I sat, open-mawed and dumbfounded. “What are you trying to say?”

Hunter gave me a smile that had little warmth in it. “I don’t say that Israeli currency means governmental involvement; however, if my hunch is correct, someone who favors Israeli domination of the Gaza Strip — in this instance, by means of biological warfare against any and all inhabitants, whether Hamas or not — would be behind the creation of this insidious plot… which, I fervently hope, is only my own paranoid imagining and not actually happening.”

“Domination?”

“Forgive my editorializing.”

Sinking back in my seat, I rubbed my face with my forepaws and groaned. “Have I mentioned how much I hate this spy crap?”

“Not fond of it myself,” Dyer said. “Text from Caedon; he will meet me in half an hour. Give me whatever details you can get by then.”

“Copy that,” Valdis confirmed.

I felt Hunter’s forepaw on my shoulder. “I think our friend can use some rest,” he said to the air. “Thank you, everyone. Notify me as needed.”

“Acknowledged.” Long’s voice should have, in my way of thinking, been followed by a discreet click.

The sable tugged at my sleeve. I looked up at him, feeling sympathy radiating from him, tinged with what felt like regret. “Ordinarily,” he said softly, “I would recommend a quiet walk through the city’s arboretum, or perhaps a visit to the museum, to connect with something beautiful. It’s still advisable to keep you under wraps for a little longer, Nathaniel; I’m sorry for that.”

Nodding, I said, “At least until sometime tomorrow.”

“Yes.” His lips tried curling into a smile and nearly made it. “I have an idea that might help.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It felt like an exaggerated nod to the British stiff upper lip, but it did the trick: A stout tea with milk and sugar, fresh scones with a choice of orange marmalade, lemon curd, and gooseberry jam, all served in a library-like atmosphere of leather chairs and well-filled wooden bookshelves, the scene made even more highbrow by quiet classical music playing softly through hidden and very fine speakers. This was not a room that I would have expected to find in an underground spy cave; Hunter explained that he couldn’t always get away to Dickens House, and he contrived and furnished the place over a period of a few years. As I did my best to relax, he provided a brief overview of the eras of music, pointing out that the selections being played belonged specifically to the classical era, as opposed to baroque, romantic, and a few others. Composers included some names I had heard of (Mozart, Haydn, Schubert, even Salieri, the figure much maligned in the movie that was supposed to be about Mozart), some I didn’t (Czerny, Field, Clementi). All of it was new to me, and it proved to be unusual enough to distract me from the rest of the madness.

For nearly an hour, I managed to put everything out of my mind. Hunter had drawn me out enough to talk a little about my usual routine at my office, and I was surprised to  find that a small chunk of those memories were still with me. I couldn’t recall a great many specifics, such as the mechanics of how I did my job, but many things that were part of an “ordinary” day were there. I had to guess that they were so routine, they were ingrained into my personality. I found myself blathering on about inconsequential things, wondering if I was really as dull as I sounded. It took me some moments to realize that, although his eyes were still fixed on me and his attention didn’t seem to have wavered, he hadn’t spoken even to comment for some little time.

“Hunter?”

Raising a forepaw, he shifted his gaze from me, asking the air, “Time frame?” A pause. “Do we have operatives to intercept?” Another pause, a nodding of his head. “Make it happen. We’ll handle the money rogue from here.”

The sable returned his gaze to me, his smile as soft as the music that did its best to restore calm to both of us. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not including you on that exchange, Nathaniel. You were remembering so much that I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“When did you get the signal?” I knew someone had to have said Comm check, if only to get his attention.

“Do you remember when I told you, ‘Please go ahead’?”

I felt the dog’s brows come together to express my consideration and uncertainty. “Maybe a minute ago, maybe longer. You were listening all that time?”

“To both you and the information from Valdis.” He smiled at what must have been my changed expression. “Another trick of our trade. We have to get used to hearing more than one conversation at once. We also have to keep our face and posture from revealing that we’re listening to the voice in our head, so to speak. I seem to have done reasonably well with you.”

“Hadn’t a clue,” I admitted. I took a breath, appreciating the music for a few seconds more. “Not sure I dare to ask what you’ve found out.”

“Nothing that has to take us away from here, unless you’re tired of the music, the books, the chairs, the tea, and/or the company.”

“Absolutely none of the above, as long as it’s good news.”

“For the most part, yes.” The sable rose to take the teapot over to the small wet bar sequestered in a space hidden by slatted cupboard doors that matched the wood of the rest of the room. I could see him plugging in an electric kettle, filling the reservoir from the tap. “You may have sussed at least some of it.”

“Something about operatives intercepting. I’m guessing that means you have people in place to stop the shipment from… Were you right? About some sort of bio-terror attack?”

“Only in that it’s possible.” He turned back to me, leaning against the counter. “Andrew’s friend agrees that contaminated toys, especially those that particularly young children might chew on — especially those who are teething — would be an excellent contamination vector. They become infected first, and they can spread the disease to the rest of the family. The attending parent is most likely to be first; simply touching the toy, covered with the yowen’s spittle, might transmit the bug.”

My jaw dropped as the horrifying idea took hold. “Who would…? That could trigger a pandemic!”

“I feel sure that the idiots who came up with this plot figure that Gaza could be sealed off even more than it already is, to prevent the spread of the disease.”

An obscene exclamation flew from me before I could stop it. “It would be all too easy for the disease to escape!”

Hunter smiled. “I did say that they were idiots.” The kettle chimed, and he turned to prepare the new pot. “Presumably, they would have a vaccine available for themselves; no doubt a cure would be made public after enough time had passed for it to be ‘discovered,’ but not before enough of the ‘enemy’ had been obliterated.”

Spluttering and stammering took away my ability to speak or even think, for what felt like minutes. I finally gave up, trying to stop the dog’s body from starting to whine. The hideous enormity of the scenario screamed inside me, and I struggled to keep myself silent. It lasted long enough for Hunter to recharge the teapot and bring it back to the table. Setting it down, he took my forepaws into his own.

“Nathaniel.” His voice was low, trying to calm me. “You did not cause this. Quite the contrary: You have helped to stop it. Without your help, your insight, we wouldn’t have known where to look, what to look for.”

I made myself focus on his eyes. “Did you stop it?”

“We can, and we will. Taking a page from Novaks’ book, we’re interfering with the shipping manifests; the crates will be held back longer, and local authorities have been alerted to keep them under watch. There are operatives near enough to make the physical intercept of the crates. If there really is a bio-terror plot, we’ll track down whatever lab facility may be involved, contain it, and shut it down.”

My mind relaxed enough to let the dog’s body remember how to breathe again. I squeezed the sable’s paws, and he reciprocated. “Thank you.”

“Thank you as well, Nathaniel. You really did help us solve this. We have only one more step to complete now: getting you back home. We’ll start preparations for that later this evening. For now, let’s revel in the relief of having stopped yet one more crisis in the world. A bit more tea, a few more minutes to breathe. I offer one of Schubert’s most relaxing works. You might know this one; it’s very popular.”

I had to smile as the opening strains of “Ave Maria” filled the air. I’m not a particularly religious cat, and I got the impression that Trevor wasn’t religious either, but both of us recognized the music. It was beautiful, calming, and in that moment, I would have praised and thanked the Virgin Mary for her intercession.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Afternoon led to evening, to dinner, to one more round of the gemstone card game (Valdis got his own back, although he admitted to having some good luck in asking the right clue-card questions), to a final briefing before the Monday morning intervention. Hunter, Andrew, Kayliegh, and Valdis were all physically present.

“Our self-described SuperGeeks have worked their magic and will be able both to trace and, when needed, divert any funds that the rogue may send to suspicious sources.” Hunter offered a most self-satisfied smile. “We’re banking — excuse the pun — on our rogue having enough professionalism to perform some legitimate work before making his illicit transaction. It would be ridiculously attention-getting for him to go in, make one transaction, then leave the bank.”

“He’ll get some of my work done?” I managed a laugh. “That’ll save me some time, if he knows how to do it.” After a moment, I sobered. “I know how to do it, though, don’t I? And he can see into my own memories, methods, all of it.”

“Keep breathing,” Andrew advised. “Doctor’s orders.”

I nodded, trying to comply. “Okay. How is this supposed to work?”

“Brilliantly, of course.” Kayleigh’s exuberance never dimmed. Somehow, it was neither saccharine nor unwelcome. Where some cup-half-full types can be wearing, she was able to uplift without it feeling forced. I smiled my appreciation at her.

“We have to let him make the transaction, in order to trap him,” Hunter took up the thread. “The cyber techs will be monitoring every keystroke, I’m told, so we should be able to know the moment that he posts something irregular. What would help us most, Nathaniel, would be to know how you do your job.”

Feeling myself shrink back a little, I sighed. “I’m sorry, Hunter; I really can’t tell you. It’s just not in me, or in my mind, or this part of my mind…” I shook the dog’s head in lieu of my own. “It’s so frustrating…”

“We understand, friend,” Valdis said softly. “There’s some hope, however. You are not the only person in the world who makes international bank transfers.” The Latvian wolfhound smiled, seeming embarrassed. “The idea occurred to us late in the game. My research has found another such person, someone who has enough security clearance to talk with us directly. The procedures may have some minor variations from one banking institution to another, but there are certain rules in place across all of them, yes?”

“Yes!” I brightened. “I can’t remember what they are, but it’s simple logic: There have to be guidelines and protocols.”

“Our recruited specialist can talk us through her own process,” Hunter continued, “and you can see if it rings any bells with you. Even if not, it will help us to understand what the rogue might try doing.”

Before too much longer, we were in conversation (“on the speakerphone,” the sable told our visitor, although she had been patched in through our neural implants) with Ariella Moores, who presided over a good half-dozen people in a position like mine, in a bank orders of magnitude larger than my own. She was quite down-to-earth in her demeanor, and I wanted to participate directly in the conversation; my friends suggested that I stay quiet, to simplify the discussion. Truth was, the things she described tickled at my memories, but they didn’t really spark anything about my specific banking processes. The majority of my ability to do my job lay with whatever was left of my mind that was still attached to my body. That, I supposed, was the hijacker’s intent. It still creeped me out.

I wasn’t entirely passive. Something Ariella said tugged at my limited memory. Grabbing the pen and writing pad in front of me, I swiftly wrote Tracking Numbers, using gestures to get someone to get more details from her. As she spoke, I wrote Internal above the first two words. This, when relayed, prompted yet more information from her, and I scribbled notes to myself. When she had gone through the entire process, she began to make her farewells.

“Hope this helps your agent,” she said. “Call on me if you need anything further.”

After she had disconnected, all eyes turned to me. I gave them a smile that I hope conveyed my cautious optimism. “It’s what she said about the internal processing. The handling of money transfers has to be regulated by various agencies, both in this country and others. I couldn’t tell you what they are; as I said, I just know they have to be there. It’s the tracking and accounting in-house that would trip up anyone trying to generate a transfer in the first place.”

“Do remember something specific, Nathaniel?” Andrew asked.

“Not from my work, no, but I know what a check is, a bank draft, even a credit card transaction. None of this is physical cash; it’s all tracked by numbers, one way or another. A transaction has to be initiated in some way, and with transfers like this, I can’t think that someone in my position would be allowed to just make something up.”

“What you’re saying,” Valdis put in, “is that the transaction might already be in the system?”

“I’m not sure what I’m saying.” I felt my (or Rawlins’) ears splay, “except that something has to make the transaction actually happen. He couldn’t just transfer funds without some kind of tracking or…”

“That’s something we can use,” the wolfhound went on. “Comm check.” Perhaps a dozen seconds flicked by. “Long; good evening. Connect me with one or more of our SuperGeeks, please?” He signaled a smiling farewell to us all and left the room.

At that moment, Hunter put a forepaw to my shoulder. “Every lead helps, Nathaniel. Well done.”

Breathing, as Andrew had suggested, was a good idea. “Okay. Now what?”

“That’s up to the geeks,” Kayleigh grinned at me. “I think you’ll be better off resting until we get you home again.”

My pausing to collect my thoughts gave Andrew a chance to weigh in. “It’s not long now, Nathaniel. This should all be wrapped up by lunch tomorrow, unless our rogue is planning on doing an entire day’s work for you.”

Chuckling, I said, “First time I ever looked forward to doing my job again. At least it would be me being me.”

“There’s much to recommend being yourself,” Hunter smiled at me. “And here’s how it’s going to happen…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nathaniel Macias — or, at least, most of him — went to work at his bank that Monday morning a little earlier than usual. He had purchased a hot mocha from the coffee place nearby, after first ordering a latte, then seeming to change his mind. The cheetah appeared a little distracted, the barista would say later, when others from the bank asked about what had happened to him.

His usual hours began at 8:00am, like most of the rest of the bank. He was a manager overseeing international transactions, and although money never sleeps, the sort of transfers requiring his oversight did not require the immediacy of all-hours vigilance. Large transactions take time and careful handling; no one wanted to risk getting that many numbers wrong, and Mr. Macias was reliably thorough. No one was particularly surprised when he requested to be “unavailable” for phone calls that morning, since Mondays were often packed with work generated over the weekend from any number of institutions around the world.

At 10:44am, shortly after a particular transaction had been initiated, completed, and confirmed (so far as Mr. Macias could tell), a bright young human female sketched a jaunty salute to the manager’s secretary in the outer office, explaining that the bank’s Central Documents department had sent her to provide Mr. Macias certain papers that required physical signatures. After exchanging light-heartedly weary comments about so-called “paperless” offices, the secretary signaled Mr. Macias, and the human female took the papers in. She took less than ten seconds to deliver them, thanked the cheetah as she left his office, waved again to the secretary, and left the office.

The entire scene was overheard at headquarters, courtesy of Kayleigh’s audio implant. Nathaniel had enjoyed teasing her that she “cleaned up nice,” changing into office-appropriate clothing that morning. There was even a perfect place to conceal one of those strange electronic guns, and her ears picked up the electronic warbling noise of the device just fine.

Not long after, a certain Dr. Andrew Dyre arrived for his 11:00am appointment to see Mr. Macias personally about a transaction he wished to arrange with his bank in Scotland. The secretary was surprised that she hadn’t noticed the appointment in the day’s calendar, but she checked her computer and found that it was indeed there. She signaled Mr. Macias and, receiving no reply, expressed her concern. Rising, she moved to the door, knocked, again received no reply, and opened the door.

Dr. Dyre moved quickly at the sound of the secretary’s startled cry. Entering the inner office, he saw the well-dressed cheetah slumped in his leather office chair. Dyre assured the secretary that he was a medical doctor, one who treated both humans and therians. After a brief examination, he found Macias unresponsive but with a strong pulse and slow but steady respiration. He picked up the desk telephone and called for emergency services. Unbeknownst to the secretary, the call was intercepted by headquarters. Dyre hung up, relaying to the secretary assurances that an ambulance would arrive within minutes.

Most of the office was abuzz with the activity, although it was all centered in the rear of the bank; customers and tellers out front had no idea what was happening. A tall, lean, black-skinned human male, accompanied by a confident young raccoon, maneuvered a gurney into the office and took charge of the cheetah, securing him for transport with tender efficiency. Dr. Dyer agreed to accompany them in the ambulance, promising the concerned coworkers that he would call with news as soon as possible. The raccoon, an accomplished driver under ordinary circumstances, was even more efficient with the aid of lights and siren. He was not headed for a hospital, or at least not a public one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When people use the phrase, “I took a long look at myself,” they mean it metaphorically; I did it quite literally.

“Your body is fine,” Andrew reassured me. “We just need to get you reassimilated.”

“Oh, is that all?”

The Scot chuckled softly. “It’s almost over, Nathaniel. Let’s go over the details, and we’ll bring you home.”

It would take place in a room similar to the one where the dog had been given the neural implant. I would walk there and sit in a comfortable chair, where my proper body would be leaning back in his own chair, still unconscious. Sedation would be given to Rawlins’ body; it wasn’t required, but it would help keep me calm as I went through this strange process. I still didn’t understand exactly what would happen. All I knew was that I was ready to stop riding around in this unfamiliar canine body.

Trevor Rawlins would awaken sometime this evening in a hospital bed, in surprisingly good physical condition after surviving the explosion in his apartment. He would be well cared for, his “missing time” attributed to retrograde amnesia. There would be no hospital bill, his job would wait for him to recover, and he would discover that the landlord of his apartment had found another place for him to live — better location, nicer accommodation, with no increase to his rent. The dog would land well on his hindpaws.

My own body would remain under the influence of the electronic pulse, so I wouldn’t know anything until I woke up around dinnertime. I had been promised a fine meal, even if it would still be in the complex; Andrew and Hunter both wanted to keep an eye on me until everyone was sure that Humpty Nathaniel was put back together again.

As the sedative began to take hold, I saw the sable’s smiling face. “You’re going to be fine, Nathaniel. Think of it as homecoming. When you wake up, you’ll be yourself again. Entirely yourself.” The look in his eye changed very slightly. “With benefits.”

I couldn’t keep hold of consciousness long enough to respond.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When I woke, it was unlike “waking” and more like what computer folk would call “systems coming online.” There was no bleariness, no sluggishness. I didn’t feel rested, either, which is something that I remembered from conversations about 72 hours ago, at a rough guess. I inhaled deeply, tested my limbs, reveling in being about 20 years younger, much more fit, and (most importantly) feline. Yes, I’m vain. As I said: feline.

“Sleeping kitty awakes.”

I turned to see Kayleigh’s grinning face, and I returned the favor. “I wasn’t exactly sleeping. Tonight, though, I think I’ll be sleeping particularly well.”

“You’ll get a day or two of home rest as well, they tell me. The job has been told that you’re healthy, no real diagnosis of what happened, but no lingering effects.” She cocked her head slightly to one side. “Feeling a little more complete now?”

“Never better. Wanna quiz me?”

“That’s my job.” Hunter entered my field of vision, also smiling. “Welcome back, Nathaniel.”

“I appreciate it, Hunter.” I put out my forepaw — my forepaw — and he took it firmly. “Thank you.”

“Quiz time. Tell me a childhood memory.”

My mind was there. I felt it more than knew it. “Vince Rogers. Third grade. That rabbit could outrun anyone at dodgeball, except me. One good chance, and I’d nail him.”

“College memory.”

“Colorado State University, lots of classes, no frats or keggers, strong grades; a few…” I glanced at Kayleigh, smiling. “…close friends, who I respected absolutely and whose honor I defended faithfully.”

“You gonna try to make me one of those?” she smirked at me.

“On so slight an acquaintance?”

“Give me a name,” Hunter smiled. “I promise we won’t try to track her down.”

“One of them was Tara Zimmerman, who was a vivacious human woman. I always said her last name should be Rahboomdeyay.” To Kayleigh’s confused look, I said, “I’ll send you a link online.”

“How about something more recent?” the sable asked. “How’s the job?”

“Which one?”

I felt ice course through me, the smile frozen on my muzzle as I heard what I’d said. That was the sensation, as if I hadn’t been the one speaking. As if I had been keeping some secret from myself, and I had just tripped across it.

“You still with us, Nathaniel?”

My maw tried to work.

“A few things we didn’t tell you.” His gaze held me, not maliciously but firmly. “We all want days off, and being so easily available by the comm-links can be tiresome. There is a way to turn it off. That was how we knew you were in trouble. You were in on this mission from the beginning; when your link was deactivated, we tracked you down as fast as we could. We were a little late. I’m sorry.”

From all that I’d learned over the past three days, I was able to look through memories — mine, this time — and found the way to reactivate the chip. “Comm check.”

Only seconds later, I heard Miranda’s voice. “I’ve been waiting for you, Nathaniel. Welcome back.”

“I hope I sound more like myself now.”

“Definitely.”

Expelling a sharp breath, I looked to Kayleigh. “One of us. That was what you were about to say, that first night. ‘Isn’t he one of us?’ Hunter cut you off.”

“My famous lack of impulse control.” She grinned again.

“There’s one more thing to disclose, Nathaniel, although I think you know it already.”

After a moment, I nodded. “There’s a profound irony to it. I’m glad that the virtual wall is strong, as well as being on my own property, so to speak. We can talk about him later. Right now, I want to celebrate my return to myself by sating my hunger. As the lady agent might say, I could murder a curry.”

She chuckled. “And you said I was too violent.”

Hunter put a forepaw to my shoulder. “You okay with him in there for a while?”

“I think the turnabout is a good one. He’ll give up his secrets, one way and another. After all, I could always kick him out with nowhere to go.”

Despite my general preference for pacifism, I was now well aware that such eviction was an option. Somewhere, there was a being who might be reasonably functional without that component of himself that’s part of the spy game. He might be an insurance salesman, or run his own cell phone store, or perhaps even be a bank teller. He just wouldn’t be a spy anymore. For all anyone knows, there could be any number of “retired” spies out there. They could even say “Comm check,” and it wouldn’t work for them; their chips were self-silenced, and they wouldn’t know how to reactivate them.

For now, Hunter led the way to dinner, and Kayleigh took my arm to escort me. Andrew would be there, perhaps Collin, perhaps Valdis. We might play a game or two. We might play poker. After all, I know how to control my own tail.