Arrest Powers

Arrest Powers

By JackSantoro@yahoo.com

Ed and I found out that we'd been seconded to Section H-2 late in the day. That's how it always is, especially in the Department of Homeland Security. We work for ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, which DHS took in after it was established as a department in 2002. Many Americans don't know that creating DHS caused more inefficiency from bureaucratic confusion and duplication than any benefit from coordinating different agencies.

We were very much in demand since we'd captured Ibn-el-Saud while he was trying to enter the U. S. from Mexico a couple of months ago. The "suits" and paper-shufflers (different names for the same thing) especially viewed us as a couple of super-cops, but in reality our accomplishment had been a combination of hard work and luck, mostly the latter.

The request from the agent in charge of H-2 carried a lot of weight, because Section H-2 was one of the few that performed real enforcement to keep our country safe. Most of DHS consists of people who conduct studies, deliver lectures, brief politicians, generate reports that nobody reads, and review and criticize the actions of the few who do the real work. The American people got a good view of how DHS really works after Hurricane Katrina, when avoiding blame seemed to be the highest priority among the bureaucrats. Ed and I, on the other hand, carry badges and guns, and have powers of arrest. While working with H-2, we'd have special powers of arrest. We wouldn't need warrants for searches or arrests because H-2 deals directly with terrorism.

Given all this, our supervisor in the Special Operations Section couldn't refuse the request for our services. He told us to go home and pack, but that we'd be working in civilian clothes this time. He added that tickets for the first flight out would be waiting for us at the airport the next morning. The destination was Colorado Springs via Denver. I didn't like this because Colorado Springs is a very expensive place to live and our government per diem probably wouldn't cover our actual expenses. The government allots us a certain amount per day and if it isn't enough, tough shit.

On our last assignment, we were lucky that Stan, an old friend and station supervisor, had put us up in his spacious house near the Mexican border. This time we couldn't count on being as lucky because we didn't know anybody in Section H-2. We arrived in Denver and as we walked out of the arrivals area we saw a guy who carried a sign with our names. He looked about our age, mid-thirties, muscular, with brown hair and eyes. We introduced ourselves and showed him our ID, as we were all in civilian clothes. His name was Fred and he was the agent assigned to us. He led us out to a Ford Crown Victoria, the standard issue police vehicle for most agencies, and we began the long drive down to Colorado Springs.

"It's too late to go to the office, so I'm going to take you to your motel," Fred told us. Tomorrow morning I'll take you in to meet the supervisor and he'll give you the details. For now, just relax and enjoy yourselves."

I-25 is congested during most of the day, but at four P.M. it was literally bumper-to-bumper in Colorado Springs. The town has no actual Main Street, and I-25 is the main route home for almost all commuters.

"I'm sorry, but this is about the only motel your per diem will cover," Fred said as he drove into the driveway. I understood his apologetic manner, as the motel looked like a dump, poorly maintained and dirty. I hoped the room wasn't too dirty, because I definitely didn't relish having to decide between going to a high-priced motel and sleeping on the streets. Fred had made reservations for us and we checked in. There was a Denny's across the street and when Fred saw that I was looking at it, he said:

"For your first night in town you shouldn't have to eat over there. Come on over to my place and I'll fix a good meal for you" We left our baggage in the room and climbed back into the car. Fred lived in a small apartment with a small living room, a kitchen with a table for four, and a bedroom with a queen size bed in it.

"I'm sorry I can't put you up while you're here, but you see the size of my place. I had an ulterior motive bringing you here. I wanted you to see that place so you'd understand I wasn't being inhospitable. Anyway, I hope the food can make up for it." It did. Fred cooked a splendid repast of spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, and salad. He broke out a large bottle of red wine to accompany the meal, and after eating we sat in his living room finishing off the bottle.

I'd noticed that he had a statue of naked Greek wrestlers on a side table. This wasn't conclusive, but during casual conversation he told us that he'd never been married. Ed spoke up:

"Well, we've never been married either. Jack and I share a house outside of Washington." Fred nodded thoughtfully and took another sip of wine.

"I like your statue," I said, taking the plunge.

"I'm glad you do," he replied. "It's nice that we have something in common, something out of the ordinary. Did you have any special plans for the evening?"

"We were planning to go back to the motel and get naked after dinner," Ed said. "However, we're lucky to get to meet somebody new."

"Well, then let's get acquainted," Fred declared. He stood and began removing his clothes. We followed his lead. Our eyes were on each other's crotches as we disrobed. We stacked our clothing neatly on the couch, and then Fred led us into the bedroom.

"I'm really lucky tonight," he commented as we sat side by side on the bed with him in the middle. "Two uncut guys together. It's hard to find even one guy who hasn't been cut." I'd noticed his bare-headed prick when he'd disrobed, the small helmet set off by a thick brown scar behind it. I knew he couldn't have missed our long, pendulous foreskins. He reached out to either side and wrapped his fingers around our pricks. I clasped his glans between two fingers and began squeezing it gently. The head was smaller than his shaft and when I lifted it I saw that he still had his frenulum. "You've still got your gee-string," I commented. "At least the doctor hadn't cut that off during the circumcision," he said. "Like most guys they did it to me when I was born. I wish I'd been born in Canada. My sister married a Canadian and she just had a baby in Winnipeg. The doctor didn't even ask her if she wanted the boy cut. They hardly do that anymore up there." "Not like here," Ed said. "Last year my sister had a boy, and she and her husband almost had to fight off the doctors who wanted to slice him. Lucky she married a lawyer. When the doctors found that out, they backed off real fast." We were all hard now, and I appraised Fred's prick. He had a thick shaft and the rim of his glans was slightly smaller than the diameter of his shaft. Overall, his prick was about 5-1/2" long, slightly shorter than ours. It had a big vein on the right side and a slight upward curve. His scrotum was average like mine, and was rapidly tightening with excitement. "I love playing with uncut natural cocks," Fred confessed. "They're a real turn-on for me. Mind if I jack both of you? I love the see the come spurting out of the skin." "Okay," Ed said. "What do you want us to do for you? "Well, I've heard of docking, but I've never done it. It sounds so thrilling, but since almost everyone around here is cut, I didn't have much opportunity. One uncut guy I knew was willing, but his skin was too short for my head to fit into him. Both of you have lots of skin, more than enough to take me." "Well, you decide which of us you want to dock with," I suggested. "How about with Ed?" Fred asked. "Either one, really. You've both got lots of skin." "You stroke me until I come, and then he'll dock you," I said. "Maybe you and Ed can come together." "That sounds great," reflected Fred. "It'll be something really new for me." "Better than that," I added. "You'll be head to head with him inside his foreskin, and when he comes you'll feel his helmet throbbing against yours. If you come together it'll be heaven." This possibility seemed to fire him up, and he began working my foreskin in long, sensual strokes. "Stop doing me," suggested Ed. "You don't want me to come before I dock you." Fred immediately stopped stroking Ed's foreskin, devoting all his attention to mine. "I like the way your skin comes all the way up to cover the head and then some," Fred told me. "Now I pull it down and the entire head sticks out. The head's so shiny and purple." "I've got a helmet-type head," I said. "So do you. So does Ed." "Yeah, but you both have such big helmets," Fred replied. "They look really nice. I like the way they smell, too. I wish my cock smelled manly like that." Fred's long strokes on my prick was causing me to release a steady drip of natural lube, and as it seeped from my orifice each upward stroke captured the drops and spread them over my glans on the downward stroke. "You're doing a good job on Jack," Ed commented. "His balls are tight against his body now." "His cock's juicing a lot too," Fred added. "Mine doesn't juice as much." Now I lay back on the bed while Ed reached over to cup my balls. His other hand reached for a box of tissues on the bedside table. "Wow, your tip's getting really dark purple too," Fred said. "Mine doesn't get that dark."

"That means he's getting close," Ed advised. He was right on the mark. I felt a tickle begin in my rim, slowly spreading over my glans. Fred's eyes glittered as he worked my long hood up and down, bringing me closer to the point of no return with each stroke.

"I'm tingling..." I whispered as my eyes closed. The heavy tingle filled my glans and then shot down my shaft to the root, where it triggered my orgasm. I felt the first surge of hot cream rushing up my tube just as Fred's strong fingers snapped my foreskin down, and it slammed through the lips of my orifice into the air. Fred's pulled my foreskin all the way up as my second torrent of white juice shot through my prick, and I felt it rushing through the pucker of my thick hood.

I was crying out in ecstasy, wracked by intense sensations, mindless of anything but the hot thrills shooting through my body. Fred gave me another rapid stroke and brought another hot rush of semen to gush from my foreskin tip. Now he changed his stroke to small jiggles, perhaps because he sensed that my uncut helmet was becoming overly sensitive. Another contraction gripped the root of my prick and sent a fourth jet hurtling up my throbbing shaft and helmet. I was gasping and writhing when the fifth discharge erupted, and then my jets changed to dribbles because I was nearly drained. I was not slipping away into the daze that follows orgasm, relishing the afterglow and the sense of total relaxation that filled me. I was barely aware of the dabbing at my prick, sopping up the excess cream. Later, when I opened my eyes, I saw Ed slipping my foreskin fully forward over my shrinking glans. "That was awesome," I complimented Fred. "You really drained me." I noticed that both of them were fully hard, no doubt aroused by watching and feeling me come. I also knew that Fred was looking forward to being docked. "Oh, I know it," answered Fred. "Your dick was throbbing hard while you were coming. You really shot through your skin. Some of it landed on your chest. That first shot went up three feet." "Thanks to you," I countered. I knew that, while Fred lacked expertise in stroking natural pricks, he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. Ed naturally always enjoyed these sessions, and I knew he too looked forward to docking Fred.

"Okay, Fred, just lie on your side facing me," Ed coached. I moved to make room for them, and within seconds they were lying on their sides, with Ed guiding the tip of Fred's prick against his own. Ed had stripped back his hood to let his slippery wet helmet rub against the front of Fred's, and now he moved it in small circles around Fred's engorged glans. "Aaaaahhhhh!" Fred sighed as the sensations flooded into his prick. I reached over them to cop their scrotums, already tight against their bodies. Now Ed began slipping his copious hood over Fred's swollen glans. The many times Ed and I had docked it had been a tight fit because although our foreskins are long and roomy, we both have large helmets. Fitting Fred's small tip inside was no problem at all, and within a couple of seconds Ed had it totally engulfed. Fred continued to sigh as he felt his glans being blanketed and stroked by thick warm foreskin, giving him a new thrill he'd only dreamt of before. I began gently kneading their balls through the thick wrinkled skin, confident that I was adding to their sensations. Fred was so worked up he began thrusting his prick deeper into Ed's long foreskin. Ed slowly stroked the end of his foreskin over Fred's small helmet. "Now just let things happen naturally," I coached Fred. "It's going to be the greatest feeling in the world for you. Just relax and enjoy it." "Can we come together?" he asked Ed and me. "Maybe, but that's not important," Ed replied. "Even if we come one after the other, you'll still feel my tip throbbing against yours when I let go. You'll still be shooting inside my foreskin, and you'll feel me shooting my loads against your head." "How do you feel now?" I asked Fred. "My tip feels so warm inside that skin," Fred answered. He was still thrusting, and I continued kneading his balls. I noticed that Ed had begun twisting his foreskin as he stroked it over Fred's glans, giving him the delicious sideways movements that were so effective around the corona.

"My tip's starting to tingle," Fred whispered. At this point I wondered what he'd do while coming. Would he cry out? Would his entire body tense? I already had a part of the answer when I saw his stomach muscles tighten.

"I'm getting it too," Ed murmured as he continued stroking Fred's tip with the long thick sleeve. I knew that he was feeling the thrusts against the big front dome of his glans as Fred bucked his hips. The muscles in Ed's jaw clenched, but his eyes remained fixed on where their two pricks joined between them.

It's rare for two guys to start coming at the same instant, and now I heard Ed cry out as his first discharge filled his foreskin. I could imagine Ed's hot cream jetting against the front of Fred's helmet and then swirling over the rim on top and around the corona. This would push him over the edge. A moment later Fred howled in joyous release as his prick began to empty itself into Ed's roomy foreskin.

As I was cupping their balls, my fingers pressed into the delicate flesh behind them, and I felt the pulses of orgasm as each discharge rushed up their tubes. Fred thrust again and Ed roared with delightful agony as they came again. I knew Ed released tremendous discharges as I did, but it seemed that Fred was also a big shooter. Ed's foreskin was distended with their cream, and some began to leak from where the end of his foreskin was wrapped around Fred's shaft. There was a lingering odor of chlorine from my ejaculations, but now more floated up to me as the trapped semen hit the air. I released Ed's balls and grabbed a wad of tissues to place under their throbbing pricks.

I knew that they were enhancing each other's orgasms as their discharging helmets hammered against each other. Both were crying out in blissful agony, caught up in the frenzy of orgasm, totally focused on the rapturous sensations in their throbbing pricks. For my part, I was vicariously enjoying their sensations, as I had vivid memories of the feeling of going head to head with another guy inside his foreskin or mine.

Now their movements seemed less frenzied, less urgent, as they were nearing the end of their climaxes. It was obvious that they would end up totally drained, as I had, and would slip into the beautiful and relaxing daze, as I had. I carefully held the tissues under their pricks because I knew that, when they began to soften, a heavy gush of white cream would drain from Ed's distended foreskin.

After a few minutes, when we were all recovered from our torpor, Fred suggested that we take a shower. It was cramped in his shower stall, which was as diminutive as the rest of his apartment, but we relished the flow of hot water over our bodies. Fred was very obvious about staring enviously at our heavy-ended pricks, the bulging helmets covered by our pendulous foreskins. He enjoyed watching us pinch the ends of our foreskin nipples, making the hoods distend as we peed inside them, and even pinched mine a couple of times.

After we'd dried ourselves and dressed he drove Ed and me to our motel, still apologetic about not having the room to put us up for the night. In parting, he said he'd pick us up at 7:30 in the morning.

Ed and I were on the sidewalk in front of the motel at the appointed time. We'd slept well, happy that the motel had turned out to be cleaner than it had looked at first sight. Fred turned up right on time, and drove us to the H-2 office, where he turned us over to the agent in charge, Sam. The office seemed strangely empty.

"As you can guess, we're understaffed," Sam began. "Fred's the newest agent, and the only one here at the moment." He picked up a clipboard.

"Kyle and Justin are on an investigation in Maine. Tyler and Trevor are in New Mexico. Jason and Mark are in Washington State. Troy and Lance are in Florida. So you see, you two are almost my entire resources at the moment, and we're sitting on what might be a hot case." I shrugged noncommittally, conscious of the new SIG P229 in the shoulder holster under my jacket. We'd just re-equipped with the new pistols because the department had decided that the .357 SIG was a more effective round than the old .40S&W our Glocks fired.

"We're really concerned about a pattern of chemical purchases by a group of people in the Colorado Springs area. As you know, although military and high-tech explosives are closely regulated, there's almost no control over their precursor chemicals. Our office has an informal arrangement with chemical supply houses to notify us when anyone but long-time legitimate customers makes purchases of these chemicals. This is like the Secret Service that tracks purchases of certain types of paper and certain inks often used by counterfeiters. Look at this." He turned to a computer monitor, tapped the keyboard, and a list came up on the screen.

"These are recent purchases from supply houses around the country. All are of only one chemical, so as not to arouse suspicion." I knew what he meant. If someone bought several chemicals that, processed together, would result in an explosive, it would be quickly obvious what he had in mind. On the other hand, scattering the purchases would not create a pattern.

"There's no obvious pattern," Ed said, echoing my thoughts.

"Right," said Sam. "The only way we became aware of this is that these purchases from companies scattered around the country all went to addresses in this area."

"Have you been able to establish any connection between the buyers?" I asked.

"No, we've got nothing. That doesn't mean that we've tried. That's why you're here. We haven't had the manpower to follow up on any of this. That's your job. Get into our databases, from post office to telephone companies, credit card companies, and others, and see if you can find any connection between any of these people. My guess is that there's a terrorist sleeper cell here preparing an attack involving explosives. They're pretty sophisticated, if my hunch is right. This won't be any cheap and dirty thing like Timothy McVeigh's ammonium nitrate and fuel oil."

"The Denver area's a target-rich environment," Ed mused thoughtfully.

"You're right again. The bottom line is that anyone could rent a truck, fill it full of high explosive, and drive it to any of a thousand big buildings and really do a number on it. We'd have no defense, especially if it's a suicide bomber. That's why we have to find out what going on before they act."

"I've heard that H-2 is tapped into all the intelligence computers, right?" I asked.

"Right again. You can use the CIA, DIA, FBI, NSA, NRO, and other databases. They have everything, even facial recognition software, and you're authorized to get into anything you need." This news was reassuring. We'd have the tools we'd need to follow up.

Most Americans buy into the myth that American law enforcement and security agencies work together harmoniously to keep them safe. The real picture is that they're all very territorial, protecting their turf, and don't willingly release information to sister agencies. Even as far back as the John F. Kennedy assassination, the FBI knew about Lee Harvey Oswald, but kept the Secret Service in the dark. I was very glad that Ed and I would be able to walk in and take what we needed instead of asking and then waiting weeks for a reply.

Sam led us to a large workroom with several desks and tables, and a dozen computer terminals.

"This is where you start. Dig for information. You'll probably have to do some legwork too. Here are the keys to two cars, one for each of you, out in the parking lot. They're not Crown Vics. They're too obvious as cop cars. One's a Toyota Camry and the other's a Saab. I doubt anyone would make them as official cars unless you do something inexcusably stupid. Good luck." With that he left the room.

"I guess we can also make our own hours," Ed suggested to me.

"Yeah, sure, as long as we put in more than 40 hours a week," I replied cynically. We set to work. It took hours to dig up a short background history on all of the people on Sam's list. Now we had to check it out. By this time it was after six, and we left for our motel, taking the Camry. We ate a light dinner at Denny's and went to bed, aware that we'd probably awake up early and want to get into the office to resume our search.

The following morning we set out, after eating just toast and coffee at Denny's, and arrived at the office at seven. We hadn't had lunch the previous day, and we resolved not to miss a meal today.

I started by running photos through the CIA's facial recognition software and database. A man named "Jim Walker" popped up as resembling Mohammed Massoud, listed as a terrorist.

"He, maybe I've got something," I said to Ed. I showed him the screen. "This is one I've got to check out personally," I added. He nodded and went back to work as I left, after printing out Walker's paperwork and putting it in a file folder.

My first stop was at the University of Colorado in Boulder, over two hours' drive north. At the registrar's office I showed my credentials and asked to see the records on Walker, who had supposedly graduated with a degree in engineering ten years earlier. The registrar confirmed that indeed James H. Walker had graduated with a degree in engineering but the photo did not match the one in my folder. I thanked her and left, speculating that Walker might actually have a degree in engineering, but might have earned it at the University of Cairo or Baghdad.

Back at the office I showed Ed and Sam what I'd discovered. Checking with the telephone company's reverse directory disclosed that Walker lived on a quiet residential street just outside Colorado Spring's city limits, and that one of his neighbors was a retired U. S. Marines Colonel. It was time for another field trip, albeit a much shorter one.

Ed and I drove together in the Camry to Colonel Sturgess' house. We introduced ourselves and elicited the information that, although the Colonel didn't know Walker well, he had noted that he spoke with a trace of an indeterminate accent that suggested that he wasn't a native-born American. We thanked him and asked him to phone us if he thought of anything else significant.

Back at the office a phone call to the U. of C. alumni association revealed that James H. Walker was a member and that he was currently working and living in Buffalo, NY. This reinforced our suspicion. Walker in Colorado Springs wasn't the real Walker, because the real Walker was currently at the other end of the country.

I sent a request to the Buffalo Police Department to verify that there actually was a James H. Walker living at his listed address. This was a routine request, and I was certain of the answer. Meanwhile, Ed entered the local telephone company database to retrieve Walker's billing records. They went back two years, as long as Walker had supposedly been living here.

"Shit! We've missed lunch again!" Ed grumbled. It was now quitting time, and we were just becoming aware that we were hungry. As it was 5:30, we immediately took off for the parking lot. There we found Fred waiting for us.

"Sam told me how hard you guys have been working," he said, "and that you hadn't even taken lunch two days running. I've got a roast in the oven at home, and the timer started it an hour ago. It should be ready by the time we get there."

Ed and I gratefully followed him home in the Toyota, and when we were inside his small apartment he immediately threw off his clothes. We followed his lead and as usual he stared shamelessly at our pendulous foreskins.

"I have to get dinner ready," he explained as he went into the kitchen and donned an apron. He was definitely aroused because we saw the bulge of his prick through the apron's fabric. We took seats at the table and he poured glasses of wine for us, occasionally taking a sip from his own glass as he mixed the salad and sliced the bread. A few minutes later the roast was ready, and he pulled it out of the oven to cool for 15 minutes before slicing it. Then he sat down.

"What have you been doing?" I asked gently. He'd been unavailable to help with our investigation, and I was sure Sam had been keeping him busy on other projects.

"Oh, Sam's had me tied down doing support work for the guys out in the field. They send me queries and I do my best to give them what they want. Then there are reports I have to send up the line, and all the other stuff I have to take care of in what's really a two-man office. Sam's been busy keeping in touch with the teams and I help him however I can."

"I guess you've been reading our reports," Ed suggested. We'd been writing terse reports of our progress in the investigation for Sam, and it wasn't hard to imagine that Fred had been reading them.

"Oh, yes, I've been following you two with great interest, mainly because Sam has too. You might be on to some of the most dangerous characters in this country." Fred took another sip of wine.

"At least we've got an entry into the case now, with this guy Walker," I said.

"I'd heard about the way you'd caught this guy Saud trying to enter the country at the Mexican border," Fred said. "You did a terrific job picking him out of all the people who try to get in every day."

"It was mostly luck," Ed confessed. "We kept our eyes and ears open, but in the end it was mainly luck." His excessive modesty sometimes peeved me. After all, it had been Ed who originally drew my attention to the disguised terrorist, and yet he refused all of the credit.

"Well, it's slicing time," said Fred as he jumped up and grabbed a knife and serving fork. Two minutes later we were wolfing down the food, too busy chewing to speak. We finished the delicious meal quickly and helped Fred with the dishes. We then finished the wine and went into the bedroom again. Fred, who had remained half-hard during the meal, was fully hard now, his eyes fixed on our crotches.

"I'd really like a three-way with you two," he confessed. "Any way we can arrange it?" Normally we would have been tired, but between the energy that his delicious meal had given us and the nervous tension accrued from the day's work, we needed release at least as badly as he did.

"Well, Ed and I could do Princeton," I began.

"I've heard the word, but what exactly is it?" Fred interrupted.

"One guy puts on a condom and goes between the other guy's legs," I explained. "While he's pumping his prick between his partner's thighs he's stroking him."

"I'd love to watch you two guys doing that," Fred responded with enthusiasm.

"You don't have to watch," I riposted. "You can be part of the action. Ed can pump his prick between my thighs and you can be in front docking with me. You docked with Ed last time, and now it's my turn."

"I've got some condoms," Fred offered. "I've got different sizes, but I think you'll need the large size. Can I put it on you?" By this time Ed and I were almost fully hard, and Fred gently stroked Ed's long foreskin to firm up his erection. Now he skinned Ed back all the way until his foreskin locked behind his rim in a thick fleshy ring and unrolled the condom down Ed's shaft. I lay on my left side on the bed while Ed slipped in behind me as I lifted my right thigh. I felt his latex covered prick touch my perineum, sliding along it until the head bumped my balls.

"Now Fred, you lie facing me," I said as I lowered my thigh, encasing Ed's hard prick between my thigh muscles. Ed began thrusting gently as I spread the forward edge of my foreskin to allow Fred to insinuate his small helmet inside it. I felt a ripple of sensation when the tip of his glans touched the blunt front dome of mine, and then I clamped my fingers around my foreskin to hold it over Fred's tip while I stroked.

"With luck we'll all come together," Ed said over my shoulder. "Even if we don't, it'll be a hot ride for you."

"I'm sure it will," responded Fred as he felt my fingers sliding my thick fleshy hood over his glans. "I docked with you the other day, and ever since I've been wondering what docking with Jack would be like."

"Disappointed?" I teased.

"Not at all," he said as he leaned forward to kiss me on the lips. "Getting my tip docked by two hot uncut guys is just heaven for me." He'd also begun to thrust, aroused by having his prick tip enveloped in my warm fleshy foreskin, and I felt the end of his glans compressing the blunt front dome of my helmet.

"Let's just maintain the pace," I coached him. "We can keep this up for awhile, and the longer the build-up the hotter and more intense our orgasms. Just relax and let the feelings build up naturally."

"I found that out jacking off," Fred replied. "I can hold off coming for an hour or more, until I just can't stand it any more, and then when I let go it's out of this world. When I stroke hard because I'm pressed for time, or just t get quick relief, it isn't as good." Fred was as good as his word, gently thrusting as I worked my foreskin lightly over his glans, thumbing his corona but avoiding hitting his hot spot underneath. Ed continued thrusting at a measured pace, his glans bumping my scrotum with each forward movement.

We rode the waves for half an hour, and I occasionally called a halt when I felt we were getting too close. Then we lay still, Ed kissing my shoulders and neck and Fred kissing me on the lips while I caressed his neck tenderly.

"I've just got to let go," Fred finally said. "I can't hold off any more." I squeezed his little helmet through the foreskin, and I felt the responsive throb as his glans pressed against mine. Ed thrust more quickly and I increased the pressure on his prick with my thigh muscles. At the same time I stroked my foreskin faster over Fred's turgid glans, thumbing his rim and pressing my index finger into the hot spot under his helmet where the twin lobes meet. His thrusts grew more urgent, as did Ed's and I knew we were close.

"Your tip's gotten harder," I told Fred. "You'll be popping soon, and so will we. I'd begun to feel a tickle in the front dome of my helmet where his rhythmic thrusts were compressing the nerve endings, and Ed's rapid brathing told me he was getting there too.

"My tip's tingling," Fred cried out. Ed was thrusting hard now, and I felt the tickle in my glans intensifying. We were within seconds of blowing our loads, and the feeling of anticipation was overpowering.

"AAAAHHHH!" Ed cried out as I felt him pumping hard into me. I gave Fred's helmet a heavy squeeze and he howled in response as his first hot jet gushed against my tip and flooded my foreskin. His prick was smaller than mine, but he shot a man-sized load. My eyes closed and my helmet exploded in a hot tingle that shot down my shaft, triggering my release, and I cried out helplessly, totally caught up in the frenzy of orgasm.

Our bodies strained against each other as we blew another load, Ed's prick throbbing hard between my thighs and Fred's hot hard glans hammering against mine. Our hot sperm swirled around my corona, almost burning the delicate nerve endings, and gushed over Fred's throbbing tip. My third discharge was heavier yet, and I felt the heavy pulse in my foreskin as it distended with the pressure.

We howled in joyous agony as the intense sensations swept over our struggling bodies, sharing the magic moment of release and totally unaware of the world outside our little haven. Our pricks throbbed again and we shuddered in ecstasy.

Now our ejaculations had slowed to dribbles, but our bodies were still enjoying the warm sensations. We were breathing hard, gasping and grunting, suspended in timeless bliss, until we were still. I felt the residue still seeping from my slit, lubricating the ends of our helmets as they pressed together. Some liquid had leaked from the end of my foreskin, filling the air with the odor of chlorine and dripping onto the sheet.

After I'd opened my eyes, emerging from my daze, I saw Fred smiling at me. I was still holding my foreskin tightly, trying to prevent the thick, creamy fluid from dripping onto the sheet.

"Don't worry," he whispered in my ear. "I don't mind sleeping on top of your come. In fact, I'll enjoy it." We got up and showered, repeating the events of the first evening we'd been here. Fred was still fascinated by how we pinched our foreskin nozzles when we peed.

"It's good to pee in the shower after sex," I said. "It flushes out the system."

"And it's so much fun," he added. "We embraced tightly in the cramped shower stall, and then turned off the water and dried ourselves. As Ed and I got dressed I said:

"Since we've got our own wheels, you don't have to drive us home. You just relax and sleep." He lay down on the bed, and both Ed and I leaned down to kiss him goodnight.

Once we got to the motel, we stripped down and climbed into the double bed we shared. Ed and I hugged as we talked.

"That was really nice tonight," he said. "Fred really drained himself."

"I enjoy the way he's turned on by our pricks," I replied.

"He's very much into foreskins," Ed commented.

"So are we," I added before we fell asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning we awoke, cleaned up, and got dressed before eating a hearty breakfast at Denny's. The food lay heavily on our stomachs, but we knew we probably wouldn't have lunch that day either.

"I really don't mind missing lunch," Ed commented to me as I drove us to the office. I feel there's some urgency to this investigation."

"Right," I responded. "We've got a good idea of what these scumbags are planning, but we have no idea about their timetable." This was the agonizing problem we faced. We were making progress, but we might already be too late. An attack might be underway that very moment, and we'd be forced to admit failure. It would be a catastrophic failure, one that would go down in history.

At the office I went to work on the telephone bills, trying to trace everyone with whom Walker had been in contact during his residence, but starting with the most recent calls. I found a match between one person he'd contacted and a name on the list of chemical buyers Sam had given us, and passed it to Ed for follow-up.

Ed went to the address, and quickly found out that it was an apartment house. The man, George Fellows, was apparently living alone, had few visitors, and kept to himself. Neighbors described him as secretive about his origins or occupation, and Ed told me upon his return that he felt that he had no regular employment. Further, he'd been living at that address only three months and nobody knew where he'd come from. The apartment manager had a previous address in Springfield, IL, listed, but when we checked that out we found it to be a warehouse. This case was getting hot.

While Ed had been out in the field, I'd been busy. I'd found another match, and as time seemed to be of the essence now, I got on the computer and found this to be another apartment house. I got the phone number of the manager, identified myself, and asked him about his tenant. The apartment was in a seedy part of Colorado Springs, where the manager didn't ask many questions because his tenant had paid several months' rent in advance, in cash. This was no doubt the sort of situation where the manager charged more than the rent and pocketed the difference in return for his discretion.

Now it was noon, and Ed and I decided to pay this person, whose name was Edwin Gowdy, a visit. When we confronted the manager, he gave us more details. The man spoke with a pronounced foreign accent which he couldn't identify, but which might have been Middle Eastern. Gowdy was not home, but we picked the lock, something allowed us without a warrant under the Patriot Act, and searched his apartment. On the desk was a list of phone numbers, which I copied into my notebook. We locked up and left, worried by the nagging concern regarding Gowdy's whereabouts. The manager didn't know if he had a job, or where, so this was one more loose end.

At the office further work disclosed another match, this time with a man living on the south end of town in a private home. This man, William Wood, checked out to be an American, but we knew that not all terrorists were of foreign origin. McVeigh had been a blond, blue-eyed, corn-fed American citizen, after all. We decided to ask Sam for help, as we were stretched too thinly.

Sam assigned Fred to us, telling him that he could postpone his routine work. I briefed Fred:

"We'd like you to stake out this guy Fellows. See when he comes home, and where he goes afterward. Use your cell phone when you have contact. Meanwhile, we're going to watch Gowdy's place." I gave Fred our cell phone numbers and he left.

There was a diner down the block from Gowdy's apartment, and we took a table inside near the window. We knew that two men sitting in a car screamed "surveillance" to anyone with even modest training in clandestine work, and we wanted to be inconspicuous. Many a case had been "blown" by inept officers allowing themselves to be spotted. We took advantage of the opportunity to eat, ordering sandwiches and paying for them immediately so that we'd be able to leave in a hurry if we had to.

By five, we'd seen nothing and nobody. We'd been able to retrieve a photo of Gowdy from CIA files, so we knew what he looked like. We decided to continue the surveillance.

At seven a man resembling Gowdy pulled into the apartment house's parking lot, and stepped out. He went inside, to re-emerge half an hour later and get into the car again. We wished we'd had the resources to install a tap on his phone, as we sorely wanted to know if he'd made any calls and to whom. Lacking that information, we decided to follow him. I knew that, stretched as we were, more counted on luck than anything else.

We'd had the foresight to bring both cars, so we were able to follow him in stages, I taking the lead in my Toyota and then dropping back after a couple of minutes to let Ed take the lead in his Saab.

Gowdy led us to Wood's house. Now we were certain that this was more, much more, than coincidence. Gowdy remained inside for half an hour, and then drove away in his car, a shabby Chevrolet in keeping with his apparent lifestyle. He was headed towards home, so Ed and I conferred by cell-phone and decided to take him down at his home. We sped up, passed him, and arrived about a minute before he pulled in.

We were waiting in the parking lot when he arrived, bent over and looking into the engine compartment of my car, which had the hood up. Gowdy parked next to my car and we turned and grabbed him, slapping on the handcuffs before he knew what was happening. We quickly patted him down but he was unarmed.

There are several essential elements to an arrest: surprise, speed, decisiveness, and overwhelming force. We weren't looking for a gun battle in the style of Ruby Ridge or Waco. We wanted him alive and well to milk him for information. We took him to the office and into an interrogation room.

What are you doing to me?" he asked in a passable imitation of an American accent.

"Go ahead, take off your clothes," Ed told him

"Who are you?" Gowdy asked, almost frozen in fear. I surmised that he wasn't afraid for his safety or his life but of failure, and right now it appeared that he was on the brink of failure in his assignment, whatever that might be.

"Strip!" I shouted, and this made him move. He removed his clothing and stood there with only his shorts on.

"Those too!" I ordered, pointing. He dropped his shorts. Gowdy, like the terrorist we'd caught some months ago, was circumcised. All Moslems are circumcised. This was absolutely inconclusive, almost meaningless, because most American males in his age group had also been circumcised. The scar didn't prove him to be Moslem in this context. He could have been Jewish or Episcopalian, but maybe he didn't know that. Ed walked up to him, put a finger under his glans, and lifted it as if to show it to him.

"You have hotneh," he said. To an American the Arabic word for circumcision would have been meaningless, but we both noted a flicker of fear cross Gowdy's face. We had him.

"Where are you from originally?" I asked. He remained silent. "Talk to me," I added. We were using the technique we called "Shock and Awe." This doesn't rely on brute force, but surprise and keeping the subject off balance. To be sure of obtaining good information, we didn't ask leading questions, because it's a serious mistake to feed the subject the answers. You get what you want to hear, but it may be wildly inaccurate.

"Everybody talks," Ed reinforced.

"We know about Wood. We know about Walker. We know about Fellows and the others," I said. I didn't add that we really knew jack shit about these people, not as much as we would have liked to know.

"If you don't talk, we'll arrest Walker, Fellows, and Wood and then let you go. We'll tell the newspapers that information provided by you led us to them. Think of what that will mean for your family back home," I bluffed.

It worked. The thought of being dishonored, and how it would reflect on his family, broke him. He may also have been thinking that his compatriots were ruthless and merciless, and would take reprisals against his relatives for his treason. He told us he was part of a cell that was planning to build a bomb that they were going to detonate outside a large glass-fronted building in downtown Denver at the noon hour, when many people would be on the sidewalk for their lunch break. He said that the only member of the cell he knew was Wood, because of compartmentalization.

This meant that if any member was apprehended, he would be unable to identify the entire cell because he only knew one other member. This was a common security measure with underground movements or sabotage rings. He did add that he had delivered the chemical he'd ordered to Wood's house a week earlier. At this point Ed and I decided we'd extracted all we could from him, and we so informed Sam. Sam made a phone call and afterward told us that two other government agents, "Smith" and "Jones," from an unnamed agency would be coming to take Gowdy away.

Ed and I looked at each other, understanding that this did not portend well for Gowdy's future. We remembered that after "Smith" and "Jones" had taken Gilberto/Saud away, he'd never been heard from again. In any event, we had more urgent tasks than concern ourselves about Gowdy's future.

"I may be just guessing," Ed said, "but I think the most likely place where the chemicals are stored and where they'll manufacture the explosive is Wood's house. It's big enough, and looks like it has a basement. We know it's got a three-car garage." I agreed.

"Look, it's now ten P.M. We've been up all day and we're whacked out with fatigue. I think we ought to get some rest and take this up in the morning. We can interview Wood's neighbors and see what his lifestyle is like." Ed nodded and we drove to our motel in separate cars.

Next morning, after a substantial breakfast, we drove to the office to plan our day and to coordinate with Sam and Fred. Fred reported that Fellows had come home at 11 P.M. and he'd then abandoned the surveillance. Sam put him to work checking telephone billing records for all suspects so far identified, as we wanted to build up a matrix of probable contacts and members of the cell. Meanwhile, Ed and I were going to drive out to try to glean information from Wood's neighbors.

We found his immediate neighbor very helpful. She was a housewife with three school-age children who told us that Wood was a print shop owner with his business in town. He was single, but she didn't know if he was widowed, divorced, or never married. She even allowed that he might be gay, since only other men visited his home and she had never seen him with a woman. He'd been living there five years, and seemed to be a good neighbor, not causing anyone problems. However, he wasn't overly friendly, keeping mostly to himself.

We thanked her and left. What she'd told us was helpful, but hardly a smoking gun. Back at the office we conferred with Fred and Sam.

"We still think that Wood's house is the most likely place to store the chemicals, mix them, and assemble the bomb," Ed said, restating yesterday's conclusions.

"One of the most valuable bits of information we got from Gowdy was that the cell is very compartmentalized," I added. "This impedes us, but the good part is that we can take Wood down without alarming most of the members. Even if one suspects Wood's been arrested, he can't communicate his concerns to the others. I'd like to go there this afternoon, search the house, and then bust Wood when he gets home."

"No, if you find something don't wait for him to get home," Sam said. He might be alerted if he sees your cars outside or near his house, and you two searching his house. It might be better to bust him where he works. You can just walk in like any other customers and by the time he realizes he's in trouble you'll have him cuffed." Sam was right. Ed and I hadn't reasoned it out because we were foggy from fatigue.

"Okay, we'll do it that way then," I said. "We'll take our ballistic vests with us in our cars, and if we find something conclusive at the house, we'll go straight to his print shop and take him down."

"Can we have Fred stake out his shop?" Ed asked Sam. "I know he's usually at work, but if for some reason he decides to go home early it wouldn't do to have him surprise us."

"Do that," Sam told Fred. "You've got their cell phone numbers, right? If you see Wood heading home, give them a ring so that they can clear the area." Fred nodded, and we got up to leave.

Ed and I parked the Toyota down the block from Wood's house and walked around the house, hoping to find an unlocked entry. Although we didn't need a search warrant because of the urgency of the situation, we preferred to walk right in rather than pick a lock. The house was locked down tightly, and we saw that there were alarm tapes around the windows and induction sensors on each door. I phoned Sam, asking him to contact the alarm company and advise them that they were to disregard any alarm, as a search was in progress.

I picked the front door lock with a kit I'd retrieved from the car. It was a simple tumbler deadbolt lock, and I surmised that Wood didn't consider a more secure lock necessary because of the alarm system. Inside the house there were the usual furnishings in the three bedrooms, the living room, dining room, and kitchen. One room was set up as an office, with a desktop computer, fax machine, and a safe. We couldn't guess what was in the safe and didn't have the skill or the time to open it.

There was no basement but the garage was pay-dirt. We found drums of chemicals, some liquid and some solid, as well as a mixing vat and smaller containers presumably to hold the finished product. On a workbench there was also a kitchen timer modified with electric wires running from it, and I pointed this out to Ed:

"This may not be a suicide bomb attack after all. For that they'd just need a switch. I guess the driver of the truck plans to park, set the timer, and walk away, just like McVeigh did."

"I'll buy that," Ed replied. "Want me to phone Sam and tell him what we found?"

"Yeah, you do that, and meanwhile I'll phone Fred on his cell and confirm that Wood's still at his shop." After we'd finished our calls we went to the car and brought back the ballistic vests. Inside the house we removed our jackets and shirts and put on the vests, carefully arranging our clothes to conceal the vests and the shoulder holsters we wore under our jackets. As Fred had told us that Wood was inside the shop with two of his employees we went there, arriving at four P.M.

We heard a bell ring as we entered the shop, alerting Wood that customers were in his lobby. He came out to greet us, and I smiled and extended my hand to shake his. As he grasped my hand I twisted his arm behind his back as Ed grabbed his other hand, and we had him in handcuffs in a couple of seconds. After we'd searched him we identified ourselves to his employees, who had been attracted by the slight commotion, and then drove Mr. Wood to the office.

"We found some very interesting material in your house," I began after we'd sat him down in the interrogation room. It was empty because "Smith" and "Jones" had collected Gowdy that morning. Wood said nothing, but looked very dejected, as he understood that the chemicals were very incriminating.

"Now we can do this the hard way or the easy way," Ed said gently. "You're not charged with murder, and if you cooperate, with luck you might get a light sentence. On the other hand, if you don't cooperate and break our chops, the court can come down very hard on you." This wasn't the good cop/bad cop routine you see on TV, but a simple appeal to self-interest, and it worked like a charm.

Wood explained that he wasn't Moslem himself, but was working for the terrorist network because they'd promised him a million dollars to organize the cell and use his home for preparing the bomb. His contact was a terrorist leader who would be visiting him in a couple of weeks, and would bring with him a quantity of radioactive isotopes. This made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

"Fuck fuck, fuck!" I thought to myself. Radioactive isotopes dispersed by conventional explosives will contaminate the affected area for years. Anyone who inhales some of the material after the explosion will most likely become very ill and possibly die. There was a very real possibility that detonating such a device in downtown Denver would cause thousands of casualties on top of those killed or injured in the explosion.

As the evening wore on, we extracted from Wood the number of men in his cell (10), the combination to his safe, and the timetable. Among other things, the safe contained the down payment made to Wood and the names and addresses of all cell members. The bomb was to have been completed in three weeks' time, and detonated the next day. Ed and I relaxed slightly on hearing this, as it meant we had some slack time.

More problems faced us, though. We had to round up all cell members, and tackle the problem of how to handle the terrorist leader due in two weeks' time. By now it was 10 P.M. and we were exhausted. Fatigue showed in our faces, for Sam came in and told us unequivocally to take the next day off.

"That goes for Fred, too," Sam added. "Tell him when you see him. He's put in 110 percent too."

Fred met us as we were leaving, and suggested we crash at his apartment, which was closer than our motel. We left our cars parked at the office and Fred drove us to his place. We hadn't eaten dinner, and we welcomed the hearty sandwiches Fred put together from the left-over roast beef, washed down with several glasses of wine.

We undressed and climbed into Fred's bed. It was a tight fit for three of us, but fatigue overwhelmed us and we dropped into a deep sleep. Next morning I came awake with my usual erection, but acutely conscious that warm fingers were wrapped around it and stroking my foreskin gently up and down. I opened my eyes and saw that Fred, who was sandwiched between me and Ed, had both our pricks in his hands and was enjoying working on them. Fred's prick was also erect, flat against his abdomen, but I didn't know if this was because his bladder was full or from the excitement of playing with our foreskins.

Now Ed came awake, his eyes immediately going to his prick, encased in Fred's encircling fingers. He reached for Ed's stiff organ, squeezing the head rhythmically, producing an immediate sigh of delight from Fred.

"We're all stiff, and I don't think we can pee this way," Fred announced.

"I'm sure you've got an idea," Ed replied for us.

Fred's response was to take a small, battery powered cylindrical vibrator from the draw in the bedside table. He crawled back to us and told us to lie facing each other. He clasped our hard pricks together, placing the vibrator between them and turning it on. A pleasant vibration penetrated the underside of my penis from base to head.

"He's going to make us come this way," I said to Ed, who was staring avidly into my eyes.

"There are worse ways to get our rocks off," Ed replied.

"After we unload, we'll take care of you," I said to Fred, who was now moving our foreskins up and down while the vibrator filled our pricks with sensation. He was using both hands, thumbs riding our rims while his other fingers kept the vibrator locked between our rigid shafts. The nose of the vibrator, from which the strongest sensations were coming, was pressed into our triangular grooves, buzzing into our gee-strings.

He must have been using fresh batteries, because the erotic buzzing was intense, and I knew that we wouldn't be able to hold back our orgasms for long. The pressure in our bladders increased the tension, and although I was trying to relax, I felt it building inexorably toward the climax.

"This is hot," Ed murmured as he seized both my hands in his. With our pricks parallel to our bodies and clamped between them, we were very close. I felt his heartbeat as his chest pressed against mine. Fred was still thumbing my corona, and I felt my helmet swell further while it was aching for release. Ed's eyes glazed over as we approached the point of no return.

"You guys are hot," Fred commented. "I feel how your rims just got harder. I'm going to watch you shoot your loads through your skins." I was getting a tickle in both my rim and my gee-string from the dual sensations, and I knew that release was only seconds away. Ed began to moan helplessly, caught up in the whirlwind of sensation, and I knew we were at the same level, ready to shoot in a couple of seconds. My insides tightened as the tickling sensation in my glans changed to the familiar hot tingle, and my eyes closed as I began grunting.

"HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted as my insides exploded, the spasms ripping through me and sending a torrent of cream burning up my tube. Ed, too, was crying out as the hot spasms shot through his body. I felt a flood of hot sperm inside my foreskin as it poured out the end, and Ed's body strained against mine as the tidal wave of orgasm hit him.

The buzzing seemed to become more intense against my throbbing helmet, lancing through the foreskin to pierce the nerve endings deep inside. I cried out again as another wave of hot liquid poured from my orifice to swirl around my trapped tip before gushing through the nozzle. I felt the throbs of Ed's prick as he joyously released his sperm, and knew he was also feeling mine.

We drained ourselves completely, aided by Fred's intense ministrations to our coronas, as the unrelenting buzzing shocked our penile nerve endings. I yelped because the sensations were becoming too intense, and Fred released our pricks and removed the vibrator. We gratefully sank into the afterglow, utterly sated.

A couple of minutes later, I felt an urgent need to pee and opened my eyes. Ed obviously felt the same way, for he pulled away from me and headed toward the bathroom. We stood side by side at the toilet, skinning back to let our cream drip into the bowl while our yellow streams shot forcefully downward. Fred's eyes were fixed on our draining pricks as he stood silently appreciating the scene, his hard prick standing proudly in front of him.

We dabbed at our wet helmets with toilet paper and then pushed our foreskins down to envelop the precious tips before returning to the bedroom. We hugged each other and then hugged Fred gratefully before gently pushing him flat on the bed.

"We're both going to work on you, Fred," Ed told him as he cupped Fred's scrotum. I leaned over and clasped the base of Fred's shaft in my fist in a clamping action to constrict the veins and increase his hardness. My lips enveloped his glans, feeling the rim swell and flare as the blood pressure inside it increased. I saw Ed run his other hand along Fred's inner thighs, adding to his sensations, as I tickled the lips of Fred's slit with my tongue-tip.

"I can't, I can't..." Fred cried out as the full force of the combined sensations hit him. I knew he was already primed by having brought on our orgasms, and he was poised on the brink. I twisted my head to give him a rotating movement around his hard flaring corona, the delicious sideways friction that always brought on orgasm, and heard him cry out as his helmet throbbed against my lips and tongue. A hot jet flooded my mouth as his slit spat its first load, and I swallowed hard.

Fred cried out again, and another heavy discharge filled my mouth. His prick was smaller than ours, but his discharges were heavier. Ed and I felt his body writhing as we continued to pull the orgasm from him. His hot hard glans throbbed against my tongue again, and I tasted the saltiness and smelled the chlorine odor of his sperm as it filled my mouth.

We continued to draw the jets from Fred's straining prick until there was nothing left. Ed's fingers pressed into the underside of his body behind his balls to push the residue forward, while I carefully milked his prick from the base forward. Fred lay torpid on the bed, utterly drained, utterly exhausted, and utterly still, his breathing coming back to normal.

Later when he'd recovered, we showered together in the small shower stall, the crowding enhancing the intimacy. Fred's erection had subsided, and the hot water flowing down his prick made him drain his bladder. Meanwhile, Ed and I had a renewed urge to pee because the hot water had the same effect on us. Ed lovingly pinched our foreskin nipples to make the hoods swell, and then released them to let the flows go down the drain.

We dressed and went out to breakfast, taking our time because we'd been ordered to take the day off. Something was bothering me, but I couldn't focus on the thought because I was still foggy from the residual effects of fatigue.

"We've got the day off, but I really want to go back to bed and get some rest," Ed said as we finished our breakfasts. With our stomachs full, we relaxed despite the copious amounts of coffee we'd drunk, and the idea seemed very good to me.

"I'll head back to my place," Fred told us. "I can use more rest too." We parted, and Ed and I drove back to our motel, where we crashed. After a few hours we got up, read the newspaper, and watched the TV news. Not a word had appeared regarding the terrorist cell, and it seemed that Sam was effectively keeping it under wraps. Unlike the poisonous political atmosphere in Washington, law enforcement officers who worked the streets didn't try to get attention by leaks.

Later that day, a thought that had been at the back of my mind leaped to the forefront. Wood had told us that his cell was compartmentalized. If so, then what had Walker been doing telephoning Fellows and Gowdy? Had Wood been lying? Perhaps Fellows, Gowdy, and Walker had known each other previously.

"Ed, our research showed that Walker phoned Gowdy and a couple of others. If they're so strictly compartmented, how did he do that? How did he know any of the other cell members?" Ed turned his head to face me, insight slowly dawning.

"Yeah, how?" he asked to nobody in particular. "If the others start comparing notes, they'll find out that they haven't heard from Wood for a few days, and maybe one of them will take a run by his house and see that something's wrong."

"Maybe one of them has already," I conjectured. "Then our operation's blown."

"Well, we've got the chemicals. They won't be able to do much without them," Ed said.

"But they might scatter and re-form somewhere else under new identities, and we'll have to start all over again," I objected. "I'm calling Sam."

I explained our discussion to Sam, and he agreed that we'd better come in and start running down the remaining members of the cell. On the way to the office we detoured to Walker's house. A car was in his driveway. Maybe by luck he was there for us to scoop up. By this time we had no doubt we had to hurry and round up the "usual suspects."

We were going to arrest Walker, but we weren't going to give him any chance of resisting. Ed was in the Saab and I was in the Camry. We conferred by cell phone around the corner from Walker's house and decided on a plan. We wanted to get him out of his house on a ruse. I started up again and swung around the corner, veering into Walker's driveway to smash into the read end of his car. Ed was right behind me, and parked at the curb. A couple of people emerged from the house across the street, staring.

A man came out of Walker's house, small, dark, and looking Middle Eastern. He looked at the damage to his car and then at me. I was climbing out of the Camry, and Ed clambered out of the Saab, shouting:

"I saw it! I saw the whole thing! He must be drunk!" He approached us, and I stepped closer to Walker, saying:

"No, I'm not drunk. I just lost control for a moment. My insurance will pay for the damage." By this time I was within touching distance, and I grabbed Walker by the sleeve of his suit jacket. Ed stepped right behind him and within seconds we had the cuffs on him before he realized what was happening. A quick frisk revealed that he had a knife inside his right sock, and I removed it and put it in my pocket.

At the office we put Walker into the interrogation room. He was definitely frightened, because he knew secret police tactics from his own country, and was no longer pretending to be an American. Ed, Sam and I conferred in Sam's office.

"I think we ought to round up all the people on Wood's list pronto," Sam declared, understanding the urgency. "We won't have to continue with matching them up with the telephone billing records or anything else. Now Even with Fred, helping, it's going to take some time."

"Right, Sam," Ed interjected. "Not to say anything against Fred, but by himself he isn't much help in making arrests. We don't want to see anyone making an arrest alone. Jack and I are used to working together and we have a good teamwork approach to this that minimizes the danger."

"I can see you need more help," Sam agreed. "I'm going to phone your supervisor and ask for another team to be sent out. Any particular guys you'd like to work with?"

"I think we'd prefer Bryce and Jacobs," I said quickly. We'd worked together in the past and we'd always found them to be dependable.

"Bryce and Jacobs it is," Sam said. "Now how about going out and rounding up another member of the cell?" Ed and I filed out of the office, stopping at the temporary desk we shared. I picked up a message that had not been there before and read it.

"Buffalo Police got back to us. They said that James Walker is living and working in Buffalo."

"No shit, Sherlock," said Ed in a sarcastic tone. We donned our ballistic vests and then went out to the parking lot, where Ed got into the Saab and I got into a Honda CRV, the replacement for the Toyota I'd damaged while arresting Walker. We drove to Fellows' apartment house, parking our cars down the block. By this time it was early evening and we hoped that Fellows would be home. He didn't work, we thought, but maybe he was out at a movie. From the street we saw that there were no lights in his apartment. This could mean he wasn't home or that he was fast asleep.

"Let's take a chance," I urged. "I say we pick the pock and go into Fellows' apartment. If he's asleep we may surprise him. If he's not home we can stake the place out until he gets there." Ed agreed and a minute later I was working my pick into the cylinder of Fellow's door lock, trying to be very quiet. Ed stood behind me, pistol in his hand, in case of any unpleasant surprises.

The locked clicked open, and I eased open the door. The lights were still out, except for a night light coming from the bathroom. I gently pushed the door shut and locked it from the inside. We spread out, silently examining the apartment, until we were satisfied that nobody was home. We went back to the living room and took seats on opposite sides of the door. Now the hardest part of this task would begin. We had to remain watchful, alert to anything, and ready to move instantly if Fellows came through that door. Both Ed and I were tired, and it would be hard resisting the urge to sleep. We couldn't talk to keep awake, either, for if Fellows came home and heard our voices, he'd rabbit.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," I thought to myself. "This is going to be an unpleasant evening. Worse, I don't know how fucking long we're going to be in this rat-hole." I could barely see Ed, but I knew him well enough to know he was thinking similar thoughts.

It was hard, but we sat there silently, and we kept ourselves awake by getting up and moving around every ten minutes or so. I'd do stretching exercise, touching my toes, while Ed would flap his arms. We knew we had to avoid getting stiff because we'd have to be alert and limber if Fellows suddenly came through the door. It wouldn't do to have a muscle cramp or a leg fall asleep from inactivity.

The Indiglo face of my cheap digital watch read 10:14 when we heard footsteps outside, and a moment later we heard a key slide into the lock. Ed and I stood on each side of the door, and when it opened we tensed, ready to spring. A man came in, his hand reaching for the light switch. The moment the room came alight, we sprung. We each grabbed an arm and pushed him firmly to the carpeted floor. He went down with a "thunk" that took the breath out of him, and before he could recover Ed had tightened the handcuffs around his wrists.

We pulled Fellows to his feet and quickly patted him down, but found no weapons. We took his keys, locked his apartment, and marched him outside, where we used my handcuffs to fasten him to a seat support in the back of my Honda CRV. Ed followed me in his Saab as we headed for the office.

In the interrogation room, we didn't bother stripping him. His Middle Eastern accent was prominent, and his attitude defiant. He didn't pretend to be an innocent American citizen, but simply told us that whatever we did to him, he was proud to be a martyr to the cause.

"You're not a very good martyr," I told him. "Your orders were to remain compartmentalized, yet you repeatedly telephoned some of your colleagues, such as the man we know as Gowdy. Does your God love stupid martyrs who get their comrades arrested through their carelessness or stupidity?" This seemed to shock him, as he apparently had not thought that telephone calls would lead to his doorstep.

"I did not call Gowdy," he hissed. "Gowdy called me! He is the one who broke security!" I listened avidly, as Fellows' words were positive confirmation that we'd been on the right track with him.

"That's all right," Ed said. "We have Gowdy in custody too."

"How many others have called you, or have you called?" I asked. I thought we didn't really need the answer, as we had the statement from Wood and the telephone company records, but in an investigation as critical as this one, it was wise to double-check everything. One loose end could cause a lot of trouble.

Fellows gave us three other names, and they were on our list. Now I felt we had exhausted the possibilities for the moment, and we could easily leave him to be collected by "Smith" and "Jones" for whatever they intended to do with him.

Sam had already gone home, and we left him a note on his desk. We left Fellows locked in the interrogation room, which had an attached toilet, and headed for our motel, again taking both cars. At this critical stage, we had no idea what surprise might be just around the corner, and it was smart for each of us to have his transportation.

We were by now too tired to be hungry, and we undressed and flopped into bed as soon as we entered our room. The good part about our extreme fatigue was that we fell asleep immediately, not to awaken until seven the next morning. We awoke hungry, and after a quick shower and shave we went off to eat a large breakfast again. Our experience on this case had made it clear that lunch was a luxury we couldn't take for granted.

We drifted into the office later than usual, about nine, and found Sam and Fred waiting for us. Bryce and Jacobs, our reinforcements, had arrived late the previous night and were also in the office. They, too, were in civilian clothing and eager to take part in the investigation. Sam began the briefing:

"Our task is to round up the usual suspects as quickly as possible. This is top priority, so Fred and I are going to drop everything else and work at this with you. I think the immediate danger is over, as we've secured the chemicals and thus eliminated the immediate danger of building a bomb. However, the remaining six suspects are still at large, and if they escape and go underground I'm sure we'll be hearing from them again. Fred was able to download a photograph of each one from the national intelligence database. Now I'm going to let Jack and Ed lay out the plan to apprehend these suspects, since they've been working on the case from the start and in fact have already taken four of them into custody." At this point the office door opened and "Smith" and "Jones" entered. I unlocked the door to the interrogation room and they took charge of Fellows. As before, they gave him an injection that rendered him unconscious within seconds before taking him away.

"Okay, here's what we've got," I began. "We've got six dangerous guys out there, but we're not absolutely sure of how to locate them. We have their addresses and their phone numbers, but we don't know if they work or where. We also don't know if any of them have alternate addresses in case of emergencies. We'll split up into three teams and start working the addresses. That gives each team two addresses each. We can shuttle back and forth between the addresses until we find our suspect is home or we discover his whereabouts. If one team gets lucky and apprehends their two suspects immediately, they start looking for another one from one of the teams." The others nodded agreement, and we left the office.

Ed and I got lucky. The first name on our two-person list lived in an apartment in a single-story development. Each apartment had its own patio, garden, and covered parking space. There was a car in our suspect's parking space. We pulled into other parking spaces several doors away that were conveniently vacant because the residents were at work.

Then we got really lucky. Our man was just coming out of his door, heading for his car. I shouted at him from about 20 feet away:

"Hey, can you tell me where Bill Dupont lives?" I had just made up that name, with the question designed to keep him occupied while Ed closed the distance behind him. It worked like a charm. Our suspect was in handcuffs before he knew what was happening, and we searched him and took him back to the office, where we discovered that Bryce and Jacobs had been even luckier. Despite their unfamiliarity with Colorado Springs, they had quickly located one suspect's address and had captured him as he was entering his front door struggling with a couple of grocery bags. We had two down, and four to go.

I got Sam on his cell-phone and gave him the good news. He and Fred had been less lucky. A neighbor had told them that they had missed the first person on their list by five minutes, and they had not come close at all to the second suspect.

We had locked both of our suspects in the interrogation room. At this point, it didn't matter if they compared notes and decided how to resist interrogation. Ed, with his twisted sense of humor, went out to buy ham sandwiches for their lunch. We left the office and stopped at the same delicatessen for sandwiches, calculating that we would eat them while driving.

The second person on our list wasn't home, the neighbors had no idea where he was or when he'd return, and our only choice were to stake out the premises or come back later. At this point I got a cell-phone call from Bryce and Jacobs. They told us that their second suspect lived in an apartment complex with parking lots on all sides, and that although a neighbor had informed them that the suspect usually returned home at four P.M., they simply could not cover all sides without splitting up, which in principle they were reluctant to do. I agreed with them, and told them that we'd be right there.

After a short conference we agreed that Ed and I would stay in the southwest corner of the parking lot, and that Bryce and Jacobs would cover the northeast corner. This way each team would be able to cover two sides of the building at once. We all were wearing our ballistic vests but for this operation we also carried small portable radios, the sort used by the Secret Service on protection details. There's an earplug at the end of a wire coming up from under the jacket collar, and a microphone that clips inside the jacket sleeve. This allowed inconspicuous communication, although I don't fully understand how somebody talking into his sleeve can be truly inconspicuous.

We'd been watching from our respective cars for over and hour when we heard a message from Bryce saying he'd just spotted his man getting out of his car. Ed and I hurried through the entrance on our side of the building in case the suspect tried to escape through the building. By the time we Got to the other side Bryce and Jacobs had already taken him down. He was standing, hands cuffed behind his back, while Jacobs gave him a through pat-down.

To date, our pat-downs hadn't been really thorough. We'd searched for obvious weapons such as a gun or knife, but had not closely examined seams and collars for suicide tablets. It seemed strange but for a group of people prepared to make suicide attacks, they did not issue lethal pills to prevent us from extracting information from them.

Bryce and Jacobs took their prisoner back to the office while Ed and I went back to our remaining suspect's apartment. We ran into him just as he was coming out the door, and we subdued and cuffed him almost effortlessly.

Back at the office we gathered our prisoners in the interrogation room when Sam and Fred walked in, escorting two prisoners. This surprised us. We had not tought two of them would be caught together. Actually, they had not been together. When Sam and Fred told us how they captured their two targets, we stared in admiration. I thought that, if there were a Nobel Prize for boldness and nerve, these two deserved it.

They had captured one suspect returning from the grocery store. While transporting him back to the office they realized that the second man on their list lived only a block off the route they would have to take. They decided to detour just on the chance that they might spot him. Their second suspect was unlocking the door of his car when they pulled up. Sam shouted to him:

"Hey! Your friend here wants to talk to you!" Completely bewildered, the second suspect came over to their car and leaned in through the open window. Within seconds, he too had steel bracelets around his wrists.

This made a clean sweep, but we were still not satisfied. We decided to interrogate them to find out if there were any more cell members on the loose. We didn't expect any, but at this stage it wouldn't hurt to ask. None of them would admit to anything, which didn't surprise us.

We had too many prisoners to retain in our own facility, and we drove them to the county jail where they were placed in an isolated cell block. Bryce and Jacobs decided to fly out that evening, as there were seats available on the last flight, and Sam told Ed, Fred, and me to get some rest.

Fred invited us back to his apartment, where he ordered in a large pizza. None of us had the energy to undertake any cooking, and we felt that a simple repast would be perfect for us. On the way we had picked up a couple of six-packs of Lowenbrau, and we felt that this would make up for the semi-starvation of the last few days.

We were really wired at our success, and smiled foolishly at each other as we ate. Ed simpered unbelievingly:

"Can you imagine? We got them. We got them all!"

"Not so fast," I checked him. "What about Mohammed Massoud? He's the one coming in with the nuclear stuff in a couple of weeks."

"I mean the fuckers here in town," he countered. "We got them all. Massoud can wait."

"He's right," Fred addressed me. "Right now we can relax and worry about Massoud later." We finished the pizza and beer in silence, the tension draining from our bodies. After eating we went into the living room, sitting together on the couch.

"Well, we can celebrate tonight," I said. Actually, we were not in the best shape to celebrate much, as fatigue washed over our bodies.

"I'd like you guys to stay with me tonight," Fred said. "I'm glad I got a chance to work with you. I learned a lot."

"We're glad we had the chance to work with you and Sam," I said. "You two had balls the way you captured that last asshole. You're going to be legends." Fred got up and stripped off his clothes. Ed and I shed our uniforms and then we headed for the bedroom.

We cuddled together sleepily in the crowded bed, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies, and then we fell asleep, happy and relaxed. I awoke shortly after seven. I was hard, and I felt warm fingers gently squeezing my prick. I opened my eyes to see Fred's hand on me. Ed was still asleep, and Fred was as hard as I was.

"I'd like you to dock me," Fred whispered.

"We'll wake up Ed," I whispered back.

"No, I'll wake up Ed," he said as he began sliding the foreskin on Ed's morning wood. Ed moaned and then his eyes opened.

"What, again?" he said in mock surprise.

"Jack's going to dock me, and then I'll bring you off with my mouth," Fred informed him. "Meanwhile, you get to watch." Ed smiled and Fred and I lay on our sides, face to face. His naked helmet was touching my foreskin's pucker.

"I'm glad you've got enough skin to keep the head covered even when you're hard. With some guys, the skin goes back when they get hard and sometimes it looks like they've been cut." As he spoke I grasped the edges of my foreskin and slid it over his head. He immediately began thrusting gently against my glans, compressing the rounded front dome. The touch of his hard helmet against mine sent an electric thrill down my shaft and I felt the first drop of lube begin crawling up my urethra.

I kept working my foreskin over his rim, with a couple of other fingers pressed against the other side of his glans. As we were both hard from the outset, and had the pressure in our bladders adding to the tension, it was a safe bet neither of us would last long.

Ed added to our excitement by reaching over Fred's body and cupping our sacs. His warm fingers closed around mine, squeezing very gently to fuel my fire.

"It's getting slippery in there," Fred commented as his helmet slid up over mine, and I felt the twin lobes of his glans sliding again the broad upper surface of mine. I was lubing heavily now, and the nose of his glans was no longer compressing mine, but sliding around it. I kept my fingers clamped around the end of my foreskin, which was in the groove behind his corona. We began breathing heavily because the excitement was catching up to us.

"I can feel your rim getting harder and swelling more,' I said to him.

"Both your balls are really tight," added Ed. "You're both close." I knew he was right, as Fred had deepened his thrusts and now I had increased the pressure of my fingers, working the foreskin over his hard helmet.

"I've got a tickle in my rim," Fred said.

"My tickle just started in the front of my helmet," I replied. Now Fred had grasped his shaft and was sliding his glans sideways across the front of mine, making the lips of our orifices kiss and spreading them with each stroke. This enhanced our sensations, and made the tickle spread down to the rim of my helmet. Our breathing was faster and more shallow, and it was clear that we'd be unloading within seconds.

"Just watching and feeling you guys is keeping me hard," commented Ed. "I haven't touched my cock at all, just your nut sacs.

Fred had begun to grunt softly in time with his thrusts, and now I gave my foreskin several twists to add to his sensations. I, too, felt the sideways strokes, and my tickle became more intense. I was now breathing hard, totally caught up in the spirit of our mutual joining, and the tickle in my helmet was turning into the familiar hot tingle. My eyes closed.

"Any second," I muttered, just as Fred trust hard, deep into my foreskin, stretching its many delicate nerve endings. The hot tingle in my glans exploded, sending a fiery thrill down to the root of my prick, which started throbbing. The first hot jet poured into my urethra, and I felt the intense, burning tickling as it rushed up my tube, making me cry out helplessly.

I felt it slamming through the lips of my slit as it poured out to bathe Fred's thrusting glans with its liquid fire. I heard him grunt hard as his hot hard helmet throbbed against mine, and an instant later I felt the hot flood pouring from his tip to swirl around mine. Now we both shot again, hot tips throbbing against each other, further filling my foreskin with burning liquid.

I was consumed by the heavy pounding of orgasm as I cried out again, floating in the free-fall of my orgasm. His helmet hammered against mine as he discharged another load, and I felt my foreskin was tightly stretched, totally distended by the volume of hot sperm swirling inside it. I couldn't hold it, and I felt the viscous liquid pouring out over my encircling fingers as it escaped from my foreskin.

Our helmets were swimming in sperm, but I still felt the throbs from his as we both continued to expel our juices. Our bodies strained in the throes of successive hot thrills as we grunted and moaned helplessly.

Lesser spasms now shook our bodies, and our ejaculations became less forceful, until they dwindled to a few drops still seeping from our orifices. I felt myself sinking into the usual torpor that follows orgasm. My eyes were still closed but I felt Fred withdrawing his shrinking prick from my hood. Then I felt someone wrapping paper tissues around my prick and I lay still as our combined juices drained out of my foreskin into the soft absorbent paper.

Now I heard Ed moan, and I opened my eyes to see Ed flat on his back with Fred crouching over him, his head bobbing up and down. Orgasm had sedated me, but Fred seemed to have been energized. He was holding Ed's prick firmly around the base, clamping the foreskin tightly back to ensure that Ed's helmet was completely naked so that his lips and tongue reached every surface, every contour.

For a moment Fred lifted his mouth and I saw Ed's naked purple helmet, the front dragged slightly downward by the tension of his frenulum. Fred's tongue darted out, probing Ed's long slit, and then his lips engulfed Ed's glans once more. His lips locked into the groove behind Ed's flaring corona, and now Fred twisted his mouth on the captive prick, bringing forth louder moans from Ed.

Ed had been watching our penile coupling and had helped by cupping our balls. This had him very hot and primed for his orgasm. Now, with Fred's hot mouth working on his prick, he wouldn't last long. His scrotum was already tight against his body, and when Fred lifted his mouth to begin a rapid up-and-down pumping, I saw that Ed's helmet was dark with retained blood.

Fred was moaning as his eager lips and mouth pumped Ed's glans, and Ed was breathing hard as his excitement mounted rapidly. It would take only a few seconds for Fred to suck the sperm from his swollen prick, and the tone of his breathing changed to loud moaning as the sensations built to a crescendo. I guessed that he by now must be feeling the hot tingle that immediately precedes the explosion, and the movement of his hips confirmed this.

"HAAAAHHHHNNNN!" Ed howled as the orgasm overtook him, and I saw him throw his head back as his jaw dropped. Fred's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the first stream to erupt from Ed's throbbing helmet, and he pumped his lips again, riding over Ed's flaring purple rim and locking into the groove behind it. Ed howled again as his hips thrust upward, and his second discharge flooded Fred's mouth.

Ed again thrust upward as Fred efficiently drained him of his third load, and then Fred lifted his head so that only his lips touched the throbbing glans, enclosing the orifice that kept spurting jets into his mouth. Ed's helmet was now over-sensitive, and more friction would overload him.

Ed's glans and shaft glistened wetly as he blew his last gushes into Fred's mouth. He was still moaning but I knew that his streams had slowed to dribbles. Fred faithfully kept his lips pursed around Ed's orifice, avidly swallowing the last drops. Ed's penis began to soften and Fred milked the urethra, beginning behind his balls and then continuing along the bottom of his shaft, until he'd drained every drop of residue. Now he gently eased the foreskin up over the helmet to enclose and protect it.

After a couple of minutes we were recovered enough to take our showers. We squeezed into the small shower stall, overheated bodies against each other, enjoying the intimacy as the hot water sprayed over us.

"Can you dock me while you pee?" Fred asked me. "I know what it feels like to have your juice shooting against my head, but I'd like to feel what you feel when you pee with that skin." We faced each other and I quickly enveloped his glans with my long hood as I relaxed my sphincter. I felt my hot stream gushing into my foreskin swirling around my helmet and no doubt his as well. A relaxed smile came to his face and I was glad to provide him with a sensation he'd never felt before.

"Your hot pee, it's making me go too," he whispered, and I felt a strong gush against the front of my helmet as he let go, filling my foreskin and distending it further. I wasn't clamping it tightly around his shaft, and our combined streams flowed freely, creating a gap between my foreskin and his prick. It took only a minute at most to empty our bladders, and then Fred withdrew his penis and turned to Ed.

"Did you pee yet?" he asked him.

"No, I came only a couple of minutes ago and haven't yet relaxed enough," he responded.

"Would you dock me when you pee?" Fred asked.

Ed quickly placed his prick in front of Fred's and pulled out the foreskin opening to dock Fred's shrunken prick almost to the base. Now I saw his body visibly relax as he consciously let go his sphincter. Fred again got a beatific look on his face as Ed's hot stream flowed around his glans, rinsing it thoroughly and pouring out between Ed's foreskin and his shaft.

We tenderly soaped each other's bodies, and then rinsed and dried off. By this time we'd developed strong appetites, and we decided to go out to breakfast. Ed and I had to arrange our flight home, and Fred had to report to the office to tidy up the paperwork with Sam. We accompanied him to the office, where we used our government travel warrants to obtain our airline tickets. We learned that "Smith" and "Jones," busy fellows, had already collected our prisoners from the jail. The flight was at three, and we returned to the motel to pack and check out, and then turned in our cars at the office. Sam assigned Fred to drive us to the airport, and we said goodbye as he dropped us at the outgoing flights deck.

When we got back to Special Ops the next day, our supervisor summoned us into the conference room. Inside were a representative from the DIA, CIA, FBI, and a couple of other alphabet soup agencies. The net result was that we had information regarding the terrorist leader, whose name was "Malawi." Our agents in Europe had traced him to Great Britain, where he was staying at a safe house in Ruislip, a suburb of London. NSA had intercepted some of his cell-phone calls, and I wondered how this could have happened.

It was public knowledge that our NSA eavesdropped on cell-phone conversations around the world, and most terrorist networks had abandoned their use, instead relying on couriers to carry sensitive information. Again, perhaps Malawi had calculated that we didn't know his name or location, and that his calls would be lost amidst the billions that took place every day. In any event, I was certain that Malawi was an alias, as it's a common Middle Eastern name.

Our supervisor assigned Ed and me to carry out the arrest of Malawi when he arrived. He apparently intended to fly to New York City from London, arriving at Kennedy Airport at seven in the evening on September 25th. We had Bruce and Jacobs as a back-up team, and I felt good about that. They were as experienced as we were, and the only reason Ed and I were the primary team was that we'd been on the case from the start.

"Take some time off until then," our supervisor told Ed and me. "You've been working real hard in Colorado, and I want you guys fresh when you arrest Malawi. There's no room for error at this stage."

Ed and I drove to our house in our government unmarked Crown Victoria IIs, and once inside, we quickly undressed. We had several days to ourselves, barring last minute changes of plan, and we intended to make the most of them.

The first step was foreplay. I grasped the tip of Ed's long, pendulous foreskin between thumb and forefinger, stretching it all the way out, and he did the same to me. I watched as the long hood stretched, the outline of his rim becoming even more prominent as the skin thinned. I felt the nerve endings in my foreskin being stretched under the tension, and the gentle friction as the hood slid over my glans added to the sensations.

The core of my prick swelled to fill out my foreskin, as did Ed's, and soon we were fully hard. Our helmets bulged under their hoods, and I shifted my fingers to stroke Ed's glans through its fleshy covering. We shifted around on the bed to a "69" position, and I saw Ed's prick pointing directly at my face. I tickled the hairs on his sac with my fingertips, watching the scrotum contract to draw his balls close to his body.

The aroma of his foreskin filled the air, the male perfume exciting me. I insinuated my tongue into the pucker, tasting the salty flavor of his natural lube, and I felt his tongue probing into my hood, seeking out my helmet. His tongue-tip probed my slit, and then swiped across it, giving me an electric thrill. Ed shuddered as I probed his slit, and then traced small circles around it with my tongue-tip.

"I love the way your cock smells," he said. I began stroking his foreskin gently as my tongue probed more deeply into his hood. The glassy smooth texture of his hard helmet was against my tongue, and I swirled it around the circumference of his head, stretching his foreskin's many nerve endings. I smelled not only his foreskin aroma, but the sweat from his shaft and scrotum.

"I think you'll be ready to go before me," he told me. "Your tip's really hard under there." He put his mouth back on my penis and worked his tongue deep inside my hood, and I felt his tongue working around my swollen corona, hating all the nerve endings on the ridge and its back-face. I moaned in delight, knowing that he was eager to bring me off.

"Okay, do me," I said. "Then I'll do you." Ed worked his tongue several times around my swollen helmet, pausing each time to tickle the gee-string underneath. I continued to probe his foreskin, and cupped his balls with one hand. I felt him do the same to me, but his other hand tightened its grip around the veins of my shaft, compressing the veins and bringing my helmet to its final swelling. He tugged on my shaft skin, drawing my foreskin off the head, leaving it free in naked glory.

His lips engulfed my helmet and locked in the groove behind the rim while his tongue swiped repeatedly across my slit, spreading the lips. I swiped at his long slit, parting the lips, but keeping the hood covering the head. I felt Ed's lips rotate around my rim as his tongue worked my slit, and a mild tickle began where his lips touched my tender nerve endings. I paused to speak:

"I'm getting that tickle in the rim." He began sucking hard on my prick as he changed to an up-and-down stroke, his lips riding over my corona and sliding down the taper of my glans. Then he reversed and I felt his lips engulfing my glans again to ride over the ridge and lock behind it. The tickle had spread all over my helmet with the total friction he was applying, and I knew I was quickly approaching the brink.

His warm fingers kneaded my balls as his lips worked their magic on my helmet's sensitive nerve endings, and the tickle changed to a hot tingle. I was trying to remain relaxed but the tingle made my body tighten up. I removed my mouth from his hot prick, a precaution in case my jaw tightened during orgasm. An instant later it hit me.

"HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted as the hot thrill shot down my shaft to set my insides churning. The first hot gush poured into my urethra, burning its way up my shaft to erupt inside his mouth. Ed sucked hard as he swallowed, and I felt the thrill in my helmet and cried out again. Another spasm wracked my insides and the second torrent of hot cream shot up my prick, slamming through the lips of my slit to discharge in his mouth. I tumbled in the free-fall of orgasm, my mind on HOLD, aware only of the overpowering sensations in my throbbing prick.

I felt another hot contraction grip me, sending another gush up my prick to explode into his mouth, and I wailed again. Now I felt him withdraw, just keeping his lips pursed around the front dome of my glans, but he kept my skin drawn back tightly, stretching the nerve endings without friction.

Several more gushes of sperm followed as my orgasm faded, until all I felt as seeping through my tube. I felt his finger pressing into my urethra behind my sac, pushing out the residue, and following up with pressure under my shaft to drain me totally. I was shocked and dazed, and lay still until I recovered. I was aware that Ed had pulled my foreskin forward over my shrinking helmet, to keep it moist and protected.

When I opened my eyes Ed's hard prick was still in front of me, and I grasped it around the shaft to reveal his hot purple helmet. I put my lips on the front dome and slowly pushed forward to blanket the glans until they dropped into the deep groove behind the rim. Cupping his balls, I kneaded them gently, alternating with caressing the insides of his thighs.

I worked my lips slowly over the contours of his glans, tasting his natural lube and feeling the smooth glossy texture of the delicate membrane. I probed the long lips of his slit with my tongue, then worked underneath into the vee-groove where is gee-string was attached. Then I returned to his slit, swiping my tongue across it, parting and spreading them to heighten his sensations.

I heard Ed moaning as the sensations entered his body, and I clamped my fingers tighter around the base of his shaft. I felt an immediate swelling of his helmet as its surface lost the last of its sponginess and hardened against my tongue and palate.

"Tickle," I heard him whisper as I rotated my lips around his corona. I worked him rim for a couple of strokes, and then began a rapid pumping motion on the whole of his helmet, from front dome to the groove behind his rim.

"Tingle" he whispered, and I knew the magic moment was at hand. I felt his shaft throb in my hand, and his swollen helmet hammered against my tongue and palate as a thick gush of cream exploded into my mouth, filling it with a salty taste and the odor of chlorine. Ed was grunting loudly, caught up in the frenzy of his orgasm, as he thrust his prick deeper into my mouth.

I felt his straining glans throb hard as he pushed it to the back of my throat and disgorged another torrent of fragrant hot cream into me. I knew exactly what he was feeling, because I'd come only a couple of minutes before, and I worked hard to intensify the good feeling for him.

Ed's hips were bucking as his helmet hammered against my tongue, releasing another thick gush of viscous juice that I avidly swallowed. I sucked hard at his glans and he rewarded me with another load of sperm. Now I backed off, just keeping my lips pursed around the front dome of his glans, because I knew that he was getting over-sensitive and friction would only cause him distress.

I kept my grip on his shaft skin to maintain the tension on his retracted foreskin and gee-string. This kept the sensations coming without friction, and his orgasm continued, releasing ever-decreasing loads into my mouth. Swallowing was easier now, and when the throbbing in his glans stopped I sucked at it to draw out more drops. I began milking him as he'd done to me, pushing the residue forward until it poured onto my waiting tongue. Then I gently drew his hood toward me to enclose his shrinking helmet.

A few days later the big way arrived. We were going to pick up Malawi upon his entry into the country. We flew to New York, arriving during the middle of the afternoon, long before our "client' was due. We gathered in a conference room and made our final plans.

As usual, our main concern was to take the suspect down without gunfire. We knew that once shots were fired the danger to officers increased exponentially. So did the danger to bystanders, the very people we were sworn to serve and protect.

Some law officers have records of many shootouts with armed suspects. Ed and I, on the other hand, had a record of never having fired a shot except for qualification.

In this case we felt that the suspect would not have been able to bring a gun on board the aircraft because of the security check at London Airport. However, there was a chance that he might have been able to smuggle an edged weapon made of fiber-glass on board, and we wanted to neutralize any chance he had to use it. We decided that we'd don airline uniforms and meet him at the jetport. Uniformed and plainclothes officers would be in the passenger area as back-ups. Bryce and Jacobs, in uniform, would be just around the corner closest to us.

The flight was 10 minutes late, and the tension built as we waited for it to pull up to the gate. Finally it arrived as we watched the ground crew direct it into alignment with the jetport. The jetport slid out as the plane stopped, its gasket coming to rest enclosing the door, which swung open after a few seconds.

As part of the disguise, Ed and I held large boxy briefcases used by flight crews. We planned to drop these as soon as we moved to arrest our suspect. He was one of the last ones out, and as he stepped through the doorway we set our briefcases down and swung in behind him as he passed us with no more than a cursory glance. We grabbed his arms and had him face-down on the floor within a second, levered his arms behind his back, and Ed snapped the cuffs on his wrists. This was one of the most dangerous men ever to enter the country, and now he was helpless in our hands.

He cursed in Arabic, knowing that his mission was a total failure, as we stood him up and frog-marched him to the airport security office. Inside we strip-searched him, and along with a British passport we found a receipt for a cargo container on a ship that had already docked the day before.

We changed into our regular uniforms and with several other officers drove to the dock. We soon found the container, a steel box about 10 feet wide, 10 feet high, and 40 feet long. We opened it to find lead sheeting lining the walls. This was how the contained had passed the radiation detectors that scanned every ship that entered the harbor. At the center was a small steel barrel which we left strictly alone. We knew that it was "hot" with nuclear material, and that we might have already overstayed our welcome. This was a project for the nuclear disposal crew, not us.

The end

Note: There is a Department of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) but the Special Operations Section is a product of my imagination created for the purpose of the story. Probably there is a corresponding section in ICE, but with a different name. Section H-2 is also fictitious, but you can be sure that there is a section dealing with domestic terrorist surveillance.