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FOX Academy Flashbacks

Scarlet Necklace

Part III - Suspicions Rising

Spring 1987

Scarlet was not in Ottawa when Auvert returned. The rumour was that she was off investigating leads related to Green's death. With the possibility of a double agent in their midst, tensions were high at FOX headquarters. Auvert was certain that he was the prime candidate because of the mundane duties he had been assigned: Health and Safety Officer, Harassment Officer, Social Committee Chair. He was virtually cut off from all classified information. He could hear the whispering behind his back and feel the stares. He was sure that those that did not think that he was a Soviet spy thought that he was a fuck up for letting Green get killed.

He had no friends or even acquaintances left at the Academy. Vick had left, having failed to complete his probation. Max had been assigned to the embassy in Cairo and Kevin was still in Asia working with Yellow. Even Carpenter was gone, having taken a liaison position with the newly formed Canadian Security Intelligence Service, CSIS. With no one to talk to, the self-doubts were reinforced by what he imagined the others were whispering until they filled his head. He could not concentrate and his work suffered. He started drinking frequently and without limits, and his coworkers shunned him even more.

His last chance at FOX was a mission to extract two Russian missile scientists and the secrets that they held. The mission went badly and he lost the pair of scientists in Finland. He did manage to bring their newborn child out, and deliver the Soviet's missile secrets. For that he was rewarded by being made a senior agent, but the failure to save the scientists wore on him, and he was in danger of slipping back into his self destructive habits. During the months spent convalescing he took to spending time with the Academy Chief of Staff, a large yellow-furred fox named Tancred Williams, 'Tanner' to his few friends.

Williams did not have many friends in the Academy either because of his position as disciplinarian and because his open homosexuality scared off most of the old school security agents. The two found friendship in their shared solitude and passed most evenings playing chess or backgammon with hardly a word exchanged. Other nights they sat out on the deck of Tancred's cottage in the Gatineau Hills and just talked.

It was good to have someone to talk to, but Auvert needed physical activity too. His schedule was light, but he was required to be at the academy most days for physiotherapy and refresher training. There were plenty of jogging trails around the nearby Central Experimental Farm but he hated running. He avoided the gym too because he still felt uncomfortable there amongst the other employees. He began taking long walks around the grounds of the Academy and the woods that separated it from the rest of the farm. That was how he found the pond and the unfinished rock garden. He decided to salvage the garden and drove himself to exhaustion most days reclaiming the overgrown Gazebo, clearing the old paths and hauling rocks. It was there that Scarlet found him.

She followed the path through the bush according to William's directions. Topping the ridge, she looked down into a notch that would go unnoticed if one passed to either side instead of coming straight into it. There was a spring-fed pond inside the notch, with an eight-sided gazebo at the near end. A gravel path circled the pond and led away down the hill. On the south side, she could see the outline of rock wall. Auvert was there, fitting large rocks from a new wheelbarrow to extend the wall. He was barefoot and shirtless. The fur on his back was shiny with sweat, outlining his shoulder and back muscles. They rippled impressively as he lifted a rock into place and wiggled it about for the best fit.

"I hear that they call you Silver now." She called down.

If she was expecting a big reaction, she was disappointed. Silver finished fitting his rock and turned to look up at her. His paws were resting on his hips. There was no sign of a gun on him.

"I know that we tend to relax here on home turf," she scolded him, "but what if I was an infiltrator sent to kill you?"

"Then I would have shot you with the rifle hidden in the weeds there when you stepped on the tripwire three hundred feet back up the trail." Silver pointed to a patch of green and yellow grass beyond the gazebo. Now that she had been directed to it, Scarlet could see the indentation at the ridgeline that would provide observation on the approach. She could also make out the camouflaged butt of an assault rifle. Looking back at him she noted that there were bits of weed and dust stuck to his chest fur, as if he had been lying down recently, looking through the scope of a rifle perhaps?

"Where was the trip wire?" She asked, curious.

"Under the board where the gully crossed the trail."

Scarlet nodded respectfully. She had stepped on the board to avoid rustling the dry leaves on either side or leaving a print in the damp mud between. The soft board had sagged, enough to trip the alarm. Clever.

"Coming down to lend a paw?" He asked.

Scarlet looked down at her silk blouse and wool miniskirt combination. She examined her freshly sharpened and painted claws. Then she looked at his rough and bleeding paws.

"Not likely. I'll just watch from here." She entered the gazebo and settled herself on the bench facing the pond. Silver shrugged and went back to work. Out of habit, Scarlet inventoried everything in sight. She looked for possible threats, noted anything that could be used as a weapon and calculated escape routes while Silver worked in silence.

After a few minutes of watching him wiggle rocks, she asked, "Is it okay if we talk while you do that?"

"Sure."

"It won't throw you off or anything?"

"Nope."

A few more moments passed in silence.

"I heard that you had a hard time in Finland."

"Yeah."

"Heard that you got hurt."

He held up the back of his left paw in reply. She could see the fresh pink puckered scar on it.

"That's it?"

"That's it?" He frowned at her, puzzled.

"I mean is that all? Cause it sounds like they cut your tongue out too."

He laughed then, and for a moment looked like his former self. He put the rock he was working on back into the wheelbarrow and turned to face her.

"I'm sorry Scarlet. Here we haven't seen each other in years and I'm acting like some old married badger."

"I'm the one who should be sorry." She replied. "I should have at least called to tell you I wouldn't be back that night."

"Don't sweat it. I know what it's like now. When duty calls its hard to think of anything else, or anybody else." He slapped at the dust on his jeans. "What happens now Scarlet?" He asked without looking up. "We take up where we left off?"

Scarlet had dressed to show off her still firm and streamlined assets. Maybe a little too obviously she thought ruefully. This wasn't the same fox that she had left in her apartment five years ago. Maybe she should try a different approach.

"How do you feel about that Silver?" She addressed him as an equal. "You know that I have a reputation now I suppose."

"I knew it then. I can't say that I've been much different."

Scarlet nodded at that. She had seen Green's reports on his junior agent's activities. Silver had yiffed his way through half of the Warsaw Pact's file clerks and secretaries, collecting an impressive amount of intelligence along the way. There was even an Ambassador's wife who still wrote him every month, seeking another rendezvous. They truly were two of a kind. That would make her patron happy. Played properly, Silver could be brought into the fold.

They waited for each other to continue the conversation. After a minute had passed Silver slapped at his jeans again.

"I guess that I'll get cleaned up. Want to head over to the lounge for a drink?"

"Sure." She watched him for a clue as to how he really felt, but he had learned well, neither his face nor his posture gave anything away. She would have to feel around carefully during the conversation over drinks and decide then whether to play it cool or just invite him over for a mattress testing session.

She was so used to being the one in control that he took her by surprise when he reached behind and undid his pants to free his tail. He turned his backside to her and peeled the tight, sweat-soaked jeans and underwear off his gorgeous butt. He made a show of balancing on one foot while he drew one leg out. Then he bent at the waist and pulled the material down the other leg. He stood with his back to her, naked and glistening in the early spring sunlight.

Silver turned and walked straight toward her, his tail swaying behind him, another appendage swaying in front. When he reached the edge of the pond he kept going. Soon the water was up to his knees, then his thighs. Although he didn't falter, she could tell that it was cold from the way his balls twitched as the water level rose. She almost blushed when she realized where she was staring, almost. The cold water wasn't going to help things, she thought. She watched him sink lower as he advanced. He stopped just before the water reached his nipples.

He splashed water under his arms and on his face. He shivered at the contact, but once wet, plunged his head under the surface. He came up with a gasp and shook his head hard, sending droplets almost as far as the gazebo. Knuckling the water from his eyes, he found her and smiled up in invitation.

So much for the subtle approach, she thought, wishing that they were in the lounge. Scarlet was not one to turn down a challenge however, and she unhooked her skirt as she stood, letting it fall before she had fully risen. The silk blouse hung to her thighs, hiding things for now. She undid the buttons, starting at the top, slowly and deliberately. When it was only half undone it was obvious that she had not worn a bra. When she undid the last button, she swept the blouse off to reveal her surprise.

It was something new, from Brazil. A type of underwear they called a thong. She turned around slowly to let Silver see how the skimpy triangle of black material disappeared underneath and only reappeared just below her tail, spitting there to arc over her hips. She bent and wiggled her ass, spreading the cheeks to show the single black string before slipping it off. When she turned back, the only things she wore were a smile and the little red heart dyed into the fur above her sex.

Not to be outdone she stepped up on to the bench and then to the top of the low wall of the gazebo. From there, she hopped down onto the gravel path and crossed it, heading straight for the pond. The shock of the cold, spring-fed pool made her skin jump, but she did not slow as she entered the water. Gritting her teeth, she continued deeper. Before she was half way to him she took a step and discovered that there was no more bottom. She tried to back pedal but she had been moving forward to deliberately to stop suddenly. She disappeared from sight for an instant, and then came up sputtering, and angry. Silver was laughing on the other side of whatever hole she had stepped into.

"It's an old mica mine." He informed her. "The edges are tapered but the middle goes straight down. The first owner had it filled with rocks so it's only about twelve feet deep now." Seeing the look of death in her eyes he turned apologetic. "I should have warned you."

Scarlet could see the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth and she sprang at him as soon as the water was shallow enough to allow it. He only put up a feeble defence. They wrestled under the surface, a paw or a foot sticking out occasionally, until they were forced to come up for air. They exploded from the waist-deep water, gulped in air, and threw themselves at each other again. This time they did not fall under the water in a death grip. This time their lips were the first tings to lock together, but the rest of them followed shortly thereafter.

Scarlet could not feel the cold anymore, so hot had she become in his embrace. His arms were tight against her sides as his paws roved over her back. He squeezed the base of her neck one moment, one of her buttocks the next. He made a circle with two digits at the base of her tail and ran it along its length, shedding the water from it so it fluffed up. She lifted her tail up in the sun, and he wedged a paw underneath it. It felt warm there, and the pads, roughened by weeks of work on the rock garden, gave her a tingly sensation. She rolled her head against his and searched inside his mouth with her tongue.

She caressed his back with both paws in synchronization. Both paws were on his shoulders then they moved together downwards until she had two paws full of butt. She gripped him hard, until she could feel the hot blood rushing in response. She trailed her claws back up to his shoulders, and delighted in the shivers it gave him.

He had a paw under the water between them now, searching for a safe harbour no doubt. She arched her his back and spread her legs to make more room for it. Soon it had found a spot that was still warm, despite the chilly water. He cupped her mons and massaged the swelling flesh. She pressed her breasts harder against his solid chest and moaned into his mouth. She had forgotten how much she loved those paws. Without realizing it, her eyes had closed and she had surrendered herself to them.

Silver's paws moved deliberately, one caressing her backside, concentrating on the sensitive skin in the fold of the buttocks and around the tailhole, the other in front, teasing the inner lips out. They squeezed, they massaged, and now and then, a claw would drift across or between, leaving a trail of sparks behind it. The cold water numbed everything else around them, concentrating the sensations into a few square inches of flesh. Soon the moisture within matched that of the surrounding pool, and she sucked his digits inside her.

She was only aware of the heat in her groin and the hot blast of his breath on her check as he sucked air and exhaled through his snout. Then she realized that he was picking her up, one arm along her back with the paw still wedged between her buttocks, while the other paw continued to stroke her inside and out. She lifted her legs out of the water and crossed her ankles, locking her thighs around his wrist. Silver brought her to the edge of the pond where the flakes of mica and silica had accumulated to form a tiny beach, just big enough to lay her down on. Her torso and hips were out of the water and the sun felt good on her. The water lapped at her ass, came up to just below the moist slit that his paw covered. With her legs bent and spread, she was barely in the water at all.

Silver broke the kiss then. He pushed himself back with elbows, nuzzling her neck, licking her breasts. He rubbed the nipples with his snout. He kept pushing back, nibbling on her naval and kissing her belly as his head went lower and lower. His body was disappearing into the water, soon only his head and shoulders were left exposed. When his nose was just above his questing paw, he stopped. His tongue came out. The tip found a tiny, hard button of flesh at the apex of her slit. It enveloped it.

Scarlet gripped his ears and rolled her head back and forth while his tongue teased her clit. Another talented appendage, her mind conjured, wonder if he can do any tail tricks? The thought was driven from her head as he sucked her clit into his pursed lips and rubbed his teeth against it as if he was testing a pearl. That, and the two digits stroking her insides, was enough to make her throw her head back and cry out. When he extended a third digit to brush against the entrance to her tailhole she almost screamed.

He continued to suck and lick, rub and poke, while she wriggled herself deeper into the gritty sand of the tiny beach. She spread her knees as far apart as she could, opening herself to him. She pushed his head down firmly, encouraging him to press harder. For a while, he did. Then he shook her paws off and lifted his head.

Silver fixed her with his eyes as he rose above her, the water cascading off him like some sea god bent on revenge. By the time that he was on his knees and shuffling to her she could see that this Neptune had forsaken his trident for a simple spear, but one of such hardness that the cold waters could not abate. Its blunt head glistened, its single eye sought her out. Like a snake, it sensed the heat of its target, and it struck with deadly accuracy. Silvers hips slammed against her pelvis and he gasped as the heat surrounded the cold-blooded sea creature he had thrust in her.

She cried out too each time the head of his cock passed over the pad of swollen flesh inside her, followed by the shock of his pubic bone striking her clit. Her paws were on his chest, spread out as if to push him away, but she only pressed lightly, lovingly, her pads caressing his erect nipples. She did not know how long they had been there, did not know how long they could continue, teetering at the edge of the world.

Silver, he would never be Auvert again in her mind, settled the matter by dropping one paw down to her groin and placing the thumb on her clit. Circled it at first, and then he ran it up and down across the top. He changed direction and circled it counter-clockwise. Finally, flicking it back and forth produced the spasm that he had been looking for. She screamed in a pitch that sent the birds aloft and a wave of boiling juices washed over his cock on their way to baptise his groin. His thumb chased the elusive knob as it retreated, forcing pleasure into it until she had nothing left to give.

She feebly tried to push his paw away. He resisted, just enough to demonstrate his strength, because he was not yet spent. Then he withdrew his paw. Still buried deep inside her, still harder than steel, he returned his grip to her legs and began to pump her slippery slit again. Faster and faster he went, like a locomotive at full steam. Confident that he had done his job in showing her pleasure, he was free to seek his own.

He lost control then, losing all sense of rhythm. He wailed as he repeatedly withdrew his cock and drove it home again. His knuckles showed white through the fur where he gripped her knees. He raised himself up to maximise the friction on his pounding cock, paused when he was almost out to let the heat of her vagina's lips soak into him before plunging back again. Through half-closed eyes, she saw his orbs turn from stormy grey to a brilliant sapphire blue. Just as they softened to the colour of a warm Carolina sea, she felt the steel rod erupt with molten metal. It pulsed with each surge of liquid fire, in diminishing intensity, until it lay still inside her.

Silver slowly sank down until he was lying on top of her, most of his weight on his elbows, but with enough contact to keep her warm in the weakening sun of early spring. His head was beside hers, his snout nestled against her ear. She could not recall ever feeling so alive, or so comfortable. The first mosquito of the year hovered lazily overhead, more interested in mating than feeding for now.

"Silver," she whispered into his ear, "this was wonderful, but don't forget," she continued as he grunted in response, "as senior agents we do have the keys to the Academy hot tub."

"Honey," he replied from somewhere below her right ear, "you are missing the point entirely. You throw cold water on the hot stones of a sauna to make you sweat. You dip cold ice-cream cones into hot caramel to make a special treat. Baked Alaska only works because of the icy core. Sure, you can have hot sex in a hot tub, but you can only sizzle and burn when you get real cool."

As he finished speaking, he slid one paw down along her side, over her hip and into the water. With a sudden jerk, he brought a pawful of cold water up and splashed her.

She chased him seventeen times around the pond before her superior stamina overcame his longer stride, and she held his head under the frigid water until he finally stopped laughing. It took longer than she thought, and necessitated her giving him artificial respiration.

* * * * * * * *

The spring weather in Moscow was just as pleasant as it was in Ottawa that day, but Silver and Scarlet's opposite numbers in the KGB Headquarters were not having nearly as good a time. It was hard to have a good time at number 1 Lubyanka Square in Moscow. Not only was the building wired for sound to catch the first hint of dissention or disloyalty, but the smells and the screams from the KGB prison next door also tended to put a damper on happy thoughts. Deep inside the ugly yellow building, the head of the First Chief Directorate's 1st Department, responsible for espionage activities in the United States and Canada, was meeting with his spymaster, the creature responsible for running agents and sources in the English speaking portion of North America.

Director Dimitry Filipov was a brown bear and career bureaucrat. He owed his current position to his association with the former head of the KGB, later chairman of the politburo, Yuri Andropov. But Andropov had died suddenly in 1983, so Filipov would rise no farther. He even had to be careful not to make any major mistakes now, least the Gorbachev faction move on him. He had learned the first lesson of bureaucratic power early however, hire talent and keep them in the background where they can make you look good.

Pavel Lobodin was one such creature. A hoary fox from the Ural mountain region, he was a career spy, and an expert at running double agents. The knowledge in his head about their moles in the western espionage agencies was so valuable that he was never allowed to leave Moscow without an escort, and never permitted to travel abroad. Filipov had learned to trust his opinion. He had also come to expect that Lobodin would keep him in dark until the fox needed resources beyond the First department's capabilities. This was fine with Filipov, if things went wrong he would be blameless, and he liked to travel abroad occasionally.

*Today Lobodin had come seeking the services of another department. In order to justify his request he had to reveal that he had a mole inside the Canadian Foreign Operations eXecutive. *

"She is a deep asset," he explained for the Director, "one that we do not wish to use without good reason. The westerners are certain that there is at least one double agent in their midst and are ready to pounce at the first sign of suspicious activity."

"So, if she is not under suspicion what do you need my help with Pavel?"

"She has become involved with another agent, one who has not been recruited as yet."

"You want to bring him in?"

"That is the recommendation of the local controller, but I am not so certain."

The Director sat back and waited for Lobodin to continue in his own time. His spymaster was famous for the number of times his doubts had proved justified.

"This new agent, who they are calling 'Silver', does not seem the type to me. He had a troubled past, and has only recently found recognition and success with FOX. That kind of thing forms a bond of loyalty to the organization. Creatures like that don't change sides to follow a piece of quim, and from what our other sources in the area tell me, he does not need her in that department either. I think that the relationship is ill advised."

"You have authority over the local resident in these matters. Order her to break it off." Filipov said impatiently.

"There is more to it than that." The grey and white fox sat back and pressed his paws together. "This agent has a way with the females, and I fear that she may be the one falling under his spell. We should remove him from the equation, permanently. I need you to sign an executive order for Department Five.

Department Five, most often depicted by the Roman numeral 'V', was responsible for executive action both in the USSR and abroad. They did the 'wet work' when it was necessary to kill a foreign agent, a Russian dissident or a nosey reporter. Only the Director of another department could request their services. So that was why Lobodin had come to him today.

"Is that not a little drastic Pavel?" The Director asked. "Such an action is bound to bring reprisals."

"This new agent was the one that smuggled the missile secrets out of Murmansk earlier this year. He killed several Soviet citizens in the process and embarrassed our security services. We can let it be known that he was declared an enemy of the motherland for killing those citizens, but the disinformation department can leak that it was really a revenge killing. That should convince them, and since they already have secrets, they will probably leave it at that. Still, there is a possibility that I am wrong about her trying to recruit him. I have a friend who works in Department V. I trust his judgement. Let him meet with her, without the resident's knowledge, and let him decide to carry out the executive order or not. Can you do this for me Comrade Director?"

The Director could, and he did.

* * * * * * * *

The KGB was not the only one concerned with Silver's sexual habits. FOX's Chief of Staff missed his evening chess games and chats with the younger fox. His chalet seemed emptier now that Silver was not sharing it with him. Too bad he's straight, Gold thought, he could see himself settling down permanently with someone like Silver. But Silver was straight, and actively so. Very actively according to the reports. FOX conducted periodic surveillance of its senior agents as a matter of routine.

He was pleasantly surprised one night when Silver showed up unexpectedly, a bottle of Italian wine in one paw and a box of hot pizza in the other. They devoured the pizza and polished off the wine on the deck as the sun set, filling in the gaps between bites and sips with small talk about the upcoming NHL playoffs. Both of them played on the FOX team against the other security and intelligence services when they got the chance. Gold favoured the Edmonton Oilers, based on their stellar performance during the regular season. Silver was a die-hard Habs fan, and insisted that Montréal would come back from a lacklustre season to take it all.

After diner, they moved inside rather than douse themselves with insecticide to keep the mosquitoes off. Silver won the toss so he set up the backgammon board while Williams opened another bottle of wine. Later they would open a third bottle and switch to chess, a game that Williams usually won.

"So what's up with Scarlet tonight?" Tancred asked. "She get tired of your company?"

"No." Silver answered absently. "She got a page and had to go out." He finished with the board by placing the dice cups on their respective sides. He shook his and let a single die out onto the board. A five, a good roll.

Gold sat down opposite him and threw one die. It stopped showing six spots and he automatically moved one of his stones from Silver's house to a safe haven. Silver scooped up his die and the play continued.

They had finished four games and Silver looked to take the match, again, when Gold's pager went off. He pulled it from the leather holster on his belt and stared at the message in the window.

"Something up?" Silver asked.

"Nothing important." Gold replied. "The budget has been approved with amendments. I can call in tomorrow for the figures." He put the bulky black box down on the table beside the board in case FOX's chief accountant felt the need to send more details later.

Silver glanced at the old pager and mentally compared it with the smaller, later model that Scarlet carried.

"That thing is a museum piece Tanner. You should trade it in for one of the new ones."

"Ha, like we can afford new pagers." Williams said ruefully. "I know we seem to be a rich agency, but do you know how much money we spend on insurance against gunshot and stab wounds? It's ridiculous. No, we are stuck with these archaic ones until we run out of stock, and believe me, I'll be the first to get the slim model when we do." Tancred just hated the way the boxy pager ruined the line of his suit jackets.

Concentrating on his roll, and how to escape a block that Williams was building, Silver was only half listening. But deep in his mind the input was processed and crossed checked and the result was unsatisfactory. His ear twitched in irritation as the incongruous data was filed away, perhaps never to be retrieved again.

* * * * * * * *

The KGB Department V agent was known as 'Akula', it was the Russian word for shark. Western intelligence agencies that had picked up the codename envisioned a tall, powerful and vicious looking operative, one that would be distinguished by the cold look in his eyes. When it was discovered that Akula was on the move those same agencies alerted their watchers at the airports and other points of entry to be on the lookout for someone who matched that profile.

When the elderly, short, skinny and nearsighted Marmot, Professor Bobylev, entered Canada on the weekly Aeroflot flight from Moscow the watchers hardly afforded him a glance. He presented his passport and academic visa to the immigration officer at Mirabel Airport, some sixty kilometres north of Montréal. After recovering his luggage, he went to the rental kiosk to pick up the car the embassy cultural attaché had reserved in his name. Following the directions provided by the friendly attendant, he turned onto highway 148 and headed towards Gatineau, where he would cross the river and enter the nation's capitol, Ottawa.

Halfway between the airport and Gatineau there was a conservation area, the Parc National de Plaisance. It is a bird sanctuary used by the migrating species, many of which could be found there this time of year. Professor Bobylev's visa stated that he was an ornithologist visiting the University of Ottawa to attend a symposium on migratory birds, so it was natural for him to stop here on the way in. He parked the rental in the public parking lot, pulled a daypack out of his luggage and walked the kilometre to the first observation platform.

The platform afforded a magnificent view of the Ottawa River and the wetlands. It also provided a good view of the trail leading back to the public parking. Bobylev swept the horizon with his high-powered binoculars, essential equipment for an ornithologist, and noted that no one had followed him into the park. The trails leading further into the conservation area and back to the road were empty. A family of woodchucks, distant cousins to the Russian marmot, shared the look out, and they nodded to him. Bobylev nodded back and occupied his time counting the different species until they moved on down the trail toward the second platform.

Once they were out of sight, he checked the parking lot and the trail leading from it again. He had already seen the chalk mark on the garbage can confirming that his package had arrived. Taking a snack bar from his bag, he unwrapped it and devoured the contents. He wandered over to the garbage can as he wadded up the wrapper. Reaching down, he stuck his paw into the small hole in the can's lid, shoving the wrapper down deep. At the same time, he felt around inside the lid. Something large was stuck to it, a canvass package. He quickly pulled it free and up through the hole. It barely fit.

He placed the package in his pack without examining it. This was the crucial point, if the enemy security service was going to pounce it would be now. If this was a set up it didn't matter what the package held, it would be incriminating. If it was safe it would hold his tools, and he could examine them later in the hotel. He shouldered his pack and headed back to the car a little regretfully. He really was an expert on migratory species, and it would have been nice to spend an afternoon here, but he had a job to do.

Professor Bobylev, one of the Soviet Union's leading ornithologists, an Olympic gold medalist in 1948 for pistol and the assassin known as Akula, got back into the rental car and headed west to Ottawa.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Professor Bobylev attended a very informative discussion on the elaborate mating dance of the loon. After leaving the lecture hall, he went through an even more intricate ceremony of his own. Carefully staying in the bumbling, absentminded professor role, he made wrong turns, dropped his notes and bent to tie errant shoelaces. It was all a ruse, an excuse to check for surveillance. Believing that there was none, he made his way across the Rideau Canal, past national Defence Headquarters, and traversed Confederation Park. The Elgin hotel occupied the block across the street from the park. In his pocket was a key for one of the more isolated rooms in the old north wing. He entered the hotel, and having memorised the floor plans before leaving Russia, made his way past the desk to the proper elevators as if he had been staying here forever.

Out on Elgin Street, named for the same former Governor General as the hotel, a young weasel named George stopped outside the hotel and watched Bobylev's progress through the window. He noted that the marmot was alone in the elevator and that it stopped only on the sixth floor before returning to the lobby. He knew that the Russian academic was not likely to be staying in an expensive hotel like this one so he decided to wait outside for him.

George had recently applied for the RCMP, but his short stature and slight build made him a poor candidate for the physically demanding police force. His aptitude test scores were outstanding however, and two days after applying he was approached by an ordinary looking beaver and asked if he wished to join an elite surveillance unit. With his unimposing looks and the training provided by the RCMP Watchers, George could now blend in anywhere. A set of reversible clothes and a few props completed the ensemble.

George was following the Soviet professor because of the large amounts of government secrets that leaked out through 'friendly' academic exchanges. They followed as many of the Russians and Chinese as they could, and many scientists from the other Iron Curtain countries as well. It was light surveillance, and all that George had to do was report on where they went and who they talked to.

He had left the university dressed like a student, in jeans, denim jacket, running shoes and glasses. Now he undid his shirt to reveal a dirty undershirt, reversed the coat to reveal a tattered army jacket, and took the laces from his shoes. He removed the glasses and pulled a battered cap from his pack. He mussed up his fur to make the final transformation into a street person. He took up a position where he could see the entrance and the lobby through the windows. Holding his cap up as pedestrians made wide detours around him he spoke in a low voice into a microphone on his wrist, dictating his report for the miniature tape recorder up his sleeve to pass to time. The impression that he was mumbling to himself served to make passers-by ignore him all the more.

Ten minutes after taking up position he was mildly surprised to see one of the FOX senior agents enter the same hotel. She was the one called Scarlet, although the Watchers referred to her by their own codename, 'Mattress Back'. He knew all of the local agents by sight because the Watchers used them to train on. Ottawa was a small city and it was not unusual to see one of them around, but her showing up at the same hotel as the academic was highly coincidental. He watched as she too crossed to the same bank of elevators. She got in alone. The elevator rose to the eighth floor, and then returned to the lobby where the doors opened automatically, revealing it to be empty.

Although he had just become a fully-fledged Watcher and did not have a lot of experience, George knew that trained agents heading for clandestine rendezvous rarely got off the elevator on the same floor as their meeting. He made a verbal note on his tape machine to check for rooms booked in advance but apparently never occupied, especially on the seventh floor of the north wing.

* * * * * * * *

Scarlet took the elevator to the floor above the one she wanted out of habit. She had checked for followers several times after leaving the Academy and had not detected any, but it never hurt to be cautious. On her final approach to the hotel, she had been on the alert for surveillance, from both the KGB and FOX. Either would mean that the meeting was a ruse, and that the game was up. She saw the weasel by the lobby window, just far enough from the doors to keep the doorman from chasing him away. He wasn't big enough to be backup from either side, so she dismissed him as a threat.

She had to admit that she was a little nervous, meeting the KGB's premier assassin. The First Department's central control had only told her who she was meeting, but not why. She had to assume that since they told her who she was meeting that she was not the target; or was she? Maybe they wanted her to think that she was the target to see if she would try to kill him first, it could be a test of her loyalties. It would be just like those chess-playing commie freaks to double bluff her like that. She wondered what he looked like. A tall, strong wolfhound with those sleepy Russian eyes, a poet's soul and porn star's endurance perhaps? If he did intend to kill her she might enjoy distracting him long enough to get the upper paw, it would not be the first time she had yiffed her way out of a bad situation.

She knocked on the door before unlocking it, as instructed. There was no response from inside and she had not expected one. When she opened the door and stepped in she was immediately blinded by a bright light.

"Close the door and strip." The instruction came from the right side of the room. She didn't bother looking in that direction, anyone as clever as Akula would have speakers set up to project his voice from different parts of the room. She complied, dropping her silver cross, two pagers, a makeup case, two pistols and three knives to the floor before stepping back and pirouetting for the unseen assassin. She heard him pull the pile of clothes and weapons away and examine them on the other side of the light.

"Lift your tail. Spread your legs. Stretch your arms and lean against the wall on the tips of your digits." She obeyed all of his instructions. From behind, she felt a small paw explore the hollows of her hips and back in a thorough and professional manner. He found the patch of fake fur and checked under it, but she had removed the pistol that went there before leaving the Academy. Satisfied, he told her to dress, and she found that her clothes, cross and make up kit were back. She complied, replacing the heavy silver cross around her neck first, settling it between her breasts provocatively. He did not react.

Akula turned off the lights. They were the bedside lamps from the room with powerful bulbs he had brought with him. He started to straighten up the room while she dressed. He kept an eye on her though, using the mirrors and other reflective surfaces when he was not looking directly at her, just in case. He had survived almost forty years to become the Warsaw Pact's most successful assassin not by being better at killing, but mostly by making certain that no one else killed him first

Scarlet could get a good look at him now. Brilliant, she thought, comparing the reality to the legend. Even when he was young, he must have had sand kicked in face at the beach regularly. She wondered if all the Department V wet work specialists looked so innocent. Christ, no wonder they were able to get so close and get away without being questioned. She noticed that he was watching her, and she rubbed her breasts with the silky material of her blouse to make the nipples erect. Scarlet saw a vertical line form between his eyes and his lips tighten. Oh oh, she thought, seducing this one is more of a job for the Chief of Staff. Now almost weapon less, she decided that she had better tread carefully.

She finished dressing. Although he had no visible weapons of his own, Scarlet was certain that the Russian was armed with the latest in poison dart pens, razor edged shoes and cyanide tipped umbrellas. She stood in the middle of the room, nervously opening and closing her makeup box. It made a loud 'click' each time. Bobylev indicated that she should sit and explained why he had come.

"So you don't think that I should bother trying to turn Silver?" She asked. The makeup opened with a 'click'. "You think that it would be better just to kill him?" 'click' and the box was closed again.

"Yes." Bobylev confirmed. "After reviewing the files and meeting with you," he frowned again, indicating his distaste for her sexual tactics, and the irritating noise she was making with the box. There was another 'click'. "Will you put that thing away?" He demanded. She put the makeup case down on her lap. "I am convinced that his death will serve us better than his recruitment." He continued. "It is safer, and if he shows as much promise as you say, we will be robbing FOX of a valuable asset. It is the equivalent of taking a Knight in exchange for a Pawn."

The KGB and their bloody chess, Scarlet thought. She tried to change his mind, or at least convince him that Silver's execution would raise many suspicions that would put her in danger of getting caught. Bobylev would not be swayed.

"It is true that the revenge killing motive is suspicious," the assassin conceded, "but I note that this Silver became a junior agent the same year that you started working for us. If we are clever, we may be able to connect him with the leaks." He started pacing the room, deep in thought. It was hard to concentrate, she had started in with the damned box again and the clicking noise was distracting. "Yesss, it could work." He spun around suddenly with a speed and grace that raised Scarlet's estimate of his skills. His eyes were bright. "Here's what I want you to do."

The determined look on her face almost gave him enough warning, but not quite. Not without a degree of speed and grace herself, Scarlet brought the object in her paw up against his chest fast and true before he could block it. Half expecting the impact of the blunt make up box, Bobylev did not recognise the pain at first. By the time he did, she had withdrawn the blade and plunged it into his chest again. He tried to bring his right paw up to free the dagger hidden up his sleeve but her left paw held it down and away. He twisted his left arm to release a small pistol and caught it as it dropped, but she hooked one leg around him, pinning the arm to his side. He fired ineffectively into the floor.

She twisted and turned the blade inside him. Looking down he could see the hilt was the silver cross he had examined and returned to her. Never trust the religious, Stalin had said once, how right he was. He felt the blade catch between his ribs, heard steel grate on bone as she jerked it out. No spurt of blood he noticed. Therefore, my heart has already stopped bea...

Scarlet held her digits against his carotid artery for a full two minutes before wiping the blade and transforming it back into a cross with a few sharp 'click's. It looked like the tip had broken off inside him, probably when she hit the bone, she mused. She would have to have it reground. She listened for sounds from the hallway. This time of day, there would be few staff and fewer guests about. His pistol had been a small calibre sub-sonic weapon, and the walls in this ancient hotel were thick. Now what to do, she wondered?

She did not dare use the telephone in the room, but she did not want to leave the body like this either. The KGB would suspect her of double-crossing them, and the next assassin would be coming for her. She could summon FOX operations by entering a simple code in the pager they had issued her, but that would be equally disastrous. She wished that she had one of those radio-phones that the yuppies all seemed to have in their cars these days, even though they were the size of a Steven King novel. Then she had an idea.

She picked up the smaller of the two pagers and examined it. She had only ever received messages on it, and was not even certain that it could send. It only had five buttons, four with arrows and one marked 'clear'. She had only ever used the 'clear' button. The others must scroll through a menu or list or something. After a few tries she discovered that she could bring up the most recent page, a code telling her where and when to meet her contact. Another pushing the buttons in a few random combinations she found that she could reply back to the sender. There was a short list of standard replies, and a tedious method of entering a short message one letter at a time. The maximum length was twenty-five characters, including spaces.

The last meeting had been two weeks ago, when he suggested that she get back together with Silver. Scarlet wondered if he would have his half of the pager set turned on, or even with him. She replied with the pre-set message "Cannot respond at this time" and held her breath.

She was about to give up when the pager started to vibrate. In the message window was full of question marks. Scarlet replied by painstakingly entering and sending the message "Need help 614 Elign Hotel".

A few minutes later, her contact returned "What kind of help?" Scarlet pressed arrow keys as quickly as she could then she hit send.

"Clean up and alibi"

* * * * * * * *

Even in its worst year, Ottawa had one of the lowest homicide rates for a city its size in Canada. It was about one-twentieth of that of the similarly sized District of Columbia. With eleven federal ridings, seven provincial ridings and ten municipal counsellors, you were more likely to get elected than murdered in Ottawa. It was also a safe bet that anyone unlucky enough to get murdered in the nation's capitol would be stabbed, gun crimes were almost unheard of.

In the winter of 1986 to 1987, there was a string of homicides in Ottawa that would have helped break the record had they all occurred in the same year. Between October and May, seven gay males were stabbed to death in hotel rooms and downtown apartments. Four were locals, three were tourists, and none knew any of the others, as far as the police could tell. There was no doubt that it was the work of a single perpetrator, but the investigation was hindered by a lack of urgency on the part of the police, a lack of interest from the press, and a fear of contracting AIDS from the members of the coroner's office.

When the call came in from the Elgin hotel the Ottawa Police sent out a team of junior detectives. They found a familiar scene: an elderly deceased male, a jar of lubricant, some leather straps and buckles, cuffs, gags and anal plugs. The Gay Blade, as the killer was referred to in the squad room, had struck again. They called for the scene to be processed without much enthusiasm. Most of the forensic work would be sent to the Ontario Provincial Police labs in Toronto because Ottawa could not afford a first-rate lab of its own.

It was several days before anyone made the connection between the dead marmot and the discrete inquiries the Soviet Embassy was making about a missing ornithologist. The RCMP stepped in because a foreign national was involved, and the local cops were glad to hand the case over to them. Fortunately, the body was still in Ottawa. It was transferred to the RCMP lab, the most advanced forensic facility in the country. They were thorough, if not speedy, and their examination produced some interesting results.

"Come look at this." The Chief of Forensics, a white rat with beady pink eyes and hairless paws called the detective in charge over. "You'll find this interesting."

The detective, a rottweiler who was a RCMP Corporal, walked over to the scientist's desk, where a number of charts and graphs were spread. The rat was holding one up triumphantly.

"See this spike here?" He pointed out a long thin line on the graph he held. "Carbon. The blade was made with carbon steel laid over soft steel."

"And that's significant how?" The detective asked.

"We dated the chip of blade we found in the wound back to the twelfth or thirteenth century. The chemical composition indicates that it came from Europe. The only place where they used this kind of superior metallurgy was in Toledo, Spain. Most common blades of the time were made with iron or Damascus steel, but neither had carbon in them. Hard carbon steel, laid over a core of soft steel and forged together at a temperature of 1454 Fahrenheit for the exact interval of time required, gave the most perfect blade. Only the Spaniards of Toledo and Japanese sword makers ever discovered the secret. Modern metallurgists didn't unravel it until about eighty years ago."

"So what does that tell us?"

"The killer used an antique dagger from Toledo to stab the victim. The blade was slim, double edged, and exactly four inches long." The rat indicated a series of autopsy diagrams. He picked up a photo close-up of one of the wounds. "Another unusual feature, this square bruise indicates that it had no guard, just a square hilt. All in all, a very distinctive weapon. If it is ever used again, we will have no problems matching it."

"Was this the weapon used in the other gay killings?" The detective inquired.

"No. I went over the city's files and the knife used in all the other cases was a single-edge serrated knife, like a steak knife. Either your perpetrator has switched weapons or the crimes are not related. I tend to go with the latter."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"The victim was a northern European male marmoset, approximately sixty years old. He was in good health and very fit, other than some typically horrible Soviet dental work and a few scars. I'm told that he was an ornithologist who spent a lot of time in the bush, so none of this is unusual. He must have been very important to someone though."

"Why do you say that?"

"The scientific attaché from the Soviet embassy has managed to bump into me twice in the same number of days and inquired about this case both times."

The rottweiler grunted and took his leave. He left the lab and crossed the RCMP campus to the building that housed the Counter-Intelligence directorate. A friend of his from their days as recruits in Regina worked there now, and he had mentioned the dual roles of academic research and scientific espionage that the senior Soviet scientists played. The scientific attaché connection could stand checking out.

After waiting fifteen minutes in the foyer of the ultra-restricted area that CI operated in, his friend escorted him back to the section that dealt with the Warsaw Pact espionage efforts. Amidst a group of German Sheppards, wolves and other canines, the rottweiler explained about the case, the unusual weapon and the embassy connection.

"Wait a minute." An ordinary-looking beaver sitting in the back of the room almost unnoticed interrupted. "There's someone else we need to bring in." The beaver scuttled out and returned a moment later with a young weasel.

"George here," the beaver indicated the weasel, "has something to tell you about a Russian scientist he was following the other day and a vixen called Scarlet."