I’ll Learn How to Bark

The blind man and his collie sit passively, waiting for their flight to be called. Hans Gudeguest grins at the Swiss Air service agent as he pays for his ticket and checks his bags. In a little over eight hours, he’ll be back in his villa in Switzerland when his associates release sarin gas into the New York City subway system.

He pauses at a souvenir shop, picking up an “I Love New York” cap. Checking out the fit in a mirror on the counter, he sees the blind man steal a glance at him.

“You’re supposed to be blind, knucklehead,” the collie whispers.

Dropping the hat, Gudeguest bolts from the store.

“I’ll follow him, you cut him off at the gate,” Darius Winston says to the dog as they run in different directions.

Gudeguest detours down a narrow hallway toward the restrooms.

A statuesque blonde in black leather blocks the doorway.

“I know we live in enlightened times, Hans, but I’m not going to let you go in there.”

Gudeguest feels the barrel of a gun being pressed against his back.

“I want you to turn around so slowly it’ll look like you’re going back in time,” a male voice says.

Gudeguest complies, recognizing his captor as the blind man.

“Your associates are already under arrest, and we found the sarin,” Darius says.

The woman places Gudeguest in handcuffs.

“I hear Montreux is beautiful this time of year,” she says. “Unfortunately, you’re going to maximum security in North Dakota and the weather there sucks.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as Darius and Corey enter the Antique Alchemist.

A teenage girl looks up from behind the counter displaying her braces when she smiles.

“We’re here to see Nigel Crismatti. He called us about an antique mirror,” Corey says.

“He’s in the back, tinkering.”

A bright-eyed, pudgy man with greying temples greets them.

“Is the girl all right?” Corey asks.

“She’s Canus Familiarus like you and me. She’s a lieutenant in the World Security Force. In her real form, she’s what the humans refer to as an Alaskan Husky.”

“This is an odd front for a communications supply center,” Darius comments.

“With all the leaks we’ve had lately we had to get creative.”

Crismatti walks to a nearby workbench. Hanging above the bench is an antique French-style oval mirror. Rosettes are carved into its ornate frame.

“That’s our latest communications device?” Darius asks. 

“Yes. It will provide you with a direct connection to the Great Maker’s office. And there’s much more to it than that. Give me a historical date and a place.”

Darius blurts out, “August 18, 1969.”

A large crowd of people cheering, clapping, and celebrating appears in the mirror.

Three men stride on stage and begin singing.

“Crosby, Stills, and Nash,” Darius says, smiling. “I never got to see them live. So, what you’re telling us, Nigel, is if we’re looking for someone, this mirror can locate them.”

“Whoa, a time portal. Let me try,” Corey says. “Prisoner 0659, Freedonia State Penitentiary, present day.”

The mirror shows a balding, woeful old man sitting on a cot, holding his head in his hand.

“Ruff Rauh,” Darius says. “One of the worst serial killers in history.”

“And our first assignment,” Corey adds.

Reaching into the mirror, Corey slaps Rauh, who is unaware of where the blow came from.

“I told him there was a special place in hell for him. I just wanted to make sure he was still there.”

Darius and Corey look into the mirror. A grey mist forms, engulfing the glass.

As the smoke clears, the bald, blue, floating head of the Great Maker becomes visible.

A native of Alpha Centauri, the Great Maker is the leader of the Universal Security Force (USF), comprised of agents from Earth, Canus Familairus, his home world, and half a dozen other peaceful planets. The agents eliminate assassins, anarchists, and despots intent on taking over the universe.

A former member of the U.S. National Security Agency, thirty-eight-year-old Darius has been partnered with Corey, a shapeshifting agent from Canus Familiarus for the past seven years, preventing several world wars, chemical attacks, and assassinations.

“Your next assignment is crucial,” the Great Maker says. “Fail, and Earth will be exterminated. Yesterday, Klaus Van Aken, a low-level member of the German government, kidnapped Professor Voz Defrens, a USF weapons expert. Utilizing Defrens’ mirror as a portal, Van Aken took him back to Hamburg in 1945. He is forcing Defrens to create a poison that could turn the tide of the Second World War. Van Aken plans to usurp Adolf Hitler and build his own Reich. Bring Professor Defrens back.”

“And Van Aken?” Darius asks.

The Great Maker’s heavy eyebrows knit together in a devilish V. “Van Aken’s body can remain in the past.”

Darius looks over at Corey, who licks her lips with her wide pink tongue.

“Do you have to be a German Shepherd? I hate German Shepherds.”

“You’re not going to whine about Smokey again, are you?” Corey asks.

“That dog tried to kill me, and so did just about every German Shepherd I’ve encountered.”

Corey sniffs Darius’ hair. “Maybe it’s your cologne. It’s pretty offensive.”

Darius pulls the car up to the warehouse’s guardhouse.

Darius hands a guard his phony credentials that claim he’s a member of the Gestapo.

“I’m General Aton Hartmann. This is Schnitzel. We’re here to check on the progress of Project Z.”

The guard salutes Darius. “Professor Defrens is in building three.”

The guards regard Schnitzel with skepticism but allow the pair to pass.

Defrens reacts in horror at the sight of Darius’ Gestapo uniform.

“Relax, professor. We’re the good guys. We’re going to get you out of here,” Corey says.

“A talking dog. You must be from the future,” Defrens says, feeling relieved. “You’d better have one helluva plan.”

Corey morphs into her curvaceous human form, saying, “I plan to distract the guards.”

Heading to the door, Corey adds, “Meet you in five minutes in the parking lot.”

“Where is it?” Darius asks Defrens.

Defrens points to a petri dish.

Darius has to squint to see the small crystals inside the dish.

“It’s not quite finished. I still have a few more compounds to add, so you and I are safe from harm. But when I’m finished, an amount that size will be able to kill every man, woman, and child in the U.S. or England.”

“Dump it. Vaporize it. Just destroy it.”

Defrens puts on a pair of rubber gloves and a face mask. Carefully opening the petri dish, he says, “Oddly, this poison can be destroyed by pouring Coca-Cola over it.”

“I’m not that surprised, that stuff can take the paint off a car.”

Defrens is still pouring the bottle of soda over the petri dish when Van Aken enters the lab.

Defrens quickly pretends he’s drinking the Coke.

Van Aken has transformed himself into the privileged arrogant Nazi history has come to despise. He stands erect, his hands behind his back, one of his sharkish black eyes peeping through an unnecessary monocle.

“You are General Hartmann?”

“I am.”

“There is no General Hartmann.”

Darius turns to Defrens. “May I have a sip of your beverage?”

Defrens hands Darius the bottle.

Darius smashes the bottle over Van Akin’s head, kicking him in the groin. Pushing Defrens out of the room, the pair run down the hallway.

“That wasn’t very secret agent-like,” Defrens says.

“I’m not a secret agent!”

Incensed, Van Akin struggles to regain his feet. Picking pieces of glass out of his forehead, he wipes away the blood running down his face.

He yells for assistance, trailing after Darius and Defrens.

The pair exit the building, running toward Corey, who stands by a staff car.

“Get down and stay down,” Darius tells Defrens as they jump in.

Corey revs the engine. “Well?”

“…Wait for it…”

“I found out how many Nazis can fit in the trunk of a staff car.”

“How many?” Darius asks calmly.

“Three, but you have to fold them.”

“We have to talk about your violent streak, Corey.”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to escape?” Defrens asks, his voice shaking.

Van Akin runs out of the building with two guards.

“You take the one on the right,” Darius says, as the guards point their rifles at them.

Pulling out their guns, Darius and Corey fire first. The guards topple over, dead.

“Right between the eyes,” Darius brags.

“Not fair. My gun pulls to the left.”

Van Akin stands defenseless in front of them.

“No, don’t! I’ll come along peacefully!”

“How about you just rest in peace,” Darius says, as he and Corey shoot Van Akin.

“You have a private matter you wish to discuss, Darius?”

Darius glances at the backyard. Corey has reverted to her collie form and is slumbering in the sun in the backyard.

“Can you extend Corey’s ability to remain human?”

“Forty-eight hours is not enough?”

The Great Maker studies Darius’ concerned expression.

“As you know, Darius, the Canus Familiarus can mimic human anatomy, but biologically their true bodies are vastly different. Our scientists and their researchers have been working together to extend their ability to morph into other creatures.”

“But you’re the all-knowing Great Maker. You can make it happen with the snap of a finger.”

“It’s against USF rules for me to intervene. And I don’t have fingers.”

Darius bites his lower lip.

“You love her, don’t you?” the Great Maker inquires.

“I guess I can’t slip one by a being who’s omnipotent.”

“I do not need special powers to see what is obvious. I am sorry, but I also have to remind you there is a no-interspecies sexual contact agreement in place between Earth and Canus Familiarus. But I will talk to their council. In the meantime, you need to make sure this is something Corey wants. Maybe she wants you to become part of her race.”

“Fine. I’ll learn how to bark.”

Darius and Corey stare in the mirror at the photograph of their next assignment.

“Astounding,” Corey says. “I’d be really creeped out if I was you.”

“All right. He looks a little like me.”

“A little? If you grew a beard, you could be dueling George Clooney’s. Three if you include the original. And by the way, beards… Yuk.”

The Great Maker continues his briefing.

“Blake Bryant was one of our own, an agent based in Beijing. He stole military specifications for some of our weapons and sold them to the Chinese. He is staying at the Grayson Hotel in Manhattan, Room 112. Liquidate him this afternoon when he is alone. We will spare his family.”

The Great Maker’s visage fades behind a layer of fog.

“So, what do you think? Lunch before liquidation?” Corey asks.

Darius turns to say yes. Corey has transformed back into a collie.

“I’m going to go outside and rest a bit in the sun. Maybe we can play a little fetch so I can loosen up before we go.”

Corey walks on her hind legs to the screen door, pushing it aside.

“Walk on all four legs, Corey,” Darius reminds her. “You need to act more like you’re a dog from Earth.”

“Sure, how’s this?” Corey asks, swishing her tail. “Pizza for lunch, okay?”

Darius and Corey exit the elevator, checking both ends of the hallway to make sure it's empty.

“Where did the housekeeping crew we sent in install the cameras?” Darius asks.

“One each on the balcony, in the bedroom, kitchen, and living room. I’ll access them now.”

“Where is he?”

Corey looks at her phone. “Living room. He’s watching TV.”

“Perfect. His back will be to us.”

Corey carefully slips the room key into the slot.

With his attention focused on a baseball game, Blake Bryant doesn’t hear Corey ease the door open.

Darius pulls a plastic bag over Bryant’s head, wrenching it tight. Bryant struggles to get free, but Darius yanks him up off the couch, suspending his body in mid-air as he traps Bryant in a headlock.

“Easy, you’ll kill him!” Corey cautions.

Bryant tries to grasp Darius’ arms. Darius tightens his grip around Bryant’s neck, squeezing so hard his own features turn crimson.

“That’s enough! He’s out!” Corey yells, trying to pull Darius away from Bryant.

Darius eases his grip. Bryant’s limp body slowly slides down onto the couch.

“That was a rather exhausting way to kill somebody, Darius. We were supposed to take him alive, but if you were so determined to kill him, why not just pop him in the back of the head?

Darius removes the plastic bag.

Corey checks for a pulse, shaking her head.

“I’ll tell the Great Maker you had no choice, that you had to take him out.”

Darius looks down at Bryant.

“He looks different from me now, doesn’t he?”

“I get it. It’s got to be tough to kill yourself.”

Guilt consumes Darius. “…He had a wife, two kids...”

“He was hardly Man of the Year. He cheated on his wife and neglected his kids,” Corey notes.

“Still, we stole his life.”

Corey grabs Darius by the chin, forcing him to look away from Bryant and stare into her eyes.

“We only ended his life. He’s the one who ruined his life.”

 “Why don’t you get some air?” Corey asks, reaching for her phone.

Darius shuffles toward the balcony.

Corey joins him a few minutes later.

“Is he gone?” Darius asks.

“Yep. Our fake Housekeeping crew will dispose of him,” Corey replies.

“His girls were Maddy and Pookie.”

“Who names their child Pookie?”

“Their real names are Madeline and Paula,” Darius says.

“What is it you once said to me? “There’s no room in this game for remorse.’”

“The game got too real today.”

Darius stares blankly into the mirror.

“Are you talking to headquarters?”

Corey’s reflection comes into view as she leans against his shoulder.

“Who is that handsome couple?” she comments.

Her frivolity dissolves when she looks closer at Darius’ haggard features.

“Stubble. You know how much I hate stubble and beards. Are you growing a beard? Yuk. This mourning for days over some lookalike has gone too far.”

A grey mist engulfs the face of the mirror.

The blue-skinned visage of the Great Maker appears.

“I have a new assignment for you.”

“Perhaps you should give it to Winters and Hannover,” Corey says. “Darius has a bit of a bug.”

The Great Maker’s furry eyebrows crease into a frown.

“Are you turning down my request?”

“No, sir. I’m fine,” Darius answers.

“Good. Hadeon, a gargoyle, has gone rogue. He has already killed a couple camping in upstate New York. We attributed it to a black bear. We have to terminate him before humanity finds out they are living with gargoyles, and that we have a peace treaty with them. That treaty will undoubtedly be in jeopardy if Hadeon kills again.”

“This old army surplus jeep was the best ride headquarters could give us?” Corey asks bouncing in her seat.

“It’s rugged, and it’s got the special weapon we asked for.”

Corey spits out a wad of mud that hits her in the mouth.

“The least they could have done was put in a windshield.”

Darius looks at the passing hills, halting the Jeep. “There should be a trail around here he may have used to try and escape. You drive along the main road, and I’ll search for the trail. Be careful. Hadeon is crafty.”

“Aren’t they all?” Corey replies. Shifting the Jeep’s gears until they groan, she drives off.

Corey spots Hadeon standing defiantly in the road ahead. Hadeon spreads his wings. Strangely, he beckons Corey, as if challenging her to capture him.

The trail leads Darius back to the main road slightly behind Corey. Watching her speed up as she closes in on the gargoyle, Darius starts to run to her aid.

Corey shakes her fist at Hadeon, stepping on the gas.

The piano wire Hadeon strung across the road slices into Corey’s neck, cleaving her head from her shoulders.

Screaming her name, Darius runs toward the Jeep as it creeps to a halt.

Laughing triumphantly, Hadeon springs into the air.

Darius bursts into tears at the sight of Corey’s headless body, her hands still clamped tightly to the wheel.

Pulling the cover off the mounted machine gun, Darius fires a fusillade of tranquilizer darts at Hadeon. One hits his thigh, immediately causing Hadeon to sag sleepily.

Changing the settings on the gun, Darius fires again. A large net shoots in the air, wrapping itself around the wavering gargoyle.

Trapped like a fisherman’s prized haul, Hadeon falls to the ground.

Darius jumps on the net savagely beating Hadeon until he pleads for mercy.

The Great Maker’s disembodied blue head comes into view.

“I am sorry for your loss, Darius. I know how you felt about Corey.”

“Can you bring her back?”

“You know I would if I could,” the Great Maker replies. “She is bound by Canus Familiarus law. Be thankful she is not human, because she would have to remain dead. She can be restored in five years. But in her case, because she had access to sensitive information, the memory of her time with the Universal Security Force will be erased.”

“So, she’ll be alive but won’t remember me.”

The Great Maker’s demon-like features soften.

“Resigning may not ease your pain.”

“No. But staying on will only make it worse.”

Darius stops his car in front of the Tudor-style home.

“…My name is Blake Bryant. My wife’s name is Trudi. My daughters are Maddy and Pookie…”

He checks his appearance in the rearview mirror, stroking his beard.

Opening the door to the car, he runs into the arms of his loving family.