I remember when I was a kid, the only thing I ever really wanted was a motorbike. I drove my parents insane constantly asking for one. My father would always say "ask your mother". My mother would always just smile and say, "when you're old enough and responsible enough Walter". My mother had the patience of a saint.

She needed it; my brother and I were wild kids. So I continued to dream, imagining my brother and I on our Harley Panheads's, or maybe a Vincent Black Shadow if I was feeling a bit racy. We'd wave goodbye and head off on our own Kerouac adventure, cruising down the highway of life, the sun on my face and the wind on my back. Totally free. I remember the feeling. It was good.

"Walter?" I hear Birkoff's high-pitched voice in my ear again, his tone a little more urgent than last time. "Where are you? Operations has ordered me to arm, everyone else is out. Walter?"

"What was his last position?" Michael's quiet voice this time.

"I lost communication with him about forty minutes ago, he was setting charges on the ground floor..."

I hear them talking, the words flowing just like the blood from the smallish hole in my stomach. The exit wound in my back must be larger because I can feel the sticky wetness pooling underneath me, soaking into my clothes. I thought it would hurt more, but instead I feel comfortably numb. Just a bit cold, but that's nothing in the greater scheme of things. I try and take a deep breath as a shudder passes down my body. Instead I just manage a gasp. My body seems to be sluggish, uncooperative. Rest. Maybe it's time. Maybe it's time to just lay down, let it happen. I'm feeling old, used up, alone. Close my eyes. Just let it happen.

We had this bad tempered blue cattle dog, some charity case my mother had rescued. He loved her to death, like we all did. He would roll over and let her scratch his belly, wag his tail whenever she was near. He just tolerated the rest of us, we seemed to amuse him in some perverse way, but he never showed us any affection. Never let us get close. He'd follow my brother and I around as if he were supervising our activities, collecting incriminating evidence to report back to our mother.

And there was plenty. I remember how we'd giggle and laugh as I launched another of my homemade rockets at the old tractor in the neighbour's field, covering our ears and waiting for the explosion. He would stare at us with those inscrutable brown eyes. Sometimes, I swear, he would shake his head slowly, emitting a low, irritable growl. That was the warning, at least he gave us a warning. That's when we'd start running, roaring with laughter, maybe a touch of fear. He'd chase us, nipping at our heels, forcing us back towards the house so we couldn't get up to any more mischief.

Even though he didn't like us very much, he was fiercely loyal. Whenever one of the other kids would pick a fight I'd stand there, fists up, ready to go. Afraid of nothing because the dog would appear right beside me, hackles up, a viscous snarl exposing the sharp white teeth I had often felt. Fight me, fight the dog. It wasn't an offer many people wanted to take up. They knew.

On the lead up to my 16th birthday I did the usual. Begging my parents for a motorbike. On the morning of my birthday I raced downstairs. My mother was waiting, a radiant smile on her face. My father gave me a hug and then with a huge grin blindfolded me. My mother led me slowly outside. I was so excited, I could hear my brother laughing insanely. She stood behind me and gently undid the blindfold then put her hands on my shoulders. I opened my eyes, expectation slowly dissolving into reality. In my head I saw a Harley Electra Glide, 1000cc's of gleaming chrome and aluminium. In front of me was a very, very old Ford sedan. She kissed my cheek and whispered "happy birthday Walter".

My brother danced around us, laughing wildly and screaming "what a bomb". I heard his laughter cut short by a growl, and then I heard his tears. After administering punishment for ridiculing a gift my mother was so proud of, the dog jumped in the front window and sat in the passenger seat, looking at me expectantly. "Go on Walter, the dog wants a ride" she urged, laughing, pressing a silver key ring into my hand, two shiny new keys attached.

"Michael, get out, that's an order" Operations voice yells in my ear. "We have to assume Walter has found his own way out or isn't coming out. I want you back in the van, NOW. Do you hear me Michael!"

There's no answer. Just silence. Lingering, reckless, maddening silence. I can hear it. Everyone waiting.

Michael must be looking for me.

"Understand that failure to comply with this order has put you on the abeyance list Michael" Operations voice is quiet, controlled fury. "We will be discussing this in the white room when you return. And you will return Michael, let me assure you now."

More silence. Served up on a platter of antipathy. I imagine the restrained grin tugging at Michael's lip right about now. One more threat. Add it to the list. The list that defines, controls, his existence. Just like mine. I feel tired, just thinking about it.

"Birkoff, arm the charges now or I'll be adding your name to the abeyance list. Do I make myself clear?" Operation's voice is low and deadly this time. He's pissed all right, but I wonder why they are bothering to stir him up like this over me.

I feel sort of guilty, but hell, I didn't ask them to come looking. Why can't they just leave me alone. I'm nothing to them, really. In the end, it's just me. Alone.

It took me about six months to get that car cleaned up. The first thing I did was remove the top, I wanted the wind in my hair. Then I had to rebuild the engine and get to work on the body. My father and brother helped, but mostly I did it myself. It consumed all my free time. I started to love that car. The dog was there, every day, sitting in the front seat watching everything. I'd ask his advice, he'd offer a yip or a growl, depending on whether he agreed or disagreed. I started to love that dog. The car looked a treat by the time we had finished.

I took the family out for a test drive, me and the dog in front, the rest of them squashed into the back. My father let out his own growl at this indignity, but the dog matched it, giving a look that let him know where he stood. My father, ever wise, knew when to back off and he jumped in the back with a grin. My mother laughed contentedly, armed curled around my father's as she smiled and waved to the neighbours.

That's the way it became, me and the dog, cruising around. As soon as he heard the jangle of that key ring he'd race out to the car, sometimes I even saw his tail wag. Over time my mother taught him to share the front seat, but he never, ever rode in the back. I enjoyed his company. Except for the front seat thing he was very undemanding. I liked to think he enjoyed my company, too. Anyway, we went everywhere together.

A year or so later I took my mother to visit her sister in the city. My brother came with us but the dog had to stay at home. My mother tied him to the chain and when he saw us piling into the car he just sat there, still as a statue, staring, watching, knowing. As we drove off I had to remind myself he was just a dog. Yeah, sure, just a dog. It was only a couple of days, I told myself.

"Walter?" this time it's Nikita's voice intruding, soft, pleading. "Walter please answer, there's not much time left, please. Please?"

No energy left. Maybe no interest either. So ... guilty silence.

"Michael?"

"Nothing yet, I found his backpack, only half the charges have been set. Wait..."

I hear gunfire around me, very close. I hope Michael drops the two bastards that have had me pinned in this position for the last hour, the same ones that did this to me.

"Two more down, I'll keep looking" Michael says softly.

Of course he got them. It almost makes me smile. Almost.

"You have three minutes Michael" Nikita's voice is nervous and sad. It makes me feel guilty. Real guilty.

That's what I felt when we arrived home from the city. My father came out to greet us, a sad smile on his face. He welcomed us home and then told us the dog was missing, ran off the minute he let him off the chain after we had been gone a few hours. My father had been out calling and searching for him every day. He said he thought the dog had gone looking for us. My mother stared at me, blinking back tears as she said we should have another look. My brother and I jumped in the car and went to all the places we thought the dog might go. We'd stop and call him, jangling the key ring. Asked the neighbours, scanned the roadsides. Nothing.

We searched for days, I couldn't live with the fact that he had gone to find me and now I couldn't find him. After a few months we stopped looking, but for a very long time it was hard to believe he was really gone. I hated not knowing what had happened to him. I'll never forget that dog.

Michael's close to me, I can hear him cursing softly in french, he has to go soon, time's running out. I make up my mind and reach out slowly, it seems to take so much energy and I start to get nervous that I have left it too late. I try to rap my knuckles against the metal stairway I've wedged myself behind. It's not the sound I expected, instead its just a soft scrape, I can't seem to get any force behind it to make it louder. I feel like laughing hysterically at the irony of the situation I'm now in. Instead, in my hysteria I imagine I see Michael crawling towards me.

"Come on Walter, let's go" he says softly, smiling at me.

I'm found. Maybe it's not too late. Not too late, for me to find myself.

He gently maneuvers me out from under the stairs and takes his jacket off, wrapping it tightly around me. I feel him lift me up, it hurts for a moment but then as my weight settles into his arms it eases. I'm grateful he has such a smooth stride as he starts running from the building. I seem to be no encumbrance to him at all and before I know it we are outside.

He lowers me gently to the ground behind a retaining wall and then covers me with his body. I feel and hear the building blow behind us. He picks me up again, calm, attentive. I feel like a dead weight in his arms. I can't help at all, so I just lie there, oblivious to my pain, enjoying the strength and security his arms impart. He walks slowly now, no hurry anymore.

"I'm glad I found you Walter" he whispers softly, close to my ear so no one else can hear.

That makes me smile, remembering.

Finis

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