Arrest Record, Part 4 By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com
We'd set the alarm for 4 A.M. to allow Harold time to get up and get to the office before us, so that he might scan the transcripts of our telephone taps. We were all huddled together in the bed when it rang, and I moved to let Harold get out on my side. He was barely into the bathroom when I fell asleep again, and I didn't hear him leave. Ed and I awoke at our usual time, 6 A.M., and I made the coffee while Ed was in the bathroom.
"I told Harold we'd be working in civilian clothes today," Ed told me when he came into the kitchen. We might have to do a little surveillance." We dressed in civvies and prepared to go to work. Harold had taken the car, and we hitched a ride with another ICE Agent who lived nearby.
Harold was at his desk working through the stack of transcripts when we arrived. I noted with delight that he was almost finished.
"Did you speed-read, or just skim the pages?" I asked.
"Neither," he replied. "I'm a fast reader aand I read every word." I was happy to hear this. It was another point in his favor.
"We'll go get some coffee and bring you back a container," I said. Ed and I went down to the cafeteria and he sprang for three containers, which we brought back with us. Harold was just finishing the last page when we returned.
We pulled our chairs next to his desk and Ed asked:
"What were your impressions?"
"Well, I know you're interested in any discussion about Taylor's death," he began. "We don't have any hard evidence that it was anything but an accident but their reactions to it could give us a clue." Ed nodded and Harold continued:
"Several of the phone conversations covered this, and all of them seemed to express shock and dismay. Nobody said that he deserved it, or that this was the fate of a traitor, or anything like that. Abdul said that they'd have to find a replacement for Taylor in order to carry out the plan, but he didn't say anything about what the plan was."
"That's good," I said. "You isolated the significant conversations and did a good job evaluating them."
"You're holding up your end," Ed added. "I'm glad of that."
"I'm glad I'm not just your boy-toy," Harold said with a look of mock hurt.
"You never were," I told him. "Oh, I know that you think you were assigned to us because we're all gay. Gay wouldn't cut it, really. You got here because you have aptitude first. If you were a dud we wouldn't carry you. You'd go back to a field assignment at some border town next to Mexico." I grasped his hand as I spoke, squeezing it gently. He squeezed back, and I saw tears in his eyes.
"I'm glad it's that way," he said. "I want to carry my weight."
"You're doing fine," Ed reassured him. "I was listening very carefully while you were telling us what you'd gotten from the transcripts. You were able to articulate your reasons for believing that Taylor's death was just an accident. You cited examples from the transcripts to support this."
"Some cops say they go by their hunches," I added. "They have solid reasons for their deductions or conclusions, but they're not able to articulate them. They ascribe it to intuition. Well, I don't believe in intuition. I think they just can't express themselves adequately. You do."
"Something else was in the transcripts," Harold said. "I mentioned that there was talk of needing a replacement for Taylor to carry out a plan. I don't know what that plan concerns, or when it's going to happen. There was no mention of a timetable. However, it's clear that something's coming down, and that someone else will be coming on the scene to replace Taylor. I don't know whether he'll be coming from another part of the country or from abroad."
"Well, that poses more questions than it answers," Ed said, "but it shows us a couple of avenues for investigation. I think we'd better keep an eye on Abdul, since he was Taylor's roommate and will probably be the one to meet or welcome the new player when he shows up. We'll monitor the transcripts carefully, looking for any references to a rendezvous or for someone to meet a new arrival at the airport or bus terminal. That'll be your job, Harold."
"How come you're such a fast reader?" I asked.
"I was always a voracious reader since I was a kid," he answered.
"I saw that you've got a four-year degree in English," I continued. "Did you want to become a writer or journalist?"
"That was my first thought, but then I realized that I didn't want to stand on the sidelines and write about what other people were doing. I wanted to be part of he action myself," he explained.
"That's good," I said. "Ed and I have only two-year degrees. I'm glad you're with us."
"Now I think we'd better get a couple of unmarked units and go over to Abdul's," Ed said. "Based on the content of the conversations, he might be meeting someone interesting today." We left the office and picked up two surveillance cars at the car pool, both foreign models that wouldn't look anything like official vehicles.
"Some cops think they won't be made as cops because they drive unmarked vehicles," Ed explained to Harold. "Anybody can see that they are, without the lights and fancy paint jobs. Foreign models are best if you really want to be unnoticed. Japanese cars are much more common than European ones, which is why we don't use Aston-Martins and Alfa-Romeos. Now you ride with Jack in the Honda and I'll take the Toyota here. We'll keep in touch with our portable radios and cell phones." Harold got into the Honda with me as I took the wheel, and we drove off to the apartment that Abdul had shared with Taylor.
When we arrived we followed standard procedure and parked on opposite sides of the street and beyond the intersections, facing in opposite directions. That way, one of us would be able to follow Abdul whichever way he went. We still had the front of the apartment house in sight, but were far enough away so as not to be immediately noticeable.
Within 15 minutes I saw Abdul emerge and turn away from us. I started the engine and Harold got on the radio:
"He's coming toward you," he told Ed. I saw Ed start up and come towards us, turning the corner so that he could come back onto the street in the right direction.
"Now as long as he's on foot, we can stay very inconspicuous," I told Harold. "I'll pull up here and you get out and follow him. Stay at least 100 feet behind him and preferably on the other side of the street. I'll hang back. Ed will be behind me. If he turns his head, you stop. I'll come forward and pick you up. You take the car and I'll follow him on foot. You drop back behind Ed. If he turns his head again, Ed will come and change places with me, and I'll get on the end of the line. Got that?" Harold nodded as I eased in toward the curb and he got out.
Abdul didn't seem to be especially nervous or cautious as we shadowed him. Once he turned into a convenience store and emerged a minute later with a soft drink container in his hand. I didn't know if he'd been genuinely thirsty or if he'd used the moment to scan the street behind him, so I caught up with Harold and we traded places. Now as I took up the trail on foot, I saw that Abdul was walking more rapidly, eyes fixed straight ahead, seeming to be searching for someone among the pedestrians.
A dark-skinned man with black hair approached Abdul. The newcomer appeared to be from the Middle East, and I wasn't surprised when he took Abdul's arm and turned to walk with him. They were conversing rapidly, and I wished I could hear what they were saying. As they were heading toward a sparsely traveled part of town, the pedestrian traffic thinned, and we all dropped back to avoid attracting attention.
At one intersection they split, going at 90 degrees down the cross-streets. Harold pulled up to me and I got in. He briefed me quickly:
"Ed said he'll follow Abdul, since Abdul hasn't seen him yet. You and I follow the stranger." I knew that Ed would have a hard time conducting a moving one-man surveillance, and that he might have to beak off contact to avoid being "made." This was an imperfect plan, but we had to improvise.
"I think Abdul might be going back home," I said. "Even if Ed loses him, we know where he's probably going." I knew that if Ed had to let go, he'd drive back to Abdul's street and park on the next block, waiting for him to arrive.
Harold got out of the car to follow the new guy on foot while I took the wheel and stayed back. The stranger didn't seem to check for surveillance, possibly since he'd accomplished his mission and was relaxing. I explained this to Harold when I eased up to change places with him:
"He doesn't seem to be on his guard now that he's accomplished his mission. That often happens. People relax after they finish their mission." I got out of the car and took up shadowing the newcomer. We took turns trailing him on foot for three miles until he went into another apartment house, a newer model that was somewhat upscale compared to the modest one where Abdul lived.
Harold showed good judgment in not following the stranger inside, where there was a severe risk of being spotted. He came over and got in as I pulled up, wrote down the address in his notebook, and we parked down the block.
"I want to make sure this guy doesn't come out through another door or anything," I explained. "That's a standard technique of shaking a tail." We waited 15 minutes, during which time I got out of the car and circled the block on foot to check if the stranger had gotten out through a back entrance and an alley. Finally we returned to the office. Ed was already there.
"Abdul didn't seem suspicious on the way back," Ed told us. "I guess with mission accomplished, he dropped his guard. How was your boy?"
"Same thing," I said. "He didn't seem to be checking for a tail either. Here's the address. It's an apartment building."
"What apartment number?" Ed asked after a quick glance at the slip of paper I'd handed him.
"We didn't follow him inside. There are about 40 apartments in that building."
"Okay, we'll put a tap on every phone," Ed concluded. "That ought to tell us pretty quick which one is his. We'll also get a name, at least the name he's using right now." Harold seemed surprised and I explained to him:
"Yes, we can tap phones any time we want. Still, with all the uproar about the government's invading people's privacy, these guys don't practice good telephone security. Anyway, as soon as we zero in on our suspect, we'll remove the taps from the other phones. We just don't have the resources to find out which good American citizen is cheating on his wife."
Our surveillance had taken most of the day, and we hadn't been able to stop for lunch. Ed told us:
"We might as well go home. We'll take our undercover cars, both of them. Harold, you ride with Jack and I'll pick up something to eat along the way." We left and got into our respective cars. Five minutes after we got home Ed pulled up in the driveway, emerging from his Toyota with a large pizza box.
"This is a take-and-bake," he announced. "Just pop it in the oven and 20 minutes later, fresh pizza." He headed for the kitchen to start the pizza. Harold and I were already naked, and we took three beers from the refrigerator while Ed went into the bedroom to undress. When he joined us on the patio he had a kitchen timer and three dishes in his hands.
"Don't want to let the pizza go overtime," he announced as he set the timer in the middle of the table. We picked up our beers and drank deeply. Although we were in the shade, it had been a hot day and we were thirsty.
"Chances are we'd better all go in at the same time tomorrow," I said. "We'll have a hell of a lot of transcripts to review and we'll all be busy for a couple of hours. We'll still dress in civvies, though. What do you think, Ed?"
"That sounds like a plan," he said. "We don't know what's going to turn up so we'd better be prepared for anything. I think we'd better go in an hour early, though." We sat silently for a few minutes, unwinding from what had been a busy day. When the timer rang Ed went to fetch the pizza. He skillfully sliced it with a big pizza wheel we'd found to be very effective, and we let the pizza cool for a minute before tentatively nibbling at the first slices. We'd experienced pizza burns enough to have learned caution.
Again, it was a hot evening, and our genitals were relaxed instead of tight against our bodies. When we'd finished our pizza and beer we sat looking at each other. Harold, in particular, seemed to be getting aroused from looking at both Ed and me. I commented on this:
"Looks like you're ready to go another round. You're almost full hard and we haven't touched you yet."
"You don't have to touch me," Harold replied. "Just looking at those uncut cocks gets me thinking about how nice they feel and how much I like to stroke those skins."
"Like to try something different this evening?" Ed asked.
"Tell me," said Harold. "You guys always have good ideas."
"Have you heard of `Princeton?'" asked Ed.
"I know that's a university," Harold replied. "What else is it?"
"Inter-femoral thrusting," Ed told him. "That means you put your cock between my thighs and pump away. Meanwhile you reach over my body and stroke my foreskin until I blow my load."
"You wear a well-lubricated condom for this," I added. "That's both to keep you from getting friction burns on your prick from his body hair and to keep your sperm from shooting all over his pubic hair." Harold's eyes lit up while hearing the explanation, and I knew it appealed to him. We cleaned off the debris from our dinner and went into the bedroom. Ed placed a folded towel on his side of the bed while I lubricated Harold's prick with Astroglide and unrolled a condom down its length Harold was gently stroking my foreskin as I prepared his prick, and I was now fully hard. Ed lay down facing away from us and Harold lay down behind him. Ed lifted his right thigh and Harold eased himself into position, his prick sliding between Ed's thighs right behind his balls. Ed lowered his thigh and said:
"Okay, now you begin pumping at your own speed. Just take it easy and enjoy the ride." Harold snaked his hand over Ed's body and grasped his prick, already half-hard, and worked the long supple foreskin up and down.
"I think you'll find that pelvic thrusts make the orgasm more intense," I counseled him. "Keep thrusting but try to keep your crotch muscles relaxed."
"Maybe Ed and I can come together," Harold said. His fingers, wrapped around Ed's hot hard penis, worked the foreskin along it in long sensual strokes, covering and uncovering the big helmet. The stimulation was having its effect on Ed, and I saw that his long slit was seeping clear fluid that kept the sliding hood slick. I now lay behind Harold, gently pinching his nipples and caressing his neck.
"Just go easy on me," Ed advised him. "My cock's more sensitive and you want to get ready to come before you stroke me hard."
"Okay, keep me posted on how you're doing," Harold said.
"I'll do better than that," Ed replied. "You keep pumping, and when I feel you're ready to come, I'll tell you to stroke me faster. Then, when I start to come, I'll put a finger down between my legs and catch you under the head. That's going to trigger your joy." Ed and I had done this together many times and I knew it was an effective method of synchronizing our orgasms.
I was keeping up with the action because my prick was pressed against Harold's back, and I moved with him. I wasn't getting much friction, mainly pressure, on my prick, but it was more than enough to keep me aroused. Harold kept up a steady rhythm that was easy for me to follow.
"I can feel you sliding inside the condom. You're using nice long strokes," Ed commented. "That's very good because it stimulates the nerves all along your penis, not just the head."
"Is he bumping your balls?" I asked Ed.
"Oh, yes he is. That makes it even nicer for me."
The three of us were breathing more heavily now because of the exertion, and I knew that as our arousal mounted, we'd be breathing even harder.
"What about you, Jack? Harold asked. "When are you going to come?"
"Don't think about me. I'll come after you two guys are finished. Right now concentrate on coming together with Ed." I backed off slightly to reduce the pressure on my prick, as I wanted to be fully aware when Ed and Harold blew their loads, not lost in my own orgasm. Harold picked up the pace somewhat.
"This really feels good," he said to Ed. "I felt you tighten your legs against my cock." I knew that Ed was helping Harold heighten his excitement.
"You're getting there," Ed said.
"I know I am," Harold answered between hard breaths. "Want me to give you some fast tight strokes?"
"Go ahead, do me," Ed replied, gasping. Harold's arm moved faster, and I knew he was pouring sensations into Ed's prick because Ed's breathing became ragged. I'd stopped moving with Harold's thrusts because I didn't want to come yet, but each time Harold withdrew his back pressed against my rigid prick. My foreskin still covered my helmet completely. I was still tweaking his nipples to add to his excitement, but knew that the main sensation was coming from his thrusting prick. I heard Ed grunt:
"Any second now!" Harold increased the speed of his thrusts, and I saw Ed's shoulder move slightly. I knew he was now reaching between his thighs, probing for the underside of Harold's thrusting helmet. It was hot and sweaty in the room, and I knew that the effort was about to climax.
Both Ed and Harold cried out in joyful agony as they discharged simultaneously. Harold's straining body was hammering against mine and Ed's as he maintained his deep thrusts between Ed's thighs. I knew that Ed's finger had connected, probing the underside of Harold's helmet and providing the vital stimulation that had triggered Harold's explosion. Ed's body was moving too, responding to the waves of sensation sweeping through it. Their bodies strained against each other as spasm after spasm shook them.
The familiar chlorine odor of fresh hot sperm filled the air and blended with our sweat as Ed's prick spit jet after jet from its long slit. I was aware that Harold's arm had stopped moving, and knew that although he was still thrusting in the hot frenzy of orgasm, he'd stopped stroking Ed's foreskin. He was just holding it back hard, maintaining tension on its nerve endings and the frenulum to keep Ed's orgasm going without friction on the now super-sensitive glans. I clung to Harold's body vicariously enjoying the delights of his orgasm, but remaining far enough from the brink so that I was in no danger of slipping over it.
Now both Ed and Harold were still, having spent themselves, and I lay very still as well. I felt a drop of lubricant crawling up my tube, finally seeping from my orifice to lubricate the inside of my foreskin.
A couple of minutes later Harold had recovered enough to speak:
"Wow, that was really hot! You were right about thrusting, Ed. How was it for you?"
"I really drained myself this time," Ed replied. "I'm glad you stopped stroking me after a couple of loads. My cock was so sensitive it almost hurt."
"I know you like me to keep your skin pulled tight back," Harold said. "I'm glad I did it right. You did it right for me when you dug your finger in under the head. That made me blow my load." Ed lifted his thigh and Harold pulled his shrinking prick from between his thighs, holding on to the rubber ring at the base of the condom to avoid spilling. I held a couple of Kleenexes as he slipped the condom off his prick, and then I milked his urethra, starting behind his scrotum and following up along the underside of his shaft. I grabbed another wad of tissues to catch the copious dribble from his orifice.
Ed had wadded up his towel and was wiping his prick when Harold climbed over him and took his penis in his mouth, sucking the residue while running his finger along the underside of his shaft. Then, after licking the fat helmet squeaky-clean, he gently pulled the foreskin up to encase it. Then he turned to me.
"Just lie on your back. I want to suck the sperm out of your cock." I lay supine and Harold crouched over me, grasping my shaft at the base and drawing the foreskin down off the helmet. Ed moved to my other side and cupped my tight scrotum in his strong fingers. I felt Harold's soft lips moving over my glans, first kissing the very end, his tongue probing into my leaking slit.
"Your helmet smells wonderful, and I love the salty taste of your lube." His lips returned to my prick, and now they engulfed my glans slowly, sliding down until they locked behind my rim. I was very excited, and the friction set up a delicious tickle in my helmet. Now he drew his lips back enough to uncover the corona and began a rapid pumping of my hood, bumping the rim repeatedly, and I began moaning. He twisted his head to produce the rotating friction he knew aroused me, still bumping my rim with the thick roll of foreskin.
The friction of his lips made my corona feel hot and each bump of the bunched-up foreskin against the rim compressed the nerve endings, giving me more sensation. I was breathing heavily, hurtling helplessly toward the brink, where the full fury of orgasm awaited me. Harold's tongue probed relentlessly into my orifice, tickling the inside of the delicate tube. Ed's strong fingers were gently kneading my sac, and I felt my balls sliding against one another.
Now my glans was totally turgid, in its final swelling, the nerve endings stretched out and exposed to stimulation, and a hot tingle replaced the tickling sensation. My eyes closed involuntarily as a hot spark exploded in my helmet and shot down my shaft to trigger the first contraction and send a jet of lava searing its way up my tube.
I cried out helplessly as the thick liquid shot up my prick, slammed through the lips of my distended slit, and erupted into Harold's eager, waiting mouth. My hips bucked as another spasm shook me, and I cried out again. I'd been excited longer than Harold and Ed, and now my pent-up fluids were discharging forcefully as my prick pulsed in orgasm.
My body was on automatic, my mind on "HOLD," as my hips bucked to thrust my prick upward, deeper into Harold's mouth. Each hot jet that burned its way up my throbbing prick made me grunt loudly, as I was lost in sensation. Harold's hot lips rotated around my tender glans, drawing forth another torrent of semen. I felt another burst of hot friction from his lips and suddenly my helmet became hyper-sensitive and I convulsed. I felt him remove his mouth and stop pumping my foreskin, instead drawing it sharply back and stretching its nerve endings. My straining frenulum pulled the head down towards my toes, triggering another hot spasm in the root of my prick.
I shot again, but it was weaker this time. Several more ejaculations followed, evidence of my dying orgasm. I was still in limbo, mindlessly floating in sensation, but also aware that it was ending. Now the last spasm shook me, and then I was still.
Gradually my breathing returned to normal, and I opened my eyes to look at my softening prick. A rivulet of white cream ran down the broad upper surface of my glans and dripped onto my abdomen.
"Still sensitive?" I heard Harold's voice. He was experimentally working my foeskin up over the rim. I shook my head and he lapped at the semen seeping from my slit, and then farther down to lick it from the glans. I felt a finger milking my urethra behind my balls, and didn't know if it was Harold's or Ed's. Harold milked my shaft, forcing out the last drops, as he licked the residue emerging from my meatus. Now that I was clean, he delicately and lovingly pulled my foreskin fully up until it extended in a nipple beyond my flaccid glans.
Harold shifted his body and kissed me tenderly on the lips. I hugged him to me and reached for Ed. He snuggled up close to us, hugging us both.
"We really work well as a team," he observed.
"More ways than one," I contributed. He kissed me too.
"I'll set the alarm," he said. "We have to be up early."
Continued in Part 5