Tigers and Terrorists

Tigers and Terrorists

By

Doug Lewars

Published by Doug Lewars at Smashwords

Copyright: 2016 by Doug Lewars – All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, events, incidents and organizations in this book are the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

This book is dedicated to Carolyn and Lauren because it’s high time I dedicated something to them.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – A New Case

Chapter 2 – Travel

Chapter 3 – Arrival

Chapter 4 – Military Compound

Chapter 5 – Than’s Pet Project

Chapter 6 – Flight to China

Chapter 7 – Pro-Democracy Movement

Chapter 8 – Laos

Chapter 9 – Thailand

Chapter 10 – Enter the Tiger

Odds n’Ends

Chapter 1 - A New Case

Toronto is a city that never sleeps. It doesn’t eat much either. Sometimes it goes for months without using a deodorant. Cities can be perverse that way.

My name’s Buck Slade and I’m a private investigator, systems’ programmer and Java Webshere Developer. I have an assistant named Klintara. I don’t really need an assistant because there isn’t much work in the private investigations business; but, there’s even less in Java Websphere Development. I’m also a paranoid schizophrenic with bipolar disorder and mild sociopathic tendencies - attributes that make me - in my opinion - just about perfect for conducting private investigations, computer development, or conversing with inanimate objects. We all have our strong points in this world.

I was working in my office one afternoon when there was a knock at the door. Actually the ‘work’ part was largely metaphorical. To be precise, I had just completed my sixty-seventh game of computer solitaire and was well on the way to having an exceptionally productive day when the interruption came. Since I had lost all sixty-seven games I didn’t find it too upsetting; however, I rather wonder why so many people choose to ignore the sign by the door that says, ‘Please Enter – Office is First Door on Left’. I can’t afford a commercial office so I work from home. I have a second door down the hall that leads to my living quarters and the first room in my house has been converted to an office - if moving a desk and a printer into a room qualifies it as one. Still, not many people feel comfortable walking into someone’s house so they prefer to knock. I sighed, got up and answered it.

The woman standing on the threshold was about five-feet and maybe an inch with black hair that hung to her shoulders and bangs over her forehead. She appeared to be oriental although I was pretty sure she wasn’t Chinese. Her face was oval but her chin tapered. I doubt she could have pushed a scale above ninety pounds and even then, she might have had to jump a bit.

Please excuse the intrusion, she said, But are you Mr. Slade?

Yes, I’m Buck Slade. Won’t you come into my office?

She followed me into the office and sat down nervously on the chair reserved for guests. In her hands she held a small green purse that she fidgeted with.

Are you … that is … do you do detective work? she asked.

Essentially, I replied, I have ‘Private Investigator’ on my business card but it comes down to the same thing.

I handed her one of my cards and she took it and scrutinized it carefully as if trying to fully understand the nature of my services from my name, address, phone number and e-mail ID. I noticed that while her hands weren’t exactly trembling, she had some difficulty keeping them under control and I surmised that this woman was more than nervous. She was scared.

Well, I said when I thought she’d had sufficient time to read those few lines, What can I do for you?

Before she had a chance to answer, the door opened and Klintara walked in carrying a tray on which was a pot of tea and three cups. As the door opened, my visitor jumped as if she expected a gang of hired thugs to come rushing in. Perhaps she did.

Cup of tea? asked Klintara smiling sweetly.

Yes … thank-you. That would be very nice.

Klintara poured the three cups. Milk and sugar? she asked.

Um, just milk please.

Klintara nodded. It was the way we both took our tea.

Actually tea was something of a luxury for Klintara and I. With only one case solved successfully and most of the revenue from that going into my mortgage and back-level bills, we didn’t have a lot of money for food or anything else for that matter. Mostly we lived on rice. Don’t ask. It’s a long story.

We sipped in silence for a few moments but I noticed our guest was having difficulty keeping the cup from shaking on the saucer. Finally she gave up and placed it on the edge of my desk.

I need your help, she said.

Well, helping people is my business. What can I do for you?

I need you to protect me from people who want to kill me.

I raised my eyebrows. Why do they want to kill you?

Are you familiar with Burma? she asked.

Well not personally, I replied. I mean I know it lives next door to India, China and Thailand but that’s about it. Actually I thought they changed the name to something starting with the letter ‘M’ but I could be wrong.

No, you’re right, it’s now officially the Union of Myanmar; but that name was created by a military dictatorship that governs the country so most countries don’t recognize it and still use Burma. It also borders with Bangladesh

I see.

Anyway, Burma is at war with itself – specifically with the various ethnic groups that make up the population. One of those groups is the Karen people. That is the group to which I belong. Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Chan Nyin.

Really? broke in Klintara, Are you the Chan Nyin who’s famous in Britain?

Our guest blushed and looked down but she also smiled and seemed pleased to be recognized.

I don’t think I’m all that famous, but yes, I have received some kind attention from the BBC.

I was impressed. I didn’t know of Chan Nyin or what she had or had not accomplished, but I was impressed that Klintara knew of her. Klintara had only been on our planet for a few months and it seemed she was better informed than I was.

Uh, you’ll have to excuse my ignorance, I said, But I’m afraid I’ll require an explanation.

Chan Nyin escaped from the Burmese army when they were attempting to kill the inhabitants of her village and she fled to Thailand, replied Klintara. After somehow managing to live an illegal existence on the fringe of society, she succeeded in finishing high school, graduating from University and winning a scholarship that allowed her to do graduate work in Britain. While there, she applied for refugee status, received it, and went on to espouse the cause of her people back in Burma. She’s something of a hero. She’s been on TV in a number of documentaries and she’s all over the internet.

That’s very impressive, I said.

Actually I’m not all over the internet. I belong to a couple of groups that are dedicated to helping those who are being terrorized by the Burmese government but that’s as far as it goes.

I nodded. Still that’s pretty good. So who are these people that want to kill you?

The Karen resistance movement has a spy within the Burmese government – not right at the top you understand – but fairly high up in the civil service. Word has come from him to the movement and they passed on to me. My name has been put on a hit-list.

A government hit list? I think you probably need more security than I can provide. Have you contacted the police?

Yes, they said that without evidence there’s nothing they can do.

I see.

So I’m hoping that you can protect me. You’re my last hope.

Saying that I was her last hope was, in my opinion, a little over the top. There are plenty of out-of-work private investigators around. In fact, there are also a large number of professional body guards who might do a better job. Still, for whatever reason she had come to me and I couldn’t turn her away without giving her a fair hearing.

Do you have any idea why they might have put you on their hit-list?

Burma will be holding elections in a few months. The government is making it difficult for people belonging to the ethnic minorities to get on the voter’s list, but even so, a large number of people are accomplishing it. The Karen people have formed a loose coalition with some of the other minorities, and, if a leader can be found and presented to the people, there might be enough support to topple the existing dictatorship. The leader of the insurgency has been called a terrorist and is not eligible to run but there is a man, Quon Thut, who is a senior and very well-respected leader. He has no ties to the resistance and is therefore eligible. The problem is that it’s very difficult for him to get his message to the people because the state media is so heavily censored. Therefore they have asked me to make use of my contacts to obtain support in the west so that various broadcasters can state his case via Radio and Television Free Burma plus through the Internet. That’s why I came to Canada and it’s why they want to silence me at all costs.

I see. You know you probably need more assistance than I can provide. I would suggest hiring at least two, preferably three bodyguards on each of three shifts seven days a week. That would be your best bet.

I agree; however, I have little money and can only afford to pay for one private investigator and most of them charge a great deal of money. I selected you because you didn’t post your rates in the advertisement and I was hoping you were less expensive than the rest.

I didn’t like to tell her the reason I hadn’t posted my rates was because I could only afford my name and contact information.

Well, how much can you afford to pay?

A hundred dollars a day.

I’m sorry Miss. Nyin, but there’s no possible way I can afford to take your case at those rates. I normally charge three-hundred-and-twenty dollars a day plus expenses for cases exceeding one year and five-hundred a day for shorter contracts. To be honest I’d be surprised if you can find anyone to work for the fee you can afford.

She looked as if she were about to cry. Then Klintara interjected.

Um, Buck, larger sums of money would be preferable but the fact remains that at the moment we have no work – none – absolutely nothing – no clients nor any prospects, so perhaps we can make an exception for Miss Nyin.

Klintara, I reminded her, One hundred dollars a day is less than minimum wage.

Klintara ignored me. Normally you live in Britain, isn’t that correct?

Yes, replied Chan softly.

So that means you’re here as a visitor, am I right?

Yes. Again that soft voice.

So that means you’re staying at a hotel somewhere and most hotel rates are in the neighborhood of at least a hundred dollars a day. Suppose you checked out of your hotel and moved in with us. It would be easier to protect you and you could use the money saved from the hotel to increase our fee to two hundred dollars. Would that be reasonable?

A look of pure sunshine appeared on Chan’s face. That would be wonderful!

Fine, then you can go and check out, get your stuff and return here. Buck can accompany you to help carry your luggage.

I gave her a dark look regarding the luggage but held my peace. Klintara was correct. Some revenue would make for a nice change.

How long do you expect to remain in Canada? I asked.

I’ll be here for ten days. That should be long enough to meet with people from the networks and with my Internet helpers. Then we can go on to Burma.

Um, we?

Well, yes, if you’re protecting me it makes sense for you to accompany me to Burma so we can take part in the elections. That will be for three months.

Uh, no. I’m not going to Burma and I advise you to refrain as well.

But for me to be present will send a strong message to the people and might very well make the difference between victory and defeat.

Didn’t you say you were on a hit list?

Yes.

So isn’t the Burmese government planning to kill you?

Yes, if they can. That’s why I hired you to protect me.

I don’t think you quite understand. Protection doesn’t involve going into the heart of your enemy’s territory and saying ‘Here I am’, particularly when the enemy is the government of a country and you’re just one person. It involves hunkering down and making yourself as scarce as possible.

But the people need me.

Not dead they don’t. Look, it’s a really bad idea to go into Burma. The best thing you could do would be to high-tail it back to Britain, present such evidence as you may have to Scotland Yard and then go to ground until this election business passes. I’m guessing they won’t want to bother pursuing you once it is finished whatever the outcome.

I’m not afraid of dying. What I’m afraid of is dying too soon before I can get the message to my people.

Fine. But I’m sufficiently scared of dying to cover both of us. So you can commit suicide and go to Burma if you want but there’s no way I’m going.

She looked downcast. Very well. I’ll do what you tell me. I’ll come here and you can protect me until it’s time for me to go back to Britain. At least I can consult with your media people as to how best I might put my message together.

Right, I agreed, Now let’s go get that luggage.

Unfortunately expenses were not part of our contract so I was forced to pay my own bus fare. I don’t own a car. I do have a driver’s license but I can’t afford to either own or rent a vehicle. The only reason I renew the permit is because I’m an optimist – that and the fact that obtaining a new permit – if the existing one expires – requires a test and I’m not convinced I could pass another driving test. The first and last time I took such an exam it cost me fifty dollars for the test and two hundred dollars as a gratuity for the examiner so he’d overlook that little matter of my running over a pedestrian. Frankly you’d have thought the pedestrian would have been quicker getting off the sidewalk and into the relative safety of a large building, but sometimes they don’t seem to be paying attention.

We walked two blocks to the nearest bus stop and then waited. In Toronto they’ve developed a special system so drivers know where passengers may be waiting and can avoid those stops – but if you hide behind a tree and come running out when the bus is about a hundred yards away they pretty much have to stop – at least three out of five times.

We boarded, paid our fares and sat back to enjoy the relaxing ride. Being a little ahead of schedule the driver refrained from rushing. Instead, he took out the book he was reading and had a little break but only until he finished. He had been close to the end anyway – well, page two but that’s quite a bit better than page one. When he finally finished, he sighed, put the book away and drove off. I have to admit that although there was a bit of a wait, I had to be appreciative of someone with such fine literary taste. ‘War and Peace’ was one of my favorites too.

It was about four miles to the Prince Hotel and it took us less than four hours so we couldn’t complain. There were two transfer points along the way although I think the term ‘layover’ is used in these circumstances; nevertheless, at last we arrived, and as protocol dictates, exited by the back doors even though we were seated at the front which was quite crowded so we had the entertainment of stepping on peoples’ toes as we navigated our way to the back. At least the driver was considerate and made no effort to hurry us although it may be noted he was busy strangling a grandmother who had the temerity to request him to call out her stop for no better reason than being blind.

The Prince Hotel is a forty-seven floor building located in the heart of downtown Toronto. We entered through double doors into a spacious lobby with floors and walls of cream coloured marble polished to perfection. On the ceiling were crystal chandeliers providing light because this being the ground floor, there were no windows. Not far from the front door was the desk where an efficient young man was shuffling papers from one pile to another. I settled back in a comfortable chair while Chan went upstairs for her luggage. Soon she was back and we went to the desk.

May I help you? asked the young man.

Yes, I’d like to check out now, replied Chan.

Very well, he said taking the key, I’ll just complete and print out your bill here.

He went to his computer, brought up the bill, entered a couple of numbers and sent it to a nearby printer. Picking it up, he returned to the counter and handed it to her.

Excuse me, she said, But you’ve changed me for two days but I only checked in yesterday.

Yes, but you see check-out time is ten-thirty and it’s almost eleven o’clock.

Oh, very well, but shouldn’t I get a discount on today because I’m staying for so short a time?

No, I’m sorry but this is not the kind of hotel that rents rooms by the hour.

Perhaps you should stay the remainder of today and you can come to my place tomorrow, I ventured.

Should I? she asked.

Well, I know some people who can provide the necessary security even if you are staying in a hotel. With them on the job it’s very unlikely the terrorists will get you.

Uh, terrorists? said the young man who had been listening to our conversation.

Oh nothing serious. Miss. Nyin is a political refugee who poses something of a problem for a particularly ruthless military dictatorship. You know how those things are – here a bomb, there an IED, a few machine guns, maybe a mortar or two. I’d be very surprised if they attack the hotel with bazookas.

Bazookas? His eyes were wide and his hand was trembling.

Very unlikely, I replied, Besides I’m confident her security individuals are more than capable of handling themselves in a fire fight. Might be a bit awkward for some of your other guests though, but you don’t need to worry. I’m certain the hotel has insurance for rebuilding and there’s bound to be one or two survivors. Um, unfortunately I don’t believe any of them will be found in the lobby, but your shift probably ends in a few minutes, right?

Er, uh, no, it doesn’t. Look, how about I wave the charges for the second day and Miss. Nyin can be on her way.

Well that would be very generous of you. Thank-you very much.

Quickly he returned to his computer and made some adjustments. He printed off the revised bill and hurried over to the printer. He was almost sprinting as he returned to give it to her. Quickly Chan pulled out her credit card, signed and we were on our way.

What did you mean about the security people? You know I can’t afford bodyguards, she said.

That’s entirely correct, I replied. I know you can’t afford body guards but he didn’t.

Unfortunately we were a pico-second late for our bus so the driver slammed the door in our faces and pulled away without us. We weren’t too worried however; we knew another bus would be along sometime that same day. They’re very regular that way – unless, of course it’s snowing; but then, snowstorms affect everyone. Or possibly if it’s raining. But rain makes the streets slippery so busses naturally have to take evasive action, and as anyone knows, when it’s raining it’s best to stay indoors, so the drivers generally follow that advice. They are however, pretty regular when the sun is out and the street is free of water, litter, traffic and pedestrians – unless, of course, the driver happens to have a prior commitment like relaxing in a park; but for the most part, when conditions are perfect the TTC is a service second only to none.

As the next bus pulled up and we boarded, I noticed a beige Ford sedan pull up to the hotel across the street and let out three individuals who walked into the building. That in itself wouldn’t have caught my attention but there was something about one of them that seemed familiar. I couldn’t quite place it but I was pretty sure I’d seen him before. The problem was, I couldn’t remember where or under what circumstances. I didn’t try and force the memory. It would come in its own time. I did, however, feel a hint of apprehension. Sometimes paranoia can be a benefit if it keeps me out of trouble.

At the back of the bus, a group of five disadvantaged youths were displaying initiative and augmenting their income by extracting money from an elderly woman’s purse. She was howling like a banshee so the driver found it necessary to increase the volume of his portable media player to compensate. Finally one of them took the now empty wallet and stuffed it down her throat and that muted the wailing.

So how long have you been away from Burma? I asked by way of making conversation.

I left Thailand six years ago following my graduation from university. I received a scholarship to do graduate work in London. I escaped from Burma four years before that.

You must have had exceptionally high marks to earn that kind of thing.

Thank-you. Yes, I was at the top of my class. Only ten people receive that particular scholarship each year so it was quite an honour. It came at a good time too. Had I stayed in Thailand I would probably have been caught sooner or later and sent back to Burma.

But I thought you were a refugee.

Yes, Thailand’s in a bit of a bind. If they take too many refugees, they’ll upset the Burmese government and Burma has a very powerful army. At the same time, there’s little they can do to stem the flood so they compromise. They have unofficial refugee camps where people can stay but they aren’t allowed to enter the general population. It’s not a good situation.

We got off the bus at our transfer point along with the five young entrepreneurs. They took a look at me but I shook my head and pulled the linings of my pant pockets out so they could see I didn’t have any money. Quickly losing interest they went into a small grocery store to see if the proprietor might like to invest in their future. It’s possible he was somewhat reluctant because there was quite a bit of banging and some yelling for a while but then our next bus came and we departed. As we pulled away they came running from the store and tried to get on the bus but the driver had closed the door and pulled away so they were out of luck. They stood in the street shaking their fists, so, being the friendly sort I am, I waved back so they’d realize their efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Toronto seems like a very clean city, Chan remarked as the bus passed a woman out walking her dog. The dog had stopped and squatted in order to do what dogs find necessary and the woman looked around to see if it was necessary to stoop and scoop. Seeing only a passing bus and no other observers she carried on her way briskly so just in case she had missed someone, she wouldn’t have to enter into any sort of dialog on the subject.

Yes, I replied, "Now the garbage strike has ended and the workers are back on the job there’re seldom more than a couple of inches of refuse in the parks and even less on the streets.

A garbage strike? We haven’t had that problem in London – at least not while I’ve been there. I seem to remember hearing something about one in the nineteen-seventies but that was quite a bit before my time.

I suddenly felt old; however, I’ve always felt age was relative and since I’m younger than most of my relatives – even those few who are still alive – then that means I’m still young. It’s possible Klintara might beg to differ but the discussion has never come up. In fact, I have no idea how old Klintara actually is. When I first met her, I thought she was in her early twenties; but, from various experiences she’s mentioned, I have to assume she’s somewhat older. In fact she may be quite a bit older. Being from another planet as she is, it’s possible she doesn’t age biologically as fast as we humans.

It was close to seven o’clock by the time we got back to my place and Klintara was waiting for us with dinner nicely prepared. We had baked rice with fried rice and little rice patties and, of course, some lovely rice wine. The rice patties were garnished with parsley. Since coming to live with me Klintara has pretty much taken over the cooking along with that element of the cleaning that I had neglected which was pretty much all of it. It’s not that I’m slovenly by nature. It’s just that I’m a firm believer in the principle that nature abhors a vacuum so if one removes dust, new dust will feel compelled to move in and take its place. It took her a while before she realized my backyard was not a registered nature preserve but when she did she persuaded me to cut the grass, and do such digging as was necessary for her to plant a small garden. So she started growing herbs. I have to admit they do taste good but I’m a little apprehensive she’ll discover the seed department at Canadian Tire and then I’ll be expected to dig a much larger space. Still, even if she had me dig up the entire backyard it wouldn’t require more than an afternoon because it’s not a large area.

I’m afraid the man from the fire department was around today, said Klintara over supper.

Why, did I forget to change the batteries in the smoke alarms?

Klintara looked surprised. Do we have smoke alarms?

Well, maybe when we get more money we can afford one. So what did he want?

He didn’t actually want anything from us. It appears Mrs. Ketchen forgot to turn her iron off again and it burned through her dress and the ironing board below it. I guess someone noticed smoke coming from her windows and notified the fire department. The man stopped here to ask if we’d had any difficulty with her because it appears when the firemen entered the building to extinguish the fire, she mistook them for burglars and laid into them with a carpet beater.

So what was the final score?

I believe it was one fireman to put out the fire and four to hold Mrs. Ketchen.

I nodded. Mrs. Ketchen is our neighbor. She’s seventy-seven years old and completely batty so she and I have something in common. I hear voices and some of them are hers. She’s nice enough although she tends to be a bit forgetful, and as Klintara noted, she reacts poorly if she thinks someone is invading her premises.

As neighborhoods go, this isn’t a bad one. It’s a bit run down and there are almost as many street people as residents; and while it’s also true they’re as likely as not to use one’s front or back lawn as a lavatory, at least what’s left of the grass gets watered and fertilized. Most burglars stay away from here since there’s nothing worth stealing in most houses, and if they attempt to break into the various tool sheds they’re liable to be set upon and eaten by rats. The neighborhood cats are about half owned and half feral but if any of them are licensed I’ve never seen it. There’re a couple of them that are not currently speaking to me seeing as I cut the grass in what they believed was their private sanctuary.

The following day was pretty routine. I escorted Chan to meet with some people at the CBC who she thought might be able to assist her. I didn’t attend the meeting but Chan seemed pleased when it was over and told me that everyone there seemed enthusiastic about partnering with the BBC and broadcasting past the censors into Burma. Personally I have some doubts. I’m sure they were enthusiastic but recently the government’s cut their budget to a dollar-ninety-eight so I’m not positive they’ll be of much help. Still, as long as my client is happy then I’m happy.

Following that, she attended a number of press sessions where she discussed the situation in Burma. I wasn’t entirely comfortable about this because there wasn’t any way I could screen the attendees so if someone had entered with a gun my life would have become quite a bit more difficult – shorter too no doubt.

The day after, we had the morning to ourselves because she didn’t have any appointments until mid-afternoon. That gave me a chance to catch up on some of my favorite blogs and porn sites. The latter don’t change much from day to day because there’s only so much that’s biologically feasible, but I always like to check now and then just to see if someone’s managed to think of something new. I was checking out the attributes of Jennifer when I heard the front door open. Now that’s better, I thought. Someone has actually read the note. The next second my door opened and I found myself looking at a gentleman who was looking at me over the barrel of a gun.

Where is she? he said.

I glanced at my watch. Probably half-way to the airport about now. Her flight leaves in half-an-hour.

For a split second he wavered but then he continued. You’re lying. No-one would arrive for a flight less than twelve hours early. You need that much time to clear security. Now where is she?

I mentally cursed myself for my blunder. He was right and I should have known it, but it’s been years since I’ve boarded an aircraft. The last time I did, I arrived at the airport with ten minutes to spare and still had eight left over after I checked in and got my boarding pass.

Okay you’re right, she hasn’t left the city. She went down to a follow-up interview at the CBC. The BBC is planning to make a documentary on her life and the CBC is providing some technical advice.

Then why aren’t you with her?

Under most circumstances the CBC is not considered a true terrorist organization so I didn’t see any need for me to accompany her.

She still would have had to get there.

This was becoming awkward. Before I had a chance to think up a counter argument there was a commotion farther back in the house. Something crashed and there was shouting. Then came a yell and all fell silent. I expect we were both curious but my interrogator made the mistake of looking over his shoulder so I took the opportunity of throwing a stapler at his head. He must have seen something coming from the corner of his eye because he raised his hands to protect his face and the stapler hit him on the hand holding the gun. He dropped it.

The gun discharged as it hit the floor but the bullet buried itself harmlessly in the leg of my desk and in a flash I was leaping at him. He had the advantage because he was closer to the weapon but getting it meant bending down so rather than go for the gun, I jumped at him, used his shoulders as a vault and slammed my office door behind me as I flew into the hall thereby trapping him in the office. Obviously he wouldn’t stay there for more than a second or two because the door wasn’t locked, and even if it had been, he was on the inside.. Still, I was able to escape into the house.

I didn’t get too far because as I was running along the hall, a large grey wolf came running out. We met in a tangle of arms and paws. He slammed me into a coat rack that toppled and dumped a pile of coats, hats and mittens onto the hall floor. Quickly he regained his footing and ran out the door. A few seconds later I heard my former assailant exit the office and run after him.

Turning I looked to see what had spooked them only to find myself staring down the barrel of a laser.

Oh, it’s you, said Klintara putting her laser back into her blouse sheath. Some damn big dog came running in with muddy paws all over my freshly washed kitchen floor. I burned part of its tail off before it got the message and headed in the opposite direction.

Yeah I saw it, but it wasn’t a dog. That was a wolf.

A wolf?

A werewolf to be precise – a shape-shifter capable of transforming from human to wolf and back again whenever it wants.

Klintara looked puzzled. I’ve seen some movies on this planet and werewolves could only change under the light of a full moon.

That’s only a restriction in the movies. In real life they can change whenever they want.

So why did it come in here?

They were after Chan. I recognized the one that cornered me in my office. He was from the Little Dog group.

Weren’t they the ones threatening you during your last case?

Yeah, but I thought they’d lost interest and I think maybe I was right. I made life pretty difficult for them by leaving Miss Daisy’s remains on their doorstep and then placing an anonymous call to the cops. That meant they were busy for a while having to answer a number of difficult questions, but I think they must have accepted a contract to get Chan. What I don’t understand is how they would have found us here.

Klintara shrugged. It looked like a dog to me so maybe it followed your scent.

I thought. That was certainly possible. Both Chan and I were together so our scents would have been together as well. I’d seen them enter the hotel just as we were leaving, so our scents would have been fresh. They’d only have been able to smell us as far as the bus-stop, but once they realized Chan was with me it made sense for them to come here. After all, it was a fairly small step from finding my e-mail address to finding my house. It was quite possible they didn’t even know Chan was here but wanted to learn her whereabouts from me. If that was the case then they’d be back.

It was then I remembered that when I’d seen them at the hotel there were three of them, not two. Where was the woman? Had she not been part of the team sent to find Chan or was it possible …

I ran to the stairs and took them two at a time. Chan! I yelled. There was no answer. The door to her room was open and I looked inside. It was empty.

Klintara was right behind me. She has to be around. She couldn’t have gone out the back door or I’d have seen her and you were at the front.

The tree!

What?

I rushed down to my bedroom. It’s at the corner of the house and is shaded by a large Elm tree. When Dutch-Elm disease decimated the city’s trees in the nineteen seventies, this was one of the few that survived. Sure enough, when I entered my room I saw the window was wide open and I knew I had left it closed.

What’s going on?!

Chan has been kidnapped! I replied. Those two goons were just a diversion. The girl must have followed her scent right to her room and left the guys downstairs to keep us occupied. Then she grabbed Chan – probably drugged her or knocked her unconscious and carried her to my room, opened the window, climbed down the tree, dropped over the fence into Mrs. Ketchen’s yard and escaped through there!

But wouldn’t it have been impossible to climb down a tree carrying Chan?

Difficult but not impossible. Those werewolves are stronger than normal human beings. I couldn’t have done it and I doubt many people could, but a werewolf could manage it. Come on. Mrs. Ketchen has the mosquito farm right next to the fence so in order to get out of the yard they’d have to cut through her house!

The mosquito farm is my name for Mrs. Ketchen’s pond. It’s supposed to consist of a fountain dribbling water over rocks into a pond of water lilies. A pump recycles the water. In fact, it hasn’t worked for years. The pump seized up and was never fixed. In mid-summer the pond dries up entirely but in the spring and fall or whenever it rains, the pond fills up, grows stagnant and becomes covered in algae and breeds mosquitoes. Some years before one of the neighbors decided this was too much and reported it to the public health department who sent out a gentleman to investigate the situation. I don’t think he got to investigate much. When he left he was running for his life and yelling imprecations over his shoulder about what was going to happen to Mrs. Ketchen once he notified the police, but the police have a healthy regard for their own wellbeing, and if it was reported, they chose to leave the matter alone. It’s a really bad idea to annoy the woman.

We hurried down the stairs, out the front door and over to her house. I knocked on the door. There was no answer.

Mrs. Ketchen! I called. There was still no answer. I tried the handle of the front door and it was unlocked. Opening it I stuck my head inside and called. Mrs. Ketchen, are you alright?

When I received still no answer I opened the door fully and stepped inside. I was standing in the vestibule. It opened up into the living room on one side behind which was a dining room. I doubt the dining room has had diners for many years because she lives alone and eats in the kitchen. On what was the dining room table were piled stacks of newspaper clippings that appeared to be random but were somehow important to her. To the left of the dining room was the kitchen. On the back of the dining room were French doors opening into the garden. I could see they were wide open suggesting that Chan’s kidnapper had entered the house that way. Of possibly more importance was Mrs. Ketchen herself. She was lying on the living room floor with her wrists and ankles tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth.

Quickly Klintara and I hurried to her side and freed her from her bonds.

Well! she exclaimed once she could talk again, I never!

What happened? I asked.

There was a knock at the door and when I went to answer it this rude young woman came barging in, knocked me down and tied me up. I was so shocked I didn’t even have time to fight back!

That was probably just as well, I said. She’s very strong and very dangerous.

Pshaw! She took me by surprise that’s all! If I ever see her again I’ll give her what for!

So she came in through the front door, then what happened?

Well, she tied me up and left by the back door. She was gone for quite some time and then she returned carrying a little girl over her shoulder. She didn’t even close the back door but just walked right through my house and out the front. I don’t know where she went from there.

That meant she hadn’t come in with the other two. They were strictly a diversion to keep us busy while she climbed the tree, forced open my window and then went looking for Chan. I guess if Chan had been downstairs one of the two goons was supposed to grab her, but as it was, the woman got her and carried her away. Since Mrs. Ketchen said Chan was being carried over her shoulder, Chan must have been unconscious. Still, it would have been easier to kill her so obviously the Little Dog group wanted her alive for some reason.

By this time, Klintara had invaded Mrs. Ketchen’s kitchen and returned carrying a hot cup of tea that she handed to the woman.

Why thank you dear, but didn’t you make a cup for yourselves?

I thought perhaps after what you’d been through you’d need one quite a bit more than Buck or I did.

Oh nonsense! I’m perfectly alright! Let me get you two some tea and cookies.

I think we’d better be leaving now, I said. We can take the time to have a chat another day. We’d better find out what happened to the girl who was carried away.

Oh that’s true! I’d forgotten about her.

We left Mrs. Ketchen and returned to our house.

Well, I said, It’s unfortunate but I guess we no longer have a client.

Aren’t you going to rescue her?

I don’t even know where she is.

Well you just can’t leave her!

Yes, I said, I can.

But she’s in the hands of werewolves that might do anything to her!

I shrugged. Happens.

But weren’t you supposed to protect her?

I won’t charge her for today.

Speaking of that, doesn’t she owe you some money?

Yes, we agreed on two hundred dollars a day and since she was with us for two days she owes us four hundred dollars, and I have to admit, I’m looking forward to receiving it. We’re behind in a number of bills.

But how can she pay us if she’s been kidnapped?

Oh they didn’t take her stuff. I’ll just take the money she owes us from her purse and return the rest. But when I went to Chan’s room I discovered that her purse had been taken as well. I checked her suitcase, but even if I sold all her clothes and the bag as well, I wouldn’t get much more than about fifty dollars. I was clearly out about three-hundred and fifty dollars.

This is serious, I said. They took her away without settling her bill.

"So what are you going to do?

I’ll have to rescue her after all. I can’t let them take her away without payment.

Okay, so we rescue her. I think that’s a good idea. Besides, if we’re rescuing her then we’re still on her payroll right?

Why yes, now that you mention it, I replied. Immediately I felt more cheerful. Even though I was going to have to face a group that was bent upon my destruction, it was nice to know I was going to be paid for my efforts.

After a nice lunch of rice cakes smothered in rice butter, I put a small quantity of ground cloves into a plastic bag and headed for what I refer to as the Dog House. I knew the way since I’d been there once before but it’s still a fair distance to travel. The dogs live in East York on an avenue named Barfield. It’s a nice enough and reasonably quiet part of town. Small bungalows stand side by side with monster homes. In the summer there’s the buzz of lawn-mowers and the smell of steaks and hamburgers frying on backyard barbeques. It’s not far from a park where I imagine the dogs can run at night and only a few blocks west of East York Collegiate.

East York Collegiate is a rather nice high school although every so often, one or two students go missing. The police figure they’re runaways or victims of one of the resident youth gangs, but I suspect it’s just a case of the dogs stocking their larder.

When I got to the Dog House I rubbed a bit of clove on my hands and feet to disguise my scent. Then I pulled an old hat out of my pack along with a small fake moustache I use for a disguise sometimes. You wouldn’t think they would make much difference but they seem reasonably effective whenever I’ve used them in the past. Of course, this being my second case I’d never actually employed them before but I was confident they’d work well. After all, if no-one had ever seen me in a moustache then they couldn’t recognize me in one under the current circumstances could they? So equipped, I walked up to the front door of the Dog House and knocked. There was no answer. I waited for about half a minute and then walked around to the back. The dogs weren’t much better at maintaining their property than I was. It was weeds and grass to calf level. I returned to the front and knocked again. There was still no answer.

A neighbor looked over and called to me, Are you looking for Mr. Lupe?

Yes, I am, I replied. I was guessing that ‘Lupe’ was the surname they were using. It made sense.

They’ve moved. Been gone for at least three months now. I don’t know whether the house has been sold or not. I didn’t see a real-estate sign but the Lupes have definitely gone.

Well that’s a setback. I don’t suppose they mentioned where they were going?

Nope. One day a moving van arrived, loaded their stuff and then they were gone. They seemed nice enough people but they pretty much kept to themselves. They didn’t talk much – maybe a ‘good-morning’ as a reply to my greeting, but that was about it so they didn’t even say good-bye. They just picked up and left.

Well, thanks for the information. I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere.

Finding them gone was a definite setback because it meant I had no idea where to start looking for Chan but it didn’t mean I couldn’t find them. Even though I didn’t know their present whereabouts, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the were-cats would have their address because the two groups were sworn enemies and both had pretty good intelligence gathering services.

The Cat House is located several blocks east of where the Don River works its way into Lake Ontario. There are some tough neighborhoods not far away but the street on which the cats live is pretty normal. The houses are mostly two story red-brick buildings built close together. Parking is limited but that’s not a problem for me since I don’t own a car. I use the TTC although I have to admit it’s somewhat lacking when it comes to high-speed chases unless the suspect is on foot and then it’s about even.

I walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. Tom answered. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see me but he ushered me into his office nonetheless. My relationship with the cats has been cordial but not overly friendly since a woman they were attempting to protect had been turned in to steaks, roasts, chops and hamburger. I didn’t do the turning but she was waiting to provide me with transportation when it happened so the cats have always felt I was somewhat remiss in looking after her. At least her passing put the dogs out of commission for quite some time.

What can I do for you? asked Tom when we were seated.

I have a client that is being threatened by the Dogs. In fact she’s been kidnapped by them.

Then she’s dead.

No, I don’t believe so. It would have been much easier for them to kill her than to kidnap her yet they elected to do the latter. I believe the people paying them specifically requested that she be taken alive.

I see. Do you have any idea who issued the contract?

The Burmese government.

He raised his eyebrows. Interesting. However I cannot for the life of me see what this has to do with us.

The Dogs have moved from Barfield. Since you are their sworn enemies I thought you might know where they’ve relocated.

I don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you. The Barfield group has moved to Swellamroad Trail. It’s between Midland and Brimley and not far south of Finch.

Do you know the number?

He clicked on his computer for a few seconds and then replied, Number one thirty five.

Thank-you. That will reduce my search time considerably.

May I ask what you’re planning to do?

I intend to rescue my client.

How? Just go up to the front door and knock?

I haven’t ruled that out, but I thought I might try something a bit more subtle like a ‘B and E’.

It will never work.

Why not?

The dogs will kill you, that’s why.

Not if they don’t notice me.

Has it ever occurred to you why people make use of watch dogs? It’s because they work. You may be sure that one-thirty-five Swellamroad Trail is pretty much impregnable. They will have installed both bars and bullet proof glass on all the windows. The door will be steel reinforced so a tank would have difficulty gaining access to the place. Alarms and sensors will be located at each corner and on the roof. In addition, if someone manages to get by all that, the Dogs will smell them. They’ve also got a pretty acute sense of hearing as well.

Do you have any suggestions?

Either give up or wait for them to move your client. It’s at least possible that during a move they might make a mistake and provide you with opportunity for a rescue. Beyond that, if you attempt a rescue you’ll just wind up as dog food.

Thank-you for the information. I’ll certainly take your advice into consideration.

You’re going in anyway aren’t you?

Absolutely.

Why?

Because the more difficult the Dogs have made it, the more interesting it will be to get past them.

He nodded. Well then as someone who’s a sworn enemy of the Dogs, I can only wish you the best of luck.

I left the Cat House and started walking. Then I noticed a grey Honda Civic parked on the other side of the street. I wasn’t positive but I was fairly certain the driver was a member of the Dogs and they were probably spying on the Cats. It did not surprise me because the two groups have been enemies for hundreds and possibly thousands of years. Both groups regularly spy on one another. Still it was a little inconvenient because my presence at the Cat house would be duly noticed and reported.

As I continued walking, the car pulled away from the curb and began driving slowly in my direction. I was pretty sure that the driver had lost interest in the Cats and was following me. He’d seen me enter the Cat House, used his cell-phone to make a report, snapped a picture when I exited, sent that to his boss for identification and had received orders accordingly. Since I was confident the Burmese government had no idea who I was, it meant he wasn’t planning a kidnapping. While his instructions might have been to observe from a distance, I thought it more likely they had decided my continued existence was no longer necessary. This was going to call for some evasive action.

As the car drew closer I turned and ran up a driveway at random. Behind me I heard a car door slam which meant he was coming. He was probably armed but I knew he was strong enough to kill me with his bare hands, and if he turned into a