a chance to dance against them at the end of the evening."

Grey's mind raced through a dozen scenarios and a hundred possibilities. Miss CC, he remembered, went to a dancercise class several times a week to stay in shape and keep flexible. "Clarice," he addressed her using her cover name, "do you know how to tango?"

"Mais, oui. Tango, samba, waltz, crumping, I know them all."

Grey turned back to the bartender. "What does it take to enter?" He asked, ignoring Miss CC's cry of protest.

"Fifty pesos, but you have to be dressed properly." The bartender pointed out. "Males must wear suits and ties, the females need a dress that allows movement, not like she is wearing." He added, pointing to the busty poodle. Miss CC had on a lacy black number with a sash around the waist that went well with her party poodle colouring and exposed a great deal of cleavage, but the skirt was tight. While that made for some interesting scenery when she walked it was somewhat restrictive. As usual she was sporting heels high and sharp enough to be used to spear fish, much like the ones the contestants were wearing.

Grey had put on a black suit with a white shirt for the evening. His shoes were black with leather soles, still new and shiny and fine for dancing. But he had no tie. Knowing that a decent bar such as this would have an array of tools for cutting, peeling and grating fruit for the drinks he asked the bartender for a paring knife. Once he had it in his paws he reached over to Miss CC, who was still trying to figure out what the crazy American fox was up to, and undid the black silk sash from her waist. Slicing a ribbon of the material off he constructed a passable bow tie. "Something my parents taught me." He commented. He had been raised by KGB sleeper agents during the cold war, and he had learned how to make impromptu disguises and expedient articles of required dress at the age where most American kids were learning how to hit a baseball.

"Hold still." He told her as he worked his digits under the edge of her skirt and found the seams. Using the small sharp knife he deftly popped the threads to slit both sides up to her waist. Now the lower half of her dress consisted of a flap of material in front and another in back. It was enough to allow for a full range of movement, and also enough to expose the hip-high straps of the red silk panties she had put on just for him. As a finishing touch he plucked a large red rose from a floral display on the bar and wove the stem into the white fur above one of her black ears.

Having finished with the knife he gave it back to the bartender and paid for their drinks, leaving a generous tip. "Come on." He said as he pulled the still stunned Miss CC off her stool and toward the lobby. "We're going to sign up."

"Are you crazy?" Miss CC hissed. She and Grey had never shared more than a slow dance wrapped in each other's arms in her living room after an evening of discipline and bondage for him, and only if he had been a good little slave. As far as she knew that was the extent of his dancing skills. "Thees ees not something you can just pick up as you go along."

"Trust me."

Miss CC did not see as she had much choice. Grey was the analyst on this mission, she was the muscle. Her instructions had been to keep him from being captured or defecting back to the Russians, using deadly force if necessary, but Silver had said nothing about letting him make a fool of himself. "Allez, vas-y." She said, flicking a paw in the direction of the ballroom. "You are een charge ... for now."

The last local contestants had just finished registering when they arrived at the table outside the lobby. Speaking passable Spanish Grey signed them up, joking with the tapir that was behind the desk as he did. He managed to elicit a fair amount of information about the other contestants and the champions, as well as getting an insight into the judges and what they liked or disliked in a dancer.

"This city is the birthplace of the tango," the tapir informed them, "and they prefer the traditional style, but passionate, very passionate. It is best to dance close, with the full upper body in contact." He eyed Miss CC's impressive bosom. "That may be difficult for you two, but partners must establish an intimate connection, one that the judges can see."

"I think we can manage that." Grey replied. "What else?"

"You have to match the speed and emotion of the music you are dancing to and amplify it. Stick to a parallel step unless you are side-by-side moving in the same direction, then you can cross step. Improvisation is good, but avoid the leaps and throws and other showy Hollywood stuff."

"Gracias." Grey thanked him as he took their numbers. "Come Clarice."

"You are crazy." Miss CC remarked as they helped each other pin their numbers on. "What do you know about dancing?"

Grey opened his mouth to answer. He wanted to tell her all about his lonely nights studying spy craft at the paws of his KGB parents, about how they had taught him to waltz, and two-step, polka and do all the other social dances that an agent may be called on to perform while cozying up to the royalty of a European nation or seducing a crime boss's wayward daughter. But these dances were formal and cold, conducted at arm's length. He much preferred the long, slow, intimate numbers he and the daughter of the senior partner in the local law firm danced to in the basement den of her family's bungalow back when he was in High School, often to the songs of the Monkees or the Beatles. She was a passionate poodle with a prehensile tongue long enough to give her a speech impediment and perform possibly the best oral sex on the planet, and she preferred to dance to livelier music. It was she that had introduced him to Latin American dancing.

The rhythm of the samba, the passion of the tango, the sauciness of the salsa, they all allowed Grey to work out frustrations that had built up over the years of living a double life. The fact that dancing with Stephanie always ended up in some form of wild sex did not hurt either. Grey learned from her at first, then when she could teach him no more he snuck out after school to take lessons at the local dance academy. He became quite good, good enough to work as instructor there to pay his way through college. But he lied to his parents about it, telling them that he was apprenticing as a bricklayer because he was afraid that they would not understand. He dropped the dancing lessons when he went to law school because he could not afford the time and never did take them up again after graduating, being too busy building up his resume and applying to secret agencies. But he practised with brooms and mops in his lonely room at night, imagining himself to be the next Fred Astaire, waiting to be discovered.

But Grey did not have time or a full explanation. "I watch those dance shows on TV." He answered as he pulled the poodle onto the dance floor.

The first number was straightforward, designed to give the judges the opportunity to evaluate the dancers' technical skills. It opened, of course, with a short period of eye contact followed by a nod before the dancers engaged called the 'Cabeceo'. Then, torso to torso, the group moved counter-clockwise round the ballroom, leaving the centre of the dance floor open for any couple that wanted to show off their moves. None did, not wanting to risk elimination by getting too showy early on.

There must be a leader and a follower in the tango, but the lead need not be the male. Although Miss CC had the dominant role in their complicated relationship Grey established himself as the leader of the dance right way, which stunned her, almost enough to miss a step. But she recovered well, smiling with surprise and a little pride in her little fox. She moved her body in the direction he indicated and followed with her legs, as one should in the tango. A passing judge nodded in approval before moving on to eliminate a couple behind them. By the end of the dance half of the couples had been asked to leave the floor.

The second song was faster and more passionate. Now the dancers' moves were getting more elaborate and more intimate. A few of them ventured into the middle to show off, but only half survived the experience. Grey resisted the urge and concentrated on his positioning and the use of his paws. When he pulled Miss CC in he let her wrap herself around him, and when he threw her back he spun her so that her skirt flared to expose not only her red silk panties but also the black spots of fur high on her buttocks, much to the appreciation of the judges. When they moved about the floor he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, even through the great globes of flesh that separated them, and he could see the glow of excitement in her eyes. She was always competitive, and she was enjoying the challenge as well the audacity of his plan

The champions had not deigned to join the crowd for the first dance, but they took the floor for the second. Whenever they were facing their way Grey would check them out. They were just warming up, not putting any real effort into it, but they were still out dancing most of the couples. When the second song ended fifty percent of those who had started had joined the first group of eliminated couples along the long back wall of the ballroom.

The third song was slower than the first two, and the music was conflicted, even discordant at times. There was violence bubbling below the surface of it. During the Cabeceo Grey gave Miss CC the Academy signal that meant 'take the lead'. She adopted a wicked grin that took to her face rather naturally, stepped forward and slapped him across the snout, hard. Then she stepped back and threw her head to one side as if she could not care less about his presence. Grey took it without changing expression and proceeded to follow her around the floor. Advancing in vain attempts for passionate embraces and recoiling when she lashed out.

Some of the remaining couples tried to dance in sync, as lovers would, but the music demanded otherwise. They were quickly eliminated. Others tried to imitate the mood that Grey and Miss CC had achieved through elaborate posing and exaggerated facial expressions, but they could not match the raw tension in the foreign couple or the violence in Fernandez's moves. At the end of the song only one other couple remained on the floor with the F.O.X. agents and the champions.

Fernandez and her partner were warmed up now, and they took their seats at the long table with the judges while the two remaining contestant couples adjusted their dress for the dance that would decide who should face them. The other judges took their seats also; they would have to bring their dance to them this time. The local couple took to the floor first, ignoring the judges and their competition. Grey and Miss CC followed, keeping their expressions equally neutral. Just before the music began, when he thought that no one was watching, the other male, a giant anteater with a hairdo that must have cost a month's wages, sneered at them and made a rude gesture. Grey ignored him, but he did note that the eyes of Fernandez flicked over to the anteater and back as he made the gesture.

Grey was not sure if being strangers was an advantage or a disadvantage, but he knew that they had to pull out all the stops to beat the last local couple. And they had to beat them, because even though he and Miss CC had not a hope in hell of beating Fernandez and the jaguar they could at least impress them by making it to the final dance off. Doing so might crack her shell enough for him to get inside and work his magic on her. As they took their positions on the floor he recognized the opening bar of one of the most famous and elaborate of tangos, one he had practised a hundred times, but only with inanimate objects. He had a plan, however, and when he nodded to Miss CC during the Cabeceo he also bowed with a sweeping arm gesture, which was not strictly traditional, but it served to cover a paw gesture used during the Academy climbing lessons.

Grey had not tried climbing before coming to the Academy and learning the skill at his age proved difficult. But he had no problem with the theory and one of the main rules was that communications had to be clear and concise, because the wind could whip your words away and poor visibility made elaborate paw signals easy to misinterpret. Therefore, when you sent instructions to whoever was belaying you always called for what you wanted, and did not bother explaining what the problem was. So if you wanted more tension because you had to let go of the rock for a moment you called for tension, rather than shout out that rope was too slack, because if your partner only heard the word 'slack' they might think you needed more rope and let go of it just as you released your grip, resulting in an injurious or even fatal fall.

The signals the Academy used were developed by the Special Forces for silently infiltrating mountain fortresses. The signal he gave Miss CC meant 'slack'. He prayed that she would understand what he wanted.

The music was melancholy, with poignant trumpets countering braying saxophones while violins played a melancholy tune. As he stepped forward and took her in his arms her face lost all expression and her body dropped, just as he hoped it would. Grey pulled her up, only to have her wrap herself around his torso before sliding around and down to the floor. He dragged her across the stage, cutting across the line of the other couple and forcing them to change direction, but that was okay, there was no centre stage now, this was war. In front of the judges table he lifted her up, and she bent over backwards with her arms spread as if her spine had dissolved. Holding her waist and hocking one leg around hers he let her droop until the tips of her black ears brushed the floor. Turning slowly he let the judges have a good look at her cleavage before snapping her upright again. But her legs were like spaghetti, and she slid down his chest until her face was in his crotch.

She nuzzled him there halfheartedly. She was an exhausted courtesan, weary of the life she lived and the males she kept company with, ready to end it all, just going through the motions. He was an ardent and innocent suitor, trying to revitalize her spirit. But as long as the music featured sad horns and strident woodwinds she could not be revived. He half dragged her to the far side of the room, seemingly allowing the last local contestants a chance in the spotlight, but he was really setting up the next series of moves. If he was right the music would suddenly change after two more bars.

They had retreated to the gloomiest corner of the floor by the time the music hit a pause punctuated by a long, lonely note on the trumpet. Miss CC was still slack in his arms, and he let her drop to the floor, a hopeless cause. But the fervent lover would not be denied one last kiss, and he knelt on one knee beside her and bent down so their muzzles were side by side just as the saxophones rose up and overwhelmed the trumpets. Taking her cue from his whispered instructions she rose up like an angel, as if balanced on the tips of his digits. Then, after quickly checking on the position and direction of the other couple, they executed a series of moves that were sharp and vibrant and dramatic. She was once again full of life and she swung in his arms as he manoeuvred them across the floor and around the other couple, upstaging them cleverly to take their final position just as the music reached its crescendo.

Gray and Miss CC were once again directly in front of the judges table, and once again she was bent over far enough for her ears to touch the floor, but this time her arms were embracing her lover as he held her with one arm behind her back and the other lightly brushing one of her breasts. Their lips were a hair's breadth apart, their eyes were locked on each other and their chests heaved with barely suppressed passion and they held that position until the last note faded and through a moment of dead silence that followed. Then a new sound erupted as they stood and faced the judges.

Grey had put everything he had into the dance, and he was sure Miss CC had done likewise. Because of that level of concentration he had not been able to follow the anteater and his partner, and he had no idea how well the other couple had done. The previously vanquished contestants were raising a ruckus behind them however, and he wondered if cutting their local heroes off twice had not incited a blood feud. Cautiously, he looked around.

Everyone in the back of the room was standing and clapping and cheering. Even the anteater and his partner were off to one side politely tapping their paws together. Turning back to the table he saw that the judges had joined them. Only Fernandez and her partner remained seated.

The clapping slowly subsided. Fernandez stood and announced that there would be a short break before the final dance of the contest. Then she walked up to Grey and said "Follow me ... alone." Without waiting to see if he was coming she strode out of the ballroom and turned into a small side room usually used for business meetings.

"You are the foreigners that have been sending me invitations and tickets?" She demanded in Spanish as soon as the door had closed behind Grey.

"Yes." He admitted. "You are a hard one to get a hold of."

"You are not the only foreigners that are trying to reach me. What do you want?"

"My colleague and I represent a European investment consortium that specializes in nuclear energy. We fund research in countries like yours where the nuclear industry is well established in exchange for the exclusive right to market any discoveries in the EU. My partner can talk more about the financial side of things, I'm more interested in the potential to reduce the European reliance on foreign oil and gas, especially in small niche markets, like miniaturized reactors for hospital complexes and remote industrial sites, places where they must provide a steady source of power even if the grid goes down. Are you ..." he paused and gestured as if searching for the right word, "... working on anything along those lines?"

"The others are also interested in my research." She said with an irritated flick of her bushy tail. "But that is not what I have brought you here to talk about. You have put me in a difficult position mister ...?"

"Craos, Liath Craos." He held out his right paw and replied in what he hoped would pass as a Scottish accent. "It means 'grey muzzle', and has turned out to be rather prophetic." He smiled in a friendly manner and indicated the grey fur around his snout. "This started coming in when I was still a teenager. So, about your research ...."

Fernandez snorted and waved his paw away, refusing to open up. "That is not important now. What is important is the way you have painted me into a corner."

"I don't understand."

"The dance contest, you fool." The southern fox began to pace the room in agitation. "You may think that as the local champions the contest is rigged in our favour, but that is not necessarily the case. The crowd is on your side. Manuel and Consuela, the two you just defeated, were disliked by most and they are happy to see them humbled, but the same can be said of me and my partner. Even the judges favour your unique style. I could hear them whispering after that last dance about how it may be time to change things up around here. And yet you and that overweight canine could never represent the city at the national competition, so what is the use of letting you win? Maybe they will think on that and chose us even if they prefer your dancing. But they will talk afterwards, and my partner and I will be shamed even so."

She stopped her pacing and whirled to face Grey. "I am as afraid of losing to a per-determined jury as you are. There can be no winner in such a contest. But, there is one way, a clear way to determine which of us most truly embodies the passionate spirit of the tango. We can switch partners for an old-style tango battle, where each dancer strives to continue until they have exhausted their partner. It is called 'la danza de la pequeña muerte'. If you agree to this form of contest I will grant you one day as a guest at my institute, win or lose."

"That phrase, 'the little death', it has a particular meaning in Medieval European culture." Grey said cautiously.

"Yes, here too." She said with a wolfish grin. "It refers to the orgasm, the sudden intense sensation that is so much like the final death rattle, a pleasure so intense that it is painful, if one is lucky. Some experience this ecstasy through activities other than sex, but we do not refer to the endorphin high that exercise brings. This is an older, more erotic version of the tango, where the paw may go where the modern version only insinuates they could. In this dance, you dance until one of you collapses, or cums. The winner is the last one standing, so to speak." She paused and studied his concerned expression, an expression tinged with curiosity and interest. "What do you say? Are you 'up' to the challenge?"

"Senorita, it will be keeping it down that will be a challenge. I accept."

"Should you not discuss this with your partner first?"

"She would be only too happy to take down that jaguar. Are there any rules to this dance that we should know about?"

Fernandez explained in more detail as they walked back to the ballroom. "The judges and the musicians will leave, but the regular dancers will stay and keep the beat by clapping and calling out encouragement; it will be a rare treat or them to see this. You dance the same way you dance in public, but where a paw may only brush a thigh or caress a flank you may now go anywhere that you will, provided your partner does not evade you. Daring dancers will keep full contact, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, grinding against their opponent until one can not hold back any more. Are you daring, Mister Craos?"

"I've not been accused of it too often, I must confess."

They had arrived at the Ballroom. Fernandez went to speak to her folk while Grey Brought Miss CC up to date.

"Merde, from une danse sexuelle to une danse du sexe!" She regarded the jaguar with a critical eye. "He ees young. He weel be no problem. But you monsieur, do you think you can handle her?"

"I don't have to handle her; I've already got us in the door. We have a day at the institute no matter what." But that doesn't mean that she'll open up to us, he thought. I'll have to put on a good show because if I give in too soon she'll resent it and we'll never get her to talk.

The judges shrugged at whatever explanation Fernandez had given them and the musicians packed up their instruments with resentful frowns, they could tell that something special was about to happen. After the two groups had left Fernandez closed and locked the ballroom doors. "The manager is a family friend." She explained. "We will not be disturbed."

The other dancers arranged themselves in a circle around the dance floor. The four dancers squared off, Grey across from Fernandez, Miss CC opposite the jaguar. The spectators began to clap their paws and snap their digits in time to the basic tango rhythm - clap snap, clap-clap, clap snap, clap-clap. The jaguar performed his Cabeceo with a sneer of contempt. Miss CC barked a laugh at the youngster's attitude. "Come to mama." She intoned as he stepped forward. "It's time for your lesson."

Grey waited through two repetitions and then nodded to Fernandez with a neutral expression on his face. Grey tried to remember everything he knew or had ever heard about the tango as he moved in. Simply grabbing her and forcing his paws between her legs would not do, he would have to make each caress, every seductive move a part of the dance. But what style to use? With the simple beat being provided by the onlookers he could have his choice. Which would be the best for translating the fervour of the tango into real passion? He dredged up every dance show, every old movie, every YouTube clip he had studied, and even recalled a series of nude tango dancers painted by the British artist Hamish Blakely. Bringing the erotic images to mind did not help his composure as he immediately began to imagine Fernandez naked.

Fernandez wasted no time in making body contact in an intimate place. As he turned her for the first move she brought one leg up into his groin and let it slide against this genitals as she leaned back into the spin that followed. When he pulled her in she pulled back and managed to slam the junction of her leg and torso into his groin. She held the position, forcing him to carry her by hooking that leg behind his and wrapping her other leg across the small of his back. Every move he made created more friction on his already stiffening member.

Grey tried to concentrate and took the opportunity to drop one paw down to her ass, where he took one trim buttock in a firm grip. Not only did that allow him to take the pressure off his groin it also brought the sensitive areas between the cheeks into range. He flicked a few digits experimentally and was rewarded with a shudder before she used the next beat to break away from him. It appeared that the middle-aged prima donna of the dance floor was not immune to a loving touch herself.

The dance became a game of chase and capture. He would pull her in and try to position her as to allow him access to the sensitive spots - the inner arms, the small of the back, the nape of the neck, the base of the tail. She would extend the move if she could to block him while brushing against the bulge in his trousers, blowing hot breath into his ear, or trailing her claws down his back. The audience of junior dancers kept the beat, but they also called out when one of the combatants struck home. So far most of those cries were in favour of Fernandez.

They executed a series of quick turns and spins, the result of neither being able to move in on the other, and Grey took advantage of the neck-snapping turns to check out how Miss CC was doing. He saw that she and the jaguar had chosen a more direct approach. They were locked together at the groin with grimaces of concentration on their faces. Their torsos merged and separated as one or the other tried to free a paw for a more direct caress, often eliciting a slap from the other. But with lightning quick reflexes each was able to duck or block the blows and then their paws would be grappling again until the next time one wiggled free. Each move was done to the rhythm of the tango: clap snap, clap-clap.

The spectators on that side of the floor were enthralled, and they swayed and moaned as if it were they that were being seduced. That reminded Grey of the effect that the dancing of Rudolf Valentino and more recently that of Antonio Banderas was supposed to have on females. Miss CC and the jaguar's dance might lack finesse, but it certainly had passion. A kind of passion that Grey had seen in grainy old silent films from the era when Valentino had made the tango the rage of Europe and the Americas. One clip in particular came to mind, a sequence from an old French movie. Of all the creatures in the world, only the French seemed to be able to match the Argentinians in passion on the dance floor. He had seen it himself when Miss CC got going. But while her would-be lovers were legion, was he not her chosen partner, her furry little boy toy? Had he not earned that distinction by giving as good as he got? New confidence swelled his chest and stiffened his back.

Grey pushed Fernandez away from him, as hard as he could. Taken by surprise, she almost stumbled but caught herself and turned it into the kind of move where a lover is cast down in rejection. She rolled seductively on the floor, miming one begging for forgiveness while exposing a goodly amount of cleavage and thigh in Grey's direction. Grey stood his ground, keeping his face stern, and then, instead of holding out his arm for her to return he whipped his jacket off his back and lashed the floor on either side of her with it. Then he kicked his jacket away and ripped the strip of silk from around his throat and, grabbing the collar of his shirt, he ripped it open.

Buttons flew and bounced across the floor as he reached down and pulled the stunned culpeo to her feet. He spun her around like a top and finished by slamming her into his chest. She tried to repeat the crotch caress she had used earlier, but he ignored her. Letting her rub herself against him he stood tall with his arms at his sides, daring her to do her best. She brought her legs up so high in her attempts that the seams on her dress split halfway up her torso, exposing the cord of the wispiest of black thongs high on her hip. Grey raised a paw to the spot at the base of her neck and traced her spine down to the base of her tail, where the thong's cord was tied, and grabbed it. Flinging his arm back and away he ripped it from her, tossing it to the audience. A cry of "¡Olé!" greeted the move.

There was a momentary brake in the beat as the nearest dancers reached out to catch the triangle of material like maids at a wedding. Then they took up the rhythm again, but with a more strident tempo. Fernandez broke away from him to regroup. She had lost her neutral expression and was panting heavily through barred teeth. But Grey detected pleasure behind her snarl, the pleasure of finding a worthy opponent and of crushing them perhaps, but pleasure nonetheless. With a toss of her head and flick of her skirt that exposed the area once covered by her thong she leapt back into the fray.

The cries and grunts came more frequently from their side of the room now as they both engaged in a no-holds-barred match. She dropped to her knees and nuzzled the hardness she found there, and he let her for a while. Then he pulled her up and spun her around so that she was leaning against him. She stuck one paw between them and boldly gripped his penis through the material of his trousers as he drew a more subtle paw across her bosom and felt her nipples respond through the thin layer of silk. She wrapped her tail around his waist and rubbed her backside against him. He let a paw drift between her legs to cup her sex with three digits. The grinding of her hips was almost enough of a caress for his purpose, but he still pressed up with the middle digit in time to the music, clap snap, clap-clap, clap snap, clap-clap. After two bars he felt her sex part and wet, warm lips kissed his digit, tried to draw it in.

But she overcame her lust and was moving again. Reaching behind her she undid something back there that made her dress go slack. With a gesture it was off her, and she was dancing with it as if it was her partner now. Stretching her arms and bending she used it like a burlesque dancer, almost but never quite exposing her nudity to the watchers. It was highly erotic, and Grey found his digits, as well as a certain other appendage, twitching in anticipation of coming into contact with her again.

Then she was on him, using her dress like a strap around his neck and rubbing her bare sex on his sweat-soaked trousers. Every muscle on her firm, toned body stood out through her dampened fur. Her breasts swayed under his snout as she pulled his head down to them, the dark nipples poking up and begging to be kissed. The sights and the smells coming off her were driving him wild, and he felt a surge of blood engorge his cock as it strained to break free from his trousers.

Grey realized that he had to get back in control or it would all be over soon. He pulled his eyes off her, tossed his head to one side, and the first thing he saw was Miss CC's enormous breasts sticking out of the top of her dress. She was squatting and rubbing them on the exposed penis of the jaguar. Her skirt had ridden up over her hips and her sex and tailhole were exposed because the jaguar had her panties on his head. Each time the tip of his cock poked up from between the globes of flesh she dipped her head and took the tip between her lips for an instant, and all to the rhythm of the tango beat. His expression was half agony and half ecstasy as he watched her work, helpless to break away. Grey predicted that the big cat would last about another minute, tops.

Watching Miss CC in action had made his own erection grow even larger, and he suddenly felt exposed. Looking down he saw why. Fernandez had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to unzip his fly and pull his penis out in the open. Before he could defend himself she had turned and bent over. Pressing his cock against his belly with her ass she used a move that would have been more appropriate in a samba, or a strip club champagne room, one that resembled the current fad of 'tweerking'. She was him with her butt cheeks like Miss CC was doing the jaguar with her tits, and when he looked down all he could focus on was the seductive way her tail was laying along her back and the puckered little hole exposed below it. Normally Grey was a tit guy, but he had nothing against a well-rounded ass, except his cock at the moment.

There was only one thing he could do. Grabbing her arms he pulled her upright. She was still against him, her butt still pressed against his prick and rolling in the loose-hipped way that only Latin dancers can, but now he had all of her front to work with. He remembered the only advice about women that he had been given by anyone who qualified as Latin, a Spanish lawyer he had spent a night drinking with once. "Females are like guitars." The ram had told him. "You can play them fast and loose or you can play them slow and passionate, but you don't play them with your hips. It's how you use your paws that counts."

Ignoring the steady pressure on his balls, partially from her and partially internal, Grey placed one paw on her sex and the other under her arm and onto her chest. Then he closed his eyes and imagined himself playing a Spanish guitar in the garden of a lovely senorita, strumming his passion as she watched from a balcony above, his upper paw playing the strings while his lower paw flittered around the fret board. He began to hum the melody that he imagined he was playing and soon he could hear the sound of the guitar coming from deep inside him. He swayed as the music filled him, and she rolled with him.

He was almost detached from his own body now, a technique some of the senior agents had said they learned at advanced seduction classes held in a Thai bordello. He was aware that her butt was still massaging his stiff prick but it no longer seemed to matter; ejaculation was no longer imminent. Meanwhile, his digits were bringing a different kind of music forth from her. Moans and shudders, cries and quivers, were produced as his right paw brushed her tender nipples and toyed with the sensitive spots on her torso while the digits of his left paw stroked and poked and prodded against her clit and inside her vagina.

He was almost singing now, something he had never been accused of doing well, but the wordless tune came out true and strong and matched the rhythm the spectators were providing. They called out in time with his tune, providing grace notes between phrases. All the while he clutched their champion to him and sashayed her around in a small circle in the middle of the floor, proving them all with a fair view of the action.

As they turned to face the direction of the other couple he saw that the jaguar had managed to turn things around, somewhat. He had gotten Miss CC off her knees and spun her around but she had locked her powerful legs around his head as she cart wheeled by. She could have broken the cat's neck with one flex of her mighty thighs, but this was not that kind of combat. Instead she had wrapped her arms around his hips and swallowed his cock. Now her head was bobbing in time to the clapping and snapping of the crowd. But he had not given up. His arms were around her too, and his rough tongue was lapping at her gaping twat while one dampened digit drilled into her pussy and another probed her tailhole. And even though he had to control three appendages at once he still managed to move about the floor in the long, striding steps of the tango. Grey had to admire his coordination.

Just before he lost sight of them he heard a muffled cry of triumph from his party poodle partner, muffled by a mouthful of cock and spooge as the jaguar lost this contest. When she finally spit out his flaccid member it was only to cry out in a familiar wail that meant that she had come only seconds after him. The scent of both male and female cum drifted into grey's sensitive nose, as it must have for Fernandez as well. Miss CC's scent in particular did things to him that perfume makers would kill to duplicate, and he was suddenly aware of Fernandez's flesh on his bare cock again and he stopped singing, although his paws never paused in their playing. His breath came fast and heavy as he fought to stave off his orgasm. It looked like he would lose this one. Ah well, he thought, there were worse battles to lose.

But the scent of ejaculation was having a similar effect on her, as her moves lost the rhythm of the beat and her clit began to wiggle against his digit harder than he alone could account for. Her cries were coming faster and louder now and her paws were grabbing at her fur and pulling at her breasts whenever Grey's were not. Three long gasps marked the end of her struggle, but also the end of his He felt his semen spurt forth to dampen the fur between her cheeks just as a wave of hot liquid shot out of her and soaked his paw. Simultaneously, just as the clapping stopped, they raised their heads toward the ceiling and howled like their wild ancestors did during mating season.

The audience was silent, unsure of how to react to the apparent defeat of their champion. Grey released the now limp vixen and turned her around to show the spooge dripping off her hindquarters. "A tie." He announced. The crowd went wild. Technically, with Miss CC beating the jaguar the foreigners had won the contest, but this way the honour of Fernandez was intact, and that could be important when they meet the next time at her institute. The gesture was not lost on her as she accepted a large towel one of the younger dancers had produced from her bag and wrapped herself in it.

"You are an honourable fellow, Mister Craos. I am sure that we will have much to talk about when you come and see me tomorrow."

"I look forward eagerly to our meeting again."

"Until tomorrow then." The scientist and dancer turned away and let the young dancers guide her to the females' washroom. Grey tucked his limp penis back in his pants and zipped up as he looked around for Miss CC. She was standing in the middle of a throng of young excited male dancers. She had her paws up to fend them off. At first Grey thought that she may be in some kind of trouble but then he saw that she was smiling, they were admirers, not antagonists. The group finally broke up and they wandered away toward their own washroom, following the jaguar who was holding up a scrap of red cloth triumphantly.

"Looks like we have a date at the institute tomorrow." Grey told Miss CC as she joined him by the door to the lobby.

"Bon. Now we go upstairs and report back to Silver. After that, I have something I want you to do for me."

"Oh?" Grey said, a twinkle in his eye. "Does it involve leather straps, twelve feet of rope and a quart of lard by any chance?"

"Non." She sniffed. "Eet involves a pen and some paper and a fax machine. As the lead on this mission I need you to file an expense claim for the clothing damaged and lost een this little gambit of yours."

"The dress I cut up? Sure."

"And my panties. That was them that you saw the jaguar carrying off." She looked back toward the door the cat had exited through and smiled fondly. "Poor fellow. He was quite ... how do you say? ... stricken by his experience with me and asked if he could keep them as a memento. I could not bear to refuse."

"How the hell am I supposed to justify that as an expense?" Grey said angrily. He was reacting that way because he was a little scared; Silver was notoriously strict with agents that filed false expense claims. He usually made them play goalie during the Academy lawn darts tournaments.

"Section eight of form FOX-12A." Miss CC replied sweetly. "Claims for items of clothing lost during a mission through fire, disintegration, or left behind after sexual encounters. Sub-section 14-23-B of the guidelines states that any clothing abandoned while fleeing assassination attempts, used as bonds to tie up suspects or exchanged during seductions can be claimed if the clothing is in whole or part damaged, destroyed or lost. Receipts are only necessary for items that cost more than one-hundred dollars."

"You have a receipt for the dress I take it?"

"Mais non, silly fox. That cheap thing? But the panties, they were from the lingerie house of Agent Provocateur, four-hundred and forty dollars, on sale. Part of their Erotic Latin Nights collection. They have hundreds of styles on display online." She whispered in his ear. "Modelled by slim salukis, seductive shih tzus, and the occasional pouty poodle."

"Oh, uhm, well, I guess I'll have to check out their web site to, uhm, confirm that, ah, price ... thing."

"You do that, cher." She gave his cheek a pinch as she grinned at him. "And while you do I will go see if I can't find a quart of lard in this fancy hotel somewhere."

* * * * * * *

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer, sometimes known as The Perfect Stalker, infiltrated the institute where the snow leopard Abdan Barbar had his office easily enough in the guise of one of his female guards. But the disguise only got her as far as the outer rim of a series of ever more stringent security zones, and a tight fitting outfit was no substitute for a pass card and PIN code. But getting one of those would have taken too long, so she decided to go at it the old way.

Although her lover Kain Algorath had not managed to break into the institute's servers he had been able to find the plans for the building in the government archives. The plans showed all of the security features that had been budgeted for. Since it was not that old of a building so it had probably not been upgraded or renovated too much, but she would keep an eye out for extra monitors and alarms as she went. The best way to get past the security features was by following the load-bearing walls between the real and the suspended ceiling and crossing the zones through the conduits. Fortunately there was a supply room in the outer zone that she could access the ceiling from.

It did not look like anyone had been up between the ceilings putting in new gear since the place had been built, she noted, and only about half of the security features they had planned for seemed to have been installed. That could have been due to the contractor cutting corners or a reduction in budget, she supposed. Although the reduction in monitors might have allowed for more direct access she followed her original route anyway, she had not been able to keep up the fearsome reputation as the world's premiere assassin by being lazy.

Getting through the zones required cutting through grills and partitions designed to keep average sized infiltrators out. Ophelia carried an array of acids and fine toothed saws to do that with. She was smaller than average, and had the extra advantage of being able to squeeze through incredibly small holes, so she did not have to cut much. She worked by an infrared light source attached to the end of her almost independent tail. She wore goggles with red lenses, and nothing else, it was easier to slide through naked after pushing her clothes and tools through ahead of her. The heat in between the ceilings made her sweat and that helped ease her passage too.

When she arrived above the Barbar's office she stuck a probe down through the acoustic tile and watched the monitor on the device it was attached to for a few minutes. According to it there were no sources of heat, carbon dioxide or noise that would indicate a living creature. There was also no sign of electronic, ultrasonic or infrared monitoring. But that did not mean that there could not be devices that could be turned on remotely at random intervals, she reminded herself, but if she was quick she could provide Kain a link to the server and he could neutralize them. She slid the tile aside silently and dropped down on top of a large desk that dominated the room. Before doing anything else she surveyed the entire office for possible traps. Since the office had no windows she risked using a small white spotlight to do this.

Aww shit, she thought when the circle of light fell upon a body sprawled on the floor in front of the desk. It was a little difficult to tell, but if she was not mistaken the very creature that F.O.X. had sent Kain to help protect was laying there in a pool of blood. Ophelia did not dare get down off the desk, so she examined the body and its surroundings for evidence as well as she could from that vantage point.

Barbar, she was sure it was him by now, had had his head smashed in by some sort of large rock that was near the body on the floor. A blank spot on a shelf full of ore samples indicated where the rock had probably come from. His pants were down around his ankles and he was clutching the kind of headscarf worn by the female security staff in one paw. With his reputation as a Lothario it looked very much like a seduction gone wrong; or at least that was what whoever murdered him wanted folk to think. Ophelia had her doubts. There were a few things that she had picked up on that did not fit the picture, like the faint odour of peaches. She unpacked her tools and set about a more thorough investigation.

As a former biologist and poison expert turned assassin Ophelia not only knew what to use and how, but also how to detect it, or prevent it from being detected. She stuck her probe up the tailhole of the dead leopard to determine the time of death. Then she sniffed around to find the source of the fruity smell, homing in on Barbar's coffee cup. One squirt from a spray bottle confirmed her suspicions. Then she used the light with various filters to examine the chairs and other fixtures within reach. The dents in the padding and scuff marks on the tiles told the rest of the story.

When she was done she concluded that the killer was good, but not a pro. The leopard and his guest had sat at first. Then Barbar had been paralyzed with a drug in his coffee before being dragged around the desk, posed and murdered with one of his pet rocks. Then the killer had taken Barbar's security pass off the clip on the leopard's belt. The dents in the guest chair that had yet to fill back out and the height of the sweat stains on it told her that the killer had been male, slightly taller than average, and in fair shape because Barbar was no lightweight. He had also known Barbar well enough to be invited into the high security zone for a drink, a non-alcoholic one for sure, Barbar was a devote Muslim. If the killer drank also he must have taken his cup with him, because there was no sign of another. But sneaking a cup out would be the least of his worries. One could get out of the high security zone by swiping any valid card, it was not necessary to know the PIN number, and he had Barbar's. But how could the killer hope to avoid having his image captured by a half dozen cameras on the way?

Ophelia wiped the coffee cup of all traces of the original poison and her chemicals before putting it back where she found it. She did not care whether the Pakistani authorities solved the case or not, but there were things she could still do to help Kain and F.O.X. figure out who did it and why.

She checked the leopard's computer. Like most networked devices she expected to find it turned on as IT folk everywhere liked to install patches and updates after hours. To her surprise she found that Barbar was still logged in also. Maybe he had been showing his guest something before he had passed out. The screen was locked now but that was no problem. Taking a thumb drive that Kain had provided she plugged it in and waited. Within a minute the screen cleared and a small window opened indicating that all the local files were being copied. The stick would also install a backdoor that Kain could use to access the servers from the comfort of his room at the Marriott. Then he could pass the information on to the allies and ...

A thought suddenly struck her. Since she was not supposed to be here so there was no way that Kain should know about the death of his target before it became public or how it really happened. Unless he could pull something off the security files to prove that it was not the crime of passion it was made out to be his part of the mission would likely be over and he would have to go back to Ottawa, leaving her to return to her lonely, celibate, assassin's life until he could get away on vacation, and that could be quite a while if this mission dragged on.

Sometimes, she reflected as she vaulted back up through the hole in the ceiling and started stripping off her clothes in preparation for the return journey through the narrow conduits, living in the shadows had its drawbacks.

* * * * * * *

The Embassy of the Russian Federation to Ukraine is located at 27 Povitroflotskyi Prospect in Kiev. The offices of the local FSB Director are located somewhere else entirely.

Olga Tatranov, Had originally been a KGB agent, a contemporary of Vladimir Putin. The two had worked together when they were booth rookie agents. Back then Olga, a brown bear from the Urals, had been a svelte fifty kilos. She had added another sixty kilos since. Like most of the KGB, she had been dismissed after the breakup of the Soviet Union, but had been hired back into the FSB when her little 'Vova' first became president. Her personal connection to Putin and her demonstrated loyalty got her posted to the key Ukrainian Directorate. Since then she had used the traditional Russian tools of bureaucratic advancement: deceit, intrigue and backstabbing. Now she headed the division and she ran it like they did in the old days. That meant that she surrounded herself with brilliant and talented folk then she terrorized them into submission so that she could take credit for all of their good work. Failure was punishable by being exiled to a station where the mercury in the thermometers never made it up the tube and Arctic char was always on the menu.

Given the tactics she employed and the sensitivity of the region she needed agents that could either think on their feet or perform off them in the bedroom department. Brains were preferred over balls, but one had to prove that their intellect was superior to their seduction skills in order to advance under Olga, and it was indeed under Olga that they served until their worth was proven otherwise; like many of her former KGB supervisors Olga used the staff of the opposite sex for her own pleasure as one of the perks of the job. But analysts with a proven track record were exempt from that duty, and that was why the junior analyst Leonid Mendev, a rather slim mountain hare that Olga had recruited for his durability in her other area of interest, was risking a lifetime of eating Arctic char by waking her in the middle of the night; at forty kilos less than her his back could not take having her roll over on him anymore.

As usual, she woke up fully alert, and armed. She remembered the lessons of the Cold War even if she was the only one still playing by those rules. Leonid ignored the Makarov nine-millimeter pointed at his chest and cleared his throat again.

"You are not on rotation tonight." She observed. "What do you want?"

"I have been going over the copies of the passports that our contact at the Kiev airport sends us." He informed her. "I believe that I have found something interesting."

Olga glanced at the bedside clock. "You had better be right, otherwise you'd best spend the rest of today shopping for a good parka and long underwear."

Leonid passed her a file folder, she still preferred to read the hard copies rather than read them off the tablet she was entitled to. He explained the contents as she flipped through them.

"Several days ago two foreigners entered the Ukraine, a cheetah and a black fox." He said as she looked at the enlarged passport photos and some still shots from the airport security cameras. "They entered at separate times and by different carriers, but they seemed familiar to me. When I checked the hotels that they listed as their places of residence on their visas I discovered that neither had checked in, they have both disappeared. That was enough to raise my suspicions, so I ran their pictures through the facial recognition software. The Moscow database came back with these matches." Turning the page revealed contact sheets filled with smaller images, one for each species. "Social analysis revealed that two of the candidates in particular are closely related, the F.O.X. agents that we have codenamed 'Bonnie and Clyde'. We believe that they were involved in both the Buttmange sanction in Poland as well as the Rainshelter incident recently." The remainder of the file contained grainy images of the pair taken from the Moscow airport and similar locations.

"I thought that Bonnie and Clyde were American gangsters?" Olga mused as she studied the pictures and the sparse details the FSB had on the two Canadian agents.

"The division that deals with counterespionage has a single directorate that deals with both the States and Canada." He informed her. "They tend to regard them as a single entity, besides, the Canadians have no really notorious figures to use as codenames, they are too nice. This pair is known for their wild and unorthodox approach, as well as the number of bodies they leave behind, hence the connection with the infamous bank robbers." He paused before continuing. "There is alert out for them. Moscow was very embarrassed by Rainshelter's demise and they are certain that these two have something to do with it. Immediate sanction has been authorized, but ... "

"But what?" Olga knew that finding and killing the two agents would be another feather in her cap, maybe enough of an achievement to get her posted to head of one of the Chief Directorates in Moscow. But maybe not, Vova seemed to prefer keeping her at a distance. Maybe his wife is jealous, she thought as she shifted her bulk to get more comfortable on the bed. "Why not kill them outright Mendev?"

"They won't be here on vacation, not so close to Russia, not so soon after Rainshelter. If F.O.X. needed to send them into our sphere of influence so badly it could be more valuable to find out what they are up to and turn it to our advantage. Once we have defeated whatever little scheme they are involved in here we can kill them, or capture them."

Moscow strictly forbade the regions from engaging in counterespionage operations on their own, but advancement was not won by following the central office's directions religiously, she reminded herself. Opportunity favoured the bold, and she could blame the hare if things went badly.

"So, go find them Leonoid Ilyich Mendev, go find them."

* * * * * * *

It was already morning in North Korea and the staff and servants of the Yak Mountain nuclear complex had gathered in the dining hall for breakfast. Posing as a married couple, Vikki and Dongo were allowed to sit together even though they had to live in separate dormitories. They ate silently because they did not need to speak to communicate.

The Yak Mountain Complex was riddled with listening devices because the North Koreans spied on their own folk more than anyone else, and since Dongo was supposed to be mute they could not be seen talking in any language, let alone English. Fortunately F.O.X. had developed a number of paw signals for communicating almost any sort of information. When the scientists technicians and guards saw them using it they assumed that it was some sort of sign language developed for the Palgan Yeou dialect. Vikki learned from the foreman, the uncle of the foxes that they had switched places with, that none of the dominant species had ever bothered to learn the Palgan Yeou speech, considering it beneath them. That allowed her to inject the occasional English word into their otherwise silent conversations, but she mispronounced them slightly just in case anyone was monitoring them.

"How's it going?" She signed to Dongo when she saw him in the dining hall on their first full day.

Dongo mimed a sore back and used a crude but universal gesture to indicate how he had acquired it. Squinting and twitching his whiskers while puffing out his belly told her who had done it to him. She patted him on the arm in sympathy; not every seduction could be with a beautiful femme fatale. But his job as the shrew's assistant, while hard on his back, put him in an excellent position to observe and listen in on conversations between the masters of the complex. Vikki's assignment to the cleaning staff was almost as good, since she could get into the offices of the researchers and go through their papers when no one was about.

Vikki managed to convey to Dongo that the researchers were all very excited. Apparently they had recently begun work on a number of new initiatives, work that was truly groundbreaking for them. But they were a bit resentful too. They had someone else to thank for the recent advances, an outsider, and that did not sit well with them.

Dongo nodded. He signed that the shrew, Madam Lee, and most of the senior staff were busy preparing for the arrival of someone important. He drew a character on the surface of the table with the end of a damp chopstick, signing that it was the phonetic of a word he had heard applied to the visitor. Vikki sounded it out so the devices embedded in their ears could translate it. "Kang."

"A Korean surname." The translator whispered in her ear. Then it added, "Meaning 'Catcher of fish'."

By his puzzled expression Vikki could tell that Dongo's translator had provided the same answer. He signed a question, "Do we have enough to report back?"

Vikki thought about the question. It was not much to go on, just a name. And reporting back would be risky. It would mean going outside the complex, finding the cache of equipment Hu had left for them and using the transmitter. Even if they pulled it off and got back safe, in an area so paranoid about security as this a burst transmission would immediately be seen as suspicious, and that could bring down a rain of security that would make it impossible to gather more information or report it if they found out anything really important. She made up her mind.

To convey her decision she drew a few characters that they had learned back in Ottawa on the table and sounded them out for Dongo. It was an old Korean proverb. "A fish that keeps his mouth shut does not get in trouble."

Dongo nodded acknowledgement. They would hold tight for now and continue to gather information until they had something definitive. Then he put on a sad face and mimed someone lifting a heavy load before jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward where Madame Lee was sitting with some of the senior staff.

Vikki patted his paw again and shrugged before giving the sign that essentially meant "take one for the team".

* * * * * * *

It was morning in Harbin too, somewhat north of Vikki and Dongo's location but just as far west of the International Date Line. Kyroo Echos had decided to follow Vikki's advice and leave China, but he could not bring himself to leave without giving some notice. It took a couple of days for him to tidy up his affairs there and arrange a flight out, and he had spent the whole time looking over his shoulder after her dire warning.

By the time he was at the Harbin International Airport he was beginning to feel a bit silly. There had been no sign of anyone following him, no visits from state security in the middle of the night, and no attempts to interfere with his departure. No one, not even the bartender at the hotel, had approached him on the subject of the tall slim vixen. What was he running from? Was she really a secret agent, or had she just played along him to get rid of him? After all these years it was so hard to tell reality from fantasy.

As he approached the ticket counter he had a sudden impulse. Going home to the States to hide would only fuel his paranoia. The answers, if there were any, lay in Ottawa where he had once volunteered to be the subject in an interrogation exercise. He had purchased tickets through Seattle then on to the east coast, where his parents lived. After a quick check of the available flights he changed them for tickets to Vancouver, Canada, and onward to Ottawa. The flight was about to board so the ticket agent directed him to the proper gate and Kyroo hurried towards the nearest security check in.

Behind him, a Panda that had been lounging near the airport entrance folded its newspaper, the Beijing Daily, and approached the ticket agent. He used the folded paper to conceal the badge he displayed to her from other observers. To her credit she did not react when she saw the symbol of the state security agency or look around toward the foreigner she had just served.

"Where is he going to?" The panda demanded. The agent told him, providing the flight number and arrival time as well.

"It was a last minute change of itinerary." She informed him.

The panda nodded and turned away. He lifted his arm until his wrist was close to his mouth and spoke. "Huli dao Jianada pao." He said,the fox is running to Canada. He added the details that the ticket agent had given him. He would alert the gate agent to make sure that the arctic fox boarded the plane and headquarters would contact their office in Vancouver to confirm that he took the flight from there to Ottawa and did not change routes again. They would also arrange for a surveillance team to be there when the plane landed in Canada's capital.

The panda went back to his place at the main entrance to resume his normal duties, keeping an eye out for dissidents or radicals that might be trying to sneak themselves or embarrassing information out of the country. Catching the American had been a lucky break because the headquarters had only sent out the alert that morning, and if the panda had left the office five minutes earlier he would not have read it until the end of the day.

He opened up his newspaper and kept an eye on the creatures coming in over the top of it. He never actually read it, everything he knew came from watching State television at night or from the alerts that headquarters sent out. And he had come to doubt most of what he learned from either source. For example, the alert from Beijing had stated that the American was likely a secret agent, but if he was then his trade craft was the worst that the panda had ever seen. Changing tickets at the last minute was for amateurs, real agents booked in advance and stuck to their schedule so as not to attract attention. He would mention that in his report that afternoon, but for now, he had a job to do.

Eyes flicking from one face to another, and occasionally to the bust or short skirt of a comely traveller, the panda settled in for another long day.

* * * * * * *

A tone alerted Silver that an email had arrived in one of his accounts.

Silver had several email accounts at the Academy, but no personal one outside of that. He had no surviving family and all his friends and acquaintances worked for F.O.X. or one of the other intelligence agencies in town. Everyone that needed to get a hold of him could do so through one of his four official accounts, all of which he could access from his workstation or his Blackberry.

The first account was his standard government account which used his full first name and last name followed by the sort form of the department that they fell under, Justice in this case. Silver never used it, and since no one in the government knew him by his real name he never got anything but junk mail in that account. He opened it once a month to clear out the crap just to keep IT off his back.

His second account was an unlisted one only used internally and for classified email from other government departments. The naming convention was more liberal so he simply used [email protected] He used to get most of his email through that one but now it was mostly messages or invitations to do lunch from friends in other departments, personal messages from Vikki or the occasional off-colour joke from one of the staff. Silver reviewed it whenever he had a few minutes to spare.

The third was a group account for the Academy's executive branch. He and the Director, Tancred "Tanner" Williams, had full privileges on that account and Miss CC had access to it as well as their shared secretary. Most of the day-to-day business emails now came to that account. Silver kept it open on his desktop and read everything that came into it immediately.

The last account was a special one. It came in through a separate communications system set up during the Cold War to link the allies' security and intelligence communities together if and when all other forms of communication went down. It still existed, although the technology had been upgraded several times since then, and it was still used exclusively to communicate between allied agencies. An analyst in Canberra could email another in Washington using the other fellow's agency address, but a certain few key players had individual accounts on the system. Silver was one of these. As the official liaison agent between F.O.X. and the allies he bore the designation White, and had an account in that name on the allied system. He hardly ever looked at that account unless alerted to new email, but always checked it as soon as possible after being alerted.

It was the White account that had alerted him on this day, and that meant that the message must be from either the American CIA Liaison, codenamed Blue, or their British colleague, Red.

Silver opened the account and glanced at the header. It was from Red in the UK. He wondered if it was a progress report on the current international mission to protect the remaining nuclear scientists. But when he read it his eyes went wide. It was an advisory of a possible security breach, and with all the leaks and spies that were popping up in recent days, including a Canadian Naval Intelligence officer, the last thing they needed was another high profile case. As Chief of Staff Silver would have to deal with it, and if it got out of control heads could roll. With a dry mouth and his balls trying to retract between his pelvic bones Silver opened up the attachment that the Brits had provided so he could assess the damage.

The attachment was a series of screen captures. They were taken from a website that looked very professional, but whose purpose seemed to be dedicated to exposing some of the Academy's most intimate secrets.

As soon as he saw them Silver knew that this was an inside job, and he had a good idea who might be responsible, but even an agency as secretive as F.O.X. could not simply sanction a government employee without warrants. Warrants required proof, and getting proof meant leaving the site up while they investigated and traced the material back to an undisputable source. Normally that would not take more than a few hours, but their chief cyber analyst was currently in Islamabad and Silver could not give the job to anyone else because the only other employees with the skills required were all suspects.

But that analyst, Kain Algorath, had put together a course on the basics of internet research and investigation and sent it to Silver for approval before it could be included in the Academy curriculum. He had claimed that after completing the package any agent, no matter how basic their technical skills, could locate and exploit any site on the web, and a few off of it. Silver had been meaning to look at it for several weeks now, but had never found the time to go through it.

Well, he thought, if it can teach someone like me who remembers when IBM punch card machines were the height of technology to be a hacker it can teach anyone. With a sigh he opened up the course package on his screen and began reading.

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

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Grey Muzzle © Grey Muzzle