Part-One – TCNN Headquarters, Deerbrooke City, Tri-Counties
Shuffling of paperwork could be heard at the reporting desk a whitetail buck collected his thoughts: going over his own while waiting for the news-stream to go-live. The buck was sitting next to a middle-aged, plump rabbit doe. They were both conscience to the direction of the studio's camera lens and the cues from the support mammals beyond the stage. In unison, their heads raised when a glint was seen against the three lenses aimed into the recording area. The main camera-mammal raised a paw to count down the live signal alert.
"Good evening. This is Neil Fernsby." The buck introduced himself as he had always done before.
"And, I'm Hilda Villan." The doe responded.
"Tonight, and with great displeasure, we wish to alert the Tri-Burrows and Greater Tri-County area of a recent Bird-of-Prey attack that claimed the lives of two Prinehorn County teenagers this past evening. The local wildlife enforcement agency released a statement that there was recorded evidence of the attack, taken by one of the victims in the midst of the attack, but would not be releasing further information until the families were notified." Neil explained calmly, looking directly into the aperture of the camera lens.
"A Tri-County hunt has been ongoing since the hawk was first sighted to the east of Prinehorn County this past October. The first alert had not gone out until two-weeks after when another sighting was recorded in Bunnyburrow County. Many assumed that the original report had been a prank reported in by troubled youth in the Johnstone township zone. Unfortunately, it had not been as simple as that." Hilda chimed in evenly.
There was something to be said about the work ethic of the buck as he sat in his chair so resolutely. Only a pawful of mammals, outside of the local Tri-Counties Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, knew that one of the victims had been a teenage whitetail buck.
The video footage, taken by Jason Fernsby's closest friend, had been a real eye-opener for the father. The hawk had been pushed far out of its regular hunting grounds due to its own size and had been so well versed in hunting prey that it was able to kill the first teen, stalk his son, and then carry off both bodies with no issue whatsoever. The starkness of the video did not elicit any feeling of revenge from the elder buck. For such a large BOP to carry off a properly sized deer and a solidly built lynx at the same time… And, neither of the bodies had been recovered thus far. Neil swore that it would require the local Army Reserve unit to take the bastard out.
The whitetail buck would keep the emotions within until it was determined by the local organizations that it would be alright to release the information. He would do his part, in the meantime.
"Your local Wildlife and Fisheries units…" Neil swallowed thickly, trying to bury the lump in his throat. "TCDWF requests that all families remain indoors and that every safety protocol be utilized to prevent another abduction from occurring by this Bird-of-Prey."
"Your family, here at the studio, urgently requests that all families focus on ensuring that our loved ones stay indoors and out-of-sight of the BOP until such a time has come that the hawk has been removed from the local equation." The rabbit doe requested; her tone tinted with an urgency.
"And, in other news…"
Part-Two – The Downtown Subdistrict, "Upper" Savannah Central
The dull bluish hue of light pouring out of three different computer screens was becoming a problem with the lateness of the evening. The sun had disappeared many hours before from the window of the Zootopian Customs & Border Protection building in the city center proper. The whole task was beginning to strain Mike Jones's eyes as he went over the importation requests, various other trade compliance reports, and the accompanying email correspondence. All of his day-to-day work was complete already, but he was still handling the department's investigation into the mammal smuggling infrastructure that the ZPD had smashed not too long ago.
Not many mammals knew his name or that he was on the mostly straight-and-narrow these days.
Finnick had two different PowerPoint documents where all of his final data streams choreographed across the sheets. The first was the official report that he would end up filing. A full memorandum of hyperlinked shipping and docking routes, timestamps, container counts, and much more for the holding company that owned the ship. Not just that. But, also their entire manifest list coving the span of the last three-years on all seven of their cargo ships. Every single time each of them had ever docked in Zootopia.
The second PowerPoint sheet was a file that was kept on a personal drive for secondary investigations. They were preliminary investigations of secondary foreign holding companies. It was not saved to the main server. He was using the data to research companies that were affiliated with the original shipping organization. He was doing his own investigation to see if they had other, disassociated holding companies within a loose network.
Why? His bosses would end up asking… once everything was complete.
Well, that was simple. There were questions that had to be asked. Did the original smugglers own the shipping company that they used? Was the shipping company a knowing third-party? Did they have other means of transporting their products? Maybe another seaborne shipping company or a flight company that would potentially use Zootopia International Airport with private airlifters?
The end of his presentation would literally be written or spoken as: "How many fucking tails can we help the ZPD and ZBI pin to the wall?"
The fact was that the purchasing group was not from Zootopia. The city had simply been chosen as a midway transfer locale. Mister Big had let him know that much and the Don had only told him because it was blatantly obvious that the smugglers were not from Zootopia and because they had their paws in "goods" that he would not allow to be transferred by any local group, rival or otherwise, within the city. And, just like the Don, Finnick was not about to let an external, third-party draw heat to the entirety of the "clean" criminal underground that was within Zootopia.
Finnick was out of the old business. He did not report to Mister Big or to any of his local rivals. Information only passed to the Fennec. Only the other way around. That reason was entirely explained by the fact that the Fennec fox would not rat on his former associates. Just as Nicholas Wilde had not dredged up historical crimes while doing his work within the Zootopian Police Department. The two foxes knew that any new information was fair game while he was working for the PD and Finnick knew that he, himself, would sell anybody up the river for weapons, drug, or mammal trafficking should one of the local organizations get it in their mind to break the Standard Operating Procedures of the Underground. There was a line not to ever be crossed. And, if someone broke those rules, their safest case was that the ZPD got to them first. Though… that was not usually the ending for what few had been caught since Judy Hopps had been inducted into the ZPD.
The purchasing party for those trafficked mammals were extremely luck that the Don had not gotten a hold of them. The tiny Arctic shrew had been furious when he heard the rumors were true. If they had been caught, they probably would have been held under the freezing waters of the mansion by one of the polar bears… Not simply thrown in.
Long nights – like this one – were cropping up more and more thanks to the intuitions of "Zootopia's Darlings". The other officers within Precinct-1 were learning more and more as every workday went by. That, and there was a lot more Underground reporting that foreign parties were showing interest in Zootopia because of "how lax" the local criminal groups were on certain enterprises. The place was a budding bull market. Not even Finnick could deny that. Drugs would be worth the most, right off the bat. That would end up bringing in the weapons traffickers for territory defense. Then, there was the slave trade.
The pattering and clacking of keys continued as notes were reevaluated and reconfirmed against other points of data. This was not exactly what a Trades Compliance Manager was supposed to do for the ZCBP, affectionately pronounced "Zee-Cib", but once his original background check had hit the Director's desk… Well, there were pros to having a mammal, who wasn't a felon, but had recorded ties to specific mammals on the team. It meant that few trusted him, but that was alright.
It kept all those inherently untrustworthy mammals away from Finnick and his work.
Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines. The report should have been submitted before the passing midnight hour, but there was a bit more to include. Suspicious dots finding their way over a paper superstructure, not yet aligned and synchronized with any of the others on the map but also not pieces of information that could be discredited yet. Finnick knew that the Director would be pleased with the due diligence despite the violation of the deadline.
"Godsdamned, red-furred…" Finnick muttered quietly.
The fact of the matter was that there was only one thing left for the Fennec todd to do when the Kit got out of the business. It was time to get on the straight-and-narrow at that point. Ties were cut and dissociations were made with old partners over time before he applied for different city positions. He had always been a good logistician and a carefully crafted résumé would get him in the door anywhere. Of course, he'd have to pay proper taxes on that income, but sacrifices had to be made. What had not come to Nick, at the time his partner got out, was a sense of urgency to leave the criminal underworld behind. He simply pursued another mammal's dream with equal fervor with the ideology that he could do better for the city. Finnick had not had that same feeling. By the time all of his affairs were solidified, there was an urgency to get out. An understanding that something bad was coming to Zootopia. Whispers, unfounded rumors, and suspicions all drove that desire then.
Eventually, there was a whoosh sound of the email being sent out with the relevant file and a simple explanation of what was in it. The Director would review and confirmed all of the data before it was sent off to both the ZBI and ZPD, at her discretion. Of course, if the Director of the ZCBP was dirty, Finnick had backups of everything plus all of his other unreported data. A tab was pulled up so that the Fennec could punch out from being on recorded work hours. There was always a win for getting a bit of overtime on the clocks. Just a bonus, though.
Finnick withdrew the secondary data drive from its USB port, after saving all the files to it, before powering down his work rig. Usually, he would not be tired, but all of his extra time on the investigation – on top of his regular duties – meant that he was tired now.
The path out of the office building was well lit, as was the parking lot outside. His van was sitting in the middle of the empty lot. Once he was inside the large, decorated vehicle, Finnick powered it up while listening to his music fill the cab. The dashboard mounted switched on after another moment and gave a low drone of the day's new reports from the local networks. They were still talking about the Gemsbok that had been arrested the other day. New footage was playing over the screen, this time showing his red fox friend puking near a cruiser after making the discovery within the house. An angry claw jabbed the power button and shut it off.
"Fucking vultures…" He muttered.
The streetlights were dimly shining through whatever opens that allowed the light. The high-rises gave off their own altitude notifiers with red above the city. Finnick could see some of them in the mirrors that were on his doors while the tires carried him through the passing blocks. The Fennec's paws were on autopilot after making it to the south end of the subdistrict. There were so many things to still consider for his end of the continuing investigation.
Honestly, he hated nights like this. He would not have to return until noon to meet with the Director, but it wasn't like he was going to be able to go back to his apartment and get any sleep. All of the what-ifs revolved around how big the foreign crime network really was and if there were other groups within some sort of syndicate. And, even more worrisome. How much reach across the region did they have?
Back home in Sahara Square, Finnick's paws carried him through his door and over to the refrigerator to dig a beer out of the icebox. After a second thought, he grabbed a second can. After stripping down to his tank-top and boxers, the Fennec fox climbed into bed. A beer was drained before his tablet of paper and a pen materialized from the bedside table. There was a distinct hissing crack of the second can being opened just before the tip of pen hit the paper. Finnick picked up right where he had left off.
Log #23 – 12-17-20 /Grupo Amapá'sbusiness model revolves around shipping freight via container ships from Belém, Brazil. All seven of their company ships originate from that homeport. Those freighters do not make berth at the same ports at the same time: and, never are there two GrupoA ships anywhere in the same seaborne routes as Zootopia City's Port, in Lion's Bay. Each of the freighters has a specific set of delivery points, but all of those freighters make port in two other countries. No more than three ships were docked at either of the other two locations at the same time: one in Southeastern Asia and one in Western Africa.
Due to the volatility of African politics and all of the active warzones on the Continent, I do not believe that the "live cargo" was brought from that continent exclusively or as directly as straight across the Atlantic. There is a far more viable capability in using the "Maritime Silk Road," if African nationals are being smuggled out. Of course, only the ZBI and Interpol know of the nationalities of those who were saved from their eventual sale earlier this month. It's a guess, but I do not suspect that all of the parties were from one location or another. I, personally, will never know in all likelihood. I do believe, wholeheartedly, that mammals are being smuggled through the Maritime Silk Road. The perpetrators of the slave trade will not risk their "assets" going through the Panama Canal and, fortunately for them, they've chosen Grupo Amapá to carry their freight through or around the Strait of Magellan and, subsequently, into their homeport on the northern end.
Because we know that Interpol and the ZBI won't release the nationalities of the smuggled foreigners to the public, we should assume that they could be from anywhere. It could be as "small" as a South American Cartel pushing drug-trade slaves straight out of Belém. But, if I'm right, the origin of the majority of captives will not be from South America at all. The Cartels need all the slave and farm personnel that they can get for the coca production. And, thus, it is likely a far larger organization than what is being let on to.
Four of the outbound ships, from Belém, head east into various ports in Europe and Western Africa before making their way to the eastside of the Continent and then around to three different Southeast Asian ports, where two of the four other ships pick up the same cargo before heading back to Belém. Those two "intermediaries" still make it back to Belém, but much later than the two on the "last leg". Who knows how many mammals have been slipped through, though? And, who knows how many other interactions went down within the all of the Southeastern Island Chains after the Malaysian dockings.
The Director of the ZCBP has been notified of all of the Grupo Amapá ships so they will all be under scrutiny: assuming that all of the proper international entities are currently involved in all of the other ports. I have two other entities which I am suspicious of, but I will not be logging their data at this time in case there are mammals who are watching over my reports within the ZCBP or through any of the ZPD channels once the original report is shown to the ZBI and Interpol.
Log #24 will follow at a later date.
The second beer was drained as the Fennec fox uploaded his information to the scheduled email draft that he had set for Nick's backup email address. It was pure pelt-coverage. He knew less than Nick did; in regard to who he could trust within Zootopia. Every week, the Fennec fox would update the forwarding date further out into the future. It had every single bit of data that he had accrued was updated and uploaded to the email in case any mammal decided that Finnick was too deeply involved with the case. Fortunately for the duo, there was a mammal on the outside that did not trust a single soul outside of his own being.
With the beer finally finished, Finnick closed his laptop and hid the notepad away within his room before heading to bed.
The following day's meeting approached quickly as time marched forward with purposeful resolve. Finnick waited outside of Director Rebecca Brumhurst's office until her assistant let him know to go ahead. He did not like the chairs in most of the offices and waiting areas, so he spent his time slowly pacing in front of them. There was nobody there to bother aside from the assistant, and the female was dutifully typing out email replies. It could not be said that he was nervous. He was simply processing more information from where he had left off. The Director's door finally swung open and the Fennec fox found himself staring up at the taller gazelle doe.
"Good afternoon, Mister Jones. Please, come in." Director Brumhurst greeted him cordially.
"Afternoon, Ma'am. How are you today?" Finnick replied sonorously.
"I am well. I take it that it was a tiring night for you, though." She replied, picking up the folder from his desk to give it a gentle wave. It was his report, no doubt.
"It ended up being later than I originally planned to be out of the office, but good work comes at a price." The fox shrugged deeply, hopping up into the chair in front of the Director's desk.
He usually preferred to go as far as standing on the desk to make everything slightly more businesslike. But, he would not stand on hers without an invite.
"And, I am impressed. This was a deep-dive and not something I normally would have given to a relatively newer hire. I made some of my own notes and promptly forwarded it to all of the relevant parties: including the ZPD's Chief Bogo." The Director complimented the Fennec. "I am interested in why you volunteered for the assignment, though."
Mike "Finnick" Jones was no idiot. He did not know Rebecca Brumhurst well enough to give her the whole story, thus he certainly was not about to tell her about his affiliations with the "Wonder Duo", as the Fennec liked to refer to them as. So, in this case, a half-truth would suffice.
"May I be frank, Ma'am?" Finnick asked resolutely, waiting to continue until she gave an exceptionally soft nod. "I felt that the Zootopian Police Department was extremely disenfranchised when it came to the operation at the Port, after the fact. When, in fact, the local city's own Blue Liners should have been running point on the operation… Out of a jurisdictional fucking courtesy."
If one were to say that Director Brumhurst was "taken aback", that would have been a vast understatement of the reality. It was brutally apparent that she had never had a subordinate speak in such a manner in her immediate vicinity before. Finnick was showing his newly-adorned, true-colors to force his boss's paw to reveal the play. And, of course, she was reluctant at first.
"Considering your history with the ZPD, Mister Jones, I'm a little surprised by this conviction."
"You are referring to a history that is as sunken and gone as the Titanic, Ma'am. Now? And, at the risk of losing my job? I am employed by an agency of Zootopia that must appropriately balance the protections of both Zootopian citizens, and the innocent mammals being smuggled in from abroad as slaves." This time, Finnick stood up in the seat to solidify the point. "I do not work for you. I do not work for any other agency or group or a shadow organization. I work for them. I work for those that we are sworn to protect and to those whom we serve."
Frankly, Finnick might as well have been standing on her end of the desk with a clawed finger jabbed into her long snout. It really would not have made a difference at this point. Had it been a better topic choice, the todd may have relished in the nervous atmosphere that seemed to overtake his superior. It was reassuring, but he showed no joy visually.
"I am going to assume that there's more to this in your mind…" She replied softly.
"I have suspicions. Strings to pull on. But, only with your permission." The reply with tinged with a thoughtful frown and sequence of bouncing nods.
"On top of your existing workload, I am also going to assume that the overtime will be just as prevalent." The doe sighed.
This made the todd laugh softly, bringing her eyes back up to him.
"Solid, thorough work does not come cheap, Director. And, the fact that you are entertaining my request simply implies that you have your own suspicions as well." Finnick said deeply, trying to scrub the smirk off his muzzle. He never held back with those smiles. The teeth were always on display.
The gazelle's chair turned so that she could look out the window, giving a knowing nod throughout the measurement of the maneuver.
"Alright. I want weekly reports, though. Forgo the end of this week. Paper copies on my desk every Friday after this one." Director Brumhurst said firmly.
The Fennec stood up on his seat with a nod. "Of course. Will that be all?" Finnick asked finally.
"Yes. If anything volatile comes up, you bring it to me immediately."
Nothing more was to be said. So, before the Director's chair had even swiveled back around to direct her attention to the fox subordinate, Finnick had stood and was halfway across the room. Nothing was missed with the sullen upward curl on his muzzle. There were no fangs. It was one of the few that had ever been presented without that menace.
It was a sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless. Sad because there were only a select few mammals in all of Zootopia that he could trust: and Director Brumhurst was not one of them. A persevering smile remained because of the fact that he had just conned her into blessing his research on the level. The walk back to his workstation was considered a bittersweet win, all told. But, a win, nonetheless.
Part-Three – Zootopia Police Department – Precinct-1
Chief Idris Bogo's morning had been spent reading through the ZCBP analyst's report, provided by Direct Brumhurst. All of the notable department leads had been carbon copied on the email that went out. The short of it, for the ZPD, was that they would be notified of when a certain company's ships were supposed to make port within any of Zootopia's jurisdiction. It was a courtesy, of course. Interpol needed the ZBI and the ZBI was at least courteous enough not to run an operation within the city and without the local authorities. The long and short of the "local authorities" was the Chief himself.
The rest of the day was filled with phone calls to departments on the outlying shores who had ports within their local jurisdictions. One up north, well past the convention map of Tundratown, and two down to the southeast. Many miles away. They needed to know who to look for, in case the local ZCBP extensions were lax, uncaring, or worse… uninformed. Once that was complete, the computer was switched to an encrypted communications program so that he could call Mayor Dwayne Silas and Director Tyler James of the Zootopian Bureau of Investigation. The two heads of law enforcement for the city would loop the Mayor in on things going forward.
A very discrete hoof poured whiskey into a glass on his desk. The onset of migraines was becoming more frequent due to all of the unanticipated angles of criminal activity recently. The constant threat of some variation of the Nighthowler toxin being resurrected. A smuggling operation: which turned out to not be a new angle at all for the cartel behind it. A mass casualty event that was countered by arguably Precinct-1's best street team. Another shank to the psychology and soul for his two smallest officers. The buffalo had shattered one of his nicer glassware pieces at his residence, after the Beijars murders, much to his wife's ire.
A sip of the whiskey was interrupted by Mayor Silas. It appeared that the ZBI Director was finished with filling the Mayor in on how any other smuggling interceptions would be handled in the preliminary.
"What's the status of the Gemsbok, Chief?" Silas inquired.
"You will have to talk to the District Attorney about that, Sir. I hear that the case is proceeding smoothly with all of the information ascertained from the investigations." Bogo replied.
"Have either of you been hearing chatter about those murders?"
The question was simple enough. Back in the day, it would have been unexpected to hear a predator be concerned about aftershocks of such a high-profile incident. Then again, it would have been shocking to see a predator in the mayor's seat back then.
"I haven't seen any reports or heard any rumors, Mister Mayor." The buffalo admitted. "Is there anything that you are concerned with?"
"Yes." The reply was calm from the jaguar. "I am concerned that there are groups who will want to retaliate against the prey populations for such an attack against an innocent predator family."
Director James had not needed to chime in at that particular moment, but it had not been something of a surprise due to the animosity between the ZPD Chiefs and the ZBI Directors over the last five-decades. The ZBI had always played their own political angle within Zootopian politics and that was something that police officers within the city had never abided by. Of course, members of the Zootopian Bureau of Investigation and the broader Zootopian Intelligence Agency had always been hostile with the local police department based on the grounds of corruption. And, corrupt was not something that Chief Bogo abided by.
"While the ZBI has not heard anything, to my knowledge, I am also concerned of a looming species war. This, due to the fact that it was Officer Wilde that made the final discovery and because Officer Wilde has done great things for mending certain predator relations with other classes of predators and the entirety of prey, alongside all of the pred-prey relations that have been mended alongside Officer Hopps since the Nighthowler Case. Are you not concerned, Chief Bogo?" James inquired pointedly.
The irritated water buffalo drained the whiskey before setting the glass down to pour another.
"Of course, I am. I have no doubt that there are several hundred predators, across all their respective species, who would like to see a blood-for-blood restitution paid out as equally as what happened to the Beijars family." Bogo admitted evenly. "No matter the fact that they were foxes, Director. And, for all of the reasons that you previously mentioned: as well as the fact that there were half a dozen kits who were mutilated at the scene. But, let me be the first to surprise you both. I do not blame them one bit for that depth of emotion."
If the whole thing had been a video conference, Bogo would have seen every bit of striking surprise on the two predators' faces. The hulking water buffalo was the only prey mammal on the encrypted call and that knowledge was the bedrock of building trust between him and the two predators on the call.
"But!" Bogo finally elaborated. "That does not mean that the law enforcement officers of the Zootopian Police Department – involved with any of the precincts therein – will not do their jobs; in the specific regard of arresting any mammal that wishes to harm the innocent. A homicide is a homicide: no matter the motive, nor the desire, nor the suspect. There will be no vigilantism or any slippage of prosecution on either side of the mammalian line. That is from myself and the District Attorney, respectively."
"Very good. I'm afraid I have another meeting to attend, at this point." Director James said with urgency, his voice filled in a vast disinterest in the whole affair. There were other things that the ZBI Director needed to take care of, on top of reporting the newfound intelligence. His end of the connection was severed immediately.
There was a quiet rustling on the Mayor's end of the line. "I urge you to gain an upper-paw on this matter, Bogo. I want to make sure that we know as much as, if not more than the Three-Letter Agencies." He said firmly.
"We will do our best while working with the CBP director, Mister Mayor." Bogo replied gruffly.
"Good. Carry on."
And, the line went dead.
There was a crack of an empty shot glass on the wooden tabletop as Bogo finished the second round off. There was a bit of concern for the large water buffalo in the future proceedings with the two looming Three-Letter Agencies within Zootopia, the uncertainty of working with the ZCBP, and the fact that there was also a political ballgame being played at the behest of the Mayor.
The bottle and the glass were put away in a lower desk drawer. The light was clicked off. And, Chief Bogo gathered his things before heading out for the night.
Part-Four – Canyonlands, Sahara Square
Seasons are extremely important when one wishes to complete certain activities. Climates dictated a lot of things when it came to recreational activities within Zootopia. Beachgoers would be much further south, for instance. Freshwater fishing in the bayous of the southwest of the Rainforest District would still be productive despite the extreme lateness of the year. It was still warm enough down in those areas. However, the harshness that was usually held back by the Climate Wall was only amplified in some areas during the natural winter months.
The roiling of sand particles accented a grayer and more unwelcoming sky closer to the climate wall. Dimmed further by the hulking, but sculpted architecture in the rippling sandstone and mudstone. And, yet, the stone was muted by the depressing weather just as naturally. The red rocks held no appeal in the fight for the earth to melt away the falling snowflakes. In the lower zones of runoff, there was a stark notation of watery crimson that ran down the cliffs. So much darker than the original weak sandstone color. The pools and minute streams below were not something to set paws in.
The wipers of a heavy, tint-accentuated gray Mercedes-Benz AMG sport-utility flicked in a hurried time while being bogged down by the red-tinted slurry that were mounting on the windshield. The Canyonlands were vast and there would not be a single soul off of the main roads during this kind of weather event. Neither of the two snowy-white mammals made conversation, while the larger of the two dutifully brought them closer to the conclusion of the journey. The large mammal-class SUV had no trouble digging through the red mud underneath the frame and it was going to be discrete enough to be passed off as a tourist who had recently had a poor idea of how things would go in the Square during their off-time. Fortunately, tickets were not passed out for leaving a trail of effective clay on the main thoroughfares in the district.
Within the slotted canyons and even further under the hoodoos above, the AMG came to a halt within a dusty clearing. Lighter shaded spires on-high were nearly extinguished between their snowy covers and the gray backdrop. The two Arctic mammals removed themselves from the vehicle while redonning their work gloves. An Arctic fox waited patiently while the polar bear opened the rear cargo door: both mammals whipped by the angry, sandy winds. To stay out in it too long meant a deeply seated coating of red within their white furs. The todd looked over every bit of the canyon behind the vehicle that he could see through squinted eyelids even as a sickly thud fell to the ground behind him.
"A eto khorosheye mesto?" The polar bear asked. His inquiry was made in Russian.
"Da." The todd said simply. "It's as good a spot as any."
There was the sound plastics being drug along the gently snow covered sands behind the fox was not enough to pierce the howling winds within the canyons that they were in. Victor – formerly known as Vuk in his previous homeland, the Federation, and Galnai in their home okrug – continued to ignore his subordinate while the task was being completed.
The polar bear was Vasaly, or Dulus in their okrug, and a long time front of Victor's. They had both immigrated from the same village within the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug of Russia. Though, the imposing polar bear was brought into the Family a bit later than Victor Galnai had been. Their former titles had unofficially been adopted as surnames on this side of the globe, of course.
"Why here?" Vasaly inquired in English.
"The Geocache will be found exactly when it's supposed to be found here." The todd explained shortly before switching a somewhat broken Chukchi. "Not too soon, but not in a too distant future."
The polar bear grunted his reply as the body bag was unzipped and the boneless form of an Eld's deer was poured into the sands at his hindpaws. Ignoring the fact that the buck had been moved from his original resting place, he looked as natural as ever in the original attire that had been worn when he was taken. The buck's name did not matter at all. His business had been the critical sin against the Family and that was why he was lying in his current position.
"Done?" Victor hissed.
"Clean." Vasaly replied, though not without an accent.
Victor heard the sound of the bag being rolled up as his friend took it back to the Benz. Once the cargo door was closed and the driver's door was slammed, that was his cue to turn towards the corpse and approach it diligently. His gloved paw withdrew an envelope from within his outer jacket pocket before both paws shoved it into the vest of the deceased mammal.
A final look around the area brought Victor's desire to leave the area to a forefront. The approach to the vehicle was businesslike, but urgent in nature. Once he was firmly belted into the passenger seat, Vasaly drove the vehicle out of the canyon at a slightly faster clip than how they had originally entered. He knew the plan. There was nothing to worry about. Should any authorities find the drop too early and the tracks be discovered, the pattern was already researched to have been one of the most used all-terrain treads in the entire region. Their particular set of tires would be replaced immediately, no less. Furthermore, the two mammals had been wearing slick boots for the drop and no group would be able to discern the mammals that had left the body in the location. If the proper amount of time had gone by, none of it would matter in the end.
Vasaly steered the vehicle out of the Canyonlands in the due course of time and eventually brought them to a vehicle wash station in the Big Dunes. It was warmer in that part of the district and the snow had thoroughly blown off or melted prior to their arrival. While the windows were entirely tinted, it did not make Victor feel any more comfortable staring the glaringly clear interior as the EZWash pass brought on a green light. There was not a mammal outside that could see the two mammals within the vehicle. The license plate had been stolen from a vehicle well outside of the entire region for confidentiality purposes.
There was nothing to do in the meantime. The carwash apparatus had a "noodle tumbler", as the locals affectionately referred to it as. Multi-colored soap suds were applied and dissipated by the scrubbers or the rinse cycle. The interior of the vehicle would be cleaned in-house once they returned properly. And, the plate would be replaced, of course.
"It's going to be found by the wrong groups." Vasaly barely muttered over the sounds of the scrubbing.
"There will be a leak to the press and the right mammals will get the message after the fact." Victor said with a sigh.
"This is extremely high-profile. Especially for the Boss." The polar bear wondered.
"There are rules within the city, my friend." Victor explained for the umpteenth time, feeling the locks on the wheels release so that the bear could drive them out of the carwash. "The message is that none of the outside groups will have an ally, in either the law enforcement departments or the criminal underground, if they work outside of the bounds of common mammalian decency. You haven't been here as long as I have, Vasaly, and this was the first time you've seen the Boss's disdain for certain practices. And, this will not be the last time it happens."
"Tovarishch, uveryayu vas... Ponimayu."
It took over an hour for Vasaly to make the journey deep into the Canal District so that the Mercedes could be traded out for their usual ride. The vehicle would be thoroughly cleaned, stripped, and repainted before being put back into the normal rotation: while the license plate was lost somewhere in the swamps. There was no rush in completing the task. The steadier one went, the more likely that the job was done in a fully proficient manner.
A clicker found its way into Victor's paw and his thumb tabbed a button, causing a nearby garage door to open as they pulled up to the closed mechanic's shop. It shuttered loudly within the confines of the space as it drew back down moments later. The swap was quick and uneventful while a less conspicuous GLS was re-obtained from the adjacent bay. The other garage door went up and down appropriately as Vasaly drove them back out onto the quiet streets. The polar bear would take them north and make the district crossing through the Meadowlands. The long way of the long way: taking as long as it took just to trade out the SUV.
There was a bit of happiness and a quiet prayer said after the Snowy Hills Transit Tunnel was… liberating, to say the least. Victor went as far as cracking the window to allow the blistering cold air to blow against his muzzle, letting his ears fall back to dull the noise while taking in the sensation all the same. The todd's eyelids drooped to closure until much later, when it was obvious that the vehicle was nearing the front gate to the residence of Mister Domenico Big.
Victor was extremely careful on the grounds of the property. Once the vehicle was parked, he used a discrete version of Russian Sign Language to dismiss Vasaly: making it clear that he would handle the Boss while the polar bear reported to Raymond directly. At this time of the afternoon, though the sunlight was well extinguished by the impending snowstorm, it would be Koslov that was handling the direct security for the aging don. And, Kevin was likely on the perimeter overseeing the outer patrol structure of the property.
Fortunately for Victor, there was nothing to fear when he entered Mister Big's office without knocking. The right amount of dedication and proper servitude at his station had seen the permissions granted in due time. In fact, it was such a station that the ring wasn't kissed anymore. While proud, the Arctic shrew understood that respect-returned was just as important as respect-shown: a two-way street overall. You were thought highly of within the organization if you were not required to kiss the ring. But, there wasn't a single soul who could address him by his first name. Mister Big was sitting exactly where he was expected to be – on the polar bear's left side – sitting at his ornate seat on top of the desk and in the firelight where he could be readily seen by those in-the-know.
"Victor!" Mister Big said wheezily, voice bleeding with his Italian accent.
"Good evening, Boss." The todd replied easily. "I'm here to report that everything is in place and in play."
"And, the note." Big inquired firmly.
"Written by one, bagged by another, and situated by me… as instructed." The todd confirmed, walking over to stand before the desk as Mister Big made his way to the edge. They were nearly at eye-level with each other.
"When shall we expect the discovery?" The shrew asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Three-weeks, if the historical weather models hold out. Five, at the latest." Victor explained with a gently waved paw.
Mister Big nodded before continuing on in a bit of Italian, a language that the todd did not know, with Koslov so that more paperwork could be done. Of course, Victor had not been dismissed from the room and he did not worry about being "held late" considering the fact that he had interrupted the Boss. The shrew's chair eventually swiveled back around to so that he could, again, meet the todd's hazel eyes.
"And, your childhood friend… Vasaly?" Big wondered out loud. "How did he do?"
"He suffers from the same learning curve that Koslov learned I had when I first joined up. But, he did his job exactly as you ordered. As long as he can follow orders, but also adapt to situations that we can't foresee, he will be extremely good for the business, Boss." Victor said deeply, his paws flexing with each consideration for what his friend needed while balancing it with the truth that Mister Big needed to hear.
"You'll see to that then." It was not a question or request from the shrew.
"Konechno." Victor slipped into his Russian easily enough.
Domenico Big nodded while collecting some items from his vest: a pipe, matchbox and some tobacco. It took a bit of time, but eventually there was an extremely small fire to light the instrument and puffs of white smoke came shortly after.
"And, your other report, Victor?" The shrew asked, voice swollen with a restrained inhale.
"This will end up as a cold case. But, that does not mean that the Chief will ignore a homicide simply because of a note attached to the body of a mammal smuggler. Which, by the way, he won't be able to prove. That being said… My drop team and you, yourself, are insulated. The other assets are ready to burn at a moment's notice should they have made a mistake with the handling of the goods." Victor raised a paw to clear his throat momentarily. "The message will hit the news networks around the globe due to the phrasing. It will be linked to the past raid on the smuggling ring at the Port of Zootopia."
"But, you seem conflicted of these events..." Big offered.
The todd nodded. "Yes and no. There would be a lot less heat if we had had a name to include with the note. That lack of information is none of our faults specifically. These other groups were very well trained in the art of Operational Security; though, the foreign supplier's explanation is a given because they are foreign. I simply feel that it would have pleased me to help the law enforcement agencies out with more information." Victor explained dutifully.
There was no helping the raising of his hackles when Koslov turned his gaze directly at the todd. This, despite the fact that Mister Big was nodding his tiny head contemplatively. The shrew even hummed with the motion. Fortunately, Victor had been around long enough to know the difference between an imminent death and the actuality of Big's curiosity of certain issues or subjects. So, the todd held his ground while letting it be known to Koslov that he was not going to take any shit willingly. Eventually, Koslov went back to the Family's books with his large pen.
"I would have liked that, as well, Victor. Now, tell me…" The Don ordered. "How is my favorite repatriate doing?"
"Bezumnaya?" Victor asked, his ears going upright.
"I thought it was 'Villi'…" Mister Big said sharply.
"That noun is in his proper Vuplish, Boss. And, the proper noun would be 'Uayld' in Russian. But… I have my own interpretations of the officer, so I refer to him in a more… natural manner in my native tongue… Others will relate that wording as being hostile, but I will assure you that it's not so." Victor said, gently smiling.
Koslov took that as his cue to lean in towards the Don and whisper further explanations regarding the discussed linguistics. It had made the brow raise on Mister Big's face and that put Victor's ears on full, forward alert. The whispers were so soft, regardless of his attempt to listen in, that it had not mattered in the end.
"It does seem to lean a little more towards a crass description of his actual temperament." Big said after a moment.
"I think of the word's synonyms as a chronological timeline. But, that's just me, Boss." Victor shrugged. "Anyway. He's been on desk duty since the Beijars murders with Judy Hopps at the behest of the Chief of Police. I hear they aren't far out from being back on their way to Bunnyburrow County within the next half-day, according to our mammal within the department. It will not be feasible to attempt to keep eyes on him while he's out there, though. It's too exposed in the Tri-Counties and there is a winged predator on the loose up there. We'll keep eyes on them until they make their way beyond reasonable overwatch capabilities."
"Very well…" Big sighed. "Good work today. Go ahead and get some rest before taking over that job later today."
"Thank you, Boss." The todd said, turning away to remove himself from the shrew's office.