Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Willy Tamarack
Title: More Juice !
Part: 1 of 12
Universe: 'Vegas
Summary:
Keywords: (MF oral)
Language: English
@(C) 2008 Willy Tamarack Commercial use in any form requires the written
permission of the author and will ensure a portion of the proceeds goes to

the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML).

   !!!!!  ATTENTION !!!!!

   Before we get going here, a couple of notes.  The following is a sex
story.  A stroke story.  A porno story.  The content is unsuitable for
youngsters and some adults may find it objectionable.  I've ensured my
material is properly coded and registered.  Adults, who have custodial
responsibility for young minds, must ensure this smut doesn't fall into
their children's hands.  To charge the government with that
responsibility...Wow !  Don't get me started.

   This story is total fantasy.  It is fiction.  Made up.  As a friend of
my wife calls it, MSU (made shit up).  Las Vegas - The City of JUICE.  The
mobsters coined it but left it to the politicians.  The politicians used it
to enrich the usual suspects.  Their families and friends for sure.  Some
claim it's dead after the recent conviction of several county commissioners
for taking bribes.  They're wrong.  JUICE is alive and well.  Sometimes
it's money.  Sometimes it's sex.  Sometimes it's just an introduction.  The
currency is immaterial.  It's called JUICE !

   And while the plot and subplots of the following tale stem from the
author's fertile imagination; the characters...Well, the characters are
also total fantasy.  They don't exist, never have and never will.  Any
public figures mentioned are for back ground and time line purposes only.

   Remember now...Sex should be fun !  As always e-mail your comments to
the usual.

   More Juice !

   Book I

   (MF oral)

   by

   Willy Tamarack

   In Tribute

   With thanks to the founding fathers and the U.S.  Constitution

   Chapter One

   Washington D.C - January 2005

   Anderson Davies compared the two charts.  The graphs were almost
identical yet the dates were a year and a quarter apart.  The charts
graphed all the encrypted email traffic being transmitted from the Las
Vegas area through a commercial satellite to a bank of servers that were
dominated by porn sites.  The first was dated Jul-Sep '01.  The second was
of the same data, dated Oct-Dec '01.  And today's, dated Oct-Dec '04.  The
data all showed the same characteristics, the only abnormality was the
terrorist attack.

   He looked at the data especially right after the 11 September disaster.
It made sense.  The lull after the events of 11 September coincided with
the drop off in traffic through the Las Vegas Resort Corridor.  The drop
off of encrypted email traffic was just too coincidental not to notice.  He
wished that he had followed up on it more closely but the events of 11
September focused all effort on traffic coming out of the middle-east.

   He had filed the charts when he noticed the similarities.  He fully
intended on following up to see if he could pick up a pattern.  Anderson
had been sure that it would revert to it's pre-eleven September pattern
just as soon as the hotels filled again after the disaster.  All the data
confirmed it.  He noticed it today only because he was digging around in
his files for something else entirely.  He ordered the third chart today
when he remembered what it was that drew him to the traffic in the first
place.

   First, all the traffic was encrypted.  He'd tried several algorithms but
nothing had fallen out for further analysis.  Anderson figured the messages
were encrypted using a one time pad, probably sent out with the first
message of the day.  All transmissions were burst transmissions both to and
from the satellite.  Any of them could be the "one time pad" being sent.

   Point number two: All the packets were of differing sizes.  Into the
satellite at so many kilobytes and then out of the satellite either in
smaller or larger sizes.  No two packets were the same size.  It was next
to impossible to follow the traffic.

   Third, it was impossible to determine who was sending it as all the IP
addresses were being stripped before they were sent.  The people running
this operation, whatever it was, were IT professionals.  Another reason he
was concerned.

   Four, the porn server farm was located out of the country; in a country
with very lax banking laws and a reputation for looking the other way when
it was in their interest.

   "Ring...Ring...Ring"

   "Anderson Davies."

   "Sir, you've got a three-thirty upstairs.  Current threat assessment
numbers.  Remember ?"

   "Yes.  Thank you for reminding me, Miss Jones." God !  He'd love to fuck
the shit out of Miss Jones, a very young, black woman with just a
tremendous butt.  Made his wife's ass look like Hoover dam.  He laughed as
he gathered up his assessments and shoved them into his briefcase.  He left
his office without even a sideways glance at Miss Jones, who was typing up
some report that another analyst had given her earlier that afternoon.

   It wasn't until four-thirty that Anderson got to update the senior staff
on the numbers coming out of the threat states.  Pakistan was number one on
the list with almost fifty percent of the encrypted stuff.  Saudi Arabia
was number two.  These numbers were held to be of the most sensitive
nature. Anderson's reports to the senior staff were getting to be "just
more of the same." Progress is being made but we need more Arabic and Farsi
speakers.  Pashto would be nice also.

   But none of that was available in any large numbers so that it was
almost impossible to do any real time surveillance.  What could he promise
? He could promise nothing.  Signals intelligence was not going to cut it.
The jihadis got wise after Tora Bora.  No more open communication.

   That Al-Queda was shattered was believable but shattered into what ? 
The pieces couldn't be picked up, swept away.  Pakistan gave them sanctuary
and they continued to plan death and destruction for the west.  After all
the west refused to believe that almost all Muslims wanted this.  Take
honest votes in any of these countries and you would find the west held in
very low esteem, especially the United States.

   The treasury section chief followed Anderson.  Anderson was wishing the
meeting would just come to an end, hardly paying attention.  The slide
lingered on the screen and then was gone.

   "Back that up." Anderson barked.  Unusual for a section chief.  Usually
only the senior staff barked orders.  Everyone in the room was staring at
him.  "Sorry.  Go on..." The graph was identical to the ones he'd seen in
his office earlier.  The ones that graphed the encrypted email traffic to
the porn sites via commercial satellite 1608A from Las Vegas.

   "Small Money Transactions - West Coast" was the title and the dates
spanned Oct-Dec '04, the date of his third snapshot.  He was excited.  The
meeting couldn't go by fast enough.  The treasury section chief sat right
next to him.  They were both here long enough to know that something like
this was unusual, a break through !  Anderson Davies had noticed a pattern
of some sort in someone else's data.  This was exciting !

   Tom Bender was waiting for him out in the hall.  Anderson's boss had
pulled him aside and was cautioning him about speaking out in future staff
meetings.  And, "couldn't you find something more to say beside we need
more translators." Bender was laughing to himself.  He was often on that
end of the conversation as "the bosses" try to self promote themselves. 
Sometimes you wondered what the goal was ?

   "It was the small money transactions wasn't it, Anderson ?" Tom wasn't
quite sure.  Years ago there was a senior staff member who would go back
and forth with a slide or two and drive everyone nuts.  Maybe Anderson was
just spazing out ?  You never knew here in Washington, D.C.

   Anderson was nodding his head up and down as they walked quickly to his
office.  Shortly after that, Tom Bender left Anderson Davies' office.  He
came back very early the next day and the two of them spent most of the
next three days analyzing traffic, both encrypted email and money
transfers, out of the southwest United States, specifically Southern Nevada
and Southern California.  Within the first hour they figured that those
generating the traffic were breaking the law.  Although they couldn't come
close to proving it.  These people just had to be doing something illegal.
The encrypted traffic almost mirrored the transfer of small funds, those
under ten thousand dollars.  Those that didn't need to be reported to the
federal government.  Now, they just had to prove it.

  
***************************************************************************

   "Snake" Edwards shut down the computer and packed up his laptop.  He
grabbed his coat and headed for the elevator.  It was just before midnight
on a cold January night in Las Vegas.  He thought about Jay Richard's email
in the elevator on the way down.

   The Canadian Coast Patrol, in conjunction with the U.S.  Navy, was
upgrading all it's coastal fleet.  He wondered how that might affect the
"Yachtsman's" plans this fall ?  He'd have to arrange a backup source just
in case the "Yachtsman" couldn't move the hemp.  Maybe backup
transportation would be a better plan ?  It would be next to impossible to
come up with the quality that Jay continued to produce year after year.

   He was in a Camry, heading north on I-15 through the spaghetti bowl and
then west on U.S.  95 to the newest suburb of Las Vegas - Summerlin.  The
streets were empty when "Snake" drove into the suburban Smmerlin area.  He
passed two police cars and noticed their attention.

   A lot of California money was moving here.  People, who made a killing
in California real estate, bringing their gains here to Southern Nevada,
attempting to do the same here.  Property values were going through the
roof.  The cities and county were already close to doubling their spending
in less than three years.  That out stripped growth by over a hundred
percent.  Soon taxes would catch up and then Southern Nevada wouldn't look
so inviting.

   And corrupt.  Clark County ?!  Home of the gambling, oh !  Excuse me,
gaming capital of the world.  All that free money just running around town
burning a hole in everyone's pocket.  All of this just re-enforced the idea
that it was time to unload the property.  He noted several of the better
connected LLCs selling properties.  He'd started this week; unloaded a very
large tract that earned him four times what he paid for it.

   "Snake" sold the property in question to a rich Californian who'd been
here on and off for three years, studying the market.  His wife just
arrived last month.  She'd visited many times before but this time it was
kind of permanent.  About fifteen years his junior with bleached blonde
hair but a nice body for a middle-aged woman.  Nothing like Colleen but not
bad, a little more meat on the California woman.  She came on to him very
heavy at the party last week.  He considered it might have been to
influence the sale.  He really didn't care.

   He'd find out in a moment.  Her phone was ringing.  It was a little
after twelve-thirty in the a.m.  Forth ring and she picked up.  "Snake"
knew her old man was out in California on business.  He also knew her old
man was fucking the shit out of his personal assistant, a twenty-something
young lady, in California.

   "Sarah.  It's "Snake" Edwards.  Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd
drop by for a drink.  What do you say ?"

   There was a long silence.  Maybe she didn't remember him ?  Hard to
believe after the way she came on to him.

   "Did you know my husband was out of town or did you just get lucky ?"

   "Well, darling, this is Las Vegas...Isn't it ?  Gotta be luck.  You
gonna treat me to a drink ?"

   "I'm not really dressed to entertain..."

   He cut her off with, "I'm sure you look ravishing, Sarah." He was
thinking of her long, yellow hair.  She was a good sized woman who hadn't
let the middle-aged bulges attack her, yet.  Early forties, he figured,
with a very nice rack, good padded butt too.  He was getting a woody just
thinking of seeing her naked.

   Chapter Two

   "Snake" pulled right up in front of their home.  He stored his laptop in
the trunk; then locked the car and walked up to their front door.  Sarah
Richardson was her name.  Her husband was Doug.  Gonna make another million
flipping houses and building strip malls here in Southern Nevada.  On and
on; the mother fucker never shut his mouth.  He gave his woody a squeeze
and rang the bell.

   The door opened almost immediately.  Sarah backed into the entryway as
he entered.  It was dark but he could see she was wearing just a robe.  He
wondered what was under it ?  He loved fucking other men's wives.  He moved
on by her into the den.  His cock felt strong.  Sarah followed.

   The bar was lit so he went straight towards it.  He noticed that she was
already drinking a glass of wine.  Her yellow hair brightened up the room
when she entered.  The robe was a pale pink and she had matching slippers
on, with heels.  It made her about five-five, he figured.  He filled a
glass with about two fingers of "Jack" and dropped in a few ice cubes.

   She was sitting on the couch, toying with the stem of her wine glass. 
Her knees were bare, the robe riding up on to her thighs.  "Snake" walked
over and put the coffee table between them.

   She looked up at him.  "He has his work and I have my life.  It's worked
for fifteen years and two children."

   "And what is your life like ?"

   "It sucks in 'Vegas.  I can't stand the place and I've been here for
almost a month."

   "Maybe you're not meeting the right people ?"

   She smiled up at him.  "And just who am I supposed to be hanging out
with ?"

   It was his turn to smile.  "Let me top that off for you." "Snake" took
her glass and went back to the bar.

   He already knew she was seeing a boy friend back in Orange County.  The
"Yachtsman" did a pretty thorough investigation, including pictures of her
coming out of a motel with a very young man.  Maybe early twenties ?  He
drove so he was over sixteen, right !?

   "Snake" turned and brought her wine back across the room.  "I know lots
of people.  I'll have some of the girls, you met last week, give you a call
and show you around.  Come on, Sarah.  'Vegas is becoming a world class
shopping mecca and you live here." She was swallowing a sip of wine. 
"Snake" imagined her mouth wrapped around his cock.

   Sarah Richardson took another swallow of her wine.  She drank more here.
She didn't like gambling and missed all her friends in Laguna Beach. 
'Vegas sucked but Doug told her to treat this guy special.  Her husband
never described "special" but she knew what he meant.  She just wished the
guy was younger.  These old guys were just not up to the task.

   Sarah slid off the couch and moved to the bar.  She could feel his eyes
follow her.  This was going to be easy.  She'd be done in a hour or so,
then get a good night's rest and call Doug tomorrow morning.  The light
from the bar was sure to outline her body for him.  She turned.  He was
moving toward her.  She could see his excitement in his pants.

   "I imagine you're a very popular lady back home." He was very close to
her.  She smiled just before he reached for her breast.  She froze, staring
into his eyes as his hand weighed her right breast.  "Natural, very nice.
From California you can never tell.  Just like here in 'Vegas." Her nipple
was erect and he rubbed his thumb against it.  Her other nipple erected. 
He was turning her on.  This didn't often happen with "Doug's friends."

   "Snake" was on a roll.  He put his drink on the bar and took her wine
glass out of her hand.  His hands went to the tie around her waist.  He was
still staring into her face.  Her robe came open.  She was naked under it.
He dropped his gaze to her breasts, nice big melons of breast meat with
fifty cent sized areolae.  They were a prominent brown on her white skin
and her nipples were like little fingers sticking out.  He took her left
nipple between finger and thumb and gave it a good squeeze.

   "You have nice tits, Sarah." Her belly button was a deep crevasse in her
lower belly and below it was a dark triangle of curly pubic hair.  His hand
slowly slid down her belly and right into her hair pie.  For the first time
she moved.  His fingers discovered that her vagina lips were shaved and her
vagina was wet.  Two fingers easily slid into Sarah's juicy cunt.

   Sarah's eyes clouded a bit and her mouth opened like she was going to
say something.  She didn't as "Snake's" fingers started doing the splits in
her cunt.  Her knees bent a bit as his fingers started fucking in and out
of her.  She grasped his arms with both hands just moments later.

   "Let's find someplace to have sex, Sarah.  You do want to have sex,
don't you ?" "Snake" had pulled his fingers out of her and was pulling her
along with her robe sash.  He backed into the master bedroom and flung her
toward the giant bed in the middle of the room.  Her nakedness flashed in
and out of his sight as he unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his loafers.
His cock was tenting his slacks.  She was looking at it.  He flexed.  His
dick jumped in his slacks.

   Sarah felt naked on the bed but was still partially covered with her
robe.  She had underestimated this guy totally.  He was going to fuck her
brains out.  Sarah shrugged off the robe.  Her tits swung back and forth.
He was staring at her breasts.  She kicked off her slippers.  His cock was
jumping in his pants again.  It looked huge.  Sarah was getting very
excited.  She leaned back and shook her tits from side to side.

   "Snake" threw his head back and laughed.  His shirt was off and his
pants were on the way to the floor.  His cock was making a very big bulge
in his jockey shorts.  The jockeys were on the way to the floor and he was
stepping out of them.  His cock sprang up and bounced off his belly.  He
stroked it and held the foreskin back, making his dick head resemble a
snake's head.

   Sarah just stared at his cock.  Even young guys weren't this forward and
that was after several dates.  On the first date guys usually ate out of
her hand, especially Doug's friends.  His cock head was unbelievable. 
Truly unique.  She spread her knees and was sure he could see her shaved
cunt.  Maybe 'Vegas wasn't so bad after all.  Regardless of the age, this
guy had a very nice, long cock.  It had been a while since she'd come
across such a nice package.

   "Snake" was naked and up on the bed.  He knee walked toward her, his
dick bouncing up and down.  She was mesmerized by it.  He walked up close
to her face.  His hand running up her thigh and into her snatch.  Two, then
three fingers slid into her cunt.  She arched her back.  "Snake" bent his
cock to her mouth and pressed it against her lips.  They opened and
accepted his meat.  His fingers were mixing around in her cunt.  Her hips
were moving back and forth on the sheets.  Her mouth was gobbling his cock.

   Sarah was embarrassed at how out of control she had gotten but with his
fingers rooting around in her cunt she was unable to stop him.  Her mouth
was full of his cock.  She was eagerly sucking on it, sliding her lips back
and forth on this guy's meat.  She'd never been this out of control with
any of Doug's "friends."

   "Snake" ripped his fingers out of her cunt then pulled her legs around
to the edge of the bed.  He stood on the floor and hovered over her.  He
fit his cock against her cunt lips and leveraged about five inches into
her. Her legs were splayed and rose up into the air.  "Snake" filled her.
She screamed out.  Not loud but it filled the room.  "Snake" started
fucking her and didn't quit until she was fucking back at him.

   Sarah was sweating and could hardly stop thrusting herself against the
nice long cock that was fucking in and out of her.  She was grabbing her
ankles and thrusting her ass up to accept the cock that was driving her
crazy.  Her breasts were sliding back and forth on her chest.  She was
crying out.

   "Oooohh !  Fuck !  Yea.  Yea." The wet slapping sound of flesh on flesh
filled the room.  "Jesus !  Fuck !  Oooh !  Oooh !  Oooh !" She couldn't
stop cuming, having orgasm after orgasm.  His cock was filling her with
every thrust.  This was the best sex she'd ever had !  God !  'Vegas was a
fucking great place to live !

   "Snake" shivered three or four times, ejecting five or six shots of warm
cum into her clinging cunt.  He arched his back and quivered as his cock
spazamed in her cunt.  She was gasping for air.  Her legs were falling down
to the floor.  He stood and pulled out of her.  Her legs remained spread,
her cunt a gapping hole with gray spunk dribbling out of her.

   "Snake" stepped away from her splayed legs.  His cock was dangling down
on his balls.  "Tell Dougie boy he needs to ante up a hundred "K" to get
the zoning issues taken care of.  I need it by next week.  No excuses. 
Tuesday at the latest.  Remember that, honey.  I'd like to have you out to
the lake some weekend.  It'd be a real blast.  Maybe the next time hubby is
out of town." He was pulling up his jockeys.  Next came the slacks.  He was
fitting his feet in the loafers.  She was still laying on the edge of the
bed with her legs splayed, "Snake's" spunk draining out of her vagina.

  
***************************************************************************

   The Mexican coyote had been staring at the dim flash light bobbing up
and down as it moved through the desert.  He thought he could make him out,
taking a piss.  A real strange one.  Knew the desert and could travel very
fast with a light load, mostly water, but a weird one just the same. 
Broken english mixed with spanish.  But his cash was good.

   "Craaaaaaaaaaaaccccccckkkk !" The Mexican coyote crumpled to the ground
knees first and then his head hit the desert floor.

   The man picked up the coyote's pack and dumped it's contents out.  He
took the water and the money; repacked the coyote's pack, lifted it to his
shoulder and was off.  Putting distance between the shot and himself. 
There could be others out here doing the same thing, entering the United
States of America illegally.

   The man, who called himself Osama Azzam, took a ten minute break after
ninety minutes of forced march.  He was very tired but figured he could
make another ten kilometers tonight before the heat would force him to find
a place to take shelter.  As he moved through the desert, he thought about
the first time he realized his brother was not coming home from the United
States.  He remembered the rumors insinuating that his brother had been
instrumental in helping the martyrs prior to that glorious day and then
never heard from again.

   Azzam traveled east from his home and spent almost a year in Pakistan,
looking for someone who had word about his brother.  It was very high up in
the base, someone in the know.  His name only tolerated because his brother
was martyred for the cause.  He'd seen their camps and had passed the tests
he'd had to pass.  He'd proved his desire and ability were up to the task.
And they knew he was good.  He'd spent his early years in south America
just like his brother.  And the younger brother could speak more than
passable Spanish, too.  So just like his brother he moved into America from
that border.  And it all worked so far.....

   .....Osama Azzam crawled up the side of the ravine.  He peeked over the
top and could see the United States of America.  He rolled to his back and
held up his GPS receiver.  The technology placed his position just three
quarters of a mile south of the border.  He pulled the cell phone out of
his back pack.  When the phone was answered he spoke three lines from the
Koran.  "Allah Akabar" was the answer.

   Azzam quickly scrambled over the top of the ravine and started to trot
toward the border.  He saw the vehicle about twenty minutes later heading
toward the border from the north.  He immediately hit the dirt and started
to crawl to the nearest depression.  He was frantically trying to remove
the gun from his back pack.

   The vehicle came to a stop about two hundred meters from where Azzam was
huddled in the ditch.  He had not come this far to be turned back.  He'd
killed the Mexican coyote the first night out.  It was easier than he
thought it would be.  From then on, he was on his own.  But that wasn't
exactly true either.  He had a state-of-the-art GPS receiver and three
batteries.  He also had the cell phone.  He only knew one number.  His
transportation was on the other end of that number.  They were going to
pick him up and transport him to the airport.  That was the plan but he was
prepared to make his own way.

   The vehicle was stationary, idling, but nobody had gotten out.  Azzam
was still in the ditch.  He got out the phone again and dialed the number.
When it was answered, he rattled off some Arabic.  The lights of the
vehicle blinked on and off three or four times.  Azzam rolled to his side
and saw the lights of the vehicle going on and off.

   He jumped up and started running toward the vehicle.  The doors in the
rear were unlocked.  Azzam climbed into the darkened back of the vehicle.
After slamming the doors shut, he pounded on the sidewall and the van
immediately started to move.  The suitcase was easy to find.  He took his
time dressing as the van bounced along the desert floor.  He packed his old
clothes into the suitcase.  He looked American when Azzam studied himself
in the mirror with the flash light.  The ride started to smooth out and the
speed increased.  His phone rang.  It was the man or men in the front
telling him that they were over two hours away.

   Azzam laid on his back and took several deep breaths.  He was asleep in
just moments.  Uninterrupted rest, something he hadn't had for over a week
now.  But a very dangerous part of the journey was accomplished.

   When the van came to a halt he came awake immediately.  Azzam heard
those in the front get out of the vehicle.  He waited for thirty minutes
before slipping out the back of he van and walking quickly out of the
parking lot.  He dropped the suitcase into the first dipsy-dumpster he
found and headed straight to the terminal.  His reservation was there and
paid for.

   Chapter Three

   The yacht "Viper" was low in the water.  The "Yachtsman" had ensured
that the yacht was loaded almost exactly as it would be coming out of Jay's
farm in British Columbia.  Well it wasn't really the farm but the small
inlet and dock they used to load "Viper." It was about three miles up the
inlet and some of the passages were quite shallow.

   A storm had just come through last night and the wind was gale strength,
straight out of the north and very cold.  White caps as far as you could
see.  "Viper" was sailing right along at close to twelve knots and there
was no thought of rigging for the electric motors.  They were covered with
plastic tarps and taped so they wouldn't get wet.

   "Yachtsman" and Jill Olson were soaked to the bone.  Both were dressed
identically.  Gray, full body wet suits underneath bright orange sweat
suits.  The sweat suits were soaked.  There was water every where.  The
cabin was closed up tight and both of them were topside.

   Jill was steering and Mike was on the top rail leaning like a fool with
a full weighted harness on.  His weight was allowing them to muscle through
waves but was bringing a good amount of the wave over the boat.  The sky
was clear and the wind must be close to thirty knots.  They'd been sailing
under these conditions since they left the confines of Newport Harbor. 
Mike was having second thoughts about being an all weather sailor.  Shitty
weather sure raised the risk.

   "Yachtsman" was observing Jill.  The expression on her face was total
concentration, steering the line he'd given her.  They were wearing watch
caps; both their hair cut close to the skin, maybe three eights of an inch
long.  Mike's was a sandy gray while Jill's was a dark stubble that turned
Mike on to no end.  And she could wear a different colored wig every day if
she wanted to.

   They'd been at it for over three hours and were nearing exhaustion. 
Mike knew that he could turn around and sail almost without effort back
into the harbor.  Maybe an hour out.  It was time.  They were both wearing
wireless comm gear that allowed instant communication.

   "Viper two."

   "Two."

   "Get ready to come about on my count.  Heading one two zero."

   "On your count.  Heading one two zero."

   "Three, two, one.  Now !" Jill turned with full left rudder and the
"Viper" began to come about.  Mike guided the sail through until it was
set. He could feel the acceleration almost immediately.

   "I feel it, `Yachtsman." Jill screamed over the sound of the ocean.  The
ride had smoothed out and they were really moving.  Mike was letting out
the spinnaker and jamming the pole into it.  He moved aft as soon as the
sails were set.  He sat next to Jill.

   "I've got the tiller, Jill."

   "You've got the tiller, Mike."

   "Get us some whisky and a joint, girl."

   "Aye.  Aye.  Captain !"

   Jill used a soaked towel to wipe off the excess water from around the
hatch door to the cabin.  She eventually opened it and disappeared
immediately.  The door slammed closed.  It was over ten minutes before she
appeared topside.  A bottle of "Jack" in one hand and a huge pipe in the
other.  "Yachtsman" was already working the lighter out from under his
wetsuit.

   He grabbed for the pipe and got the lighter to it.  The smoke felt
wonderful filling his lungs.  Jill was sitting next to him, taking a swig
off the bottle of "Jack." They traded several times and Jill made trips
below to fill the pipe two more times.....

   .....Three days earlier they'd laid off San Diego harbor and waited for
the U.S.  Navy to go to sea.  "Yachtsman" read about the exercise in some
base newspaper.  He couldn't remember the name of the exercise.  They
brought the sail and mast down then rigged up the electric motors.  The sea
was calm but the visibility was horrible.  Jill was steering.  "Yachtsman"
was down below working with two laptops.  One was a GPS map of everything
within ten miles of him, in fathoms.  Very useful if one wants to keep on
sailing in shallow water.  The other was a presentation of surface traffic
within ten miles.

   "Steer zero one eight."

   "Zero one eight."

   They were almost silent with the electric motors running.  Just a little
more noise than in full sail.  Making ten knots right at one of the U.S. 
Navy's finest.  Mike had his radio set to the nautical emergency frequency.
They'd call when they picked them up on radar or visually.  Mike was hoping
for the latter.  The front of the yacht was a bumper of hopefully radar
absorbing material.  The guy who sold it to him said that the stuff was
used on the stealth.  Yea, well you know how that shit goes.

   "Steer zero two five."

   "Zero two five."

   Mike had also installed several fuzz busters set to the most likely
radar frequencies used by navy search radar.  So far only sweep radar was
being directed at them.  No one had locked on to them yet.  And it was
another five miles before the bells and whistles started going off in the
bowels of the "Viper." The Navy just locked them up.  Inside three miles of
the vessel and Mike was very stoked.

   "Come right to one one five.  Now !" There was urgency in his voice.

   "Right to one one five."

   Just seconds later.  "Unknown vessel eight miles off San Diego Harbor.
This is the U.S.S.  Vincennes.  You are about to cross the bow within a
mile.  Alter your course to the east."

   Mike didn't believe they'd ever get a visual.  The electric motors were
purring like crazy and making quite a froth behind the "Viper." He'd moved
up top side and was peering into the gloom with his binoculars.  He
couldn't make out anything.  They were running away from the Navy at a
little over ten knots.  They practiced emergency evacuation after that
encounter and spent three hours in the raft after diving over the side,
letting the "Viper" drag them around.  It almost got scary.

   Continued in

   "More Juice !"
   Book Two