Captured

Chapter 32. AV-Gas begins to flow! Alex pays for his attack on killer of Patrik Rivera.

Three more weeks went by before I went down to visit Dan at his airport again. Dan texted me that he registered the domain danvilleairport.net so he could post a calendar online to advise customers when certain activities were scheduled, like the drone club races using the runway for performance racing. The runway was closed to airplane traffic on drone competition days, and he promised there would be no drone races during peak harvest seasons. We also confined the drone club to one day of speed racing over the runway, just early Sunday mornings.

Dan showed me that he saw and photographed more original B&W photos of the airbase from WW2 from local people. It looks like all their vehicles and airplanes were kept on the south side of the runway, which is still (75 years later) firmly packed rocks, sand, clay, with some weeds. He said in all the photos people showed him there was never anything but weeds and cactus on the north side. Dan thinks any vehicles drove around the runway and behind the hangar to the barracks building, which was nearly straight south of the ATC building. He showed me the area behind the hangar is a wide open flat space of rocks, grass, weeds, snakes, and dozens of small lizards snatching flies out of the air with their long forked tongues. He said if you lay down on the rocks and looked out just over the weeds you'll occasionally see a tiny lizard leap in the air to intercept a low flying moth. He said they can jump almost three feet in the air.

Dan is building 30x30 concrete airplane refueling pads between the barracks and the hangar, an open flat area about 2500ft by 500 feet, ground that was used as a motor pool in the 1940s. During the war they probably had armed guards posted 24-7 since there was no perimeter fence (but they did have some barbed wire, but that's easily crossed). And they also had a trailer mounted anti-aircraft gun too. It was always ready to fire so it needed to be guarded. He thinks they probably also had a full-time guard in the control tower watching the entire perimeter but they had one blind spot caused by the hangar blocking a narrow view toward the southeast. Records indicated the area was thinly populated so they were not likely to be invaded regardless of the war. The little airbase was never considered to be combat ready. In two photos he saw they used two guard dogs trained to watch the perimeter fence and bark if anyone approached the barbed wire.xxxxx

Dan complained again that the lizards get into everything, even inside his motorhome and he is constantly hunting them, so he uses fly tape strips to trap them. Luckily, they don't bite. He said they eat flying bugs, and they're fast enough to catch `em in flight. Dan said a couple times he got phone calls while he was sitting on the picnic table eating a hot bowl of stew and when he came back there were lizards fully inside his bowl, and one had already drowned and all of them had deposited fresh turds. Once he saw that he decided it was time to declare war on the reptile army. That afternoon he drove to an animal shelter near Tangier and paid five Euros for a pregnant cat and brought it home and built a cat house behind the ATC building. He said the cat is black and looks old, with a few grey hairs near its nose and he named it Cat, but it is not allowed inside the motorhome. He will reward it for killing lizards with chunks of canned fish. He said he had no idea if Cat would actually kill lizards.

He texted me the other day with a newsflash, he identified the lizard army, they are called: Mediterranean House Gecko, "Look them up on Wikipedia." So I did.

The lizards move really fast and they can climb walls and walk across the ceiling so he is going to use adhesive traps to catch them indoors, he wants to set out bait and trap them by the hundreds all over the property and create a big lizard death zone around his motorhome. Job #2 will be to locate and plug every opening in the floor where they get inside. He thinks most of them get in around the openings for steering and brakes, plumbing and electrical. But there are other openings in the back end too. He also wants to find out what motivates them to sneak inside in the first place. Then he said maybe the Porta Potty was placed too close to the motor home, they love the Porta Potty but he doesn't care if they get in there and eat flies, crickets, and spiders. When he walked in the outhouse they all freeze thinking humans can't see them if they remain perfectly still, but a speckled tan-colored lizard on a light green fiberglass wall is super easy to see. Dan said as long as they leave his body alone then they can stay inside the outhouse and eat all the bugs they want. He said the first one that runs across his butt while he's sitting on the toilet will ignite hostilities inside the outhouse.

They get in the outhouse easily because there is a wide gap at the bottom of the door, so he will use glue sheets on the floor to trap them as they come inside. He buys these sheets of wax paper coated on one side with sticky glue, they step on it and cannot escape. Sometimes he finds them with just one foot on the glue sheet. Once they die he has to cut the leg with a scissors and toss the dead body outside for the ants to eat.

He thinks they get inside the motorhome by looking for light leaks at night and crawl inside the motorhome because where there is light there should be flying bugs. So to block the holes one person stays inside with a flashlight while the other person is on the ground under the motorhome looking for tiny light leaks.

When he has windows open at night and he has lights on the screens over the windows often have several lizards because they're trapping flies and moths.

On this visit he showed me the ATC building first. The control tower was fully enclosed now but the wind can still get in so the place doesn't turn into an oven every afternoon, there is always a little air movement. He said he might try to apply some kind of window mirroring film next. Downstairs, he built bathroom walls and used wood shims to hold them in place but then discovered the hole in the floor for the toilet wasn't correct so he had to take everything apart and build a raised plywood deck over the concrete floor then try to install a proper toilet mount and wax seal. He has also Drylok sealed the entire control tower roof (kind of shaped like a 4-sided pyramid) and half of the flat building roof. He has also started collecting rain water from that building and part of the hangar roof. All the original downspouts are gone so he's replaced two so far.

"My best guess was this building had a wood floor built above the concrete floor and in that space was where they ran electrical wires and water lines too. I cleaned the floor carefully where the pipes came up from the sewage tank. In order to install a regular flush toilet it has to be bolted down to hold it tightly over the pipe so it didn't leak when flushed. The wood floor might have been two inches above the concrete." He paused as if stuck in thought then said that he thinks it's possible there was a fire inside this building decades ago and that was why it is stripped empty of everything except the concrete shell because it wouldn't burn. He thought it was possible some vagrants camped out in the building over the decades too, but the place has been mostly empty for nearly 20 years now, except for birds, lizards, snakes, and insects.

Dan walked over to the wall by the door that exits toward his motorhome and he pointed to two plugged holes, "I bet these are where the electrical wires and water lines came inside, these holes." And then he walked back to the bathroom and pointed at the four inch pipe opening in the floor.

"The septic guy came back and pumped out the dried crud from the tank so now it is effectively twice as big inside and he said its working just fine, but he suggests I flush a box of RID once a month regardless." Dan said he just got his 2nd delivery of 1000 gallons of drinkable water and says it goes fast if he showers with it, but he is trying to work out how to flush the toilet with stored rain water. He said a big problem is the lizards get in the rain water barrels and drown which contaminates the water which ain't exactly clean to begin with. He said rain water is full of dust and sand as it falls from the sky. I suggested it might be soot from all those diesel vehicles in Morocco. He said for flushing the toilet the rain water would be fine.

He said he was up on the roof with soap and a push broom cleaning the roof during a storm so he could seal it with Drylok concrete paint.

He purchased six 55-gallon food-grade plastic drums for catching rain water off the roofs of the hangars and the ATC building. He showed me inside the Porta-Potty too, he said when pilots land and need a bathroom that's where they go but he politely warns all of them about not trashing it inside. The Porta-Potty truck comes by once every eight weeks and pumps it out and pressure washes the entire inside, but Dan has to provide the TP. He said he checks it after anyone uses it and confronts people who make a mess; they can clean it up or never use it again. Lots of people like to trash the Porta-Potty but this one needed to be different because Dan relied on it for his own use too. He said the lizards love it inside because it attracts flies. Lizards love flies, crickets, moths, and grasshoppers. He said the lizards are small and can easily fit on the palm of your hand. Dan said anyone is welcome to piss in the weeds if they cannot use the outhouse. He thinks people assume they will be nasty inside and decide before they open the door to piss on the floor and wall just because they always smell nasty.

His Porta John has a small white plastic trough for piss and a toilet seat with a lid on top. I told him the reason why some guys seem to piss all over everything is a lot of men have dicks that are impossible to aim, that's why you see Porta Johns at public shows where the inside is a urine mess, mostly because of fat men. I told him there are a lot more dudes with two inch dicks than eight inchers. And being overweight makes a short dick even harder to aim, they can't even see it. I told him really fat guys sort of lose control over aiming because their dick gets sucked back inside their body. This is why men piss all over things like a Porta John, they probably do the same thing at home or they have some other arrangement, like a coffee can or small bucket they can press against their belly. Some probably piss in the shower because they can't aim at all.

Dan tells them when they ask to use the toilet, "Lots of guys cannot aim when they pee, if you are one of those guys please piss in the weeds because that outhouse is part of my home and you are my guest."

I asked where he got the food grade drums to catch rain and he said there's a factory near the ocean that processes olive oil, they have hundreds of clean plastic drums for sale, cheap, and they speak Spanish too! "I bought as many as I could fit in the back of the truck!"

He walked me down to the west end of the runway to show me the new approach lighting. On the way he said he might try some pool chlorine tablets in the plastic barrels to try to keep the rain water from turning into a toxic bacterial stew. It looked to me what they needed was a proper seal around water pipes and screen at the top end of the downspout, that would keep lizards out.

The runway now had an improved version of the 1940 optical landing system using 13 lamps with plastic lenses so the pilot can watch the lights to know if he's on the glidepath to the runway, if he is high or low, left or right. He still has no plans to paint runway numbers. We walked the entire runway and I never saw any cracking or damage, no oil spots or empty beer bottles. He showed me how on the east end by the big white triangle he painted a fifteen foot white X to show that westbound landing was not allowed. I asked if the X symbol worked with pilots who only read Arabic and he said probably not but they should have learned it in school. Most of the oldest pilots in Morocco never attended flight school, they learned how to fly from family and friends, that was before a license was required so they were grandfathered into licensure and never opened a textbook. Some of them may even be illiterate.

The only thing different about the runway was it had a few new skid marks, some were narrow black streaks, maybe three feet long.

During our walk Dan confessed the approach lighting is not as good as they promised, it is after all a homemade lighting project, it's nearly impossible to see during the late afternoon during peak airport runway use time. He said they may switch over to using a two small very low power lasers instead, one at each end of the runway point up the glideslope might be super simple and use almost no electricity. A green one will cast a vertical line for left-right alignment and the other laser will cast a red horizontal line for up-down glideslope alignment. Unless you are in the right spot you'll never see the light and the output is so low it cannot injure eyes or make it hard to see, it suddenly appears as a flickering red light. Even at night it wouldn't bother the pilot's eyes. As long as you see red and green you are exactly on the glideslope, easy breezy, he said it would be as bright to the pilot as a candle. But the nice part is instead of a huge power-hungry plywood light array the laser would be a tiny thing the size of a pencil eraser imbedded in the runway, aimed at the sky and it can run four days on a single AA battery, so there would be no power interruption problems like we have now.

That was one of the main problem with the light array the volunteers made, is the power goes out almost every day in the afternoon, often caused by lightning strikes in the area. And being at the base of the mountain slope they get a lot of small afternoon storms.

We walked to the hangar and went inside the Citation and checked it out. It's too far to run an extension cord across the runway to the hangars so he suggested I invest in a solar converter to make electricity. I thought if the batteries start to lose power we could use his truck to pull the Citation over by his motorhome and plug it in for a couple days to charge those big lead-acid batteries.

We walked across the hangar to the tanker truck. He showed me on the back end how he removed the old pump and meter, and took the nozzle off the end of the hose, and said he had everything ordered except he has not yet found a reel for the ground wire, but everything else he needed was on the way from the France.

After that we walked outside and around behind the hangar where he showed me how he is collecting rain water for flushing the toilet someday. He said one heavy rain can fill all the barrels easily, which is (55x6=330 gallons) free water. That is nearly 1/3 of his monthly water allotment. He said the roof of the hangar collects a lot of water. He needs to work on screening out debris from the roof and collecting rain water without letting the lizards get inside. It will take time to get it right.

He made a portable hose with a small 12v DC pump attached to one end of the hose. He walks up to one of the rain barrels with the hose and drops in the end with the small pump attached, wires run to the rechargeable battery pack, then you turn it on and it pumps a decent stream but the battery pack runs down before the 55 gallons are gone. He's rinsed off the floor inside the hangar and it looks great now. And he has planted some bushes and trees near his motorhome for shade and privacy when they get tall enough. I lifted the lid on one of the rain water barrels and saw one dead lizard decomposing on the bottom.

I asked how he would get water from the hangar to the ATC building and he said he would carry a 55 gallon drum in the front bucket on the skidloader, drain the rain barrel into the one on the Bobcat, then drive it over to the ATC building and raise the bucket and let the water flow by gravity into the other drum.

Dan said almost every pilot who lands there wants to see inside the motorhome, but he keeps telling them that's his home, its private. Dan also said he's found no AA meetings within 30 miles; he misses the meetings and the fellowship. It's like a religion and group therapy to him. I suggested he start his own 12-Step group and meet inside the hangar, tell everyone to bring a folding chair and the Big Book. "You know if you allow smoking inside during the meeting it might put any others in northern Morocco out of business." Dan told me he wasn't aware of any AA meetings in Morocco. He said as far as he knows alcohol is taboo in Islam so there should be no need for AA or Narc-anon, right? His theory was it might be considered an insult to the Prophet if they allowed such an organization to exist, but he didn't know for sure. He said it would be like organizing an Anti-Communist Anonymous group meeting in Moscow.

Dan speculated if there were 12-Step meetings in Tangier they were probably secretive since the Modesty Police might photograph attendees because they're not supposed to be drinking regardless, so there cannot be any alcoholics in Tangier (according to them). Of course that logic works as well as the belief that there are no gays in Tangier because Islam forbids gay, therefore there cannot be any. Right? I told him to look into having a meeting out here in rural Morocco. He might be surprised by how many people showed up. "I heard long ago meetings like that were listed in the personals section of the newspaper. I think you might find something similar online today to promote it without attracting attention, use secret phrases known only to people who read the book (Friends of Bill W. open meetings in Spanish every Wednesday at the new airport, 2pm, smokers welcome, call for details. Nearly everyone is welcome)." Dan laughed and said it was a good idea, he'd look into it. Then I reminded him it could be called a Christian fellowship meeting and not violate the edicts of Islam or laws in Morocco.

We sat in the cockpit of the Citation working out the wording of a personals ad in the classifieds of the Tangier newspaper. He said he's seen newspapers for sale everywhere but doesn't read Arabic, but probably 1/3 of the paper is in Spanish. So I think I got him convinced to plan one meeting and see if anyone attends. Tell everyone to bring a book and chair, smoking is allowed. The meeting would be conducted in Spanish. If they became popular someone would surely donate an old coffee pot and maybe some tables. But what they need most is chairs, books, coffee pot and coffee. He said they got plenty of room for parking and a huge indoor space with shade but no air conditioning.

After the Citation inspection we walked back to the ATC building. Along the way Dan pointed out these small things along the edges of the runway, so I asked.

"They're walkway lights. They're solar charged LED markers that come on at dark and off with the sun and charge all day. There were eight of them, four on each side of the runway every 1200 feet. So at 3am when the approach lights are off they outline the runway in dim blue lights you can sort of see from a distance. The set was a gift so I glued them to the runway." They were little things rounded and reinforced so a plane or truck tire could roll over them without breaking it. Each one was about as big around as a hockey puck. Not too many people in Morocco ever saw a hockey puck or goalie pads.

I saw another door and window were installed so the building was almost bird-proof now, but Dan said the roof still dripped a little when it rained heavily and he needs one more door but the birds have pretty much given up on the ATC building. He showed me how he's painted the entire inside and glued lamp fixtures (and wires) to the ceiling and added a wall switch and has one lamp inside the control tower on the ceiling and a fan too. The bathroom was a mess and he had to take it apart and start over because of the floor. He has no plumbing yet, but it has a light fixture on the ceiling.

The airport is a few miles from the mountains so he gets very different weather there than I get in the city less than 30 miles away.

He said the big problem is the ATC building is a big concrete bunker and the concrete was poured back in the 1930s, almost 100 years ago. So it's super hard and very difficult to drill into. He said it really needs a hammer drill and special concrete bits, but those are on his wish list. Until then everything touching the walls or ceiling gets glued. He also said he ran one circuit of electricity to the building but it's for lighting only. "Burying a wire from the pole over here wasn't fun because the ground is full of rocks." I think that meant he used a pickaxe and a shovel to dig a shallow trench from the power pole, under the motorhome, and inside the building, a distance of about 60 feet. Dan said he could foresee actually wearing out a pickaxe someday!

"What you should do is build platforms for the rain barrels behind the building and run the water line to the toilet so its gravity fed. Run a line between the barrels and one through the wall to the toilet tank valve."

He quickly replied: "You got any idea how much a 55 gallon tank of water weighs?"

"Uh, lemme see." I reached into my pocket and got my cell and went to calculator mode and did 7x55=385. "About 400 pounds."

"Well it would be very heavy. That is a lot of weight to support with 2x4 boards and nails." I nodded yes, but it's not rocket science, just good mechanical design. I suggested he use bolts and big flat washers instead of nails. "Just make sure the bottom of the drums is above the top of the toilet tank." I reminded him.

I keep wanting to ask him how the Germans supplied water inside, but I think he told me once months ago, like maybe they had water tank trucks they filled in town and parked near the buildings. He said having the water in tanks on trucks kept it elevated which meant a lot of it would flow by gravity. They built ramps for the trucks out of dirt beside the shower tent, drove the truck on top which was high enough to provide water flow into the shower tent.

Sometimes they might have used smaller water hauling trailers instead of big tanker trucks, the trailers would be much easier to pull up on ramps to elevate for good gravity flow into the shower or toilets. The US Army also used those trailers to deliver bulk water to troops in combat zones.

I noticed the entire inside was cleaned now, the floors scrubbed and the walls freshly painted some cheap institutional tan color. We walked upstairs to the control tower, he pointed out the glued light fixture on the ceiling and pointed out the small fan and now there were three folding lawn chairs up there since it is a popular destination with visitors. Everyone wants to see the control tower.

"Do you think they used radar here?"

Dan said "No, Germany was kind of late figuring out radar during the war, so probably not, but if they did it was probably a mobile unit, I think they preferred spotters with binoculars and good hearing, it was probably like guard duty watching the sky for allied airplanes to signal everyone to pull covers over everything. They probably kept everything camouflaged if it wasn't in use right then." He said since it was a tiny training base and not much of a target for the allies they probably didn't get many planes flying overhead back then, so no, they probably had no radar. Dan said he could picture the guys on guard duty in the control tower watching the ground and the skies probably had a hand cranked siren to alert the troops of a possible approaching allied airplane or ground vehicle. He said back then most of the roads we drive on today did not exist or they were dirt horse trails.

The ground floor of the ATC building is pretty close to the same elevation as the runway so the added height upstairs lets people see everything from a birds-eye view. One place you cannot see from the control tower is the roof of the hangar; it's about twenty feet higher.

With binoculars in the control tower on a clear day you can see The Rock, way out onto the Mediterranean, out onto the Atlantic. You can see the southern coast of Spain and almost all of northern Morocco, but the mountains block the view to the south. He said it was more likely they used listening horns instead of radar because radar was considered experimental during the war. He said on clear days he can see the Atlantic Ocean but the Rock usually just looks like a weirdly shaped dark thing on the horizon through the haze. But if you catch it at the right time of day the sun lights it up and it looks like a big white thumbnail far in the distant haze.

During the war there was a lot of air and marine traffic between Natal Brazil and Germany. Toward the end of the war many wealthy German officers (and politicians) fled to Brazil, some people say Hitler also escaped to South America and died there in the 1960s. And they flew south along the coast of Africa to Sierra Leone then across to Natal Brazil which was the narrowest point (1800 miles) across the ocean, so probably most of the airplanes flying over Morocco back then were German airplanes anyway. That distance across the Atlantic was similar to flying non-stop from Los Angeles to Chicago.

I asked Dan if he thought an electric bug zapper might work out here and he said yes it would, but nobody sells them so he'd have to find on online with the proper voltage. But he wondered if a lizard crawling on it might short it out and destroy the power supply. They might be attracted by the light and all the swarming bugs totally unaware it was a killing machine.

"Sold any gas yet?" I asked and Dan said nobody knows it's there. I need the pump and meter first. He's eager to install the pump when it arrives. The one he ordered goes exactly in the same spot as the old one, then comes the meter, then the line runs down to the reel for the fuel hose which is a one and a half inch diameter reinforced rubber hose with a nozzle on the end. The hose is 100 feet long, and the nozzle just unscrews off the end. The new nozzle is the same as they put on gas station pumps and it has a safety cut off feature that is required for pumping a fuel as explosive as gasoline. The pump is electric and runs off the 24v batteries up front, the meter is also electric and it is able to be calibrated so he'll need to buy a gallon of milk and mark the jug and use that to calibrate the meter himself, it's just a screw adjustment.

He paused for a moment then continued, "Eddalya Oil told me they want growth, they want to sell more oil in all the grades they make, including automotive gasoline, two kinds of aviation fuel, heating oil, kerosene, diesel fuel, and different solvents and feed stocks."

"What are feed stocks?"

"I asked that question too. Feed stocks are partially refined oils that come from crude oil, one gallon of feed stock can be refined into lots of different substances, like solvents, and different chemicals, and even Aspirin is made from a feed stock. If you go look at all the canned solvents and chemicals at the hardware store, like turpentine and PERC and acetone, those come from specialty refiners and all start off as feed stocks. I hate the name it sounds like something you feed to cows to fatten them for slaughter but feed stock means partially refined crude oil." He took another breath then continued.

"When I started looking into selling aviation gas I talked to all the wrong people, but now that I know people at the oil depot in Eddalya, everything looks good. The other guys didn't want to see any growth because the refineries they drive for are government owned." Then he sighed and said that "...government owned oil wants the industry to stay like it is today for another ten years to give them time to get another oil field up and running. Then they have to build a pipeline and expand an existing refinery. It's expensive and time consuming and progress here moves as fast as a glacier."

Dan also explained that the small aircraft business in Morocco is just that: small. "Nobody sees an ability to make money selling aviation gas so they just ignore us. So there is very little desire to help us get this airport back in business. In the United States it's something like 96 out of every 100 adults own a car, but in Morocco it's more like one in every 2,500 adults own a car, everyone else takes the bus or the red taxis. It's actually cheaper in the long run but makes people dependent on mass transit and you can never be in a hurry." He made his point, Royal Oil does not want growth in the fuel business but private companies do. Dan said he will not sell bulk fuel; he only pumps directly into airplanes with a limit of 60 gallons. (2900/60 gallons is 150 fully filled airplanes per month, or 5 per day) And any plane taking 60 gallons was almost out of fuel when it landed.

Dan then explained his single biggest fuck-up so far. "We really fucked up when we had them re-do the runway. We should have run a conduit under the old roadbed before we laid down the new asphalt, now I got no way to run wires over there, except to go all the way around the runway, which would be super expensive." He explained the only way to run commercial power there now would be another service from another direction. And when you stand behind the hangars and look around there are like no power lines visible in any direction. He said if he had those days to do all over he would buy the Bobcat earlier and dig the old asphalt off the road bed across the halfway point on the runway then hire a trencher company to cut a three inch wide ditch across the road bed down to about four feet and run some thick copper wire, like four 8 gauge stranded copper wires run inside a PVC pipe. Then call the asphalt guy about the runway and let them repair the narrow trench across the road bed, turn it into an expansion joint. Maybe run an extra tube or two under the runway for future use, like a coaxial cable or lower voltage power line for the surveillance camera.

While we were talking a black cat strolled into the ATC building but he never reacted to it so I ignored it too. I saw it had teats hanging down and looked like it was about to have babies.

I asked if his neighbors had electricity and he said he has no idea because none that I know speak English or Spanish. Then he kind of paused and said all the people he's met so far were really nice single men. He thinks most of them raise cattle and sell them for meat and the hide. They milk goats and grow some food for their own use, a couple have horses. But all of them look 30 years older than they really are. He thinks all the neighbors who visited him, none of them were adjoining property owners. He said most of the properties out in this area are used for grazing and the owner lives in town.

He described one old guy who wandered over on foot one day, wearing a Djellaba and a turban, he was dark brown and seriously wrinkled. He slid his turban off once to scratch his head which was totally bald, the guy had no teeth, and he was super skinny and dark and had deep creases across his entire face but the guy told him he was 44 years old. Dan said he thought the guy was 92. In this area they live in homes made of mud bricks with thatch roofs. Most of them are partially underground so they stay coolish all day and they shower outside during the heavy storms, and they raise cattle to sell and grow most of their food including coffee, fruit, and vegetables like potatoes and squash and carrots. And they've been in this area for decades and have no interest what's going on in the world. He said most of them own a crank up radio and listen to prayer services and in the evening they read the Quran. And he said all of them seemed thrilled to have a new neighbor and all smiled and shook hands when they met. `They are all really nice older guys.' He also said he felt none of them were as dark as they looked in the face, he felt the dark skin look was mostly skin oils and dirt because they were sort of the same color as the soil.

I asked about mud brick homes and he corrected me by saying there were mud brick structures in Asia that are thousands of years old, they can be plastered inside and look very modern. They can put rugs over the dirt floors and you cannot tell it isn't stick-built. He said mud brick is a great insulator of heat and sound. Many of them have tin roofs with thatch over the tin to make it look more local, and they'll outlast a modern American shingle roof by many decades. He said they all have outhouses and outdoor kitchens, but those are very common, even today, all across equatorial nations.

He said some of them construct mud brick homes and eventually enclose a courtyard which becomes the kitchen, open to the sky. They have an indoor hand pumped water well but no shower stall in the bathroom. They welcome the lizards but since they eat outside there are no lizards pooping above the dining table and almost no flies in the house.

I asked, "If the concrete is so damn hard how did you get the doors mounted?"

"They're glued, same glue we used for the plastic windows." He said it was some kind of concrete glue but he didn't know the name because it's Arabic. Dan said he is trying to learn the Arabic alphabet and numbers, he made flashcards. It's like sitting in a kindergarten classroom at age 36! He said what he needs is a TV show like Sesame Street for teaching Arabic to adults the same way they teach English in the States.

We sat up in the control tower and talked airport stuff for two hours. Then he remembered he had some beer in the ice box and told me to stay put, he'd be right back. Dan took off running, I heard the door slam shut when he ran to the motorhome. While he was gone the cat came up the stairs and stopped to stare at me and meowed once then turned around and left. It had ten teats dangling on its underside so it recently had a liter or was about to. Dan told me he buys cheap salmon or tuna in tall cans and parts it out so the kitty gets a good meal once a day and when he checks the bowl later it's always cleaned with lizard turds in the bottom so they must like Salmon too.

Dan returned with four beers and two glasses, they were some kind of Belgian wheat beer someone gave him. He saved it for my next visit. I honestly could not read the label, it was in some kind of old Latin script and in French or German.

I had an idea so I interrupted his thoughts. "Regarding a wire from your meter box to the hangar, why can't you hire one of those utility guys with those boring machines to bore a horizontal hole that goes under the runway, like a few feet down, clear of the roadbed?"

His answer was simple. "Sure, that might work fine but I can't find anyone in northern Morocco with a horizontal boring machine for that kind of job. In this country if they need to run a wire they use a trencher." So I asked about plan-b, "Why can't you just run a cable across the runway, let it sit on the pavement?" And Dan sighed and said that might be the cheapest way but eventually the insulation will break and someone could get electrocuted, including us.

I thought he could lay a 10-3 across the runway and cover it in tar like a little bump running all the way across. But Dan said it might be fine on day #1 but on day 365 we'd never know if the insulation was cracked until it shorted out or caught fire. I told him some day he should go for a hike onto the neighbor's property and look for the nearest power lines. His area may be rural but there are power lines on every street in northern Morocco from what I've seen. He swore he was slowly working on the power problem.

We guzzled our first beers but sipped our second beers. We propped our feet on the old equipment benches inside the control tower and sat there enjoying the view up really high. It surprised me how green this desert country really was. Dan took off his shirt so I did the same because it was warm up there. Then he sat facing me with his legs spread apart so I could see his limp dick and balls up the legs of his shorts. I'm sure he did that on purpose. But it might be a good sign of things to come.

I asked him why he never thought about power before the runway was re-paved and Dan said it was a mistake. He never thought about it because he assumed the ATC building and hangar were about to collapse from old age so he never took them seriously. He didn't understand until he actually lived here that those buildings were perfectly fine, structurally. He said those buildings were put up at the same time the Germans were building the coastal defenses across France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. They built all military and government buildings to last the intended length of the Third Reich: 1,000 years, that included their buildings across northern Africa.

Once it started to get really warm in the control tower he took off his shirt I had a hard time not staring at his flesh, it draws my eyes with a powerful force I cannot resist, I'm sure he is well aware.

After a while I stood up and walked around and asked him about some of the weird structures I could see in the distance, he said almost everything I pointed out was a minaret or cell tower. He said it's still traditional to have someone in a tower way up above the rooftops doing the call to prayer. A few of the smaller mosques just use speakers on a pole, which is a helluva lot cheaper. The speakers play a lot louder. If the wind is right Dan said he can hear them outside. He said he was giving thought to visiting the Imam at the little mosque in Ain Lahcen (the town nearest the airport, it's on the N2), he was sure they knew he lived here now.

Dan said the little mosque in Ain Lahcen does it right, they have a low power FM transmitter, maybe one watt, and they broadcast services and the call to prayer on the radio (89.1FM). There are a lot of elderly shut-ins around the area so now they can listen from home and catch the service on Friday. Plus they repeat old services they have recorded going back three years.

He said the town of Ain Lahcen is not much more than a strip mall on both sides of the highway, all the people live on acreage near the highway and work in those stores. The town sits at the edge of a very large forest so it looks kind of like Ruidoso, New Mexico. "You look at town today and it's hard to picture back in the 1940s on a Saturday night the place was full of German soldiers drinking too much and getting in bar fights and having fun with the local Arab girls and the sky was busy with big airplanes that made a lot of noise and flew low over the hills so the Allies didn't see them. Today, it's like it never existed, which is kind of sad."

"Do you suppose the Imam speaks Spanish?" I asked.

"Nah, but his wife does. The locals said she translates." I recall being told that because the Tangier area is so close to Spain it's very common for people to speak both Arabic and Spanish, like we spoke Spanish and English in Houston and really didn't know we were speaking in Spanish. That's why it's called Spanglish.

I moved across the control tower so I could look toward Tangier, I wanted to use his binoculars to see if I could see the walled city from up here but it was too hazy. I could see planes coming and going from Tangier International but that was all the air traffic I saw. Dan came over too and asked what I was looking at, I told him I was looking for Old Tangier or my neighborhood. We both saw the rotating beacon on top of the radio tower at the Tetouan airport. It was a faint flash of light in the haze just above the trees. My neighborhood was a cluster of ten story tall white apartment buildings, there was nothing manmade nearby that was as tall or easily seen.

He said some evening I should stand on the roof with a laser and shine it at tree top height in this direction so he can watch for it. Then he said there was so much humidity in the air that its always hazy looking toward the city, maybe if they had a huge wind then it might be visible. He said a photo strobe might work better than a pocket laser. The laser is too weak to go that far, especially with all the dust in the air.

Then Dan grabbed my shoulders and turned me around to face the mountains, he pointed across the runway. "See the remains of the barracks building?" He said pointing straight south. "Yah."

"Well the other day I uncovered a cement slab, like 12x12. I think the Germans used some kind of mobile army shower thing like a tent, sort of like a US Army MASH tent. So that was how they handled bathing here during the war, they used a tent shower and ambient temperature water. A big tanker truck was parked by the tent and they used a small gasoline engine to pump air into the tank to pressurize it and make the water run through hoses into the shower tent. The cement slab is the top of a waste water system that leached the soapy water into the ground. But when the truck ran out of water they had to drive back to town and fill it up again. I'm sure they rationed water too, like no daily showers. But in the 1940s lots of the world still didn't have indoor plumbing so a weekly shower might have been common to lots of young German men. A lot of those German soldiers in WW2 were right off the farm and were used to outdoor plumbing and cold rainwater showers."

"Life used to be very stinky!" I grumbled. Then Dan said he thought the bathroom and shower in the ATC building was for the highest ranking officers only. I could barely see the ruins from the control tower because of the sunlight on the lenses of the binoculars. So I turned around to look toward Tangier again. He reminded me the Amish people in America still sponge bathe in the bedroom with a tub of water heated on the stove and a bar of homemade tallow soap while standing on a towel, most have no showers or bathtubs, even today. You can see that in old movies where every hotel room has a large ceramic pitcher standing in a large empty tub on a dresser near the bed. That was how indoor bathing was done until recent times. I suggested that was why you see old photos from the late 1800s how people dressed in such heavy clothing; I think part of the reason for that was to keep-in your stink. There were periods when people believed bathing was sinful.

Looking back to the north again I saw some large buildings through the haze, Dan told me there were two very large automotive plants out there, one was owned by Renault, the other was German but owned by China, they made a line of sub-compact gasoline cars and trucks like they drove in Japan and some parts of Europe. I asked where they get all the steel from and he said it arrives at Eddalya and goes by train and truck to the factories; it comes in on shipping containers so they go from ship to semi in a few seconds. He said around the Med a lot of raw steel comes from Ukraine and Russia.

I asked him about visiting the Imam in town and Dan said he needed to find out how strict they were about non-Islamic visitors. He explained some mosques are not actually against visitors but they are super strict about the Quran and the rules set forth and consider the mosque to be sacred ground and any visitor who strolls inside spoils the sacredness of the mosque. It all depends on how strictly they follow Islamic law, but it's not done to be anti-Christian, it's done to maintain purity of the mosque. He said there are two primary branches of Islam, one is very traditional and goes strictly by the written word, and others are more relaxed and tolerant (sort of like the difference in the US between Apostolic and Presbyterian). Most mosques in Morocco are strict and do not welcome visitors, but a few are open to the public for tours and sometimes people can sit in the gallery and watch a live service. I was reminded of Patrik who supposedly violated those rules and repeatedly walked inside a mosque during services, which really pissed off some of the members and resulted in his killing. It's possible someone told him the mosque welcomed visitors, but it wasn't true.

As a joke Dan said in Pennsylvania lots of Amish hold Sunday services in the homes of members. If you strolled in dressed like a New York gangbanger with a sideways cap and started talking all ghetto: "Say, what it is homies?" You would quickly find yourself back outside on your ass with a bloody nose. So the Amish and some Muslims are not that different about how seriously they take their religion. After several church shootings more and more churches are starting to take security seriously by closing their front doors to strangers. Muslims are exactly the same way because the proper way to enter any mosque is clearly described in their holy book, but it never appears in the New Testament."

Listening to him talk I got the feeling there would be a number of big changes at Danville before my next visit, I was excited for him.

Dan also said he heard from locals that even the most traditional Islamic churches would allow visitors if it was pre-arranged well ahead of time and the guidelines were strictly followed.

Dan eventually slid his hand up and down my back scratching with his fingernails so I switched to my left hand holding the binoculars and put my right hand down and gripped his semi-boner from outside his shorts. Obviously, he was in the mood too. Back in high school Dan boasted to the other boys he only had two moods: horny and asleep!

After a few minutes I slid my hand down his shorts and slid my thumb across the head, he started dripping moments later. Then he pointed out the big automotive factory for me to look at. He had to stop narrating the view once in a while because it's hard to talk when someone is rubbing the head of your dick. There are a few really big automotive factories on the outskirts of Tangier.

Dan said that was the biggest exports from Morocco: new cars and trucks and cotton. They went by train to the port in Eddalya where they were loaded on ships and delivered to ports all around the Med, but the biggest share went to France for sale across the EU. He said at the port there were huge parking lots full of new cars waiting for a ride across the Sea. Cotton went by rail to Egypt. "They drive the trains to the port and unload new cars and fill them with imported steel and aluminum and deliver it to the factories you can see over there." Dan said pointing toward the northwest.xxxxx

"That entire industrial park is all about making cars. They make steel, car body panels, electrical stuff, rubber and plastic parts, tires, aluminum parts like engine blocks and rims, and window glass, seats, and paint too." Dan explained.

"Why here?" I asked.

"Tangier is centrally located, they get aluminum ore from Brazil, Ghana, and Guyana. Plus, wages here are relatively low because it's Africa. Those car factories work 24/7 but they close down every Friday for 24 hours. They work 12 hours shifts and earn $8-10 Euros an hour, which in the USA would be like nine bucks an hour. There is a deep water commercial port nearby and reliable freight rail too. Due to trade treaties it's the same deal as China making electric cars in Mexico."

"They sell any in the USA?" I asked.

"As far as I know, no. They're built to the safety standards in the EU and Middle Eastern markets. These cars would not meet the government specs in most of North America. I'm not saying they're dangerous but it's just that all those specs raise the cost to design and build and some countries feel those specs are unrealistic or unfair. You'll find these brand names in the US, just not these models. The market for cars in Japan and Europe is entirely different than in the US."

Since we're sitting up here let me describe the control tower. From a distance it sort of looks like a church bell tower, but it's not in the center of the ATC building, it's in the back corner so the weight sits on three walls instead of the roof. The control tower walls are reinforced concrete up to about three feet then they stop. Next comes four (three foot tall) concrete pillars to support the roof. On top of the concrete pillars sits the hollow concrete roof. The roof is shaped like a four sided pyramid but its hollow inside. Dan said it appears to have been molded and poured on-site and raised into place with a small crane, probably the same crane they used to assemble the hangar and roof of the barracks building. This wide open structure stood there surviving the worst that Mother Nature could throw at it for over 70 years!

Dan said after he moved here he put on a medical mask and went up inside and started ripping out branches, sticks, and mud that birds brought in to build nests underneath the roof and on the window ledges. Then one day during a heavy downpour he hand scrubbed it with a brush, bucket, and lots of soap and cleaned up all the bird shit and sticks and cleaned out the entire thing so it was just an empty room again. Lots of debris and bird shit ended up on the ATC building floor so he got a three foot squeegee and pushed all of it out the nearest door. It took him two heavy rain storms to get the control tower totally clean. I think there is a little lingering bird crap odor up there but he sprays it with Lysol and slowly it's going away.

The control tower is about 12x12 feet. It's a small square room with a narrow opening in the floor (aprox twenty-two inches wide by forty-eight inches long) for people coming up the stairs (you have to bend over to fit). There's no railing, it's just an open rectangular hole in the floor along the north wall. There is a small countertop that goes all the way around, ideally someone would sit up there with a two-way radio and a notepad and binoculars and direct incoming traffic and also control who was rolling onto or off of the runway to avoid crashes. If you were working in the control tower you had to keep an eye out for planes coming from the west to land, and there was an orderly flow of airplanes in a clockwise pattern around the airport if they were taking turns landing. My guess was the fastest they could land planes in 1941 was one every 60 seconds, but there were only like six JU-52 cargo planes permanently stationed here during the war. It was just a training facility but they had some weapons for self-defense. Dan has seen several photos of the place during WW-2.

One picture he saw showed they had a large brass bell mounted outside the control tower so if they saw an incoming plane they rang the bell to warn everyone a plane was about to land. So a group of men ran out to remove the camo covering over the runway and get a parking space ready with coverings over it. They used camo netting on poles like some kind of tent above each plane parked on the tarmac so it was less visible from the sky.

From what Dan read in books about the war soldiers came here for eight weeks of training. They learned basic aircraft (JU-52) maintenance, in-flight emergencies, proper loading and weight distribution of cargo or human paratroopers. They learned flying in formation and how to space themselves from other planes when the paratroopers started to run out the back door. Many times those soldiers were deployed at night which made the training even more important. The JU-52 had small lamps built in the wing tips and rear end that could only be seen from another airplane, but not from the ground so the planes in formation could see each other at night.

In my mind I pictured a rolling chalk board in the hangar with a dozen folding chairs and that was the classroom every day as they spent part of the day learning from lectures and part with hands-on in the actual airplane or in flight around the mountains. It wasn't the paratroopers they trained just the flight crew members who flew and maintained their cargo planes.

They didn't do major repair service (like replacing engines or fixing frame damage) at this airbase just repairs related to deploying paratroopers, things like replacing tires or instrument panel gauges, swapping out radios, replacing burnt out light bulbs, and control surface cables.

Dan stood there with my hand down his shorts and we sort of acted like there was nothing unusual going on, I still looked around the area with his 20x binoculars while holding his dick and sliding my thumb side to side across his head. Eventually, he stepped away and walked over to the corner and (slid off his shorts) sat on the bench and leaned back until his head and neck were against the roof support post and he closed his eyes with his erect penis hovering in the air above his tummy. That is a temptation I cannot resist so I set down the binoculars and went to work. Sucking dick is one of the things I do better than most people.

The head of his dick was slick with pre-come and dicks don't lie. The way I was rubbing it felt nice or there would be no pre-come.

I slid my hands across his body and felt his wonderful flesh and fingered his belly button then his nipples, they feel as soft as the finest silk. I loved to move my fingertips in circles around his nipples which he said only increased his pleasure-agony. Dan didn't last long. When I sat in a chair between his knees his dick was kind of throbbing, or as they say in the military it was `locked and loaded'.

With my hands on his chest I used my mouth to pick up his dick and take it in my mouth and get it positioned with the head against the roof of my mouth and my tongue working his slit. The head tasted salty from all the pre-come as I slowly drew him inside my mouth. Dan sighed as it slid inside my waiting mouth, kind of like a homecoming celebration. His dick likes being in my mouth, too bad dicks can't purr. For a short time I held still to enjoy the rubbery sensation of him inside me. I could slide my tongue across his slit, I know from experience that feels fantastic, especially on cut dicks. I've heard it's even more intense if you are not cut but there is no way to compare.

Once I started moving he put his hands on the sides of my head to control the speed I moved my movement. Dan sped me up for a bit and then quickly moved his hands to the front edge of the countertop as if to brace himself. I knew what was coming, but it was weird because he only lasted like 45 seconds inside my mouth this time, which is early for him.

He grunted softly with each spurt and I felt his hips thrust forward toward my face. Sometimes he'll spurt rather far, like three feet. I can feel it when he comes hard, plus he makes faces like he was bench pressing weights, he's really working hard. I love it when he really gets physically worked up during an orgasm; it almost looks like anger on his face. He sometimes gets close to the line where his orgasm is too strong and becomes painful, but I guess it's a good pain. Then his prostate feels tender for the rest of the day. He always gives me the credit regardless; he says it's my magical tongue action on his piss slit that makes him come that hard.

The only bad part of letting him come in my mouth is I cannot see how far or how much he squirted. I think that's an independent measure of how good a job I did for him.

He tells me I gave the best oral sex he's had in his life. I wonder if he says that to everyone that sucks his wiener but he swears he wouldn't say it unless it was true. When he got mediocre oral sex he usually just told them: Baby you're the best! (I know for a fact he's never called me baby).

I've been sucking his dick since high school and never once did he bring me any new customers. He'd have to admit he knows a guy who sucks dick, which would be a major violation of the hetero code.

I drank part of my 2nd beer to rinse my mouth and kill the tadpoles. After my glass was empty I went back to his dick and milked it with my fingers to squeeze out the last drops of semen and licked them off then took him back in my mouth. I closed my eyes and rested the side of my face on his thigh and he put his hands around my head as if to cuddle with me. It was a very tender and affectionate moment between us, it was one of the things I liked about orally fucking Dan the most, the affection he showed after coming. With Dan's dick in my mouth and my head rested on him I moved my hands up to his chest and gently rubbed his nipples and with that we were in maximum intimacy. He told me once my mouth was better than any pussy he ever had, and no girl ever gave him proper titty attention, most of them never touched his chest. Our post-sex intimacy lasted about 20 minutes. We enjoyed silent relaxation in the corner of the control tower, surrounded by windows we had zero privacy but it was late in the day. Dan said he never knew male nipples could be sexual until I demonstrated it. But he also said the only advantage that vagina had over mouth was the vagina felt warmer. I also feel a sensation of warmth, happiness, and love emanating from him after he comes that is hard to miss. The way he holds me is unmistakable, like a mother holding an infant at her breast. I bet he is suppressing his emotional show too, if I was a woman he'd surely be sharing tongue and holding her tightly.

There sat Dan, naked, leaned back, legs spread wide apart, his dick in my mouth. His entire soft underbelly was fully exposed to me to do with as I wished. To me that showed trust, surrender, and affection that few other people saw from him, his most private parts on full display. In those moments I truly owned him, and I appreciated every moment.

Eventually I pulled off, he was already limp, and it flopped against his stomach like a dead fish. I handed him his shorts and he got dressed and without talking but I could not stop staring at his dick while he slowly got dressed. After he was properly dressed we went back to the motorhome.

Along the way Dan said he made beef stew in the Crockpot (his voice always sounded very different after he came in my mouth). By now it was bubbling and ready to eat, he started it at noon and half the stuff went in frozen. He said it was one glass of water, a couple sliced red potatoes, diced half onion, two small carrots, two celery stalks, sliced chuck roast, lots of salt and seasonings, some crushed red pepper flakes, green beans, a few leaves of cabbage, and tall glass of something like V8 juice, but this was made if Africa.

While he pulled the black ceramic pot out of the cooker I asked him if the lizards had any natural enemies, meaning what animal ate lizards and he said he had no idea. But since the price was right he hoped the cat he bought might develop an interest in hunting and killing lizards, he might butcher a couple lizards and feed them to her to help create some interest.

He spooned chunks of roast and vegetables into bowls and we sat outside (for the cool breezes) on the picnic table to eat. While we were eating a very low flying bi-wing replica plane flew over. Dan said he gets what he calls `waving flyovers' about five times a day now. He pointed across the table to a signal mirror he sometimes flashed at them when he heard them coming and had time to try to aim it at them. Dan also said about once a week one of them drops a note or gift of some kind. They wrap the item in paper and tie a strip of cloth to it so I can see it and find it in the weeds when it lands. He said one landed on the hangar roof and it took five days until the next storm blew it off the roof. The signal mirror was one of those gifts that fell from the sky. He said it showed the good nature of the sky people.

He said they've dropped small hand tools, airplane decorations, fresh fruit, and one guy dropped a box with two cold bottles of beer packed in crumpled newspaper. Dan said the one he was waiting for was for someone to drop a 21 year old small-breasted woman with a parachute that loved nudity and sex and could fuck and swallow 24/7. Aside from the age he basically described Jen. He said he would run out and catch her in his arms!

His motorhome has outdoor speakers under the awning that sound like waterproof speakers but he turned on the radio softly to an FM station from Spain that played country music, we sat there and ate slowly and enjoyed nature and some soft music.

After we were done eating he wanted to show me some photos someone sent him, he turned on his laptop computer and we sat scrunched together on one side of the picnic table and then he suddenly remembered he forgot to turn on the approach lights so we both got up and ran to the far west end of the runway and turned on the array. When we got back from the runway lights the lizards had already invaded our empty bowls looking for scraps to eat. I was grossed out and flicked mine into the weeds. The little lizards are annoying but they're not dangerous. You probably shouldn't eat them raw so never eat outside and take your eyes off your food or you might just eat one when it runs inside your sandwich and hides between the bread and the ham so he can eat your lettuce.

He showed me some hi-res photos local pilots took of his property and the area around the airstrip. On a few he added a thin white border line to show the edges of the rectangular airport property. The property itself is about 5200feet long and 350 feet wide. They were neat photos all taken with handheld cameras from open cockpit airplanes. He said even outside the crop dusting seasons they still flew because they all loved flying and liked to take family and friends on short flights around the mountains, which had them passing directly over Danville. A few of them always flew with a dog in the front seat. They had to wear goggles due to bugs and possible engine oil leaks, and at 100mph anything that hits your eye can easily cause permanent damage.

There are some dogs that would never allow goggles to remain on their head, so those dogs never got to fly and see the world from a bird's perspective. Strapping goggles to a dog's head is not an easy task and takes some customization and careful adjustment. Some people had to make custom elastic bands to fit the dog's head without causing discomfort. Most dogs that made it into the sky with goggles on understood the advantage and cooperated fully. Many required a booster seat so they could see over the sides of the fuselage. The pilot had to trust they were smart enough to not jump out during flight, but that was a mistake only made once.

Dogs and eyewear: In 1903 two men (Horatio Jackson and Sewall Crocker) from Vermont were the first to drive a car across the United States (Oakland Calif to NYC) and for most of the trip they had a dog-passenger, a bulldog named Bud. Bud got some serious eye irritation since the drive (west of Omaha) was mostly beside very dusty train tracks. The dog learned quickly that the goggles meant no eye pain and wore them every day. There's a picture of Bud wearing his goggles on the Wikipedia page, look up: Horatio Nelson Jackson.

Dan said there are so many small planes flying around the Atlas Mountains it actually has a traffic pattern to avoid crashes, he said everyone circled followed a clockwise pattern.

While we were looking at pictures on his computer I mentioned the troubles Jen was having with threats after she got rid of some of the most senior workers at the company because they were ruining the business by treating customers with hostility, now she is getting death threats on her cell phone. Dan commented the same thoughts I had: they better not touch a hair on her head or her brothers from Morocco might pay them a serious visit. We both had a lot of experience in terminating problems like anonymous threats over the phone. I told Dan that Jen was getting at least one threatening call on her personal cell phone every day.

Then Dan showed me about sixty images of himself originally taken by his parents from age eight to high school graduation, many with his shirt off during the summer heat when he was as thin as a broom handle with two dark round circles on his chest proudly on display. He said at one place they lived there was a pool in the yard. He also had photos of him at summer camp in a line of shirtless boys standing on the pier. I saw photos of him dressed up for Halloween, learning to dive in the family pool, and playing with his sister in the pool with foam toys.

I asked Dan what age he was that he figured out his titties were bigger than all the other boys and he said maybe Cub Scout life saving training in 5th grade, before that he really never saw naked boys anywhere except rarely in the pool. He confessed he always believed his body was unattractive and his dick was small until recently. For years he was embarrassed by his tits because they attracted teasing comments and stares from nearly everyone.

When I asked about being a kid with wide tits he said he got teased in the locker room in gym, they called him Sausage Tits for a while. But the entire time it was guys with tiny red dot tits on their chest that tried to tease him. Dan said he was proud of em and didn't care what anyone said. He said he could tell lots of people wanted to touch em but I was the first person who actually started doing it.

Dan corrected me by explaining he did not have the biggest tits in high school, there were a few fat kids with big ones and man-boobs too, but he never teased them. His tits are not huge but for a man they are way above average and they really stand out in a group of shirtless guys. His are maybe 2" across and kind of a burgundy red color. I liked them because they are very stretchy and extremely soft, like the softest silk sheets you can imagine. My only complaint about his tits is they're flat, I wished they'd puffed out to make them easier to suck.

He showed me some video shot by one of the local fly boys that he thought was interesting. Dan said it was about four miles west of his place. It was really poor quality digital video because it was shot from 1200 feet in the air in an airplane moving 110mph (on a cloudy day). He slowly scrolled across a photo and showed me a barn, but on closer examination it looked like an A-Frame animal shelter made of old hangar doors, stood up and leaned together at the top. I couldn't see how many panels but they exactly matched the windows and overall shape and color of his hangar, we decided to go investigate in person with weapons and a camera.

He told me how the hangar had doors that opened in sections, eight feet wide and twenty two feet tall with wheels on top and bottom and two rows of 2x2 windows that were 12 feet above the floor, and they were painted olive drab green like the rest of the hangar. They were in sets that slid out of the way and had tracks that extended beyond the outside walls so the entire front could be wide open. The photo he showed me exactly matched the rest of the building, except we had no measurements. We needed to find the place on the ground and take measurements somehow, without getting shot as cattle thieves.

Dan told me one of the pilots he met says he is the brother of the local circuit court judge.

Then we heard an airplane approach low overhead, it flew directly over the property and the aircraft radio he had on the table came to life as the pilot reported his over-flight and said he was going to land on Runway-X, Dan shouted "He's landing, c'mon I'll introduce you."

I guessed that meant he knew this guy.

We jogged over near the runway, about 100 feet from the front bumper of his motorhome. I saw what looked like a bi-wing airplane approaching slowly, then it got lower and lower and I saw him rock his wings to tell us he was landing. Dan held up the signal mirror trying to flash him. While we watched him approach the end of the runway I told Dan he should buy himself a small kid-size bicycle for getting around faster at the airport, but his brain and eyes were focused on the incoming bi-plane.

We stood about fifty feet from the runway in the tall weeds near the landing zone and sure enough he touched his tires in the box, we cheered. The airplane looked military and very old. But there are a lot of replica airplanes in Morocco. I thought I saw a machine gun too.

It taxied about 400 feet down the runway gradually slowing then turned and rolled onto the gravel and spun around to face the runway and shut down his big radial engine. An older guy climbed out wearing denim bib-overalls and a long sleeve flannel shirt. His flight gear consisted of goggles, a leather helmet, and a brown leather jacket. His face reminded me of actor Richard Dreyfuss in the movie Jaws (scruffy, beard, weather worn). He was kind of a large man too and looked Hispanic at first.

Dan said it was a 1930s Russian military plane, it still had an original red star on the vertical stabilizer, the wings were offset so the upper wing was shifted forward about two feet and it had three machine gun mounts, the one in back held a toy machine gun. The entire plane was covered with doped-painted canvas, similar to the skin of the Hindenburg airship, and it did not look original in places. The skeleton of the fuselage and wings were wood laminates like marine plywood, the wing wires were stainless steel with turnbuckles for tightening. The entire outside was painted olive drab green, but you could see different shades since the covering had been replaced over the decades for the installation of extra tanks and copper pipe for spraying fertilizer and some adjustment valves too.

The way I understood it was if you touched a flame to the canvas the plane would burn like the Hindenburg because the canvas was combustible. He had a license number on the fuselage that was similar to mine on the Citation, his started with CN, the prefix for Morocco.

A lot of people don't realize when they see the short video of the Hindenburg Airship falling from the sky on fire in Lakehurst that is not the hydrogen burning, that's the outer cover burning because hydrogen gas burns with an invisible flame. The canvas outer skin of the Hindenburg was nearly as burnable as gasoline soaked newspaper. And those skin fires were fanned by the escaping hydrogen gas. Lots of documentaries say the Hindenburg exploded but I don't think that was correct, I think a static electricity spark ignited the hydrogen gas that escaped from the gas bags and had not yet escaped the outside skin of the airship.

We walked around inspecting his bi-plane but up front by the engine I immediately noticed an oil leak from one cylinder head that was slowly dripping on the ground. The rest of the plane was dry and clean, except for smashed bugs on the leading edges of everything. As we stood near the 5-cylinder radial engine I felt the radiant heat on my face, and oil stains down the lower side of the fuselage from the leak. He told us it was going in soon for a re-build. My guess was this leak was not new, nor was it serious.

Dan said it was a 5 cylinder Russian trainer, a model PO-2AP, built in 1938. Then I walked away to see the cockpit while they stayed up front to discuss the radial engine. I looked closer at the machine gun in the rear mount and noticed it was a hand-carved wood replica. The plane had internal liquid tanks for crop spraying and thin copper pipes beneath the lower wings. The advantage of two wings was it made the plane more maneuverable in flight at lower speeds, more ideal for dusting fields with obstacles along the edges in case you had to suddenly fly over a power line. It was designed for performance and low cost, not comfort or looks. I think stall speed on this bi-plane was something unbelievably low like 39mph.

They walked slowly around the plane and joined me by the rear cockpit. As they walked around the wing Dan shouted that both wings had tanks mounted inside, I looked but couldn't really see much evidence of it other than copper pipes that ran alongside wing struts at both ends. When you filled the tanks into the top tanks it trickled down into the bottom tanks by gravity. It looked to me like anything you released from the airplane must turn into something like a mist as it left the plane in a 50-70mph wind. The last valve before the liquid escaped the plane was electric and was operated by a button on the stick. Freddy said when spraying you had to lead the target area by about 80 feet, and he flew low over the target, maybe 20 feet over the crops. And he usually had power lines to fly over but the bi-wing planes were especially good at suddenly jumping over things like that.

The pilot (Freddy) told us in Spanish that when cylinder head oil leaks appear it's time for a rebuild, about every two years it needs new gaskets (I thought to myself it reminded me of a Harley motorcycle). He paid a mechanic to rebuild the engine with all new seals and gaskets and checks the cylinder walls and about once a decade it needs new rings, and maybe one cylinder sleeve along with rod bearings but the cam shaft and crank shaft are original. He said they don't show much wear. He said the engine block, the heads, the crank shaft, the push rods, cam shafts, and the valves are original but the pistons, sleeves, and rings are newer. He said thousands of these planes were built up to 1960 and there`s a company in Ukraine that makes gasket sets and complete engine repair parts, they estimated there were still almost three thousand PO-2s in service worldwide. The entire engine can be re-built still today if you got the money. He said the mechanic can do an entire engine once it's off the airplane and on his engine stand, he can replace the entire gasket set in two hours, so that shop can do 3-4 of these airplanes a day with two mechanics working.

He showed us it took six bolts and some cables to remove the engine with a small crane. You pull off the prop, and then disconnect fuel, DC power, vacuum, thermal probe wires, throttle, and ground wire and unbolt it with a crane attached and it comes off in under one hour. They bolt the engine to a stand and start re-mounting one they just finished. And since it's a radial engine there are more gaskets since each cylinder is separate. And while the engine is open they carefully inspect pistons, rings, cylinder walls, rods, valves, crankshaft, camshaft, piston rod bearings, and send oil samples to the lab for analysis. The entire rebuild and inspection takes less than a week and costs about $1200 unless they find signs of damage, like tiny bits of metal in the oil pan. They use tiny foam swabs that go to the lab for analysis to check for powder fine bits of steel from excess wear. Once those results come back then they install the gaskets and re-assemble and re-install the engine.

While they looked closely at the aircraft I walked around and stepped up on the wing to look in the open cockpits at his totally analog instrument panels. His plane had a modern mechanical altimeter, artificial horizon, fuel gauge, cargo tank gauge, engine oil temperature, and compass. It was a bare bones antique working airplane, not designed to fly long distance or do acrobatic tricks. This plane was designed for short runways (short take offs and landings) and carrying a lot of weight (bombs and ammo or fertilizer). He had a stick between his knees and a throttle similar to the one in the Cessna I flew in school in Wichita. I nearly fell in love with it, so basic and simple and I Ioved the way these old bi-planes performed. You could practically take off and land on a football field, just 300-400 feet of firm ground and it was in the air! They kept the second wing for added lift since they usually carried an extra load of fertilizer during the season. I think he probably also had extra tanks for planting seed for certain crops. Rice can be planted by air, but corn cannot. Corn is never a major crop in Morocco, but wheat certainly is. I guessed if he had to switch to a powder cargo the tanks mounted on the outside of the fuselage and he bolted on special feed lines under the wings. But the powder had to be fine, like table salt or sand to flow through the tubing by gravity.

Down on the floor by the base of the control stick I saw stainless steel wires and pulleys so it was real, this was a very classic old design. Orville Wright was in his 60s when this airplane was built. I recently learned that Wilbur Wright actually died in 1912 in his 40s of Typhoid Fever (typically a food-borne bacterial illness). Orville died in his 70s of a heart attack in 1948. Wilbur died about nine years after their first powered flight. Mostly what the Wright Brothers patented was a wing warping mechanism to maintain control in flight. Most of their wing experimental flights were done on non-powered gliders, their motorized airplanes were all called the Wright Flyer.

I remember reading that when the Wright Brothers were researching wing warping the word Aileron was already in the English dictionary, defined as a French term that meant `tiny wing.'

Wing warping was soon abandoned for aileron controls, small wing flaps (wings on wings) on the back edges of wings. American John Montgomery who was doing flight research with gliders created ailerons almost ten years before the Wright Brothers created Wing Warping, which was intended to achieve the same effect, controlled wing banking with moves of the rudder. The entire story of early flight is complicated and sometimes tragic, just like early research into a long lasting incandescent light bulb, which was not the invention of one man in a laboratory in New Jersey.

I also noticed his control button for turning the fertilizer dispersal pump on and off was on the top of the stick. It had a small red button on top, push once for on, push again for off. That is as simple as they get. On modern airplanes the red button on the control stick is pressed to disengage the autopilot. He had a main power switch for the valve and the button-on or off was on the stick. Since it would be easy to accidentally touch the button during normal flight he added a bright red toggle switch on the instrument panel. The spray system worked entirely by gravity through copper pipes. Freddy said the action of the wind roaring past the end of the tubes created suction to make the fertilizer come out faster. This was why crop dusters set-up for liquid always had adjustable valves up inside the wings so the stuff didn't flow out too fast. He said his biggest seller was salt-water defoliant for cotton fields at the end of the season. He could treat as many as sixteen fields a day. He said you spend 11 hours in the cockpit of a biplane and by the time you're done your back is on fire with pain.

Dan and Freddy joined me examining the cockpits (from the other side of the airplane) and the pilot (Ferdinand Espinoza, call him Freddy please) asked if I wanted to fly it and I said: "Sure!" Dan nervously laughed but Freddy sounded serious. Of course I assumed he meant him in back, me in the front seat, he would get us in the air and let me take the stick. But Freddy held out his hand with one small key on a short leather shoe lace (he added the key switch to kill power to the entire airplane including the fertilizer valves). Then he pulled off his goggles shoved them at me and told me to fly the pattern, so I took his goggles and glanced over at Dan.

Dan looked at me with a worried expression on his face like I was about to play Russian roulette with an actual Glock-45 for real. Then Freddy gestured at the Citation jet in the hangar and said, "Obviously, you're an excellent pilot if you can safely land a jet on a small unmarked invisible runway in the forest." We all laughed at his comment but I suppose it was true, Dan must have bragged about my landing.

I'd never flown a bi-wing aircraft before except in simulators. I suspect they talked about me before and Dan showed Freddy the Citation and told him how we went to flight school together and I was a skilled pilot. I'd read about these Russian bi-wing aircraft before. They are very well designed and can lift off the runway at about 40mph with a little headwind. Dan says your average dog could learn to fly one of these old bi-planes. I just wanted to go around once and land in one piece, so I stepped-up by the rear cockpit and climbed-in over the side and looked back down at Freddy. With a finger pointing at the clouds I drew an imaginary route: down the runway, into the sky, then a U-turn to the left and fly past the property out to maybe three miles, another U-turn to the left, line-up and land. I'd be back in like four minutes or less. Freddy smiled and nodded yes, then he looked at Dan but Dan just shrugged his shoulders because he was used to my autistic behaviors, I often avoid speaking in favor of gestures instead.

I leaned my chin over the side slightly and asked Freddy in Spanish "Ahogar el motor para arrancar?" (Does it need choke to start?) He just smiled and nodded no because the engine was still hot. Dan shouted, "If there's oil dripping from cylinder #2 then the engine is warm and does not need a choke." I chuckled and sat back in the seat and looked at all the controls. Everything I saw made perfect sense.

I eyeballed the magneto switches and remembered from school how they worked on these old airplanes. It has a gravity feed gas tank in the upper wing (another reason why it could never be used for acrobatics). If the plane flew upside down there would be no gas flowing downhill to the engine!

Let me briefly explain the controls in an old airplane like this old trainer.

As you sit in the pilot's seat there are two pedals and one vertical stick standing between your knees. The stick controls the small wings on the rear edges of the main wings. They make the aircraft lean over to the left or right. The pedals work the rudder which is a larger vertical fin on the very back of the airplane. The rudder causes the air plane body to turn to the left or right. In order to steer the plane it has to be done with the use of both the wings leaning left or right and the rudder pushing the tail left or right. It's kind of like steering on a motorcycle, you steer at highway speeds by leaning to the left or right. The brakes are operated by pressing on the tops of the pedals with your toes, each pedal operates the brake on that wheel. The brakes are how they steer on the ground, along with some use of the rudder. On the back of the airplane by the rudder they have more flaps for making the nose of the plane go up or down.' The wing flaps and tail flaps are operated by the stick via stainless steel wires, and the rudder is operated by the pedals, also via steel cables.

I reached up overhead and opened the fuel valve then rotated the knob to HAYANO (START) and pressed-in the large metal button with my thumb and the engine cranked and started quickly which made me smile. I turned the knob to YNPABNTRb (OPERATE) and gave it a little throttle and slid my hands down to fasten my seatbelt and adjust the seat forward. Dan and Freddy stepped back from the aircraft while I pressed the pedals to feel if he had brakes locked but I didn't feel locks so I looked over my shoulder at the rudder and saw it move with the pedals, then at the wings as I moved the stick in all four planes. The first thing I noticed once the engine started was I was seated about nine feet behind a very large and powerful fan! I think I felt tiny droplets of hot motor oil sprayed in my face so I pulled the goggles down over my eyes. This was my first ever open cockpit flight.

Next I looked over the entire instrument panel and all around the airplane and gave it a little more throttle (400 O6opotob b mnhyty). Dan stood there with his eyes focused on me, I nodded back at him to acknowledge his anxiety. I adjusted the helmet and looked in the sky in both directions to make sure nobody was in the pattern just then.

My feet relaxed on the pedals and it started to roll forward up onto the runway with a bump, then another. Pressing one brake pedal I turned hard to the left to taxi to the west end. Along the way I saw Dan's homemade windsock which was almost straight down against the pole. I slowly steered the plane with the rudder so my right tire was on the gravel shoulder by the time I got past the LZ box. When I was 40 feet from the triangle I pressed and held the left brake and the plane turned quickly around and I let off and was suddenly near the end of the runway with over four thousand five hundred feet of asphalt straight ahead of me.

With my right hand I gave it 70% Apoccenb (throttle) (1600RPM, red-line was 2200RPM) and kept my eyes on the runway and the airspeed gauge. I leaned my head to the left so I could see down the side and kept watching my position centered on the runway. Just a few seconds after that I saw the LZ box pass quickly beneath me as the plane rapidly picked-up speed. This plane was a tail dragger but I could see around the engine down the left side, just barely. About four seconds down the runway I tapped both brakes which lifted the tail wheel off the runway and then I could see everything. I saw the hangar ahead on the right getting closer but by then the roar from the radial engine was deafening and I had something like hurricane force hot wind in my face. The entire plane vibrated and roared like riding on the back of a mechanical dragon.

Once the wind tried to blow my mouth open I pulled back the stick and the son of a bitch leapt off the runway and climbed steeply upwards. All I could see was cloudless blue sky straight ahead and out the side I could see way out to the Strait and the Rock too. I felt myself pressed firmly into the seat as I climbed to 800 feet (and by then the runway was about three miles behind me) and pushed the stick forward to level out and made a steep turn to the left then flew back past the airport. I looked out the side and saw the roof of the control tower looked like a brilliant white little pyramid just above the tree tops. I never really saw the motorhome because it was sort of hidden in the shade. Black motorhome parked on dark soil in the shade.

This plane flew so effortlessly and filled me with an unbelievable sense of freedom and joy, I screamed with happiness hoping they could hear me down on the runway. It was fucking unbelievably wonderful flying this plane and I felt like I was getting a natural endorphin buzz.

I've flown a lot of airplanes in my life but this was my first time in an open cockpit and I was in love!

I looked again and saw the big white runway triangle go by and the approach area Dan cleared, then all I saw was desert brush again and moments later I saw barns and dirt roads go by and then I started my next U-turn to the left and kept an eye on my altitude, now 900 feet, but I knew I would lose altitude in the turn. With some stick and small use of the rudder I made my turn and only lost maybe 75 feet altitude. You always lose altitude in turns, especially in steeply banked turns.

I was easily lined up and saw the big white runway triangle from a distance and flew toward it. I drifted up and down with the stick until I saw the white light in the center of the approach light array. It was confirmed at the far end when I caught a glimpse of the alignment lamp, like a bright flash of green laser. When I saw the green flash I knew I was perfectly centered over the runway. Like when I landed the Citation I rocked the wings to tell Dan I was going to land. You rock the wings by moving the stick left and right, but not forward or back. And you gotta do it enough so they can see it move from the ground a few miles away.

With an eye on the altimeter and another on the glideslope light I slowly lost altitude and about eight seconds later there was a loud screech and a hard bounce and I was rolling down the runway again. I killed the engine with a turn of the switch and reached up and shut off the fuel valve and when I slowed to about 10mph I rolled off the pavement onto the rocks and spun it around (with the brake pedal) to face the runway and applied both brakes and gently came to a stop, the ride was over and suddenly everything was silent. I think that was the fastest four minutes of my entire life! I sat there stunned by how easy and fun it was to fly and I was speechless, but holy fuck was that fun, I wanted to go around again! I reached up and turned off the master power switch and pulled out the key. The old bi-plane handled exactly like in simulators, except this one had all the gauges marked in Russian but they were easy to figure out.

Dan and Freddy slowly walked over while I undid the seatbelt and climbed out onto the wing. I was so thrilled and happy I jumped down on the ground and leaned against the fuselage and hugged the airplane. Dan saw and laughed loudly at my autistic weirdness, he laughed hard and slapped his thighs and pointed at me (probably thinking to himself: fucking retard). Luckily nobody took a photo of me doing that because I'm sure the caption would read: "Alex tries to fuck 75 year old metal Russian babe with red star tattoo on her ass."

After my five minute, nine mile flight we looked closely at his engine again and talked about the plane, I asked where he got it from and he said out of an aviation sale web site about 17 years ago, he purchased it in Italy and it took him six days to fly it back to Morocco. He flies it to Rabat every other year for major service but otherwise it has been completely reliable with close inspection and careful maintenance. He said the tires and brake pads are new and so is the fuel tank sending unit, but most of the rest of it is original 1930s, built in Russia by peasants at gun point. He said they peeled back the canvas skin to install the fertilizer tanks and plumbing.

Freddy boasted: "She may look old and worn but believe me she runs fine, she is a precision machine and she's built to last with proper maintenance and a good pilot." He reached over and caressed his antique airplane like it was alive and we applauded briefly. The old guy smiled and took a bow. I thought all he was missing was a long scarf. He already had the leather jacket, leather helmet, and antique goggles with a stretchy leather strap.

I told him it was only missing one thing: a swivel cup holder for a water bottle. But Freddy defended himself by saying you really don't want to open your mouth while flying an open cockpit airplane. I couldn't argue with his decades of experience. He said you can do it but you need to scrunch down or the wind gets in your mouth and blows up your mouth like a balloon.

I asked how he got the plane to Morocco and Freddy said he bought it from a farmer in the Boot Heel of Italy because it's a major farming region. He flew in one day from Taranto Italy in the Boot Heel, along the boot, across the water to Palermo Sicily, which was 3.5 hours flying time because he stayed over land the entire way. Next was (#2) the most dangerous part, Palermo to Tunis which is 200 miles with 80 miles of that over open ocean with no chance for rescue, no ground reference points, just a small GPS and a compass. The next day (#3) he flew Tunis to Annaba Algeria, 140 miles. On day #4 he flew Annaba to Algiers, which is 260 miles. Day #5 he flew Algiers to Oran, 217 miles. "BTW, at each of these sites where I spent the night I spent most of the time flat on my back because I was sore as hell.

The last leg was 275 miles on day #6 from Oran to Tetouan, 275 miles but it felt great to see the Atlas Mountains again." He said today he parks his plane near the town of Dayedaate Morocco where he has permission to land on a private dirt road in a large olive orchard, his plane is stored outside under a canvas sail suspended by ropes in the olive trees. He said he lives in a trailer on the olive farm, its 22 miles from there to the Danville airfield, he can fly it in about ten minutes. He said he trades free crop dusting for a place to live and park the plane. He said if he needs to work on the plane he flies to a friend's place, he has a dirt strip along the edge of a farm field, and he has tools and experience.

Like many autistics I have a photographic memory and an old image popped into my head and I asked Freddy to join me by the engine. I leaned into the wing to see the head of one cylinder that stuck out so I could actually see the cylinder head and looked closely at the six head bolts. Then I paused briefly and told Freddy that I remember looking closely at one of these Russian biplanes decades ago at an air show in Texas. "Please don't take this the wrong way but I think I may know why you are spending so much time replacing gaskets. What I want you to do is look up the original specs and see if they specify the grade of steel hardness for those six bolts and compare them to yours. You might have the wrong bolts installed." I stepped back and let him take a closer look; Dan got out his cell and took some photos. On the heads of the bolts a number is stamped which represents the grade of steel. If it's the wrong grade they'll get hot and stretch too much causing leaks and ruining the gaskets. He looked at me like he was considering that he never once questioned those were the right bolts before. Freddy thanked me quietly and said he'd look into it, but the guy who replaces the gaskets... then he suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence.

Freddy said he needed to use the Loo (his words) after that Dan inspected his aim then Freddy said he had to go, dinner was waiting at home. He climbed up into the cockpit and pulled on his leather helmet, goggles, and gloves (but it was still too hot to wear a leather jacket so he sat on it instead). I stepped beside the fuselage and asked him why he wore the WW1 costume and his answer (in Spanish) surprised me. "I'm wearing this stuff because after years of testing clothing this gear really is the best to wear in an open cockpit bi-wing airplane, it's not really a costume. Those pilots from 1917 figured it out. There is nothing that keeps you warmer that you can buy in stores today." He smiled and nodded at me as he clicked his seatbelt together and started the engine. After he idled it for a few seconds and gave it some throttle and drove forward onto the runway and turned toward the east. I heard his engine speed up and he took off down the runway. In my book any pilot who starts his take-off roll halfway down the runway has a lot of confidence in what he's doing. I told Dan I liked the old guy and his airplane.

Dan went inside his bus to package the leftovers for himself tomorrow maybe. I stayed outside on the picnic table hoping to have another visitor drop by from the sky.

I hoped to see a lizard run across the table, I was holding his channel-lock pliers and was ready to smash a lizard but they stayed away.

We opened a bottle of wine and sat on the picnic table and talked about everything, except boners. We sat outside for an hour then moved inside because we'd attracted a swarm of bugs. Dan commented that if what I said about the cylinder head bolts on his engine turned out to be correct I might end up being famous with the local pilots because Freddy will tell everyone.

During our first bathroom break Dan took off his shirt, so I took off mine too. For bathroom breaks we used the Porta-Potty since it uses no energy or water. That time we carried flashlights and Dan said there was room for two and sure enough he stood against the base of the tank with the toilet seat up and I could stand close behind him and pee in the trough on the wall. This John had no sink or light but there was a panel in the ceiling that let in a lot of light from the sky. There was a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall but it was empty. There was a lizard in the trough so I pissed on it but it jumped onto the wall. There were two things I saw Dan needed: an outdoor bug zapper and one of those small tap lights for inside the outhouse. You walk in and tap the light so you can see where you're pissing. Although it smelled somewhat like an outhouse Dan kept it pretty clean inside.

After peeing we walked back and sat inside on the sofa to finish our wine. He turned on the flat screen TV but kept the sound muted. He played another video one of the local pilots gave him of a single trip around Atlas Mountain, maybe a fifty mile loop. He mounted a camera on the landing gear and it was a neat video shot from a farmer's field south of the mountains, it ran from take off to landing and he only flew about 2500 feet above the ground as he flew around the mountain range. His flight started and ended on a dirt road somewhere and it took about 25 minutes to make the loop.

On the sofa I sat in my old spot but Daniel sat sideways and rested his legs across my lap, so I rested my right hand on his bulge or up on his tummy. He's told me since high school I'm the only person who has ever pushed a finger inside his belly button. He doesn't mind at all but it's weird how everyone looks at them but nobody has the guts to touch. I think the big deal is everyone knows they grow cheese on some people but it can't be any worse than fingering bunghole.

That night I slept on the sofa and he slept in his bed.

Sunday morning I got up before Dan and quietly went to the outhouse and walked in back and got in bed with him and watched him breathe for a while. I watched his chest rise and fall and his eyeballs darting around under his eyelids as he dreamed of something. I heard Dan grind his teeth too, so I reached over and gently rubbed his tit which woke him up slowly. I asked what he was dreaming and he said he didn't remember. We got out of bed and walked together to the John and took turns. When it was my turn I counted four lizards on the wall behind the toilet staying perfectly still while I peed. They were the reason there were almost never any flying bugs inside the John. I told him it was a good thing because you don't want a skeeter on your peter.

Of course we both broke out into song. This was one we've sung together since high school:

(Sung to the tune: She'll be coming `round the mountain when she comes...)

If there's a skeeter on your peter, whack it off.

If there's a skeeter on your peter, whack it off.

If there's a skeeter on your peter, there's a skeeter on your peter,

if there's a skeeter on your peter whack it off.

Then we laughed for singing in perfect harmony.

Over breakfast we had an hour long discussion about buying airplanes and how to select one, was there an expert who knew that stuff? Was there a podcast or a TV show on youtube to watch with airplane reviews? He said maybe we should ask a certified aviation mechanic what he suggested for a good local use airplane.

Neither of us were interested in Barnstorming or stunt flying, just weekend trips around the mountain, maybe once a year trip downstate to Rabat or Marrakesh. Maybe take a friend around to show them the big film studios and all the desert movie sets they left standing down there to serve as tourist attractions. There is quite a film industry in Morocco since the 1930s. That's hard to believe in a country with no interstate highways!

After our normal morning routines we walked around behind the area where the barracks building stood (74 years ago), he wanted to show me what he thought was the enlisted man's shower. It was a 12x12 slab of concrete at ground level. The concrete was mostly covered by rocks and weeds today so we used our feet to clear spots looking for the edges. In the center we found a wide hole that must have gone into some kind of drainage pipe to evaporate soapy shower water into the soil. He said he saw pictures of things like this from the war and they stood a dark green heavy canvas tent over the concrete pad and installed overhead pipes inside with shower heads and valves. Four soldiers could shower quickly with no privacy or hot water. We stood there looking at the ruins for a while, I imagined we were the first people to see it in over 50 years. It was about 40 feet south of the barracks foundation. I was hoping more of the locals would show him more photos of this little air base taken during the war, both of us wanted to see what it looked like. There were hundreds of young German men in the AfricaKorp who trained here, I bet a lot of them took photos to show family back home.

Then I noticed there was a big similarity between his airplane service pads and the shower base. Dan laughed and said they were exactly the same, but the ones he built were twice as big, but otherwise the exact same design.

"Gute Idee, Kapitan" I replied as one of the few things I learned in German from watching Hogan's Heroes.

While we were standing by the shower tent ruins I mentioned going home soon. Moments later he grabbed my arm and pulled me into him as we stood there and he held me and hugged me firmly and whispered that he loved me. Then he briefly kissed me on the corner of my mouth and let go right away. I stepped back because I always got breathless when he kissed me, it always comes as such a surprise. I expect one of these years he'll open his mouth by accident and give me tongue too. It happens so quickly I have no time to mentally prepare. I think he intended to kiss my cheek but missed and actually touched his lips to mine. I think his kiss means he really really really needed my visit and was super appreciative of the time we spent together. I honestly believe him coming in my mouth is not what makes our visits great, I think it's our time spent talking in the dark about anything and everything. Our time together is the only chance we get to speak English. Spanish has become such a routine in my life I even dream in Spanish now. Even my grocery lists are in Spanish!

We got in his truck and he said before we drove to town "...let's take a quick run over and look at that place where the hangar doors are standing. It`s not far, maybe a couple miles."

We drove out to the main road and took the first left and drove west of the airport on a long straight dirt road and came up on a farm property, it looked like they mostly grazed cattle. He located the corner of the property and their neighbor's wire fence. We got out of the truck and walked to the fence. Dan stopped and asked me if I saw it. "Saw what?" I asked.

He pointed straight ahead into the desert weeds then I saw it, the top of a large structure barely stuck up above the tallest weeds. We carefully helped each other climb over the barbed wire fence and followed another wire fence along the property lines so we never set foot on his land.

It wasn't very far, maybe 150 feet and we came to a clearing and there it stood. Someone had built an A-frame shelter for farm animals with feeding and shelter. The hangar doors exactly matched the rest of the hangar and we could see the wheels on top and bottom. We both took photos from different angles, neither of us saw any people or even a residence, just a few head of cattle chewing grass from the feed station. The cow stood there staring back at us with their long horns clearly visible so we never tried to climb over the fence but we took about 30 thirty pictures. And there were things beside the A-frame for scaling the size of the doors, we discussed the distance from the fence to the barn and agreed upon 80 feet. Then we walked back to this truck and he drove me to the bus stop. Dan said we'd have to find someone with a long trailer to haul those doors home. Dan said the doors were the exact same color as the rest of the hangar.

On the ride home I got a call from Jen, we talked briefly. I told her about the airplane ride. I could tell from her tone she thought it was careless of me to fly that old airplane without training. She said she's still getting threatening phone calls but now she can record them from her phone with a single button press. I made sure she had my cell number and Dan's in her phone. I asked her if it was one voice or several and she said it was always a man's voice, always sounded the same but the language was slowly getting more threatening. And it said things with personal information so the caller knew many things about the person he was threatening. (Red hair, from America, young female, no kids, cat lady, recently moved to Spain, and lives alone). Most of the time he calls her Hen because that's how Jen is pronounced in native Spanish, she said it almost makes the calls sound too funny to take seriously.

Twenty nine minutes later I arrived in Tangier. Dan texted he was going to call the local constable about the hangar doors to try to get them back. I guess when it comes to justice things there is sometimes no statute of limitations in Morocco.

Two days later Dan texted me that the pump and meter arrived and he already installed them, it took him 45 minutes to swap out the pipes and connect them to the truck and the hose reel to the meter. The nozzle is due tomorrow. Once those are done all he needs is the ground wire system but he'll build one that hangs loose on the back of the truck until then. He said it was not pretty but he was going to start selling AV-Gas once the nozzle was installed. He said he purchased a 150 foot spool of ten gauge braided copper wire and soldered terminal lugs to both ends and a large spring-loaded copper clamp to one end. Some planes connect with a clamp and others use a push-on terminal that can be easily unsoldered and removed and replaced. He had to clean a spot on the pump mounting bolts to make a good electrical connection to the truck chassis to prevent sparks during fueling, which was the purpose of the wire.

Dan said his 2nd refueling pad was finished and he decided to build a third one so very few planes had to wait to re-fuel and get back in the air, time is money in the crop dusting biz. He commented that language has been a barrier but not insurmountable. He said about 1/3 of the local pilots speak Spanish and nobody speaks English but everyone speaks Arabic except him so he might need to take classes. Everyone helps with translations when a pilot is on the pad but does not speak Spanish. Often times their ground crew knows some Spanish.

Dan said he can recover the cost of building a cement refueling deck in one week at the current rate of business. There is a constant line of ground crew trucks waiting in the area marked off as a parking lot for the drone racing people, they park there and wait for their plane to land then he directs them to drive over and park beside the plane and quickly refill the tanks. Sometimes the ground crew arrives half an hour before the airplane. On weekends when they have the drone competitions the ground crews are going to have to park in front of the hangar since the back side parking area will be full to overflowing.

He said he is constantly on the radio and walks around with the outhouse door key dangling out of his back pocket. Anytime someone uses it while they walk back to their airplane he runs over and checks the seat and floor for piss and shit, so far nobody has broken the rules. He put a roll of paper towels inside just in case, and spray cans of something like Lysol and bathroom cleaner too. He saw a couple pilots opted to pee in the weeds instead and thanked them for their honesty.

Sometimes when the crews switch from one liquid to another differences in viscosity cause them to need to stop briefly and adjust some valves for the thicker or thinner liquids, but if there are planes waiting he makes them roll the plane off the pad so the next crew can start. They can park near the runway and adjust their valves, most of the time it involves turning several dials to new numbers, but the dials are up inside the wings so they have to get on their hands and knees under the wing and reach up through a small hole and turn the knob so many clicks then double check the setting, then turn the next one. It takes ten minutes or more to adjust them, after that the plane can take off.

Dan acts as traffic controller too and he gestures when it is their turn to taxi on the runway to the west end and begin their take-off roll. He said he used hand gestures like on an aircraft carrier. First he runs out to the centerline of the runway and checks the sky in both directions then points at the pilot ready to leave and gestures for him to taxi onto the runway and then down to the end, turn around and immediately begin his takeoff dash.

Some local pilots with familiarity with the runway will take off halfway down the runway. From the pads to the end of the runway is about 3500 feet, which is plenty of asphalt for many bi-planes and some newer crop dusters.

Many pilots use tablet computers with built-in GPS for navigation. They even lay out on the maps the exact route for each pass over the farm field. Years ago they needed someone else in a car parked near the field to burn a road flare to guide them to the correct field, but now it's all done by GPS on tablet computers. When the flyer meets with the farmer they draw lines across his fields and once they agree on how and when to spray he flies over and follows the lines and the job is done much more cost efficiently than even ten years ago. But they still need their ground crew in the truck with the fertilizer and fuel tanks in the back.

He said he had his first AV-Gas customer yesterday. An old guy landed during the peak business traffic but didn't need to re-load, he wanted to fill his tank after hearing Dan had gas. So he waited his turn and they rolled the airplane over to the corner of the hangar. After blocking his tires they stood a ladder beside the wing and connected the ground wire. The old guy climbed up to remove the gas cap and let Dan fill it like at the gas station. It took 47 gallons and the guy paid in cash. Dan said he made 49 Euros on the sale, about one euro per gallon gross profit. And at that rate it might take him 18 more years to pay for the tanker. He told the guy it cost him over three thousand Euros to fill the truck a month ago and the old guy just laughed and thanked him for selling gas. He said he was a rancher and had a dirt strip on his land where he could land his plane when the wind was from the east.

The presence of the fuel truck was a huge topic of conversation for days. He stopped parking it in the hangar and just left it out near the refueling pads so it was always ready to go. Dan also said he has not yet had to send anyone back to the outhouse to clean up their mess, he tells them nicely to clean up after themselves or don't come back. He said a few guys used the weeds instead of the outhouse.

Dan said very few men recognize the trough as being for pissing while standing and everyone drips piss on the floor in front of the toilet or the trough so he is going to make a small floor mat out of woven aluminum foil strips so he just folds it up and tosses it in the trash instead of mopping the floor.

Dan told me he found a way to get electricity to the south side of the runway. He said he talked to the local state surveyor who said there was a utility easement across his neighbor's land, which was how they got power over there during World War-2, so he contacted the engineer for the local power company to come by and discuss running a power line across his neighbor's cattle ranch to his land. It might be cheaper to bury the wires instead of installing ten new utility poles but it could cost Dan a few thousand Euros just to run the line. Dan said he was going to pay for it, and they'll put the meter box on the outside wall of the hangar, on the west side near the southwest corner. He'll have to place a breaker panel and set several outlets too.

The fuel pump on the tanker truck runs on 24v DC, the same batteries that start the engine. So he needs to charge it once a day when he starts selling gas so it doesn't kill the batteries.

Dan also said he interviewed a neighborhood kid about working for him, the boy is a public school drop-out but is bilingual (Spanish and Arabic) and is willing to learn the business. He said the boy is 19 years old and has never had a job in his life, he appears to be somewhat of a mommy's boy and is rather overweight but not stupid, just lazy. But Dan thinks he's smart enough to learn basic aviation and runway safety stuff (always look first).

Those are the latest updates from Danville, I forwarded them to Jen but never heard back.

He called me one evening around sunset and asked me for help. He said with the airplanes being very busy this time of year he had a growing pile of cash but no time to make it to a bank, could I run a pile of cash to the bank in Tangier for him. Of course I agreed. He said it was about six thousand bucks mostly in Euro paper money. I agreed to close the office an hour early and get on the bus. I asked if he had a way to meet me at the bus stop in town and he said he could send his employee on a bicycle with the money in his backpack. From work it took me 52 minutes to get to Ain Lahcen. I called him about 15 minutes out and hoped his employee would be there waiting, he was. When the bus stopped I saw the kid on the other side of the highway, not the side I was on. I waited for a break in traffic then dashed across the 4-lane highway and the median in the center. We did not touch but introduced each other, he knew a little about me. So he handed me the backpack, I unzipped it and found a package inside, wrapped in aluminum foil. I put it in my backpack and thanked his boy and the young man left on his bicycle. I sat down and waited for the next bus. If I was lucky I might make it there today for the deposit. Dan said he was putting a couple deposit slips inside with the money and it was already filled out, all I had to do was hand it to the teller and take the deposit receipt. Then I was to photo it with my cell and text that to Dan, or his employee would not get his first paycheck on time.

I was thrilled to see that Dan had cash coming in. He said the airport was much busier than he anticipated but not fuel sales. He still has 1/3 of a load of AV-Gas left in the truck.

A month later I still had not yet been able to set a date to visit Luis, he was super busy and stressed out with school. But he told me: no visits during the semester. I remember how stressful college was, so I can relate.

Jen said the threat phone calls died (no longer daily, but now weekly instead) down but did not stop. She carries pepper spray in her hand anytime she's outside now. I offered to buy her a switchblade knife and she said it might be used against her, so no-thanks. I suggested maybe beside the bed and that seemed okay to her, so I went to a knife maker in old Tangier and bought a nice switchblade. Technically they're illegal in Morocco and Spain if the blade was five inches or longer, I mailed it in a small box to Jen. She just takes it in hand and when you want the blade out just press the button and it slides straight forward and locks in place. I got her one with a five inch blade, a six inch handle. And the handle is contoured so you can easily tell which way you are holding it in the dark. She said she'll hide it on her bed frame near her pillow.

About three weeks after dispatching the bastard who murdered Patrik Rivera I had a very unpleasant visit at my office, a group of armed Moroccan federal cops in uniform. They had me walk outside on the street loaded with traffic and shopping tourists, they took me into custody with my wrists handcuffed behind me and put me in a police car and said we were going to Rabat, I was not allowed to make any calls, but I still had my cell in my pocket. They never patted me down probably because I was a foreign diplomat with immunity from prosecution.

It was a four hour drive but we arrived in Rabat that afternoon and I was walked inside an unmarked `police station' and locked inside an interrogation room where I was handcuffed to a heavy steel table. The room was freezing cold and I had no idea what was going on, but I was scared and was sure something bad was about to happen. While I sat and waited I noticed dried blood on the floor and a few drops on the walls.

I'd heard about these places before, unmarked police stations are primarily used for interrogation, torture, and elimination of people by police. Openly, they insist such places do not exist, but here I was inside one. Apparently there isn't one in Tangier yet.

About an hour after I arrived two cops came in the room, one was in a suit and he spoke Spanish. He said he was the #2 police investigator (detective) for the federal police in Morocco. His name plate was in Arabic so I couldn't read it but I tried to memorize the symbols. They told me I needed to confess in writing to killing a man in Tiznit, the Modesty Cop I stabbed to death in his bath tub, but I denied involvement. Then they lunged at me and one guy lifted me to my feet by my hair while the other one smacked me hard across the face again and again, I wanted to pass out but I had no such luck. That went on for about ten minutes and I got so sick I was unable to defend myself. They held me up by my hair and my arms were stretched down by the handcuffs to the steel table. I was unable to do anything but groan and try to survive once they started hitting my face.

Every time I started to shout I was a diplomat they hit my face again so I never finished saying anything.

When blood started leaking from my mouth he let go of my hair and I dropped back into the chair and my body was like limp and my entire head felt like it was on fire. He picked me up so hard the handcuffs dug into my wrists and made both of my wrists bleed. I could barely hear anything from being hit on the side of the head so many times. And my eyes were swollen too, so I could barely see.

After the facial treatments they un-cuffed me and lifted me on my feet and shoved me into the cement block wall (then cuffed my wrists behind my back) and took turn punching my back, one of them got out a whip and with my shirt still on he whipped my back about thirty times, I lost count but I was bleeding and barely able to breathe or stand. They kept telling me I had to write a confession about the killing but I kept telling them I never killed anyone. They called me a liar as they removed the cuffs again.

They left me in a heap on the ice cold floor (that smelled like piss) for about one hour then came back and started over, but this time they had a large cattle prod and shocked me all over my body, especially my head, neck, and hands. Once the battery in the cattle prod died they left the room and I collapsed to the floor and fell asleep for a while, but one cop came back and forced me to stand. While I was passed out I'd pissed my slacks and was bloody and bruised from head to toe. He got me to my feet and escorted me to the side door and shoved me outside onto the sidewalk and told me to walk home (129 miles across the desert, Rabat to Tangier). As best I could remember I was in Rabat and could barely walk or even think straight. The pain was tremendous from the beatings, and I was bleeding from several spots on my face, neck, back, wrists, and my ears.

It took a long time to get to up on my hands and knees while being bit by ants and mosquitoes, and eventually I managed to get to my feet. I was so dizzy I could barely tell which direction was up.

Eventually, I staggered away from the police station and got a taxi to take me to the US Embassy, luckily there was someone working, about 5:30am. I had been up all night being beat. At first the embassy person didn't recognize me but said my name sounded familiar, but to her I looked like a street bum and she was reluctant to even open the door. Eventually I convinced her I was a State Department employee and she helped me inside onto a bench seat in the hallway and I collapsed on my side, still bleeding from wounds all over my body.

I declined a ride to the hospital (where the police could return and actually kill me) and asked for some water and a train ticket back to Tangier. After a while I got to my feet and used the visitor's bathroom and washed my arms, hands, and face and sort of combed my hair. I was in that bathroom for almost half an hour trying to clean blood off my shirt in the sink. The shirt stuck to my back in several places to I just let it hang behind me. When the taxi arrived the desk clerk came and got me and she helped me pull my shirt back on, it was still glued to my back in several places by dried blood.

I was surprised they let me on the train considering how I looked and smelled. So I sat by the window and kept my eyes closed and rode the train back to Tangier and slept part of the way and then walked home from the train station. The train conductor gave me a blanket to cover myself so I didn't scare the other passengers. I fell asleep on the way to Tangier. One nice thing about taking the train to Tangier is it's the end of the line so there is no way to sleep past your stop. Everybody gets off the train in Tangier.

I called Daniel when I got home and told him the entire story. The cop in charge claimed twice to be the #2 detective in Morocco for their federal police, not sure what they are called. I also gave him a description of the building and the three cops involved; I heard the 2nd cop call the main dude by his first name which sounded like it was Aneese. I also admitted that I did go to Tiznit for the guy who killed a gay college student from Lubbock Texas, what I did was an eye-for-an-eye revenge killing. I off'd him nearly the same way he off'd Patrik. I told him that Patrik probably violated the rule about entering the mosque in an unclean state, but it was done out of ignorance not disrespect. He was an innocent college student working on his master's degree doing a study of religion in Morocco. He was just counting the number of people who entered the building by sitting across the street and counting people entering the mosque for regular Friday services. Dan promised to take care of it for me. I had no idea what he was going to do, but my guess was he immediately called the US Embassy in Rabat. As a former US State FCA they really had to listen to what he said.

I slept for about 14 hours only getting up once to pee, there were traces of blood in my urine but it cleared up hours later. When I looked in the bathroom mirror I saw the swelling around my face was way down but my eyes were still blood red. I had to stand in the shower with the water running for about ten minutes before the short would fall off my back, but by then I was leaking drops of blood from several places.

I got a call from the Ambassador but he offered little information other than the name of the guy I claimed beat and threatened me. What they did was technically considered an act of military force upon an officer of the US Government and would be answered quickly. The US Embassy in Rabat contacted the State Department in DC and the Federal government offices in Rabat and made a formal complaint and demanded the arrest of the three men involved. The ambassador later told me they told him politely to fuck off. I think Daniel also called the government in Rabat to file a complaint about the federal police. I could tell from talking to Dan that he was still pissed and wanted revenge. Dan said he threatened if they didn't arrest those men that he would take matters into his own hands immediately, he gave them two hours to arrest the men, or else. In other words he gave them the chance to kill them or we would. Like I said, their response was a polite: fuck off. Dan was furious and I feared what he might do.

What follows is what I pieced together of events that took place the next 56 hours in Rabat: (I still have no idea who was involved.)

First: Twenty four hours after my release the secret police station in Rabat caught fire and burned to the ground. Someone shut off the main water line which fed all the hydrants and buildings within two blocks. Some people suggested there were prisoners in the basement that died in the fire, people being held illegally. That was never confirmed. The Rabat newspaper printed images of citizens cheering the burning building and trying to block the streets so the fire department couldn't reach it with the trucks or hoses. Gradually, the city FD linked twenty hoses down the street to the first hydrant with water pressure and when they were about to start spraying the fire a local people attacked the hoses with axes and destroyed their only water supply. The locals wanted the place to burn to the ground and that is exactly what happened. Eventually they stopped trying to fight the fire and the place slowly crumbled down to a pile of ash and steel roofing parts.

Second: Neighbors of the #2 detective (Aneese) for the federal police reported hearing a large helicopter land at Moroccan Central Park late that night around 1am. Minutes later they heard yelling outside on the street, but in that neighborhood the people often responded to yelling outside at night by locking doors and turning off lights. The helicopter was supposedly only on the ground for ten minutes, then they heard more yelling as the helicopter started-up and took off heading west. The park was near the N6 Highway and the Rabat Airport, but it's only about two miles from the beach.

Aneese told his wife to hide under the bed in the dark when three armed men in black clothing bashed-in their front door and took Aneese (with a thin wire around the neck from behind) out the front door and down the street by force. Since they'd been in bed he was only wearing boxer shorts. His home was near Airport Avenue and a big city park. While they were walking down the street with the man in his underwear the helicopter started its engine. Four men were seen getting in the helicopter and sliding the door shut, it lifted off the grassy field about ten seconds later. Someone said the helicopter looked military but never saw any markings.

According to Rabat Airport radar records the helicopter was tracked flying over the N6 Highway to the west and out over the Atlantic Ocean about six miles from shore, then it slowed and hovered briefly then lowered to sea level. After hovering just above the sea briefly it turned around and flew southeast and eventually disappeared from their radar as it flew toward Algeria. They assumed Aneese was forced out the helicopter 900ft over the ocean. The helicopter was supposedly rented in Bechar Algeria.

Third: Hours after the fire started the third cop involved (the one who worked the cattle prod) in my beating disappeared while on routine patrol, his squad car was found in a large parking lot by the riverfront Opera Theater building with no signs of any struggle or foul play inside. It appeared he parked and got out of his car for some unknown reason he vanished, probably shoved inside another vehicle and driven away quietly. He was probably black bagged and shoved inside a van with a large sliding door. He was probably taken to a hiking trail in the hills near Oum Azza on the east side of the reservoir. There he was ordered to remove his clothes, and then they cut him into six pieces while he was still awake and alive, starting with his legs, then his arms and head. That was done to promote a rapid sky burial. Keep in mind during the American Civil War wounded soldiers had limbs amputated in makeshift field hospitals with no anesthesia, except maybe a swallow of moonshine, and many of them survived!

Fourth: The second cop, the one who did most of the whipping and punches to my back and face was home with his family. His wife left with the kids to pick-up a carry-out dinner (after it was dark outside) and when they came back he was gone. The probable destination for his body was also sky burial in the hills southeast of Rabat near the big reservoir. The hills are steep and heavily wooded, an ideal place to feed the vultures circling overhead.

Fifth: And the federal official in charge of the national police force also disappeared that night, he did not participate in the beatings but was in charge of the cops who did. He left home at 5:45pm to pick-up his daughter from school soccer practice. He took a taxi and the driver said he parked outside the school doors and waited for him to return but the man simply walked inside the school and never came back out. The soccer team coach said he never saw him and called the girl's mother to come get their child. It was likely he was escorted out a side door with a piano wire tightly around his neck and walked to a van and everyone got inside and it drove away. He would have been taken to a hiking trail where he was butchered alive and left in six pieces for the vultures and the hyenas to squabble over.

Nobody ever mentioned it to me again, it was like it never happened. But I was given three weeks paid medical leave and they brought another FCA down from Barcelona to run my office for those weeks. Even after three weeks off I still had scars from the electrical burns and my ribs were still tender. The doctor said I had long whip scars across my back but they were healing nicely.

My only complaint was I would have wanted to have been in the helicopter when they shoved Aneese out the door, but I'm sure he knew why he was executed. After a nine hundred foot fall to the ocean he probably continued non-stop to the ocean bottom. They say hitting the water after free falling for about six seconds, the injuries would be similar to impacting the ground. But his body would dive underwater like a brick but in his case his body sank rapidly to the bottom where it raised a silt cloud and decomposed quickly with the help of a hundred hungry lobsters. If any part of his body might wash up on shore it would be his boxers, which was all he was wearing.

When I spoke to Dan about the reprisal he said: No comment. The embassy chief of staff also said the matter was resolved and I should stop talking about it. He suggested telling people I was in a motor vehicle accident. I never told Jen but eventually she'll see the scars. I just wondered what unit did the disappearances. It could have been a Navy Seal Metro team.

They'd fly in at night by helicopter to a nearby park with multiple three-man teams. One team shut off the city water valves and entered the police building (their specialty) by force and left a backpack containing a device. The device detonated and set fire to the entire building. The purpose of the blast was to break windows and doors to allow for better air flow to promote the fire quickly. One of them was outside and picked the key lock on a vehicle and parked it over the water main valve under the street, and then he stabbed all four tires so it couldn't be moved quickly. One of the cops they were looking for was actually inside the police station when they broke in. He was in the interrogation room trying to repair the cattle prod. They took his keys and used his handcuffs to tie him to the same table and set the backpack in the doorway, activated it and quickly left the building. Outside they jogged three blocks away and flagged down a black taxi and got a ride to the public beach.

When the backpack device detonated it caused the building to collapse and catch on fire. Someone said there was radioactive residue at the site for months after the incident.

The other teams quickly located their targets and silently terminated each one. After each team assignment was done they drove to the beach and meet someone in a raft with a motor. The raft took them far enough from shore so they couldn't be seen from land, they probably boarded a waiting submarine.

In that part of the Atlantic it was probably a French diesel submarine on a training mission. They recovered the Seal teams and they changed into ordinary office clothing already on board. The next day that sub tied up in Brest and the Seals went by train to Paris. They flew back to the States on the earliest flights out of Paris using fake passports and looking like ordinary American business men; no luggage, no carry-ons, and one-way tickets. Their mission sent an unmistakable message to the government of Morocco. It appeared Morocco was not fully aware of the consequences of their actions, it was done with impunity but everyone involved disappeared within 72 hours.

The building fire in the city was big news in town but the missing police officers were never mentioned in the newspaper.

Contact the author borischenaz mailfence

If you enjoy this book on Nifty you would probably like my others: Playing with Fire (May 19 2022), Response Team (Sept 2, 2023), Raising Crow (December 16, 2022), and Crossing Panama (Jan 1, 2022) These are in the gay/adult-friends section of the Nifty Archive, which is one of the oldest web pages in existence.

Crossing Panama is about a gay attorney who sails from Tampa Bay Florida to Los Angeles through the Panama Canal and finds love along the way.

Response Team is about a married gay couple (El Paso Texas) who help protect the USA from great crimes and terror. This book has alternate endings, your choice which to read.

Raising Crow is a coming of age story about a gay teen (Amarillo Texas) and his Great Dane named Crow.

Playing with Fire is about a gay nurse (mid 20s) near Chicago who meets and falls in love with a very troubled younger man.

Also a note from the author: this book (Captured) is planned to end around chapter 29-30.