Date: Tue, 18 Jan 2005 18:04:34 -0500
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 29

Aurora Tapestry is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead),
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2005 by John Ellison

As this novel contains scenes of consensual homosexual erotica between
adults, and teenaged boys and if works of this genre offend you, please
move to another, tamer sight. If possession, reading, downloading, works of
this genre is illegal in the area where you live, please move on. If you
are not of legal age (a toss up, I know, 18 (?)/ 21 (?), please move on.

Aurora Tapestry

Chapter 29

	The Phantom took advantage of the confusion as the newcomers were
introduced to Chef, Commander Stockman and Number One to slip outside for a
smoke. Colin accompanied him, as did Jérémie.
	Looking grumpily at his lover and his new companion, The Phantom
scowled. "I'm only having a smoke," he said impatiently. "And I hope
neither of you is going to follow me everywhere I go!"
	Jérémie, not intimidated by The Phantom, returned the scowl. "I
just promised to be your companion above all others," he reminded The
Phantom, smiling. "And you shouldn't smoke. It's bad for your health!" He
sat on the barracks stoop and crossed his arms. "Well?"
	"Jérémie's right," interjected Colin before The Phantom could
protest. "And it makes your mouth taste like an ashtray!"
	The Phantom looked at Colin, and then at the cigarette he had just
lit. "I never thought of that," he admitted. He dropped the cigarette to
the dirt and crushed it with his boot. "I promise, no more. From now on my
mouth will be 'kissing fresh'!"
	Colin laughed and pulled The Phantom to him. "Now that's more like
it!" he declared.
	Jérémie coughed delicately and looked at the two men, one eyebrow
arched, his head cocked.
	The Phantom looked inquiringly at Colin, who nodded and then turned
to face their companion of honour. "Jérémie, Phantom and I are in love,"
Colin said with a firmness that surprised both Jérémie and The Phantom. "If
you are going to be our Companion of Honour you will have to understand
that. If you have a problem . . ."
	Without thinking, Jérémie reached down and adjusted Little
Jérémie. "Figured that out," he said without inflection. He grinned evilly
at The Phantom. "I guess this means that you and Little Jérémie aren't
going for a walk in the moonlight."
	The Phantom gasped. "Jérémie!"
	Laughing, Jérémie reached out his hand. "Phantom, you are such a
boob! I saw the way you looked at Lieutenant Arnott when he walked into the
Gunroom. Talk about telegraphing! Heck, your whole face lit up."
	Taking the younger boy's hand, The Phantom pulled Jérémie to his
feet and hugged him. "You understand?"
	Jérémie returned The Phantom's hug and nodded. "You're in love with
him, and he's in love with you." He glanced at Colin, who was squirming in
embarrassment, looking the officer up and down. "Not bad, Phantom, not bad
at all," he finished with a grin.
	"Jérémie!" exclaimed The Phantom. "How . . ."
	"I told you," said Jérémie as he wriggled from The Phantom's
enfolding arms. "I saw the way you looked. The look on your face was
something, believe me, and said it all." He shrugged. "It's the same look
that Chief Anders gets on his face when he sees Chief Lascelles and . . ."
He turned to Colin. "Chief Cory, not Chief Todd. He's in love with Matt
Greene, I think."
	"You can tell that just by looking at him?" asked Colin, amazement
written on his smooth, handsome features.
	"Sure," replied Jérémie smoothly. "Just as I can tell that
Sub-Lieutenant St. Vincent and Ensign Berg are in love. Or Jon and
Chris. They have it bad!"
	The Phantom sat down on the stoop and motioned for Jérémie to join
him. "You understand then, that some of your companions have formed
relationships?"
	"Tell him the truth," interjected Colin. "Jérémie, many of your new
brothers are gay. The Order is all about gays."
	"Well, hell and sheeit," declared Jérémie with an easy smile,
deliberately emulating his idol. "Tell me something I don't know!"
	"And it doesn't bother you?" asked Colin warily.
	"Why should it?" asked Jérémie in return, shrugging diffidently. "I
knew before I took the oath what was what."
	"Are you gay?" Colin asked.
	"I don't think so," replied Jérémie truthfully. "I . . ." he smiled
shyly at The Phantom. "I admit that I wouldn't mind doing something with
the right guy, if you know what I mean." He looked pointedly at The
Phantom. "And he would have to be very special."
	Colin saw Jérémie's look and frowned. This was not the first time
he had sensed that the other cadets had feelings for The Phantom.
	The Phantom snickered at his lover's glowering. "Jérémie and I are
just very good friends," he said as he deliberately planted a huge wet kiss
on the French boy's forehead. Colin was jealous!
	Laughing, Jérémie returned The Phantom's kiss, only he gave his
friend a peck on the lips. "Very good friends," he said with drawling
emphasis. The he grinned at Colin. "You shouldn't pout, sir."
	Colin gasped and began sputtering. "Why . . . I . . . an officer
. . . I am not pouting!"
	"Yeah, you are," rejoined The Phantom. He chuckled and left
Jérémie's side to stand before his lover. "And you're jealous and I love
it, and I love you!"
	As The Phantom and Colin embraced, Jérémie made gagging
noises. "Get a room!" he muttered.
	"Ah, come on, Jérémie," said The Phantom. "One day you'll be in
love and then we'll see who makes snotty-nosed remarks."
	"I can wait," returned Jérémie with teenage sang-froid. He glanced
at his watch. "I think we'd better be getting back."
	Colin nodded. "What's next, then?"
	"Kaddish," The Phantom said slowly. "It's very important to
Sandro. The men who just came in? They're part of the Jewish community over
in Comox. One is Mr. Schoenmann, and the young guy is his grandson. I don't
know who the others are."
	Colin thought a moment. "I have a feeling we'll be meeting more
than a few new people, people we never expected to meet, and people we
never expected to be associated with people like us."
	"What do you mean, 'people like us'?" demanded The Phantom. "I'm
not ashamed of what I am."
	"I never suggested you were," returned Colin, who had grown
accustomed to The Phantom's impatient outbursts. "I am merely suggesting
that being gay is hardly the most popular game in town."
	"It's not a game, Colin," retorted The Phantom. "Things are
happening that . . ."
	"I've accepted you." Jérémie looked first at The Phantom, and then
at Colin. "Isn't that all that matters, that people accept you as you are,
with all your warts?"
	"And here I thought it was because you wanted me to take Little
Jérémie for a stroll in the moonlight!" returned The Phantom, laughing
quietly.
	"As if that's going to happen!" exclaimed Jérémie with a mock look
of disappointment. "What is more interesting, though, is what you mean by
'things are happening'. What things?"
	The Phantom and Colin exchanged a glance. Colin's nod answered The
Phantom's unspoken question.
	"Jérémie Cher," said The Phantom slowly, "when Chef said that an
evil stalks the land he was talking about a group of men - a large group of
men - who have been buying, and selling, young boys. How young I don't
know, but the way Chef looks when he has to talk about it, well, I think
really young boys."
	"Some of the boys, we think, are as young as 8 or 9," supplied
Colin. He saw the questioning look on The Phantom's face and said, "On the
way up here, Lieutenant Clayton filled me, and Daniel, in. It was not
pleasant." He snorted in disgust. "Clayton had the nerve to ask me if I had
ever fucked a 9-year-old boy!"
	Jérémie's, and The Phantom's, jaws dropped in shock! "Holy shit!"
the French-Canadian boy exclaimed.
	"Well he did!" Colin's look of disgust turned to one of anger. "As
if I would ever . . ."
	The Phantom's touched Colin's arm and said soothingly. "He had to
ask, Colin. The Order is very careful about whom they enlist, and let's
face it, we both know that there is ample evidence to suggest that knights
are involved."
	"Still, they didn't ask you, did they?" Colin raged. "Or Jérémie!"
	"No, I wasn't asked," admitted The Phantom. "And if I had been
asked I would have said no, because it would have been the truth."
	The Phantom's face grew still as he remembered that morning when he
had been sitting on the steps leading to his house, the morning when Robbie
Jensen had come riding by on his bike and announced that he had to pee,
disappeared into The Phantom's house, peed, returned and sat below The
Phantom and . . .
	"There are boys out there, young boys, who aren't backward coming
forward when they want dick," The Phantom said forcefully. Abruptly The
Phantom turned and stared toward the parade square. "There is a boy I
know. He's . . . twelve, yes, twelve-years old. He once asked me last month
if he could suck my dick."
	The Phantom seemed not to hear the sharp intakes of breath that
exploded behind him as he continued, "How do you explain that? How can you
explain if sometimes a boy will take him up on his request? Whom do you
blame? Whom do you condemn?"
	"Are you having second thoughts?" asked Colin. "Are you trying to
justify sleeping with a boy who . . ."
	"Colin, I know what I'm talking about," said The Phantom
coolly. "What I am trying to understand is what I am to do if somehow the
boy's activities become known. And I need to understand what I must do if
something bad happens to a boy like him? How can you not wonder what will
happen when he asks the wrong guy to suck his dick? Or fuck him?"
	Turning and facing Colin and Jérémie, The Phantom's stricken face
was a mask of pain. "The boy I am talking about seduced his brother, who is
almost eighteen." Grinding his fist in the palm of his hand The Phantom
asked, "When that boy tries to seduce another boy, and the whole, sordid
mess comes out, what do we, as knights, and as men, do? Do we turn our
backs on him, or his brother?"
	Colin approached The Phantom carefully. "Phantom, we must look at
the whole picture. What Chef is talking about is something entirely
different."
	"I know," replied The Phantom sadly. "One boy wants to be in bed
with his brother, or another boy. He actually wants to suck cock, to feel
another boy's dick in him!"
	"Phantom, please, calm down and listen to me," said Colin gently as
he led The Phantom back to the barracks steps. Jérémie sat as close as he
could to The Phantom and gently rested his hand on The Phantom's knee. He
said nothing, his dark eyes sad and strangely knowing.
	"Phantom, the Order is not about boys seducing their brothers. I
have brothers and they parade around bare-assed whenever they can. I never
wanted to play with them, or have them play with me." Colin slipped his arm
around The Phantom's waist. "We are about to embark on a crusade of sorts,
to save boys who are doing things they might not want to do, who are being
forced to perform sexual acts against their will. I don't pretend to know
all the details, and I don't pretend to know all the answers. What I do
know is that you are struggling with the knowledge that someone you know,
someone you care about, or maybe even once cared for, has done something
that is, in the eyes of the Order, and the eyes of the law, terribly
wrong."
	"Yes," whispered The Phantom. "And I don't know what to do! The
Order would condemn him as a paedophile! Yet is he? He fell in love with
his brother. He has never slept with another boy, of that I am sure. What
he is doing is wrong, yes, but damn it, can I condemn him for that? Tell
me, Colin, what do I do?"
	"You can live with the truth and when the pit threatens to swallow
him, hopefully you will reach out a helping hand," came a soft, low voice.
	The Phantom, Colin and Jérémie turned their heads. Harry had
quietly left the Gunroom and stood before his mates. "Tell the truth
Phantom. Tell them the whole truth."
	"I did," responded The Phantom.
	Harry smiled ruefully. "You just didn't tell all of it," he said
quietly. "What is bothering you is me."
	"Harry, don't!" begged The Phantom. He reached out his hand. "Harry
. . ."
	Squeezing The Phantom's hand, Harry looked evenly at Colin. "I love
Phantom. I've been in love with him since the day he came to me and told
that he was going to do something, something that he was afraid I would
condemn him for. He asked me to think well of him." He smiled. "Phantom, my
only regret is that I was never allowed to be there after you did what you
did." Harry returned to Colin. "One day Phantom will tell you what
happened."
	"He doesn't have to," replied Colin. "It's enough to know that he
did something to make you regret not being involved. It must have been
something very . . . daring? Heroic? Perhaps . . ."
	"It was disgusting," spat The Phantom. The memory of Paul Greene -
Little Big Man - moaning and squalling, demanding to be fucked harder,
harder, filled The Phantom's memory. He regarded Harry and shook his
head. "Enough," he ordered.
	"No, Phantom, it has to be said." Harry was well aware of what he
was doing. "Phantom, you hurt inside for mistakes others have made. You
want to do the right thing, and at the end of the day, you will. You always
do because that is the way you are. I made a mistake. I fell in love with a
thirteen-year-old boy. I shouldn't have, but I did, and that's the way of
it, sir." Harry's shoulders slumped. "I do not regret having fallen in
love. I do regret hurting my friends, you most of all Phantom."
	"You never hurt me, Harry," responded The Phantom with genuine
emotion.
	"Yeah, I did," said Harry sadly. "You never let your heart rule
your head, or your dick rule your heart."
	"That is not what happened," growled The Phantom. He grabbed
Harry's arm and shook it. "Stefan fell in love with you, and you
responded. Nobody forced Stefan to do what he did, or forced you to do what
you did!"
	"Just as no one is forcing your friend," began Jérémie, speaking
for the first time, "to respond to his brother. You're beating yourself up,
Phantom, and you shouldn't."
	Colin agreed with Jérémie. "What your friend is doing is wrong,
yes, but he's not forcing his brother into having sex. Harry, when he had
his affaire de coeur, did not force . . . Stefan?"
	Harry nodded. "Stefan."
	"Harry realizes that what he did was wrong, and now he is trying,
to come to terms with what he did. Your friend in Comox will have to do the
same thing," said Colin. "Neither Harry, nor your friend, have done
anything with other boys, have they?"
	"No," replied The Phantom, shaking his head. "Jeff only fools
around with his brother." He smiled at Harry. "And Harry, he just loves
Stefan. He could have, you know, with the Sea Puppies, 'cause he was their
Sea Daddy. He never did anything with them."
	"And I never will!" declared Harry stoutly. "I love Stefan, I admit
it, and I always will."
	"Then what are we getting all worked up about?" asked Jérémie as he
rose to his feet. "All right, Harry had a love affair. It's basically
ended, everybody knows about it, and everybody understands what happened."
He glanced witheringly at The Phantom. "You're problem is that you love too
much, Phantom. You feel too much."
	"A lot you know," sniffed The Phantom, although he smiled at
Jérémie. "You're going to make a good Companion of Honour." He saw Colin
looking strangely at him. "What?"
	Colin scratched his chin reflectively. "I think the answer is that
you see good in everyone, or almost everyone, particularly the friends you
care for. You are capable, my dear Phantom, of great anger, and that anger
will be reflected when the time comes for you to make a decision regarding
the knights who are involved in this evil scheme." Before The Phantom could
protest, Colin held up his hand. "You will do what must be done, Phantom,
and make the right decision. Equally, when your friend's secret is exposed,
you'll be there, with your hand out." He turned to Harry. "You're secret is
not that secret. As Jérémie has told you, everybody knows about it. If
Jérémie knows, if the others know, then Chef knows and that means the Order
knows. What is done, is done, and has been forgiven."
	"And when all is said and done, Phantom will always be there with
his hand out," opined Jérémie. "Hell and sheeit! He even liked Sylvain,
which nobody else did!"
	"Jérémie, that is so very unkind," snapped The Phantom.
	"It is also so very true," remarked Harry. "I wish I could feel
something for him, I really do. But I can't, and I am not ashamed to admit
it."
	"But you are prepared to mourn him," said Colin. "You don't have to
be a part of this Kaddish. You can walk away, and not be a hypocrite."
	Harry nodded his head in agreement but said, "I could, yes, but be
he n'er so vile, he is still my brother."
	"And now we all understand the truth in what we are doing," said
Colin. He indicated the door leading into the Gunroom. "I suspect that we
should go in."
	Harry turned and then looked ashen.
	"What? Harry, what is it?" asked The Phantom.
	"Oh, God, Phantom I just had a horrible thought!" replied
Harry. "What if somebody, say like . . . Little Big Man . . . what if he
came to me, looking for help."
	The Phantom's face grew hard, and his tone was icy. "Paul Greene
was never a brother. He would take your help which, knowing you, you would
give, and gladly. Paul would take whatever you gave him and then spit in
your face. Jérémie says that I see good in everyone, that I love too
much. Well, perhaps I do, but I can say without hesitation I saw nothing in
Paul Greene but evil. Pure, raw evil! I don't wish him harm, but by the
same token, I will not go out of my way to help him. Paul has chosen his
path. Let him walk it and be damned to him!"

******

	Jérémie stared after The Phantom. "There," he said to Colin, "is a
man! He's a good friend and he's a damned hard enemy." He glanced at
Colin. "You're a lucky man, sir. Luckier than you know."
	"Oh, I know," returned Colin. "Phantom is a pain in the butt, but
damn, is he something else!" He smiled. "And you can betcha ass on that!"
	Laughing, Jérémie shook his head. "My ass is safe." He looked about
the barracks yard, not seeing the greenery, or the deep blue waters of the
harbour beyond the trees. "Phantom loves in many ways, sir. Sometimes, I
think, he expresses that love physically. Most of the time, though, he
expresses his love by a word, a look, a gesture."
	"His love is genuine, Jérémie," responded Colin. "He went up
against one of the most powerful men in the Order for you."
	Turning slowly, Jérémie regarded Colin through hooded eyes. "I know
that. Phantom went to bat for me when I asked him to help me become a part
of the Order. He found a way, because he loves me. He found a way that
didn't compromise his principles, or the Rule of the Order. That means
something, sir, something greater than you know."
	"I know," murmured Colin.
	"Phantom loves deeply, sir," said Jérémie. "He loves too deeply
perhaps." He slowly climbed the barracks steps. "I will return that love in
any way he lets me." Jérémie waved toward the building. "Every guy in there
will do the same." He grinned. "Betcha ass!"

******

 	At the side of the building the five cadets, who had overheard
every word of the conversation in the barracks yard, stared at each
other. Nicholas Scheer looked first at Eion, and then at Peter. "What in
the fuck is that all about?" he asked, his eyes wide. "Just who was The
Phantom talking about? What is going on with boys? And who is Stefan and
what did Chief Hohenberg mean when he said he was in love with the guy?" He
rounded on Peter Race. "Do you know, Petey?"
	Peter loathed being called 'Petey'. He also knew that because of
his slight frame, and boyish face, that he was stuck with the nickname, so
he ignored Nicholas' use of it. He was remembering the night when The
Phantom had come down to the Dockyard - Peter could not remember why - but
he could remember that The Phantom had taken the time to stop and chat with
him, taken the time to make him feel, well, welcome, and wanted. That meant
a great deal to Peter and he looked fiercely at Nicholas. "I mind my own
business," he said curtly. "Why don't you try it?"
	Eion smiled inwardly. Like Peter, he had seen, and heard,
things. Being buried in the Dockyard did not necessarily mean being
isolated. Word filtered down, the rumour mill always turning, scuttlebutt
rife with the doings of the shore-bound cadets. "Nicholas, one day you will
come to understand that what Harry found here means more than some people
can comprehend." He glanced upward at the window. "What a lot of people
found here."
	Mikey Logan spoke up. "Is that supposed to mean something? And what
did Jérémie mean when he said he was a 'companion above all others' to
Phantom? And what in the hell is this 'order' they were going on about?"
	Eion glanced at Peter, who nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "I
can't answer that," Eion replied. "I don't know what the order is," he said
truthfully. He looked again at Peter. "But I intend to find out," he
thought. "And so will Peter."
	Before Andrew or Mikey could say anything more the cadets heard a
light tapping on the glass of the window above them. They looked up and saw
Chef, who was making "Get your asses in gear!" motions.
	As they uncased their instruments and fiddled with the valves of
the trumpets, tuba and French horn, Mike Knox spoke up. "And what's with
Paul Greene? I served with him last year in Kingston and he didn't seem
that bad a guy."
	Eion studied the sheet music he held in his hand and then looked at
Mike as he replied, his voice dripping with the hatred he felt. "Paul
Greene is the type of guy who will fuck you in the ass, laugh while he's
doing it, and not even have the decency to reach around and give you a hand
job!"
	"More like squeeze your balls to hear you scream louder," opined
Mikey, who did know Paul Greene. "We're well rid of that little prick."
	"You got that right," put in Peter Race. He squinted at the sheet
music. "This is so wrinkled I can hardly read it!" he complained.
	Eion reached out to take the music from Peter and looked at
Mikey. "Count your blessings, Mikey. Little Big Man is long gone, and if I
have anything to say about it, he'll stay gone!"

******

	Stennes sat in the comfortable wing chair, sipping a very good
brandy, and smoking a Cuban cigar. He was basking in the euphoria of a very
satisfying session with the new arrivals from China. The two hulking young
Chinese had been very acquiescent, and had satisfied the German's perverse
need for violence with sex. What the two Chinese thought about the session
was of no importance. So far as Stennes was concerned they were of lesser
breeds, fit only to satisfy the whims and lusts of their betters.
	After bathing, and donning a deep burgundy dressing gown, Stennes
had peeked into the two-way mirror that hung on the wall of the room where
his protégé lay, and smiled. Young Paul, his thin body flushed and sated,
was being attended to by not one, but two, lithe, pretty Chinese. While the
two Orientals bathed Paul with rose-scented cloths he fondled their
penises, pulling and rolling their rubbery foreskins with his fingers, a
smile of utter bliss on his face.
	Nodding his conviction that he had indeed chosen his successor
well, Stennes left the cubby hole and went into the lounge where he was
cosseted by an ancient, silent, old man, who poured his brandy, selected a
superb cigar, lit it, and then departed, leaving the pimp to his musings.
	Paul was a treasure, Stennes thought. He is completely without
morals, is vicious, and willing to do anything asked of him to gain his own
ends. That the blond-haired boy was completely without principles and so
obviously without a conscience pleased Stennes even more. The boy had a
brain, dominated by venality, true, but he could think, and plan, and see
the future.
	Stennes contemplated his young charge and his character, and smoked
his cigar reflectively. It was time to bind the junge closer to him. He had
decided that Paul Greene was destined for better things, greater things. It
was time to put the young man to the test. His loyalty must be complete,
and Stennes was now ready to demand that loyalty.

******

 	Relaxed, and feeling a little drained, Paul allowed his body to be
worshiped by the two Chinese courtesans, took as his due their
ministrations, and then rose from the bed. Without instructions the Chinese
boys opened a richly carved wardrobe and withdrew a stiff, embroidered,
Chinese robe. This they draped over the "Great Lord's" shoulders, tying it
loosely, and then withdrew a little way, waiting for their new master's
approval or, may the gods decide otherwise, his disdain.
	Paul stood in front of the mirror that was fixed to the inside of
the wardrobe door, admiring his reflection. The robe felt so soft against
his skin, and was embroidered with finest gold thread, which matched his
hair. Smiling at himself in the mirror, he opened the robe. He regarded his
naked figure and nodded. Skinny, but the muscles were starting to develop
in his chest, and his stomach was flat, and taut. His slate grey eyes
lowered and he frowned. He reached up and felt the sparse hairs nestling
just at his breastbone, and then reached down to riffle the small cloud of
dark blond hair that surrounded his genitals. Frowning, he made a decision
and turned around.
	Nhan, who had been standing with his eyes lowered, as became a
courtesan, saw the movement and looked carefully at the boy who had so
recently done what none of Nhan's clients had ever done before: taken him
into his body, allowed his seed to spill deep within him, and groaned and
thrashed with ecstasy. "The Great Lord is pleased?" asked Nhan.
	The other boy, Nieh Shih-cheng, a golden-skinned Chinese, looked at
the Great Lord, and wondered what would happen next. The ferengi was
insatiable, he thought inwardly. So insatiable that he had allowed Nhan to
mount him!
	For a brief moment Nieh wondered if the ferengi would allow him to
ride the great elephant to glory, but a quick glance at the ferengi's
crotch, where he saw that the boy's hoodless penis was soft, and hanging
lightly over his low hanging, depleted testicles, told him that there would
be no riding, at least for a while. Nieh quickly averted his eyes, and
sighed a deep, disappointed, silent sigh.
	"The robe is acceptable," said Paul, emulating his master, Stennes,
who pretended to disdain everything. "Bring a razor, and soap."
	"A razor and soap?" asked Nhan. He looked at Nieh, who
shrugged. Nieh had long ago learned never to question the requests, or
demands, of his clients.
	"And prepare the bed with towels," ordered Paul with an imperious
gesture. "You will shave me."
	Nhan's eyes widened. "The Great Lord wishes to be shaved?"
	"Yes!" snapped Paul impatiently. "Bring what is necessary and
remove this . . ." He pulled at his public bush. "I am displeased and wish
to be clean shaven."
	"All of you?" squeaked Nhan, surprised. Body hair was usually
highly prized by Western males, particularly the hair that grew around
their penises.
	"All of me," growled Paul.
	Gesturing for Nieh to fetch the shaving implements, Nhan quickly
took some towels from the adjoining bathroom and spread them over the
bed. "If the Great Lord will allow me to assist in removing his robe, and
if he will then lie on the bed, we will be pleased to . . ." murmured Nhan,
gesturing.
	Ignoring Nhan's muttering, Paul shrugged the all but priceless silk
robe from his shoulders, allowing it to fall softly to the floor. He lay on
the bed, with his legs spread. He glanced at Nhan, who was greedily eying
his parts, and cackled lewdly, "Just don't cut off anything important!"

******

 	Freshly shaved, and bathed again with scented oils, Paul joined his
mentor in the lounge. Stennes, happily warm and content, eyed the boy. "You
seem different, somehow," he said pleasantly.
	Paul, who thought he knew exactly who and what he was dealing with,
saw no reason to deliberately antagonize Stennes. He stood and opened his
robe, exposing himself. "I'm trying a new look," he said with a dry
chuckle.
	Stennes motioned for Paul to come forward and without asking, ran
his thumb along Paul's now bare pubic area. "It makes you look, younger,"
murmured Stennes. "Almost pre-pubescent." His hand drifted slower and he
ran his finger down the length of Paul's flaccid penis, lingered
momentarily at the curving, circumcised head, and then gently hefted Paul's
testicles.
	Paul's body stiffened. He hoped that Stennes was not getting
ideas. Then he relaxed and allowed the fondling. Stennes, intent on his
inspection of the boy, did not see the sly, evil smile forming on Paul's
lips.
	Laughing softly, Stennes patted Paul's genitals and motioned for
him to return to his chair. "You have no worries, little one," he said as
Paul sat down, pulling the robe tightly around his naked body. "I have
plans for you, plans that will please you."
	Paul offered a small smile. "For a moment . . ." he ventured.
	Stennes laughed harder. "You have the frame, the look of innocence,
the smoothness that many men find attractive," he said. "You could make a
lot of money." Then he looked directly at Paul. "But you are not interested
in money, are you?"
	"Actually, I am," replied Paul honestly. "Money brings power. I
believe in a world free of mud people, in a world where the white man has
taken his rightful place. If money is needed to bring that about, then I
will make money."
	"You will sell yourself?" asked Stennes, wondering just how deeply
indoctrinated Paul had become. "You believe in the Master Race?"
	"Of course," returned Paul, his tone implying that every right
thinking white man believed just that. Then he smiled knowingly. "But then,
you would not allow that, would you?"
	Stennes looked askance and then smiled. "You seem to know what you
want."
	"I do." Paul stood, walked to stand in front of Stennes, and then
lowered himself to his knees. He pulled apart the lush robe that covered
Stennes body, revealing his thick, long manhood and low hanging
testicles. He took Stennes soft penis in his hand and slowly retracted the
foreskin, revealing the purple-coloured, bulbous head. His eyes were cold
as he looked at his teacher, who was breathing heavily from lust and
desire. "Money, sex," he murmured as his lips touched the slimy
glans. "Whatever it takes."

******

	"Mein Gott!" moaned Stennes as Paul withdrew and resumed his
seat. "You are very . . . experienced."
	"Yes, I am . . . now," replied Paul as he gathered his robe up and
slipped it around his shoulders. "I enjoy sex, although I prefer to have it
with boys my own age."
	"You are at least honest," grumbled Stennes. "If that is so, then
why did you . . .?"
	"Blow you?" asked Paul. He shrugged impassively. "You wanted it, I
was prepared to give it. You're the first man I've been with."
	"Really?" Stennes' eyes widened slightly.
	"Let's be honest, Edmund," began Paul, for the first time calling
Edmund by his Christian name. "You obviously have plans for me. I haven't
known you long, but I know enough about you to understand that you never do
anything spontaneously. Everything is planned out, everything is in place,
before you act." Paul's face darkened. "You also don't trust me, or else
why would you have filmed me with Nhan?"
	Stennes was about to bluster and deny that he had done any such
thing. The look on Paul's face told him not to bother. "How did you know?"
he asked simply.
	"The lights in the room were just a little too bright. Nhan was
just a little too enthusiastic and kept looking over his shoulder. He also
seemed to delight in moving to one side whenever he went down on me. When I
fucked him he positioned himself on the bed so that I was facing the
camera, which I suspect was hidden behind the mirror." He smiled
coldly. "Two way?" he asked.
	Nodding, Stennes said, "I will destroy the film."
	"Why?" asked Paul easily. "If it is any good you'll no doubt get a
good price for it."
	"You would not object?" asked Stennes, surprised at Paul's easy
acceptance of being filmed in such a compromising position.
	"Who will see it?" asked Paul diffidently. He answered his own
question. "A bunch of dirty old men who are too cheap to buy your product."
He shrugged. "Just so long as I get my piece of the action I don't care
what you do with it."
	Stennes reached down and squeezed his now soft, and very warm
penis. "After what you did, I think I shall keep it for my private
collection."
	"Suit yourself," replied Paul. He regarded Stennes. "You know my
goals. I won't lie and pretend that you turn me on. You don't. You have a
big dick and that's quite interesting, but it does not make me go all warm
and fuzzy. Big dicks are available on half the street corners of Toronto. I
want more than your big dick, Edmund."
	This little man was very sure of himself, Stennes thought
maliciously. But the boy was driven, and that meant a lot. "What exactly do
you want?" he asked.
	"You didn't drag me from Ottawa, to Quebec, and now here, to
Toronto, on a whim. You've hinted at making me a part of your
organization. You tell me."
	Stennes stared silently a moment. "All right. I will not live
forever, nor will I continue in this business forever. It is a good
business, carefully managed, and well funded. I have no heir. If something
happens to me, the business fails. That cannot be allowed to happen. Too
many other people, people outside of the business, who know nothing of the
true nature of the business, depend on the money I give them."
	"Such as the Aryan Brotherhood?" suggested Paul with a slight
cocking of his head.
	"Ya. The Neo-Nazi movements in the United States, in Germany, the
so-called right wing parties in England and France, all depend on money
that I donate. There are others, of course, who also supply their needs."
	"Uniforms, arms, ammunition," said Paul. "And instructors at the
special camp in Quebec, and the one in Germany. Plus, of course, your
little propaganda ploy down in the States."
	"You know about that?"
	"Edmund, I was sitting in the next room when you were having
breakfast with the General." He snickered. "Of course, he was paying more
attention to that unfortunate little boy that he was diddling than he was
to you."
	Stennes waved away Paul's giggling insult. "The man is
important. He controls a large segment of the Liberal Party in Quebec. He
can keep the police away from us."
	"He's also playing both ends, Edmund," returned Paul. "He's pouring
money into Levesque's campaign."
	"And how do you know that?" demanded Stennes angrily. "The General
is loyal. He wants a free and independent Quebec, yes, but even he realizes
that the Partie Quebecois will never garner the support it needs!"
	"Don't bank on it," returned Paul. "I slept with his nephew,
remember?"
	"So? The boy knew nothing!"
	"Bah!" Paul made a deprecating gesture. "Sylvain slept with
whomever his uncle wanted him to sleep with. Do you think the General was
so generous that he gave his nephew that car out of love? Why did the
General pay all of Sylvain's tuition at that snooty school he went to?"
	Stennes looked thunderous and then nodded. "I misjudged the old
fool!"
	"You did that," agreed Paul. "Look, I don't give a rat's ass about
Quebec. They're all a bunch of arrogant, lazy, useless Frogs who will go on
sucking on the public tit for as long as the pigs in Ottawa let them! What
I care about are my own people. Let the Frogs keep Quebec."
	"So long as you can have a Fourth Reich, ja?"
	"Yes." Paul stood up and began to pace. "I am convinced that the
only way is to rid this continent of the undesirables, the niggers, the
Jews, the Chinks."
	"Surely not all." Stennes looked around the richly, if garishly
appointed lounge. "Some of them do have their uses, you know."
	Paul snorted. "Edmund, how many Chinaboys have you managed to
unload?" he asked.
	Stennes frowned. "None. Boys are very highly prized in
China. Girls, if I were interested in such creatures, I could sell."
	"Nhan is a refugee from Vietnam. He is also an orphan. How many
orphans do you think came out of Vietnam?"
	"I do not know," admitted Stennes. "And why would they interest
you?"
	"Edmund, when I showed you what I had done, your eyes lit up like a
Christmas tree! You like rough trade, yes, but when you saw me you all but
drooled all over this fake Oriental carpet."
	Stennes was feeling most uncomfortable. This boy was smarter than
he looked and even more vile than he had first appeared. "What are you
getting at?"
	Paul did not immediately reply. He walked to the sideboard and held
up a bottle. "Remy Martin Champagne Cognac", he read aloud. He glanced over
his shoulder at Stennes. "Is it any good?"
	"Cognac, like scotch, is an acquired taste," replied Stennes. He
held up the snifter of cognac that he was holding. "Will you join me?"
	Pouring a hefty slug of the fine cognac, Paul looked at the amber
liquid. "I'll try it." He took a tentative sip, and then nodded. "Not bad."
	Stennes smiled at Paul's expensive taste. He wondered what would
happen if the junge got drunk.
	Paul seemed to know exactly what Stennes was thinking. "You don't
have to get me drunk, Edmund. I'll sleep with you, if that's what you
want."
	"Even though I am not attractive to you?" Stennes asked stiffly.
	"Edmund, sex is sex. Business is business and if having you plug my
ass makes you happy, and makes you listen to me, plug away."
	"It is so nice to have such a genteel invitation," hissed Stennes
sarcastically.
	Much to Stennes amusement, Paul imitated what he thought was the
confident demeanour of the suave and erudite, "sophisticated" characters he
had watched in the movies. He resumed his seat and swirled the brandy in
his snifter, warming the amber liquid with his hands.  "Can the bull shit,
Edmund," returned Paul, reverting to type. He settled himself comfortably
in the chair. "Let's be blunt. You want me to learn your business, to take
over the reins whenever you decide to retire." He cocked his head. "Yes?"
	Stennes looked uneasy. This boy, this mere boy, was obviously much
smarter than he looked, or anyone gave him credit for. "Yes."
	"Good. Now, before I tell you what I think, I want you to know
something." Paul sipped his brandy and continued. "I didn't just read those
ridiculous pamphlets my father and his gang of nitwits handed out. I read
Time, and Newsweek, and the newspapers. I read books, Edmund." He shrugged
impassively. "I learned that the other boys, when I was in Aurora, wanted
nothing to do with me, and left me alone."
	"You were ostracized?"
	Paul frowned. "I overplayed my hand there," he admitted. "I was too
eager, too damned eager. I won't make that mistake again. From now on I'll
play my cards close."
	"A wise decision. And just so you know, I did tell your father that
sending you to recruit was a bad idea."
	"My father is a fanatic," responded Paul with a grimace. "True
believers are such pains in the ass at times."
	"And you are not?" asked Stennes.
	"I believe," replied Paul, "but I know enough, now, not to
broadcast my beliefs. It is one thing to speak to the choir, quite another
to try to preach to the ignorant and the unwashed."
	"My, you have been reading, haven't you," said Stennes, not quite
jovially.
	"I have. You should try it some time," returned Paul coldly.
	"Beware, junge, for you tread on thin ice," warned Stennes. He was
not prepared to suffer Paul's insolence too long.
	Paul remained impassive, unmoved by Stennes' growing anger. "If you
will listen, I will explain my remark."
	"Very well," snapped Stennes. "Explain."
	Paul waved his arm around the lounge. "How many boys are there here
in this brothel?"
	Stennes, while he did not care for his business establishment being
referred to as a brothel, answered curtly, "Nineteen."
	"All Chinese?"
	"Yes?"
	"Why"
	"Because the clients are Chinese. They like to stick to their own
kind!"
	Paul smiled. "And do you have any other places?"
	"Just in Montreal. Black and Chinese boys for the most part. The
French are partial to ethnics."
	"Coons and Chinks," sniffed Paul.
	Once again Paul's coldness caused Stennes to squirm. "I imagine it
has something to do with their imagined Colonial Empire, when France was
actually a nation that anyone paid attention to."
	Nodding, Paul said, "Once again, you give your clients what they
want." Paul deliberately sprawled in his chair, the front of his robe
open. "Now, your biggest problems are supply and protection." Once again,
only languidly, Paul indicated the room. "This place can hardly be a secret
to many. You can coast under the radar with the private clients, but my
guess is that you are paying off someone."
	"The Circle K Boys," said Stennes without hesitation. "They demand
a fee every month, for 'protection'. I assume they pay off whomever they
need to. We have never been bothered."
	"And you also pay something to those thugs in Eastern Europe, and
Russia. That's your main source for young boys, isn't it?"
	"I must go where the supply is. STASI and the KGB control
everything, including the orphanages."
	"Which they will allow you to rummage through if the price is
right," Paul pointed out needlessly.
	"Yes. And always they demand more."
	"Of course. They know that if you're apprehended the full weight of
the law, it doesn't matter which country, whether here in North America, or
in Europe, will put you away for a very long time." He shrugged. "Not to
mention a hell of a diplomatic mess if you talk." He made a dismissive
motion. "They're covering their asses, Edmund, and they'll leave you
hanging out to dry."
	"And you," snapped Stennes. "If you become involved."
	Paul laughed harshly. "Really, Edmund! I'm not 18. So far as the
law is concerned I am a sweet, innocent, little boy, and not responsible
for my actions. I was molested and forced into a life of sordid sex."
	"You will one day be 18, junge!" growled Stennes.
	"By that time we will be long gone from here," returned Paul with
an icy smile. "If you listen to what I am going to propose."
	"And that is?"
	Paul looked thoughtful and then asked, "Tell me, Edmund, how old
were you at the end of the War?"
	"I was . . . 11, no, 12 years of age. Why do you ask?"
	"Then you know that after any upheaval, a war, a social disruption,
a natural disaster, there are people who cannot cope, or cannot survive
without handouts. There were millions of displaced people crowding the
Allied zones of occupation, yes?"
	"Of course. Germany had been bombed almost back to the Stone
Age. The Russians expelled millions from East Prussia, the Czechs and Poles
did the same. To be German meant hatred and expulsion."
	"Yet these people survived, living on hand outs from the Americans,
the British, the Canadians." He looked sharply at Stennes. "And by other
means."
	"What . . . what do you mean?" demanded Stennes, who knew deep down
that Paul knew exactly how he had earned a living.
	"Edmund, as hung as you are, please don't expect me to believe that
no one offered you an extra parcel of food out of the goodness of his
heart!"
	"The people sold what they had. It was a very bad time for
everyone," replied Stennes. He would admit nothing.
	"No matter," said Paul airily. "You peddled your ass, learned some
hard lessons, and also learned what a money-maker you had. But what I am
thinking is this: why go to all the trouble of recruiting boys at all? Why
not go to a new source, a source where a little money buys a lot of
protection and nobody really gives a shit what you do, so long as the
American bucks keep rolling in."
	"Whatever are you talking about?" asked Stennes, confused.
	"East Asia," said Paul simply. "Nhan told me that when he was in
New York men were clawing at the door, paying big bucks for fresh, young,
boys, in his case, Vietnamese boys. They're young; they're smooth, and
willing to please! Nhan's owner made a small fortune, and then sold him to
Hung."
	"So? It happens all the time," said Stennes.
	"Of course it does. Right now you have two new boys upstairs,
brutes if what Nhan tells me is true. Just the type you enjoy."
	"Yes," Stennes replied, thinking that Nhan talked too much.
	"Now, they're illegals, smuggled in by Snakeheads. The boys, and
this includes Nhan, owe for their passage here. Now, either you or Hung
paid off the smugglers, which means the boys owe you. In time they will
have paid their debt, and want to move on. They also grow older, or
contract some disease and have to be 'retired'," finished Paul with a
disinterested shrug.
	"Yes, there is that," admitted Stennes. "It is most annoying."
	"Of course. The overhead will kill you," relied Paul with a grin.
	"I do not find anything you have said amusing, junge!" snarled
Stennes.
	"I apologize. A weak joke," returned Paul. "What you have to
consider is that anywhere along the way the cops will twig on what is
happening. Smuggling aliens into the country is frowned on, which means
that the RCMP here, and probably the FBI, in the United States, will sooner
or later sniff out the Snakeheads. True?"
	"Yes, sadly," admitted Stennes.
	"So, once again we look for new fields of endeavour. Why bother
with the hassle? You pay off a gang here, a gang in Montreal, a gang in
this city and that city, and your profit margin drops into the
basement. You're making money, but you could make a lot more."
	"And how would I do that, my little Jewish financier," asked
Stennes, deliberately being insulting.
	"I am not a Jew," snarled Paul. "And I don't fuck little boys!"
	"I could kill you for that!" growled Stennes, rising slowly. "I
could kill you slowly, and listen with delight at every scream!"
	"But you won't," said Paul, unmoved, and unmoving. His
slate-coloured eyes, cold, uncaring, never wavered. "In me you've found a
kindred spirit. I don't give a fuck about anyone. My only interest in your
little boys is that they make money. I am totally selfish, venal, and
greedy. The only differences between us are that you like your boys young,
I like mine my own age. You do what you do because you like the good life,
and love money, large amounts of money. You are a child of National
Socialism, a good little Nazi boy, and a good Nazi man."
	"I believe in the wisdom of Adolph Hitler!" declared Stennes
roundly. "He was a great man and every word he spoke was true. My father
gave his life on the Eastern Front for Der Fuehrer! I would do the same!"
	Paul broke into unrestrained laughter. Stennes, his face a mask of
rage, rose threateningly. "How dare you!" he shouted. He advanced toward
Paul, his fists clenched. As Stennes raised his fist Paul's face turned to
stone and he calmly reached into the pocket of his robe.
	Stennes stared at the barrel of the ancient Luger and then lowered
his hand. "You would not dare!" he breathed.
	The look in Paul's eyes gave the lie to Stennes' remark. Paul
smiled thinly. "Sit down, Edmund," he said emotionlessly. "You are making a
fool of yourself."
	When Stennes had sunk shakily into his chair, Paul calmly returned
the pistol to the pocket of his robe. "Let us be perfectly clear,
Edmund. If, for any reason you try to betray me, I will kill you, just as
you will kill me if for a moment you think that I would be a danger to
you. I am like you! I trust no one, and I take precautions."
	"Which means?" asked Stennes, snarling through clenched teeth.
	"You made a mistake, Edmund. You dismissed me because of my
youth. You forgot that I might be, in your eyes, a boy, but in truth, I
have a brain, and I am much smarter than you think."
	"I have already drawn that conclusion," said Stennes, breathing
heavily. "And where did you find that . . . cannon?"
	Paul chuckled. "In the wardrobe, hidden in a bundle of old
clothing. Nhan is no fool, Edmund, and he also takes precautions."
	His face reddened with anger, Stennes snarled, "I will . . ."
	"Do nothing!" Paul pointed a steady finger at the barely controlled
German. "Nhan is not to be harmed. He pleases me."
	"I have warned you," Stennes returned.
	Paul raised the snifter of cognac to his lips, drained it, and then
stood. He reached into the pocket of his robe, withdrew the Luger and
offered it, butt first, to Stennes. "Now's your chance," he said, his voice
clear and calm, and without fear.
	Stennes reached out to take the pistol, and then withdrew his
hand. He looked at Paul and then shook his head. "I chose well," he
admitted. "Perhaps too well."
	Laughing, Paul returned to his seat. "Edmund, I told you, we are so
very much alike."
	"Too much," complained Edmund. "Now that you have made your point,
what exactly is it you want?"
	"Edmund, the world is changing, and if you had bothered to read
about it you would know that the economies of Western Europe are
booming. You have more 'clients' than you can supply boys for. The
Russians, the East Germans, the Poles, the Czechs, while they willingly
supply boys, through their Secret Police, they make you pay through the
nose."
	"True. They are very greedy."
	"The Arabs are willing to pay large sums, so long as you supply the
type of boy that does not pander to their fears of the Jews."
	"Yes. As I told the General, the camel jockeys look for Jews under
every bed, in every corner, even in little boys!"
	"You cannot recruit in North America, for two reasons. A missing
boy, or girl for that matter, brings the full power and wrath of the law
enforcement agencies. They would leave no stone unturned, no lead
uninvestigated if you snatched a child. The sanctity of childhood is so
ingrained in the North American mind that should you be caught, and you
would be, and sent to prison, the convicts would exact their own form of
justice. Child molesters, and pimps, don't last very long in prison."
	"Agreed. I have thought about taking North American boys but you
are quite correct. The risk is too great."
	"Then, while you could, if you dared, spirit the odd North American
boy into Arabia, you couldn't sell him, simply because you cannot overcome
a cultural fact: just about every boy is circumcised."
	"I am working on that," sniffed Stennes.
	Paul chuckled. "That will take years."
	"But it is working," countered Stennes.
	"Of course it is! You have targeted the very group that espoused
the practice in the first place, for medical reasons. Your arguments are
reasoned, and I suppose based on some crackpot scientific theory. You have
also targeted the professional anti-everything who goes through life
yelling and protesting for the sake of protesting. You are publishing the
big lie in your pamphlets and letters and it's working. You are also
appealing to their inherent anti-Semitism." Paul snickered. "But really,
Edmund, 'mutilation', 'deprivation of a fundamental civil right'?" Paul
laughed even louder as he asked, "And wherever did you come up with
'amputation'?"
	Stennes ignored his protégé's sarcasm. "It works. All it took was a
reasonably well-known group of nurses and doctors and a great deal of
money."
	Paul nodded. "It will work because if you play the same song over
and over again people remember it." He looked at Stennes. "But then, the
Fuehrer himself said it, didn't he?"  Stennes regarded his protégé, now
even more impressed with Paul. "The great masses of people . . . will more
easily fall victims to a great lie than to a small one," Edmund quoted
smugly.  "I've read the book," responded Paul. "I also know that propaganda
is only useful when you get your message to a great many people. It's a
pity that you don't have another way of getting your message out. I am sure
that planting those articles in the newspapers, and the medical magazines
must cost a fortune."
	"They do," agreed Stennes.
	"And in order to keep up the campaign, you need money." Paul looked
reflective. "You support the neo-Nazis, in Germany, in France, in England,
and in the United States and Canada, because they are useful to your
business. The police are so busy watching the nut bars and heel-clickers
that they have no idea that you, or your organization, exist. You pay off
the people who supply you with boys, and you pay off whatever local gang
controls the area you work in. You pay off the General and those of his
ilk."
	"Are you suggesting that I terminate my activities?" asked Stennes,
astonished. "The money . . ."
	"Edmund, you can make as much money, and a lot more, if you would
just listen."
	Defeated, Edmund threw up his hands. "Tell me, then."
	"Edmund, there is so much money floating around Europe! Your
clients include people from most, if not all of the Western European
states. These people know how to live, most of them, and they love to
travel to exotic places."
	"So?"
	"So we find an exotic place where life is cheap, the government, or
more probably, the police, is corrupt and where nobody gives a shit what
happens so long as the price is right. We find a place where you would not
have to go through the bother of finding someone to supply you with boys. A
place where, once the word goes out, the boys would be beating down your
door!"
	"Such a place exists?" asked Stennes sceptically.
	"It does. South-east Asia."
	Now it was Stennes' turn to laugh. "Are you suggesting . . ." He
regained control and said, "I would suggest that the regimes in many of
those countries would hardly be receptive to such a business proposition."
	Paul scowled. "I am not talking about Vietnam, or Cambodia. What I
am talking about is Thailand, Indonesia, Ceylon, places where poverty is a
way of life, places where the people understand the foibles of foreign
tourists, places where there is no law, really, about having sex with a
young boy. Hell, right now the clients you have in the so-called
industrialized nations of the West are constantly looking over their
shoulders for the police. Give your clients what they want: an exotic
locale, sun, swimming pools, a decent restaurant, and all the boys they can
handle."
	"You sound like a travelogue," sniped Stennes.
	"But it would work," returned Paul firmly. "You wouldn't have to
worry about supply, you would have plenty of customers, and just about
everything you bring in is yours."
	Stennes looked serious for a long time, and then nodded. "It would
work, yes. These people we deal with, they correspond, they talk, and they
trade boys back and forth. This I know." He sighed. "It would take a great
deal of money."
	"Which you have, or can get," said Paul. "You have connections with
the Chinese gangs, use them. Pay the Russians, or the East Germans, or
whatever gang of goofy Commie fucks you're dealing with, what they want and
complete your arrangements with the Arabs. Milk them for whatever the
market will bear."
	"You make it sound so easy," replied Stennes. What Paul was
suggesting had merit.
	"It isn't. But when everything is in place, you can walk away with
more money than you can spend. You can support your projects, and have the
life you want." A low snicker formed in Paul's chest. "You can sit back and
blackmail with impunity because no one will be able to touch you."
	"Blackmail? What blackmail?" asked Stennes, pretending to be
surprised.
	"Edmund, do you really expect me to believe that I am the only one
you filmed? My guess is that the little studio you have set up behind that
two-way mirror has seen a lot of action."
	"There is a small . . . um . . . library of interesting films,"
admitted Stennes.
	"Showing interesting people doing interesting things," rejoined
Paul. "Not that I care."
	"What do you care about?" asked Stennes. "What do you want? What
are your goals?"
	Paul looked impassively at his mentor. "I want my share, and that
goes without saying. I also want access to the special camp in Germany." He
saw the quizzical look on Stennes' face. "The camp where you train your
true believers, not the Skinhead thugs, but the true Aryan boys, those who
will be the new SS! I'll be in Germany soon enough, and I might as well use
my time there well."
	"I could speak to your father?" suggested Stennes.
	Paul shook his head, no. "I want to know what assets are available
to me, whom I can depend on." His eyes bore into Stennes. "I want a place
where white men are supreme, where there are no Untermensch soiling the
sacred ground. You rely on the home grown useful idiots, most of whom will
fold if the government cracks down. I want a corps of good, faithful,
German men."
	"And what else?"
	Paul's hands curled into tight fists. "I need to be in Germany
because there I will find the men I need to help me take care of my
brother!"
	"Your brother?" exclaimed Stennes. "Whatever has he to do with
anything?"
	Paul remembered the hazy, dim figure standing over his bed, witness
to the night when the Beast had raged through him. "He set me up!" Paul
snarled, rage filling his soul. "My brother! My dear sweet brother stood
and watched me being raped! He stood there and . . ."
	Unclenching his fists, Paul resumed calmly. "My brother betrayed
me. He betrayed his family, his culture, and his God. He must pay for what
he did."
	"Then why, if the matter distresses you so much, wait?" asked
Stennes equably. "Such matters are easily taken care of."
	For the first time Paul showed real emotion. "He has friends -
twins named Arundel - and a special protector, a Chief cadet the others
call The Phantom. They know about me, and they know about my father."
	"Mere schoolboys," scoffed Stennes. "And of no consequence."
	"The Arundel Twins' father is a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
of Canada," Paul pointed out. Then he added, "Which could be a problem for
us if he didn't have two fag sons."
	"I hardly think that Justice Arundel would enjoy having his sons'
names bandied about in the gutter press," replied Stennes, his face
hard. "Which would happen."
	Paul was forced to agree with Stennes' logic. "Perhaps," he
conceded. "There is still their protector, a boy everyone called The
Phantom."
	"A schoolboy, a nonentity," sniffed Stennes.
	"A nonentity who has a friend, a sailor named Winslow. He has
friends in high places," Paul replied. "But then again . . ."
	"Second thoughts, dear boy?"
	Paul smiled grimly, his eyes dark and deadly. "The Twins threatened
me with disclosure. 'A word here, a word there,' is what they said. Winslow
might have friends in high places but I wonder how friendly they would be
if they were told that he was in a 'special' arrangement with an underage
civilian boy."
	"If past experience is anything to go by, not very friendly at all"
Stennes smiled, pleased with the devious workings of Paul's mind. "The
media delight in printing anything derogatory about the military." He
regarded Paul. "Perhaps a series of muckraking articles written by a
reporter of my acquaintance?"
	Paul considered Stennes' suggestion and then shook his head
firmly. "No, Edmund. There is too much risk of opening an even bigger can
of worms." He saw the querulous look on Edmund's face. "If one reporter
prints anything, the others will jump of the band wagon. There is nothing
like a salacious scandal to sell newspapers. If that happens who knows
where their 'investigative' reporting will take them? Frankly I wouldn't
take the risk, not when you consider that all we are dealing with is a
bunch of impotent little dickheads."
	"Perhaps you're right." Stennes then asked. "You are determined to
punish your brother?"
	"Yes! He betrayed me! He must be punished," snarled Paul.
	"I could speak to your father," suggested Stennes. "He has men in
his organization who will . . ."
	"No! My father is of no value!" said Paul icily. "His little group
is good only for nuisance value."
	Stennes cocked an eyebrow. "Really," he drawled.
	"Really," replied Paul, deliberately imitating the German's
drawl. "My father is a bully, and a martinet. He thinks he knows what he is
doing, but he doesn't, and sooner or later he will make a mistake and the
Military Police will notice, if they haven't already noticed."
	Paul shrugged expressively, remembering the veiled threats the
Twins had made when they presented him with the evidence of his first,
huge, mistake. "My father's activities will eventually be discovered, and
while he would not object Matt's being punished, he would not agree to the
punishment I want!"
	Stennes knew nothing of the threats made by the Twins and Paul had
no intention of informing him. The Twins might well be little fags, and The
Phantom a nonentity, but they did know people, and they did hate him, and
they would do exactly what they said they would do. If anything happened to
Matt in Canada, the Twins and The Phantom would come to know of it, and
then the shit would hit the fan.
	Paul was smart enough not to dismiss the Twins, or The Phantom as
cavalierly as Stennes had, just as he was not about to place as much trust
in his father as Stennes seemed inclined to do. He asked suddenly, "How
much does my father know about your activities?"
	"Nothing," assured Stennes. "He only knows that the money comes
from me. As to how I earn the money, he knows nothing."
	"Then keep it that way," replied Paul authoritatively. "Let him
live in his little world."
	"You really do not trust anyone, do you?"
	"No. My father will roll to save his own neck. He cannot know
anything, Edmund. He cannot ever even have a hint of what you're doing, or
I am doing. I want my brother's head, yes, but I want it in Germany! My
brother's friends have no power, no influence, outside of Canada. Once my
brother is in Germany, away from them, they will forget about him and
return to being the eunuchs they are. They won't be able to protect him in
Germany, and I will wait until the right moment."
	"And then?"
	Paul rose and as he did so, his robe fell open, to reveal his
. . . Paul's penis had risen thick and hard, the sloping glans had turned
an angry red, and was slick with lubricant. Stennes eyes widened. The junge
was sexually excited by the thought of murdering his brother!
	Paul saw where Stennes' eyes were resting and walked slowly
forward, shrugging the robe from his shoulders. "You like your boys young,
Edmund," he whispered. He stopped before Stennes' chair and reached down to
slowly open the man's robe. "I am young, Edmund."
	Edmund Stennes groaned as the junge's penis bounced as he
breathed. He leaned forward.
	"Help me Edmund. Help me destroy my traitorous brother. Allow me to
listen to his screams, let me hear him beg for mercy as I cut off his balls
and throw them to the hogs!"