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FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Chapter 3 - Playing With Fire

Silver returned to Ottawa without fanfare near dawn. The small jet that the CIA liaison agent 'Red Fox' had set up dropped him off at the military terminal, well away from the regular travellers. The Director had arranged for customs and immigration to pass the aircraft uninspected. Silver had no luggage, having left his and Vikki's clothes behind in Maine for the CIA to deal with, so he walked straight through the terminal to where the expected car was waiting.

Gus, who had been in charge of the motor pool at the Academy since before Silver's time was behind the wheel. Gus had hoped to retire last year but his replacement had unfortunately been killed by an assassin that had infiltrated the Academy. Finding another senior mechanic and dispatcher with the appropriate security clearance was proving difficult, especially when the applicants discovered that the last incumbent had been split from balls to brisket and stuffed into the chassis of the Director's classic Rolls Royce. The old raccoon looked at Silver despairingly.

"You lost another car didn't you?"

"It wasn't my fault this time Gus. The building it was parked in front of was blown up and it got caught in the fireball." Silver said defensively. He had a poor record for keeping cars in one piece, or even three. Gus never failed to bring up Silver's record-breaking number of automotive casualties.

"Congratulations, you have now officially lost more cars than any other five agents combined."

"Well," Silver shrugged, "we're a small agency and not many have been around as long as I have."

"I was including the CIA, MI-6 and the all the old KGB agents in that count."

They drove back the rest of the way in silence.

Gus dropped Silver off in front of the Headquarters building. At the security desk inside, where errant tourists visiting the nearby Agricultural museum were politely, but firmly, turned back, he picked up a new building pass that the Chief of Staff had thoughtfully had made up. Holding the card to the inner door's sensor until he heard the 'beep', he entered his personal code and went inside. The Ops Centre duty officer directed him to the conference room, where the rest of the team was assembled waiting for him.

They all rose when entered, out of respect for his missing mate. Tancred 'Tanner' Williams, Silver's oldest friend in the Academy, gripped his paw in welcome and squeezed his arm in sympathy, but Silver was all business. He took his seat at the head of the table beside Tanner and addressed the assembly.

"I'll start by bringing all of you up to date." Silver left out the specifics of how he and Vikki had come to be on vacation together, and the first few days in Old Orchard Beach, and concentrated on the day of the kidnapping. He emphasized the chance nature of their visit. Silver was able to recount everything that had happened from the time Vikki had first spotted the spa thanks to his photographic memory, recalling details that he had not even been aware of himself at the time. By the time he was done they almost felt like they had been there beside him, caving in the heads of the murderous masseuses and running for his life down the basement corridor.

"So what have you people been able to find out?" He finished.

Cold bastard, Algorath thought, killed two unarmed females with almost his bare paws, watched them sail away with his pregnant mate and now he's running the operation like it was an exercise. Kain wondered if he would ever develop that level of detachment. He tried to match Silver's professional tone as he reported. As he spoke a series of photos that he had found and downloaded from the Internet were displayed on the screen at the end of the room.

"Eden's Oasis is an international chain of upscale spas. It caters to the super rich and influential. They don't advertise, they rely on word-of-mouth to attract new clients. Lately that mouth has been that of Okra Humphrey, who has raved about them on her television show and on her website. The spas offer the usual array of 'Healthy' treatments, but they do imply one additional service." Kain switched to a series of split-screen facial comparisons.

"Most spas claim that their treatments are 'rejuvenating', but this one seems to actually deliver. Note how the general appearance of their clients seems younger as time passes." The images seemed to support this claim. "I want to point out that these are not publicity shots from Eden's Oasis, these are standard press photos from public events that have been paired by Joel." He gestured to the Academy forger and Joel took up the brief.

"Eden's Oasis doesn't publish the names or photos of its clients, from before treatment or after. Mr Algorath was kind enough to download their confidential files and I matched the names with these press photos. The left-paw ones were taken earlier than the first date we found in the spa records for their name. The right-paw one is the latest suitable photo available. I studied the photos and their metadata and it's my opinion that they have not been altered. In every case, every one, the subjects look younger. The visible skin is smoother. Their fur is more vibrant and lush, with less grey in the older subjects. Hell, some of them are even taller, if you can believe that. I can show you the math, but the photogrammetry is pretty solid. I recommend looking for an Art gallery with a large number of ugly portraits."

Silver only grunted at Joel's attempt at humour with the "Picture of Dorian Gray" reference and Tanner gave him a concerned glance. Normally Silver couldn't resist countering with a quip like 'That's a Wilde theory, Joel'. Joel looked crestfallen at the lack of reaction.

"Analysis?" Silver asked dryly.

Geno cleared her throat. This was the first time that she had been called on to contribute to an important investigation, and this was her first appearance before the Academy's senior agent or Chief of Staff. She took a deep breath, glanced at Marcel for assurance, and began.

"There's something that doesn't add up here." She began. "Sure they have a rich client list and they charge exorbitant fees, but not more than any other trendy hot spot, and they are inconsistent." She paused to gauge their reaction, could read nothing in their expressions, and continued. "According to the accounts that Kain was able to swipe, the richest pay a premium for the so-called 'cleansing treatment', but others pay only a nominal fee or nothing at all. Take this guy for example." A familiar ex-president's images filled the screen. Looks younger than when he left office, doesn't he? Some might attribute that to less stress since leaving office, but considering who he's married to ..."

"I get your point," Silver interrupted, "but freebies for the elite aren't unusual; it attracts more paying clients."

"That's the pattern we expected to find, complementary treatments for a few and then a larger number of paying clients, but their books show the reverse. They had plenty of paying customers and then they started to offer discounts to the influential. This is an expensive set-up, and they show steadily decreasing profits. Normally that lack of financial leverage would force them to cut back, close outlets, lay off staff, but they are expanding, new branches have been established in Zurich, Brussels, Saudi Arabia, Dubai ..." Her voice drifted off as she worried that she was losing them.

"The centres for world finance, international relations and energy." Gold observed. "Who is financing them? Banks, public offers, private investors?"

"They are a private company, listed as wholly owned by the founder, a Brazilian national named Miko Dourado." Kain supplied. "None of the major banks show him or his company as having any outstanding loans. There seems to be only one investor, who is bankrolling the entire operation, and money never flows back to him or her."

"That's what's so strange." Geno interrupted, too worked up to worry about what kind of impression she was making now. "The more they lose by comping senators, generals and senior bureaucrats the more they get for expansion. They are doing what the investor wants."

"What's your conclusion?" Silver leaned forward to ask, interested now.

Geno took a deep breath and let it out between pursed lips as she stared blankly at the wall, lost in the cognitive process. "The leaders and decision makers are their target audience. The celebrities were just a means to an end. They want influence."

"Every lobbyist and contractor in Ottawa wants influence. Why do they want it?" Silver prompted. "What's their objective?"

Geno blinked, the spell broken, and looked to Silver. "I don't know."

Silver was disappointed but didn't show it. It was an honest answer and forcing her to speculate would only erode her confidence or worse, turn her into one of those 'Bull Shit' analysts that Silver detested.

"Alright." He closed the subject. "Who exactly are we dealing with here?"

Marcel spoke for the first time as a fuzzy monochrome image of a diminutive monkey with pale fur filled the screen. "This is the latest confirmed photo of Miko Dourado that Kain was able to locate. It's from the files of the University of Sao Paulo. It didn't look right so I had Joel analyse it." The picture was overlaid with lines and numbers. "The photo is okay, but it looks wrong because the monkey is a freak. His fur is pale, almost albino, and he is so small that he qualifies as a midget." Marcel, who was a fair bit shorter than average himself, said it without inflection. "His torso is out of proportion with his limbs, the result of a twisted spine."

Marcel consulted his notes before continuing. "He has a genetic condition that I can't pronounce, and guess what he studied at the medical facility in Sao Paulo? He studied genetics, 'aberrant mutations'," Marcel pronounced the words carefully, "to be exact."

"You said 'confirmed photo' Marcel." Silver noted. "Do you have any unconfirmed ones?"

Marcel leaned forward and pressed a section of the screen in front of him. The scene on the big screen changed to show a small creature with pale yellow fur wearing an open coat over loose clothing, and large sunglasses. His tail was sparse, almost bald, and it dragged behind him. He had been caught in the act of talking to a female that was walking beside him. The female was his opposite. She was taller than him and stood straight, almost stiff. Her fur was thick and glowed with health, stark whites on the forearms, face and chest, black elsewhere. Her tail was bushy and curled up behind her in a neat circle. She was slim but her limbs were not thin, like his; her muscles showed definition, strength and stamina. She too wore sunglasses. The only unusual note was her dress; her pant legs were different lengths, the left one considerably longer than the right.

Silver studied the picture for a few moments before speaking again.

"Who's the Husky?"

* * * * * * * *

Although they didn't know it, the Husky's name was Amber and, just as the CIA Liaison agent had guessed, they had indeed not gone any further than Boston in the boat that had been kept at the Ogunquit branch of the spa. The small craft was not designed for the open sea, but it had handled the fifty-kilometre trip along the coast with no problem. Amber was glad of that, for although she was from the island of Newfoundland she had no love for the sea. Being a Townie, she had, in fact, very little experience with boats, and she had been happy to stay close to shore, away from the commercial shipping lanes.

The yellow monkey, she usually thought of Miko Dourado that way, had directed her to a dock at a private community north of the city. Wrapping the unconscious vixen in a tarp used to cover the helm in bad weather, she had carried her to a house that Dourado had produced the keys for. Probably the summer home of one of their influential clients, she thought. The monkey was always borrowing homes, cars, boats and season tickets from the clientele, something the boss frowned on but hadn't put a stop to yet; Miko was still too valuable to the plan to discipline arbitrarily.

Once inside she had set about securing the fox. Using whatever she could find around the house, she rigged up an interior basement room with a bed, a bucket, a chain from the garage and a couple of padlocks from the pool enclosure. When the vixen awoke, she would find herself restricted to within ten feet of the bed, which Amber had screwed to the hardwood floor. It would not last forever, but Miko had promised that they would leave the next day, as soon as he could arrange for suitable transport. In the meanwhile, he had suggested that she should acquire a list of supplies he had drawn up while she worked on the room; a healthy female husky would attract less notice than a twisted monkey in the stores they needed to visit.

She had to agree once she saw the list, although she suspected that he was really trying to keep her too busy to report to the boss until he had a chance to smooth things over. They certainly had some explaining to do, what with the spa being destroyed in such spectacular fashion, one guaranteed to attract unwanted attention. She still wasn't sure what had happened back there; one moment Meili was about to snap the silver fox's neck and the next she was laying dead by the fireplace. Then the fox was running amok through the rooms, striking down the staff with the bloody poker. With no time to think or plan, the yellow monkey had set the timer on the firebomb designed to eradicate any evidence in an emergency and they had fled to the dock. She had seen the fireball as they sped away in the boat, and was certain that it had taken the fox along with the building, until she saw the news from Boston later that night. Who the hell was this guy, Starfox?

Now that the stores were opening it was time to go shopping. The list that Dourado had provided had included a few items for the two of them, a change of clothes and general toiletries, but most of the items were for the vixen. Because they were constantly in motion, moving from one branch of Eden's Oasis to another, she and Miko had wardrobes and duplicate identification stashed everywhere; but the fox only had the robe from the spa to wear.

Donning her sunglasses, the first stop had been the clothing stores, where she quickly discovered that the kind of clothes the fox needed were not available in the salons she usually shopped in. She had to ask for directions to maternity stores. Seeing her slim figure and flat stomach, the salesperson assumed that she had just discovered that she was pregnant and tried to sell her clothes for the first trimester. When Amber asked for clothes suitable for the last month or so they politely told her that their winter line was not in yet, still assuming that she was shopping for herself.

Amber tried another store, telling the clerk that she was shopping for her sister-in-law. The next problem was the size of outfit she needed, the fox was almost a foot taller than she was. Amber amended her story to make her sister-in-law an elkhound, who had returned from a diplomatic position in Nepal to give birth in her native Boston.

That story worked well enough for the clothes but it proved inadequate for the vitamins and medicines that Dourado wanted her to get. Although the yellow monkey was a medical doctor, he didn't want to be traced by writing prescriptions, so he directed Amber to stick to the over-the-counter medications. The problem with this, she discovered, was that foxes were significantly different from the rest of the canines; their medicines had different formula. She changed her story to make her sister-in-law a pregnant fox, only to draw snickers and sneers from the pharmaceutical staff. Although tigers could mate with lions or tabbies, and dogs, wolves and coyotes of all descriptions could cross-breed they told her, only a fox could impregnate another fox, so if her 'sister-in-law' was pregnant, it wasn't by her brother.

Confused, she had fled that drug store and sought another. Changing her story yet again to make the pregnant fox her employer, she asked the pharmaceutical assistant there for the appropriate items. The medicines she wanted weren't prescribed, but they weren't available commercially either. The assistant asked Amber to return when they were ready, in about fifteen minutes, and the pharmacist would go over the dosage with her.

Amber had wandered around the block, window shopping and wondering where Dourado intended to take the vixen so he could extract her amniotic fluids, maybe she would need new clothes too. When she was sure that enough time had passed for her order to be ready, she headed back to the drug store. She stood by the pick-up counter with her order number clutched in her paw, hoping that the pharmacist wouldn't take too much of her time. When she heard a voice say "Miss?" she looked up, and was transfixed.

The pharmacist was young, the pharmacist was short, and the pharmacist was a black fox. Amber stared at him as he began to explain how the medication should be taken and she felt the air in the room rush by her, saw the lights retreat until the only thing left visible was the smiling face of a young black fox, the face of Andrew.

* * * * * * * *

When Amber was a kit her parents, both employees of the Canadian government's Department of Fisheries and Oceans, had moved to a small town near Middle Cove on the Avalon Peninsula in the province of Newfoundland. The town was inland, a bedroom community popular with the federal and provincial bureaucrats that worked in the capitol, St John's. Far removed from the fishing communities by culture, if not distance, they were 'Townies', and from 'off island' at that. As if something more was needed to isolate her, Amber was born with a rare birth defect; instead of the ice-blue eyes of her parents or the golden-brown ones that some huskies developed, her eyes were pale pink, although she was not an albino.

The friendly but superstitious local folk never failed to make a fuss over her eyes, clucking their tongues in pity and suggesting endless home remedies to correct them. Their children echoed their parents' sentiments, although not always as diplomatically. But Amber's parents preferred to socialize with other bureaucrats and mainlanders, so Amber grew up amongst the offspring of those who made no effort to hide their feelings of superiority over the 'Baysmen'.

In the eighties and nineties, it wasn't hard to feel superior. Newfoundland and Labrador was the poorest province and the largest single employer was the Armed Forces, not counting those on the pogey, the local term for unemployment. Her parents encouraged her contacts with the children of other bureaucrats and off-islanders, and disparaged with her associating with children from the coastal fishing villages.

When she was fifteen she started hanging out with an older group, the university crowd. Already at her full height of 5' 4", and an athletic 110 pounds, she looked mature enough, and her parents didn't mind, as long as she was hanging out with the 'right' crowd. She had almost started dating a freshman, a golden retriever whose people were also form 'away', and as arrogant as they came.

They had been strolling through the campus after school had let out one day. Her two best friends were with her, and he had a couple of jocks in tow. He was teasing her, daring her to stay out with him that night. His friends were encouraging him; hers were giggling and admiring the musculature of the jocks. He had been whispering in her ear, detailing the sensual evening he had planned, neither of them watching where they were going, when they had tripped over Andrew.

As she learned afterwards, Andrew had been on his paws and knees studying a ladybug as it crawled along the edge of a dandelion. He was taking honours in biology in preparation for a graduate degree in marine biology. He was an accelerated student, only seventeen, and when he helped her stand up and dust off after their tumble, she found that he was exactly the same height as her, that was to say, a good six inches shorter than the average male, like the golden retriever that was angrily peeling itself off the sidewalk with murder in its eyes.

"Look where you're going you idiot." The dog had snarled at the fox as Andrew pulled him up and started brushing him off.

"Eh, b'y," Andrew had offered in the thick local accent, "ouse she getting on then b'y?" The retriever had stuck his nose in the air when he heard he accent and the jargon.

"Come on Amber; let's let the lower classes get back down where they belong."

Andrew had put his paws on his hips and smiled as if he had never heard anything more amusing. He had looked from the retriever to Amber, who looked embarrassed, and back again. "You two on the go?" Seeing their blank looks, he spoke slowly and loudly. "Are ... You ... Dating?"

"No." Amber had answered.

"Yes." The golden responded at the same time.

"Go a'way b'y." Andrew had retorted. "Shockin that is, shockin,"

"Why is that so strange to you?" The freshman had been perplexed by the fox's reaction.

"Why b'y, a pretty ducky like that, with a brute like you ...it's not fittin."

"What do you mean 'brute'?"

"Oh, don't be feelin badly about it, I's sure yer folks had good reason for brining ya into the world, but," Andrew had drawn close to the dog and put a friendly arm around his shoulder, "if I 'ad a face da likes o yers, me son, I'd learn to walk back'rds."

The golden retriever had lost his temper and went for the fox, but Andrew had been in a better position to deal with the larger canine. In a flash, he had put him down on the ground and in an arm lock. The retriever's jocks had approached but one tug and the squeal it produced convinced them to stay back. When Andrew had addressed him again, all traces of the outstation accent and patois were gone.

"You forgot to apologize for knocking me over." It had taken another tug on the arm to elicit the apology. "You are welcome." Andrew had said when he let the dog go. The retriever had whirled around, looked like he might try for the fox, but Andrew had stood his ground, unafraid of the larger dog. That had been enough to make him retreat, his jocks following reluctantly. Amber's friends had drifted off after them, still hoping to get more familiar with their physiques, leaving Amber alone with the diminutive fox.

They had stood there staring at each other. The same height, the same size, the same physiques, only their markings and tails differing. Amber waited for the line she had grown used to. Whenever she met someone new, they invariably said something about her pink eyes. Come on, she thought wearily, say it; say how bright, startling unusual or unique they are. Get it over with.

"You know," Andrew had said, staring into her pink eyes, "we would make perfect dance partners"

* * * * * * * *

"Miss? Miss?"

The sound of a voice that was not Andrew's brought her back to reality. Amber blinked, and the face was just the face of an ordinary fox. The pharmacist was not as young as she had thought. His fur was dark, but not black like Andrew's had been. When she looked again she saw that he was not short at all, he was sitting on a stool, and would be almost six feet tall if he stood up.

"Sorry." She said, shaking her head to clear it. "Daydreaming."

"Really? Then would you mind putting the lighter away?"

Amber looked down and saw the old Ronson lighter in her paw. It had a wide black metal body and a brass lid, and it used flints and liquid lighter fluid, but would work equally well with gasoline. It had belonged to her father, for the rare occasion when he treated himself to a cigar. She had been unconsciously opening the lid and lighting it by holding it a certain way and snapping her digits. She slipped it back into the pocket of her pants.

"Sorry." She mumbled again as she grabbed the sack of medications and threw enough money down on the counter to pay for them three times over. She fled the store with the fox leaning over the counter, waving her change in the air.

How could she have mistaken him for Andrew she wondered? He looked nothing like her beloved fox. For an instant, as her anger boiled, she considered going back to confront him for fooling her. Another pedestrian bumping her elbow made her realize that she had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She was flicking the lighter open and closed again, the flame appearing and disappearing in a steady rhythm, hypnotically.

Remembering the urgency of their situation, she pocketed the lighter and hurried back to the house.

* * * * * * * *

Normally Vikki woke up quickly and, since her first ill-fated mission, she tended to be fully alert instantly. She was having trouble getting it together today, however.

At first she thought that she was dreaming, dreaming of Silver's paws on her body, but then she realized that she really could feel them on her. They were on her breasts, lightly brushing nipples made sensitive by her approaching confinement. Confinement, where did that term come from? It was like giving birth was a punishment, not a process ... come to think of it, maybe it was. Why couldn't she focus?

She was lying on her left side with her right leg cocked and her right paw under her head, the first aid 'recovery position'; it was the most comfortable way to sleep now that her belly was so swollen. Now the paws were drifting down her flank, heading for her hip. Soon she felt his digits combing her tail, Silver always said that her tail was her best feature; full and bushy and so bright. She couldn't open her eyes for some reason. That massage must have really relaxed her, she had not felt this lethargic since high school. She sensed him lay down behind her and press up against her back. Good, a little spooning before breakfast would be nice. Breakfast? What happened to supper? By God, but I'm hungry.

Vikki let out a little "mmhhmm" of content when she felt Silver's arm around her. He may not be able to commit all the way but he did know when to just hold a girl, and how to hold a girl, so why didn't this feel right? Vikki struggled to fight free of the fog that filled her. Although she was taller than him by a few inches, she should still be able to feel Silver's hard chest against her back, his snout against her neck. His thick arms should be coming up under hers and across her chest, hugging her tightly. Where were they?

Vikki finally managed to force her eyes open, everything was blurry. She blinked twice and the room started to come into focus. This didn't look like the guest house in Old Orchard Beach. It looked like somebody's recreation room ... and what was that bucket for? Glancing down she saw two things that set her adrenaline flowing; a length of light chain that circled her just below the breasts and a skinny yellow arm with a primate's paw at the end fondling her breast. From behind, she felt her tail being lifted up and out of the way, sensed something hot probing between her legs.

Oh no, she thought, her anger rising, not again, not on your life.

Vikki had spent a considerable amount of time training with the Academy's Combat Instructor, the big tobacco-chewing doberman Red 'Rusty' Nails both with and without her prosthetic paw. She used that training now to grip and flip her assailant down onto the floor, landing heavily on top of the pale yellow figure, knees first to protect the baby from undue shock. The creature was on its stomach and had had the wind knocked out of it so Vikki was able to get her left arm around its neck and into the elbow of her right arm without a struggle. Despite the lack of a paw it was tucked in there nicely and with her right one behind his head she could choke off its air simply by leaning back, or snap its neck by flexing her arms in a snapping motion. Vikki tensed her arms in preparation for the snap.

"Say goodbye tailhole." She hissed in its ear.

"STOP."

Vikki froze. The command had come from behind them, a female voice. Without slacking her grip she twisted around to see who the newcomer was, almost choking the would-be rapist in the process. A black and white husky stood in the room's doorway. She was short, but not petite, slim but not skinny. She wore dark sunglasses, a tight black T-shirt and black pants, the type that you could unzip the legs from in hot weather. Strange, she had removed only the right leg, had the assault interrupted her dressing? Most importantly, she was unarmed, unless she had a knife taped to her back, and Vikki could deal with that.

The husky saw her gauging the distance between them. "Don't bother, there's not enough chain."

Vikki gave the assailant's throat another squeeze and heard him gasp for air. "You can't get to me in time to stop me." She asked. "Why should I let him go?"

"He's the one that wants you alive, not me. If you kill him, you become redundant. He doesn't have the key to that chain," she held a silver key up with her left paw "I do." Then she produced an old black and gold lighter in her right paw. With a snap of her digits, it was open and lit. "I'll just leave you here with his body and burn the house down around you."

Now that was an exceptionally direct answer, Vikki conceded.

Vikki released the creature and got up with surprising grace considering how uneven he was and her advanced pregnancy. She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms and legs to preserve what dignity she still had, while the yellow creature she had released crawled away from her coughing and gasping. The husky threw her some clothes from a pile that she had dropped by the door. Vikki waited until the male had dragged himself out of the room before standing to dress. She tried to assess the situation as she pulled the elastic maternity pants up over her belly and tucked a loose blouse under the chain that restrained her. She needed more information; she had to get her kidnappers talking.

"I don't know who you think you have kidnapped or what kind of ransom you expect to collect honey, "she addressed the dog, "but when Okra and Doctor Dourado find out that you've kidnapped one of his honoured clients they are going to mobilize the biggest manhunt since the search for the Lindbergh baby."

"You figure do you?" Did Vikki detect a hint of a maritime accent there?

"Oh yes. You have brought a lot of heat down on yourselves. Okra has some very powerful friends, and I imagine that the founder will be on the television calling for your hides."

"I doubt that he'll be doing much talking on the TV." The husky scoffed.

She sounded too confident, Vikki thought, that's not good. "What makes you think that?" She asked.

The husky stepped closer, but not close enough for Vikki to reach her from the end of the chain. She reached up and pulled off her sunglasses so that she could lock her eyes on Vikki's.

"Because he's in the kitchen upstairs putting an icepack on his throat; I think you broke his larynx."

The pink of her eyes reminded Vikki of the flame on the lighter when she had threatened to burn the building around her, and a shiver went down her spine.

* * * * * * * *

At the end of their last meeting, Silver had given the team new directions for the collection and analytical effort. Afterwards he had gone back to his suite to shower and grab a few hours of sleep while they worked the collection plan. His presence at the Ops Centre would not contribute to the effort, only make them nervous, and he needed to be at his peak when it came time to plan and decide on a course of action. The ability to be able to sleep when he needed to, despite the circumstances and no matter what pressures he was under was a talent most generals would trade their left ball for.

When he woke up, things were different. Refreshed but without anything to focus his mind on everything he saw reminded him of Vikki; the cheese he kept in the fridge for her, a book she had recommended lying on the table, the instructions for a crib he was supposed to assemble for her. Even is old stuff had memories of her attached to them now; how she hated that tie, that she thought he needed a new Tux, how she had played with his star sapphire ring, the one his sister sent from Bali that he never wore. He decided to eat in the cafeteria and get back to the Ops Centre as soon as possible to see if the team had come up with any leads.

Now that Silver was refreshed, the rest of the team looked exhausted. It was time to send them off for a rest and let the duty staff carry on with the work they had started. He needed them rested for when things started moving. Let's see what we have so far, he thought.

Joel had not been able to find any trace of the mysterious female husky. His feature recognition software still had to cycle through another few hundred thousand images captured off the Internet, but the odds of finding a match were getting slimmer.

Kain had managed to crack the spa corporation's message server, but it had not been much help. They didn't keep old email on the server and the encryption was done elsewhere, so what they had was unreadable for now. He had identified a chain of related messages that ended at the Ogunquit spa outlet. "If I can catch it when they pick it up again we may be able to track down whoever did this" he informed Silver.

Marcel had spent his time studying the plans for the various spa outlets around the world, looking for weaknesses and similarities. So far, it looked like each one had been designed by a different architect, built by a different contractor out of different materials and to different standards. The only thing they had in common was that the attendants were always the same species at any one location and one couldn't walk in uninvited at any of them. He settled on sharpening his knives while he waited for a break in their investigation.

Geno was feeling even more worthless than Marcel. She needed input to do her analytical thing. Silver asked her if she had ever heard of 'negative intelligence'. She admitted that she had not.

"There was a Sherlock Holmes story," Silver explained, "where the watchdog didn't alert the owners when their home had been broken into. The owners said that the dog had always notified them whenever a stranger was about before, so Holmes deduced that the burglar must not have been a stranger. He later discovered that the watchdog's brother had just been released from prison a few days before the incident, but it was the lack of something that should have been that set him on that course of enquiry. Don't look at what we have, Geno, look at what we should have but don't."

"Panic"

"Panic?"

"There's no panic. Kain is into their message server and we have surveillance on their telephone communications, but there is hardly any internal message traffic."

"So what does that tell you?" Silver prodded.

"They already know. Dourado and his key staff, the ones who run the show. They don't need to communicate because they know more than the lower ranking functionaries."

"And what can you infer from that?"

"That they were involved or responsible for Vikki's kidnapping. It may even have been him and the husky in the boat."

"So where does that leave us?" Silver wondered out loud. "A monkey that wants influence over world leaders but who stoops to kidnapping." He drummed his digits impatiently on the table. "I wish I knew what their motive for kidnapping her was. What could they possibly have taken her for?

"Spokesperson." Geno said absently.

"What?" Marcel Gold and Silver all said at the same time.

"Spokesperson, model, corporate image, you know, like those actresses and singers that front for perfume and clothing designers. You're supposed to buy their product because you want to be like them."

"They want their clients to identify with a six foot three, very pregnant and probably murderously pissed off fox?" Silver asked.

"No, I mean, not like this, no." Geno spluttered. "But she is beautiful and graceful and a lot of females would like to be like her. I'd like to be like her." She added in a lower tone.

Both Silver and Marcel had been nodding in agreement as Geno talked, but only Gold noticed.

"But it's all a fraud." Kain spoke up. "They can't make their clients look like her or act like her or give them her attributes by rubbing their shoulders and spreading cucumber paste on their faces. What makes her Vikki is locked inside, it's elemental, it's in her DNA"

"And you can't give that away." Geno concluded.

"Can't you?" Silver had stopped tapping the table and was leaning forward eagerly now. Joel, get those photos you showed us earlier together and over to Doctor Jones. If he can't give an opinion on them he will know someone who can. Then run their client list again; I need someone who looks like Marcel. Then go to bed. Kain, have the duty staff start a research line into genetic engineering and have then cross reference whatever they find against the purchases and inventory of Eden's Oasis and you get some rest too. Geno, good job. Take a break while the crew collects some new data for you. Marcel, take her home and the two of you get some sleep; that would be the quieter bedroom activity."

The team dispersed to their tasks or to bed. Silver and Tanner remained in the briefing room, Silver staring at the wall lost in thought, Tanner studying Silver.

"How are you handling this Silver, really?"

Silver looked over at his old friend. "I'm okay Tanner, really."

Tanner had heard that one before, usually just before Silver hit the bottle and started shooting holes in Academy property. He had to admit that it had been quite a few years since that had last happened, but then again it had been quite a few years since Silver had let himself feel for anyone.

"Why don't you come up to the chalet tonight?" Silver was always well behaved at Tanner's chalet in the Gatineau Hills; partially because Williams never kept anything stronger than white wine around while Silver was there. Having him over tonight would involve kicking out his latest boy toy and having him clean out the liqueur cabinet on the way out, but Silver was his last true friend in the service.

"Sure." Silver said as he pushed his chair back. "I'll let you win at chess again."

"And I'll let you win at Backgammon." Tanner watched Silver head out the door and called after him. "Hey. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to work on a back-up plan"

* * * * * * * *

Things were quiet in Lao Huidan's House of Eternal Luck casino and brothel. It was too early in the Americas for the hardcore gambling addicts and deviants to be on-line and too late for the Asian ones. There were a few Britons about, but even here, in Talia Life, all they wanted to do was drink until their avatars threw up. Lao wouldn't be about, not at his hour. The bartender and duty manager sat behind the bar chatting. When the large Tiger avatar came in, they fell silent. The Tiger passed by and entered Lao's private office without a glance their way.

"You know who that was?" The Manager asked confidentially.

"Yeah, the Stalker. I seen him around before."

"Best not to pay too much attention when he's around." He advised, but the two of them sat silently staring at the office door.

Inside the office the Perfect Stalker started up Lao's message portal, designed to look like a computer in this world of simulations. Lao had set up an account for the Stalker and the login went smoothly, the message box soon appeared. There was only one tonight, and it was very, very concise, but then so was the Stalker.

"Interesting." The Stalker pressed 'delete' and the message disappeared.

An unknown distance away, in a penthouse apartment in Singapore's tallest building, the old wallaby from down under who called himself 'Lao Huidan' sat in front of a real computer monitor. His moniker translated into his native English as 'the old bastard' and it was a private joke between him and his original partners in crime; all long dead, and all because of him. An old bastard indeed, he chuckled, emphasis on the 'old'.

His colleague had adjusted the Stalker's account to duplicate his messages and forward them to this computer, one accessible only by Lao. The last message was still displayed on his screen.

"Be Ready."

"Interesting." He said coincidentally. Not very long or informative, Lao thought, but maybe we can coax a little more out of it. He picked up the telephone, encrypted of course, and called his colleagues to see what the chances of tracing this email were.