Aurora Crusade

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and/or used fictionally.

Copyright Notice Reminder

This story is copyright by the author and the author retains all rights. Expressly prohibited is the posting of the story to any sites not approved by the author or charging for the story in any manner. Single copies may be downloaded and printed for personal use provided the story remains unchanged.

Copyright 2007 by John Ellison

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic scenes that some readers might find disturbing. What is written in no way whatsoever represents the author's personal feelings and is written in the context of the overall series. Reader discretion is advised.

Reader comments -- except flames -- are always welcome. Please address your comments/opinions to paradegi@sympatico.ca

Aurora Crusade

Chapter 16

Chef was grumpy. The flight from Montreal had been smooth, but as usual, the old man had not slept - as his travelling companions, Alex Grinchsten and Brendan Lascelles had done. Derek Walker, Sandro's official minder, had met them at the airport and filled them in. Chef nodded his approval and for once was silent throughout the ride to the Hospital.

Expecting everyone to be out and about, Chef was surprised to see that the Hospital was bustling. When he entered the lobby he saw a line of waiters and minders, led by Ned Hadfield, each laden with a small bundle of what looked like clothing, going up the stairs. Behind the men, Mrs. Randolph led two strange boys, Jewish boys if their payos and kippas were any indication. The boys were carrying fresh towels. Mrs. Randolph waved to Chef, and urged the two boys up the stairs.

Standing in the neatly furnished Lobby, Chef felt his nose twitching. The odour of something . . . delicious seemed to be wafting from the doorway that led to the Hospital's dining room. There also came the noise of furniture being moved about. Wondering what in the hell was going on, Chef was about to walk into the dining room when four white-uniformed boys erupted from the arched doorway beside the staircase.

"Chef!" Randy yelled as he ran forward and all but smothered the old man with a hug.

"You're here!" Joey shouted as he joined Randy. He also kissed chef soundly. "We missed you!"

Calvin and Simon also came forward, a little hesitantly, for they were frankly afraid of the old cook. Chef saw their timidity and held out his arms. The boys joined in the group hug that followed.

Disentangling themselves from Chef's embrace, Randy and Joey turned their attention to Alex Grinchsten.

"Grinchy!" Randy said with a slight gasp. "You're smiling!"

Alex, who actually was smiling, shrugged. "Maybe I am," he said. "Then again, I just might have gas!"

"No, you're smiling." Joey said. He wrapped his arm around Alex's waist. "You're glad to see us!"

"Maybe he got laid," Calvin whispered to Simon, breaking the mood.

Simon shook his head "Nah, not with Chef around," he whispered back. "Besides, Jake Guildenhall is here."

Calvin nodded. He had seen the looks that Alex and Jake exchanged constantly. Calvin knew what the look meant, and it did not mean that the two men only wanted to play poker together!

Chef, who might have been older than God, in some opinions, had the ears of a lynx. He glowered at the two boys. Randy and Joey were busy pestering Brendan Lascelles, so did not hear the whispering, or see Chef's look.

"Where's your red coat?" Randy demanded to know.

"And your Smokey the Bear hat!" asked Joey.

Brendan laughed. "Don't worry, they're in my luggage." He looked around but did not see The Phantom. "Where's my brother?"

Simon walked up and patted Brendan's arm. "He's okay. He's with Colin and they're out."

Brendan frowned. He was not at all pleased that The Phantom was off on this crusade. Still, he knew his brother and nodded. "Any news?" he asked.

Randy shook his head. "Nothing yet."

For the first time Chef seemed to notice how the boys were dressed. Each wore straight-legged, white cook trousers and their gunshirts. "Whatever are you wearing?" he asked. "But more importantly, why are you wearing it?"

Randy puffed out his Chef. "We're Sick Bay Tiffys, Chef. We're helping the Surgeon get the Sick Bay ready."

Chef looked at Alex, who shrugged. "What Sick Bay?" Chef asked.

"Well, Doctor Hampton said we needed a Sick Bay," replied Joey. "We don't have a wardroom, so we set up in one of the offices. It's small, but bigger than the wardroom in the gate boat."

Chef understood the reference. Alex and Brendan did not. Chef turned and explained, "When last we went to sea there was a small accident."

"A burning tree fell on Phantom!" Calvin interjected.

"And Randy and me!" groused Joey.

"Phil Thornton burned his hands and Chef made us take off all of our clothes!" said Randy. "He made us sit in the wardroom with nothing on but a sea blanket! It itched and scratched my butt and upper deck . . ."

A gentle cough interrupted the tale. Mabell Airlie entered the lobby. "So good to see you again Chef," she said as she held out her hand. After shaking hands with Chef, Mabell turned to the boys. "Surgeon is looking for you," she said, her voice low.

The boys hurriedly kissed Chef and Alex, and as an afterthought, Brendan, and hurried off.

Mabell watched them go and smiled. "It's a make work project," she said with a smile. "It does keep them out of mischief, though."

Chef grinned. "You have a doctor?" he asked.

Mabell nodded. "Doctor Hampton. He's very old, but very experienced and he has a way with boys." She smiled again. "He's got that lot well under control and is regaling them with war stories from his time in the Navy."

Chef looked thoughtful. "Navy? Well, he'll be a good man then," he said presently.

Caroline Arundel entered the lobby. Behind her were two American Sea Cadets, Mark van Beck and Tony Valpone. Both Knights were carrying piles of brightly coloured clothing. Mrs. Arundel smiled when she saw Chef. "Chef," she said as she approached, "How very nice to see you again." She gave the old man a light kiss on his cheek,

Hearing Mark and Tony snickering, Chef harrumphed loudly. "What is it then, that you've got those two skates working?" he asked to cover his embarrassment.

Caroline smiled. "We've been raiding the boys' luggage!" she said with a smile.

"Their luggage?"

"Chef, it occurred to Mary and me that perhaps some of the boys might not be dressed, or if they are, most inadequately so." Mrs. Arundel gave Chef a knowing look. "They could hardly take the time to pack, now could they?"

Remembering the eight boys that he had helped rescue in Montreal, Chef nodded. "Very good," he said. "A fine idea!"

Mrs. Arundel laughed quietly. "I am so glad that you agree," she said. Then she added, "Although the boys might not approve of us rummaging through their things." She winked at Chef. "The things we found in some of the bags! Why Chef, did you know that . . ."

Mark, who had seen `some of the things' began to cough loudly.

Still laughing, Mrs. Arundel continued. "Not that they were all that bad. Mind you, the boys seem to like a snort of the `this and that', although there was a part bottle of something that smelled like kerosene!"

This time Tony began coughing. Mrs. Arundel had found his last half-bottle of grappa.

Ignoring the blushing young men, Mrs. Arundel added, "I now know why Bertie always says that the only thing colourful about a sailor is his underpants!"

Chef, remembering that Mrs. Arundel's own sons were infamous in certain circles over the colourful pants they wore, did not want to go there. "Is there any news, then?" he asked hurriedly.

Mabell Airlie shook her head. "Not a word."

Chef frowned. "Where is The Gunner?" he asked.

Both ladies shrugged. They were not privy - deliberately so - to any of the planning. Ned appeared, with the third American cadet, Nathan Berman. Chef saw them and, after giving the ladies a courtly bow, motioned for Ned to follow him into the restaurant.

"Well, then?" Chef asked.

Ned quickly gave the old cook a sitrep. Chef nodded occasionally, approving of what had been planned. Michael Chan had indeed chosen well. When Ned finished his report Chef asked quietly, "What of Willoughby? Who has been sent to take him into custody?"

Ned glanced uncertainly at Alex Grinchsten. Ned, while heavily involved in what The Gunner had planned, was still not certain just what the Order was, or what its role in this affair was. Alex, sensing Ned's lack of information, replied with a slight nod of his head. He would ask Chef to allow him to inform the lanky West Virginian of his, and Ned's possible, future involvement with the Order.

"Before he left, The Gunner said that Willoughby would be left to you," Ned told Chef.

Chef nodded. As a Professed, and very senior Knight, Arthur Willoughby had to be accorded some dignity, or so the Rule of the Order dictated. He could only be arrested, and brought to a Bar of Justice, by a member of the Council, and in the presence of three Knights of unimpeachable character.

Chef leaned back in his chair, thinking carefully. The presence of the American knights told him that The Gunner was hesitant in using them. Chef understood the reasoning behind The Gunner's decision. While the American boys were Knights, they were Americans, and there would be a terrible international row if they were apprehended in what was basically the kidnapping of illegal aliens and, in the case of Willoughby, a Canadian national. Chef understood The Gunner erring on the side of caution. It was in his nature, after all.

However, so far as Chef was concerned Knighthood transcended nationality. He made his decision. He turned to Alex. "I shall take Hadfield, with your permission."

Alex nodded. Chef could have just told him that Ned was going on the mission. Instead he was asking permission and Alex would not, could not refuse it, even if he wanted to.

"I shall also take Brendan Lascelles, Mark, Tony and Nathan." Chef looked at Ned. "Willoughby lives in Moore Park?" he asked.

Ned, who had thought that he would more or less return to his subordinate role as a minder, what with Alex's reappearance, nodded. "We know the house."

"Cars are available," Ned replied. "Drivers as well."

Nodding briskly, Chef strode purposefully toward the door leading to the lobby. "Then let us be about the Order's business."

As he crossed the lobby, Chef saw that Mrs. Randolph had joined Mrs. Arundel and Mrs. Airlie. The ladies seemed calm, and very collected, as he had come to expect of ladies of their class and generation. Chef assumed that the Twins, and Blake Putnam, were part of the crusade. He smiled confidently at the ladies. "Sure and they'll be as safe as houses," he said with more confidence than he felt. "The Gunner will have made sure that they did not go in harm's way."

As Chef spoke, Mabell gently slipped her hand into Mary Randolph's. Mabell had no sons, or a nephew, who had been sent in harm's way. She would however, stand by her friends, and whatever happened, she would be there to support them.

Mrs. Randolph shook her head. "I am sure that Gunner Winslow knows what he is doing." She felt Mabell's hand give hers a gentle, reassuring squeeze and continued. "We could not have refused our boys," she said quietly. "They would never have forgiven us!"

Mrs. Arundel nodded her agreement. "It is a mother's place to stand and wait, is it not, Chef?" she asked.

Chef smiled his admiration for the ladies. How typical he thought. Then he asked himself how many daughters of the Empire had sent their sons off to war, knowing that their boys might not return. Too many, he concluded sadly, but without mothers standing firm he could only imagine the chaos the world might have descended into.

"Faith, and the lads will be fine," Chef said again. He smiled, somewhat weakly, perhaps, but he did smile. "Sure and have they not the High Guards of Balycannon standing over them?"

None of the ladies had a clue what Chef was on about, but they knew that the old man had a flair for hyperbole, and simply returned Chef's smile. They assumed the old cook was referring to the minders.

In the event, the ladies had no time to comment for Chef turned and gestured for Brendan, Ned, and the others to follow him. He noticed three stern-faced young men follow. They were the American Knights' minders: Jeff Oryan, Vaughan Mason and Mike Cox.

Chef made no mention of the addition of these men. While he thought that taking the minders along to apprehend one man might be akin to killing a rat with a sledge hammer, Chef knew that the stern-visaged young men had a job to do, a job given to them by Michael Chan, and Chef would not countermand one of Michael's orders. Where their principals went, so would they.

Chef was just about to reach for the handle of the street door when a high-pitched, squeaky voice called across the lobby. "Too Tall! You take care!" It was Randy.

Ned turned, surprise written on his face. Randy and Joey impulsively rushed forward and embraced Ned. "You ain't so bad," Randy said as he gave Ned a squeeze.

"And Too Tall, we don't care if your jib ain't cut!" blurted Joey.

Thinking about the backhanded compliment, Ned blushed a deep red. "Uh, thanks guys," he said.

"We mean it," said Joey. "You ain't so bad."

"You be careful," said Randy. "We need somebody to poke a stick at!"

Ned laughed and returned the boys' hugs. "I promise I'll be careful."

The boys drew back and the ladies advanced to gently place their comforting hands on young shoulders. "He'll be fine," said Mrs. Arundel quietly. "Don't worry."

Joey nodded. Then he looked at Mrs. Arundel. "Just like you don't worry?" he asked impishly.

Mrs. Arundel had no reply. Her sons were out there, somewhere, and who knew what they had found?

"Toddy?" Cory repeated as he stared at his hand. Beside him, Max slumped against Sean Anders, the shoulder of his jacket drenched in blood. Toddy grabbed his brother and held up his hand.

"Cory, you're hurt" Todd exclaimed. He paid no attention as Dave and Walt wrestled the old man to floor. "Cory, your hand!"

"It stings!" Cory said quietly. He suddenly reached down and picked up the flashlight that he had dropped.

Behind Cory, Sean managed to support Max and reach for his handkerchief. His face was pale and his eyes darted to his lover. "How is he?" he snapped at Todd.

"He's fine!" returned Cory. He passed the light over his hand and waggled it. "It's just a scratch!" He shrugged away Todd's concern and shone the flashlight on his hand. "See?"

There was a narrow groove cut into the flesh of Cory's hand, just above the little finger of his right hand. It was bleeding, but not too badly. Cory handed the flashlight to his brother, found his handkerchief and wrapped his hand. "See?" he said, holding up his hand. He heard a low moan and turned to see Max slowly falling to the filthy floor. He quickly bent down to help Max.

Opening Max's jacket, Cory saw that his left chest was bloody, too bloody Cory thought as he glanced at Sean and Todd. "We need a compress, something to stop the bleeding."

Max groaned and shook his head. "No. You have a job to do!"

There was a small commotion and the two Chinese drivers came into the hallway. Dave called out, "Bring a rope, anything to tie this bastard with!" One of the Chinese nodded briskly and hurried out.

Sean, pressing on Max's wounds, shook his head. "I doubt there's a clean anything in this toilet!" he said.

Todd, seeing the blood, and the stricken look on Max's face, immediately pulled off the dark shirt he was wearing. Underneath he wore a crisp, white T-shirt, which he quickly pulled over his head. "Here, use this," he told Sean. "It's clean; I put it on just before we left."

Cory quickly followed his brother's lead. Sean took the T-shirts and dressed Max's wound as best he could. Max, in obvious pain, grimaced. He was still very much in charge, though.

"Search the upper floors. If there's a boy here we have to find him," he ordered through waves of stinging pain. "Dave, Walt, let the Chinese handle that old fucker. Get him out of here and take him to the correctional centre. They know where it is!"

Dave and Walt, finished with binding and gagging the old man, turned him over to the Chinese drivers, who were anything but gentle hustling him out of the crumbling old mansion.

Max continued to issue orders. "Dave, you and Pat go with Cory and Todd. Sean, you and Walt can stay with me, okay?"

Sean decided to argue. "Max, you're hurt. You need a doctor!" he protested.

Before Max could answer, Sean felt a hand give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Did you go looking for a doctor when your ass was cut to rat shit by that wire stay?" Cory asked.

Sean shook his head, no.

"You let the pecker checker sew you up, gulped down some Pusser's Neats, and went back to duty, right?" continued Cory.

This time, Sean nodded his head. "Yes, I did."

"Then do what Max wants us to do." Cory gave Sean's shoulder a final squeeze and turned to Dave Edge. "Let's go."

If anything, the second floor of the house was worse than the main floor. Rooms, the furniture rotting and home to nests of rodents, were festooned with cobwebs. Cory remarked that they looked like something out of Great Expectations. Mere shreds of curtains and drapery hung from the boarded up windows. Some of the rooms were closed off by more boards nailed over the doors. Walt and Dave, taking no chances, had their pistols in their hands as they listened at each door. Dave had made the Twins keep well back until each room was inspected. They found nothing other than rats and filth.

"Well, that was a wasted effort," complained Todd as they reached the lobby between the top and second floors. "We've searched this dump from the cellar to the dome and every room was empty! There's no one here except for that crazy old man!"

Cory looked around the wood-panelled lobby. "I guess your right," he started to say when he saw something that was not right. It was a filth-streaked, almost invisible door under the staircase that led upward to the ballroom floor of the house. He pointed to the door handle. "What's that?" he asked.

"A door knob?" Todd asked. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. Cory did.

"Look at the knob," he said quietly. "The door is as filthy as shit but the knob is shiny!" He motioned for Dave, who listened at the door.

At first Dave heard nothing. Then, faintly, came what sound like a cough, or a moan; Dave could not tell which. Carefully he turned the knob, and carefully shone the light into the cubby hole. What he saw caused him to gasp, "Holy fuck!"

The Twins quickly looked into the shallow room. Cory squeaked a swart oath, and Todd's eyes widened in horror.

What they found horrified the four rescuers.

On the floor, lying on an indescribably filthy mattress, was a boy. It was impossible to tell the boy's age, for he was encrusted with filth, and his long, black hair was matted with dirt. He was tied hand and foot to rings hammered into the splintered floor. The miasma, the rank smell of feces and urine, and dirt that flowed into the corridor caused all four men to gag. The boy was lying in his own body wastes, and it was obvious from the horrible smell that he had no toilet. Beside the mattress, on an old painted tin tray, were a rat-gnawed, mouldy half loaf of bread, and a bowl of murky water.

"Oh, my God!" Todd moaned as he moved to push past Dave. "No wonder the Chinese thought they saw a ghost!"

"Don't!" Dave ordered sharply. "Look at him!"

Dave shone his light down the boy's cadaverous body, revealing crusted sores on his face, and upper torso. As the light passed down the boy's body they saw more sores, open and suppurating, extending down to mid thigh.

"What in the hell?" Walt said with a low, throaty moan.

"This kid is sick," Dave said. "I have no idea what those sores mean, but I'm not taking any chances!" He turned to Todd. "In the car there's a first aid kit. In the kit are rubber gloves. Fetch them, and a blanket!" he ordered. He heard a low growl from Cory and continued, "Look, this kid has something, and it might be infectious! I can't and I won't take chances." He glared at Todd. "Please, do what you're told!"

Todd did not argue. He hurried off and was down the stairs before anyone could respond.

Cory looked at the boy. "Is he dead? He sure looks like he is?"

Dave shook his head. "No, I can see him breathing." Dave looked closer. "He's out of it." He shook his head. "Maybe the old bastard slipped him something to keep him quiet."

"Drugged?" asked Cory, half-convinced that the boy was in a drug induced stupor.

"Yeah," replied Dave. "The kid hasn't moved a muscle. He looks bad, but not bad enough to be dying."

Cory did not ask how Dave might know the difference. Instead he asked, "How are we going to get him out of there, out of here?"

Dave turned to Walt. "We need something to use for a stretcher. There has to be something we can use in this swamp!"

Walt nodded and went off to see what he could find. Todd returned and handed out the rubber gloves. "Max is okay," he told Dave and Cory. "He's still bleeding a little but Sean thinks that the shotgun shells were so old the powder had degraded. He also says its bird shot, not buck shot."

Drawing on the rubber gloves, Dave nodded. "Painful, but not deadly." He looked back down the corridor. "Where the hell is Walt?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm here," came Walt's voice. He emerged from the darkness, carrying a long, thin, slatted shutter. "The drawing room windows were closed off with these," he explained. "It should hold the kid."

Dave quickly had them lay the shutter beside the mattress. He reached over and slipped the knots in the ropes that bound the boy and then laid the blanket Todd had brought over the peeling, scabrous shutter, and then stepped back. "There's not a hell of a lot of space in there," he observed. "Cory, Todd, you're skinnier than either Walt or me, so . . ."

The Twins did not hesitate. With Dave and Walt shining their flashlights into the cubby hole, they entered and with Todd at the boy's feet, and Cory at his head, they gently lifted the nameless waif onto the shutter. Then they covered him. As they did so a low, almost unearthly moan escaped the boy's lips.

"We have to hurry," said Dave. "He needs a doctor."

"You got that right," said Cory as he and Todd lifted the shutter/stretcher. "It's a good thing we brought the van."

The Twins manoeuvred the stretcher down the stairs and out of the house. The Chinese driver of the van was waiting, the back doors of the vehicle open. Behind the Twins, Max, leaning on Sean, together with Dave and Walt, left the house. "It will be a tight fit," said Max as he saw the Twins placing the stretcher into the back of the van. "But we'll manage." He nodded to the Chinese driver. "To the Hospital," he ordered.

As Sean led Max to the front passenger seat, Max looked back and shook his head. He could see that the blanket that had been covering the boy had fallen away, revealing the sores and wasted body. "I just hope we're not too late."

"We're not too late to burn that joint!" snapped Walt as he slid into the driver's seat.

Max shook his head. "We can't." He leaned forward and stared at the house. "The door's open and in this neighbourhood it won't take the street people long to notice." The movement of getting into the car caused the muscles of Max's chest to spasm and a sharp pain shot through him. Max willed himself to ignore the pain as he said softly, "Perhaps something good will come out of this after all."

In the back of the van the Twins sat beside the improvised stretcher. There was little room to spare and Cory sat, his knees all but touching his chin. He wanted to reach out and give what comfort he could to the comatose boy. But he knew he must not. He sighed, "I wonder who he is, where he comes from," he said quietly.

Todd, his heart aching at the sight of the boy, shook his head. "We may never know."

Nodding his head, Cory sighed. "I know." He began to cry quietly. "How many like this, Toddy?" he asked.

Todd could not answer. He did not know. No one had said, no one had any idea of the level of abuse the rescued boys might be suffering. He did wonder, however, how many other "surprises" lay in store for the Knights.

The slim, golden-skinned Vietnamese boy lolled in the tub, gently running a natural sponge over his well sculptured chest. The bathroom was redolent with the fragrance of roses, Nhan's favourite scented bath oil. The soap he used was scented as well and imported from England, the best that Pond's could provide. On a small, napkin-covered table beside the massive, claw-footed bathtub sat a silver wine cooler containing a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal, Vintage 1876. There was also an exquisite flute, half-filled with the clear, golden nectar. There was also, nestled in a crystal bowl filled with ice, a small tin of caviar - Beluga, imported, £200 for 100 grams, and worth every new pence, as far as Nhan was concerned.

Hung Tuan Han, the manager of the brothel, complained bitterly at the cost of Nhan's little weekly indulgences, to no avail. Edmund Stennes, the true owner of the house, and the boys who plied the world's oldest profession in it, demurred. The beautiful Vietnamese boy was worth his weight in caviar and Hung was forced to bite his tongue, and forced to admit that Nhan was the house's biggest moneymaker, attracting, and limited to, only the high rollers. As Stennes had pointed out, Hung had nothing to complain about because he always added a little something extra to the bill when Nhan was entertaining.

Nhan was aware that he commanded premium prices. He was a courtesan and well trained in pleasing a man. Such was Nhan's expertise that his appointment book was filled for weeks to come, one man per evening, and never on a Sunday.

Every Sunday, Nhan would retire to the bathroom on the top floor of the house, and bathe. This ritual was his private time, and was never disturbed. He would pamper his body with scented oils, and indulge his taste for fine wine and food. Sometimes he would have caviar, sometimes pâté, but only if it were imported directly from the source in France. Since arriving in the house Nhan had also grown accustomed to only the best of wines, and always managed to inveigle at least two bottles out of his guest, which pleased Hung no end. Hung always added a substantial mark-up to everything the guest asked for.

As he lolled, Nhan reflected on his latest conquests. Well, not quite, but tomorrow. Hung, for once obsequious, had asked Nhan to attend him in the office. Here, Hung showed Nhan the appointment book - a large, lined, tooled-leather-covered ledger really, in which Hung recorded all of Nhan's guests. The two new names written in Chinese script caused Nhan to smile winsomely, and greedily.

As he stroked his genitals, Nhan sang a low, seductive Vietnamese love song. He could scarcely believe that tomorrow he would dine à deux with the second most important man in the Chinese community, Kuang Hsu P'u Yi, called Henry, the overlord of the Circle K Boys. More importantly, on Wednesday Nhan would entertain the most important man in Chinatown, Sun Yat Wa, who normally scorned any boy or man who was not white! A major coup, and one which Hung, and Stennes would exploit to their best advantage.

Sun's intended visit puzzled Nhan. The Great Lord, and leader of the Toronto Triad, until now had seemed content to bed only one boy, a street tramp named Gino. Thinking of the white boy, Nhan sniffed disdainfully. Gino was a pig, even if the gods had smiled on him, although Nhan thought that the dark-haired soldier, Damian, was better endowed. At least the soldier was slim, and well built, with an easy smile. Gino was what the Westerners called "rough trade" and aside from a huge, and very thick penis, Nhan could think of nothing positive to warrant Sun Yat Wa's interest in such a common street boy,

Shrugging, Nhan dismissed any thoughts of Gino from his mind. He was thinking now of the soldier, Damian, who had kept Stennes' blond bum boy, Paul, so happy and contented that Paul had glowed! Nhan had watched Paul and the dark-haired soldier, and had screened the video that Hung had taken three times. Damian was delightfully tender and gentle when he made love to Paul, and his infatuation with the blond boy came through bright and shining. Nhan sighed. As much as he might want to bed the soldier, he knew that Hung, or Stennes, would never allow it. The soldier was small fry, and the video part of Hung's secret archives.

Nhan doubted the video would ever be seen, except as a teaser to get paying customers in the mood. Hung, and Stennes, would gain no profit from a poorly paid ground pounder.

Then Nhan smiled, remembering his time with the blond Paul. It was not that Paul Greene was over-endowed, far from it. Nor was he a considerate lover. He was, in fact, much more lustful than loving and, like many a teenage boy, much too concerned with reaching his own climax than in pleasing his partner, and lacked the staying power of an older, experienced man. Not that Nhan could complain too much, though. Paul recovered quickly, and was always ready for more. Still, Nhan wished that he could last more than two or three minutes before he ejaculated noisily.

What pleased Nhan more was that Paul always reciprocated. Until Paul had insisted, Nhan had never fucked another male. Both had enjoyed the experience, or so it seemed, and the small pile of bank notes that Hung had left after Paul left the house had pleased Nhan.

Which was the reason why Nhan had not entertained Damian, or any of his companions. Their first, and only visit, had been "comped" as Hung put it. Only the wealthiest could afford the amenities of the Glasgow Street house, and none of the three young soldiers had two cents to rub together. They would not have been welcome back in any case, at least not by Nhan, for Swede and Cole had committed the ultimate insult, and left nothing to show their appreciation for the pleasure that Nieh, Nhan's fellow courtesan and immediate rival, and Ming Lo, a very experienced Shanghailander, had given them.

Remembering the lack of a small gratuity, Nhan frowned and turned to reach for the bottle of Cristal. In doing so he did not see the long, dark shadow of a sedan, its lights switched off, turn from the laneway into the brick courtyard at the back of the house. Nor did he notice the ruby red dot that indicated a drawn cigarette that suddenly appeared in the far corner of the yard.

Terry Hsiang, who was concentrating on driving the car into the dimly lit yard, did not see the minute dot of red. The Gunner did. He sighed inwardly. He had not expected anyone to be in the wide, square, cobblestoned stable yard. But then he had not expected to have any difficulty in finding the laneway from Huron Street that led, eventually, to the stable yard. Gino had neglected to mention that the laneway was so narrow it could barely accommodate the passage of a mid-size car, or that it was also hidden between two hedges, neatly trimmed, and close to eight feet tall! The laneway was so narrow that it was not possible to drive the large, oversize van that had followed the car from the Hospital down the cracked and crumbling lane. It was parked on Huron Street and the men who had ridden in it, Kyle and his minder, McKenzie Parker, Yacov Goldschmidt, and four of Terry's men were walking in.

In the car, Andy stirred uneasily. His senses immediately went to high alert. He too had seen the minute dot of crimson, and the dark outline of a small car parked in the corner of the stable yard. Ever since his time in Vietnam Andy had learned to look, to suspect anything and to expect the unexpected.

Sitting beside Andy in the window seat, was his minder, W.J. Nettles (what his Christian names were only the recruiter in New York knew; he insisted on being called "W.J."). He too had done a tour in Vietnam. He swore softly, "Shit, we've got company!"

Aaron Mark II, who was sitting on the other side of Andy, leaned forward and looked out of the off-side window. "We have?"

W.J. nodded. "Twelve o'clock, right hand corner. Car, with someone in it."

Andy raised his eyes. W.J. was a nice guy, but as terse and unsmiling as Alex Grinchsten. At least, Andy thought, Alex talked! W.J. rarely spoke, and when he did he sounded like an official telegram.

The Gunner, who had heard W.J., spoke. "I see it." As Terry stopped the car The Gunner asked, "Cops?"

Terry leaned forward and shook his head. "He wasn't here two hours ago when my people swept the area," he said with a frown. "A client, maybe?"

The Gunner shook his head. He doubted that any client of the brothel was given to loitering in the stable yard. He turned and spoke to Aaron. "Take two of Terry's men and check him out." He held up a warning hand. "No gunplay if you can avoid it."

As he opened the car door Aaron Mark II grinned. There was more than one way to skin a cat and he never used a gun if he could avoid it. "Not to worry," he told The Gunner.

Aaron Mark II gestured for his brother and two of the Chinese with him. He pointed to the car and Yacov immediately began to move, sidling carefully along the blank wall that was part of the old carriage house that served what was now the brothel. Aaron Mark II, with the second Chinese, walked carefully toward the car, hoping that his obvious presence would distract whoever was in the car.

As he watched the two Mossad agents go to work, The Gunner asked Terry, "You're certain it's not a cop?"

Terry shook his head. "The diversion I have underway guarantees there is not a copper within ten blocks." He gave The Gunner a sharp look. "The police respond en masse when they hear an `Officer Needs Help' call."

The Gunner decided not to ask how Terry had managed to create a diversion that would galvanize every police officer within miles. Knowing Terry Hsiang, The Gunner assumed that he would be told sooner or later what the Chinese had been up to. Instead he asked, "The Vice Squad out on the street in front of the house?"

"Gone," replied Terry confidently.

Once again, The Gunner did not reply. He watched as the Goldschmidt brothers secured the car parked in the dark corner, and the driver. He rolled down the window of the car and waited until Aaron Mark II returned and handed him a small, leather folder. In the dim light The Gunner saw the glint of gold and stared at what was obviously a badge - the badge of an SIU investigator!

"What the hell," The Gunner snapped as held the leather folder up to the light. "Who the hell is `Damian Alexander Porter', and what the hell is an SIU flatfoot doing squatting in an old stable yard behind a male brothel?"

Aaron Mark II shrugged. "He's too scared to say. All I could get out of him was that he was SIU and he asked me to please not shoot him."

The Gunner thought quickly. He had no time at the present to worry about SIU agents wandering around doing whatever they did. He knew, for he could feel it in his bones that Stennes was in the house. "Secure this `Porter'. We'll find out what he's doing here," he ordered. "We have more important things to worry about."

"He's not going anywhere," Aaron Mark II deadpanned. "I left one of Terry's men with him."

The Gunner left the car. "Good," he said. He turned and regarded the others. "Okay, remember, no violence if it can be avoided. Our job is to take Stennes, and whatever documents we think will be useful."

The others nodded and followed The Gunner into the back garden of the brothel, and waited while he used the key that Gino had given him. It worked perfectly.

The rear entry of the brothel was exactly as Gino had described it. To the right of the entry was a door. To the left a staircase - the backstairs, used by servants, that was always part and parcel of any large house. The lobby, tiled in a red and black patterned tile, was dimly lit by a weak overhead light. The Gunner also saw something that Gino had forgotten to mention. Built under the first landing of the staircase was a door.

Nodding toward the door, The Gunner spoke to Kyle. "Check it out."

Carefully, Kyle opened the door and looked. All he was a black hole. On the wall there was a light switch so he flicked the switch. Looking again, Kyle saw a staircase. "The basement, I think."

"Take Parker and one of the Chinese," The Gunner ordered. Before Kyle could descend The Gunner warned, "Be careful, Kyle."

"You got it," Kyle replied and began to descend into the basement.

The Gunner pointed to the door. "Check it out, Yacov."

Drawing his pistol, Yacov nodded and opened the door. Carefully he entered a foot or so, and stopped. "The kitchen," he said in a low voice over his shoulder. "It's empty."

Andy stepped forward. "Better safe than sorry," he said. He nodded to W.J. and they entered the kitchen area. The three men quickly searched the large, white painted room. It was, as Yacov had said, empty.

"Okay," The Gunner said. He looked at Terry. "We go up. Remember guys, easy does it."

Slowly he led the group upward.

The first floor of the house was quiet. From one of the rooms came the sound of a television set, or a radio. The Gunner nodded to Terry who slowly turned the doorknob. He pushed the door open slowly and looked in. He saw a slim, dark-haired Asian boy lying on the bed, asleep. On the television set a "spaghetti western" was running.

Terry stepped back into the corridor. "Sundays are usually dead in a place like this," he said quietly. "It looks like the kid fell asleep watching television."

The Gunner nodded. "Okay, take one of your men and check out the parlour floor. If it's clear, bring the boy down there. Check out this floor and take anyone you find downstairs."

Terry nodded and turned to one of his men. He spoke rapidly in Cantonese and the man nodded. Together they retraced their steps and went downstairs. The Gunner pointed to the stairs and led Andy, Aaron and W.J. upwards, to the second floor of the house.

Thank God the film fest had ended! Shem, who might be an ignorant peasant, loathed the seemingly endless choruses of "Horst Wessel" and shouts of "Sieg Heils" and loud band music. Shem was much more accustomed to the saccharine movies permitted by the Central Committee, usually great sagas of heroic workers building dams, or even better, hordes of determined soldiers, inspired by the works and words of Mao, charging forward to eradicate the imperialist invaders that had violated the sacred motherland of China. Sometimes a film from Hong Kong, filled with dancing girls and loud, atonal flute music, was allowed. At least they were in colour, vibrantly so, and the grainy black and white films the German insisted on watching paled in comparison.

What annoyed Shem more, however, was that once the films were over, it was "play time". Stennes always demanded a rousing session of sex, which Shem ordinarily would not mind. It was just that the German was a turtle, a great insult in China. The man demanded unrelenting sex, and almost always Shem was his partner of choice. Shoo, who was stupid, was merely an adjunct.

Shoo enjoyed sex, almost as much as the small pile of notes Hung, the brothel keeper, left for him after every session with Stennes. Shem, on the other hand, hated being with Stennes. He was always on the receiving end, so to speak. Stennes was an impatient, lustful man. There was no foreplay at all, and Stennes demanded instant gratification. The films always excited the man and once a film had ended, he expected Shem to be ready with lubricant and on his knees in the doggy position, which was Stennes' favourite way of having sex. The man would thrust and grunt for long minutes - he had remarkable stamina, so far as Shem had learned, much to his regret - and eventually let out a low, howling wail, and ejaculate. He would then lie back and order Shoo to clean him - with his tongue! Then they would start the process all over again.

The third film had ended - finally - and both boys had assumed their positions. Shem was on the bed, on his knees. Shoo stood, his legs straddling Shem's head. Stennes entered Shem brutally and took Shoo's stubby, thick penis into his mouth. Stennes grunted and it started. Shoo squirmed and giggled, Stennes grunted and snorted, and Shem stared impassively at the headboard.

No one heard the door open, or the soft footsteps. What Shoo did hear was the sound of a pistol being cocked. He opened his eyes and saw the biggest, meanest looking white man staring at him. Aaron Mark II motioned with his Beretta and Shoo pulled out of Stennes' sucking mouth.

Cursing, Stennes stopped his thrusting and glared at Shoo. The he became aware that he and the Chinese boys were not alone in the room. He quickly rolled off of Shem and lay beside the now quaking boy. "Was?" he asked, confused. Then he recovered. "What are you?" he demanded loudly. "How dare you . . ."

Another man, his eyes filled with hatred, stepped forward. The Gunner pointed his pistol at the German. "Shut up!" The Gunner ordered, his voice low and threatening.

Stennes saw the guns. He wasn't intimidated. "You wouldn't dare," he snarled.

The Gunner's eyes never wavered. "Try me," he all but whispered.

For some reason Stennes assumed that this was a snatch, part of a plan to take over the area east of Spadina, no doubt by Sun Yat Wa, who had been complaining of late about his cut of the brothel's revenues. Stennes had more or less expected something of that kind. The Chinese were greedy, insignificant little men, and always feuding amongst themselves. Stennes was, however, surprised that Wa would send white men to do his dirty work. He thought, briefly, that perhaps the Italians had decided to move in. They were as greedy as the Chinese, but nowhere near as fractious. They also looked upon the entire city as their fiefdom, and while they maintained an uneasy truce with Terry Hsiang, and Henry P'u Yi, and Wa, the Italians were always looking for ways to encroach on Chinese territory.

Stennes took the initiative. "How much are the Italians paying you?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, I will pay more."

Aaron Mark II snorted his disgust of the German. "Shalom, Herr Stennes," he said with a wide grin.

Stennes drew back. Jews! His face paled from the knowledge and for the first time he was filled with terror.

The Cawthra Square team was the first to return. Doctor Hampton and his team of Tiffys were waiting. So were Mrs. Arundel, Mrs. Randolph, and Mrs. Airlie. While Todd and Dave Edge held the double doors open, the two Chinese drivers manhandled the makeshift stretcher bearing the draped anonymous boy through them. Next came Max Hainey, leaning on Walt Galloway. Pat Ives followed with Cory, who was complaining that there was nothing wrong and he didn't need any help. Thank you. It was all Todd could do not to slap the back of his brother's head.

"You let the doctor be the judge of that!" snapped Todd. Then he added ominously, "Or Mummy."

As any mother would, Mrs. Arundel pulled away from Mary Randolph's restraining hand and hurried to her son's side. "Cory, whatever has happened."

Cory held up his hand, which was loosely covered by a white handkerchief spotted with blood. "I'm fine, Mummy," Cory stated firmly. "It's just a little scratch."

Doctor Hampton, who was quickly examining the supine body on the stretcher, overheard Cory and snapped out, "Little scratch, or big scratch, it's the Sick Bay for you, my lad."

The Doctor, who had spent many years in the busiest Emergency Room in the city, moved swiftly between the boy and Max. "Calvin, Simon, set up two chairs to hold the stretcher. Joey, Randy, I'll need sterile gauze, saline and distilled water." As the boys hurried off the Doctor called after them, "Remember, gloves!"

Mrs. Airlie moved to stand beside the doctor. "Oh dear," she gasped when she saw the unconscious boy.

Doctor Hampton leaned down and lifted the boy's eyelids. "Pupils dilated. He's been drugged, I think." He gestured to the two men holding the stretcher. "Let's go." Then he yelled, "Lester!" He regarded Mrs. Airlie. "Go with the boy, please."

As Lester hurried forward Doctor Hampton turned to Max. He saw the blood on Max's chest and told Walt, "Into the Sick Bay and on the examining table." He then turned to Cory, quickly unwrapped the boy's hand and looked at the shallow groove across the top of Cory's hand. "Not serious," the doctor said, "but it needs tending to." He glanced at Mrs. Arundel. "Take him into Sick Bay and clean the wound."

Without waiting for an answer, Doctor Hampton hurried to the Sick Bay where he found the Tiffys waiting, everything he'd asked for laid out on a large surgical tray. Max was on the makeshift examining table and the stretcher with the boy was resting on two chairs. Mrs. Airlie had drawn down the blanket covering the boy's body. Doctor Hampton snatched up a pair of scissors and began cutting away Max's shirt and T-shirt. He ran his eyes over the small, black-rimmed holes that dotted Max's chest. "Joey, Randy, cut off his clothing," the Doctor ordered. "Calvin, I'll need four-by-fours, the small forceps, and the sterile water." He gently pressed on one of the small wounds on Max's chest and a tiny, copper ball popped out. Doctor Hampton nodded to Max. "You're lucky, it's birdshot."

Max would have agreed with the doctor if he had not felt his belt being unbuckled and heard the slight clicking of scissors as his trousers were being cut from his body. He could feel a slight presence very close to his most cherished possessions and growled, "Be careful! It's the only one I have!"

Doctor Hampton had impressed in forceful terms that his Tiffys were medical professionals and that they were to conduct themselves accordingly. The doctor had said that they would see things that would be embarrassing to the patient and therefore they were never to tell what they saw. Both Joey and Randy ignored Max and cut away his clothing, including his boxer underpants. As they pulled the ruined clothing off of Max's body his not unprepossessing upper deck fittings were revealed. "Are you a Knight?" Randy asked as Joey handed him one corner of the sheet they were about to drape over Max's lower body.

Max shook his head, which evoked a stern "Keep still!" from the doctor.

As Joey finished draping Max, he said, "But you must be; you have the mark of a Knight!"

Max thought a moment and then remembered his conversation with The Gunner about the Order and laughed. Then he winced as the doctor poked at another wound. "Not yet," he said. Then he laughed quietly. "I guess I should thank my mother, though. At least I don't have to worry about Article 24 of the Rule."

Randy giggled.

Doctor Hampton had no idea what Max was talking about. He stood back abruptly and tore the rubber gloves from his hands. He looked around for a fresh pair and drew them on. "Randy, Joey, take some of the four-by-fours and sterile water and gently wash Mr. Haney's chest. Be careful."

He looked over to the corner of the room where Mrs. Arundel was cleaning Cory's wound. Cory was muttering and frankly annoyed. His wound, if that word could dignify his injury, was not bleeding, only hurt a little, and was, in his frank opinion, minor, and of little or no consequence.

"Do be quiet, Cory," Mrs. Arundel said. She was vastly relieved to find that the wound was, in fact, minor. It was shallow, and swollen, and very red, but it would heal. "You'll have a battle scar," she said, not without pride.

Cory, who did not like being fussed over, even by his mother, lost his temper. "Battle scar? Really Mummy, my circumcision scar is bigger than this one!"

Todd almost fainted. Mrs. Arundel looked stunned. "Cory!" she gasped.

Doctor Hampton harrumphed, looked quickly at Cory's hand, and said, "We'll take your word for it." He addressed Mrs. Arundel. "Put some antiseptic cream on it, and a covering bandage." He turned to Mrs. Airlie.

Mabell was, with Simon's help, gently washing the boy's body. "Be careful of the crusts over the lesions," she said quietly to Simon.

Doctor Hampton stood beside Mrs. Airlie. "You know what it is, then?"

"Impetigo," replied Mrs. Airlie. "I saw it in Europe just after the war when I was with the Red Cross."

"What's that?" Simon asked as he tried to wash the ingrained filth from the boy's legs. He wrinkled his nose. "He sure does stink!"

"It's a skin disease," said Mrs. Airlie, "brought on by a poor, or near to non-existent diet, filth, and poor hygiene. It was rampant in the refugee camps."

Doctor Hampton nodded. "Simon, be careful of the crusts covering the lesions. He's not contagious but God only knows what microbes are loose in him! And change your gloves after you've finished washing him." He bent down and pressed his stethoscope against the boy's chest. "Weak and thready," he said presently. He looked at Mrs. Airlie. "Change your gloves and bring me the IV solution and an IV pack. They're on the table."

Lester appeared in the doorway. "You wanted me?" he asked, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. He saw Max being tended to by Randy and Joey, who were gently washing him. Then he saw the boy. "Holy shit," he gasped.

Doctor Hampton waved away Lester's shock. "Contact the Chinese hospital. This boy needs to be in a hospital so send for an ambulance."

Lester nodded.

The doctor continued. "You might want to take notes and go with him." Then he let out a muted, "Damn!"

Lester could not see what the doctor was doing. Simon and Mrs. Airlie could. Doctor Hampton was examining the boy's genitals. His testicles were fine but his uncircumcised penis was a mess. Drawing down the boy's foreskin Doctor Hampton found a mass of puss and smegma. "This boy hasn't cleaned his organ in weeks!" he snapped.

"He was tied to his bed," said Todd. "It looked and smelled like a cesspool. I don't think he was allowed to wash, and he had nowhere to pee except into bucket."

Shaking his head, the doctor took the IV shunt from Mrs. Airlie, inserted the shunt needle into the boys arm and attached the IV fluid. "Simon, fetch a fresh set of gloves." He turned to Todd. "Bring a bowl of warm water, please." Satisfied that the IV drip was working, he asked Mrs. Arundel. "There's a bottle of green liquid soap somewhere. It's the same that surgeons use to clean their hands for surgery. Find it please."

Next it was Lester's turn. "The boy, as you may have heard, has impetigo. The doctors at the hospital are better equipped to treat that and will decide on the course of treatment. He has also been drugged and is malnourished, emaciated and terribly neglected. The boy needs hospital care, and immediately. Tell the doctors at the hospital that he needs a tox screen and blood workup. God only knows what he's contracted. The tox screen will tell them what drugs he's on. Have them do a full penile examination. I've not seen worse in all my years practising medicine! Have them check for fraenulum and inner foreskin damage." He looked down at the unconscious boy. "I see circumcision in your future, my lad," he said as he gently patted the sleeping boy's head." He returned to Lester. "Tell the doctors that I have not done an anal examination, so they will have to do that."

Lester, who was never far from his memo pad, nodded. "Anything else?" he asked.

The doctor shook his head. "A name?" he asked presently.

Todd answered for Lester. "I guess we call him John Doe. The old man who held him captive never said a word after we bundled him into the car." He gestured toward the boy. "He's been that way since we found him."

Turning to Randy, who was gently pressing on the wounds on Max's chest, Doctor Hampton rattled off a telephone number. "That's the number for a private ambulance service. Order at least two," he said. "We never expected casualties such as this boy, but we have 'em now, so we must be prepared."

Lester hurried from the Sick Bay. Mrs. Airlie and Simon were carefully cleaning the boy and Mrs. Arundel finally released Cory. He and Todd left, to take up station in the lobby, in case they might be needed.

Max winced as another bird shot was extracted from his flesh. Doctor Hampton saw Max's grimace and offered something to take away the sting. "No heroics, now," the Doctor said. "If you're in pain, we can help."

Mrs. Arundel moved to the side of the examining table. "The doctor is right, Mr. Hainey," she said gently. She took Max's hand. "We all know that you're a man." Then she smiled and. "A man who is soon to be a Knight, I think."

Returning Mrs. Arundel's smile, Max said, "Yeah, I think so and . . . OUCH! God Damn It, Surgeon, that hurt!"

"I did offer some pain killers," returned the Doctor blandly. He motioned to Mrs. Arundel. "Change your gloves and bring some forceps." He ran his fingers across the wounds on Max's chest. "You were very lucky, I think. Most of the shot barely penetrated the skin so it's just a matter of popping 'em out." He looked thoughtful a moment. "My guess is that the shotgun shells were ancient, and the powder degraded."

Max raised his head and looked at his chest. "Probably. The house looked like no one had been in or out of it since it was built. It was filled with junk and filthier than a Bombay chicken coop."

Doctor Hampton had never seen the inside of a chicken coop, Bombay or otherwise, but he caught the allusion. "Then everybody who was inside is for a tetanus shot," he said. He looked at Mrs. Arundel. "Your son especially." He saw a stricken look come over Cory's mother's face and softened his tone. "It's just a precaution." He reached for the forceps that Mrs. Arundel still held. "When we finish here you'll have to round up all the members of the team."

Mrs. Arundel understood the doctor's caution. He was an old-fashioned medico who never left anything to chance if he could help it. She felt calm, and knew that the doctor was right. She looked around for something to put the extracted bird shot in. She saw a stainless steel kidney-shaped bowl half-buried under a pile of dressings. She reached for it and held it out. "We'll need this, I think."

The doctor nodded and looked at what his Tiffys were doing. Calvin was busy tidying up and Randy and Joey were handing Simon and Mrs. Airlie more square, cotton dressings.

Randy held out another kidney bowl and grimaced as Simon dropped a used dressing into it.

"Jesus," Randy muttered as he looked at the dressing. "It's green!" He gagged slightly and turned his head away, unable to look at the suppuration cleaned from the boy's penis.

"That boy's organ is grossly infected," observed Doctor Hampton again.

"Just like Ryan's," said Simon. He turned and grinned at Randy and Joey. "Remember what happened to him?"

Joey giggled. "Doc Reynolds clipped him good!"

Max shook his head. "I don't want to know!"

The waiting was the worst. Max being wounded and the horrible condition of the unknown boy was more than disturbing to many of those crowding the lobby. No one had expected violence of any kind, or that any of the boys they would rescue would be so abused. Who knew what would come through the doors next?

The minders kept to the sides of the room, keeping an eye on their charges. Alex Grinchsten, looked calm, but his emotions were in turmoil. He showed surprise though, when the ambulance Lester had called for arrived and the unknown boy was carried from the Sick Bay, because he was accompanied by Mrs. Airlie.

When the ambulance Lester had called for arrived Mabell Airlie decided, and Mrs. Arundel and Mrs. Randolph had supported her, to accompany the boy. All three ladies were quite adamant that when the boy awoke - and they were all sure he would awake - he would need a warm hand, and a kind face to wake up to! Mabell walked beside the stretcher, holding the boy's hand. Lester followed, scanning his notes as he walked out the door.

Doctor Hampton, after setting his "Tiffys" to cleaning up, had given the Cawthra Square team their tetanus shots. Cory grumbled - he hated needles - and Todd looked stoic. Sean Anders yipped slightly as the needle entered, but settled down. The others simply accepted that the doctor knew what he was doing and remained silent.

While they waited, the restaurant waiters passed trays of tea, coffee, and sandwiches. They also offered something stronger to those who might want it. None of the minders wanted anything, and they could not drink on duty. Alex had made that quite plain.

So, they waited.

Chef was the next to return, trailed by Ned and Brendan. Chef helped himself to a large Scotch and a sandwich and settled himself on the sofa. Brendan looked around for his brother and, not seeing him, went outside to pace. Ned reported to Alex.

"The sumbitch was right snarly," Ned told Alex.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?" He noted that Ned was back in his hillbilly mode, but saw no reason to press the point.

Ned shook his head. "Not with the Mountie and me holding a gun on him." He laughed quietly. "That old devil, Chef, he just glared at Willoughby. Then them three boys come in . . ." He was referring to Mark, Tony and Nathan."

"Which was significant how?"

"Wal," Ned drawled, "Chef got all formal like. Called Willoughby My Lord Knight', and then said that he was called to a Bar of Justice - whatever at means - and that accordin' to somethin' called The Rule of the Order' he was under arrest. Willoughby got even more snarly and called the fellas little boys', so Chef bowed to 'em and called them Sir Knight' and Willoughby pissed hisself."

"He what?" asked Alex. Ned nodded to Chef, who was telling the Twins how Willoughby's arrest had gone.

"Wal, as near as I kin figger out, when a high-rankin' Knight is in the shit, he has to be arrested by a higher rankin' Knight and three others." He shrugged. "Willoughby knew what was comin' and he just sat there, all pitiful like, and let Chef cuss him out. That old man sure can cuss!"

Alex could not help smiling. Chef had been around for a long time, and in more strange places than - if the old cook was to be believed - than Ulysses. Alex could well believe that Chef had a vast vocabulary of cuss words.

Ned continued, "Anyway, while me and Brendan took Willoughby out to the car - and the Chinese fella who was drivin' didn't look too happy, what with Willoughby smellin' like a Cholon privy - Chef and the boys searched the house. Found a shit locker full of papers and a load of cash." Ned motioned with his thumb over his shoulder. "The trunk of the car is full."

"Give everthing to Lester," Alex said. He regarded Ned a moment. "Where is Willoughby?"

"Some place called the Lakeshore Correctional Centre. Looks like it was a jail once. There was lots of Chinamen around and Cap, I wouldn't like to fuck around with them, if you know what I mean."

A small smile formed on Alex's lips. Southerners, for some reason, delighted in calling each other by military diminutives and Ned was a Southerner. Again, while he was impressed by his promotion from Sergeant to Captain, Alex did not press the point. Nor did he ask about the Chinese at the correctional centre. The Tsang brothers had more or less faded away into the Montreal night and Alex wondered if they were in residence at the centre. He would not be surprised if they were. However, he saw no reason to tell Ned about them - yet. He would, however, have a chat with the West Virginian about the Order. His attention was diverted, however, when Brendan Lascelles entered the lobby. Brendan gestured impatiently. "Car coming," he said.

The first to enter was Shane Kingscote, cradling a small, near-naked boy in his arms. Doctor Hampton and the ladies moved forward to help. Behind Shane came Jérémie Cher, leading a blond older boy, who was draped in a blanket. The Twins hurried forward but Jérémie Cher waved them away. "I can handle it!" the dark-haired Quebecois growled.

"Are they hurt?" Doctor Hampton demanded of Shane.

Shane shook his head. "Not that I could see." He lifted the little boy in his arms, almost presenting him to the Surgeon. "This is Zander. His `master' . . ." Shane's voice became stilled. He could not say what "Uncle Bob" had done to the small boy.

"Whatever it is, we'll take care of him," the doctor said gently. "Follow Randy into Sick Bay." He turned to the blond boy. "Were you . . .?" the doctor began.

Jergen shook his head. "Nein, I mean, no. Only Zander."

Doctor Hampton nodded. "We'll have a look at you anyway," he said. He turned to Jérémie Cher. "Take him to Sick Bay."

As Jérémie Cher and Jergen followed Doctor Hampton, Todd and Cory exchanged a look. "Can it be?" Cory asked his brother out of the side of his mouth.

Todd smiled knowingly; then he said, "Well, the guy sure can fill out a pair of tightys!"

Sean, no fool, leaned forward. "Tighty whiteys, boxers or a suit of armour, Jérémie got hit by the thunderbolt!" He snickered. "I haven't seen a glint like that since Cory decided I was the man for him!"

Cory gave Sean a black look. "Me? You're the one who enticed me down to the Dockyard, undressed me with your eyes, and plied me with liquor!" he declared. "Not that it did you any good!"

"Not then," returned Sean. "However, I did make up for lost time!"

Before Cory could think of something nasty to say, the lobby doors all but burst open. Two Strokes and Thumper, who had been sent to an isolated farmhouse on the northern edge of the city entered, shepherding not the one boy they'd been told to expect, but four boys.

"Jesus," Cory breathed. "Four?"

Sam North, with Dino Antonelli and Rob Jones, entered right behind Two Strokes and Thumper. He saw Chef sitting placidly and walked over. "Four!" Sam said. He waved for the two Knights to bring the little boys forward.

"The oldest is 11, the youngest nine," Sam said. He pointed. "The one in the green pants is Martin, the two in white are Auguste and Heinrich. The smallest, in the grey pyjamas, is Erwin. They don't speak English."

"Are they hurt at all?" Chef asked as his tired old eyes took in the sight of the four near-naked boys.

"Not that I could see," replied Sam.

Mrs. Randolph came forward. "Well, Surgeon will find out if they are," she said. She smiled winningly at the four boys and then at Two Strokes and Thumper. "Let me help you get them to Sick Bay." She gently reached out and took the older-looking boy's hand. "We shan't hurt you, dear."

The boy smiled shyly, and mumbled something in German, which no one understood. Mrs. Randolph nodded and looked around the lobby. She saw Fred Fisher standing near the door to the restaurant. "Fred, dear, if you could, please fetch Nate Schoenmann."

Fred nodded. "I know just where he is." He hurried through the doorway and into the restaurant.

Like a mother duck leading her ducklings to their first adventure in water, Mrs. Randolph led the group toward the Sick Bay.

Chef smiled. A woman's touch, he thought, sometimes worked wonders. He looked at Sam North. "Their captor?" he asked sharply.

Sam grinned. "Oh, he got a little lippy, but Dino took care of him."

Chef gestured for Dino to come over. He slowly lifted Dino's hand and saw the bruising across the knuckles of the man's right hand. "You might see the surgeon." Chef said flatly. "You should have him put a plaster on those wounds."

Dino, who was in no way "wounded" shook his head. "The bastard who kept those kids needs the surgeon more!" He grinned at Chef.

Chef regarded Dino's knuckles again. "A fine, broad fist to make a man take pause," he said, returning Dino's grin. "You did him an injury, then?"

"Damn straight!" His grin, if it were possible, grew wider. "Broke his fuckin' jaw!"

Almost unnoticed, The Phantom and Harry came into the lobby. Brendan rushed forward, hugged his brother and then began to feel his shoulders, chest and arms. "Are you all right?" Brendan demanded. "Tell me where you're hurt!" He was almost in tears and his worry was etched on his face.

"Brendan, I'm fine," said The Phantom. He impulsively kissed his brother. "Nobody touched me, no cuts, no bruises." He sniggered. "Which is more that I can say for `Uncle Bob'."

"Who?"

"The guy who kept Jergen and Zander," said The Phantom.

Brendan saw Harry massaging the back of his hand, looking sly.

"Don't tell me you broke the guy's jaw!" exclaimed Brendan.

"Balls," Harry said with a grin.

"Really Harry, there's no need to take that tone," began Brendan huffily.

Laughing, The Phantom said, "No, no, Harry means the guy's balls!"

Brendan, confused, looked first at his brother and then at Harry. "What did you do to his balls?"

"Punched 'em," grunted Harry.

"What?"

The Phantom, still laughing, began to lead his brother to one of the sofas that stood in the lobby. "Well, you see Brendan, Harry had this heifer . . ." he began.

"A heifer? A heifer doesn't have balls!" sniped Brendan, more confused than ever.

"Of course not," agreed The Phantom. "Harry had a heifer, and there was this bull and . . ."

There was a short period of silence and then Steve and Stuart entered. They led two boys, both blond, and no more than ten years old, by the hand. Both boys were wearing white, blue-piped gunshirts. "Anybody speak Polish?" Stuart asked as he led the boys forward.

"Polish?" exclaimed Harry.

Ace, who had led the raid, and Stuart and Steve's minders, Randy Croft and Marshall Whilden, followed the two young Knights. They were carrying boxes overflowing with papers.

"Where's Lester?" Ace asked, looking around the lobby. "We found some very interesting papers."

"He's at the Chinese hospital, tending to a boy the Twins found," Harry replied. He turned to Steve. "So, Polish?"

"Yeah, like what they speak in Poland," returned Steve. "These kids don't speak English!"

"What's with the gunshirts?" The Phantom asked.

Stuart lifted the dark sweater he was wearing, exposing his broad, firm chest. "What do you think?" he asked.

"`Clothe ye the naked'," intoned Chef from his sofa. "A corporal Act of Mercy!"

Steve gave Chef the eye. "Don't tell me, he's been taking his `medicine' again," he said with emphasis.

The Phantom shook his head. "Just some Scotch, I think," he told Steve. Then he asked, "So, the gunshirts?"

Steve shrugged. "We were sent to a big house in Scarborough. It's in the swanky part of town, backing on the bluffs. Ned told us there'd be two kids . . ." He nodded toward the blond boys, who as yet had not said a word. "Meet Heckel and Jeckel. We found them in bed, asleep, as naked as the day they were born."

"I think we scared them badly," interjected Stuart. He looked over to where their minders, Randall Croft and Marshall Whilden were standing. "I guess seeing all four of us in their room shook 'em up. They started screaming and we thought for sure they'd wake the dead, so Randall told us to get out of the house quick like."

"And, since they were nekkid," said Steve, "we stripped off our gunshirts and put them on the kids." He smiled at the boys. "Covers their fundamentals, but not by much."

"What of their keeper?" Chef asked.

Marshall stepped forward. "He wasn't there and we didn't think we should hang around waiting for him," he said.

"We hustled them into the car and tried to talk to them, but they don't speak English," said Stuart.

Chef sighed and contemplated his now empty glass. "Ah well, wait a bit. Sure and we have a regular League of Nations descending on the house!" He smiled. "Sooner or later someone who speaks Polish and English will turn up!"

Lenny Weintraub slowly turned the doorknob. He heard the faint click and pulled the door open. "It's not locked," he whispered over his shoulder.

Behind him, Mordy Goldschmidt nodded. "Can we get out?" he asked Lenny.

Carefully, Lenny stuck his head out. He saw Cook and the kitchen helpers busily cooking or plating trays of sandwiches. He drew back. "They're all busy," he said quietly. "I think we can sneak out."

Mordy stepped forward. He was tired of sitting in this bare room, which was some sort of a storeroom off of the kitchen, staring at walls or watching his guards stare at him. When Sandro and Nate were called away Mordy and Lenny saw their chance.

They stepped into the kitchen and thought that the cooking staff were too busy to notice them. Not so, for a strident voice yelled out, "And just where do you think you are going?"

Both boys turned to see Cook, hands on hips, glaring at them. "Um, we thought we might be able to help out front," lied Lenny.

"You will!" growled the old woman. She pointed to the trays of sandwiches sitting out. "We're short of wait staff. Take a tray out to the front of the house and make yourselves useful!"

Rather than irritate Cook further, the boys took up trays and walked into the restaurant, which was empty. Passing through they then went into the lobby, which seemed filled with people, mostly, or so it seemed, little boys in varying states of undress. Some were wearing hospital gowns, which exposed their bums to all who cared to look. Others wore briefs, very tight, or loose boxers. Two, little cherubs, wore strange, square-necked, blue-piped shirts of some kind, which barely covered their privates.

Trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, and looking for an opportunity to bolt for the door, Lenny and Mordy sidled forward. As they did so one of the blond boys spoke and pointed to the tray that Mordy was carrying.

"Ja jestem g?odny. Podoba? si? czy móg?bym jeden?" he asked, blushing his shyness.

Caught by surprise, Mordy nodded, and then bent down, offering his tray of sandwiches to the little boy. The boy smiled at him and Mordy could not help smiling back as he said, "Pewny, ma?y cz?owiek." He also could not help noticing from the little bit of boy sticking out from under the shirt that the blond was "goyim". Mordy tried not to frown. After all, not everyone was fortunate enough to be Jewish.

The Phantom, who had heard the exchange between Mordy and the little boy, turned abruptly and asked, "What did he say? What did you say?"

Mordy, taken aback, saw the look in this new boy's green eyes. "Um, he said that he was hungry and asked if he could have a sandwich. I told him that he could!"

"You speak Polish?"

Mordy nodded. "My grandmother is Polish. She can't speak anything but Yiddish and Polish."

Chef jumped up from his sofa, took the tray from Mordy, and handed it to The Phantom. "Phantom darlin', go about your business," he said. He looked down at the little Polish boy and then at Mordy. He smiled winningly and said, "And you, young man, you, sit on the sofa."

Mordy did as he was told. Before he knew it Chef plunked the little blond boy in his lap. "Now then, my true son of Abraham, we need your help."

"My name is Mordecai," returned Mordy with a sniff.

Chef noted the sniff and knew that some peace making was in order. "A fine, traditional name," he boomed. "Mordecai, the son of Jair, of the tribe of Benjamin."

Mordy looked at Chef as if the old man had suddenly gone mad.

"He who `Sat in the King's Gate'," Chef nattered on. "Honoured in the Talmud as a Prophet! Cousin of Esther!" He laughed and hugged Mordy. "So, then, descendant of a Prophet, would you be so kind as to tell me what this poor waif is chattering on about?"

Mollified, and wondering how a gentile - he assumed the fat old man was gentile - would know the origins of his name, Mordy regarded the blond-haired boy, who was munching on a sandwich - ham, Mordy noticed - and playing with one of his payos. Between bits the boy chattered in rapid Polish.

"What's he saying?" Chef asked.

"He wants to know why my hair is the way it is," Mordy replied. He leaned forward and whispered, as if imparting a state secret, "He's not Jewish."

Chef, who noticed such things, was not about to start a religious war. "We'll worry about that later," he said. "What is his name? What is the other boy's name?"

Mordy translated and the boy answered, "Jerzy."

"The other boy" spoke for himself. "Sigismund!"

Chef smiled again. "Mordy, ask them what happened to the man who held them in his house. He was not there when we, um, visited."

Once again Mordy translated. The bigger of the two boys almost spat. He let loose with a violent sounding tirade. Mordy listened, his face growing whiter and whiter. Then he swallowed.

"Sigismund says that the man who hurt them both left yesterday for New York. He thinks the man was on business. He's done it before, left them alone."

Chef nodded. "There is more, Mordecai?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Mordy tried not to cry. "Sigismund says that the man did things to them, bad things." Suddenly he was crying bitterly. "Is it true? It cannot be true, what he did to them!"

Lenny, who did not speak Polish, and had only seen the stricken look on his friend's face, stared at Mordy. He did not notice the hands that reached out to strip his tray bare. He did hear what Chef said next.

"When they have finished eating, take them along to Sick Bay. Tell them that there is doctor, a very nice man, who will not hurt them. Explain that he has to examine them to make certain they are fine. Can you do that?"

Mordy translated, listened to Jerzy's replied, and said, "They don't care. They just don't want anyone to . . ." His voice ceased abruptly. He could not bring himself to continue.

Chef understood. He saw Mrs. Arundel emerge from the corridor leading to the Sick Bay and motioned her over. "No one will hurt them," he said reassuringly. "Now, here is a nice lady who will help you."

Mrs. Arundel smiled at the boys and held out her hands. "Come, all of you."

As he followed Mrs. Arundel, his hand firmly on Jerzy's shoulder, Mordy heard Chef. "When you're done, you and your fellow agent can go and report to the rabbis."

Mordy stopped, glared at Chef, looked meaningfully at Lenny (who nodded) and then replied, "We'll stay, if you don't mind."

Chef beamed. The brotherhood of boys worked every time!

Mary Randolph returned to the Hospital lobby at almost the same instant that the doors seemed to burst open and Mike Sunderland entered. He was holding the little Russian boy in his arms. "Help!" Mike bellowed. "We need a doctor!" Beside him, Phillip, called The Assistant, looked pale and worried.

Mike's cheek was smeared with blood and even as he stood droplets of blood fell onto the edge of the carpet and marred the pristine surface of the wood floor beside it. Mary hurried forward, her arms out, prepared to take the boy from Mike. "I'll take him," she said.

The little Russian boy, not understanding the words, but understanding the intent, screamed loudly. He screamed, "Nyet! Nyet! Nyet!" He did not, would not, leave the arms of this warm, sweet man. He sensed the gentleness in the "big man", and knew that he was safe. He would not leave Mike, who would not hurt him, as the other man had done.

Sandro, hearing the Russian words, hurried forward. In a low, calm voice he spoke to the little boy, trying to assure him, to calm him. The boy, weeping, and shaking his head violently, hugged Mike tightly. Sandro's eyes softened as he listened to the gasping words. He looked at Mrs. Randolph. "The boy will not let you take him." Sandro looked at Mike. "He wants to be with you." Sandro smiled tightly. "He calls you `Big Man' and says you saved him from the bad man who did horrible things to him."

Mike leaned his head down and kissed the top of the little boy's head. "Tell him I'll never hurt him." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "Tell him that my name is `Mike'."

The little boy raised his head, his face a mask of pain, but his eyes sharp and sparkling. "M-M-Mike?" he managed.

Mike smiled as Sandro translated. Mike heard a name, "Mikhail", which he assumed was the Russian version of his name. The little boy listened and spoke in a near-whisper as he raised his head slightly and looked into Mike's eyes. Mike could only understand two words, "Vytaly" and "Mike".

Sandro could not help laughing. He gently gave the little Russian a pat on the head. "He says his name is Vytaly', and you are Mike'. He won't accept anything else."

Mary Randolph, intrigued and not understanding the bond that existed between boys, saw her nephew enter. Blake smiled and held up a box he was holding. Mary, relieved that her nephew was safe, returned the smile and took Mike's arm. "Come, the doctor is waiting."

Mike, holding Vytaly close, followed her as she led him and Sandro toward the Sick Bay.

Phillip, called The Assistant, who had been listening, grinned at Chef. "It's a good thing that kid didn't call him `Big Mike'!"

Chef, who knew all the secrets and where more than one body was buried, and also knew of Mike Sunderland's short-coming, as it were, gave Phillip a black look. "Be nice, y'disrespecftul git! Go and be with your friend!"

He slapped Phillip, called the Assistant lightly on his butt as he passed, and then grinned. He did not say that from what he had seen of the little Polish boy, Mike was in good company!

Teddy Vian, with Jake Guildenhall and Rusty Smith, and Charlie Tew entered the lobby. They saw Alex Grinchsten standing to one side and Teddy, as team leader, advanced to make his report.

As Teddy told Alex what had transpired in the Oakville mansion and that Sophie and Chief Edgar had gone on to the Chinese hospital, Teddy became aware that Alex was not listening to him. Alex was staring at Jake Guildenhall, who was standing back, smiling his sleepy smile, his dark, smouldering eyes never leaving Alex's face.

Teddy glanced at Rusty and Charlie. Both of them were snickering and Teddy finally understood. He looked around and saw Chef, who was loitering, as he always did, near the French doors leading to the Hospital office. As Teddy watched him, Chef raised a knowing eyebrow and motioned with his head.

"Uh, yeah, maybe we can do this later," he said. He gestured to Rusty and Charlie. "Come on, guys, let's see if old Chef has a little bit of something to help us celebrate a successful mission."

"Let's see if he has a lot of something," said Rusty as they moved away from Alex and Jake.

"And we'll talk about who is old and who is not," grumbled Chef as he led the three men into the office. ******

Alex never said a word. He walked forward, placed his hands on Jake's shoulders, and then, before Jake could complain, purr or react, Alex kissed him. The kiss was long, deep and passionate. When, finally, Alex released him, Jake gasped, "Wow!"

Alex, his face flushed, said more softly, "I love you."

Jake nodded. "I know." His smile widened. "I love you, too. Fell in love with you in Vietnam."

"I let you go, in Vietnam, and in Vancouver," Alex whispered. "That won't happen again."

"There is a room assigned to you, Alex," came a voice. It was Chef who, after pouring stiff drinks for Teddy and his team, had returned to listening at the doorway. "Take a private moment."

As much as Alex wanted a moment with Jake, he knew that would be a long time coming. The doors to the square opened and Jeff MacDuff entered, followed by Neil Prentice, who was Kevin's Berkeley's minder. Nicholas Rodney followed with his Security Officer, Adam Sheridan. They were protectively leading three boys, dark-haired, wide-eyed, and obviously frightened. Jeff, who was holding the hand of the youngest-looking boy, grinned at Alex. "Behold, the Polish Underground!" he said.

Kevin, who had followed the two minders into the lobby looked around. "Where's Ray?" Hank Peabody, nominally Colin's minder, but who had been ordered to stay behind by Ned, as what he called "Command Backup" - whatever that meant - was about to exchange places with Mike Knight in the hooded, leather butler's chair, as door watcher.

"Not back yet," Hank said.

Looking crestfallen, for he was worried about Ray, who was not, in Kevin's opinion, the warrior type, nodded unhappily and moved toward the door. Neil stopped him. "We need you to help with the boys," he said kindly. "Your friend is fine."

Wanting to believe that Ray was all right, and knowing that Ray was in good hands and not in any real danger, Kevin moved away from the window. "Yeah, you're right," he said.

"Of course I am," replied Neil, more as assurance than braggadocio.

Alex sighed. He gave Jake a weak smile. "Duty calls," he said.

Jake nodded, turned and walked to where the three boys were standing. He bent down and displayed his softer side to the youngest boy. "My name is Jake. What's yours?"

"Albert," the boy said in perfect, slightly accented English. "Are you my new Vati?"

Shaking his head, Jake said, "No. I'm just your friend."

Albert began crying. He shook off Kevin's hand and all but leaped at Jake.

Chef's eyes began watering. He turned into the office and closed the door. Sometimes, he thought, sometimes it all works out.

As in any campaign, timetables meant nothing. Chef had seen a list of the suspected houses, which were spread out all over the city, and its suburbs. The Gunner, or more than likely Lester, had estimated the time to travel, search and return to the Hospital. Chef had not been in Toronto in years so had no idea if the estimates would hold true.

The Gunner had planned a classic campaign, with each team arriving more or less at the same time - "Time on Target" - although Chef doubted that Lester had ever heard of Murphy's Law. Searching a house, no matter big or small, superficially or not, took time. Doors would be locked, and only the owners knew what changes had been made to the original plans filed with City Hall when the house, or houses, were originally built. Timetables were all well and good in the abstract, and sometimes the deadlines were met. What if one of the men who held the boys decided to fight for his "property"? The list of what might have beens, and the inevitable imponderables, was long. One delay here, another there . . . an accident, say, and a carefully planned operational timetable was just so much bum wipe!

The Gunner had planned simultaneous raids on 14 houses - at last count - which was all well and good, but history and experience had shown the best laid plans often went awry. The D-Day invasion had been planned carefully, practiced for months, and still the carefully laid out timetables had been wrecked by fierce resistance, wind, the tides and surf! The Americans had come a cropper, seemingly unable to get off the beach. Other units, meeting no resistance, forged ahead . . . which, so far as Chef was concerned, demonstrated that imponderables could, and would screw you up every time and which explained why teams were still out and about, and trickling in . . . slowly.

From time to time Chef's fingers would drum impatiently on the arms of the sofa. Then the door would burst open and new boys would be added to the growing number.

Commander Stockman strolled in with the air of a man out for a Sunday stroll along the Embankment. He was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy dressed in pyjamas, which were decorated with teddy bears. Perched precariously on the little boy's head was the Commander's battered old white and salt-stained "steaming hat". The boy was smiling and holding on to the Commander's hand for dear life.

Next Chef heard a loud, laughing "whoops a-daisy" and saw Tyler dip low as he cleared the doorway. On his shoulders was another small boy, one hand around the Master-at-Arms' chin, the other playing with his coppery hair. As Tyler rose upward the boy laughed loudly. He was wearing only a pair of white briefs.

Seeing the look on Chef's face, Tyler called out, "Hey Chef, how's it going?" He threw back his head and rubbed the little boy's naked tummy. "Look what I found! Can I keep him?"

Commander Stockman chuckled, stopped before Chef and bowed low. "Good evening - or is it morning, my Lord Proctor?" He held up the boy's hand. "This is Petya, who is Russian, and comes from Leningrad, he thinks. He is nine years old and knows his numbers, and is very hungry."

"And this is Yuri," said Tyler, indicating the boy with his head. "He is 11, but small for his age. He is very intelligent, or so he says, and is learning to speak English like a Canadian boy."

Yuri giggled and leaned down to whisper in Tyler's ear. Tyler snickered. "He is also hungry, but first he has to use the heads."

Somewhat taken aback, Chef indicated a door on the other side of the lobby. "In there," he said.

Tyler grinned at Chef and, pretending to be a horse, trotted toward the toilets. Yuri said something as Tyler dipped to clear the door jamb which Chef did not hear. He did hear Tyler's reply: "Of course I won't look!"

Val Orsini came in, with Commander Stockman's minder, Avram Stein. They were lugging two suitcases. Val grinned at Chef.

"And what is it that you find so humorous, my little Italian puti?" demanded Chef.

"I was wondering if you know a good lawyer," Val said.

"Now why would I want a lawyer?" demanded Chef.

"Not you, Avi," returned Val.

"Tell me," Chef said with a martyred air.

"We went to this house in Richmond Hill. Very posh," said Val. "Can I put this down?" Val did not wait for Chef to reply. He dropped the box he'd been holding onto the floor. "It was dark, and all the doors and windows were locked." He looked around for Cary McNamara. "Cary broke a window and we went in. While we were looking around this dough-head came shuffling out of one of the rooms. He almost shit himself when he saw us and then he got lippy and wouldn't tell us where the kids were. Avi had to persuade him."

"Don't tell me, Avi broke the man's jaw," growled Chef.

Val's voice was bland, but tinged with laughter as he said, "Nope, kneed him in the nuts. He was very co-operative after that!"

Chef raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm sure he was."

The lobby was silent and, except for Hank Peabody, who was on duty and sat in the large chair near the door, empty. Chef left the office, bored with trying to make sense of the mass of papers the teams were bringing back. He wandered into the restaurant, and nodded approvingly at the large buffet prepared by Cook. The old cook had been around for many years and she knew that battle, or the excitement of a "crusade" would send a young man's heart to racing and his stomach to growling. It always happened.

Leaving the restaurant, Chef walked across the lobby and out the door, and into the square. Hank rose from his seat immediately and followed Chef.

The night air was muggy, but very clear. The day's accumulation of smog had blown away and the sky was dotted with stars. Chef looked at the bright, twinkling dots of white and noticed that some stars were brighter than others. It occurred then to Chef that The Phantom's Tapestry was very much like the stars. In the Tapestry some figures were woven in full, bright colours, while others were pale, and fading, dying stars against the background. For long minutes Chef stared at the sky, wondering how many of the stars would suddenly flash brightly, and then fade away into the nothingness of space.

The Phantom had spoken of figures appearing, and then slowly fading away into the warp and woof of the Tapestry. He wondered how many of the young boys, those rescued and yet to be rescued, would flare brightly and then slowly fade away.

Burdened with his thoughts, Chef turned back into the hotel. He walked across the lobby and went into the office, shutting the door behind him. Hank Peabody followed the old man and returned to his seat. He had stood silently watching the old man and felt sorry for him. Hank had been in Vietnam and knew that while some would dismiss Chef's actions as idle star gazing, he knew better. Hank had seen the same thing in some of the officers, and many of the NCOs, who commanded the troops. The power of command lay heavily on a man, Hank thought. In war, someone gave an order, and men died. Many of those who gave the order thought nothing of the men who would only return home in a box. Others, those like Chef, gave the order, and grieved in private.

What struck Hank was the realization that Chef cared, that Chef loved each and every cadet become Knight. Hank also suspected that some of that caring and love had spilled over to the minders, and would grow as the old cook came to know them all better. That same love would go out to the boys they saved. Hank wondered how many of the boys, the "Lost Boys" as they were coming to be called, would return that love.

With New England stoicism, Hank thought that not all of the Lost Boys would know of the great love that was waiting to envelop them. There would be casualties, not physical, but spiritual, and Hank sadly thought that some would stay, and some would go, to live in the shadows, to never accept the changes that Hank himself knew had come to him.

Hank was changed. The war had changed him, and now this strange band of young men, led by a green-eyed youth, an old man and an iron-willed gunner, had changed him. Hank had been essentially a loner. Now he wanted to be a part of the wonderful thing that was unfolding before his eyes.

Hank did not know that he was already a part of the Tapestry. Soon, he would and a new name would be added to the Roll of Knights.

While Hank was mulling over his future with the Order, Chef was mulling over the future of the Order itself. First, he thought, the Rule must be revisited. Changes were necessary and some sort of ritual would need to be established. While Michael Chan had made a start, they were flying by the seat of their pants, really, depending on Bertie Arundel's half-written history and Cory's perhaps faulty memory of his father's words.

While Chef was concerned with the path the Order was to follow, and the need to regularize the Order, he was also concerned - greatly so - that those involved in this crusade be recognized.

Chef was impressed with the dedication of many people. While Chef thought that The Gunner had planned well, he was convinced that Lester, once dismissed as a feckless man whose only interest seemed to be sex, had played a goodly part in the planning. Chef decided that Lester would be invited to join the Order.

There were others that Chef would not allow to be ignored - all of the Rangers and, as a special mark of favour, Terry Hsiang. Doctor Hampton also needed to be considered. Another consideration had to be the ladies. For its entire history the Order had never considered women - not surprising, considering the membership and the purpose of the Order. But, Chef reasoned, why not women - perhaps as "Dames" of the Order? It was a perfectly legitimate title and the ladies deserved some recognition. Mrs. Arundel, Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Airlie had been, and still were, working like navvies. They seemed to be everywhere, tending to the boys, gathering clothing, making sure that the rooms were in order. Even Cook, on the surface a vile-tempered harridan, had barely taken a break since arriving at the Hospital. That she also wielded a wooden spoon with the best of them endeared her to Chef.

As he was mulling over possibilities to honour the ladies, Chef heard the door to the office open and saw a fey young man standing in the doorway. From the description that The Gunner had given him, Chef knew that this was "Lester", the strongest link in The Gunner's chain of Rangers.

Beaming, Chef held out his hand, introduced himself and then motioned for the younger man to join him on the sofa that stood in front of the office fireplace. When Lester was seated, Chef offered a drink. Lester politely declined. He was not much of a drinker in any case, and a belt of something strong now would knock him flat.

Chef understood. He patted Lester's knee. The man needed a little tender loving care, so he did.

"I am that pleased to meet you, Lester darlin'," Chef said, meaning every word. "Your good work shows, and proud of yourself you should be!"

Lester squirmed in embarrassment. "Well, Steve needed the help, and he saw something I never knew I had, so here I am!" He yawned. "Although I am damned tired."

"It will end soon," replied Chef. "And do not be hiding your abilities. Faith, according to Stevie darlin' ye might have the air of cherub and the looks of a Raphael waster but ye've balls of brass!"

Lester sniggered. "He's knows," he blurted. "He squeezed them!"

Chef stared at Lester. "He didn't!"

"He did!" replied Lester, his snigger growing to a chuckle. "To make a point only and it sure made me sit up and take notice!"

"Having your fundamentals squeezed will do that," observed Chef dryly.

"I might have to do that to Steve," Lester said, surprised at his own boldness.

"Why not, I've done it," replied Chef with a grin. "He's a good man, so he is, but he can be as stubborn as a Queenstown rat with a bit of stale cheese."

Lester laughed. Then he sobered. "Chef, I'm worried."

"About?"

"We're out of money," Lester said. "We had about eight grand on hand, but Steve used five of it to bribe a street boy." He saw the startled look on Chef's face and continued. "The boy had information we needed and was extremely mercenary."

"Well, a boy does have to look out for himself, so he does," Chef replied. "What else?"

"We bought new bedding, and the larder had to be stocked, and the ambulance service doesn't know us from Adam's off ox, and I had to pay cash. As for the Chinese hospital they can't keep supplying us and taking care of our casualties for nothing. Sophie is underwriting much of the costs but we can't keep expecting her to foot our bills."

Chef had not yet met Sophie Nicholson, and while he'd heard she had more money that Midas, Lester had a point. "Sure, and she's a fine, generous woman," he said.

"She's a fine, happy woman," countered Lester.

Chef gave Lester the eye. "What do ye me, man? The last I heard she'd all but taken up residence in the Chinese hospital, tending to a boy!"

"Sorry, I'm not thinking straight, and I've been that worried about how I was going to pay the bills and I just let every other thought fly out my ears."

"Focus, lad, as you have been doing," instructed Chef.

"Well, then, there's some good news." He smiled. "You heard about the German boy that Stennes raped and beat?"

"Steven told me," Chef said with a slight nod. "The last I was told he was so badly off that the Angel of Death was hovering."

"He's better," Lester said. "Marginally at least, and he's still in a coma, but his vitals are getting better. The doctor's are still cautious, but they're optimistic. He's not out of the woods yet." He laughed. "When I left, Sophie was lighting candles in the chapel - I hope she doesn't burn the place down - and promising to build a new cardiac wing!"

"The boy is that improved?" asked Chef.

Lester nodded. "He is."

"And the little boy, and the poor lad on the stretcher?"

A dark, manic look came into Lester's eyes. "The boy, Vytaly, was in surgery when I left. The bastard who `owned' him ripped him up." Lester sighed. "The nameless boy is not as bad, but he is terribly weak from hunger and general abuse. When I saw him, Mabell was with him and he had tubes coming out of every orifice. He's also scheduled for some surgery, but it's not dangerous or anything. The doctors are going to make a nice, clean-cut boy out of him."

"You'll report to the Surgeon?" asked Chef.

"And tell him help is on the way. Mabell spoke to the Chief of Surgery, told him what we were facing, and he's sending along some help - two doctors and four nursing sisters. They're also bringing some supplies and equipment and now do you understand why I'm worried about money? It all has to be paid for one way or another!"

Chef was well aware that Terry Hsiang's influence and power had a great deal to do with the Chinese hospital's generosity. Still, the Order had always paid its way, had always honoured its debts.

Lester saw Chef's face lower and then almost fainted when the old man burst into laughter, his body shaking like a bowl of Jell-O. "Faith and I'm in me dotage!" Chef declared, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Money! I've forgotten all about it!" He suddenly grabbed Lester's hand. "Find Jake Guildenhall, he's the Travelling Yeoman, and tell him . . . no, wait, Jake will be with Alex Grinchsten, re-consummating their . . . well, revisiting old times shall we say. Find Rusty, Rusty Smith. You can't miss him. He's tall and has hair as red as the sunset over the Mountains of Morne! Tell him to fetch the Gladstone bag we fetched from Hunter's house in Montreal."

Lester had no idea what Chef was talking about. He stared in disbelief at the old man, wondering what was coming next!

"Don't look like I've suggested selling your first born, or caught me molesting the ship's cat! We brought a bagful of money - cash. And there's more. Teddy Vian's lads cleaned out that deviate's safe in Oakville! Check with the other team leaders."

For a moment Lester could not move. "Money? Lots of money?"

"Aye, lad, enough to keep the wolves away from the door!" exclaimed Chef.

Lester heard the squeal of tires in the square outside of the Hospital and looked up. "Speaking of which."

Lester and Chef left the office and saw that the help from the Chinese hospital had arrived. There were, as Lester had said, two doctors, both Chinese and both looking impossibly young, and four Sisters of Mercy. They brought, in addition to tanks of oxygen, medicines, and bandages, two folding examining tables. Lester hurried to greet the new arrivals and led them to Sick Bay.

Chef settled back, thinking, they will be busy.

While Chef had been sequestered in the closed office, another team had returned: Ray Cornwallis, Brian Venables, and their minders. Ray looked around the lobby as he entered and then asked Hank, "Where is everybody?" He looked stonily at Hank. "Where's Chef? Didn't he come back from Montreal?" Anguish and worry for the safety of his "Papa Chef" was written on the young cook's face. His anguish was increased when he did not see Kevin. "Where's Kevin, is he back yet?" he asked.

Hank shrugged. "Kevin is in Sick Bay, helping out there. The Gunner is still out. Lester is in the Sick Bay with the new staff, and Chef is in there." He pointed to the office door. He saw the boy that this team had brought back and said, "You should get him to Sick Bay . . ."

Ray was not listening. He hurried to the office door, threw it open and saw Chef looking pontifical, sitting on the sofa. "Papa Chef!" Ray yelled. Chef smiled as Ray all but leapt on him and kissed the old cook soundly. "Gosh, I was worried," Ray said when he calmed down. "Are you okay?"

"And why would I not be?" asked Chef, beaming, his love for this handsome, bright-eyed young man rising high. He waved away Ray's concerns. "I was as safe as the Gate of Knockanorra," he said with exaggerated dignity. "Did I not have Brendan Lascelles and Alex Grinchsten with me?" He hugged Ray closely. "And what did you do of the mornin'?"

Ray laughed. "Well, Ned sent us to this really neat house in Richmond Hill . . ." Ray began as he held Chef's hand and all but pulled him into the lobby. "We found a boy!"

Brian took up the tale. "It was all glass, and looked like something in one of my mother's magazines." He smiled at Ray's minder, Drew Larsen, who was standing back, holding onto the shoulders of a blond, well-built boy wearing white boxer shorts. "You should see how Drew can pick a lock!"

"A versatile young man, I am sure," replied Chef dryly.

"Yeah, he is," agreed Ray cheerfully. "Brian and Chad . . ." He nodded to Chad Stewart, who was Brian's minder. "They looked around and we found this big hairy guy in bed. He started to get up but Mr. Ming - he was our driver - he stuck his gun in the guy's mouth. He sorta got the hint and shut up. Drew asked where the boy was and the guy told us. We looked and found Hermann . . ." He pointed to the boy Drew was holding. "He's nice."

Chef motioned for Hermann to come alongside. "Are you, young Hermann, nice?"

Herman nodded. "Ya." He looked at Drew, who nodded. "Herr Larsen says I am no longer to live with Herr Bauman. This is true?"

"Herr Bauman was the man who . . .?" Chef paused. "Who did things to you?"

"Ja," Hermann confirmed with a nod. "I did not like what he made me do."

"Well, lad, no one will make you do anything," Chef replied firmly. He turned to Ray and said, "You take him along to Sick Bay and . . ."

Ray did not hear Chef. Standing in the doorway leading from the corridor to Sick Bay was Kevin.

The Phantom, who had been watching the Knights, minders, and one of the nuns trying to dress the arriving boys in surgical gowns prepatory to their examination by Doctor Hampton, heard the commotion in the lobby. He knew that Ray was in love with Chef, and his glowing face showed that the young cook was happy to be back with his "Papa Chef". The Phantom also knew that there was someone else in Ray's life, someone who would cause Ray's eyes to grow brighter with even more happiness.

Kevin, who was trying to convince Albert that it was perfectly all right to take off his underpants and wear just the surgical gown, and that no one had the least interest in his appendage or butt, felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see The Phantom smiling at him.

"Ray's back, and he's fine," was all The Phantom had to say.

Kevin pushed Albert toward the Phantom. "Here, take over will you? The kid won't take off his drawers!" With that Kevin left the Sick Bay. He stood in the lobby doorway, his heart pounding as he saw Ray.

Ray, who had been listening to Hermann's story, looked up and saw Kevin. Without a word he hurried to take his lover in his arms. They embraced closely. "Are you all right?" Ray asked Kevin.

"Never better," replied Kevin with a smile. He nuzzled Ray's neck. "I'm from Hamilton, remember? Nothing can hurt me 'cause I have a pecker of steel and balls of brass!"

Ray giggled and he embraced Kevin closer, as if reassuring himself that Kevin was really here, really safe.

Chef, who had been watching the two Knights express their love, harrumphed loudly. He had noticed that Hermann had also seen the embrace, and was looking very curiously at the two Knights. Chef thought that this was not the time or place to reveal that some of the Knights were closer than "just friends".

Ray heard Chef's muted bellowing and pulled away from Kevin. He turned and saw the knowing look on Chef's face. "Um, I think we better take care of business later," he said to Kevin, who smirked. He nodded his head toward Chef. "We're wanted."

Sighing, reluctant to let go of Ray, Kevin said, "I know. Damn it!" He looked at Chef. "Yes, Chef?"

Chef gave the two young Knights a sharp look and then directed, "The pair of you take young Hermann along to Sick Bay. The doctor will see to him, and when he is finished you might want to see if you can find something for him to wear."

"Sure, Papa Chef," said Ray brightly. He kissed Chef again and then, called to Hermann. "Come on and don't worry, everything will be okay."

"Not if Randy and Joey are working in Sick Bay," muttered Kevin under his breath.

More and more teams returned, all with Lost Boys in Tow. Phil Thornton, together with his minder, Alvin Dawson, and with Matt Greene, and his minder, brought back a red-haired boy of perhaps eight years of age. He was a quiet child, and nobody could understand a word he said.

Randy and Joey, who had been helping the younger rescued boys put on surgical gowns, had a sixth sense when it came to Phil. They seemed to know instinctively that the tall, muscular, dark-haired young man, their lover, their protector, was back.

Both boys hurried from the Sick Bay and into the lobby where they greeted Phil enthusiastically, kissing him on both cheeks and hugging him. Randy was the first to notice the silent little boy standing with Alvin. "He has red hair!" Randy exclaimed.

"So?" asked Phil. "You have red hair!"

"He's kinda cute," observed Joey. He smiled at the little boy, who ducked his head and smiled shyly back.

Phil's warning bells went off. "Don't either of you get any ideas," he warned.

Joey puffed up and flashed Phil a dark, venomous look, "We're Tiffys!" he said with exaggerated emphasis.

"Yeah!" echoed Randy, whose looked mirrored Joey's. "We're medical professionals!"

Phil knew that he'd jumped to a very bad conclusion. "That's not what I meant!" he protested.

"Oh yes it was!" accused Randy. "Well, Chief Petty Officer Thornton, we have ethics! We wouldn't . . ."

Joey interrupted. "He's our patient! We're his Tiffys!" He shot Phil another look that spoke volumes. "We would never do anything to him!"

Without waiting for Phil to respond, the two boys motioned for Alvin to follow them. As they led the small parade toward Sick Bay, Phil groaned. He'd pissed in the pickles, big time and visions of sleeping on the lobby sofa for the next fifty years swept through his mind.

"Aaaw . . ." Phil began in a whining voice, "Randy, Joey, I didn't mean anything, honest. Let me explain, pleeeaassse?"

To no one's surprise, Phil and Randy and Joey made up and the couches in the Hospital lobby remained empty. Since that night, while the End of Year party was in full swing on the beaches of Aurora, when Phil had been foolish enough to take one of the "Fishing Fleet" into the woods, and crashed in flames, so to speak, a bond had grown between him and the two younger boys, a bond that would strengthen and a bond that time could not sever.

What did surprise everyone was that two days after the arrival of the little red-headed boy, they would discover the extent of Stennes' network.

One of the rabbis dropped by the Hospital to remind Lester that Friday was Shabbes and could the boys, who were proving to be rambunctious, be reminded that quiet would be appreciated? The little red-head was sitting with Randy and Calvin, fellow red heads, who were trying to teach him English. There were showing him a picture of a dog which the boy identified - in his own language. The rabbi heard the boys and struck up a conversation with the little stranger. He chattered away happily and the boy smiled and chattered back. It turned out that his name was Istvan, and that he came from Hungary!

As it sometimes happened in any campaign, the unexpected happened: one of the homes that was to be investigated was empty of people.

Chris and Jon, along with their minders, Kevin Teague and Andy Bockus, had been a part of the team sent to a house in Aurora, very isolated and private. That there was a boy in residence had been confirmed by Trougbridge's secret files, and a drive-by by Gil Stephenson. This team returned disappointed, and empty handed.

On arrival they found the house dark and the adjoining garage empty. A quick search of the house showed evidence that there had been a young boy in residence, but of the boy, or the man who owned him there was no sign. As the man's car, a late-model Bentley, was gone, and the drawers in the bedrooms of both the man and the boy were empty, or nearly so, of shorts and underpants, suggested a road trip, or a weekend in cottage country. Chef told them not to worry. They knew the man's name, and the license number of his car. He would speak with Terry Hsiang.

Rob Wemyss, Peter Race Eion Reilly, together with their minders came in with two boys, German boys, who had been beaten into submission. Chef decided to ask Doctor Hampton if he knew of a good paediatric psychologist or counsellor. These last two boys, Hans and Gerd, would need extensive therapy.

The Gunner was the last to return. He saw Chef, smiled, and joined his friend on the sofa. Chef filled The Gunner in and gave him a final tally: 43 boys. The Gunner accepted the breakdown in intelligence stoically. It happened.

Chef saw the other members of The Gunner's team enter, each carrying a box or a bag. He wondered where the boys The Gunner expected to find in the brothel were.

The Gunner looked tired. He felt tired and his voice echoed the fatigue he felt. "We hit the mother lode on information," he told Chef. "We also have a rather strange young man in custody."

"How strange?" asked Chef.

"Well, he's an SIU agent - I'm going to check with Rick Maslen on that - and it seems he's madly in love with Paul Greene!"

Chef's jaw dropped. "Dear God in heaven!" he gasped.

The Gunner forced a laugh. "Well, God ain't talking." He stood up. "Come on, old man; buy a sailor a drink because he needs one."

"After what you just told me I'll buy you two!" exclaimed Chef as he heaved his bulk up from the sofa. "Maybe three!"