Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2000 16:31:16 GMT
From: Ganymede
Subject: First Boy

WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts between a man
and a MINOR boy. I do not condone child abuse, however boy-love as described
in this story is an entirely different matter.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such
material, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A single copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives. Feel free to post it to appropriate
newsgroups or send it to your friends. If distributing my story for monetary
gain, please contribute funds to a charitable organization providing
services for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or
dead, is unfortunate.


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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your
place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit
now and save yourself from a life of sin!


First Boy  by Ganymede



Chapter 1.

It was cold, so cold that two thick blankets were not
enough to keep the creeping chill from the bed. Even with a
hangover it was obvious that sometime during the night the heater
had stopped working. I had consumed equal parts of tequila,
triple-sec, dark rum, and freshly squeezed lime juice until I
staggered to the bathroom, splattered piss over the seat and
floor, and collapsed in the nearest chair. I could not even
remember getting into bed and pulling the blankets over me. Like
every moment of my day (and night) my thoughts drifted to boys,
or to be more accurate, one boy in particular.

I dozed with thoughts of Shelley, no longer inebriated, yet
still in a soporific stupor that would last until midday. With
luck I would not forget any of the dreams I had.

Then the phone rang. I heard a single word before I replaced
the receiver with a loud bang. He gave only his first name. That
was enough for the caller was a person who I would never forget.
There was only one reason why he was calling me.

"Fuck!" I swore.

The phone rang again. This time I let it ring, pulling the
pillow over my head rather than venture out from the limited
warmth afforded by the blankets. Without an answering system, the
phone continued to ring.

Persistently, its strident note penetrated the foam pillow
and reached its harsh demand for attention into my consciousness.

"Fuck!" I cursed again. I picked up the telephone, resisting
the urge to tear the line out once and for all. "Yes?"

"You know who it is! This is Jacob Wilderstein!"

"I know who the fuck it is!" I spat out. "I don't take calls
from assholes!"

"Very funny. I have a job for you, Rick."

"The hell you do. I don't work for assholes either."

"What are you doing nowadays?"

"That's none of your business," I snarled. "I'm freelance
now."

"So I hear. Keeping real busy too, I understand."
Wilderstein added sarcastically.

"My clients have interests that need taking care off. I get
rid of problems for them."

"When you worked for the Agency you were good at handling
unusual problems. I've got one right now that might be very
interesting to you."

"I'm not working for you any longer. I took early
retirement, remember?" I replied angrily.

"I remember. It was a difficult situation, wasn't it?
However, I think you still owe me one," Wilderstein said.

"I owe you?" I asked dryly. "Get real! I owe you nothing,
Wilderstein."

"Really?"

"Forget it! I'm out of it! Gone, Finished!"

"Really? Now, Rick you're not out of it yet. Not after what
you did with that cute little blond boy you met in Arlington.
What was his name? Martin wasn't it? It was about four months
ago, I think. I'm sure you haven't forgotten him already."
Wilderstein joked.

In the back of my head, an alarm bell went off with a loud
clang. I tensed, waiting to hear the rest of what he knew. The
silence lengthened until there was no point in concealing what
both of us knew. He had told me that he not only knew about
Martin, he also knew about Shelley. I sighed.

"Shelley. His name was Shelley," I answered testily.

There was an period of dead silence. Blackmail was a fact of
life with people like Jacob Wilderstein, their protestations of
national security to the contrary. I could hear his barely
restrained mirth when he began to talk again.

"Don't you wonder why he likes you so much? You're so old
it must seem to him like you're his father."

"Get to the point!" I countered angrily.

"There's no big rush. Surely you know by now that I always
try hard to take care of my friends, Rick. Even when they have
unusual interests like yours. Maybe I should say especially when
they have skills like yours."

"Very funny! I'm not in the mood to fuck around with you.
What do you want?" I demanded.

"I'm hardly someone you'd want to fuck around with, am I? I
have a job for you." Wilderstein answered. "Are you interested in
volunteering?"

"No!"

"It really doesn't matter. But then you probably realize
that, don't you Rick? This is a matter of national security. I'm
not going to bullshit you. It's important. The fact is you're the
best person for the job."

"I don't care if the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
I'm out of it. I've been out of it four nearly four years."

"You really don't have a choice," Wilderstein said.

"Maybe I'll still say no!" I replied.

My mind plotted quickly. I could be away in a few hours.
There was nothing to keep me in Annapolis. I would need to go to
the bank, spend a few hours at the marine store, supermarket, and
liquor store, and then I could head south. By evening I would be
all way the down the Chesapeake, and either follow the
Intercoastal all the way to Florida or head out to sea in my 27
foot sailboat. With luck, I could stay out of sight long enough
for Wilderstein and his Agency friends to lose interest.

"I really don't think so. There are some photos of you and
little Shelley Lawlor sitting here on my desk. He doesn't have
any clothes on. In fact, neither do you!"

"Get to the point!"

"I can't believe you did it to him. You put it in his ass
and he was barely ten at the time." Wilderstein waited a few
seconds, still smirking crudely. "Well,... I guess you knew how
old he was when you got into bed with him. At that age I'm
surprised he was old enough to enjoy it. But he enjoyed it,
didn't he?"

"Fuck you!"

"Now Rick, there's no need to be vulgar about it. I expect
he's still got a few years before he starts puberty. Of course,
you would have known that as soon as he took his clothes off. I
guess you really like your boys hairless."

I shrugged. "Get to the point, damn you!"

"Talk about jail-bait. I would have thought you were smart
enough to find your little boy-sluts down in Mexico instead of
shopping locally. What happened, Rick? Couldn't you control
yourself? can't afford the airfare to Acapulco?"

I sighed, half closing my eyes. It had been far too easy at
the time, but I was desperate to fulfill my longing. It had been
too long to go without. I thought I had been careful, very
careful to make sure it wasn't a trap, but I had not been careful
enough. Old habits died hard, but when the opportunity
unexpectedly presented itself, I could not resist. I could never
resist a beautiful boy who wanted nothing more than to be loved.
It was very easy with Shelley. He did know who his father was.
His mother was only a a dim memory. On reflection, it was too
easy.

I remembered thinking I was in love the instant I saw him.
For the first time, everything fell into place. He was lonely,
unloved, curious, more than willing. Just looking at him was
enough to make my heart race.

What happened in the hotel room was entirely mutual. At
times, it even seemed as if our roles were reversed.

In a way, I had been seduced by a little boy. I was unable
to stop myself. The sight of his slender naked body sent me over
the edge. He was prepubescent and flawless. He was beautiful and
intelligent. Despite his youth, he was easily aroused. He
exhibited his sexuality with few inhibitions. He was excited just
as I was excited.

He was so aggressively affectionate with me that it was
impossible to be content to just lie in the bed with his lean hot
body draped over mine and our genitals pressed together. He was
not a street hustler, yet he knew what to do. I sensed his joy
when he began to move, rubbing that hard hot part of him against
my lower belly. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he
shamelessly reached down and placed my penis between his thighs,
clamped his legs tightly against my erection. He began moving
faster, pumping our throbbing sex organs. There was no secret
about his experience. Some of it was with another boy, a year or
two older than he was. The rest? I closed my mind to the question
and allowed him to take control. Whatever sexual activity had
occurred in his past, it was more than sufficient for him to tell
me what he wanted me to do to him. After only a few minutes the
shameless words were whispered, and then he smiled and rolled
onto his back. He held nothing back, guiding my maleness into the
hot tight tube, groaning as my penis arched deeper and filled his
core. I came quickly the first time, shooting my seed into him
with more pleasure than I could remember in four years. The
haunting memories of Manuel had finally been vanquished.

That afternoon, I discovered that the slender boy was also
very athletic. We made love almost continually, discovering
positions that were both original and satisfying. When we finally
struggled into our clothes, we were both exhausted. In
retrospect, it was too good to be true. My lust triumphed over
reason and restraint. Now, after years of taking great care to
protect my secret, it seemed that I had made a grave mistake.

"You haven't changed, Wilderstein. You're still an asshole.
Is it freelance, this time or a job for the Agency?" I asked
cynically.

"Let's just say that it's a sponsored project. Of course,
the Agency is aware I'm here, but you'll be working in a private
capacity."

"Meaning that the Agency wants to keep its hands clean. God,
this must be bad," I mused. "Why me? Why not one of the regular
outside contractors?"

"Hm,... I think you know the answer to your own question.
Why we aren't using an outside contractor is the same reason that
the Agency wants nothing to do with it. If it sours they want to
have clean hands."

"It's inside the Agency then?" I posed.

"No! However, in a way it's no different."

"High up then?" I asked. "It sounds like it must be."

"Very high! It's very serious, Rick. We need someone who has
the right qualifications,... an in-depth knowledge of inside
situations, and the right background. Ideally, we need someone
who can move quickly and think on the fly. And especially no
connection to the subject or the Agency."

"I'm not your man."

"You're not ideal. I know that. But you in one way you have
the perfect cover because of your work down south."

I shuddered, blocking the memory of four years ago. "Why
don't you pick someone from outside the Agency? There are a few
people I know who meet your specs. I can think of a couple at
least who know as much as I do about moles, and,..."

Wilderstein interrupted me abruptly. "Were it so easy as
catching a mole.

This is different. Let's just say that you have another
unique skill that is needed for the job, Rick."

"Meaning I'm expendable and they're not," I posited.

"It won't come to that. At least I don't think so. This is
a quick operation. In and out, and then you disappear forever."

"God! It must be high. The Director?" I asked curtly even as
I realized it must be someone close to the top to demand an
approach that left no indication that the anything had occurred."

"I wish! But you're going right direction. It's with one of
our friends in the nation's capital."

"If it's not inside the Agency, then it rightly belongs to
the Bureau!" I retorted sarcastically.

"Very funny. The Bureau is so fucked up, they can't find the
way to the john. Hell, you might as well give it to Justice to
screw up. It'll be just like Waco. This is in the Agency because
no one else can do it, Rick. It should be quite easy! No one will
suspect you. There's no problem getting in and out. There's no
danger involved either. You'll be on the sideline all the time,
more or less.

Once it's finished you walk away and we never bother you
again. Besides, this is right down your alley. It's something you
ought to enjoy!"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Wilderstein laughed. "You know about boys, Rick. That's all
I can say over an unsecured phone. If you're interested, and I
know you will be because of the photos I'm holding, I can give
you an address."

"Where?"

"19th Street. You remember the place in Rosslyn?"

"Top floor. Room 906," I sighed.

I had been there only one time. The CIA had used the
location for an aborted project that had started five years
earlier. That failure was one of the reasons why I resigned. The
boy I loved had been mutilated and two agents had been murdered
at a deserted airfield in Texas.

"I'll expect you at noon!" Wilderstein said before the phone
clicked and went dead.

However, Wilderstein had awaken memories that once
initiated, could not be quelled no matter how much I tried. I
could not stand to go through the same situation again. I wanted
his warm body lying next to me, to feel his inquisitive fingers
exploring, giving pleasure, teasing me into erection, placing me
in position. I lay back in bed, wondering whether I should call
Shelley to make sure he was safe. A quick glance at my watch told
me he was already on his way to school. It would have to wait
until 3.00 p.m. I smiled, remembering a cold afternoon in Fall, a
little blond boy with sky-blue eyes and a beaming smile, and how
much I had loved him after spending only a few hours together in
a hotel room a few blocks off the Mall.

Chapter Two. Four Months Earlier

The car beside me was innocuous, yet it immediately captured
my attention. Dated early eighties, it was one of the cheap
sedans that were identified by Chrysler as "K" cars and were sold
by the millions. It was dull gray, without any remaining polish.
God only knows why I happened to look sideways. Destiny, I
suppose, although I did not know at the time that fate would give
me a preview of what my future held. Perhaps it was the result of
being a spook, years of experience that caused suspicion to exist
where there was no reasonable foundation. It was enough that I
looked. The fleeting image would stay with me forever.

There were five of them in the car. Two in the front, three
in the back, a curious mixture of young and old, male and female,
black and white. The driver was a woman in her late forties or
early fifties, white hair pulled into a bun, visibly overweight.
Beside her sat a dark-skinned girl, maybe in her early teens.

She wore a bright-red dress. However, it was the passengers
in the back seat who held my attention. Nearest to my car was a
dark-skinned boy with closely cropped frizzy hair. He looked to
be about fifteen, perhaps the brother of the girl in front. Next
to him sat a balding young man with a neck like a bull. I
glimpsed his features when he turned to look at me. I almost
turned away. Although there was no immediately visible
deformation, there was something about his face that was not
normal. He had thick lips, a broad forehead, closely cropped
hair. His cheeks had been ravaged by adolescent pimples and were
pock-marked. His receding chin and thick neck were stippled with
a day-old stubble. Beside him and in startling contrast, on the
far side of the car was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.
In fact, at first glance I actually thought "he" was a "she".

He was young, nine or ten years old at most. His hair was
long, curling, and very blond. It glistened like brushed gold. He
was slightly built, yet not what I would call 'skinny', not at
all like the Mexican street boys I used to relieve myself. Even
from a distance I appreciated that he was exactly the type of boy
I had fantasized about since I was a boy myself.

His head lifted up and for a fraction of a second his eyes
met mine.

Surprisingly, his head turned to follow me when the car he
was in pulled ahead of mine. We looked at each other through the
rear window of his car. He smiled momentarily, an earnest look in
his eyes that conveyed an inner longing. Other boys have looked
at me like that. It was a look that said, 'I know you are looking
at me because I'm beautiful.' At least that was what I wanted to
think, and then my view was blocked out when a brown delivery van
passed between us. Behind me, an impatient driver was angrily
sounding his horn. I gestured rudely and he hit the horn again
both harder and longer in impotent response at being delayed.
Ahead, I saw the car turning into a side street. I accelerated
quickly and tried to get ahead of the delivery van, however I was
already passed the corner.

At the next corner I turned and drove quickly back to the
previous block. They were walking along the street headed away
from the Mall. When they turned into number 1951, I got a much
better look and my mouth dropped open in surprise.

Ten minutes later I was sitting at my desk, still dreamily
thinking about the boy in the car. However, there was work to be
done. It was not work that I wanted to do, although in part it
was very enjoyable. There were two groups of files. One was on
the floor, stacked in a pile that reached halfway to the top of
my desk. There were nearly a hundred of them. The other group of
three manila folders lay on my leather pad. Although the decision
had been made, it was not irrevocable. I picked up the top file
and reclined in my chair. I opened it, lifting out the eight-by-
ten glossy. I held it in one hand while I read aloud from the
bio-sheet, interpolating freely as I went.

"Alan Hewer. Age 12. Born Sussex, England. So you're
English, huh Alan? You're a real doll, Alan!" I mused aloud while
wondering whether he was homo sexually inclined.

He looked like he might be, but long ago I had discovered
that appearances could be deceiving. I continued to read the
material in the file, looking for further clues to his sexual
disposition, as much out of curiosity as a need to confirm what I
had suspected from the moment I laid eyes on the photograph. Out
of the three files, he was the only one I continued to have
doubts about. Several days of without masturbating had not helped
my mood.

"Mother, Margaret K., Father, James Roger. And I see Mr.
Hewer works for CitiBank. The family came to the US in 1992. You
probably no accent left by now. Pity, Alan. You look like a real
cutie-pie." I continued to think and read aloud, interpreting as
I went. "Previous experience: hmmm, I see you've done a few
commercials for cereal. Not much in the last year except the
usual mart ads in the Sunday papers."

Almost all the boys had done mart ads at one time or
another. They alternated among catalogs for Sears, K-mart,
Walmart, and a host of other retail chains. A few of the files
had even included the catalog pages, safely protected by plastic
covers. Alan's mart work included the fall catalog for a national
retail chain. He photographed nicely and from the beaming smile
on his face, I imagined that the photographer had fun working
with him.

"I see you also did a milk-ad in June. With your English
complexion, you certainly have the face for a milk commercial," I
chuckled.

I smiled. Another quick glance at the photograph. He had a
very pretty face. Slightly dimpled cheeks, cheeks that looked
like a rouge-blush had been applied. Button nose. Straight, blond
hair. Light-blue eyes. He was angelic-looking. He was a perfect
specimen of boyhood, clearly belonging in the much-preferred
category. I had immediately picked him out from the hundred other
boys aged between ten and twelve. On the downside, Alan Hewer was
nearly at the upper age-limit, not that it was all that important
for the assignment. At twelve, most boys had either started
puberty, or were so close to sprouting pubic hair that my client
would not derive sufficient benefit from the relationship to
justify the cost. It was a pity the search to Ty's replacement
had not started a year or two earlier. Based on the unproven
hypothesis that Alan was gay, I would have received a large
finder's fee.

I put the file down and picked up the next one.

With a birthday in early May, the second boy had just turned
ten.

'Surfer-type', I thought as I studied the photograph of
Jeffrey Montell.

His hair was bleached-blond. Of course, he probably had
never been near a surfboard, and not because he lived outside DC.
Only a few serious models have the time to do anything except
model, and from studying his file I knew that this boy was very
serious, almost as serious as his doting mother.

He had the face and body for a successful career, at least
until he was well into puberty and the ravages of adolescent
acne. Already, he had obtained a six-month contract to model
jeans for a well-known clothing company. In one half-page full-
color provided with the file, he looked exceptionally sexy. All
he wore, were faded denim jeans. From the waist up, he was ideal.
Lightly tanned, well-defined muscles, small navel and barely
discernible nipples. There was only problem with Jeffrey
Montrell. It had taken only one afternoon to confirm the obvious.
Jeffrey was more than a homosexual in the making, he was actively
seeking out sex. I smiled, imagining what his mother would do if
she knew where her precious son was spending his afternoons after
school. I had watched him through binoculars from inside my car.
If my suspicions were correct, Jeffrey spent the best part of an
hour on his back every day, doing it with the janitor of the
apartment building where he lived. He was the easy solution.
Except for the fact that he had more than likely been exposed to
AIDS, or would be in the near future, I would have had no
hesitation in getting him into my own bed for some fun and games.

I turned to the third and last file. Shelley James Lawlor.
In my opinion, he was the best of three. Even his name conveyed
'gay'. He was still a few months shy of ten years old, and he
looked even younger. He had the face, the body, the talent, and
more than likely, if my suspicions were correct, more than enough
'interest' for the job. Although I knew the details of his file
by heart, I examined his biographical data for the umpteenth
time, filling in the missing details with what I had gleaned by a
few hours of very discreet surveillance and a credit report on
his foster mother.

He was born in Maryland. His mother died in a car wreck at a
railway crossing when he was four years old. His father was not
identified on his birth certificate. Presently, he lived with a
foster family under the care of Julia Louise Harmon. She was
currently unemployed, and had spent some time in drug
rehabilitation. Despite her past history, she had been qualified
to provide foster care for the last seven years.

They lived on the east side of Washington with a ninety-two-
thousand dollar-mortgage on a small stucco-and-wood-framed house,
and seven thousand in unpaid credit card bills, a further
indication that during the last few years, Julia, her retarded
son, and the three children who lived with her had barely
survived. Still, despite their dire situation, she had been able
to find the money to hire a good photographer, and pay
Hammerstein Modelling Inc. the hundred-dollar fee to become
agents for Shelley's modelling career. The only problem was that
this truly remarkable boy had never received a single modelling
assignment. Shelley had not done even one mart ad. Given how
attractive he was, there was probably a good reason, and I
suspected the foster mother adversely affected the boy's
opportunities.

There were two photographs of Shelley James Lawlor. One was
of his head and shoulders only. I gazed at a perfect face. He was
very good-looking, so attractive that beautiful would not be an
exaggeration. He had naturally blond hair.

He had very big, startlingly-blue eyes. His eyes were not as
pale as Alan Hewer's eyes. They were almost the color of the sky
on a clear day. His eyes gave him an innocent appearance, but his
lips said otherwise. They were full, red, and femininely shaped,
almost begging to be kissed. His hair was long and cupped his
face, the fringe coming just past his eyebrows, touching the
collar of his shirt at the back. He was ideal for my client.

In the other photograph, Shelley had been very carefully
dressed for the right effect. If anything communicated that he
was 'gay' it was that one photograph. It was almost as if he was
auditioning to play the part my client had in mind for him. His
clothes gave new meaning to the word 'sexy'. He was lithesome, a
few inches short of five feet, probably weighing less than eighty
pounds. He stood next to a bicycle, wearing a tight-fitting shirt
and spandex shorts that reached to his knees. While the only bare
flesh visible was his arms and legs, it was easy to fill in the
rest. His body would be flawless. I smiled, wondering how he
would be perceived.

>From my point of view, his physique was a perfect '10', and,
as an added bonus, his crotch was compact compared to most
prepubertal boys. Like most boylovers, my client preferred his
boys not to be over-endowed. I was no different.

There was a flat lop-sided crease in his shorts to indicate
both the position and approximate size of his penis. I smiled,
considering how many of the one hundred files had provided a
photograph of the subject with a visibly erect penis. I expected
one or two, because it usually paid to advertise in this
business. After more study, I estimated three inches or less,
with nothing in the 'ball department' to get worried about. It
would be a few more years before Shelley Lawlor was big enough
for my client to lose interest. He would probably be well in his
teens before he was able to come in any significant quantity and
by then my client would have become bored with him.

"Well, Shelley, I said you were the one the first time I
laid eyes on your photo. You're the winner! I guess it's time I
had a talk to your mother about your future with my boy-loving
friend. If you only knew what could be in store for you over the
next two or three years."

I picked up the telephone and pressed "I" for "intercom".
Almost instantaneously, my secretary picked up.

"If Ms. Harmon is waiting, send her in," I said. "Keep the
boy waiting outside until I call for him."

Less than a minute passed before Shelley's foster mother was
shown in. I stood, waiting until the door closed behind her.
There was no question that she was an unpleasant woman. If one
was inclined towards the opposite sex, Julia would quickly
convert you. I walked across the room, my hand extended.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Harmon," I said with a smile that gave
nothing away.

"I'm Rick Barrett," I said with a smile. "I work for the
Holland Company. I'm doing the recruiting for the ad you're here
about.

We shook perfunctorily, not unexpectedly because Ms. Harmon
had been told that she would be meeting the owner himself. A
face-to-face meeting with Peter Hammond would come later, once
the details of Shelley's 'contract' had been worked out.

However, the first meeting would be a social meeting, an
opportunity for my client to meet his new boyfriend.

"Please sit down, Ms. Harmon," I said with a generous
gesture towards the faux-Chippendale chair in front of my desk.

She slid into the chair, crossed two very slender legs, and
watched me sit down. I regarded her, thinking thoughts that she
would not appreciate.

"Ms. Harmon, you don't mind if I call you Julia, do you?" I
asked.

She smiled and inclined her head slightly. I took that as a
'yes'.

"Well, Julia, the good news is that we have picked Shelley
out from among a hundred other boys. He's a very good looking
young boy."

She nodded slightly and waited for me to continue.

"He could compete with Aaron Carter in the looks department.
He's good the right look for today's market. He has a very good
chance at getting the job. However, there are two other boys we
also want to audition."

She beamed instantly. Without stretching the imagination, it
was possible to see her mind like a cash register, then she
frowned.

"Audition? I thought you wanted Shelley to model for a swim
wear ad."

I nodded vaguely, choosing my words very carefully. It was a
game I was good at playing.

"The ad is only a part of what we,... what the company has
in mind. It's entirely possible that the boy who we select will
do more than stand in front of a camera."

"Oh? I didn't realize. Hammerstein's didn't say anything at
all about that."

Julia studied me for a few seconds. I quickly revised my
analysis of her. She was street-wise. I could smell her piqued
interest. Slowly, she smiled.

"Well I'm quite sure that Shelley can do whatever you want.
He's been taking lessons for the last two years. He's really very
good, even though he hasn't done anything in front of a camera
yet,..."

I nodded abruptly. Julia Harmon had a tendency to run on.
"Of course there's a chance it won't work out,..." I smiled
slightly. "What role Shelley gets really depends on him, on what
he wants to do."

"In what way?" Julia asked uncertainly.

I leaned back in my chair. "Mmmm,.... well you know what
they say, show business is show business. It depends upon what
Shelley is prepared to do to get the part."

"In what way?" Julia repeated.

I heard the nervous inflexion in her voice and I suppressed
a smile. There was only one reason why Shelley's full-length
photograph featured an erection.

"I think you know, Julia."

She regarded me blankly, her eyes never leaving mine. I
marked time, waiting.

"Perhaps I do," she muttered.

"My client is a very wealthy man and he has very particular
tastes. He's rich enough to indulge those tastes," I added slyly.
"I think we both agree that Shelley's a very good-looking boy.
The ad is his if you're interested."

I continued to watch her surreptitiously while I glanced
through the notes I had placed inside Shelley's file.

"I'm interested."

"Good. Then what I'm about to say shouldn't come as a
complete surprise. The fee is the standard rate for juveniles.
We'll pay $300 an hour plus expenses. We'll arrange for the
photographer and a location to be as close as possible to where
you live. We want the photos taken at the beach, so there might
be some travel. It might be difficult to get a time during the
weekend when it isn't too crowed, so he might have to take some
time of during school."

"That's okay. Will your client be there?" Julia asked
quickly.

I looked at her, pretending surprise. "I don't imagine so.
Why do you ask?"

Julia reddened slightly. She swallowed, her gaze unwavering.
"Well, no reason in particular,... After what you just said,... I
mean, well,... personally I was just interested, you know," she
said awkwardly.

"He's a very busy man," I replied ambiguously. "However it
might be arranged, under the right circumstances."

"Which are?"

I shrugged. I needed to say just enough to leave her with
the obvious conclusion. "If Shelley wants to audition for the
other work, it won't be an issue, Julia. My client may want to
meet him,... if Shelley is who he wants."

I wondered whether Julia comprehended what I had in mind by
'audition for the other work'. I was constantly surprised by how
naive even highly intelligent people can be. On the intelligence
scale, Julia Harmon was on the low end. However, I suspected that
she was anything but naive. There was only one way to find out.

"Let's cut to the chase, Julia," I said boldly. "I think
you've got it pretty much figured out. My client is what is often
referred to as a boy lover."

"I'm not surprised," Julia said snidely. "When I got the
call from your secretary,... Shelley hasn't done any professional
modelling so it had to be something else."

I smiled. "Does it bother you." I allowed the words to sink
in.

"Meaning?"

I chuckled. "I think you know why you're here as well as I
do, Julia. My client's attracted to prepubescent boys. You know
what I'm looking for, don't you?"

"And what is that?" she asked, turning stubborn.

"Shelley's a boy, isn't he?" I asked softly.

Her eyes remained fixed on mine. "Yes," she said quietly.
Despite her apparent calm, her voice revealed a light
nervousness. "Yes, he's a boy."

"And he hasn't started puberty yet, has he?"

"Uh,... I don't think so. I don't know for sure. I mean
I,... haven't seen him, you know down there for quite a while."

"Usually there are signs," I smiled. "If you change his
sheets,..."

"Huh? Oh! That! No he hasn't, at least none that I've
noticed."

"That's good. Of course, he's only ten so he would be a few
years early if he had." I smiled and gestured towards her.

"Okay, let me put it another way.... My client would like
the opportunity to get to know him better. If everything works
out, Shelley will have a a wonderful opportunity," I added
deliberately.

"Does it mean,..." Julia began.

She hesitated, waiting for me to say what she found
difficult to ask. I said nothing. She had to face her own
dilemma. There was no easy way.

"Sex?" she said finally. She smiled slightly. I was
surprised how candid she was being. "Will Shelley have to have
sex with him?" she repeated.

"That's entirely up to Shelley. It's his choice,... and
your's too in a way,... You are his legal guardian, aren't you?"

"Shelley isn't a whore, Mr. Barrett," she retorted.

I interlaced my fingers together, lapping my thumbs. I
regarded her curiously. "If he was a whore, you wouldn't be
here," I said after a few seconds. "My client is a boy lover,
Julia. The emphasis is on both words, boy and love! He's not
interested in just any kid, especially not a boy who sees his ass
for peanuts."

"Meaning he's rich enough to get whatever he wants," Julia
said sarcastically.

"He doesn't have to cruise the streets looking for boys, if
that's what you're getting at. He's interested in having a long-
term friendship with a young boy.

If you're worried about Shelley having sex, we can leave it
at the photo shoot and nothing more," I said pleasantly.

"But sex is involved, isn't it?"

"Right now, like I said, my client's interested in having
Shelley for a friend, that's all!" I smiled slightly, enough to
convey the ambiguity of what that friendship would entail. "If
Shelley's interested in more than friendship,... well like I
said, that's entirely his decision."

I waited for several seconds, watching her reaction. I knew
she needed the money that Shelley's relationship with a man like
my client could provide. She was fast running out of the small
amount of money she received in welfare.

"What are you, his procurer?" Julia demanded bitterly. "How
do you sleep at night?"

Again I shrugged. "It's a job. I work for him, okay.
However, I'm a boy lover myself so I can understand his desires."
I breathed deeply. "I think we both know what's in Shelley's best
interests might not be socially acceptable," I said. "However, if
it's what Shelley wants and nobody else knows about it,... is it
really that terrible?"

"Socially acceptable?" she snorted. "You're talking about a
grown man screwing an ten-year-old boy in the ass. It's wrong!
Hell, it's against the law."

"Those are your words, Julia, not mine. My client's only
interested in being Shelley's friend," I repeated blandly. I was
beginning to wonder whether I had made the wrong choice. "If
Shelley's gay,... and some boys are, you know, even at his age,
perhaps that changes things a bit. It may be against the law, but
it's not as wrong as people make it out to be."

"I know that,... I just don't know about Shelley," Julia
answered uncertainly.

She was very predictable. When all was said and done, it
would come down to money. Until then, there was a game to be
played.

"Don't you?"

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't."

"Just maybe?" I queried.

Julia shrugged vaguely. "Okay. I know some boys are that
way."

"Shelley's already started down that path anyway, hasn't
he?"

I smiled again, observing her nostrils flare out with anger
when she realized my amusement. Julia stared at me, her mouth
open for a few long seconds.

"How? How do you know about that? It doesn't prove
anything," she added adamantly.

"Let's just say that I've done my homework. Are you sure it
doesn't confirm what you already suspect," I queried.

As far as I knew it was only one time, yet my intuition told
me it had to be more often. Two weeks earlier Shelley had allowed
the older boy, the African-American teenager who Shelley called
Cal, to masturbate him in the shed behind the house. It was just
after dark when the two boys entered. They were together for
nearly fifteen minutes. That I indirectly witnessed the momentous
event from my car using a remote microphone in a well-concealed
hiding place (a rusted watering can), was sufficient to confirm
the boy's sexual orientation had developed far enough to include
other boys. To my ears, it had sounded as if it was not Shelley's
first time with Cal. Certainly the younger boy showed no
repugnance at being asked to perform oral sex. From the sound of
it, Shelley had his mouth full, yet there was enough noise to
tell me that he enjoyed doing what he did. The older boy's groan
of ecstasy and long silence that followed gave me the impression
that Shelley also had no qualms swallowing the older boy's semen
when it finally spurted out.

Julia reddened, unable to answer with any degree of
confidence. "I don't know what you think you know, but,... if he
is queer,..." she began uncomfortably. "Well if he does,... what
you're talking about,... well it might not be so bad,..."

With impending victory, I steepled my fingers, pressing my
thumbs and moving them slowly back and forth.

"My client is a very understanding person, Julia. He'll be
able to give Shelley all the affection he needs."

"Shelley's different. He can be a very affectionate boy, Mr.
Barrett."

I was suddenly tired of playing games with her. I thought of
the beautiful boy outside my office, of the obscenity we were
talking. I thought about what it would mean for him.

"You want to know what's in it for you?" I interrupted.

Julia nodded slightly. "Shelley's not even ten yet." She
hesitated, scratching her chin thoughtfully. "If this man you're
talking about,... if he wants to have sex with Shelley it could
hurt him. I have to know if it would be worth it."

That Shelley depended on the woman was sufficient to remove
my smirk of smug satisfaction that I had identified her for what
she was.

"Let's just say it'll be worth your while. I'd rather talk
about what's in it for Shelley. My client is in a position that
allows him to take very good care of his young friends, Julia."

"That's not enough," she returned swiftly. Her anxiety was
beginning to wear her down.

"You're unemployed at the moment, aren't you Julia?" I did
not wait for her to answer. "I'm sure keeping three kids and your
own son on three hundred bucks a week is very difficult for you.
What with all the bills for them, and the mortgage payments,... I
know child support is nowhere near enough," I allowed my voice to
sound sympathetic. "It doesn't have to be that way. Shelley's a
beautiful boy, Julia. He should take advantage of what he has.
Depending on what you want for him, he can also be a very lucky
boy," I added cautiously.

"How much do I get?" she said flatly. The time had come for
serious negotiation. She left no doubt about what she was after.

"Under the right circumstances, I'm prepared to make you a
very generous offer, Julia."

"What sort of offer?"

"Hm, well depending of what Shelley is prepared to do with
my client, and assuming the relationship becomes ongoing, you
would start to work for a company called Sinclair Inc. It's a
small company." I smiled ambiguously.

Sinclair Inc. was a real estate management company that my
client had set up to manage some properties that he preferred his
wife not know about.

"It will be something of a unique position, Julia. The job
will pay the same salary you had in your last job, which was a
few years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, that's $35,300 a year, to be exact. You'll be able to
work entirely from your home. My client understands that your
foster family comes first. And if you want to do other work, of
course there will be a lot of time to do it."

Julia half-closed her eyes thoughtfully considering the
offer of receiving money without any work involved. I was
offering her thirty-five thousand dollars a year and all she had
to do was put the checks in the bank. After a few seconds she
looked at me. There was no longer any guile in her eyes. She had
risen to the bait and found it to her liking.

"After tax? I don't want to go off welfare. It's very
expensive living in this city."

"I'm sure it is. Payments could be made in cash, I suppose."

She sat very still. "If I say yes, then,... what about,...?"

"There's more," I interrupted impatiently. "Each year that
Shelley and my client are, well,... let's just say they'll be
close friends,... Each year you'll receive a $10,000 Christmas
bonus, in cash of course. Oh, and one more thing. Shelley will be
enrolled in a small, private school in DC. It's only a few blocks
from here, and it's close to where my client lives. Of course,
he'll get special gifts as well, depending on what he does and
how good he does it."

Julia nodded absently. Her smile indicated that she
understood exactly what was being offered and what was expected
in return. "It's not very much,... considering,... what's
involved."

"We're not talking about a pittance, Julia. My advice is to
take it.

We're talking about a hundred thousand or more in cash. In a
few years Shelley will be teenager. He probably won't last longer
than fourteen in this line of work. The demand is like that. If
he's very lucky he might go all the way to fifteen or sixteen
before men like my client lose interest in him. There's not much
interest in pimply teenagers."

"So I,... I mean we should take advantage now. Is that what
you're saying?" Julia acknowledged.

"More or less. There will be other rewards along the way, of
course. Shelley will always benefit from his friendship with my
client, even if it only lasts a year or two. He'll meet people
who could be very important to his career. Just being around a
man like my client is a great opportunity for a boy like
Shelley."

"Shel's almost ten and,... well I know he won't be young
forever. You said this man only liked boys before puberty. At
fourteen or fifteen he could almost be a man."

"That's true. Let's not worry about when Shelley starts
puberty until we see if it works out," I answered vaguely. "I'm
sure it's still a couple of years away still."

"I guess,... It's just the price is a bit high, that's all.

I mean,... well I'm sure you know what I mean," Julia said.

She gave me an uncertain smile, that while it did not say
she was rejecting my proposition, she was having second thoughts.
Perhaps she thought she could demand more money for herself.
Clearly she had very little interest in Shelley's welfare.

I smiled back at her.

"That rather depends on your perspective, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"For one thing, for the right boy, it might even be the
ideal opportunity to meet someone he'll like. It would be a pity
to waste the opportunity, Julia. You could change both your's and
Shelley's lives for the better, if you wanted to. Forty-five
thousand a year is pretty good money for doing nothing."

Julia inclined her head. "And you think Shelley is the right
boy?"

"Is he?" I challenged. "You know him better than anyone
else." I paused, giving her time to consider what she knew about
him.

This had to be her decision as much as Shelley's. She
shrugged, suddenly very confident as she realized that she was
going to take full advantage of the fact that Shelley was a
budding homosexual.

"I'm sure he is. I've found messin' around with my Ronnie.
It's pretty obvious what he likes," she admitted slyly.

"'Messing around' could mean lots of things," I suggested
gently.

Still, I sat up and leaned forward with interest. Ronnie?
Julia's retarded son, Ronald, was in his mid twenties. The
possibility of Shelley's involvement with him was something I had
completely overlooked. However, it wasn't necessarily bad news as
far as my client was concerned. If a boy had some experience with
an older male, he was more than likely to be interested in
relationships with other men. I wondered what she intended by
"messin' around.

"I already know what it means, Mr. Barrett. It means he's
gay! I've known for some time. You only have to look at him to
know. The boy's queer alright. I've seen the way he looks at
them."

"You mean men?"

"Of course I mean men. He doesn't look at girls that's for
sure. You can see it in his eyes. It's like part of him is
female. God! I can't believe I'm saying this. Maybe if he hadn't
stayed with us,... It's unnatural. Doing stuff with Cal was one
thing. I could ignore that. Boys,... well they get like that,
don't they?"

"Some boys can be sexually active at a very young age," I
commented. "It doesn't necessarily make them gay."

"Maybe if he and Ronnie hadn't started doing things,..."

I nodded understandingly, yet very curious. The image of the
two of them together was depressing at the same time as it was
strangely exciting.

The beautiful pre-teen boy and the retarded, overweight man.
What could they do together? The thought ricochetted through my
brain, firing memories of a little brown-skinned Mexican boy who
sucked like a vacuum cleaner and had a rectum of about the same
diameter.

"What happened with Ronnie?" I ventured. It was hard to keep
my voice under control.

"Ronnie's not all there, you understand. He's retarded, but
he's still interested in sex, only not with women, you
understand. He,... He plays with Shelley sometimes," Julia
admitted.

"He plays with Shelley? Could you be more explicit?"

"If you must know,..."

"It might be important," I said vaguely.

"It's his doing. Ronnie wouldn't do that, not unless,... He
gets my Ronnie to play with him. At night, mostly."

"Mostly?" I queried.

"I've found them together at other times, too."

I watched her face. "Have they had sex?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "When the door's closed, Mr.
Barrett, who knows what goes on inside a room?"

"Is Shelley a virgin?" I asked bluntly.

It really did not matter to my client whether the boy was a
virgin. However, for some reason it mattered to me.

"How in the hell am I supposed to know that. I don't sit
there and watch 'em for God's sake. I just know he goes into
Ronnie's room at night and he don't come out for an hour or more.
Sometimes he's in there until the next morning. How can you tell
if a boy's done it? It's not like there's a hymen in his ass."

I hated her. I knew she was lying. She knew exactly what
happened in Ronnie's bedroom at night. She had no conscience. I
had an unpleasant feeling of foreboding. Not only did I distrust
her, but I knew she had few if any scruples. I would have no
hesitation in reporting her to the authorities if it did not mean
that Shelley would be taken from her. I realized then, that I was
no better than she was.

"The usual sign is blood on the sheets," I answered with
revulsion.

She smirked. "For boys as well as girls?"

"Some bleeding from a boy's anus is not unusual,
particularly if the man isn't careful or if he rushes things," I
explained.

She shrugged, unwilling to accept any responsibility.
"Whatever! I warned Shelley, okay? I told him to be careful
around Ronnie. I know Ronnie could hurt him if they that did
that. He's big, you know what I mean. Anyway, It's not like
Ronnie forces him to do anything. The boy's certainly not
reluctant to go into Ronnie's room.

He goes in there because he wants to."

"I understand. Like I said, some boys are like that, Julia.
It's not Shelley's fault. It's rather like flipping a coin.
Mostly it comes down straight but every so often a boy turns out
to be gay. He can't help it."

"A coin flip?" Julia smiled. "And a boy likes men instead of
girls."

"Something like that. The important thing is how we can help
him deal with it. And I don't mean letting Ronnie screw his ass,"
I added quickly.

"Then what?" Julia demanded impatiently.

My fingers tented and pointed to the ceiling, prayer-like.
"It might sound naive, but I how important it is for Shelley to
know that he's loved. It's particularly important for a gay boy
because he can have sexual needs that are overpowering at the
same time he's rejected by his friends. Frankly, I'm not
surprised he's been going into Ronnie's bedroom."

"You make it sound personal," Julia commented.

I nodded. "It is personal! I was twelve when I started,
Julia." I leaned back in my chair.

"I can still remember everything that happened. He was my
next door neighbor. He was twenty-three and just starting
graduate school. In my own way, I loved him, and at the time I
thought he loved me back. It was physical, right from the get-go.
It started when he took me to an evening baseball game downtown.
We didn't stay for the game to end. He took me to a park over by
Winthrop. By the time I got back home about ten p.m. my ass was a
bloody mess and I was addicted. We had sex every afternoon when I
came home from school. Only there was one problem.

He really didn't love me."

Julia regarded me silently. For the first time since she had
entered my office, I felt her sincerity. There was an strange
understanding between us.

"I gave him my innocence, Julia."

"I can imagine."

"We did everything," I said flatly.

"At twelve?"

"Yes. I guess I started enjoying it after the first month.
It's like that for a boy, you know.

It hurts pretty badly when you start, for the first few
times at least, and then it slowly stops hurting. After a while
it starts feeling good, so good that words can't describe it. It
wasn't something that I wanted to stop."

"What happened?" she asked awkwardly.

"I had been doing stuff with him for about two months when I
told him I loved him. I was dumb enough to ask whether he loved
me back. We were having sex at the time and he didn't answer. I
thought he hadn't heard so I asked again. He told me to shut up."
I shrugged. "When I tried to ask again, he put his hand over my
mouth and kept on fucking me. I can't tell you how bad I felt. I
wanted him to love me so badly that it hurt inside."

"I'm sorry," she said without feeling.

I smiled absently. "I couldn't stop doing it. It didn't last
more than a year. was a reject at thirteen," I said. "I had pubic
hair and everything else that goes along with puberty. I guess he
lost interest in me. However, it doesn't have to be like that. My
client will see to it that Shelley doesn't go though the same
thing."

"It sounds like you ought to keep Shelley for yourself,"
Julia reflected softly. If,... if I said yes, what happens?" she
added awkwardly. "I don't think I could talk to Shelley. Not
about this."

I nodded sagely. 'You wouldn't have to, Julia. I'll talk
with him right now. I'd like to have you wait outside while I do.
It'll take a while."

Julia sighed. "You know I've worried about him for so long.
I know he's safe with Cal, and Ronnie too, even if he's retarded.
It might hurt him, but he's still safe with him. You hear
stories, you know, about men who pick up kids in the toilets, or
boys selling themselves in the malls and elsewhere. I don't want
that for Shelley."

"Neither do I. And it won't happen. My client will be a
friend for him.

It'll start with Shelley modelling some swim-wear. If that
goes okay, then he'd like to photograph Shelley in the nude. And
it that works out then Shelley will stay at his house for a
night. It'll be bit like a sleep-over, only he'll be sleeping
with a man instead of a boy," I added with dry humor.

"They'll sleep together?"

"Only if Shelley wants to. Otherwise, separate beds, or even
separate rooms if he's uncomfortable with having the man that
close to him."

"And if nothing happens? What then?" Julia asked. "He'll
have done an ad for some swim wear? Big thrill!"

"In addition to the swim wear, there'll be a cash payment to
you of a thousand dollars if Shelley poses nude for him. You can
double or triple that depending on what happens during the first
night. If it works out, the payments will be made every month.

Whatever happens, you can take my word for it that you'll be
well paid. Maybe Shelley will even have a good time."

"I'm sure," Julia said cynically. "And so will your client."

"I won't deny it," I laughed. "I wouldn't mind having a
sleep-over with Shelley either. However, I don't have my client's
money. I couldn't afford to keep him more than a few months."

Julia stood up and started to walk towards the door. Halfway
across the Persian Tabriz rug, she stopped and turned around.

"I not sure that money is all that important sometimes." She
hesitated as if she was considering saying something else. A
moment later she added, "Should I tell Shelley to come in now?"

"Please do," I replied. "This will take a while I expect. If
you want something to drink while you wait, don't hesitate to ask
my secretary."

I waited for about two minutes before the door opened again.
He was even better-looking than I remembered, much more
attractive than the two photographs showed. For the a few moments
that he glanced around the room, I could not take my eyes off
him. I sighed. To my jaded eyes, Shelley was far, far beyond the
only word I could think of. A single word, 'beautiful' could not
even begin to capture my first impressions, and a plethora of
adjectives failed miserably. He was radiant. He was natural. His
hair was shining. He was incredibly sexy. He smiled uncertainly,
and I slowly became aware that I had been staring fixedly at him
with disconcerting infatuation. Except Manuel, I had never had
the problem with other boys. I trembled with excitement.

"Uh hi!" I muttered selfconsciously. "You must be Shelley?"

He nodded, his only affirmation beyond a shy smile.

"Well, Shelley, come on over here," I gestured.

He walked hesitantly across the room until he stood before
my desk. In person and close up, he was even more beautiful. For
the first time in eight years, I was entranced. His large eyes
were startling in their innocence, and enhanced to the point of
femininity by his delicately thin eyebrows and long lashes. He
had full, very kissable red lips, a little reminiscent of
Macaulley Culkin, yet the resemblance to Aaron Carter was even
stronger.

"I see you're not wearing your bike pants this time," I
remarked casually.

His eyes darted down momentarily before he looked up to meet
my gaze. After a second or two he smiled uncertainly.

"Uh,... no I'm not," he admitted quietly. He sounded
uncertain, not frightened.

"Well, you're still a very sexy boy, even without them," I
continued softly.

I watched carefully and was not surprised to see Shelley
redden visibly, yet he continued to meet my eyes steadily.

"You have a very nice body," I added. "You're well built."

"I sorta watch what I eat so I stay skinny," Shelley said
meekly. He swallowed, then deliberately licked his bottom lip
thoughtfully.

"It always pays to advertise," I smiled. "Still, I'm
surprised Julia let you pose like that."

"Like what?" Shelley asked with pretended innocence.

I smiled again. "With a stiff dick."

I watched for his reaction. Instead of surprise or anger, he
merely shrugged and glanced down at the floor.

He slowly looked up at me with his clear-blue eyes. He
looked innocent until he smiled at me.

"I wasn't my idea, okay. Anyway, it happens all the time,"
he replied flatly. "I can't help it."

"Yes, I'm sure it does, though I bet it needs some help at
times too?" I teased lightly.

He smiled again, becoming increasingly at ease. "Sometimes."

I winked and stepped back. I regarded him with growing
curiosity.

Shelley was studying me at the same time.

"Like now?" I asked softly.

He seemed about to reply, but he hesitated, spontaneously
glancing down to confirm whether I was teasing him. There was a
definite bulge in his crotch, but it was no bigger than when he
first walked into the room. He pondered his answer, apparently as
confused as I was whether 'yes' meant that he needed help, or
whether he was already erect. He resorted to ambiguity.

"Maybe," he ventured.

Only Shelley knew the true state of his male organ. I found
myself liking him more and more. He was radiant, conveying
intelligence and boundless energy. It was time to change the
topic.

"Well,... as you probably know by now I work for a company
who wants a good looking boy like you to model some swim wear for
them," I began. "And you've been selected from a number of
applicants. The question is whether you'd mind wearing a small
Speedo in front of a camera?"

"No. It'd be okay. Is this like an audition or something?"
Shelley asked.

"Because I'm not really dressed for it."

I shook my head. "Not really. Even with your clothes on I
can see you certainly have a very nice body so that isn't a
question. It's more like a pre-meeting to see if you'd be
interested." I emphasized the last word deliberately.

"Interested? In what? Um,... I mean,... who wouldn't be?"
Shelley said anxiously.

"Well, it really depends on you," I answered directly. "What
are you interested in?"

"I don't understand."

I smiled. Shelley was very nervous and it made me like him
even more.He shifted his weight from foot to foot like a
frightened deer ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. He
was adorable.

"You're a very good looking boy," I said softly. "I bet
you've heard that a lot before, haven't you?"

"Er,.... s-s-sometimes," Shelley admitted. "My teacher, Ms.
Mills, she's said it once or twice."

"You've heard it from men before, too I bet," I added
patiently.

"S-s-sometimes," he stammered.

"It's embarrassing, huh?"

"Yeah, a bit."

I nodded reassuringly. "When a boy is as good-looking as you
are, and he's very sexy as well, he's sure to get a lot of
attention."

"I s'pose so."

"Does it bother you?"

"Kinda." He blinked.

He took a deep breath. He swallowed. His hand brushed
quickly at his long locks. His lips compressed like he wanted to
say something but was afraid to say it.

"Some boys aren't bothered when men show interest in them,"
I continued.

He shifted uneasily. "They like the attention. It makes them
feel good inside."

"I guess," Shelley ventured. "It's okay, I s'pose."

"You don't mind then?"

"uh, not really. It's just, well, it kind of makes me feel
funny."

"Funny? Why?"

"Don't know. I guess 'cause I know it's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Because."

"Just because?"

"Yeah."

"Because it might mean that you're gay?"

Shelley started. He glanced at me awkwardly, then looked
away to stare down at the floor below him. I had the answer I
wanted. He knew he was attracted to his own sex. He was old
enough to know it meant that he was gay. He was not ready to
admit it openly.

"Being gay is not wrong, you know Shelley," I said. "I'm gay
too.

Although I usually don't go around telling people I am, I'm
not ashamed about it."

"Yeah? You don't go to my school, that's for sure."

"Well, I've always figured that if no one knows, there's not
a problem."

"The kids at my school make fun of them, and me too
sometimes, because of how I look, I guess."

"Well, you are very good looking. Maybe they're just jealous
of you."

His eyebrows lifted slightly with increased interest. "You
really think I'm good looking?"

"I said so, didn't I, Shelley? You could be a movie star."

"Yeah, I know. Some of the kids at school say I look like
that Carter kid on tv."

"They're absolutely right. I hope you know I meant it. I
think you're very good looking."

He smiled uncertainly, finally accepting the compliment.
"Okay."

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked.

"Because of the swim wear ad, I guess?"

"Yes, partly you're here for that. Your foster mother and I
talked about that. You're going to model for them. We'll do the
photography for the ad probably next week. My client isn't all
that interested in seeing you in a swimming costume though," I
hinted.

"Then what?" Shelley tensed. It was as if a sudden surge of
excitement ran though him, as if he knew what was coming.

"He'd mostly like to have you photographed out of the
costume."

"You mean naked, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I guess it would be okay," Shelley wavered. "Would anyone
else be there?"

I shrugged. "He'll take the photos himself I expect. So, to
answer your question, probably not."

"Um,... well like what would I have to do, besides do model
poses that is?"

I shrugged. "Whatever you wanted to do. Only you'd do it
with your clothes off, that's all."

"He wouldn't force me to do things I didn't want to do?"

I shook my head, wondering what had prompted the question.
He seemed to expect that he would be used sexually.

"You'd do nothing you didn't want to do."

"It's okay, I guess," Shelley said slowly. "It depends."

I sat forward in my chair and studied the boy's face. He was
exceedingly attractive, far too handsome a specimen of boyhood
for the man I was working for. He was nearly sixty, and in my
mind he was too old to appreciate the boy's awe inspiring beauty.

"It depends on what?" I asked gently.

He bit his bottom thoughtfully. He shrugged. "Do I have to
do sex stuff?" he asked with an innocent voice.

"Only if you want to. This man likes boys, Shelley. Do you
know what that means?"

"I guess so. He likes to have sex with them."

His explanation left a lot to be desired, but it showed that
the ten-year-old had the right idea. I put one leg across the
other and leaned back in my chair. I tried to appear relaxed, yet
at the same time my mind was filled with a jumble of thoughts,
most of which were about keeping Shelley for myself. The more I
looked at him, the more difficult it became not to blurt out that
I loved him.

"Does that bother you?"

He looked up at me shyly.

"I think I'd like doing it with the right person," he
volunteered. He looked directly at me, his eyes questioning as he
waited for a response.

"Have you, er, done it before?" I asked, deliberately
leaving whatever "it" was to Shelley's imagination.

Shelley nodded.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

he shrugged. "Where I live,... with Julia, all the kids do
stuff. I've done it with Cal, only a few times. He's a black kid
who's a couple of years older than me. Mostly I do it with
Robbie, that's her real son. She even got me to do it once with
Linette."

"A girl?" I asked with a smile.

He shrugged. "Linette's the black girl who lives with us.
She 'bout twelve I guess, only she's not that much bigger than I
am."

"What did you do?" I asked playfully.

Shelley grinned. "Nothing much. Mostly she's with Julia, y'
know. They sleep in the same room and all. I guess she wasn't
that interested in me."

"Neither were you, am I right?"

"I guess."

At that point, my mind was made up. My client was going to
meet Alan Hewer. He would not know the difference. He'd be as
entranced by the boy's English accent as much as his splendid
young body. I had no doubts that both of them would be happy. He
would never know about Shelley Lawlor. I concealed my smile and
picked up the telephone to place the call that would start the
process all over again. While the telephone rang in the office
outside, I made plans for how to get Shelley Lawlor by himself.

Chapter Two.

Jacob Wilderstein was waiting in the lobby when I arrived
precisely at 12.30 pm. Clearly he was not happy about being kept
waiting. He scowled when I stepped out of the elevator.

"Terrible traffic," I said nonchalantly. "I swear it's
getting worse and worse.

"I'm sure," Wilderstein replied.

He turned and led the way into the office. With the glazed
door closed behind us, he walked to the far window and put his
hands on his hips. I smiled as he stood there, his swaggering
deliberate stance not unlike Napoleon without the hand inside his
coat. From behind he was pitiful.

Five-foot-six-inches, a mean-spirited public servant who was
nearly bald.

"You still see him, don't you?" he asked softly.

"Who?"

"The kid. You know who I'm talking about Shelley Lawlor,
isn't that his name?" Wilderstein said dryly.

I smiled slightly. Through the window I watched a plane
climbing quickly from Reagan National Airport. It turned slowly
as it passed over the far end of the Mall. Wilderstein's hand
casually brushed though the remaining strands of hair at the back
of his head. He turned around, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Do you?" he asked pointedly.

"What does it matter, Wilderstein? You know the answer to
your own question. otherwise you wouldn't ask it in the first
place."

Wilderstein chuckled crudely. "Do you still fuck him in the
ass?"

"What I do or don't do with Shelley is none of your
business," I answered flatly.

"But you still see him, don't you?"

"Yes!"

He stepped towards the desk and picked up a manila envelop.
He unfastened the string by winding it counter-clockwise. He
paused momentarily, pretending to ponder the contents. Slowly he
lifted back the flap. I saw a vivid streak of red adhesive where
the security seal had been broken. A thick wad of photographs
spilled out onto the desk when he held it upside down.

"I don't hold it against you. Hell, I don't even think
you're sick." He surveyed me with a sideways glance. "He's a sexy
little bastard. And noisy too. He obviously enjoyed it with you.
It would be different if you forced him, but you didn't. Maybe
it's what they call a victimless crime.

A bit painful for the kid, perhaps, but that's all. Anyway
after four months I guess he's used to it by now?"

"Shelley does what he wants to do."

"I believe you, Rick, but would a jury? I know it's
voluntary for him because I've listened to the tapes. In fact, he
doesn't even look like a victim in these photos, but they're more
than enough for jury to return a guilty verdict, even here in DC.
You'd have to have a jury full of ass-fucking niggers to get out
of this one," Wilderstein said with a broad grin. "You could get
ten-to-twenty years with parole sometime next century."

"You're an asshole of the highest order, Wilderstein."

"You're entitled to your opinion, Rick. I'm just doing my
job."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"I have to do this, you understand. It's not even my idea."
He smiled slightly. "Hell, no one really knows what I'm doing to
get you on board!"

"Not even the Director?"

"He doesn't know what I'm doing to get you involved. No one
knows about these photos. There is a single copy, thirty-six
photos, and you're looking at them. If you agree, these ones
leave with you. I imagine you can put them to good use."

"And the negatives?" I asked abruptly.

"Ah! yes! I keep the negatives until you do the job. Then
they're yours as well."

"What do I have to do?"

"Ah, the crux of the matter. You have to recruit and run
someone. Once you're in, the whole thing will take about a month,
maybe even less. After it's done, you vanish.

There will be some people upset. Personally, I'd go to
Europe, but I hear the boys are better down south. Brazil, Chile,
even Bolivia, you could take your pick."

"What's involved?"

"We need first hand information, and we need it very
quickly."

"Tell me more."

Wilderstein regarded me quietly. "There's no proof, but I
think we have a big problem in the White House. A very big
problem. You know what I'm talking about?"

"I thought the thing was finished. Hell, nobody cares what
he does. Who he screws, what powers he abuses, who dies in the
process? So long as the economy is strong! Public opinion can
take care of anything."

"That was the opinion around here too until a week ago. The
fact is it's now more that a few laws being broken. There is a
small faction that thinks you might have been onto something five
years ago before you took on that assignment in central America.
It's possible that Russia is involved. Your memo supporting the
position has been keeping a lot of people awake at night."

I smiled and shrugged. My memorandum had been placed in a
"BLUE-PRINT" security file. "Blue-print" files never left the
Director's office. When I wrote it, my position was based on
speculation, hunch, and a lot of assumptions. It was not one of
the factors behind my decision to leave the Agency, yet I knew
that my next assignment was the result of it.

"Then you have a big problem," I said flatly.

"We have to know, and within a month at the latest."

"What's the outcome?" I asked. "Or maybe I should ask what's
going to happen after the target exits?"

"Political reality, Rick. We're working on it."

"I presume the man steps down quietly and the V-P steps
up,... because that's what's going to happen if I'm right, isn't
it?"

Wilderstein shrugged vaguely. "Whatever! I try not to get
involved in the repercussions. It's not my decision. I'm running
the action as far as you're concerned. Maybe you're right. If I
was you, once I'd made contact in the affirmative, I'd get my ass
out of Dodge as quickly as I could. It might stir the Russians up
when they find out so I'd go deep if I was you, Rick. So fucking
deep that no one could find me."

"What's the strategy?" I asked pointedly.

"You target is a very important man. For the sake of it,
let's agree he's very hard to expose because he is so popular."

I smiled. "Only he's a mole, all right. I'm surprised it
took this long to find out."

"We still not know for sure. I have a few doubts. It's
possible the entire thing is reverse engineering."

"Yeah, right! Before when you were involved, you questioned
whether the Russians could put it together."

"Think about it, Rick. If you were going to plant a mole,
wouldn't you pick someone who didn't draw attention?"

"Exactly! You have to think like Machiavelli. The Russians
do it all the time. You pick a person who does get attention,
only it's an entirely different kind of attention. Throw in a few
banking and real estate scandals, a couple of whores. There's so
much flak on the radar you never see the target. Sure everyone's
looking, but they're all going in the opposite direction."

"A confusion strategy? Very Machiavellian, even for the
Russians, don't you think?"

"It's perfect, Wilderstein. Everyone too busy worrying about
the next harlot to crawl out from under the bed to think about
deeper issues."

"That was your point five years ago, wasn't it?"

I shook my head. "No. My point was he spent time at
Cambridge, and then went to Moscow. It's a pattern, that's all.
There was ample opportunity for him to be recruited." I thought
for a few seconds. It made no sense.

"I still don't see why you need me."

Wilderstein smiled. "He's a lot like you, Rick."

"In what way?"

"What turns him on is the same thing that turns you on.
Small dicks and balls and no hair."

"My but you're a funny son-of-a-bitch, Jacob," I replied
sarcastically.

"You might notice I'm not laughing. This is serious. There
is a strong indication that what he really likes is his boys. If
so, it's a dangerous obsession, one the Russians would use in a
flash."

"You mean everything else is a ruse?"

"Of course. You just said so yourself. Everything more or
less in the opposite direction. he gets blow jobs from his girl
friends, but the real action is elsewhere. Like I said, all we've
had up till now was an indication, but it was enough to look
further."

"Based on what?" I asked suspiciously. "It's completely out
of character!"

"So is what you did with that boy, what's his
name,...Shelley Lawlor?"

"You know it as well as I do," I replied.

"I had you down as one hundred percent straight until that
mess in Mexico four years ago. You managed to keep it well hidden
afterwards. It was only when I started looking to find something
I could use against you did I come up with the connection with
Mexico again. I checked the flights. You went there too often,"
Wilderstein chuckled. "I had you followed by one of our people.
man, it was too easy." He laughed again. "It sounds to me like
Mexico is just one big chicken farm. However, I was surprised to
find out that you liked dark meat. I guess it's cheaper than
white meat, huh?"

"Very funny."

"So I kept an eye, or maybe I should say kept an ear on you
when you came back to DC."

"You bugged my office?" I queried. "I should have suspected
something like that from you and your friends, shouldn't I?"

Wilderstein shrugged. "I really don't care about your sex
life, Rick. The only reason I'm dragging you into this one is
because I think the target has the same interests as you. He
keeps it well hidden for good reason. Joe Public can tolerate his
sexual peccadillos only so long as they're relatively normal."

"You're about two steps ahead of me. Why don't you fill me
in on what you know," I demanded.

"We have to get close to him, and I mean real close, and
soon too. We have to find out how he's passing information to
them. Given what we know We don't have time to waste. about
him,...well a boy may be the only way.

And not just any boy, the target has very particular tastes.
He likes blonds with blue eyes,... boys like Shelley in fact."

I shuddered. "No!"

"No? I don't think you're in a position to say no, Rick. Not
unless you plan on seeing Shelley again when he's in his mid
twenties. You ought to get twelve to fifteen, even with parole.
This way,..."

"No way!"

"He's perfect for job. I think you know what I mean. We both
know he's not innocent."

"He's not a whore either," I said adamantly.

"He might have been a virgin before you met him, but he sure
isn't one now, is he?" Wilderstein said flatly. "Let me think.
How did it go? Oh!!! Ohhhh! Rick! Do it deeper! Ohhhh! Yes!
There! Do it there, Rick! Ohhhh!" Wilderstein smirked. "It sure
sounded like both of you were having fun at the time but I doubt
that a jury would see it that way. No when the kid's ten years
old."

"Forget it, asshole," I swore.

"You haven't heard my offer yet, Rick. I've gone to a lot of
trouble. The least you can do is hear me out."

I turned and stormed towards the door. Halfway, I stopped.
"What offer?"

"Two hundred thousand if you take the job and bring home the
bacon so to speak."

"Bacon? Coming from you? Get real. Two hundred thousand! A
million at least, if I have to disappear,... and up front!"

"The Director has approved up to five hundred. That's it!"

"I'm freelance now. Five isn't enough!"

"It might be under the right circumstances. What if I could
arrange for you to keep him afterwards, Rick? I'm talking about
Shelley Lawlor. We want him out of the way as well. Assuming
you'd want to, of course," he suggested.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Of course, if all you want is some boy-ass when you get the
urge, you wouldn't be interested in something long term. It could
be permanent if you wanted."

I turned around. Wilderstein was smiling. "What if I wanted
to adopt him?" I asked.

Wilderstein laughed. "You're crazy! I knew you were hot for
him, but adopt him? But yes, I guess it could be arranged, Rick.
Hell, after this is done, if you wanted, you could probably even
marry him if you took him to the right place. What you do with
the boy after this is over is your business."

"Very funny, Wilderstein. It's a million or nothing." I
glared at Wilderstein and he nodded slightly. "What's the deal?
There's more to it than what I think, isn't there? Otherwise you
would be holding me to three," I demanded.

He shrugged, meeting my eyes with a vacant stare. My blood
chilled.

"What else?"

"I know that the money is going to be important to you if
you have to disappear. A million will get you a good start in
another country, especially if you head to Central America. It
all comes down to how much you want Shelley."

"It's very simple. I want Shelley enough to adopt him," I
said flatly.

"Actually that's good. For good reason, we will want both
you and him hidden. If he's with you, that's even better. I'm
sure you'll take good care of him. In fact you'd have to adopt
him if you wanted to take him overseas.

"Okay. The I want to adopt him.

My response provoked another smile. "That's what I thought.
I have the papers right here, in fact." Wilderstein tapped his
jacket pocket. "All they need are signatures,... your signature,
and the boy's legal guardian, and we can take them before a
judge."

"He doesn't have one," I interjected. "His parents were
killed in a car wreck when he was a baby. He's a ward of the
state. He needs someone to take care of him."

"Isn't he with a foster family?"

"If you're talking about that Harmon bitch who's supposed to
be taking care of him, then yes," I replied angrily. Wilderstein
tilted his head, encouraging elaboration. "You may not care, but
he's being abused on a daily basis."

He shrugged, and we glared at each other in silence.
Wilderstein neither cared or was interested in finding out more
about Shelley. Finally, I sighed. "What's involved?"

"Not a lot. We'll put a bug on him. We get Shelley close to
him and in the right situation, and then we wait."

"How? By using the Cincinnati connection?" I asked.

Wilderstein regarded me with fascination, then nodded
slowly. "You're on the ball, Rick. You were always good at this.
I think that's the best way in.

He goes there on a regular basis. It is the most likely
place he passes information on and gets some action."

"Shelley's only ten," I commented. "He won't understand what
he has to do. Besides, how are you going to use a bug? Remember,
the target's supposed to be a boy lover. If he is, it'd be
fucking stupid to use a bug."

"That rather depends on where it's located. Even if he takes
the boy's clothes off, which is very likely if they have sex,
there are still places,..."

"Meaning?" I asked uncertainly. I felt a growing distaste
for what I was agreeing to, however, there was no alternative.

"Where's the last place you'd expect to find a bug after the
clothes are off?"

I thought for a second. "Under the skin of course? It might
be overlooked in the armpit or somewhere else, but it would be a
hell of a risk. He'd be a fool not to make a skin check, but in
the heat of the moment,... and he's not known for being cautious.
There would be a scar of course. You might get away with it. It's
be a long shot though unless you buried it pretty deep."

Wilderstein smiled. "You're getting warm,... Except the
failure rate after a day or two has been about one in three. Then
there is the problem of a scar, even with laser surgery there's a
mark, and the quality of the transmission is fucking awful."

"Where then?"

"It's a Russian idea, actually," Wilderstein smirked. "And
considering the nature of the activity, well,... it's ideal," he
hinted.

"Where?" I repeated impatiently.

"His scrotum. In fact the scar is already there thanks to
mother nature."

"How?"

"Uh,... To be exact, a wireless transmitter,.... actually
it'd take the place of one of his balls."

"You're joking!"

He grinned. "No! Until a month ago the Russians were running
an agent in Saudi Arabia. The kid was about twelve years old.
They had a good thing going too, until we turned his handler.
Despite what you'd think, Rick, those Arabs really love their
little boys. They'll say just about anything in front of them to
prove how fucking great they are. It's interesting story. I won't
bore you with the details right now, except they got the kid
close to some prince whose name you'd recognize if you were still
reading the daily briefings. We were lucky. We got our hands on
both the transmitter and receiver, and some good information as
well. It's one heck of a brilliant bit of engineering. It only
has a transmit range of a hundred yards, but the clarity is
fucking fantastic.

You'd think you were right there beside him."

"I,... God, Wilderstein! You want to cut one of Shelley's
balls off. You want to put the Russian thing inside his ballsac?"

"He'd look a bit strange with three testicles wouldn't he?"
Wilderstein suggested feebly. "Rick, I knew you wouldn't like
this, but there's no other way."

"Jesus, you've sunk to an all time low this time,
Wilderstein."

"I've looked into it. It's not like a boy really needs both
of them."

"The hell he doesn't!"

"No really! I've spoken with a pediatrician, and an expert
in the field.

With one testicle Shelley'll be able to do the same things
he'd do with two of them. I'm told it's a very simple operation."

"I'm sure it is," I interjected cynically. "Local
anaesthetic too, I bet?"

"It could be, except that we don't want Shelley to know what
happened to him."

"You're going to cut one of his balls and you don't want him
to know about it? You're fucking crazy, Wilderstein. As soon as
he comes out of anaesthesia, he'll feel the difference. There's
going to be some pain.

Hell, maybe a lot of pain. You really think he won't figure
it out?"

"All that's involved is a single incision less than an inch
long to insert the transmitter we took out of the Russian kid.
With laser surgery they tell me Shelley will heal completely in
only a few days. He can be keep asleep until then."

"And there won't be a scar?" I asked sarcastically.

"The doctor assures me that it'll be next to impossible to
see a scar, even up close, after a couple of days. Like I said,
that's the advantage of using the scrotum. The scar is already
there. I saw some photos of the Russian boy the day before they
removed the transmitter. His balls looked normal enough to me. He
looked exactly the same when I saw him after they removed it.
They used a silicone implant and I tell you I couldn't see any
difference. It'll take less than fifteen minutes and there won't
be any pain that an aspirin or two can't take of."

"Yeah, except afterwards."

"Why?"

"You don't think he'll realize one of them doesn't feel the
same as the other. Don't even try to get me to believe he won't
notice the removal of one of his testicles," I interjected
angrily. "Which one by the way, as if it makes any difference."

"If they're both healthy, then I'm told that it's be the one
that hangs the lowest. The weight of the transmitter is a bit
different to the real thing I guess."

"They haven't dropped yet," I answered. "It's hard to tell."

"What? What hasn't dropped?"

"His balls, Wilderstein," I replied angrily. "He hasn't
started puberty yet, so they haven't dropped. Okay, assuming I go
along, what happens afterwards?"

"When the job is done, Shelley will go to a clinic. We'll
provide the doctor. We'll tell you who and where, if and when the
time comes. He'll have another operation to take the transmitter
out. I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone listening in again, now
would you?" he laughed. "If you're worried about the aesthetics,
he can have the silicone replacement thing done. It might be
artificial but the doctors tell me it will pretty much look and
feel like the real thing from the outside. Only the two of you
will know it isn't real. In or out of his clothes, he'll look as
normal as any boy. Hell, if you want Rick, he can even be fitted
with the next size up so he can really fill out his swimming
costume."

"You're fucking hilarious," I swore.

Wilderstein smirked and slowly walked back towards the
window where he had being standing earlier. I could see that from
where he was standing, he was looking at the DC Veteran's
Hospital, the site of many CIA operations involving medical work.
I wondered whether the operation would begin there again.
However, given the nature of the situation, more than likely it
would be done at a private clinic. That way there would be no
record at all of what happened.

"He'll still be able to have children?" I asked querulously.

"If he wants to it shouldn't be a problem with only one
ball, but somehow I don't think his getting married and having
kids is on the cards, do you? Not after what he's been doing with
you. If I wasn't sure the kid was queer, do you think I'd be
doing this to him?"

"Who knows?" I answered grumpily. "What's the down side for
him?"

"The only adverse affect the doctors talked about might be a
delay in starting puberty, and maybe his physical development
will be a bit less manly than it might have been if he had two
nuts. Apparently, you can fix that with testosterone injections,
if you want," Wilderstein added gratuitously. "However, for a boy
lover like you the side effects are probably a good thing, I
expect. As far as Shelley is concerned, it probably won't make
any real difference given his sex life. He'll doesn't need his
nuts to lie with his butt in the air."

"You're real funny, Wilderstein," I commented dryly.
"If,..."

I paused thoughtfully, trying to decide how far to push
Wilderstein. The fact was that there was little I could or would
do to stop what was being talked about. Wilderstein had confirmed
my deepest fear. There was a Russian spy, planted under deep
cover, in the highest position in the country. God only knew how
much damage he had already been able to inflict. Under certain
circumstances, the long term fate of the nation might depend on
him. The loss of one of Shelley's testicles was a relatively
small price to pay.

"If this is going to happen, I need to know what's really
in the purse? And how soon it has to occur?"

"I already told you. You'll get five hundred thousand, Rick.
This thing might only take three or four days once you're in
place. Only how much is in the budget isn't the real question, it
it? You want to know how much is it worth to the Agency?"
Wilderstein asked flatly. He shrugged. "The Director said to do
it no matter what. There are any number of reasons why he wants
to get rid of him. However he wants it clean and he wants it
tidy. No traces, Rick. That's why you have to disappear. I'll
even destroy your file. I don't know why, but he said he wants no
dirt on either party. No bad press for anyone, unless it's the
FBI, then it's open season," he laughed. "Fuck the bastards, to
quote him. To answer your question, how much is it worth to him?
I have no idea."

"A mole who is this deep and this important is worth a lot
to get rid of," I said ambiguously. "There's going to be a bigger
budget."

"Okay. You're right. I've got more or less whatever it
takes," Wilderstein replied suspiciously.

"Then it's going to be more rather than less," I said. "A
million dollars for me and you're going to set up a trust fund
for Shelley. One of his balls is going to cost the agency another
million dollars."

"You're joking."

I stepped closer to Wilderstein. "The way I see it, Jacob,
you've got a problem."

"How so?"

"You're screwed if either of us say no."

"You won't!" Wilderstein said adamantly. "Unless you plan on
spending serious time in a Federal pen. With your million
dollars, you can take Shelley a thousand miles from here. You can
find a place in Central America where you can do whatever you
want to do with him to your heart's content. But you can forget
the million buck trust fund. It's not going to happen. No kid's
balls are worth that much. Hell, he could lose a nut playing
soccer. One of my neighbor's kids supposedly lost a ball last
year when he got kicked in the groin. It's no big deal."

I shrugged with pretended disinterest and casually started
to move towards the door to give a clear indication that we were
finished. I had only moved a few feet before Wilderstein laughed.

"Okay, Rick, a million bucks even for both of you. You get
yours in cash as soon as the job is done.

The kid get's his when he's eighteen or twenty one, or
whenever the hell you want."

"One million payable in advance. It goes in the usual
account in Switzerland, transferred through an intermediary like
you did for that payoff for the arms merchant in Brazil. I'm sure
you know which one," I said dryly. "The balance will be in
unmarked cash, old notes, nothing more than hundreds. I want it
clean. I'll come after you if you screw me."

"Agreed!" Wilderstein said quickly. "Anything else?"

"I want the adoption papers signed and approved by a judge,
or whatever you have to do with the authorities for me to have
full guardianship. I want the adoption papers in my hand before
you do anything to Shelley. I want it done right, Wilderstein. If
you fuck with me, even a little bit, I'll cut both your balls
off."

"No! You'll get the papers only after the thing is finished
and you're getting on the plane. However, I'm prepared to give
you half the money and the all of the photos just as soon as
Shelley's had his little operation."

"How soon?"

Wilderstein turned away, breaking eye contact. The meeting
was finished.

He spoke quietly, giving only the critical instructions that
I would need.

"How soon?" I repeated. "I need time to talk to Shelley."

"I have a doctor scheduled to do it as soon as you agree. If
you must know, it'll probably be done later today."

"No! I need to talk with him first."

"That's not possible."

"Where is he?" I demanded.

I felt my heart sink. I wanted to tell Shelley, to explain
why the operation was necessary, why it was the only way we could
spend our lives together.

"He's safe. Trust me."

"For God's sake. You fucking bastard, Wilderstein. You've
got him already, haven't you?"

Wilderstein shrugged. He tried to be nonchalant, yet I
sensed his nervousness. He took a deep breath.

"Listen, Rick. There was no other way. We had to move
quickly. There's no time to waste. It'll take a few days to
heal."

"Where is he?" I repeated anxiously.

"I told you he's safe. Okay?"

"Not okay! You wanted to be absolutely certain, didn't you?
Maybe you weren't sure I'd go along with your dirty little
scheme. So you grabbed him first, just to make sure, didn't you?
What happened?"

Wilderstein smiled slightly. "He had a slight accident,
Rick. He fell off his bike on the way to school this morning. It
happened just before I called you."

"How?" I demanded angrily. I took a deep breath to control
my temper. It was a trick I had learned after many years working
in Central and South America. "Is he okay?"

"There's a few scratches on him, that's all Rick. He took a
dart in the thigh. He never knew what hit him. He almost stopped
the bike just before he fell off. He's fine. He's sedated right
now. Of course, he'll,..."

"Where is he, Wilderstein?" I interrupted angrily.

"He's at a private clinic if you must know, Rick. It's fully
equipped for surgery. He's in safe hands. Now that you've agreed
to do it, I'll place a call there and give them the go ahead."

"Damn you!"

"Be at your place tomorrow morning. I'll have the boy with
me. I think you know what needs to done until then. The things
you'll need to get Shelley ready for his part of the assignment
are in the briefcase on the desk. He can even keep his first
name, but you'll have to clue him in on the rest of it. His last
name will be the same as yours. You'll go by the name of Robert
Walker. You ought to be used to the name, but you still have a
lot of work to do between now and then."

There was nothing more that I needed to say. It was not hard
to know the contents of the briefcase without opening it. There
would be an envelop big enough to hold half a dozen sheets of
paper, a few photographs, various credit cards and a driver's
license in a name that was very familiar to me. I suspected I
would also find a bottle of pills or some other way of keeping
Shelley asleep for the next few days until there was no sign of
the operation. I breathed out slowly, shaking my head futilely.
It was impossible not to feel depressed.

"Do you have any questions?" Wilderstein asked.

"More like an observation. Shelley's ten years old. You said
the Russian boy was about twelve. The last time I looked,
compared to ten-year-old boys, most twelve-year-olds had bigger
balls. At that age, even a year can make a big difference in that
part of the anatomy."

Wilderstein shrugged and then he smirked. "You're the expert
on boys' gonads, I guess.

Aren't the Russians supposed to have small balls? Actually,
the doctors didn't say anything was unusual when I talked with
them earlier today. Maybe because the transmitter isn't all that
big. You want to see one? I've got the spare right here. I
thought you might want to see it."

"Show me," I said curiously.

Wilderstein slipped his hand into his jacket pocket. He drew
out a small plastic box and flipped the lid open with his thumb.
He held it out.

"It's a marvellous bit of engineering, Rick. If you didn't
know, you'd think the Israelis made it, rather than the Russians.
It looks just like the real thing the doctors tell me. Even the
color is right."

I studied the small egg-shaped object that lay in a foam
insert within the box. It was less than three quarters of an inch
long, a half an inch in diameter. It was cream colored and the
surface was slightly variegated in color and texture to represent
the real thing. Three small shiny tubes sprouted from one end,
like tiny catheters.

"Two of those tubes hold antenna," Wilderstein remarked.
"It's remarkable. The thing is even enclosed with silicon so it
actually feels a bit spongy. Inside there's a titanium casing
around the electronics. It's probably darn near indestructible."

"Batteries?"

Wilderstein gave me a supercilious look that was intended to
show that he was well versed in the latest technology.

"Fucking brilliant, especially for the Russians. They used
some Japanese technology for a change. There's one of those Seiko
kinetic batteries built right in. No need for a replacement,
which is good because there's no way of putting it inside short
of another operation. It gets charged every time his nuts move."
Wilderstein smirked. "Make sure your boy wears boxers so they
bounce around a lot. If my wife's watch is any indication, it
should be able to last at least a dozen years."

"How convenient," I said sarcastically.

"Once it's fully charged it'll run for ten hours if he
doesn't move. That's the down side. The problem is it works great
at night, and lousy when he first wakes up in the morning. If you
don't want it charging up, you switch it on and off by squeezing
on both ends at the same time."

I nodded, strangely interested in the device displayed
before me, yet still questioning the capability Wilderstein was
attributing to it.

"Their experience with high-tech pretty much requires that
they always have a backup plan," I said bluntly.

Wilderstein ignored my observation. "This thing is great
even by our standards, Rick. There's a spare, of course. I don't
know how you'd replace a transmitter in the field, so I don't
what good it would do you to take it with you," Wilderstein
joked. Then, true to character he was finished and he was ready
to dismiss me. "I'll call you if there's any thing else you need
to know. You know what arrangements to make."

"Expenses?"

"Pay them out of your fucking million."

"No way!"

"Okay. Don't get pissy with me. Use the cards inside the
file for everything you need. There's a twenty thousand limit on
each one. Get yourself some decent clothes. I'll bring the kid's
clothes with me. And get started learning your cover again.
You're still in the import business, the president of American
Imports.

It's a small company with big plans. You import mostly from
Bolivia."

"Very funny. I'm back in the cocoa business I presume. One
of the Agency's most successful firms," I said.

Wilderstein nodded. "It's a good cover. After all, you've
had a lot of experience in that part of the world and Bolivia
grows something like half the world's cocoa."

"It's more like a third," I corrected. "And I spent most of
my time in Mexico."

"Whatever! The important thing is that American Imports
hasn't been noticed by DEA yet. You need some help getting rid of
the opposition down there, so you want government support,
specifically military strikes against the other cartels.

You're willing to make a large contribution to his legal
fund. The donation will get you a face to face meeting. Then you
offer him more money under the table for the right words in the
right places. Hopefully they will have asked the Agency to do
some homework on you. He'll know you're in the cocaine business.
He'll try to play games with you, Rick. Once he sees Shelley,
you'll have to play the rest of it by ear. If nothing happens,
then maybe I'm wrong about him."

"I do have one question for you, Wilderstein." I watched for
his reaction. "How do you know he likes boys?"

"If you must know, it came up in a conversation with someone
in the British Secret Service who was looking to move to the
Agency. We discovered that he had some information. He raised a
few questions," Wilderstein said absently. "That's all I can tell
you."

I shook my head. "There's too much at stake to walk into
this cold.

Elaborate, or I walk out of here."

"Okay. So the guy told us a few things we didn't expect. It
turned out he was actually a Russian mole. In fact, you might say
he came from a family of moles."

"And?" I prompted without showing surprise. It was not
unusual for the Russians to involve several generations of the
same family in their nefarious plots.

"And?" Wilderstein shrugged. "You can figure it out."

"Let me think. Okay. He wanted to change sides? That makes
sense in today's market. Except he was afraid the Brits wouldn't
like that one of their own was playing on both teams, so he tried
us? They were never too keen on doubles, but we went for it."

Wilderstein laughed. "You're good, Rick. It's a pity you
left the Agency.

Now tell me how we get from him to our man."

"No idea."

"Think!"

"I don't have time to play games."

"You're right, Rick, and neither do I. Our British friend
was only a boy when he emigrated from Poland. He was eleven or
twelve at the time. One of his parents, I forget whether it was
his mother or father, was a professor at Oxford, made the
connection with our Man. It was in the late sixties, when a lot
of Americans studying at Oxford were flirting with socialism. It
would not have been a problem if that was all it was, but of
course, both parents were working for the Russians.

It was only a matter of time until the boy became involved
as well. It's not only the Russians know how to use a boy, it
seems." Wilderstein laughed and scratched the back of his balding
head."

"Very funny," I snarled."

"He was very good at it too, at least from what I've read in
the file. He was particularly good looking and he wasn't afraid
of getting his clothes off for Mother-Russia, and given His
predilections, it was only a matter of a few weeks before they
had Him under control."

"Fuck! You're joking!"

"No, but I wish I was. Like I said, the boy was very good at
it. From what I can tell, the kid probably looked a bit like
Shelley.

Straight blond hair and blue eyes. What you once referred to
as the 'Aaron Carter look', wasn't it Rick?"

I breathed out in frustration, again realizing that there
was no limit to how far the Agency could or would go.

"The boy recruited our man while he was the guest of his
parents for the weekend. They obviously set it up, or at the
least, they noticed the interest being shown in their son and
allowed it to happen. It's quite likely that it was the kid who
started the ball rolling. Maybe it was blackmail after the first
time or two, although I doubt it. Perhaps he even fell for the
kid, but more than likely, the boy was simply a way to exercise
his lust. Anyway, it worked. Our man bought into the other side,
for sex as much as anything else they might do to enhance his
career. You can imagine how pleased the Russians were when he
became governor, but when he took office they must have been
ecstatic. God only knows how much damage he's been able to do
since then. This is important, Rick. I'm not going to give you
the fate of the Nation speech, but it's that important."

Chapter Three

That afternoon I was very busy. By the time I went to sleep
late that night most of what I needed to accomplish was either
finished or well underway. There was even a 'for sale' sign
outside my house. The real estate agent had been told to sell it
quickly. My accountant had been instructed to sell my investments
and deposit the funds in a New York bank where they were promptly
transferred to an anonymous Cayman Island account.

The next morning, I was finished breakfast and reviewing the
cover documents for the third or fourth time when a white van
slowly came down the road. It turned into my driveway and stopped
in front of the garage. I called out to Maria to keep out of
sight and I was out the back door and waiting when the car door
opened. Wilderstein came around to meet me.

"Is he okay?" I asked as I tried to peer through the
darkened glass.

"He's fine. It went smoothly. At least there were no
problems at the clinic. The doctor used laser surgery. He tells
me it'll heal fast."

"What else?" I demanded.

"We've got the funds transferred," Wilderstein said. He
passed me a small piece of paper with a line of numbers and
letters on it. "You have to move fast, Rick. The Director wants
this wrapped up by the middle of next week."

"That's ridiculous!"

"You have ten days as I see it. It'll take at least half of
that for you to get the boy ready and set up the contact. A day
or two to get into place in Cincinnati. You have three days at
most to get it done. All I can tell you is it's important. It's
very important," he stressed.

"Fuck! Okay, Jacob. I'll try. I really don't have much of a
choice. Let's get Shelley inside and settled in bed."

"He's still unconscious. The nurse gave him a shot of
something right before we left the clinic. It's supposed to last
about six hours or so. I've got some pills for you to keep him
knocked out for a few days. I'm told that the feelings will have
returned to normal."

Wilderstein opened the side door of the van and stepped to
the side. I looked inside. A pale blue blanket covered his body
almost from head to toe. Only the top of his head peeked out. I
smiled slightly, remembering how soft his hair was. I wondered
whether he had been conscious at all since he fell off his
bicycle. It was unlikely.

"I'll carry him inside if you get the blanket and open the
door for me," I said. "At least you could have put some clothes
on him. It's cold out here."

"The doctor said to keep him bare or lightly covered down
there, Rick.

Fresh air aids the healing process, you know."

"I'm sure it does."

"He's okay, I promise. He might be a bit sore, but that's
all. He'll be up and about just as soon as the drug wears off."

"He's not okay, Wilderstein. Your bastards cut one of his
balls off. And don't bother trying to tell me it was a matter of
national security. I know better than that. There must have been
another way to get the bastard."

"Maybe. We don't have time, Rick. There's too much at
stake."

Gently I lifted the blanket away. He was dressed in a
disposable gown that hospitals use. It was loosely tied at his
waist and it had come apart far enough for me to glimpse his
chest and belly. Below that, a white gauze bandage loosely
covered his groin area. Shelley wasn't very heavy but it was
difficult maneuvering his inert body out the van. Once I held him
in both arms, his eighty pounds provided no difficulty. I carried
him into the house through the kitchen, into the hallway. With a
little difficulty I carried him up the stairs and carefully laid
him out full length on the king-sized bed in my bedroom. I stood
back to look at him for a few seconds before I turned to
Wilderstein.

"You okay to go to work or do you want some time to check
him out?" Wilderstein said snidely.

"You're a real asshole," I replied.

"Go on, take off the bandage. I can see you're curious,
Rick. You might as well see him now as after I'm gone. But
believe me, there's not much to see."

Rather than sit on the bed and run the risk of disturbing
him, I knelt down on the hardwood floor and carefully untied the
cord that secured the hospital gown. I lifted the sides away and
gently peeled the tape back from the gauze dressing. Cautiously I
lifted the gauze up. At first glance, everything looked normal.
Shelley's little penis was limp and lying against his lower
belly. His scrotum was relaxed, the delicate silky skin revealing
the rounded and slightly elongated shapes of two very small
testicles.

Shelley looked exactly the same as when I had last seen him
on Sunday morning. Well not 'exactly' the same. The last time I
had seen that part of him, he was putting his clothes on. He was
erect, for him a perfectly normal state. For a few minutes he
strutted around the room with his penis pointing the way, until I
wrestled him to the bed, gave him one final kiss on his hard
little projection and pulled his briefs up despite his
protestations to the contrary. We were already twenty minutes
late.

What surprised me was that there was no sign of an incision.

"You can't see anything, can you Rick?"

I turned back. Wilderstein had closed the distance between
us and was looking over my shoulder.

"They're the same size," I admitted.

"I told you it wouldn't be a problem with the Russian boy
being two years older."

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Way down between his legs, at the very back of his scrotum.
You'd think the doctor tried to take it out through his fucking
anus it's so far back."

"You're a funny guy, Jacob."

He laughed. "I told him we didn't want a visible scar so he
put it were no one would see it, not even Shelley, not unless he
looks in a mirror. Of course, cleanliness will be a bit of a
problem if you can't keep your hands off him for a few days."

Wilderstein's crude comments were enough to turn my stomach.
I wanted him gone from my home as quickly as possible. I stood up
and guiltily placed the blanket over the boy I loved. It was bad
enough that Wilderstein was there. He didn't have to see
Shelley's naked body.

"You got some coffee, Rick?" Wilderstein said. He regarded
me uncertainly. "You're still pretty sore about all this, aren't
you?"

"What do you think?" I asked testily. "Yeah, I've got some
coffee in the kitchen."

He followed me out of the room, back down the stairs, and
into the kitchen, taking a chair where he could have his back to
the wall and look out the window. Old habits died hard, even for
someone who had spent less than a year or two in the field. He
crossed his legs and arms and observed me in silence.

"So Rick, what makes a guy like you do it. I mean chasing
after little boys. You could probably have any woman you wanted.
I mean Shelley's a cute kid and all, but he's still a little boy.
It's not like he's really able to make love to you."

I winced. "If I have to explain it, you aren't going to
understand. It'd be a waste of time."

"Is it so great, fucking a little boy in the ass?"

"I'm not the first man to do it, Wilderstein. And I'm sure I
won't be the last. It's been going on since we lived in caves."

He shrugged. "I have a question for you? How are you going
to be able to look him in the face, knowing you let another man
fuck him?"

"Why do you think?" I replied petulantly. "Do you think I
like the idea?"

"I don't know. Probably not," Wilderstein smirked.

"That's an understatement. It isn't for the money either," I
added.

"You really want him that bad, huh?"

"Yes!" I answered. I watched Wilderstein sip his coffee. I
wished he would choke on it. "What else do you have for me?" I
asked after a moment.

"A couple of things. First, the receiver." He held out a
yellow box.

"It's been thoroughly tested and it's working one hundred
percent. It's got new batteries, too. You shouldn't have any
problems."

I took the object and turned it over. I examined it for a
few seconds. It looked very un-Russian. "It looks like a
Walkman."

"It is a Walkman, Rick. At least most of the insides are. It
looks like a Walkman on the outside too. Except for a few small
details that Sony doesn't provide, no one will notice it. You'll
find it works too, just like one you'd buy at the store. It's
tuned to the frequency of the transmitter so you won't get any
outside interference. The Russians used one of those new flexible
circuit boards to do the electronics. It's built right into the
plastic casing so it's totally hidden. The only difference
between this one and the real thing is how these two knobs work.
This one normally sets the AM-FM channel. It also sets the
channel for the transmitter. There are two of them. The alpha
carries your normal acoustic range of about ten feet plus or
minus. The other channel, well,... it's a bit different. God
knows how they managed to do it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Put the earphones and listen."

I placed the headphones on my head and waited. Wilderstein
said something about the way it worked. All I could hear was his
muffled voice. He moved the knob further to the right. A moment
later I could hear a soft tapping that mixed with a rustling
sound, rather like wind. It was slow and rhythmical, and very
relaxing. It was impossible to determine the source. I looked at
Wilderstein questioningly. He smiled. He pointed up.

"Huh? I don't know what I'm listening to."

"You can hear him breathing. The other sound is his heart,"
Wilderstein said. "Listen carefully."

He turned the knob. This time his voice was distinct,
although it sounded a long way away. I was reminded of a time
when I was child and a friend of mine and I used a hundred foot
length of garden hose to talk to each other.

It took a second or two before I realized what was
happening. I dragged the headphones away in surprise. Wilderstein
was not surprised.

"I told you, Rick. Marvellous bit of engineering, isn't it?"

I glanced up. "I could hear him breathing? And then when you
put it on the other channel, I heard you speaking. All the way
down here?"

He grinned no longer to contain his glee. "The microphones
are incredible. It has a range of up to two-hundred feet outside.
Indoors, it's only about half of that. It's not much good for
high-frequency sound, but voices? You've got to give the Russians
an A-plus for this one."

"It's fucking unreal. All the way down here. It sounded like
you were right next to him."

"Okay. Let's get down to business again. You have another
knob here. It sets the volume, just like a regular Walkman. If
you push in when you turn it, the volume changes for the
transmitter. You can record with this just like any normal one,
if you hear anything besides hard-core sex, that is." Wilderstein
smirked.

"Turn the volume up so you can hear through the head phones.
Then push the 'PLAY' button in and hold it. It writes onto the
cassette tape, using about a millimeter of the width, so the tape
inside the machine sounds perfectly normal if anyone plays it."

"What else?"

"If you push both the eject and the play buttons at the same
time, it sends a warning signal. Shelley will get a small
electric shock at the base of his penis. Not enough to make him
jump, of course, but he'll know something is up. Besides his dick
being up, that is," Wilderstein joked.

"It'll probably feel just like he's having an orgasm. He
knows how it feels to climax doesn't he? He can cum, can't he?"

"Fuck, you're a funny guy, Wilderstein. "A boy Shelley's age
certainly has orgasms, but it'll be a few years yet before
anything comes out."

"Thanks for that piece of valuable information. Like I said
yesterday, you're the expert on boys' gonads. I'll keep it in
mind when I start fucking boys. Anyway, lets get back to
business. Rick if you need to warn him, don't hesitate to use the
receiver to give him a warning shock. He needs to get his ass out
of there as quickly as possible. By the way, you'll get maybe two
shocks out of it before the battery is out of power. Remember it
won't be worth shit in the morning, unless he's had a very active
night," he said humorlessly.

"Anything else?" I bristled, impatient for him to leave. I
wanted to be upstairs next to Shelley when he woke up.

"Just his clothes. I've got them in the bag." He gestured to
the brown-leather travel bag next to the kitchen door.
"Everything's there, right down to the silk boxers and socks. You
might not like the choice, then again, maybe you will. He has to
look the part."

"Of a boy-whore?" I suggested snappily.

"It pays to advertise, Rick. That sounds like something you
would say, doesn't it?" He smirked and raised an eyebrow. I
ignored him. "You have a nice place here. What are you asking?"

"Three-fifty."

"Fully furnished too?"

"What do you think?" I answered irascibly. "Can you see me
holding a yard sale during the next few days?"

"There's no need to become indignant. The way I see it, this
is an arrangement of mutual benefit. You scratch my back, and
I'll scratch yours. Anything you lose from selling this place,
you can probably find a way to take out of your expenses."

"It's always quid pro quo for you, Jacob. Is there a
contingency plan?"

Wilderstein ignored me. I had no right to ask. However, I
knew Wilderstein almost as well as my own parents. He was a man
who never went forward with at least two courses of action
available to him should he find one way blocked. In fact, it was
not unusual for him to have two operations going at the same
time, both moving in different directions but ultimately having
the same goal. Under normal conditions, if the Agency went to
Plan B it was only because Plan A had failed. In that way,
Wilderstein was different. It was usually a race to the finish.

"Good luck, Rick."

"Will I need it?" I asked quietly.

"Probably not."

"If Shelley's in any danger, I'll pull him out in a flash.
You know I will. I'll even kill if I have to."

He glared at me, considering the likely victim should I have
to follow through on my threat.

"I know that. Look when he's with the Man, don't do anything
rash. Just find out how the information gets passed on. That's
all we need to know. Then get your asses out of there and fast."

"I thought,..."

Wilderstein looked at me dismissively. "You thought what?"
he intonated.

"You wanted the goods on him,... so he could be forced out?"

"The Director changed his mind. He's got a year left on his
term."

"What you really mean to say is that the Director wants to
be reappointed when the Administration changes." I took a deep
breath in growing frustration. "Nothing changes, Jacob. The rules
are the same, it's only the faces that change. Even the Agency
doesn't care what he does. Lying, stealing, abusing his power,
whatever he does, it doesn't matter. He's immoral and you treat
him like he's immortal! The man has no ethics!"

"Maybe. It doesn't matter."

"Christ, there's enough evidence to suggest he's a Russian
spy, god damn it! He ought to be doing life in Leaven worth."

"Don't get self-righteous with me, Rick. I know why you're
doing this, and it has nothing to do with preserving the nation's
security, or ethics, or morality. All you want is Shelley, isn't
that the truth?" Wilderstein said as he pointed upwards. "You'll
get your little fag-boy, and your money, but it's going to be on
our terms."

"Get out, Wilderstein," I said angrily. "Get out before I
fucking kill you. You and the assholes you work with are the
lowest scum on earth."

"You've a right to be angry. You're no better. You can
pretend you are, Rick, but in truth we both know you have no
conscience. You were perfectly happy to recruit Shelley for Bob
Maxwell. And when you took a liking to him, you didn't waste more
than a minute before you started working on the Hewer boy as a
replacement. When you get right down to it, you're no different
to than me."

I groaned inwardly. There was no denying that Wilderstein
was right. At that moment I made a promise to myself and the
unconscious boy upstairs.

At the end of the operation, I would make sure that he was
never treated the same way. He deserved more, much more. I loved
him, and every minute we spent together convinced me that the
love was returned.

"I'll see you in ten days, Rick," Wilderstein said abruptly.

He stood up and walked to the door. I was vaguely aware of
him leaving. I closed my eyes in guilty self-hatred, wondering
how I could do what I was about to do. However, there was little
enough time to get ready, and certainly no time for self-
recrimination.

Chapter Four

I carried the suitcase up to the second floor and into the
bedroom I would share with Shelley for the next few days,
assuming that he would still want me around after I told him what
had happened to him. With nothing else to do while I waited for
him to regain consciousness, I opened the suitcase and began to
lift out the clothes that Wilderstein had provided. I also wanted
to look for a hidden transmitter, because knowing Wilderstein as
I did, he would want to know whether the operation was proceeding
according to plan.

I checked the sizes as I went and wondered who had purchased
many of the clothes. Certainly he, and it was more than likely a
man, knew exactly what he was doing. Some of the clothes were, in
a word highly, seductive. There were ten pairs of slinky silky
boxers with 24 inch hips and a form-fitting style that would
emphasize Shelley's butt if not define his crack. They were in
varying colors, but all of them were very bright.

There were two pairs of shorts made of stretch material and
cut tight enough for to enhance what little there was between his
thighs. There were shorts made of denim that were cut off right
below the crotch, and soft cotton shorts with elastic waists and
loose legs that would allow a man to see all the way up if he so
desired. There were also several pairs of jeans and slacks, all
with narrow waists and tight legs. The shirts were similarly
themed to the all-consuming interest of a man like myself, if not
quite as obvious as the shorts. Several shirts were without arms,
a few were made of silk or see-through netting. The tee-shirts
were tight for a 26-inch chest, the dress-shirts of vibrant
colors and patterns. All of the clothing with the exception of
shoes and socks were selected to emphasize the interesting parts
of a ten-year-old male body.

In any combination of the more than dozen outfits, Shelley
would be a very sexy boy.

It was about an hour after lunch of the following day when
Shelley finally began to come out of the drug-induced stupor that
had kept him unconscious for more than 48 hours. For a long time,
I waited by the side of his bed, doing my preparation work as
often as I was able to focus my attention on anything besides
Shelley. Perhaps I should have worked in the adjoining room, but
I did not want him waking up by himself.

Maria brought me sandwiches and coffee, and displayed the
same affection for Shelley that she had every time he stayed at
my house. I watched her face, sensing her regret at losing her
grandson, Manuel. Both of us had loved him deeply, and after the
initial pain of his loss had faded, she became someone who I
could trust with my own life. I came to depend upon her not only
as a housekeeper but as a close friend. What happened between
Shelley and me was no different to my relationship with Manuel,
and she was perfectly happy to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to
what we did at night.

"He sleeps still?"

I looked up from my notes at Maria's worried voice. I
nodded. "He's okay."

"That Shelley is very beautiful," she said softly. "Like a
deer in the woods, he reminds me."

I gazed at Shelley. 'Like a deer in the woods'? It was an
apt description of the lithe form in motion, but now asleep?
There was nothing more beautiful than a sleeping boy, I decided
at that instant. The afternoon sunlight grazed his head as it
streamed through the window. It was enough to make me take a deep
slow breath and concentrate hard to retain that memory for the
rest of my life.

"Mister Barrett?"

I glanced back at Maria, suddenly aware that I had not
spoken. The silence lingered, my thoughts overpowering words. It
was as if I was talking, telling her of my love for Shelley. It
seemed impossible that such perfect beauty could be contained
within a single being. Slowly, I nodded.

"He's like Manuel."

"Yes, I suppose in some ways he is." I smiled slightly.

There were physical differences. Blond straight hair
compared to curling dark hair, blue innocent eyes compared to
sensuous brown eyes, pale skin that tanned slowly compared to
radiant bronze. There were other differences too. Although their
erections were nearly of the same length, one was circumcised,
the other not. Shelley's penis was thinner, but ever so much
harder. And he was passive, a natural bottom, while Manuel
accepted the boy's role reluctantly.

"You love him very much."

"Yes, I do."

I sensed the thought uppermost in her mind. 'Did I love
Shelley as much as Manuel?' Certainly I loved him differently.
Unlike Manuel, he had not been a virgin when I met him, yet that
did not matter to me. Every minute that we were apart, a nagging
loneliness gnawed at my heart. When we were together, I felt
alive, more alive than I had ever been.

"Mr. Barrett, when you go away, I go to Mexico?"

"No, Maria. Not unless you want to. I'd like you to stay
with us, always."

"I'd like that."

She sniffed. She closed her eyes, seeing Manuel where
Shelley was lying. I wondered whether she had the same nightmares
that haunted me. Like me, she had no one else. When I looked up
again, Maria was gone.

After a while I made a quick check of Shelley's groin. I
was glad to see that the bruising that I had observed earlier in
his scrotum had diminished considerably, although there was some
firmness that was unnatural. Both testicles appeared to be
slightly larger than I remembered, an observation I ascribed to
my imagination, or residual swelling of the one remaining. At
least there was no sign of infection, I observed with relief.

I watched him stir slightly, shifting to a different
position from his side to his back. His eyes flickered open, then
closed again after only a second. It was only a matter of minutes
before he was awake enough to begin to realize where he was. I
approached the bed and gazed down at him. I was still uncertain
of what I would say. Would I tell him, or use the story I had
prepared? I had never lied to him before. However, there was a
big difference between telling him what time I would meet him
after school, or where I would take him on the weekends, even how
I felt about him; and what I would tell him when he was awake.
Would he be devastated by what had been done to him against his
will? Even though I had been more or less powerless to stop his
operation, I had become guilty by accepting it as a logical
consequence. In a way, I was an accomplice. How much was I
capable of? Certainly, the goal of defending national security
was laudable, but it had come at a high cost, the loss of one of
Shelley's testicles. Perhaps the worst was yet to come. I knew
what the boy had to do within only a few days and I knew he would
not want to do it. What was worse, I knew he would do it. I knew
why he would do it. He would do it for me.

He moved again, his hand instinctively slipping from his
waist towards his groin. Despite Wilderstein's assurances that
Shelley would experience very little pain, the claim now seemed
unrealistic. I winced uncomfortably, remembering how I had always
struggled not to hurt him.

Whenever we had sex, I was both patient and careful with
him, often to a degree that made Shelley quite irritated. He
wanted me to be rougher, to take him forcefully until he gasped
and writhed in ecstasy. Then he orgasmed. If I was gentle, he
enjoyed it, but he made no secret that he felt cheated if there
was no mind-numbing climax that left him shuddering and
breathless. I smiled. Of course, his exasperation seldom lasted
very long. His urge was so overpowering that it gave me cause to
wonder exactly what had happened with Robbie. When I reached the
peak and plunged the full length of my penis into him, he gave
way to his shameless desire, and tightened his inner muscles
against my thrusting sex. He knew exactly what to do to push me
over the edge. My ejaculation did not seem to bother him except
when it happened before his own orgasm. I had no doubt that
Robbie had often penetrated his small bottom when Shelley went
into his bedroom at night. It was likely that the man gave little
thought to increasing Shelley's pleasure. It was even possible
that he had resorted to brute force when the tiny hole resisted
him.

"Hi!"

I glanced down. Shelley's eyes were open. I breathed out
with relief.

"Hi yourself."

He yawned sleepily, slowly looking around and blinking
erratically as his eyes tried to focus. He frowned.

"Where am I? Is it Saturday already?"

"You're at my house? You've been here lots of times."

"Oh! What am I doing here? Is it the weekend? I can't
remember anything. What happened? "

I smiled reassuringly. This was the moment of truth, yet
truth was far from my mind. As I gazed down at his questioning
face, absorbed totally by his gentle blue eyes, I knew I could
never tell him what role I had played. I could not live if he
hated me. And he would hate me, I knew it with absolute
certainty.

"You were involved in an accident, Shel," I said carefully.
"I brought you here."

"I did? What happened? Was it a car wreck?"

"No. You fell off your bike."

"My bike?" he half-closed his eyes, trying to think back. "I
don't remember. What happened?"

"I don't know exactly. I got a call from Julia," I lied.

That much was true. Julia had called late in the afternoon
the same day that Shelley had not arrived home from school. Not
that she was interested in where he was, other than in making
sure that he was with me. I lied as a matter of routine. I was
building a pyramid of lies, yet there was enough truth to tie the
lies together that I could establish a foundation that was almost
as stable as the truth would have been.

Indeed, my story was even more believable to a person who
did not know how far the Agency would go to achieve its goals.

When Julia asked me how Shelley came to be at my house, I
told her that he had called from school and I had picked him up.
He had fallen off his bicycle on the way to school. He had a few
scrapes. That was enough to convince her foster son was in good
care and she hung up after a crude comment about making sure I
used 'enough'.

"Oh!"

I was brought back to the present. I smiled reassuringly. "I
was really worried about you, so I brought you here after my
doctor had a look at you."

"Oh!"

"You have a few scrapes on your knees. I guess you landed on
some gravel. They probably feel a bit sore, Shelley."

"I,... yeah, I guess. Is that what happened? I feel
strange."

I took a deep breath, wondering what felt 'strange'. It
wasn't hard to guess now the numbness was beginning to fade.
Wilderstein assured me that the soreness would disappear quickly.

"I think your handlebars or something got in the way when
you fell off," I said ambiguously.

It was a poor lie, but it was more believable than anything
else I had come up with.

"What do you mean?"

"Uh, well,... it's like this," I said awkwardly, to make the
story more convincing. You were hit pretty hard,... down there.
Something got you right smack in the balls, Shel." I glanced down
at his crotch, covered by the blanket and sheet. "Does it hurt
down there?"

"Yeah, it's kind of sore, Rick." He looked at me
uncertainly. "I don't know. It's not like when I got kicked
playing soccer.

It doesn't hurt a lot. More than anything else, it feels
strange,...a bit numb sort of. Was I hurt bad?"

"It'll be sore for a few days I guess."

"There's a bandage," Shelley said suddenly as his fingers
brushed against the gauze. "Why?"

"There's a small little cut on the underside of your
ballsac. God only knows how you got it. It's right between your
legs. I guess something scraped you. You bled a bit until the
doctor sewed it up."

"Oh!"

Slowly he smiled. "I'm naked. Where are my clothes?"

"I threw them out. They were ruined, Shel."

It was a good excuse to explain the missing clothes.

"My jeans? No! They were the ones you bought for me, Rick.
I'm sorry."

I shrugged dismissively. "So, I'll buy you another pair. It
doesn't matter. The important thing is I can't buy another you.
At least not for the price of pair of jeans."

He smiled slightly. Absently, his fingers probed at the
small bulge under the gauze that covered his crotch. He smiled
when he saw me observing him. He always became embarassed when I
watched him playing with himself, although in my opinion, it was
one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

"Does it hurt bad?" I asked with concern.

"No,... not really. It just feels different somehow."

I smiled again. I wanted to change the subject, to get his
mind of his testicles before he explored too far and discovered
that `different somehow' was really no feeling at all in one of
them.

"Well,... I bet you're hungry, aren't you?"

"When did I eat last?"

"Well knowing you, I guess you didn't eat anything before
you left for school, did you?" I asked.

Shelley moved his head slightly, trying hard to think back.
He shook his head slowly, not quite convinced whether he had
eaten breakfast or not.

"Then it's been quite a while. I really don't know how you
do that. Skip breakfast in the morning."

"I don't skip all the time. Only when I'm running late. And
not when I'm with you. You taste too yummy."

He smiled weakly, both of us remembering Sunday morning a
week earlier, when Shelley's breakfast consisted of licking a
spoonful of homemade blackberry jelly off my penis. It was
promptly followed by something more than a teaspoon, and
considerably warmer. Being no stranger to the taste of a man's
orgasm, Shelley did what came naturally to him. He swallowed,
sucking for all he was worth, until my penis became too sore to
touch.

Then I dragged him away, and tasted what he had tasted
directly from his mouth.

"Well, I guess you ate what might be called breakfast the
last time I saw you. Only I'm not sure it's as good for you as
cornflakes. But semen's probably better for you than some of that
sugar-coated crap they make for kids, though," I laughed. "It
might have protein or something like that in it."

Shelley grinned. He was already shrugging off the lethargy
that accompanied heavy sedation. I wondered whether he would
notice the after effects as much as I did. I had been sick to my
stomach for several days the last time I had surgery. Was it
really four years ago? Shelley had all the advantages of youth.
The answer came faster than I expected.

"I'm hungry!"

"I'm not surprised. You ought to be starving."

"I'm not so hungry I don't want to mess around first."

I grinned back at him. "You're incorrigible."

"What's that mean?"

"You're always horny," I answered. "One of these your dick
will drop off from overuse."

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Immediately his
slender arms slipped around my neck and he hugged me tightly, so
tightly that I could not get away, even if I had wanted to. I
transferred my kiss to his lips, not at all surprised by the
insistent pressure of his tongue against my lips. If Shelley had
learned how to do just one thing from me, it was how to kiss. I
suspected Robbie or Cal weren't much interested in kissing him.
Our tongues played together, dabbling in a steady flow of saliva
while we kissed passionately.

"I've missed you so much, Rick. Kiss me again you fool," he
giggled the instant we parted.

I laughed. "It's only been a few days, Shel. You'll live."

I started to regain control. He gazed at me, not speaking
but communicating what he needed more powerfully than words could
have. The corners of his eyes were slightly wet. Then his lips
compressed. He forced a deliberate long breath that came out as a
sigh. I grinned at him, shaking my head as I did.

"Rick?"

"Yes?"

"How long,... I've been here for a long while, haven't I?"

"Two days," I answered. Actually it was closer to fifty-
three hours.

"You've been,... sleeping the entire time," I added.

"Did I hit my head or something?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I can't remember anything at all. I can remember being
late. And I had to hurry so I was pedalling really fast. I don't
even remember falling off my bike."

"You will. It's probably the shock or something like that."

"I was really out for two whole days?" he asked
incredulously.

"Yes. You had some help though. The doctor gave you an
injection in your butt. That probably had something to do with
it."

"Thanks for bringing me here."

"It's no big deal, Shel. I,...." I stopped when Shelley's
hand brushed against mine.

"No. I want to tell you something," he said awkwardly.

"Okay. One minute and that's all," I chided. "You need to
eat something before you die of starvation. As I have it figured
you haven't eaten for at least sixty hours. I'm surprised you're
not taking bites out of me."

Shelley smiled. "I will if you let me. Only I get to pick
where."

"I know what you're after, and you're not getting any. At
least not until you've eaten something. Then we'll take a look at
your balls and see if you're up to any tricks."

He nodded. "I,..." he breathed out. "I don't want to go back
there. It's getting worse."

"With Robbie or Cal?"

Shelley nodded. "With Robbie. Julia,... she doesn't care
either. I told her, like you said., that I didn't like Robbie
doing it to me. He keeps trying to touch me and do stuff to me.
Sometimes he even does it in front of them. He always wants to
put his cock in my butt. It's not like you. I like you doing it,
Rick. He gets me hard, and when he is too, he makes me suck him.
I told him I didn't want to do that with him any more. He grabs
at me too, all the time. Sometimes I think he's trying to hurt
me, he grabs so hard. And when I tell him to stop, he just laughs
and keeps doing it. When I first woke up and felt the bandage, I
thought he'd hurt me down there."

I held his small hand, feeling his warmth sink into me. His
fingers closed, wrapping a boyish fist around two of my fingers.

"It's okay, now Shelley. It really is. I have something to
tell you. If you want, I'm going to adopt you. He'll never bother
you again."

"Don't promise what you can't deliver, Rick. That's what you
said, remember?" Shelley retorted. He grimaced. "God I wish you
could adopt me.

Then I could live with you. You could be my father,... well
we could pretend you were at least. No one would know if we
didn't tell them 'cause I even look a bit like you. We could move
far away from here where no one would ever find us."

I groaned inwardly. Now was the time. It was now or never.

"Shelley, if I could adopt you. If you could live with me,
you'd really like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah. Of course I would."

I nodded. "And I would too, Shel. It would be the best thing
that ever happened to me."

"Only it's impossible. I know that. You said you'd have to
get married first. I'd give anything, except I don't want to
share you with some woman. Not even Maria," he joked feebly.

"What would you give, Shel," I asked gently.

He swallowed. His hand wiped over his eyes, removing a tear
quickly before I saw it.

"I can't say I'd give everything I have because I don't have
anything. I don't have anything worth more than few bucks, except
for the clothes you bought me. But if I could, I'd give
anything." He sniffed. "I'd give my left nut if I could live with
you. Heck, I'd probably give both of them. Only it's not going to
happen!" he finished adamantly.

"Shelley, " I interrupted.

His offer was resounding in my head like a hammer beating
against a brass cymbal. It was all I could do to speak. His offer
was frightening. What were the chances?

"It's possible, okay... If I do a job for someone I don't
particularly like. It's not a very nice job. I don't want to do
it, understand? But if I do, then I get some papers that say I've
adopted you."

"What do you have to do?"

"Remember last weekend when we were talking about spies?"

Shelley nodded. "After we saw that movie o tv. You said it
was a long way from what spies really did."

I nodded. "Shelley, a few years ago I used to work for the
government. I was called a D-O-2. It means district officer-
distance operations. It's a fancy word for a spy. I used to run a
small team of field agents. Mostly we worked in Central and South
America. For a few years I was stationed in Mexico. We were
trying to stop drug dealers or arms merchants. That sort of
thing."

"Wow! I thought spies only spied against the Russians and
Chinese."

"The government wasn't much interested in anything else at
the time. I got out after a while, because a friend of mine was
killed."

For a few seconds I thought about telling Shelley who the
friend was and what he meant to me. I pushed the memory of Manuel
Navarro back into the recesses of my mind where it had belonged
for the last four years. In time I would tell Shelley about
another boy who had come into my life for a few wonderful months.
Manuel was Hispanic and dark-skinned. He was twelve years old
when he died, his body mutilated. At the same time, his father
died with two bullets buried in his brain.

I breathed out slowly, letting my anger dissipate.

"I promised myself I would never work for them again. Only
it doesn't work like that. You see, they know a lot about me so
they can force me to do things."

Shelley sensed my problem and voiced it aloud. "Do they know
about me?" he asked nervously.

"Yes. They even have photos of us, Shel. They were taken the
first time, the time when I took you to the motel. The photos are
downstairs. The thing is, they've threatened to use to photos of
us to put me in jail."

Shelley's face crumbled. "No!"

"It's okay. You see I know what they want. I have to do a
job for them.

That's all they really want. If I do it, then I get to adopt
you, and we get a bunch of money so we can move a long way away
from here."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not for me. It might be dangerous for someone else."

That someone else was Shelley. Even though I had agreed to
do the assignment, even to follow the strategy that Wilderstein
wanted, I knew that if there was the slightest chance of Shelley
being hurt badly, or worse, I would abandon the operation
immediately and execute my own plan for disappearing, hopefully
to a place where even the Agency could not find me. The only
problem was that Wilderstein would act on that assumption as
well. He would have a termination plan ready to put into
operation at the first sign of my departure. I knew too much.

"Do you have to kill someone?"

"No! But if things don't go according to plan there's a good
chance I would," I said honestly.

"Then I could live with you?" Shelley asked nervously. "You
could even adopt me?"

I nodded again, slowly. "I made that part of the deal."

"You know what you're going to do, already, don't you?"

I shrugged. "I'd do anything to keep you with me."

"So would I," Shelley murmured selflessly.

"Shelley, I want you to answer me very honestly. It's very
important that you think hard about what I say and give me your
real feelings."

I began nervously, wondering whether he would agree.
However, I knew Shelley Lawlor well enough to know his answer
even before the question was out of my mouth.

"Okay," he said softly. He gazed at me with such loyalty and
affection that I was unable to speak. "Well?" he asked
impatiently, "I don't have all day."

I smiled feebly. Sooner or later he would have to find out.
"Shelley, what I'm going to tell you is a secret. You must never
tell anyone."

"I promise, cross my heart and hope to die," he said
seriously. For a ten-year-old, it was a promise that was not to
be broken under any circumstances.

"There's a very important man in DC who's been giving
information to the Russians, Shel. The information is so
important that the country's security may be at risk. Lots of
Americans probably have died because of it already. And if he
keeps doing it, a lot more will die."

"He's a spy?"

"Yes. A very dangerous spy because he's so high up in the
government.

Because of who he is, everyone believes him. No one thinks
he's a spy.

That's why it's so important that he's stopped."

"Hm,... and they want you to catch him," Shelley grinned
proudly. "You must be a really good spy then."

I smiled, as proud of Shelley as he was of me. "I'm okay.
The thing is, I need you to help me, though."

"Me? What can I do?"

"This man, well he's a bit like me in some ways,... one way
actually. You see, he also likes boys."

"Oh!" Shelley smirked.

"The only way to get close enough to him to find out how
he's passing information to the Russians is for a boy like you to
be with him when he does."

"Um,... I don't think I understand."

I half-closed my eyes. There were a few parts of the
operation that Shelley did not need to know about, not the least
being how I would know what was happening wherever he went. In
fact, the so-called `need to know basis' that most spy movies
ridiculed were based on a single reason.

'need to know' generally made it safer for the people on the
front line.

If the operation did not succeed, it was possible that not
knowing some of the details could preserve Shelley's life long
enough for me to help him. He might be tortured or drugged, but
he would still be alive while his interrogators tried to discover
how much he knew.

"Let me put it this way.... When you and I do it," I began
cautiously.

"If you mean have sex, why don't you say it Rick," Shelley
interjected.

"Okay. It's nothing to be ashamed about, is it? We always do
it, have sex, in places that are very private don't we? So no one
will know we have sex. It's our secret, isn't it?"

"Yes. I'll never tell anyone, you know that. I don't want
anyone else to know either," Shelley said confidently.

"Okay. Well it's possible that this man also takes a boy to
a very private place. If people found out that he liked boys he'd
be in a lot of trouble."

"Just like you would be, if they found out you were fucking
a ten-year-old boy," Shelley teased.

"You've got that right. Okay, now it's very possible that
other secrets get told in the same place. Hell, it's even
possible that the Russians provide the boy in order to keep the
man happy so he keeps telling them secrets."

"Is the boy like my age, Rick?"

"I guess so. We think he likes boys between ten and twelve.
One of his earlier boy friends was a lot like you. He even looked
like you, Shel, right down to the blond hair and blue eyes."

"So you want me to,..." Shel stopped, the thought
unfinished. He swallowed anxiously. He looked out the window
silently.

"If you help me catch this man, I'll be able to adopt you."

"Will I,..."

I smiled gently. "Yes. I'm pretty sure you'll have to have
sex with him."

"You mean all the way, don't you Rick? He'll want to butt-
fuck me, won't he?"

"I guess." I sighed. "I wish there was another way, but
there isn't.

Really there isn't. If you're lucky it may be only one or
two times, Shel. I wish to God, you didn't have to do this. "

"Only it might take more than one or two times. That's what
you can't promise me, isn't it?" Shelley interrupted.

He glared at me with something approaching anger. He had
trusted me, and now this. I had violated his trust. I felt a gut-
wrenching fear. He hated me. I could see resentment in his eyes.
I had given him good reason to be bitter. My words of love
accounted for nothing. I was no different to Wilderstein. And
then he smiled slightly.

"You'll be able to adopt me if we do this," he whispered.
"You'll really adopt me?"

"Yes. Really and truly. Afterwards we'll disappear. We'll go
away where no one will ever find us, Shel."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"You can never break a promise if you cross your heart and
hope to die."

I made the motions that Shelley had made only minutes
earlier as I intoned the necessary words.

"Who is he?" Shelley asked after a few moments of prolonged
silence.

"He's the President, Shel'" I answered.

Chapter Five

The plane banked slightly and as the turn was completed,
the nose dipped noticeably. From the window beside Shelley, I
watched the city slide slowly past as we paralleled the river.
Several dozen office towers were set well back from the river. In
front of the city was a large construction project that covered a
freeway and sports stadiums. Again the plane banked, turning away
from city towards the final approach that would take us into the
airport. Only a few minutes remained until we landed. It was
Shelley's first ride in an aeroplane and he had experienced it in
style, going First Class.

"How are you doing?" I asked quietly.

Shelley grinned. "Okay. Everything looks so small."

"From up here it is small," I finished with a laugh. "We'll
be landing soon," I added. I placed my hand on Shelley's knee.
"Just remember what we talked about during the last few days."

"I worried. Maybe I'll get mixed up and call you Rick, or I
won't remember my name. Or,..."

"Don't worry. You'll do great, Shel."

I leaned slightly and checked his seat belt. It provided the
opportunity to lightly run my hand across his crotch. Shelley
giggled. His hand closed over mine, holding it over his penis. He
pressed down so that I could feel through his clothing. There was
no mistaking what was causing the soft bulge. I rubbed gently,
massaging.

"Mmmm,... That's feels so nice, Rick," Shelley sighed.

I quickly glanced to the other side, although there was no
need to because the seat across the aisle was empty. However,
Shelley had already made a mistake that could be disastrous. I
lifted my hand away forcefully removing his hand.

He glanced at me and I glared at him. The hurt in his eyes
was almost unbearable. He swallowed, his eyes watering. He was
frightened.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered.

His emphasis on 'Dad' was unmistakable. He had realized his
mistake, and unless I was very mistaken, it would not happen
again. I nodded. Slowly I replaced my hand to give his knee a
fond squeeze, the kind of squeeze that wasn't about lust and sex,
but simply about love, a father's love. I heard the distant whine
of gears engaging, flaps extending or landing gear descending.
Only minutes remained before we landed. It was time for the show
to begin in earnest.

A Corvette was waiting at the Airport. Again, Wilderstein's
selection was entirely appropriate, although my personal style
would have preferred something less ostentatious, like a Porsche.
It took a few seconds to find the keys in my briefcase. Shelley
stood by, shifting nervously from foot to foot while I loaded the
two matching leather cases into the tiny trunk. He continually
glanced around, as if searching for someone. I breathed out, as
nervous as he was but for very a different reason. Once inside
the car he settled down a bit, but he kept both hands in his lap,
showing visible trepidation. He had a bad case of the 'first-time
jitters'. Even seasoned agents experienced some apprehension so I
was not surprised. I negotiated the way out of the garage, paid a
$10.00 parking charge, and headed out into a city where I had
never been before.

The roads were remarkably uncrowded compared to what I was
used to in D.C. It took only about ten minutes or less to reach
the downtown.

I parked at the curb of the hotel, handed the key to the
attendant and walked through the automatic doors into another
era. The hotel, built in the Art Deco style, was on the National
Register for Historic Places. Huge vases of orchids were placed
in the foyer, separating the check-in area from the restaurants.
I made a mental note to reserve a table for that evening.

Our room was on the fifteenth floor with a view overlooking
the Ohio River. With the construction in the foreground it was
not much of a view. However, the suite that Wilderstein had
booked was more than adequate. At $450 a night, I was glad it was
paid from the expense account. It was very different to the first
hotel room that I had shared with Shelley. There were two
ornately framed beds, both king-size, with covers of brocaded
satin.

After a cursory glance Shelley started towards the open door
of the bathroom.

"I have to pee something awful," he said over his shoulder.

"It must be all the Cokes you drank on the flight."

He grinned and I watched his rear until it disappeared from
sight, ever fascinated by the slight wiggle of his buttocks. It
wasn't deliberate, but it looked very sexy.

His boy's bottom was small and firm, not a 'bubble butt' by
any stretch of the imagination, but then I was never very excited
by them.

"Wow!" Shelley exclaimed from the bathroom.

I followed the sound of his voice and entered through the
panelled doors. The bathroom was nothing short of spectacular. A
full length-full width mirror on one wall was interrupted only by
a green and black marble vanity top that seemed to go forever.
The same color marble had been used on the floor and halfway up
the other walls, and the huge whirlpool bathtub was almost the
same shade of green. The towels were black and so thick that they
barely fit over the rail.

"Cool huh?" I smiled.

"Very cool!" Shelley agreed. He turned to face me, grinning
with pleasure. "I think I'm going to like having a bath here."

"Because the tiles aren't falling off the wall?" I
suggested.

"Because you can shower with me, silly." He glanced at the
toilet. "I have to go pee, Dad."

'Dad' sounded right and I smiled back at him. "So? Do you
want me to leave? Unless I'm mistaken I've seen it all before."

Shelley smirked. He took only a second or two before his
zipper was open. I watched him fumble with his boxers, pushing
neon-blue out of the way to display the tip and about half the
length of his short pink penis. He smiled like a cherub,
gleefully pointing his penis towards the toilet while he
continued to look over his shoulder.

"Watch what you're pointing him at," I chided. "Otherwise
there'll be pee everywhere."

I crossed the floor and stood behind him, placing my hands
on his shoulders.

Both of his hands were at his crotch, directing what was now
a steady stream of pale urine into the bowl. It spattered into
the water in a circular fashion as he rotated the tip with boyish
charm, traced up one side of the bowl almost to the lip, then
down again. I felt his body tense as he emptied the last of it
from his bladder, then a slight jerk as he flipped the end clear.
He turned back to face me.

"Feel better?" I asked.

"Much! Boy, I needed that. I felt like I was about to burst
when we were checking in," he giggled.

"I'm glad you didn't."

"Do you want to mess around for a while?" Shelley asked
softly.

"Meaning?"

"Whatever you want it to mean, Rick, sorry I mean Dad."

"That could be fun," I laughed. "You have to remember, okay.
I know you'll screw up sometimes. If we're together and no one
else knows, it's okay, but if you do it at the wrong time, it
could really cause problems."

"I'm sorry," Shelley said dejectedly. "I keep forgetting."

"Would you like me to be your dad?" I asked seriously.

"Yes. You know I do. Not my real dad, because you're not,
but I'd still like you to be like,..." He left the thought
unfinished for a few seconds.

"So it's time for you to start thinking of me as your dad,
Shel. Besides I will be your dad once this is finished you know.
You might as well start practicing now, because once I adopt you,
you're going to be my son."

"I want that more than anything." He sighed. "Assuming we'd
still had sex and stuff. It's just so hard to keep pretending all
the time."

I nodded understandingly. "Okay, so what do you want to do?"

First we both get naked," Shelley giggled. "You have to
take off my clothes this time," he instructed.

"Hm,..." I pretended to ponder. "Here, in bathroom?"

"If you want," Shelley answered suggestively. "Or in the
bedroom. You get to choose."

My grip on his shoulders tightened and I drew him closer so
that his chest was against my belly. With his head so close, I
could smell the lingering scent of the shampoo he had used
earlier that morning. Fine gossamer hair tickled my nose.

I kissed the top of his head and immediately felt his arms
lock around my back to give me a hug of his own. We stood there,
our bodies together. It seemed that every moment we spent
together we became even closer.

"Mmmm," I sighed. "You feel so good."

"I love you, Dad," Shelley said softly.

This time there was no mistake. The word had come naturally
to him and he had said it without even thinking about it.

"I love you so much," I whispered in his ear. "This job will
be over before you know it and we'll always be together."

"I know. That's why I agreed to do it."

My right hand eased down his slender back and playfully
grasped his firm buttocks. The thought of another man trespassing
into the place that now belonged to me was revolting. I was
frightened that it would change our relationship. It was too late
to stop. My hand lifting higher tugging his shirt out of his
jeans. Automatically, his arms lifted up, stretching his chest
until his ribs were like bands underneath the tight shirt. I
pulled the warm cloth high, up to his armpits, brushing my hand
into his humid softness, then tugging gently to get the shirt
past his head. I dropped it on the floor behind him. He stood
there, arms raised above his head still, an angelic smile,
proudly showing himself.

"You can put your arms down now," I laughed.

"Lick my armpits."

"Lick your armpits?"

"Uh huh!"

"It'll tickle," I warned.

"So? I don't mind."

I twisted to the side, stooping slightly so that my head
came to his right side. For a second I nuzzled the warmth within
the hairless hollow offered to my tongue. There was faint smell,
human, boy, slightly sweaty. I licked across the exposed
concavity under his shoulder, tasted sweetness. I heard just the
barest hint of a giggle as my tongue probed, swirling back and
forth across the tender area.

"Mmmmmm,...." Shelley sighed.

I brought my mouth into contact with his saliva-slicked
skin, smooching with wet suction. His giggle returned, becoming a
little louder. I sucked harder, playfully nipping with my teeth.
My hand caressed his chest, searching for the softness of his
nipples. Then pinching the tiny circle, teasing the delicate
flesh until it became firmer and a point appeared. I began to rub
it between my thumb and first finger, squeezing it gently until
Shelley quivered and whimpered, pushing his buttocks back against
my thigh.

"Uh hem."

I jerked away the instant I heard the noise from the other
room. I heard Shelley whisper, 'oh shit'.

"Yes?" I said as I turned around to look behind me.

"Ah, where should I put these bags, sir?"

The bellboy was barely able to hold back a smile as he
looked at me knowingly. I assumed he had seen us together.
Working in a hotel, such things were probably not that unusual,
but he could still cause problems. I walked out of the bathroom
with a calm detachment.

"Just put them beside the bed," I answered.

I studied him as he unloaded the trolley that stood next to
the door. The black man was young, probably in his early
twenties. I wondered how much it would take for our unannounced
visitor to have seen nothing. I opened my wallet and withdrew a
fifty dollar bill and closed the distance between us. He waited
expectantly. He glanced past me. His eyes lit up. Shelley had
come to the bathroom door and was standing there watching us.

"Cute," he added with a grin directed first at the half-
naked boy and then at me.

"You saw nothing," I said dryly. I held the money out with
two fingers.

"Yeah, I saw nuthin' man," he repeated.

He took the money and backed out of the room. I closed the
door behind him.

"Shit!" Shelley said loudly.

"That's probably an inappropriate word to describe how you
feel, but it works for me," I laughed. "From now on we better be
more careful."

"Do you think he'll tell?" Shelley asked nervously.

"Not if he wants another fifty, he won't. I expect he'll be
back sooner or later."

I walked back to Shelley and placed my arms around his
chest, hugging him lovingly.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

I hugged him tighter, feeling the familiar urge growing like
the erection that was growing in my crotch. Shelley pressed hard
against me, rubbing his belly deliberately against my bulge. I
clasped his buttocks with one hand to keep up close together and
fondled the back of his neck with the other hand. With his jeans
on, it was usually difficult to tell whether he was sexually
aroused or not, but from the way he was moving his body against
me, it seemed to be more than likely. At that moment, I wanted to
have sex with Shelley more than ever before. I wanted to kiss him
and remove the rest of his clothing. I wanted to lead him to the
bed and place his slender body in the position I most enjoyed,
where I could penetrate him and watch his facial expressions
while he experienced the pain and pleasure of being loved by a
man. There was always a moment during our love-making when it
changed from one to the other, when discomfort ended and
exquisite delight took over. Then he would tremble
uncontrollably, yielding his body for my satisfaction. I wanted
to cradle him in my arms and feel my penis lodged deep inside
him. There was never a rush. We always began slowly, gently,
taking it a bit further each thrust until he was fully relaxed
and my penis was contained inside him. Usually, we came to the
crescendo only after his sphincter was fully dilated. When he was
completely loosened, when the pain was gone, he was as anxious as
I was. We tried to delay the inevitable, a perverse situation
because we both wanted to feel my semen spurting into his bowels
at the same time he writhed and gasped in his own ecstasy. When
we were mutually satisfied, then and only then could I claim him
as mine. However, I gently eased him away. Taking his hand, I led
him to the couch next to the window.

"It's practice time," I explained. "This may be our last
chance to go over it. So let's get started."

"Okay, Dad," Shelley said simply.

He enjoyed using the word so much that he used it even when
it was unnecessary. He took a deep breath and began to repeat
what he had learned by heart.

"My name is Shelley Walker. I'm your son. Your name is
Robert. Everyone calls you Bob. You're forty one. My mom died
when I was three. We live in Palm Beach in Florida. I go to
school at Robertson Academy. I'm ten and I'm in the fourth grade.
I like to,..."

He paused and took another deep breath. I shook my head.

"Don't just repeat it, Shel. I want you to say it like you
mean it. Like I asked you a question about who you are, or where
you came from."

"Huh?"

"Let's try it this way." I smiled at him reassuringly. "Tell
me about your home."

"Home?" Uh,... um,... well,..." He stumbled nervously. "I
live in,... um, ah, a house, um near the beach."

I laughed and ruffled his hair. "Take it a step at a time.
Pretend you're talking with a boy your own age. Or someone you
really like. Don't be scared."

"Okay," Shelley said quickly.

He swallowed. I had second thoughts about whether he was
going to be able to do what was required of him. He had to appear
natural, and if anything, the closer we came to the hour of
reckoning, the more nervous he became. Short of having sex I knew
of no other way to restore his confidence.

"Pretend I'm someone else. Tell me about your dad," I
prompted gently.

"Um, well,... he's my dad," Shelley began. He looked at me
questioningly. Slowly he smiled. "Usually I don't see all that
much of him. He's pretty busy most of the time. Even when he's
home he works, or he's meeting with people."

"But he brought you on this trip?"

"I guess he thought it would be cool if I met the
President," Shelley answered with a shy smile. "I sorta pestered
him too."

"That's very good," I said. "Now Shel, let's pretend that
you're talking with the President." I paused for a moment to let
him get used to the idea. "Tell me about what your father does
for a living."

"Uh,... um,..."

"Take your time. Think first, then speak," I cautioned.
"Remember I'm not your dad, now."

"I guess he runs his company," Shelley answered smoothly.

I nodded. It was a good answer, the kind of answer a ten-
year-old boy would give. "He's the president, right?" I asked.

Shelley nodded vaguely, seeming not very interested. He was
catching on quickly.

"I guess. That's why he's never home. He's always travelling
to places."

"Like where?"

"Um,... well he goes to Mexico, and what's the place called
'Bol, uh, livia', or something. Mostly that's where he goes."

"What does he do there?"

"He works," Shelley replied. He shrugged, glancing down at
the floor.

"Come on, you can do better than that," I interjected.

"I don't know what he does."

"Come on! His company imports drugs from there, did you know
that?"

"No!"

"Yes you do."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Are you sure? He does, you know. He imports cocaine. Do you
know what that is?"

"Don't lie to me," Shelley retorted.

He swallowed, drawing back into the couch. His hands
clenched until his knuckles turned white. He glared at me
angrily. His lips compressed.

"You know what he does, don't you?"

"Maybe," Shelley answered after a long pause. "I wish,..."
he stopped, eying me suspiciously.

"What do you wish?" I asked patiently.

"Nothing!" He was adamant. "I wish he wouldn't do it!"

"Do you miss not having him around?"

"Yes!"

"You're afraid he get killed, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

I breathed out. Shelley had performed admirably, far better
than my expectations. I hoped he would do the same when he was in
the real situation. A little nervousness was only to be expected.
Any ten-year-old boy would be nervous talking to the President.

Slowly I placed my hand on Shelley's knee. "You're a very
nice boy, Shelley," I said softly.

He swallowed, blinked rapidly, licked his top lip. "Uh,..."

"You have a great body. A very beautiful body."

He froze. His nostrils flared when he suddenly breathed. He
held the breath. His eyelids fluttered. He was responding exactly
as he should.

"Do you like boys?" he blurted out shamelessly.

"Do,... I,... like,... boys?" I repeated slowly. "What do
you think?"

Shelley smiled. "Yes."

"Maybe I do. Would that bother you?"

Shelley shrugged.

"You know what men and boys do together, don't you?" I
queried.

He shrugged again. "I guess. One of the men my dad works
with kinda,... you know,... did stuff with me a while back."

"Oh! Did you enjoy what you did with him?"

"It was okay, I guess."

"Just okay?"

"It was fun."

"Did your father know?"

"I guess," Shelley answered uncertainly. "He wanted the man
to do something for him. I did what he wanted."

"What did he want from the man?"

"I don't know."

"And what did you do with him?"

"He sucked me."

I grinned. His answer was straight forward and just
shameless enough to suggest that he was not averse to doing it
again. I was becoming increasingly confident in Shelley's ability
to pull it off. He was the picture of innocence to look at, yet
the nervous tremble in his voice conveyed much more. It said he
was excited by what he was discussing.

"Okay, Shel," I said softly. "You're doing great."

Shelley grinned proudly. "I pretended just like you said. I
made like I was an actor."

"Well whatever it was, you were fantastic," I said with
admiration. "Don't come on too strong with him."

"I thought I was supposed to know all about sex?"

"You're not supposed to be a whore, Shel,... I don't know, I
guess you're a bit more experienced because of what you did when
you were with the president of Brazil Air. If anyone asks why you
did it, what do you say?"

"You wanted me to."

"Not exactly. I told you to. Remember that! I didn't ask
you, I told you to do it. He has to think that you'll do whatever
I tell you to do. You have to give him the idea that you didn't
mind doing it, but it wasn't something you did by yourself."

"So because you want him to do something for you, you'll
make me fuck with him?" Shelley asked crudely. He was a fast
learner, although his language left something to be desired.

"Something like that. I'm a drug dealer, remember. They'll
find that out as soon as they have a background check run on me.
Knowing that, they'll soon figure out that how much I want the
opposition eliminated. The only question will be how much am I
prepared to pay."

"I thought you were going to give them a lot of money for
that?"

"A hundred thousand dollars. It isn't all that much. What I
want will take more than money. It he takes a liking to you,...
well I feel pretty badly about your role," I added gently.

Shelley gave me a wry look. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," I said softly. "I love you Shel," I added.

"I know. I love you back."

We gazed at each other. On the surface he looked innocent,
but inside he was feeling the same powerful urge as I did. His
eyes flickered with growing interest, responding to my unspoken
thoughts.

"We could do it right now?" he suggested quietly. He
quivered with excitement. "You said we don't have to be there
until six o'clock."

I smiled. My appointment with Jack Seidelman was at six p.m.
It was still several hours away. Yet, despite my almost
insatiable appetite for Shelley's beautiful body, I slowly shook
my head.

"Not now, Shel. I don't want you dribbling semen later on."

"I'm not supposed to be a virgin, remember?"

"That's true, but you're not supposed to be a whore either."

He wrinkled his nose. "I can get most of it out sitting on
the toilet. It won't seep through my undies then. Besides, you
could always pull him out before you did it."

I laughed. "I know, but that would ruin the best part. I
like doing it inside you. That way I know you belong to me. But
not now, okay? We've been really good up till now. If we did it,
your butthole wouldn't be as tight and he'll probably know
something is wrong. Besides, we have to get dressed soon."

"But we have two whole hours," Shelley whined playfully. "At
least you could get off in my mouth," he offered.

"I guess, but knowing what you really want, well it wouldn't
be very fair, now would it?" I joked.

"So!" he retorted sulkily. "I like suckin' you nearly as
much. It's just that the other stuff, well,..." Shelley shrugged,
forcing a weak smile to show he was not really angry. "I know you
like doing it... And there won't be a chance. That's what you
said,... probably not until this is over,... and I'm going to
miss him,... and you too, so much. I don't want to have sex with
anyone else."

"I know, Shelley."

"I'm only doing it so we can,... afterwards,... you know,...
be together."

"It's when you're like this, I know how much I love you," I
said gently.

"I love you," Shelley blurted out. "I think when this is
finished, I'm going to get into bed with you and stay there for a
whole day."

"Just a day?" I teased. "For me it's more likely going to be
a whole week."

"How about a whole month! No, a whole year!" Shelley
giggled.

"We'll have Maria cook for us, and make the bed while we're
still in it," I joked. "She's been very understanding about our
secret."

He paused a moment, tilting his head slightly to the side in
the way that he often did when he was thinking. Slowly he looked
at me.

"When this is over could we go away somewhere, where it
would be just us."

"You mean just the two of us?" I ascertained.

"No. You and me, and Maria. I like having her around. She's
kewl about it."

"You mean about sex?"

Shelley giggled. "Yeah, she talks to me about it. She wanted
to make sure I was happy and I knew what I was doing. She thinks
you're really handsome."

Lovingly I caressed his thigh. My hand slowly progressed
higher and higher, until my fingertips brushed against the firm
mound of his compact crotch. My contact elicited a shy smile.
Automatically, Shelley's knees eased further apart to provide me
access. Playfully I stroked across the little hump centered
between the boy's legs.

Shelley smirked, visibly enjoying my gentle caress. "You
keep doing that, and you won't be able to stop."

"Hm,... I guess you're right."

"Are we going to live in Mexico?"

"Would you like to?"

"Well,... I guess I would. I've never been there,... You did
say I could help choose where we live, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

For several more seconds it was still impossible to
determine whether my stroking hand was having the desired effect.
Shelley blinked and breathed out languidly. A moment later the
density of the small bulge under my fondling fingers changed. An
erection was forming, making its presence known with a gradually
increasing firmness and elongation that began to lift his
clothing up.

"I want to live somewhere where we don't have to be
ashamed."

"The problem is, Shel, that there aren't any places like
that in the world. It would be like trying to find a deserted
island."

He gave me a smug look. "I don't mean it like that. I want
to be a long way from DC."

"You'll never see them again. I promise," I reassured him as
I understood why he was so worried.

Shelley moved slightly and pressed his groin against my
cupped hand. "You feel so good. I want to be sexy with you," he
said softly. "I wish we could just be ourselves."

"It bugged you when the bell-boy came in, didn't it?"

"Yes! I could see it on his face. He thought I was,... "

"He thought you were incredibly sexy," I interjected. "He
probably thought you were a girl at first."

"No! He thought it was disgusting. That's what most people
think about queers," Shelley said adamantly.

I looked at him sadly. He bit his lower lip, half-closing
his eyes. I sensed his torment, the jeering words of other boys
when they made fun of boys like Shelley. I wondered whether he
had heard the words of derision, the natural antagonism between
straight and gay.

"It's not disgusting. They just don't understand," I said.

"I don't want to be ashamed of you. I want to live somewhere
where no one cares what we do."

I nodded. "That would be about the same as living on a
deserted island."

"Maybe. But if we were a long way away from other people,
they wouldn't know."

"You mean find a place where we could go and not be
noticed?"

"We could get a farm. There would be enough money for that,
wouldn't there?"

"I guess. I don't know very much about farming," I replied
vaguely.

I wondered whether Shelley had overheard my plans for
disappearing. I had been very careful to make sure that he did
not hear. Not that it was a secret from him, but there was a
chance that he might say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Shelley grinned. "Well, you could learn. And I would help
you so I wouldn't have to go to school."

I laughed, playfully tugging at the metal tag of his zipper.
Knowing how much Shelley disliked the school he attended, it was
easy to understand why he wanted to get as far away from school
as he could. He knew very little about my youth. Very few people
knew that I had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming. Not that I was
planning to return to Wyoming when this was over, but I did
intend to put my experience to work for me.

I opened his zipper slowly, enjoying the feel of his squat
stiffness under my fingers. I knew I would not be able to stop
myself. For the first time in nearly a week, I was completely
subordinated to the surge of desire I felt for him. I wanted to
make love to him. I realized I was going to make love to him.

"Well, I guess we could. You could try home schooling for a
while," I said with barely restrained lust.

"What's that?"

"It where you have lessons at home. I'd be your teacher."

"But what about school?"

"If we bought a farm, it might be too far for you to go to
school. Besides, I'm not sure I want you hanging around all those
horny farm boys. You'll have me as a teacher instead. I'll teach
you everything you need to know," I said.

Shelley laughed. "I know what you'll want to teach me, and
it won't be Math or English."

At that moment, the telephone rang. I sighed, thinking it
was the hotel calling about something unimportant. It was very
unlikely that the bell-boy had violated the unspoken rule of all
bell-boys. A sizable tip was supposed to ensure secrecy. Shelley
gave me a wry look that reflected our mutual frustrations. I
picked up the telephone.

It was Jack Seidelman. I listened more than I spoke. After a
minute I put the receiver down and smiled weakly.

"It looks like we're going to work a few hours sooner than I
expected," I explained. "Go get your clothes on."

Chapter Six

Seidelman greeted us in the driveway. He opened the car door
and stepped back, waiting for me to get out. I smiled
reassuringly at Shelley before I got out. He was nervous again. I
saw his small hands clench tightly, trying not to panic, to
remember every detail of the vast amount of information that was
supposed to represent who he was.

"Hang in there," I said quietly to Shelley.

Seidelman shook my hand. It was a forceful handshake, like
that of a weak man who has been to special training to learn how
to have a presence. After exchanging names and other
pleasantries, I introduced him to Shelley. I watched both
reactions carefully.

"This is my son, Shelley," I said absently. "Shel, this is
Mister Seidelman. He's a close friend of the President."

Shelley regarded the man with something akin to suspicion.
Slowly he held out his right hand. They shook perfunctorily, the
man's bear-like grip completely encasing the boy's small hand. If
my information was correct, this man was the go-between. The go-
between provided the connection between the agent and the
handler.

"My dad said that maybe I'd get to meet the President,
tonight," Shelley said in his boy-soprano voice. "So I guess I'd
better be nice to you."

Seidelman chuckled. For a second his eyes met Shelley's.
"I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I hope so." Shelley paused. "I think meeting the President
would be really kewl."

Seidelman smiled. "It sounds like you've got a real smart
boy there, Bob. It's okay if I call you Bob, Mr. Walker? I'm not
one to insist on protocol. We're usually on a first-name-basis
here."

"Neither am I, if it doesn't get in the way of what I want,"
I said sternly. After a moment, I added, "Jack."

Seidelman smiled again. "So how old are you, Shelley?"

"Ten."

"That's a real nice age. It's getting harder to remember
when I was ten, but I sure got up to some pranks. I used to drive
my parents crazy. Of course, the really bad things I did, they
never found out about. They would have killed me if they knew. Is
that how you are, Shelley? A bit on the wild side?"

For a moment Shelley glanced at me for reassurance.
"Sometimes, I guess."

Seidelman looked at me, making a seemingly casual
inspection. "Thanks for coming out early, Bob. It's going to get
pretty hectic here during the next few hours, what with the
Secret Service and all. I must have half of the State Police
trying to keep the reporters away."

"No problem. I'd only just arrived at the hotel when you
called so I changed and came right over," I explained. "I hope it
was okay to bring the boy along."

Seidelman smiled at Shelley. "Sure! He's no problem.
There'll be one other kid here, so no one will mind. I know I be
able to get you some time alone with the President after dinner.
I got to say he's very impressed.

" "Impressed?"

"With the donation. Or maybe I should say donations,"
Seidelman said slyly. "The funds you had placed in the offshore
account really got his attention."

I nodded slightly. That had been my idea and Wilderstein had
performed accordingly. A quarter of a million dollars recovered
from a drug dealer in Texas had been placed in the account used
for funding the usually very expensive solutions to the
President's problems. Of course, as far as Seidelman knew at that
point, the funds were legitimate profits from my company. A
further hundred thousand dollars up front as a political
contribution did not hurt the cause either.

We walked with him up to the house. 'Mansion' would be a
more appropriate description for the sprawling building clothed
in 'Gothic' architecture. Before we entered, I had a glimpse of
the rear of the house, where a dozen or more temporary staff were
busy unloading food and dining furniture from several caterer's
vans. A tuxedo-attired man watched and gave directions as people
bustled to and fro. There were also two black limousines, Lincoln
Continentals, parked in the driveway. It was a sure sign that the
Secret service had arrived and were busy preparing for the
President's arrival.

Inside, Seidelman left us in the care of Roger Altman, a
very handsome and young-looking man who may have been in his
early twenties. He was well dressed, and his appearance was that
of a person who took great care of his image. It was all I could
do not to snicker. He was presented to me as Seidelman's private
secretary, but given the look he gave his 'employer', there was
no doubt in my mind that he was considerably more than a
secretary. The thought came to me suddenly. The President was
nearly through his second term, and if Altman was twenty-one or
twenty-two, he would only have been about fourteen when the
President took office. Was it possible that I was looking at a
past boy friend of the man who was supposed to take a liking to
Shelley? There was a passing resemblance to Shelley, if only in
that Altman had been blond when he was younger, because the boy
next to me was much better looking than Seidelman's boyfriend.
Was this what Shelley would be like in ten or twelve years? A
young homosexual, who depended on his good looks to succeed? We
followed Altman into the library. It was a dark-colored room,
with a hand-knotted Arabian carpet that covered most of the floor
and walnut bookcases that went all the way to a coffered ceiling.

"You can wait in here for a while until the other guests
arrive," Altman said nervously. "Would you like a drink or
something?"

I nodded slightly, narrowing my eyes. Altman shifted
uncomfortably.

"I'll take a Bourbon with some Coke, Jack Daniels if you've
got it. Shel usually drinks what's left of the Coke," I said
after a few seconds.

I watched him turn away. He opened a cabinet and poured two
fingers of Black-Label J-S onto some ice cubes in a brilliant
glass before opening the door of a small refrigerator. He
withdrew a can of Coke. He passed the drinks to us in turn. Up
close, he was a very handsome young man. If I was interested in
men, I would have been easily aroused. Seidelman obviously knew a
good thing when he saw it. I suspected that there was something
going on between them that Seidelman's wife did not know about.

"How long have you known the President?" I asked quietly.

Altman turned suddenly. "The President?"

"Yes. My son hasn't met him yet! I expect he will later this
evening."

"I was fourteen," Altman replied.

He glanced quickly at Shelley and then at me, obviously more
interested than he was only moments earlier. I smiled, knowing I
was correct in my first impressions. Altman paused and turned
around as the library door opened. In the doorway stood a gangly
boy who was probably twelve or thirteen. He was a good looking
boy, with a pale complexion and short blond hair that had been
recently styled with moused spikes on the top. He was dressed in
khaki trousers and a pale-blue oxford shirt. While the 'Prep-
school' look was very dated, the clothes were definitely styled
to emphasize his figure. He was not unappealing. He studied
Shelley for a few seconds before he looked at me, then turned to
Altman.

"Jack said that the plane landed fifteen minutes ago,
Roger," he said.

His voice had a scratchy crackle, no longer the sweet tones
of a prepubescent boy. There was also a slight accent that would
have been difficult to identify if I had not spent a year in
Poland. He did not look particularly Polish, and I decided that
his blond hair was the result of being bleached.

"Thanks, Alex," Altman replied. "He's my brother," he
explained.

He turned back to look at Shelley. His eyes lingered and I
sensed him making the obvious comparison between the two boys.
However, there was no comparison. Shelley was beautiful, and if
the President was attracted to the 'young-boy-look' he would win
hands-down. Still, there was something about the other boy that
affected me. Everything about him said 'sex'. By contrast, and
very much in keeping with what I knew as fact, Shelley was able
to retain an 'innocent as an angel' look until he wanted to
seduce someone.

Shelley returned Altman's gaze with an unnerving arrogant
stare of his own. I was impressed.

"Have you met the President?" I asked Alexis.

He blushed immediately, almost as if I had asked him to take
down his trousers and expose himself. He looked at his older
brother for support. Even Roger seemed taken back by my seemingly
innocuous comment.

Slowly Alexis nodded. "Sure,... I've met him lots of times
before."

"Wow!" Shelley interjected. "I want to meet him so much I
can't stand it."

Alex scowled at him. I suspected the obvious. The boy had
probably realized that Shelley might offer unexpected
competition. I took a drink, hiding my smile in the bottom of the
glass. If there was going to be a competition, my bet was on
Shelley.

"I'd do anything to meet him," Shelley added.

He smiled, with just a hint of emphasis on 'anything' as he
drove the point home. He smiled innocently at the same time. To a
person who did not know him, his ambiguity was even more
disturbing than the implied sexual innuendo.

I regarded Roger with amusement, knowing that Shelley's
answer had caught his ear, but aware that his interest was
suddenly directed beyond the window. Several extended limousines
pulled into the driveway and slowly approached the house. nearly
a dozen other black vehicles, four-wheel drives, and several vans
stopped on the street in a cordoned-off area that was enclosed by
police cruisers. The President had arrived. Alexis tensed, his
eyes narrowing. Shelley swallowed nervously. He glanced at me as
his confidence ebbed. I smiled reassuringly. This was the time to
be very careful.

Dozens of Secret Service agents spilled out of the vehicles,
taking up positions around the President's limousine and around
the house. It was like a well-oiled machine.

"Wow," I heard Shelley murmur. "It's him."

Alexis stepped forward, directing Shelley away from his
subject with a gentle nudge. "Of course it's him. Who did you
expect?" he asked caustically.

He walked to the window and framed himself between the
curtains. If the President turned to the side, he was sure to see
the boy waiting for him. After a moment, Alexis waved, and then
he turned back to face us. He was grinning.

Altman smiled. "Are you ready to go, Alexis?"

The boy turned slightly. He took a deep breath and started
towards the door. "I still need to,..."

"Then you'd better go do it. By now you ought to know what
he likes and doesn't like."

I watched Alexis depart, enjoying the almost feminine
movement of his young body. While he lacked Shelley's sensuous
lithe body and much better looks, he had no hesitation in
flaunting what he did have. Suddenly, I realized that if Alexis
was Shelley's only competition, he wouldn't be much of a problem
unless the President's preferences did not extend to boys of
Shelley's age. That was a complication that I preferred not to
think about.

Altman's voice brought me quickly back to the current
situation. "Anything? You said you'd do anything to meet him?"

Shelley was startled and he glanced at me for reassurance. I
nodded vaguely. "Anything could mean a lot of things." I
answered.

Altman rubbed his nose, holding my gaze with his blue eyes.
His tongue tipped his lips.

"Whatever you want it to mean."

"What do you have in mind?"

"That depends on what you want to get out of the meeting."

I nodded thoughtfully. "I have a problem with one of my
international subsidiaries."

"And you'd like some government intervention on your
behalf?" Altman suggested slyly.

"More or less," I replied. "That would be one solution."

"What's it worth, this solution to your problem?"

"Fifty, sixty million a year," I said slowly.

"Hell, then you had better solve it quickly."

"That's why I'm here."

"Let me speak openly. Your donation opened the door," Altman
reflected. "Getting him more involved, well, he's very busy. I'm
sure you understand."

"I expected it to be very difficult," I interjected. "If
it's a matter of a larger contribution to the Offshore Fund, I
can arrange something."

Altman smiled slightly. "No, not really. That would be
helpful, of course, under the present circumstances, but it's not
necessary. I was thinking of something else." He glanced at
Shelley, hesitating a moment before he turned back to me.

"Why don't you come with me, Mr. Walker. You can meet him
right now. He's on the terrace. Jack Seidelman suggested you
should bring your son, Shelley."

"Good! I'm sure Shelley will be on his best behavior," I
said gleefully.

"I'm sure he will. Of course Alexis will be there in a few
minutes so the boys can amuse themselves while we're talking."

We followed Altman out of the room and down the hall until
we reached the foyer. Several Secret Service men were standing
around, waiting. Two of them quickly patted Altman and me down in
a search for weapons. The inspection given to me was anything but
cursory. One hand groped my genitals. Interestingly, the men did
not seem to pay Shelley much attention, although I was aware that
one of the two black men smiled briefly while he studied the boy
from head to toe. From his posture, I assumed that he was the
person in charge of security. It was only as we were going
through the door did I hear his whispered voice behind me.

"It looks like chicken again tonight."

"Fresh meat, too, from the look of him."

Then, as I walked onto the sun lit terrace, I saw him. The
President was standing next to his close friend, confidant, and
advisor in legal matters. They were deep in conversation as
Altman continued to approach. The animated discussion broke off
only when we were within hearing distance. The President looked
towards us, his previously grim countenance suddenly becoming
welcoming. He stepped forward a few paces, extending his hand as
Jack Seidelman began to make the required formal introduction.

"Mr. President, I'd like to introduce Robert Walker. Mr.
Walker's the President of American Imports."

The President and I shook hands. He had a politician's
handshake. Firm, practiced, and very memorable.

"Jack's just been telling me a bit about you," the President
acknowledged with a slight smile. "Your company must be doing
very well to allow you to make such a generous donation."

"We're doing okay," I answered diffidently.

"Good! And this handsome young man must be Shelley?" he
continued.

A quick glance at Seidelman was met with a curt nod. The
President regarded Shelley thoughtfully, visibly appreciative of
what he saw. His smile broadened.

"You're getting much better at it, Jack."

Jack stiffened and stepped back until he leaned against the
rail. He continued to survey the President who was still studying
the slender blond-haired boy standing before him. Shelley smiled.
It was a smile that could only be described as 'enigmatic', that
combination of mystery and secrecy that raised more interest than
anything he could have said short of saying he was 'horny'. With
his clear blue eyes, innocent and curious, it was a startling
combination. I could have hugged him right there.

"He's cute enough to have his own tv show. What's that
boy's name?," the President asked.

"The one we were talking about earlier was Aaron Carter?"

"Yes. That's the one. You're right when you said there was a
remarkable similarity. Wouldn't you say Shelley is better
looking, Jack," he added with a smile. He turned slightly until
he was looking at me. "You didn't get married again, did you
Bob?"

"No!" I answered.

"I would imagine you'd have lots of opportunities in
Bolivia, though," he added.

Given the expressionless way in which he made the last
statement, I felt my heart beat faster. Someone had already done
a lot of work investigating my background. I glanced at Jack
Seidelman only to see him look away quickly. I wondered how much
more he had been able to find out about my cover story. With his
connections, I imagined quite a lot.

"If I wanted I could have half-a-dozen wives by now."

"At the same time?"

"More or less. A man would have to be crazy to one more than
one. But that sort of thing is a fact of life down there," I
answered after a moment. "You can do lots of things in Bolivia
that would be highly illegal here."

Seidelman nodded agreeably. "I've heard that. Girls, boys,
whatever you want, it's all available for the right price."

"And how much would that be?" the President asked, again
looking at Shelley.

"It depends," I answered simply. "For a street kid, maybe
ten bucks for the night."

"For a boy or a girl?" Seidelman asked.

"It doesn't matter. However, you'd be well advised to use a
rubber either way," I joked.

The President chuckled. "Well, that's probably true most
places nowadays. Frankly, I'd rather have something a little
higher class than a street kid," he added with a smile in
Seidelman's direction.

That provoked a laugh from Seidelman. "To change the
subject, the President and I were wondering whether you might be
interested in increasing your donation."

I stroked my chin, pretending to be thoughtful. "To how
much?"

"To start off with a nice round number, let's say an even
million."

"A million dollars," I repeated. "That's a lot more than I
expected."

"Not really. It depends on how much we can do for you in
return. Quid pro quo is how business is done around Washington.
It's no different here. It's a matter of political and commercial
exigency."

"A public private partnership?" I said testily.

"More or less. You're happy, we're happy."

"You don't even know what I want?" I replied.

Seidelman smiled. "You're in the import business, aren't
you?" I nodded. "Then, there are certain regulations that you
probably need help with. It's very possible for some of our
friends in the House or Senate to insert the right words in any
one of a hundred bills going through Congress."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Okay, tell us what you want," the President interjected.

I smiled. "I have some problems involving the competition
that you might be able to assist me with."

"Problems in Bolivia are not something that we can do much
about," Seidelman answered warily.

I stepped back, resting my hand on Shelley's slim shoulder.
I looked at the President, meeting his eyes. He had to take the
first step.

At that moment, Alexis appeared. He approached slowly, his
eyes meeting the President's with an unconcealed look of
recognition despite an expression that was almost bored.

"Hello Mr. President."

"Hello, Alexis," the man returned happily. "It's good to see
you again. You look like you've grown a few inches since I was
here last."

Alexis grinned cheekily. "Probably I think there's only one
place I haven't grown."

The President laughed. "Well, you're beginning to look like
you're getting into puberty so you will soon enough, I expect.
You've met Mr. Walker and his boy, Shelley already, I hear. Why
don't you take him to get a snack or something, Alexis?"

Alexis nodded and I gently pushed Shelley's shoulder to
indicate that he needed to follow the President's suggestion. We
watched the boys until they disappeared inside the house. I
turned back to the two men beside me.

"A million dollars," I said ambiguously. "It's a lot of
money."

"There's a lot of money to be made in Central America, I'm
told."

"That's true, Mr. President. However, there is also a great
deal of risk. Importing from there is becoming increasingly
difficult. It's not nearly as profitable as it was even a year
ago."

"Because of the competition?"

"You could say that. For now, well lets just say that the
DEA is doing a better job with border inspections than it has in
the past. There are also a number of other companies entering the
import business as well."

"I'm not sure what can be done to help you. It wouldn't be
possible for your company not to be subjected to the same customs
inspections."

"I understand that. What I'd like to see is increased
pressure on my competition. There's one company in particular
that I'd like to see not doing business in Bolivia."

"It's American?"

"For what it's worth, its head office is in Mexico City. I
understand the ownership is fifty percent U.S." I answered. "What
I need is a trade barrier."

The President laughed. "So much for the US-Mexico-Canada
agreement, huh?"

"How do you feel about the Italians?"

"The Mafia too? How much do you stand to make if they were
pressured out of the import business?"

I shrugged vaguely. "It's hard to say. It would be worth a
hell of a lot more than a million dollars to my supporters."

"You realize, Mr. Walker, that as close as my administration
is to ending its term, the money is not all that important any
more. My Vice President has to worry about fund raising. And of
course, I have enough support from our Asian friends to last a
lifetime."

"Then?" I prompted.

Seidelman regarded me quizzically. "The President is a man
with very special tastes, shall we say. For the right situation,
there could be certain rewards."

I nodded, still pretending ignorance while being curious.
"You know, I had something of a similar situation in Brazil. I
wanted to do business with a very rich man. He wasn't interested
in more money. So I had to find something he was interested in."

"Which was?" Seidelman asked.

"Well, I went down to Rio and stayed at his villa for nearly
a week while we were negotiating the deal. I spent a lot of time
with him. You can learn a lot just watching someone's eyes. After
a while I figured out that what he really liked."

"And that was?"

"Boys. He had a thing for young boys. One time I caught him
drooling over a little blond boy when we were at a soccer game.
The more I watched him the more I realized he couldn't keep his
eyes off him. He even had a couple of young orphan boys working
on the grounds of the estate."

"Where did they come from?"

"No idea. They were dark skinned but quite nice looking. You
can find good looking kids up on almost any street in Rio. It's
no different to Bolivia. They'll fuck for food and clothing and a
place to sleep."

"And?" Seidelman prompted.

I smiled vaguely. "I took care of him."

"You took care of him?" the President asked slowly, nodding
his head thoughtfully. Again I smiled and met his eyes.

"And just how did you do that?" Seidelman asked.

I inclined my head as if I was hard of hearing. After
several long seconds passed, I answered cautiously, "How do you
think?"

Seidelman and the President glanced at each other quickly.

"Why don't you tell us," the President replied.

"It's really quite simple. Once I had figured out what he
wanted, I merely had to provide it to get his attention."

"Which was?"

"I sent him the boy of his dreams. He was blond and blue-
eyed and very different to the dark-skinned little street whore
he usually had in his bed."

"Your sent him a boy?" Seidelman suggested brazenly. He
looked at me with considerable interest as he smirked knowingly.
"Your son. That's who you sent, wasn't it?"

For an instant I tried to appear shocked. I did not answer.
The smile that slowly appeared on my face should have won me an
Academy Award for Best Actor.

"My son? Maybe."

"Maybe?" Seidelman smirked.

"Okay, it was him. It's not like he doesn't know what sex is
about. He knows what to do and he does what he's told," I
replied. "Given what he did down in Rio, I'd say he's not
particularly adverse to doing it either, at least with the right
person."

"You've very open-minded," the President said.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not an unreasonable person,
Mr. President. So when reason tells me to do something, I usually
do what needs to be done."

"I guess that's one way of putting it." The President turned
to Seidelman. "Jack, I'm sure we can organize what he needs for
his company to be successful in its foreign operations. Why don't
you look into it and work out the details with him after dinner."

"It'll take it that they should plan on staying here
tonight," Seidelman said ambiguously. "I'll have a word to
Alexis."

That provoked a sly smile from the President. "Well, Mr.
Walker have you figured out what I'm interested in by watching
me?"

I nodded. "I think so." I paused deliberately, as if
pondering the possibilities. "Boys?" I suggested quietly.

"Maybe. It depends on the boy. Are you interested in staying
here tonight?"

"I assume that means Shelley will spend the night with you?
Assuming he's willing to do it."

"My, but you don't waste any words, do you Bob?"

"Not often," I quipped. "I tend to speak my mind when I need
to. Will you still need the increased donation as well?"

"Of course." he smiled slightly. "I think we're beginning to
understand each other, Bob. Is there anything you'll need besides
a toothbrush."

I returned his smile. "I didn't bring anything with me, but
I should be okay for a night."

"But you thought to bring your Walkman?" Seidelman asked.

"Not really. It's Shelley's," I explained.

"I assume you'll want talk with him first," the President
said. "I'm only interested if he's there because he wants to be."

Seidelman smirked. "So you haven't forgotten about that
Chinese boy from last year?"

He was met with a cold look.

"We'll discuss what assistance I need after breakfast
tomorrow then?"

The President did not answer. Instead, he laughed and
turned on his heel. Within seconds he had disappeared inside the
house, Seidelman following close behind him. I breathed a sigh of
relief. So far, everything was going to plan and ahead of
schedule. However, in my experience that was usually when thing
went wrong. I headed off to look for Shelley and his new
'friend'.

Chapter Seven.

The house was both ostentatious and enormous, a Democrat's
conspicuous consumption at it most refined. Apart from my own
political leanings, there was no other way of putting it. I
wandered from room to room, taking in the expensive furnishings,
the lush carpet, the singular lack of good taste. I went back to
the library, only to find the door closed and two black Secret
Service men guarding the door. When I did not find Shelley any
where on the first floor, I smiled. Unless I was mistaken, the
boys were upstairs.

There was a much easier solution than searching for Shelley.
I smiled to myself as I opened the door to the guest bathroom. I
made certain the lock was secured before I pulled the Walkman
from my pocket, placed the headphones over my ears, and turned
the channel selector that Wilderstein had shown me. For a moment
there was no sound. A slight adjustment to the volume and I could
hear the boy's voices distinctly. I could also hear the quick
beat of Shelley's heart and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
The technology was unbelievable, especially for the Russians.

Alexis: "So how old are you?"

Shelley: "Ten! You?"

Alexis: "Fourteen, a couple of weeks ago."

Shelley: "Man! You don't look that old."

Alexis: "Yeah, I guess I look young for my age."

Alexis muttered something that Shelley could not hear, but
which I could--'thanks to the fucking pills'--.

Shelley: "Huh?"

Alexis: "Nothing. I was just thinking aloud, that's all.
What's your dad do?"

Shelley: "He's runs a company."

Alexis: "Doing?"

Shelley: "They import stuff, mostly from Central America."

"Is he away a lot?"

Upon hearing Roger Altman's voice I sat up quickly,
surprised that both Alexis and Roger were interrogating Shelley.

Shelley: "Kinda. Sometimes I get to go on trips with him."

Suddenly he sounded less confident. He also sounded as if
saying the words hurt him.

Alexis: "Kewl. Like where?"

Shelley: "Like earlier this year I went to Rio with him."

Alexis: "What was he doing down there?"

Shelley: "He's was trying to get some company there to go
into a joint venture with him. A joint venture is sorta like a
partnership."

Alexis: "I know what it is. Where do you go to school?"

Shelley: "Robertson Academy. It's a private school in Palm
Beach."

Alexis: "You live there with your dad, don't you? Where's
your mom?"

Shelley: "She died when I was younger."

Alexis: "Sorry. So what do you do for fun in Palm Beach?"

Shelley: "Nothing much. The usual stuff. Mostly I hang out
around the house."

Alexis: "You got many friends?"

Shelley: "No. My best friend is Calvin Heally. He lives down
the street from me. He's a few years older than me. We go to the
same school."

It was a good lie. He had used Calvin's name, but in a
different setting.

Roger: "That's nice. How about a girl friend?"

Shelley: "Nah!"

He giggled.

Roger: "Not interested in girls yet, huh?"

Alexis: "I bet he hasn't."

Shelley: "I haven't what?"

Alexis: "Had sex."

Shelley did not answer for several long seconds. He breathed
out, shifted around. Even the sound of fidgeting was amplified.
Finally he was prompted to say something.

Roger: "With a girl?"

Shelley: "No!"

Alexis: "With a boy then? How about with Calvin?"

Shelley: "We mess around 'n stuff."

Roger: "There's nothing to be embarassed about. Just about
every boy does it with his friends at one time or another. What
did you do with him?"

Shelley: "You know,... stuff!"

Roger: "Stuff could mean lots of things."

Shelley: "We rub our things together sometimes."

Alexis: "Did he ever put his dick up your butt?"

Shelley: "Yeah. Sometimes."

Alexis: "Kewl. You like doing that? Some guys don't like
it?"

Shelley: "It's okay."

Roger: "You ever do that with any one older?"

Again Shelley was silent, holding his answer until one of
them prompted him.

Roger: "There's nothing wrong with it. Alexis does it with a
man. I did too, when I was your age. You can trust us not to
tell."

Shelley: "Maybe."

Alexis: "Yeah, I bet he has. He's getting hot just thinking
about it. Who was it?"

Shelley: "You've got to promise not to tell."

Roger: "Sure. You can trust us."

Shelley: "Okay. Well, this guy who works for my father and
I, sometimes we,... you know,... we do stuff together. He's a
bodyguard. Part of his job is he drives me to and from school."

Alexis: "What's your old man do that he needs a bodyguard
for?"

Shelley: "I don't know."

Roger: "So tell us about him."

Shelley: "He's my friend. He's really nice to me. There's a
place we go for ice cream."

Roger and Alexis laughed.

Roger: "That wasn't what I had in mind. Has he done it to
you?"

Shelley: "Done what?"

Roger and Alexis laughed again.

Roger: "Stuck it in you. Has he put his cock in your ass?"

Shelley: "You promise you won't tell my dad. I don't want
Robbie getting into trouble."

I smiled. Again, another lie building off truth so that he
would not forget. Given what he had done with Robbie, if Shelley
needed to he could go back and embellish without straying too
far.

Roger: "Don't worry. You had sex with any other guys?"

Shelley: "Just once. A guy my dad knows from his business.
He lives in Rio. In Brazil."

Alexis: "Your dad let a guy fuck you in the ass?"

Shelley: "I didn't say that."

Roger: "But he did, didn't he?"

Shelley: "I guess. He wanted me to."

Alexis: "He wanted you to?"

Roger: "He wanted you to do what?"

Shelley: "My dad said I should do whatever the guy wanted."

Alexis: "And he wanted to fuck you?"

Shelley: "Yeah. Eventually. At first he wanted to jerk me
off. The after I sucked him, he got me on my back. It hurt a bit
because he was pretty big."

Alexis: "No shit! But you liked it too, didn't you?"

Shelley: "Yeah, it was mostly okay."

Roger: "You didn't wonder about why your old man wanted you
to do it?"

Shelley: "No! I do what he tells me. Besides, I didn't mind
doing it."

Alexis: "I bet you didn't."

Roger: "So Shelley, would you like to do it again?"

Shelley: "With you and Alexis?"

Roger: "Maybe later on. But you'd do it with someone else
first."

Shelley: "Who?"

Alexis: "Like with the President!"

Shelley: "You're kidding me."

Roger: "He's not! Despite what you might hear on the tv,
he's really into boys. In fact, he just told me a few minutes ago
how he thought you were really cute. He likes you, Shelley."

Shelley: "Kewl!"

I smiled proudly. Shelley had performed like a professional.
We had just taken one very big step towards accomplishing our
mission. I switched off the Walkman and stood up.

Chapter Eight.

Dinner with a hundred wealthy Democrats consisted of surf
and turf, a barely edible but generous portion of salmon and a
slab of bloodied meat. I picked at the food, concentrating on the
conversation around me, trying to remember who was who, and which
one might be someone worth knowing in the future. All of the
guests had paid a thousand dollars for a seat at the table and a
chance to shake the President's hand.

After the plates were cleared, Shelley and Alexis headed off
to play video games in the second floor study. It was nearly
eleven o'clock when I set out to find Jack Seidelman. He was not
averse to getting down to business, although there were still a
few guests hanging around. What was discussed was couched in
terms that anyone overhearing would have no idea of the real
nature of our agreement.

"Well," Seidelman asked, "Have you had a chance to talk
with him about the arrangement?"

"We talked. He's willing," I replied.

Seidelman nodded slowly. "That's good. You know, Bob, it'll
be very good for you in the long run if this lasts."

"Lasts?"

"Once is seldom enough in these situations. It takes time to
get his attention."

"How long?"

"It depends on what you want, Bob."

"I want help with the foreign competition. Some very
aggressive enforcement of trade violations would be nice. I want
the dumping to stop. I also want to take over their imports as
soon as it arrives at the border."

"I'm sure that can be arranged, if you can help with
locations."

"I can do that. There's one more thing. I want assistance
getting my own imports into the country."

"That's harder to arrange."

"I'm prepared to increase the donation to a million dollars
every year."

"It's not just a matter of money."

I smiled slightly. "A million dollars a year plus visitation
rights."

Seidelman laughed. "Visitation rights. That's one way of
putting it. You'll get your money's worth. What you asked for is
one thing. What we can do for you over the next few years is the
icing on the cake."

"I assume he'll be safe?"

"Safe? Oh, I understand. I was going to ask you the same
question." Seidelman reflected for a moment. "Not that it
matters. From what Alexis and Roger tell me, there's always latex
involved. It's a intelligent decision considering the dangers."

"I'm not surprised," I answered. "What are the plans for
tonight?"

Seidelman glanced around. Without saying a word he took my
elbow and guided me towards the French windows and away from the
half dozen other guests on the terrace.

"He'll start out sleeping in the guest bedroom with Alexis.
He's playing computer games there right now so he'll know where
he has to go. I'll have the room next door. I'll come to get him
when the time is right. Make sure he baths properly and his teeth
are clean. There will be an enema bag and tube in the vanity.
Have him cleaned out so there's no chance of an accident."

Seidelman released my elbow. He smiled innocently. "You know
the money is unimportant if your boy does what he wants. He's an
absolute doll."

"What about Alexis?"

"So you figured that out. Alexis is getting too old. He's
been shaving his crotch the last few months. For a while he was
on a treatment program using some stuff we've managed to get from
the National Institute of Child Health. He was taking pills for
the last two years. It worked great but his dick and balls have
shrunk," Seidelman chuckled.

"And now you're looking for a younger boy to replace him?" I
prompted.

"Yes. Your Shelley is ideal," Seidelman answered. "The
President likes him, Bob. He likes him a lot. If the kid makes
out okay in bed, he'll be the one. Assuming of course, you'll
agree."

I nodded slowly, trying to appear thoughtful. "I know
Shelley's got a thing for older guys. He's been screwing around
with one of my men for a few months now. So far, he doesn't know
that I know what's going on between him and Robbie. If he's going
to let a man fuck his ass I'd rather it was the President than
some forty-grand-a-year bodyguard."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Seidelman said as he turned
away.

I left immediately, taking the grand stair to the second
floor. I passed four or five doors. The second door opened into
the room where the President would be staying. There were three
grey-suited agents inspecting every nook and cranny. Another
agent waved a black metal wand over the furniture to detect bugs.
I smiled to myself and continued on my way. It was very unlikely
that they would perform a similar search on an already naked boy
going to the President's room in the middle of the night. It was
cause for another sigh of relief.

Shelley was losing in the Cool-Boarders game that he was
playing with Alexis. However, he was not that far behind that he
could not catch up. I stood in the doorway and watched the two
boys leaning over their controls, rocking to and fro as if the
effort could somehow keep their player from slamming into the
obstacles. Slowly Alexis pulled further ahead, and while Shelley
gave it his best effort, he was unable to close the gap. It was
interesting to watch as they hurtled down the white twisting
slopes. Shelley threw caution to the wind, taking more risk than
the other boy. Twice he lost control and ended up in the
conifers. It was an interesting character trait. He had nothing
to lose so he gave it all that he had. I grinned, feeling the
immense pride that a father feels when his son surprises him with
an extraordinary skill.

Finally, his player waiting behind the finish line, Alexis
rolled onto his back laughing as Shelley threw down his
controller.

"Now you owe me a thousand bucks," Alexis laughed. "You want
to play again?"

"No way," I interrupted. "He can't afford it and neither can
I."

Shelley spun around, grinning from ear to ear. "I almost had
him. At the start he cheats."

"Well, cheaters never prosper," I repeated the old adage.
"And ten-year-old boys need to have a bath and get ready for
bed."

"I'm sleeping with Alexis," Shelley informed me.

I shrugged. "I know. It's your choice. Come on. You need to
get cleaned up."

Shelley followed me out of the room and down the hall. A
sideways glance showed the four agents still examining the
bedroom I had just passed.

Once inside the bedroom where I was to spend the night
alone, I closed and locked the door behind us. Shelley stepped
forward, his arms lifting up as his eyes closed. His lips met
mine. We kissed, gently at first and then with increasing urgency
as our passion began to mount. A week apart was a long time. I
needed to be inside him, to feel his taut rectum squeezing
against my penis, to absorb his vibrant heat. The last thing I
wanted was to send him to another man's bed.

Shelley hugged me, kissed my cheek, my chin, my forehead. He
slurped over my lips, stuck his tongue out so I could suck it,
pushed his immature sex hard into my thigh and ground against me
until I had to pry him away.

"I don't want to," he whispered. "Not with him. Not with
anyone else except you."

"I know, lover boy. That's what it's like when you're in
love."

"Do I have to?"

I nodded slightly. "If we do this, it means we'll be able to
live together from now on. That's the only reason why we're doing
it. One time is worth it, Shelley. I want to be able to call you
'son', and wake up in the morning and have your dick jabbing
against my stomach."

"And I won't have to go back to her?"

"Never! You won't see her, or Robbie, or Calvin ever again.
it'll always be just the two of us."

"And Maria! Promise?"

"Promise!"

Shelley sighed. "Okay."

I smiled reassuringly. "Okay. You need to get in the bath
tub and wash everything and everywhere. I'll come in a few
minutes and do your hair. Have you ever had an enema?"

Shelley paled. His lips pressed together. He clenched his
hands. He nodded. It was obvious that it had been a very
unpleasant experience for him.

"What happened?" I asked.

"She gave me one."

"Julia?"

"Yes. Do I have to have one."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Why did she give you an enema?"

"After Robbie,..."

"After Robbie had sex with you?" I prompted.

Shelley looked down, ashamed and reluctant. I reached out
and lovingly stroked the back of his head, curling my fingers in
his silky hair and scratching behind his ears. Eventually he
answered.

"I couldn't go for a week after the first time,... you know
to the bathroom, Rick. It was really painful when I tried. I
guess he hurt me inside or something. There was blood and stuff
coming out of me for a while afterwards. It hurt so bad that I
couldn't sit down without feeling terrible."

I seethed with anger. Julia had known what her son was doing
to Shelley and made no effort to intervene or protect the little
boy who had been placed in her care, albeit temporarily. There
was no love, just animal lust.

"So she gave you an enema?" I asked.

Shelley nodded slightly. "It was gross, Rick. It really was.
I couldn't help it. It came out all over the floor, and she
slapped me and made me clean it up. I nearly puked it smelled so
bad."

I pulled him against me and his head burrowed into my chest.
I stroked his back, reaching down to the start of his buttocks
before going up again.

"It'll be different this time."

"Why do I have to?"

"Because he wants you to be clean back there, I expect."

"Does he have to put his cock in me there. I could suck
him," Shelley volunteered. "Wouldn't that be enough?"

"Maybe. I don't know what will happen. Maybe you can get him
to cum and he won't want anything else. He was pretty drunk when
I saw him a while ago. Maybe he'll be happy just to get off in
your mouth. Hell, maybe he can't get an erection."

"I'll do whatever I have to so I can live with you," Shelley
said softly. "I'll call you when I'm ready for my hair to be
washed."

He broke away, not distraught, but not eager. He was stoic
in his acceptance. Some things had to be done no matter how much
you did not want to do them. He was a lot like me. I watched him
disappear into the bathroom. It was all I could do not to follow
him, if only to watch him undress.

It was nearly 11.30 p.m. when I opened the door again.
Shelley was dressed in a blue and yellow track-suit. Around his
neck was a gold chain. He was clean and fresh and his hair
smelled of apples. He was nervous, but he was also courageous. He
smiled at me, returning my loving squeeze of his right hand with
one of his own. He walked down the hall and stopped outside the
room he was supposed to be sharing with Alexis. He waved
erratically and reached for the door handle. A moment water he
was gone from my sight. Further down the hall, two black Secret
Service agents stood guard outside the President's room. One gave
a quick glance in my direction. I tensed and abruptly closed the
door to my room. My stomach churned as walked slowly across the
seat in front of the window. I sat down, picked up the Walkman,
slipped the headphones over my ears, and began to listen.

I expected nothing much would happen until after midnight
and I was not wrong. It was shortly after midnight when the boys'
chatter stopped. They had talked about a lot of things in half
and hour, none of them sex. Suddenly the silence was broken.

Alexis: "Okay, you better get ready. He'll come for you a
few minutes."

Shelley: "Who'll come?"

Alexis: "Jack. What do you have underneath those sweat
pants?"

Shelley: "Boxers."

Alexis: "Take them off."

Shelley: "Why?"

Alexis: "Because I said so. Because he doesn't like you to
wear anything underneath."

Shelley: "What should I wear then?"

Alexis: "Nothing. No one will see you."

Shelley: "Are you sure?"

Alexis: "Just do it. You have a nice body. There's nothing
to be ashamed off."

Shelley: "Now what?"

Alexis: "I said take everything off."

Shelley: "Okay."

Alexis: "That's better. Here, put this on."

Shelley: "What's that?"

Alexis: "It's a necklace, you dummy! Have fun, kid. Don't be
scared. His dick isn't all that big."

Jack: "Hi boys."

Shelley: "Hi Mr. Seidelman."

Alexis: "He's cute."

Jack: "So?"

Alexis: "He's going to fuck the crap outta you."

Jack: "Come with me Shelley. He's waiting."

There was a loud click, the sound of another door opening,
and then another door. There had to be connecting doors between
the three rooms. I had a good idea of what would happen later in
the night. I sat forward, breathing heavily, listening despite
the unsettling fear in my stomach.

President: "Come get him at six."

Jack: "Sure. Anything else?"

President: "You tell me."

Jack: "There's a box of rubbers and some K-Y in the drawer."

President: "That's all I needed to know. How's Alexis taking
it? being replaced?"

Jack: "He'll get over it, I'm sure."

President: "He's not as smart as his brother, Jack. I'm
worried about him."

Jack: "He knows to keep his mouth shut."

President: "The last thing I need is for this to get out."

Jack: "Not wrong. He'll keep quiet about it."

President: "I want you to arrange a special present for him.
Something Roger will be surprised by. Your friends can find the
right gift, I'm sure."

Jack: "I'll pass the word along."

President: "Good night Jack."

Jack: "Good night Mr. President."

I heard the sound of the door closing. Shelley was alone
with the President. I turned the volume up. The sound of
Shelley's heart was suddenly comforting. It seemed to be beating
very quickly. I heard a rustling sound and took it to be from his
arms rubbing against the bare skin of his chest. He was cold. He
was frightened. I swallowed. I hated myself, hated how I had
placed the boy I loved in such a position, promised myself that I
would never hurt him again, that I would spend the rest of my
life making it up to him.

President: "My you're a beautiful boy, Shelley. Don't be
embarassed. I've seen lots of little boy dicks before, and I hear
at least two other men have seen you naked before me. I've been
waiting all night. That's better."

I heard the distinct sounds of clothes being removed,
dropping to the floor, footsteps. I resisted my urge to get up
and run down the hall. Deliberately I pushed the record button.

President: "Now we're both naked aren't we. Do you like my
cock? You're a very lucky boy. They're aren't many boys who can
say they've seen the most powerful cock in the world. It is, you
know. It may not be that big, but it's powerful."

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "Yes sir? That's good, boy. Do you like men's
cocks?"

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "Do you like my cock?"

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "Would you like to hold it? Of course you would.
Take it in your hand."

Shelley: "It's hot."

President: "So are you! You're so fucking beautiful. That's
right, rub it boy. Rub it nice and slowly. That's how I like it,
with you hand around it. Up and down."

I heard him grunt, shuffling footsteps. The sudden intake of
breath left no doubt in my mind that he was touching Shelley's
naked body. I hoped the soft sigh was feigned.

Shelley: "You're hard."

President: "Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

Shelley: "And wet too."

His giggle went through me like a knife. I could envision
his little thumb making slow circles over the end of the man's
erection. He liked to smear my pre-seminal fluid and put his
finger in his mouth. When he took it out again, he always kissed
his fingertip with a wet plop.

President: "You like having my pre-cum on you?"

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "How does it taste?"

Shelley: "Salty. You're sure making a lot of it."

President: "Yeah, I am, aren't I? You're fucking incredible.
Shelley, isn't it?"

Shelley: "Yes sir. You want me to suck you?"

President: "Sure, but not for long. I've got something else
in mind."

I wanted to turn the volume down but the insistent beat of
Shelley's heart stopped me. My hands were shaking. Now matter how
many times I had sex with Shelley, I was still fascinated by what
he could do with his lips and tongue. And now, he was using that
special skill on another man. I shuddered. I heard the gradual
increase in his heart rate, the interruption in his breathing,
the wet sounds of his mouth hard at work.

Shelley: "Okay?"

President: "Yeah it's okay. Suck that cock boy."

The sounds resumed, the air passing into Shelley's lungs
becoming quick gasps as he went further down. TIn my experience
there were very few ten-year-old boys who could deep-throat a
man's penis, and Shelley was one of them.

President: "Fucking hell. Jesus, boy where did you learn to
do that? Man! Oh God. Jesus! Fuck! You'd better stop that before
I cum in your throat."

I heard the unmistakable sound of Shelley giggling, wiping
the excess saliva from his chin and cheeks, his tongue licking
the man's throbbing penis. If he ran true to form he would have
nibbled the corona, biting just hard enough to balance the
pleasure with a little discomfort. I could feel his tongue
sweeping across my own glans, his lips compressing the head as he
sucked for all he was worth.

President: "Okay, you'd better stop. Get up on the bed."

I groaned aloud

Shelley: "How do you want me, Sir?"

President: "How do I want you? Every fucking way I can.
Let's start with you kneeling. It'll usually go in easier that
way. Put that pillow under you."

Shelley: "That's cold."

President: "You want to do it dry?"

Shelley: "No way. You'll hurt like hell."

President: "You one hell of whore, boy, but I love you. Pull
your ass cheeks apart and let me see that boy-pussy. It doesn't
look like it's been used that often, but you sure aren't a
virgin. When did you do it last?"

Shelley: "It's been a while. Just go slow until I'm used to
it."

President: "Sure thing."

Shelley: "You're in the wrong place. Lower. Ouch! Oh!
Jesus!"

President: "That the right place?"

Shelley: "Yes sir."

I had to listen. That was my job while Shelley was doing his
job. I would have given anything to throw the Walkman out the
window.

President: "Push back."

Shelley: "I am."

President: "Man, you're a lot tighter than Alexis ever was."

Shelley: "...Can't help it,..."

President: "Push!"

Shelley: "I'm trying. Jesus!"

President: "God!.... Oh man your ass is so fucking
tight,.... Going in now.

Shelley: "No,... Please,..."

President: "Shhhh. Not so loud. I bet you can feel my cock
in you now, can't you boy."

Shelley: "Yes sir. I feel it."

I knew he was gasping, breathing through his mouth, trying
to hold back his cries. He groaned. His heart was pounding. He
groaned again. A cry strangled halfway out of his throat.

President: "Be quiet you little whore. You wanted this. Your
old man knows you're in here with me. He expects you to get your
ass worked over. Now you're getting all of it."

Shelley: "Ohhhh,.... Noooooo,..... Noooooo,.... Ohhhhh!"

President: "Quiet! If you've got to scream, push your face
into the pillow."

I heard the slap of flesh against flesh and I cringed. I
realized my hands were trembling. I tasted my bile in my mouth.
Another slap, then another. Then the unforgettable sound of wet
suction as the man's penis pulled through the boy's body.
Shelley's groan. His heart pounding a staccato. grunting for
every breath. Slapping. Groaning. Faster. Faster.

President: "Take it all boy."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "Yeah, squeeze that little ass of yours."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "God, you're hot."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "Fuck! I can't believe how good this feels."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "It's so much better than my fucking wife. I
almost forgot what a tight little ass feels like."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "Take it. You want it deep and hard, don't you?"

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "Feel that boy? It's right up your ass now."

Shelley: "Ohhhh."

President: "I've never fucked anything this tight before."

Shelley: "Ohhhh. Oh God, faster! Do it faster!"

Knowing that Shelley was getting close to orgasm was the
worst thing that had ever happened to me. Why did he have to
enjoy it? Why couldn't he just lie there and pretend as though he
liked it until the man was finished?

President: "Yeah, you like that, don't you whore?"

Shelley: "Uh-ahhh-ooooo-ahhhh."

President: "Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock. Push your
beautiful little butt back and let my cock fuck all the way up
you."

I heard the man's balls thumping against Shelley's thighs,
the urgency of Shelley's gasps, the frenzied beating of his
heart, the slapping of the little eggs as they bounced back and
forth in his scrotum, the sloppy juices stirred into squelching
oleaginous slickness. Then, in an instant the sounds stopped. I
tensed, shaking with fury, unable to stop what was happening. The
sounds of the lunging, thrusting, stabbing continued, and then
even that stopped. Shelley's voice was panicked as he began to
realize.

Shelley: "Faster. Oh! Oh God! Do it faster, Rick!"

President: "Cumming! I'm fucking cumming in your ass, boy.
You can feel me squirting my cum, can't you?"

Shelley: "Oh, God! No! Not ready!"

I heard the man's organ being yanked out, the boy's wail of
misery, the interruption in action leaving an unsettling silence
that was broken only by erratic breathing and Shelley's frenzied
heartbeat.

President: "God Almighty. I've never cummed that much
before."

Shelley: "It's all over my balls."

President: "Too much cum for your ass. I had to put it
somewhere."

Shelley: "I was almost there."

President: "Yeah, I thought you were. Maybe next time."

Shelley: "Next time?"

President: "Yeah, next time. You do want there to be a next
time, don't you?"

Shelley: "Yeah, I guess."

President: "You guess? Hell, I'm going to fuck your ass
every chance I get boy. Just wait until I get you up to Camp
David. There's a cabin where you can scream your head off and no
one will hear you.

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "Yes sir? By the time I'm finished with you
tonight it'll be more than 'yes sir'. You'll be begging for my
cock in your ass the same way Alexis used to."

Shelley: "Yes sir."

President: "Now get your pretty little butt in the bathroom
and clean it up. I want you to close the door and stay in there
for a while. I'll tell you when to come out. I've got to talk to
a friend for a few minutes. He knows I like boys but there's no
point in him knowing about you, at least not for a while longer."

Shelley: "Yes sir."

The bed springs squeaked as the man and boy climbed off.
There was the rustle of clothing. The sounds of footsteps on the
floor. They went in separate directions, one into the adjoining
bathroom, the other to the bedroom door. I heard the tinkling
sound of a fountain and smiled as I realized the source of the
stream of water. How often had I watched Shelley urinating after
sex, his thin fingers holding his penis and wavering to and fro
to make his stream splash from side to side. Reluctantly I
switched channels. The sounds changed.

President: "I'm expecting a visitor in a few minutes. I've
got to talk with Harry Grey."

Agent: "Yes sir. Should I let him know you're ready to see
him."

President: "Wouldn't hurt. It's getting late. Just send him
right on in when he gets here."

A minute passed. I heard the knock on the door. This was it.
I willed Shelley to stay where he was, not to come out of the
bathroom no matter what. I breathed out. This had to be it. The
intermediary had to be Harry Grey. I heard the sound of a door
opening and closing. I swallowed.

Grey: "Took you long enough."

President: "Shut up. Listen closely, I've only got a few
minutes."

Grey: "Okay, I'm all ears so get to the point."

President: "It's going to happen whether I sign off or not.
The Congress is behind the NSA on this. There's fuck all I can
do. If I don't sign, I'll look stupid."

Grey: "Cut the crap. Give me the details. Our friends can
worry about it."

President: "In a minute. There's something else we have to
talk about. That boy Alexis, I want him taken care of."

Grey: "I thought you liked him. You sure as hell fucked him
often enough."

President: "It's over. He's too old."

Grey: "Hell! He's too old! I went out on a limb to get that
stuff from the doctors. It doesn't work?"

President: "Yeah it worked. Up till a few months ago there
wasn't a hair on him. The only problem was his dick shrank. He
had a bit over two inches when he refused to keep taking the
pills."

Grey: "Too bad."

President: "Just get rid of him."

Grey: "Okay, Alexis won't be a problem after the weekend.
Now give me the details about the NSA thing."

President: "It's in my wallet on the table."

Grey: "You got copies safely?"

President: "Of course! I photographed the pages with the
digital camera. I brought the memory stick with me."

Grey: "Good idea. Okay, we'll get back together in two
weeks."

President: "It'll have to be after that. I'll be in Texas in
three weeks."

Grey: "That'll work. You found another boy I hear? Where is
he?"

President: "In the bathroom."

Grey: "Can we trust him?"

President: "No idea. That's why he's in there and why we're
out here. There's no way he can hear through that door."

Grey: "What's his name?"

President: "Shelley!"

Grey: "Jesus! His last name?"

President: "Let me think. Christ! Jack told me. Walker! His
father is here as well. His name is Bob Walker."

Grey: "Bob Walker. He wouldn't be about forty plus or minus.
Tall guy, about six-two or three. Brown eyes, really intense."

President: "Might be."

As Harry Grey started to laugh I was already out of the seat
and headed to the door. My mind was in turmoil. What were the
chances? A thousand to one? I knew Harry Grey only by reputation.
He had a memory that was awe-inspiring. How did he know me? I
kept the headphones locked to my ears.

Grey: "Fuck!"

President: "What's the problem?"

Grey: "If he's the same guy, we have a big problem."

President: "What are you talking about?"

Grey: "About four years ago, when I was ambassador to
Mexico, there a problem involving the CIA. Apparently, they got
one of their agents to infiltrate a Central American cartel. He
was in control for about a year and apparently did quite a bit of
damage until someone caught on."

President: "Get to the point, Harry!"

Grey: "I am. It turned out that this guy was a lot like you.
He liked boys! In fact, the story was that he even had a little
Mex boy living at his villa in Acapulco. Apparently he became
pretty fond of him. One day the kid turned up in the back of a
truck. He was in real bad shape."

I clenched my fists, trying desperately to block out the
memory of Manuel. He was covered in blood, barely breathing. I
heard myself shouting his name as I felt his little body struggle
to take one last breath, the final wheezing before he slumped
back in my arms. His grandmother stood behind me, sobbing. His
father was in the driver's seat, two bullets in his brain.

President: "Someone tried to kill the kid?"

Grey: "They succeeded. The agent blew the operation, killed
the head honchos of the rival cartels, and went back to the
States. I heard he took out two CIA agents in Texas who gave the
game away. His name was supposed to be Bob Walker."

President: "No way! Seidelman checked him out. Sure he's a
drug-lord, there's no question, but there's nothing in the file
about him being CIA."

Grey: "Well he is, you can bet on it."

President: "Fucking hell! What do we do?"

Grey: "Get the kid of the bathroom."

I walked down the hallway. The two agents turned slightly,
stiffening to attention. I felt the adrenaline surging through my
body. They were not going to let me past them.

President: "Come on out here. I have somewhere who wants to
meet you."

Grey: "What's your name?"

Shelley: "Shelley Walker."

President: "See! I was right."

Grey: "Your real name!"

Shelley: "That is my real name."

Grey: "He's not your father, is he?"

Shelley: "Yes. Of course he is."

Grey: "Liar! Damn! Did you check him for bugs?"

President: "Of course I did. I always do what you suggested.
I never let a boy in here without making sure he's naked first."

Shelley: "Let me go."

Grey: "Shut up! Did you check for scars? Lumps?"

President: "Of course. He's fine."

Grey: "Get on the bed!"

Shelley: "You're hurting me. Ouch! Hey, don't! You're
hurting my balls."

Grey: "I'll squeeze them until they pop, if you don't shut
up and lie still."

Shelley: "Don't! Jesus! Don't! It hurts."

Grey: "Stop squealing and I'll let them go. Turn over!"

President: "See, I told you."

Shelley: "Let me go!"

Grey: "Christ, you didn't waste any time, did you? Okay! He
looks like he's clean. He's got to be a plant."

President: "Should I send him out?"

Grey: "No! When's Jack coming back for him?"

President: "In the morning. I fly back to DC at nine."

Shelley: "Can I go now?"

Grey: "Shut up you little faggot! Listen, there's something
really strange about all of this."

President: "Why don't we talk about it in the morning? Maybe
you have the wrong Bob walker?"

Grey: "Jesus! Shut up for God's sake and let me think."

Shelley: "Why can't I go now? Hey! No! Don't! Stop! God,
you're hurting me!"

Grey: "Nothing like I'm going to. Is he your father?"

Shelley: "Yes! Stop! God! No! Don't!"

Grey: "I'm going to tear your fucking balls off in a second.
Is he your father?"

Shelley: "I told you. No! Don't! No!"

Grey: "Last chance, faggot!"

Shelley: "He is! No! No! Don't! Don't No! No he's not!"

Grey: "That's better. Who is he?"

Shelley: "I don't know! No! Nooooo!"

President: "Jesus, take it easy Harry. You're lifting him up
by his ballsac and cock!"

Grey: "Shut up! WHO IS HE?"

I stopped in front of the agents. They were glaring at me,
each with his hand reaching into the front of their jackets. It
was a warning that was unmistakable.

"I have to see the President," I said urgently.

"Sure you do!"

"It's the middle of the night. It can wait until morning."

Shelley: "Don't! Not again! No! Please! Barrett! His name is
Rick Barrett."

Grey: "That's better! Next time don't wait so long. Is he
with the CIA?"

"It's really urgent," I implored. "He has to talk with me."

Shelley: "I don't know."

Grey: "When did you meet him?"

"Look Sir, there's absolutely no way you're going to see the
President tonight. He has someone in there with him."

Shelley: "A few months ago."

Grey: "Good! Now faggot, I want you to tell me what you're
doing here?"

Shelley: "What does it look like?"

Grey: "Don't be a smart ass if you want to keep your cock
and balls where they belong. You let him fuck you for a reason!
Why?"

I stepped back a few feet. In a few seconds I would either
be dead or inside the room. I tried to avoid giving any
indication of an impending attack as I readied my muscles for
action. I tried one last time.

"I know he's with Harry Grey."

The two agents exchanged a mutual look of surprise.

Shelley: "Cause I wanted him to. Owwww! Shit!"

Grey: "Next time is your last, faggot! Why?"

Shelley: "Because he's a spy!"

I heard Grey's laugh through the headphones, the sickening
thud of Shelley's body, the gurgling cry that was strangled in
his throat.

"What's the problem?"

I spun around. There was a tall black man behind me. He was
scowling, holding a cell phone to his ear. He was the agent in
charge. Against three trained men, I had no chance.

"I've got to see the President," I said with finality.

The man sneered for a moment and then he smiled. "Okay!"

He pushed past the other two agents and knocked lightly on
the door. I could hear the horrible sound of Shelley being slowly
throttled, his breathing stopped, his heart racing. I clenched my
fists, tensing for a lunge that would probably result in nearly
instant death.

Grey: "What the fuck?"

President: "Someone's at the door!"

Grey: "Damn! I'll take the brat into the bathroom!"

President: "You've killed him!"

Grey: "Not yet!"

President: "Don't!"

Grey: "God! You're crazy. The kid could put you away
forever. Just being in here with you is enough to get you into
deep shit."

President: "No! The agents are discreet. They know, okay?"

Grey: "They know? They know you fuck little boys?"

President: "How could I do it otherwise? They're with me
every second."

Grey: "That what?"

President: "Trust me."

Grey: "Jesus!"

The door opened a fraction of an inch. The President's face
appeared.

"What's up?" he asked as if there was nothing wrong.

"Excuse me, Mr. President, but we have reason to believe you
might be in danger."

"Danger? Hardly, I have Harry Grey in here."

"Just him? No one else?"

"I have a young friend as well."

"Is there a problem with him?"

"Of course not. He just isn't feeling very well right now."

I stepped forward, elbowing one of the agents to the side.
"I want to see him," I said brusquely.

"I'm sorry. Not at the moment! Maybe in a little while. I'll
have him brought to your room when he's feeling better, Mr.
Walker," the President said quickly.

"The hell you will. I want my son now!" I shouted. "If he's
not out here with me in ten seconds I'm coming through the door
and getting him."

The door opened slightly as the President turned back to
talk to Grey. When he turned around again, the front of his
bathroom was open. There was still a condom on his limp penis,
the end forming a little translucent bulb of creamy fluid.

"Your dick is showing, Mr. President," I said crudely.

He snorted and hastily closed his robe. He swallowed. "He's
feeling a bit sick, that's all. He isn't hurt."

I pushed past him and stepped through the doorway. Shelley
was lying on his side, his hands at his face as he coughed and
gagged. He looked up suddenly as I approached. His face was wet
with tears, his neck reddened. Without saying a word, I leaned
down and scooped him into my arms. I backed away. Harry Grey's
eyes followed me out of the room. The last I saw of him, he was
trembling.

Shelley: "I love you, Rick."

Chapter

The worst was over, but the mission was still unfinished.
It would remain that way until Shelley and I had secured our
future. I was nervous as the Boeing 767 made its final approach
into the Atlanta Airport. Shelley had been very quiet almost the
entire flight. He was content to have my arm around his shoulders
while he read a book. Every few minutes he would glance up and
smile. He was happy, not sparkling with transient satisfaction
but experiencing the sort of deep seated happiness that comes
from utter contentment. It was the sort of happiness that most
people never experience. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed
during the last week.

I heard the low rumble of the flaps being extended, the
slight vibration as the airflow was disturbed, the whine of a
distant electric motor. I breathed out in frustration. Flying out
of Cincinnati had been a mistake, but I had been too eager to
finish the assignment go by road. We were expected in Atlanta.
Our names would appear on the passenger list, and although there
had been ample time for a welcoming committee to be prepared for
our flight, it would be very unlikely. I was certain that our
departure went unnoticed. It was a hundred to one shot that
someone would be waiting for us.

I was nervous as the plane taxied to the assigned gate.
Seated twenty rows back, a long way from First Class. I checked
my watch, aware that we had a few minutes to wait and there was
nothing I could do to make the time pass faster. Then, it was out
turn we moved into the aisle. I led the way with Shelley falling
in behind me. We entered the terminal. Within seconds I realized
that Wilderstein had taken every precaution. There must have been
a dozen undercover agents. They did not have the clean-cut FBI
look. Perhaps they were all outside contractors. Wilderstein
appeared in the entrance to an adjoining gate and beckoned for us
to follow him down the passageway. There was nothing else I could
do except follow, but I could feel the hair on the back of my
neck rising. I reached down and gripped Shelley's hand. The last
thing I wanted was for him to panic. The surprising thing was the
destination above the check-in counter--'Albuquerque'.

There was no point in trying to avoid what was waiting
ahead. I began walking, sensing the eyes of a dozen men on me. As
soon as we were through the doorway, the doors automatically
closed behind us. There was no sign of Wilderstein. We walked
down the empty ramp, wondering what lay ahead. At the hinge, I
stopped. The door to the plane was open. I was reminded of a
similar situation a dozen years ago. The Agency had kidnapped a
Chinese informant in much the same way. When the plane landed
again, the unwilling passenger had disappeared. I felt uneasy.

I stepped across the threshold and into the plane. A
stewardess smiled and made no effort to look for our tickets. She
gestured slightly, indicating that I was to continue on. He was
sitting two rows back in the window seat.

"Sit down," he said softly, patting the cream-colored
leather-upholstered seat beside him.

"Fuck you!"

"Just sit, Rick. Shelley, you sit across the aisle."

I sat down next to him, staring ahead.

"Tell me what happened!"

"I don't know what happened."

"Let's start with the easy stuff. How does he pass on the
information?"

"Let's start this over again, Jacob." I smiled. "You have
something I want. I have something you want."

"I have it here," Wilderstein said. He tapped his chest
pocket. "All legal. As you probably know by now, the judge signed
the adoption papers early this morning. I didn't expect this
thing to go down so fast. His name is now Shelley Barrett. He's
legally yours to fuck whenever you get the urge."

"Fuck you! And the rest of it?"

"You know that too so why pretend, Rick. The rest of the
money is in the briefcase." Wilderstein gestured to a brown
leather briefcase on the floor between his legs. "It's all there.
You can count it if you want."

I smiled and leaned forward, watching Wilderstein's face
from the corner of my eye. He showed no sign of nervousness.
Slowly I straightened up.

"It's clean. I've held up my part of the deal."

"And the disappearing act?" I asked.

"When I get what I want, this plane will take off. You and
the kid will be the only passengers. It'll fly to non-stop to
Albuquerque in New Mexico. A car will be waiting there. You'll
have a short vacation at the Grand Canyon and drive on to Salt
Lake City. You have a job waiting for you there. You'll be a vice
president for Marriot. Great pay, excellent benefits, the lot. A
year or two from now you can even retire if you want."

"Okay." I nodded slowly.

"Tell me!"

"The President talks in his sleep."

"Rick, don't fuck with me."

I shrugged. I took a deep breath. It was now or never. "I
saw Sam Underhill there, Jacob."

"No way!"

"Wilderstein, don't be an ass-hole. You always have a back-
up plan. With someone in the Secret Service, you were already
where you needed to be. You didn't need me, except as back-up.
With Underhill you had the smartest black in the Agency."

"I don't like working with niggers, Rick. Even smart ones. I
needed you and the kid to be in there."

"There's only one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"How Sam knew what was going on in the bedroom."

"No idea."

"Don't fuck with me, Jacob."

"I'm not. Maybe Underhill had the room bugged."

"I'm sure he heard what was going on in there. The way he
acted when I saw him. The only problem is that the bedroom was
checked out by the Service boys beforehand. I walked past when
they were doing it. There was no way it was bugged."

"How then?"

"That's what I want to know. I figured maybe he had a second
Walkman like the one you gave me."

Wilderstein shook his head quickly. "There's only one for
each transmitter." he glanced down into his lap. Did he seem more
nervous than usual?

"I took this from Underhill's room this morning," I said.

I took the cell phone from my jacket pocket, looked at it
with interest and finally held the thing out to Wilderstein.

"So? It's a cell phone."

"I wondered whether it works like the Walkman." I regarded
Wilderstein patiently. "The thing is that key here. It looks like
a normal 'END' key,... only it changes the screen if you hold it
down for a few seconds. It goes blank and then it shows 'C1 and
C2'. It makes you think, doesn't it? I've never seen a cell-phone
do that before. Maybe it means Channel One and Channel Two, just
like the two channels the Walkman receives on. What do you
think?"

Deliberately, I pushed the 'END' key. After a few seconds
the 'C1' and 'C2' appeared. 'C1' was highlighted. I smiled. I
held the phone to my ear, hearing the familiar sounds of
Shelley's heart beating and the soft sigh of his breath. I
glanced sideways. He was looking out the window, pretending to be
disinterested in the conversation across the aisle.

"Shelley," I said. "Go back to the last row of seats and sit
down. I want you to say something when you get there."

"What should I say?"

"Anything you want."

He grinned as he stood up. I watched his back as he walked
away.

"Listen Rick,..." Wilderstein said awkwardly.

"Yes?" I turned back to face him.

"When you arrive in New Mexico, I've arranged for you to
take the kid to one of our doctors. Like you, he's retired from
the Agency, but he maintains a private clinic just outside Taos.
He'll take out the transmitter. You can stay there for a few
days. Once the transmitter is out, I'm sure you'll feel better
about the whole thing."

"The hell I will. Shelley lost a ball, Wilderstein, for no
fucking reason. You already had a man close enough to tell you
what you wanted to know. You didn't need him."

"Yes I did. There's something else."

"What?"

"Rick,..." He tensed up. He glanced away, then quickly
turned back. His voice was low and showed more stress than seemed
warranted under the circumstances. "The Russian's technology is
good but we still couldn't trust it. Not for something this
important."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Remember the one I showed you?"

"The one? The one what?"

"The transmitter. The one I showed you. The one in the kid-
sized ball."

"Yes," I answered uncertainly.

I swallowed dryly as I felt the blood drain from my face. I
could not help but feel nervous. There was something important
that Wilderstein had planned not to tell me. Instinctively, I
sensed that it involved Shelley.

"I love you, Rick."

Shelley's voice came from the cell phone as clear as a bell,
the soft, soprano of an unbroken voice, of a voice that would
never know the baritone tone of puberty. I wanted to return his
endearment with words of my own, yet he would not hear me. The
nagging worry at the back of my mind suddenly raged into my
consciousness.

"God!" I breathed. I heard the words spilling out of my
mouth as I stared at him in disbelief. "You didn't."

"There wasn't a choice, Rick."

"There's never a choice with you, is there? Fuck! That's
what you were trying to tell me, wasn't it? Each transmitter has
its own frequency. There's only one receiver that is tuned in to
it. There are two receivers so there has to be two transmitters.
You,... you took both of his balls!"

"Yes. I know it seems pretty bad right now, but you've got
to remember,..."

"Shut up! Christ! Damn you! How could you?" I groaned. "Both
of them? Jesus! The poor kid."

"There was no other way. When you get right down to it, does
it really matter all that much whether it's one or two. You even
said he's not going to want kids of his own because he's gay."

"But that's not your choice to make! Hell, taking one ball
was one thing but you've fucking castrated the poor kid!"

Without thinking I turned around in my seat to make sure
that Shelley was not on his way back to the First Class cabin. I
tried to control my anger.

"Rick, there wasn't a choice."

"Sure there was, only you don't work that way. You don't
like taking a little risk, do you Jacob."

"I'm sorry. There was no other way."

I sighed. "Before when we were talking about one ball, you
said he'd mature slowly. Now what happens?"

"Obviously starting puberty the way he is now, is
impossible. If you want him to grow up normally, there are drugs
he can take."

"Shut the fuck up!"

I tried to control my anger. I needed to be in control. I
also had a very bad feeling that we would never arrive in New
Mexico, or if we did, it would be a very hard landing after a
30,000 foot free fall.

"I'll arrange for the doctor in Taos to tell you more about
the hormone treatments and how to get them," Wilderstein
persisted. "Other than a weekly injection or two, it shouldn't be
a problem."

"Okay," I said at last. "There's nothing I can about it, is
there?"

Wilderstein shrugged. "It wasn't my doing, Rick. It wasn't
an option. The Director gave the order."

"Damn you! You always pass the buck, don't you? Maybe one
day you'll learn the meaning of the word 'responsibility'. You
arrange to cut the balls of a perfectly healthy little boy in the
name of national fucking security. I don't like it, but I can
live with that on my conscience. But you're too weak to look me
in the eye and tell me it was your idea."

Wilderstein shrugged again. His expression was cold. He
stood up and stepped past me into the aisle.

"If I know you, Barrett, you'll make it up to him. The
report?"

He held out his hand. I reached into my jacket and extracted
the envelop. It contained a single sheet of paper. It was enough
to indict the President should the Director wish to proceed. With
that in hand, Wilderstein turned and walked away. I hoped I would
never see him again.

I clenched my fists, seething with anger. In a way,
Shelley's loss, despite how terrible it was to me, was a small
price to pay. I still held the cell-phone, musing about the life
Shelley and I would have together if we managed to survive the
next twenty-four hours. I smiled, suddenly aware that I was
hearing the rhythmic reassuring sounds of his hearts and lungs.
He was so alive that it made my heart beat faster. Sometimes I
had to run just to keep up with him. He loved me. I loved him.
Was anything really important given that? Idlely, I switched the
channel to 'C2'. The sounds changed. There were many background
noises, amplified and unidentified, their sources within the
range of two hundred feet. Some sounds were from the terminal, a
gate steward checking tickets for a plane's departure, a baggage
loader discussing a baseball game with a co-worker, the muffled
noises of suitcases moving up a motorized belt and being placed
in a hold. There were also voices in the cockpit.

"He's off!"

"About time. Check the gate clearance, Bob. We should still
have priority even if our departure is ten minutes late."

"Okay." A few seconds passed. "You got it. Take A-6 to
Runway 2. We're second in line if we leave right away."

"Okay! Run through the departure check while I get it
cranked up. Sue, you want to make sure our two passengers are
belted in."

"Sure thing, Captain."

I placed the cell-phone in my lap and turned down the volume
only seconds before the hostess appeared in the cabin, smiling
widely like any normal hostesses would to her First Class
passengers.She picked up a microphone and still giving me the
toothy smile, began the standard introduction.

"Good afternoon. I'd like to welcome all of our passengers
and to thank you for flying Western Air. We're preparing the
plane for take off in a few minutes. If you'll return to your
seats and fasten your seat belts,..."

As her voice droned on, with warnings about electronic
devices and escape routes in the 'unlikely event of an
emergency', Shelley slipped into the window seat beside me. I
leaned over and whispered in his ear. He giggled.

"Er, Miss, I wonder if your could pass me one of the
blankets from the overhead," I asked as soon as the hostess had
finished speaking.

She nodded and quickly passed me a blanket, fresh and clean
in a plastic bag. "Would you like something to drink, Sir?"

"Sure. I'll take a glass of your best Chardonnay. My son
will take a regular Coke."

I heard the faint whine of the engines, gradually increasing
to a low hum. The plane lurched back. I breathed out. So far so
good. I figured we had about an hour and a half. As soon as we
were taxiing, I spread the blanket out so that it was completely
over Shelley and half-over me. He grinned at me and winked
seductively as his hands fumbled at his waist. I heard the
unmistakable sound of a metal zipper opening. Had the cell-phone
or Walkman not been turned off in compliance with FAA
regulations, I would have heard the sudden increase in his
heartbeat as his arousal intensified.

"Don't take them all the way off," I warned.

He smirked and shook his head. The now-obvious little lump
in the blanket showed that his jeans were at least open at the
front. Slowly my free hand slid under the soft wool. I
encountered his shirt, pushing it higher so that my fingers
grazed across his smooth bare belly. He was warm and alive. It
was almost like touching a baby's skin. My fingers inched
downward after circling his tiny navel a dozen times. His eyes
lowered, following my encroaching hand. I touched the slightly
warmer skin of his crotch, the barely distinguishable mound of
his hairless pubis, the little fold of skin that formed when his
penis was limp. He moved, parting his legs, bringing one thigh
against my legs. His fingers brushed against mine, guiding me to
his already rigid penis. It was hot and moist and literally
jumping with anticipation.

I felt the plane stop, then the engines grew in noise to a
nearby, yet unobtrusive roar. The plane vibrated and began to
move forward. As we lifted off, I mercilessly gripped the small
hard spike between Shelley's legs, squeezing the blood out of
him. He lifted upward, tensing his thighs and belly muscles as he
strained to make himself harder. It was his way of offering
himself to me, a willing gift of his boyhood. I felt his penis
stiffening even more, swelling proudly under my massaging
fingers. I rubbed my finger across the tender rounded head of his
penis. It was both hard and spongy and it seemed to bulge more
than ever before so that the ridge under the glans was very
prominent. Shelley sighed as I began to stroke along the
sensitive shaft of flesh and corded veins, pushing and pulling on
the slack skin. I used long strokes, fondling his velvet-smooth
scrotum and the bean-sized aliens within. It was both bizarre and
strangely exciting.

He climaxed quickly, gasping for air as his penis jerked a
half-dozen times. It was dry, of course, but a miracle
nonetheless. I felt his penis flexing under my fingers. It was
his sign that he did not want me to stop. Unlike mine, Shelley's
penis did not immediately wilt. It was still very hard, throbbing
and eager for more. After a few moments, my fingers continued
their steady stroke, working from 'knob to nuts'. Shelley grinned
up at me and nodded slightly, using his muscles to make his
erection pulse and jump. Only then did the realization come to me
that this is how it would always be for him. Certainly, it could
be argued that the joy of ejaculation had been taken from him,
but he gained something back. There was no post-orgasmic let down
to worry about. Had he been cheated, or richly rewarded for his
service to his country? Undertaking the mission was hardly a
matter of patriotism, but from another perspective, he retained
almost all of the pleasure, the opportunity to repeat it as often
as he wanted, and none of the mess. However, I had always been
something of an optimist.

I masturbated Shelley for the best part of an hour. By the
time he finally pushed my hand away he had achieved climax, if
not actual release no less than three times and was well on the
way to number four. Being castrated had apparently not affected
his capacity for pleasure or the ability to respond to it. The
tip of his penis was crimson, slightly swollen, and still dry.
One minute passed while Shelley lay quietly, absorbing the
lingering sensations in his groin until his penis shrivelled and
lay limply against his scrotum. He smiled shyly, his eyes half-
closed in mesmerizing joy.

"Okay?" I whispered.

"Very okay. God, I wish we could do it. I've missed you so
much. It's been a whole week, Rick."

"I think you need to rest for a while," I teased. "Besides
there'll be plenty of chances to make up for the lost time later
tonight. get yourself closed up down there."

"Are we going to be okay?" Shelley asked. His voice was
anxious. His hands fumbled under the blanket as he tugged on his
zipper and fastened the metal button of his jeans.

"I don't know," I said.

I lifted the cell-phone back to my head, turning the volume
up slightly. Again there was a cacophony of background noises
that made it difficult to hear what was being said in the
cockpit.

"We've got clearance all the way to Albuquerque."

"Good. How are our passengers doing?"

"Fine the last time I looked. The man was reading a magazine
and the boy looked like he was asleep."

"Strangest damned thing, I've ever seen. Cancelling the
flight and then putting it back on with only two passengers."

"Those asses in Atlanta have no idea how to route."

"Go figure. I guess they made a mistake. What's the ETA into
Albuquerque?"

"Five-twenty."

"Damn it's weird. I keep getting a really bad feeling about
it. Go back and check on them again, Sue."

She came into First class just as I was refolding the
blanket. The little tease sitting next to me looked up and
grinned at her when she asked him whether he had a good nap. I
handed her the blanket, still warm from Shelley's body.

"Thank you, Miss," I interrupted. "Would you be so kind as
to ask the pilot to step back here for a few seconds?"

"I'm sorry sir that's not possible at the present time. He's
very busy in the cockpit and flight regulations do not allow him
to come back here once we're in the air, unless there's an
emergency."

"Then please tell him that you have an emergency," I
replied.

"I'm very sorry sir, I can't,..."

"Just fucking do it!" I said loudly.

She moved quickly. Less than a minute later the uniformed
pilot appeared. He walked up and stood over me, his face a
mixture of consternation and polite curiosity.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

"There may be." I glanced around the plane. "Rather empty
this afternoon, isn't it?"

"Not really." His voice was flat and unemotional, a voice
that was used to giving orders and convincing passengers that it
was perfectly safe to fly.

"I'm surprised you aren't more curious about your two
passengers."

The pilot shrugged. "I don't know why I should be. Should
I?"

"You had passengers with tickets?"

"They went on a different flight."

"Oh! Why do you think my son and I received special
treatment?"

"I don't know. You must be someone important."

I gave him a wry look. I took a chance, basing what I said
on the news story I had been reading on the previous flight.

"No, not that. I just finished giving evidence against
Michael Lambrosi in the Federal Court Building in Atlanta."

The pilot suddenly looked at me with more interest.
"Lambrosi? It's been in the news for the last few days."

I nodded slowly. "I used to work for him. There's a good
chance the evidence I gave today will put him away for life." I
smiled weakly. "Only there's a slight problem."

"What's that?"

"There's also a good chance there's a bomb on board," I said
boldly.

"A bomb?" He breathed slowly. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't trust the Feds. They do a bad job sometimes,
especially when there's a lot at stake. In my business if you
want to live to be an old man, you learn to trust no one. Did
they stow any bags underneath in Atlanta?"

The pilot's face changed instantly. His expression revealed
what had happened well before I heard the words.

"We hadn't started loading when the flight was cancelled.
All we have on board is some Postal bags that we put on in
Pittsburgh and the three suitcases that were carried across from
the Cincinnati flight. I saw the ground staff doing it. I assume
those bags were yours?"

"Two probably are. The third isn't," I said icily.

"You mean? Jesus! There's a bomb?"

"It's more than likely. If I was in your job I'd want to get
this plane on the ground as quickly as possible."

"Why? What makes you think it's on a timer? It could be
based on altitude just as easily."

"True. If it's altitude, there not a damn thing you can do
about it. Landing now or an hour from now, makes no difference.
If it's a timer, then you have a chance." I paused. "There's
another reason."

"What's that?"

"The terrain." I glanced at my watch. "It's four-thirty.
Let's say we're about three hundred miles out of Albuquerque.
However, another fifteen or twenty minutes you'll be flying over
some of the least populated and rugged parts of the country."

"Jesus! I guess we ought to land at Amarillo. Just to make
sure."

I nodded slowly. "I would, if I was you. Another thing, I
wouldn't report the chance of a bomb aboard before you land, just
in case they can set it off by radio."

"How come you're so calm?" the pilot barked.

I shrugged. "Years of experience working with Lambrosi.
There's no point in panicking."

He turned and hurried off. I winked at Shelley, again
holding the cell-phone to my ear as the pilot gave instructions
to the co-pilot. The radio transmission was perfunctory--'a
possible problem with the engines'. The plane banked sharply and
began a quick descent. I silently prayed that my assumption was
correct.

THE END (for now)