Arrest Record, Part 6 By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com
The following morning we got to the office at nine sharp, and found that there were three copies of the translation we had so eagerly awaited. Ed, Harold, and I sat at our respective desks and began to read. The conversation had been long and rambling, but the gist of it was that Harris had not come on the scene as a replacement for Taylor, as he'd arrived before Taylor's fatal accident. Rather, he was a quartermaster delivering a canister of biological agent for an attack at a shopping mall. It was unclear when the attack would take place, but from the context we knew it would be within days. "Fuck me!" exclaimed Ed. "This guy's serious. We've got to grab him and his package right now." "Will we have time to get a warrant?" asked Harold. "This is an emergency," said Ed. "We can make an arrest without a warrant because of the extreme danger to public safety." Ed got to his feet and headed for our supervisor's office. When he returned he told us that Phil, our supervisor, had given his okay and that he was notifying the 911 Task Force. "What's the `911 Task force,' some other special group?" asked Harold. "This is the outfit that gets called in when there's an actual attack or imminent threat of attack," explained Ed. "They're completely top-secret and actually operate outside the law. They can use methods we can't to get information out of a suspect." "You mean drugs and like that?" asked Harold. "Like that and more than that," I replied. "First, hey have secret facilities, some in this country and others abroad, where they can hold a guy indefinitely. One of them told me they even have a couple of ships they use as floating prisons. They remain in international waters and thereby out of any country's jurisdiction. They've got facilities for forced interrogations aboard, and that means physical torture, in plain language. Ripping out the fingernails is only a preliminary step." Harold's expression showed he was shocked. "It's extreme, but when lots of lives are at stake, it's justifiable," Ed concluded. "Anyway, let's get going. We're going to take down Mr. Harris right now and hope the canister in question is on the premises." Harold rode with me while Ed went in his Toyota. As I drove I explained the situation to him: "This isn't like on TV, or even some other police work. We don't call out the SWAT Team or any high-profile unit because we prefer to keep our operations low-key. We don't want any shooting because we want this guy alive. Also, if we can take him down inconspicuously, nobody's going to be asking awkward questions. He'll just disappear." "No press, then," Harold said. "Especially no press," I responded. "If this ever got into the media, the sneering liberals would be babbling about the guy's Constitutional rights while ignoring the rights of the thousands of people who could be killed by the can he's carrying." We pulled up in front of the apartment building. By then it was 10 A.M. and there were few people on the street or in the building. We gathered in the building's lobby. "On the way over I checked by radio and got a report from the telephone section. Most of the phones are quiet because most of the people have gone to work. They did pick up a short conversation by Harris, which means he's in the building right now. Now here's what we're going to do." Ed explained our procedure, more for Harold's benefit than mine, as we'd done this several times in the past. He had a stack of newspapers under his arm, and when we left the elevator on the 4th floor we spread them in front of apartment 4-D. Ed lit the corners with a match and we waited for the smoke to build. We saw that some of the smoke was leaking into the apartment through a gap under the door, so we knew that Harris would smell it. After several seconds Ed knocked on the door loudly and shouted: "FIRE! FIRE! EVERYBODY OUT!" He knocked again and we heard movement on the other side of the door. When it opened and our suspect stuck his head out Ed grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the hallway so forcefully that he dropped the can he was holding. It was a dull gray cylinder about a foot long and three inches in diameter. Harris was frightened, but only because of the flames that licked around his feet from the newspapers. He had no idea who we were until Harold and I lifted him bodily and pushed him to the floor away from the fire. We had him facedown while we cuffed his hands behind his back. Meanwhile, Ed had picked up the can and was stamping out the fire. "There must be nobody else on this floor," Harold said, slightly surprised. "Nobody else came out." "I think we just got lucky," Ed told him. "It might have been hard to keep this low-profile if someone else had come out and seen the fire." Harold and I lifted the man to his feet and walked him to the elevator. Ed joined us, saying: "Someone else will be around to clean up the evidence of the newspapers. We want to keep this as neat as possible." We bundled Harris into the back seat of the Honda and Harold sat next to him while I drove. At the office we took Harris in through the underground garage instead of the parking lot. "Am I arrested?" Harris asked in his thickly accented voice as we pushed him into an interrogation room. I unlocked his handcuffs and told him to undress. Harold gave me a questioning look. "You are arrested," I confirmed for Harris. Now take all your clothes off. When Harris hesitated I kicked him in the shin, and he complied. As each garment came off we examined it closely for weapons and suicide pills. We set aside his wallet and keys. "What's in that can you were holding?" Ed asked him. I took Harold outside and explained the procedure to him: "We got him naked partly because people are more vulnerable psychologically without their clothes. Also, we wanted to confirm something. Did you notice anything significant about him?" Harold didn't hesitate before replying: "He's circumcised and his pubic hair is shaved." "That's exactly right," I said. "It's 99 percent sure he's Moslem. When we find out what was in the can we'll have the business nailed down." "Think Harris will tell Ed?" Harold asked me. "Maybe and maybe not," I responded. "Harris may not even know. If he doesn't tell us, we can have it analyzed. We'll find out in the end. " At that moment Phil, our supervisor, approached us. "Get the suspect out to the airport, private aviation side. You'll meet a couple of guys from the 911 Task Force there and you're to hand Harris over to them." "Yes, sir," I said. I was slightly dismayed but not surprised. Harold looked at me questioningly. "Apparently someone in a higher pay grade than we are decided that Harris merits special treatment. Those 911 guys are going to fly him off to somewhere and milk him dry of information." "Then what, put him on trial?" "I've never heard of anyone going to trial after being handed over to the Task Force. They just vanish off the face of the Earth." I opened the door of the interrogation room and informed Ed of the latest development. After Harris was fully dressed, minus the contents of his pockets, we handcuffed him again and took him down to a marked unit for the trip to the airport. In the private aviation section we found a Learjet with a couple of men in black suits standing beside the hatch. These were familiar faces, for we'd handed another prisoner over to them some months before. They took control of Harris and one of them unlocked the handcuffs and gave them to me. We accompanied them on board, where they strapped Harris down on a gurney bolted to the cabin floor. A third man inserted the needle of a syringe into the vein on the back of Harris' right hand. After a few seconds his eyes closed. "That's nighty-night for him," said the oldest of the agents. "He won't wake up until we get to our destination." "That's an undisclosed location?" asked Ed with a smile that showed he didn't expect an answer. "That's undisclosed and top-secret," answered the agent, returning Ed's smile. Despite the apparently cordial atmosphere, I knew that these men were deadly serious. After we were back in the car and leaving the airport, Harold asked about Harris' likely fate. I answered, as Ed was driving. "I think they're going to ask him some questions, such as whether he's working alone, whether there are any more cans floating around, and a bunch of other details. They won't be too gentle with him unless he opens up." "Those guys looked very serious to me," Harold said. "They didn't crack a smile except for that one guy just before we left." "They are very serious. One of the qualifications for the Task Force is that each member must have lost a relative to terrorism. They're really motivated." "I can see why they won't be too gentle with him," Harold said. "He might not get out of this alive." That seemed like an understatement to me. "He won't. After they get everything they can out of him, they'll give him an injection and bury him. They could never release him or even expose him to public view, as at a trial because what they're going to do to him leaves lots of marks. He might be missing fingers and toes, and even testicles by the time they get through with him." "We're going to go and help the guys search that apartment," Ed said. "I'd like to see exactly what that guy had with him." There were a couple of unmarked units parked in front of the apartment block, ad Ed parked our conspicuously marked unit two blocks over to avoid attracting attention to the site. Inside, we helped the other agents toss the place, and noted that apartment 4-D was a two-bedroom unit, but that there was no evidence that anyone other than Harris had lived there. There were no other weapons found. "What would he have done with that can, spray it in a mall? Asked Harold. "How would he have avoided inhaling some of that nasty stuff? "He would have inhaled it gladly," I told him. "These guys want to die as martyrs for the cause. They have the same mentality as suicide bombers." By the time we'd finished searching the apartment it was almost five and we headed for home, leaving the other agents to lock up. "We've had an action-packed day," I said. "Let's stop for some Chinese take-out on the way. Ed nodded and we stopped at a Chinese restaurant famous for its good food. Once home we placed the cartons on the outside table and went into the bedroom to strip down. We were hot and sweaty because it had been another hot day, and our sacs hung low. I noticed that Ed's foreskin, like mine, was relaxed and distended, the nipple gaping enough to let me see his slit. Outside we sat down to eat, relishing the exotic flavors of the various dishes. We washed the meal down with beer and let the tensions of the day dissipate. After cleaning up we went into the bedroom. Harold sat next to me on the edge of the bed and slipped his finger into the gaping opening in my foreskin, tickling my slit. Ed sat down on Harold's other side and received the same treatment. I felt Harold's finger twirl around my helmet, sliding on the slippery wetness inside my foreskin. "Pretty sensitive in there," Harold suggested in a questioning way. "Very," Ed replied. "It's not just the head. Your finger's stretching the skin, and half the nerve endings are in the foreskin." "I wish I still had mine," Harold said as he removed his finger from inside my hood and smelled it. "I wish my cock smelled like yours does." By this time Ed and I were fully swollen, but our long hoods still encased our helmets. Harold was almost hard, and I squeezed his glans a few times to pump him up to full hardness. He grasped my prick around the head and began slowly pumping my foreskin up and down. "I want to taste your cock again," he said, staring into my eyes. "First you, then Ed." "That sounds like a plan," Ed told him. "After that, we've got something special for you." We rearranged ourselves on the bed, with me supine. Harold clamped his right hand around the base of my shaft as he placed his lips around the end of my foreskin nipple. I saw that he still had the index finger of his left hand inside Ed's hood, slowly working around the helmet. I felt Harold's tongue probing inside my foreskin to tickle my pouting slit. "He can't get enough of our dicks," Ed commented as Harold continued to stimulate us. "That's all right," I added. "Our pricks love the attention." Harold had the talent to get us quickly aroused and eagerly anticipating orgasm. For my part, the pressure in my bladder from the beer added to the tension, and I quickly approached the peak. His tongue probed more deeply, circling my corona and then dropping into the deep groove behind it, inflaming the tender nerve endings. Ed cupped my sac, which had contracted sharply after Harold had slipped his tongue inside my foreskin, and he gently kneaded my balls. Now Harold pulled back sharply on my foreskin to bare the helmet right down to the groove, and I felt the tension in my gee-string pulling the head down as his lips rotated around it. He knew exactly what to do to get me off, and he worked hard at it. My breathing was more rapid now as my excitement mounted, and I abandoned myself to the flood of sensations as both Ed and Harold stimulated me. Harold's lips administered the delicious sideways friction to my corona as his tongue-tip drilled into my pouting meatus. A delicious tickle started around the lips of my teardrop shaped orifice, and slowly spread to join the tickle in my flaring corona. Harold's strong fingers compressed the veins in my shaft, causing my prick to swell to its final hardness, and the nerve endings in my helmet became even more sensitive. I lay passively, awaiting the delicious explosion that would wrack my body within a few seconds. Now the tickling feeling engulfed my entire glans and my eyes closed. Harold quickly pumped my foreskin a couple of times and the tickle in my glans turned into the familiar hot tingle as the first contraction wracked the root of my prick. The first torrent of hot lava surged upward, searing its way up my tube, and spewed into Harold's mouth. I cried out helplessly just before the second spasm ripped through me, sending another hot jet erupting from my throbbing helmet. My legs trembled and my hips bucked as I grunted hard, driving my surging prick deeper into Harold's mouth. Now I felt him remove his mouth, but he maintained the tight grip around my shaft, stretching the skin and frenulum tightly to send more sensations into my nerve endings. More jets followed until I was drained. A couple of minutes later, after my prick had shrunk and my breathing had come back to normal, I opened my eyes. Ed and Harold were looking down at me, and Harold kissed me tenderly. "I hope it was good for you," he said. "Are you still too sensitive?" When I told him "No" he began milking my urethra, forcing the last drops from my slit, lapping them as they emerged. Then he pulled my foreskin up to cover the glans. Now it was Ed's turn. Harold still had his finger inside Ed's hood, and had been stimulating the head all this time. Ed lay back and Harold skinned him back completely, ready to begin the long strokes along his glans. I cupped Ed's scrotum as Harold pumped his head up and down, his lips working from the front dome right down to the groove behind the flaring purple rim. Each time Harold raised his head, I saw Ed's long purple helmet bared in its beauty. From flaring corona its lines swept in compound curves, defining its shape, until they met in the blunt front dome and long wet slit. Ed's helmet glistened in the soft room light, and as Harold clamped his fingers around the base of the shaft it became darker purple, ready to respond by spewing its juice. Ed's jaw as clenched and his stomach muscles rippled as his excitement mounted, and I knew he'd be unloading even more quickly than I had. It didn't take long for Ed to grunt helplessly as the first spasm shook him. Harold had lifted his mouth and I saw the thick creamy jet shoot upward. Harold then engulfed the throbbing helmet completely, swallowing the sperm. Ed's body writhed again and he yelped with the second spasm. Harold's face was flushed with excitement as he drank Ed's discharges, and after the third torrent he removed his mouth because Ed's tip got super-sensitive like mine. Harold kept the foreskin drawn back tightly, and we watched Ed's naked helmet spit several more jets that fell back onto it and ran down the shaft. The odor of chlorine filled the air. Now Ed's slit was merely drooling, as the main force of his orgasm had spent itself. When the last feeble drop oozed from the long slit Ed began to relax. Harold's finger explored under Ed's scrotum, pressing the residue forward and then he gently milked the shaft, lapping up every drop that emerged from between the lips of the long slit. Now he began lapping at the glans and shaft because Ed's hyper-sensitivity was fading fast, and he licked away every drop of sperm. Finally he pulled the long supple hood up over the softening glans and kissed Ed on the lips. A minute later Ed said: "Thanks. That was out of this world." Harold smiled lovingly at him. "Ed promised you something special," I told him, although I was unsure of what Ed had meant. "Lie down and we'll take care of you now." I gave Harold's swollen purple helmet a couple of squeezes to reinforce my meaning. It sill felt slightly spongy, not rock-hard the way it becomes just before ejaculation. Still, the flaring corona blended into the tapered body of the glans in sweeping lines that curved until they reached the blunt front dome at the top. "Ever try electro-sex?" Ed asked Harold as he pulled a cardboard box from a shelf in the closet. "I've heard of it, but never had the experience," was the reply. "Electro is perfect for circumcised guys. It lets them feel the sensations as if they'd never been clipped." He started sticking adhesive electric pads with wires attached to Harold's hard prick, one under the glans over the frenulum, and another a the base of the shaft. He handed a third to Harold and said: "Here, stick this right next to your anus." After Harold had done so, Ed plugged the wires into the control box. "This works on a battery, and generates high-frequency electric pulses that go right through your prick," I explained. "Now although your foreskin and all its nerve endings are gone forever, the nerves are still there inside your prick. The pulses work on them directly. Ed's going to show you how." I held Harold's prick vertical and Ed turned on the control box and twisted a knob slowly. "Tell me when you start to feel it," he told Harold. "I feel something now," Harold said after a couple of seconds. "What does it feel like?" Ed asked. "It feels like a rippling sensation, traveling all the way down my cock," he said. "I also feel it deep inside." "It's stimulating your prostate gland," Ed explained. "Now I'm going to turn up the power a little." "Ooooohhhh, that feels so good," Harold murmured as his face broke into a smile. "Now I'm going to turn on the pulse feature," Ed said. "That's going to give you a different sensation." He twisted another knob on the control box and Harold took in a deep breath. "That feels like someone's jerking my cock, giving me a hand job, but from the inside." "That's because the pulses are reaching deep inside your prick," I said. "They're also making your ejaculatory muscles react. You're not coming yet, but when you do, the pulses will make the contractions more intense. You'll go into orbit, I promise you." "Okay, turn up the power a little more," Harold urged him. Ed twisted the knob farther and Harold's body stiffened. "It's having a powerful effect on you," Ed told him. "We can see that your helmet's more swollen and turned darker purple. Now try to relax. Don't fight the sensations and don't try to help them. Just stay relaxed and let us bring you over the top." He twisted the knob another increment and Harold began breathing rapidly, although he relaxed his body. "I feel it all through my cock, right from the head down to deep inside me," Harold reported. "It's like every nerve's come alive." "That's the way it's supposed to feel," Ed coached him. "Just stay relaxed and let the sensations build until they drag you over the top." He gave the power knob another twist. Harold's face turned red and the cords in his neck stood out. His legs began trembling and his eyes closed. A drop of clear fluid pushed through the lips of his long slit. I caressed his cheek tenderly, knowing that the full fury of an electronic orgasm would wrack his body within the next second or two. Harold's shaft felt rock-hard between my fingers, topped by its swollen purple helmet. I fixed my eyes of the engorged glans waiting for it to disgorge its thick ropy white jets. "AAAHHH!" Harold cried out as I felt his prick throb between my fingers. I saw the first jet shoot high into the air and fall back onto his stomach, filling the air with its characteristic sharp chlorine odor. Harold yelped again and his prick pulsed in my hand, shooting another white torrent from its long slit. I leaned closer and watched avidly as the third eruption forced its way through the lips of his slit. His hips bucked as he thrust his prick up, captivated by the hot fury of his orgasm. "He's really rocking and rolling," I heard Ed say as I continued to steady Harold's throbbing, spewing prick. He yelped again and another heavy discharge spewed from the slit at the top of his throbbing helmet. Another flood poured from his orifice, but didn't shoot. Harold grunted and another stream flowed out of his slit and down over the engorged helmet. The ejaculations were weaker now, but I was sure the sensations were as intense for Harold as the first one. Now there was just a steady seepage of clear liquid flowing from Harold's meatus, and Ed reduced the power level. I knew he was trying to keep the sensations going for Harold, but not over-stimulate him to cause distress. Harold's eyes were still closed, and he was moaning softly. After 30 seconds of this, Ed turned off the power. Harold lay dazed, not moving, a typical result of the intense, electronically-induced orgasm that had wracked his body. I began removing the sticky electrodes from Harold's flesh, while Ed wiped the ejaculate from his stomach and pubic hairs. I milked his urethra, from behind the balls right to the end, squeezing the glans to force out the last drops. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck," Harold gasped. "That really hit me hard." He opened his eyes and extended his arms, pulling us down to him. We embraced and kissed tenderly, sharing his joy. "I'm so lucky to have ended up with you guys," he said. "We're glad to have you as part of the team," I replied. "I know that Ed agrees with me when I say that you pull your weight." "You're great both in and out of bed," added Ed. "Every day when we go to work I know I can look forward to a hot evening with you two guys," Harold said. "It's not just your uncut cocks, it's you. You make it really pleasant for me." "We know you do your best for us, Harold," Ed reassured him. "You're a really hot guy, and we're happy to share our skins with you." I got up and beckoned them to the bathroom, where we showered before going to bed. We didn't know what they next day might bring, and we had to be well rested.
Continued in Part 7
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. The "9/11 Task Force" is also a fictional creation, but there have been rumors of the special treatment accorded terrorists secretly held in remote prisons operated by one of the alphabet soup government agencies for protracted and painful interrogation.