Author's Note:
Hello everyone!
Are you enjoying the story so far?
Special thanks to Salty for giving the once over!
As always, your comments are welcome!
Enjoy this next installment!
"You still on?" Came Marcus' voice.
"Still here, Big Guy," Matilda answered, amusedly. "Congratulations?"
Marcus groaned. "I like running Counter Intelligence," he complained. "Now I have to do real work." Matilda chuckled.
The conference call with the Mayor had gone as expected. While Lionheart wasn't prone to panicking, he had come very close when hearing Director Camille had also been implicated in the Packland/Ryzhaya mess. He appointed Marcus as Acting ZBI Director on the spot, with a mandate to clean house. The position was subject to confirmation by the Council, though the Mayor had no doubt the appointment would stick.
Matilda Informed the Mayor that Jack had initiated an Article 14 operation, leaving out the details for Jack to explain in person, cueing Lionheart that things were far from over. That Matilda and Marcus would provide as much support as possible was left unsaid and was not something the Mayor could legally request they do. He might not be panicked, but the Mayor was understandably worried as the investigation uncovered more and more prominent suspects. In addition to Director Castille, two more Councilmammals on the Intelligence Committee and three on the Foreign Policy Oversight Committee had been identified. Over a dozen senior-level ZBI and ZIA personnel were also implicated but, so far, ZDF had remained unblemished by the scandal, and they all hoped it remained so.
Matilda had not revealed anything to Marcus about Jack's new operation, nor had he asked. Should there be any reason for him to know something, she would tell him. They were both consummate professionals, comfortable with the boundaries imposed by their positions.
"It's better this way," Matilda teased. "I would hate for you to have to call me 'Ma'am'."
"That's right, Ms. Director," Marcus replied. "You did get that promotion, didn't you?"
She frowned. "Hmm. I get promoted to Plainsville," she grumbled, "and you get promoted to Zootopia."
"Oh, I can probably work out of Plainsville most days," he theorized. "The Bureau has the best video conferencing system in the Commonwealth."
"And, you're the boss," Matilda said, slyly.
"Maybe this job isn't so bad after all," he chuckled.
"When do you want to start comparing notes?" she asked, back to business.
"Let's give the interrogation teams the rest of today," he proposed. "I can stay in Zootopia a couple of more days and we can go over the data. Maybe Jack and Skye will be able to join us."
"I'll let Jack know," Matilda agreed. "Should I pick you up this evening?"
"I'm on the Express," he informed her. "Arriving in Savannah Central at 7:30."
"Dinner?"
"I was about to suggest that same thing," he chuckled. "Great minds, you know…"
1:02 PM
Rammstein looked over his assembled team, all mammals personally known to him from his ZDF days, dependable, discreet, and with no active links to Patricia Packland. Gregg, a Dingo, had actually dated the Wolfess a few years ago with the situation ending up badly, him transferring to the Independent Operations Division as a result. The dingo had voluntarily submitted to extended interrogation the previous night because of the scandal and been pronounced fit for duty. He also understood Rammstein would be keeping an eye on him.
The ram nodded to each of the five members. "In case some of you haven't guessed by now why I called you here, I'll get right to the point: We are going to find and either retrieve or eliminate Arthur Foxworth."
"Foxworth?" said Tundrik, a badger. "He's dead, isn't he?"
"If he's dead, I'm a talking monkey," Fritz, an elk, said. "Why are we going after the Director, anyway? He was banging Packland, sure, but that doesn't justify this team."
"You're right," Rammstein admitted. "You all signed the Covert Ops Non-disclosure forms, so you get to know what nobody else does." Hugh, a Zebra, stood up.
"I'm not comfortable with this," he said, frowning. "This sounds unsanctioned to me."
"You're free to go, Hugh," the ram said, gesturing to the door. "Anyone else? I only need three, so don't let that be the only reason you stay. There are no repercussions for walking out the door."
Nobody else said anything. Hugh left, shaking everyone's paw. "Good luck, guys." He said, leaving the room and closing the door.
Rammstein looked at his remaining team with pride. "Thanks for staying," he told them. "Hugh's not completely wrong: We will be operating under the Director's discretionary authority." The mammals nodded. Director's discretion meant the Commonwealth would not help them if they were captured.
"Arthur Foxworth has been designated Public Enemy Number One," he informed them, to their shocked expressions.
"Director Foxworth?" Fritz said, flabbergasted. "He taught me at the Farm."
Rammstein sighed. "He taught all of us," he emphasized. "He's a legend. I was even in the field with him, once." He looked at each of them in the eye. "He went bad."
"He went bad?" Matriba, a Leopardess, said. "While I don't believe by a long shot Director Savage would do something like this, he still has to go along with the other Directors, and the rest of them don't really like Foxworth that much."
"Put a lid on that!" Rammstein chided, firmly. "We don't have all the details yet, but what we do know is Director Foxworth sponsored the development of a thermonuclear device that is invisible to X-rays and he is now taking it to Aurora. Director Skye brought back the evidence from Plainsville."
"That's a Fifth Protocol violation," Fritz said, quietly.
"So, that's where Kurt and Blackwell disappeared to," Matriba reasoned.
"This will start a war," Tundrik groaned.
"Only if the rest of the world finds out," Gregg offered. "That's why we're going under Director's discretion, isn't it?"
"Good bet," Rammstein said. "Director Savage has initiated an Article 14 operation, and this is a good part of it. We have a month before we have to report to the Intelligence Committee, and we need this mess wrapped up tight well before that happens."
"We're going to Aurora, then?" Matriba asked.
"Yes," the ram told her. "We leave tomorrow."
"No way can we be ready by tomorrow," Tundrik protested. "We don't even have covers."
"Nor do we have time to get any," Rammstein admitted. "That is why we will be going as ourselves, on vacation. All of us have been to Baratea; we have visas and know the basics. We know how to survive there. We go, get the layout of the land, observe, and take a shot if the opportunity presents itself. We wait for Director Savage to play catch-up and send us a plan. Aurora Station provides logistical and intelligence support. Then we implement whatever scheme the Director has in mind and come home, hopefully on our feet, crisis averted."
"Is it too late to walk out the door?" joked Matriba. "Who goes visiting Baratea this late in the year?"
"It's one of the best times to catch the Northern Lights," Fritz encouraged her. "Find yourself a nice snow leopard and make out in Galadia Park under the Lights." Matriba flipped him off.
"We're tentatively going as hunters on an expedition to the Wildlands," Rammstein informed them, to various protests, which he silenced with a raised paw. "We go in as hunters because that allows us to bring weapons." The team members began to grin. "A good hunting rifle is basically a sniper rifle, and we can carry them around without suspicion. We're all ex-ZDF, so no one should raise an eyebrow when we put the permit request in. We will sign up for a guide and transportation package online, which just happens to be offered by one of our local agents."
"So," Gregg said, with obvious distaste, "we really are a hunting party."
"Our main priority is the device," Rammstein emphasized. "Arthur is second. Retrieval if possible, elimination if not, for both. We don't judge. We carry out assignments. I don't want to kill anyone, but one life is better than a war."
The others nodded somberly. Except Tundrik. "How does killing Arthur stop a war?" He asked, dubiously.
"We believe he is in possession of the plans for the device," Rammstein explained. "That's pure speculation on our part, but it makes sense and fits Arthur's devious mindset. There is no need for the international incident sheltering him would cause unless he holds something back from them to make himself indispensable."
"I guess that makes sense," the badger admitted. "Also explains why we're jumping so recklessly into the shark-infested waters."
Rammstein nodded. "We need this handled before the Barateans have the information to duplicate the weapon."
"Airship takes three or four days," Fritz reminded them. "He'll be long-gone by then."
Gregg shook his head. "Fast private charter can make it in one," he reasoned, smiling at Rammstein. The ram nodded.
"We leave tomorrow, noon," he told them. "There's a lot to get ready, so let's get started."
2:20 PM
Margaret woke up feeling just as tired as when she went to sleep, not to mention sore from sleeping with Vince, though that had been fun. She frowned, interrupting that pleasant recollection wondering why she hadn't slept with the buck before. Had she been able to be honest with herself, the answer would have been obvious: Elena had never slept with Vince.
She could hear the sounds of conversation coming from the living room, making out Vince's voice. Ready for her revenge on Tom, she walked out of the bedroom naked, fur matted and reeking from her vigorous session with Vince. She saw Vince speaking excitedly with Tom, the buck pounding his fist making some point. She thought Tom looked funny wearing that red pawball cap then, as she sat in Vince's lap and finally registered in the buck's mind, she realized he was not speaking with Tom but with a prairie dog she didn't know.
"Damn," Vince exclaimed, wrapping his arms possessively around her. "How about some clothes, there, bunny?"
She would have preferred getting some clothes on, but running off in embarrassment was not in her nature. Her underwear was still on the coffee table, however, so she reached over, picked them up, and slipped them on, squirming in his lap to pull them all the way up. The prairie dog was dumbstruck, mouth open and staring at her breasts.
"It's not polite to stare," she teased.
"As long as he doesn't touch," Vince warned, laughing. "Breathe, Trax, breathe!"
The prairie dog blinked. "You are one fine looking female," he praised, still looking at her breasts. "You're Margaret Hopps, aren't you?" He would have added 'Elena's sister,' but Vince had specifically warned him not to mention anyone in Margaret's family—especially Elena.
"You have me at a disadvantage," the doe said, turning so her breasts would not be so gratuitously displayed.
"Call me Trax," he replied with a bow. "A pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," she said, coyly. "Do tell, what are you boys discussing so seriously?"
"We were complaining about the state of Mammaldom," the prairie dog said, dramatically. "How morals have gotten so bad that it's becoming common to marry a member of a different species."
"Don't I know it," she laughed, bitterly. "I can't believe my sister is the one who started it. She has no shame."
"She may have married a fox," the prairie dog said, "but it was also a unique situation: High-stress job, saving each other's lives, long-term friendship. No. We're referring to this new trend, where mammals just start dating other species from the start. There are even specialty clubs, here in Bunnyburrow, where mammals go exclusively to meet other species." Margaret's mouth dropped open.
"Things have gotten so bad?" she mumbled, disbelievingly. Trax nodded somberly.
"And I have the means to do something about it," Vince said with determination. Margaret turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Have you ever heard of The Natural Order?"
"I went to school, Vince," she said, droly.
"I meant the website," he clarified.
"That weird site that posts those horrible made-up pictures?" she asked, dubiously. "Yes. I follow them, but not seriously."
"Those pictures are not so 'made-up,'" he said, somewhat defensively. "They are created with software designed to predict what a couple's offspring will look like. The software has even been used by police to find missing kits years after the fact. The most famous case was an elephant kit stolen from the hospital at birth. They found him ten years later, thanks to that program."
Margaret nodded. "I remember that one," she admitted. "Made headlines around the world, didn't it?"
"It sure did," Vince told her. "And that same program is used for those 'made-up' pictures to show a realistic image of what could happen should species ever start crossbreeding. It isn't imagination, Margaret. It's Science. The Natural Order is very careful about what they publish; they don't listen to crackpots."
The doe considered that for a few moments. "But, what can you do about it?" she asked him. "To me, it just goes to show nobody can do anything. Even presenting them with the end result of their perversion doesn't keep them from their foolishness."
"There are many more responsible mammals around than you think," Trax told her. "We just need to rally them into taking measures so that these perversions of Nature can never come to be."
"And how do you do that?"
"The Natural Order has millions of followers," the prairie dog emphasized. "It has a solid presence in every nation of Mammaldom. We just need to make them realize that the time to act is now. We can show them the need to pass legislation to prohibit cross-species unions, not out of hate or fear, but simple common sense: What happens to regular mammals when fierce, super-breeding, carnivorous hybrids become the norm? Who could stop them? It would be worse than the Canine Wars!"
Margaret stared at him. "That's all well and fine," she said, patiently. "You still haven't said how you can make a difference."
Vince chuckled. "We begin by showing them how this interspecies fad is corrupting the moral fiber of society. How it turns prominent, respectable families into law-breaking, perverted mammals. We tell them your story, Margaret. The story behind Tom's sensationalist piece; the reason the picture he showed even exists."
"The Natural Order will expose to millions around the world how easily this interspecies perversion corrupts even the most stalwart of mammals," Trax pronounced, excitedly. "The Hopps Clan, the Saviours of Bunnyburrow, harboring fugitives and deceiving the Commonwealth." He paused for dramatic effect. "Then the need for legislation will become obvious to everyone, from the youngest kit to the oldest mammal."
"One thing I learned from Tom," she said, guardedly, "is you need to backup your claims if you want anyone to publish. Even The Natural Order follows this from what you've told me. It's only my word against my entire perverted family." She laughed bitterly. "Against the Great Judy Hopps—WildeHopps, now."
"Margaret," Vince said, softly. "You just have to tell your story. The Natural Order will do the rest."
Margaret laughed, looking at him and Trax. "You two had me going there for a moment," she said. "There's no way for you to know what that website will publish; that would be too perfect."
Vince chuckled. "We just happen to know the owner," he said.
4:07 PM
Tiny wheels screaming down the sidewalk, the shiny-white-garbed weasel dodged rudely around pedestrians on his skateboard, bumping into several before nearly knocking down an elderly camel. The weasel barely missed running into a fire hydrant to avoid a head-on collision with the camel, only to have one of the wheels dig into a broken seam on the sidewalk. The skateboard nosedived into the concrete, sending the weasel flying through the air to the laughter and satisfaction of many pedestrians.
The weasel managed to roll as he fell, his backpack coming open to scatter its contents in every direction. Stopping hard against a tree, the weasel sat up, dazed, then went about collecting his skateboard and other items, some of which had rolled into the street and under a car. Passerbys chuckled, especially those who had been rudely bumped into by the fallen skateboarder, as the weasel's once-pristine outfit became fatally stained while retrieving his possessions from under the grey vehicle.
Returning everything into the backpack with a sheepish look on his face, the weasel dusted himself off as best he could, then continued on his way at a much more reasonable pace. He made it around the corner without further incident, soon forgotten by everyone. The only sign of his passing, hidden from sight, was a small disk left magnetically attached to the fuel cell of the grey car, its red, blinking light flashing every few seconds.
4:10 PM
The narrow, winding mountain road was usually the best part of the drive between Mountainview and Bunnyburrow. Today was the exception, Bartholomew thought, the grey-and-white rabbit's classic red convertible stuck behind a slow-moving passenger car. He sighed. At least the weather was nice this time of the year, with the cool mountain breezes, warm sunlight, and the smell of Autumn flowers in the air.
Bartholomew grinned, the taste of his lover still on his lips, making his temper immune to the pathetically slow driver in front of him. Available bunnies were hard to find in clannish Mountainview, let alone young, nubile ones who would entertain an older buck. That the older buck was also married made things more complicated, still.
He laughed. Not in Bunnyburrow, however, where young does practically lined up nowadays to get away from their burrows, even willing to be a kept bunny if it meant independence from their over-controlling families.
Bartholomew Lamorphe had grown up in that environment, so he understood the pressure to get away. It was worse for the does in the patriarchal Bunnyburrow society, where it was almost impossible for a female to earn a living wage. Sure, things were changing, they said, but it would be years before a female could earn half as much as a male. Unless they could get a job in Commonwealth service, where gender did not dictate salary.
Enter Bartholomew's appeal to the warm, desperate bunny does of Bunnyburrow. As Director of Intelligence for the ZIA, he could open the door to much coveted Federal Service employment. Not that he had the authority to hire anyone directly, but a letter of recommendation from a Director held sway over anything but the lowest dregs of the candidate pool. Bartholomew had already brought in several excellent analysts from his 'extracurricular' associations, though many a joke circulated about how his vetting process only yielded female candidates.
His most recent 'candidate,' Deirdre, showed excellent potential, in addition to a voracious appetite for Bartholomew. He smiled lecherously. The white and black doe was built for sex in Bartholomew's opinion, curvy and soft, yet still firm, moving with the grace of a dancer—the exotic kind. They had met where Bartholomew usually met his bunnies, at the Bunnyburrow Summer Jobs Fair, which drew mostly recent college graduates, though mammals of all ages and gender showed up to find jobs at the city-sponsored annual event.
Bartholomew always showed up as a prospective candidate, posing as a recently unemployed executive. That lent him an air of desperation the younger females could relate to, many of whom would have to return to their restrictive burrows if they could not find a job right after graduation. It also explained his affluence and his reason to be there: Looking to preserve his way of life.
He had met Deirdre while circulating around the booths, the first thing he noticed being a tattoo on the inside of her left ear in the shape of a heart, obviously old and now mostly grey. He shadowed her, not stopping at any of the booths that did not offer high-level employment, but managing to bump into her at several booths, nonetheless. It began with small talk, quips really, about the booths they left, where the mammals inside never showed any interest other than getting them to fill out an employment application, eagerly making sure they wrote down the name of the mammal giving them the form.
As they progressed down the endless aisles of booths with their bored-looking mammals, their talk progressed to recent personal history and experiences, which story Bartholomew had perfected years before. By the time they reached the last booth, they absently picked up the applications and left together, heading straight to Bartholomew's Bunnyburrow townhouse, where they spent their first night together.
Bartholomew's schedule had him in Bunnyburrow one third of the time, which is why he had the townhouse, with full amenities including an indoor spa and swimming pool. As far as his wife knew, it belonged to the Agency. His candidates stayed there, with a paid credit card and a car, and he never inquired what they did during his time in Mountainview. The Jobs Fair was the perfect time to meet the does, giving him nearly a year with his lovers before the Agency opened its doors to recruits a month before the next Fair. Most spent their time alone studying for the Agency and other Federal Service Entrance Exams.
He had been with Deirdre nearly five glorious months now, and today was one of those weekends he went home to his wife. In some ways, he managed to convince himself, the affairs helped their marriage. On his days at home, he didn't think about whatever doe was waiting for him in the townhouse. His wife was a bunny, after all, and her husband returned each time with renewed interest in her and was able to meet her needs which, unfortunately, waned for both of them as the days went by until, on the day he left again, it was more of a relief he was leaving.
Bartholomew never investigated whether she also might have lovers, which would hardly be fair under the circumstances. While they were together, they were happy and dedicated to each other, and that's what really mattered he told himself every night.
Thoughts of his wife suddenly aroused him. Last time he went home, she had clean-shaved the fur around her nethers and dyed all the rest fox-red with black calves, forearms, and ear tips. She had promised another surprise for this time, hinting at a purchased item she wanted him to try on her…
It was no use. The stupid driver in front of him would simply not speed up or yield, even after he repeatedly flashed his headlights and honked his horn. For the next two miles, up the curviest and steepest part of the road, the driver started using his brakes! Then he noticed the driver was speaking on a cellphone, seemingly arguing with whomever might be on the other end, and completely lost patience.
His vintage car had plenty of power, which he promptly used to gain speed and pass the slow moving car in a much anticipated passing lane. As he passed alongside, coming around a bend, a large delivery truck came looming down on the wrong side of the road, heading straight for him in the passing lane. The slow moving car was now alongside him, perversely matching his speed, so Bartholomew swerved onto the other side of the road without hesitation to avoid the delivery truck. Straight into the path of an oncoming dump truck.
Instinct made him drive off the road, off the cliff side, one thousand feet to the bottom. Time seemed to stand still as he burst through the guard rail, and he had that moment to notice the delivery truck driver nodding to the driver of the slow car, whose driver, a black and white doe, had a faded, grayish tattoo of a heart on the inside of her ear.
Author's Note:
That's it for this chapter.
Things really begin spiraling out of control.
Let me know your thoughts.
Until next time,
Thanks for reading!