Chapter 7
"Good man." The interrogator leant forward and looked straight into Shane's eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have been assigned to be your handler, your controller. You will carry out my instructions without question - no 'ifs' 'buts' or 'maybes'. You will do what I tell you to do instantly. One fuck up, however small, and you'll be back in the slammer so fast that you'll break the sound barrier. Got it?" Shane nodded, too shaken to reply. "OK. Here's what will happen. You will stay here for a couple of days. You will be taken from your cell and put with some other guys who have 'volunteered' their services. I will be known to you by the name of Jonas. You will only address me or mention me to anyone by my control name, Jonas."
He continued to brief Shane thoroughly for the next two hours before taking him to a different part of the building, where he was put in a room with several bunks. Jonas ordered Shane to strip and hand his clothes to him. Shane was to remain butt naked for the remainder of his indoctrination. He was not to indulge in his 'perversion', not even to jerk off, whatever the enticements or temptations might be. On the third day, he would report back to his unit to resume his ordinary duties. Before Shane would be allowed to leave that place, Jonas would go over the facts of life in OAFI "purely for your benefit," as he put it.
Shane's job was to do whatever Jonas told him to do. Shane was not to question a single order. Jonas and the rest of the team were unceasingly preparing tactics to detect likely targets. They had the entire town wired. A complete network of local taxi drivers, hotel keepers, brothel madams, hookers, bartenders, you name it, had all been recruited - some willingly, others not so willing. All of them were on the OAFI payroll and they gathered usable intelligence. All of them were under the direct control of Jonas and the team. The team's superiors had decided that the only foolproof way to prove a suspect was homosexual, the only way to catch him in the act, was for them to launch the action and get it on film as proof of the suspect's homosexuality. As it was claimed that neither Jonas nor any of the other OAFI agents were homosexuals, it was considered they would be unable to execute the essential part of the job, namely to get concrete evidence of homosexual activity on the part of the suspect. They could only rely on a few cabbies, like those who had turned Shane in, but these were few and far between. Shane had unknowingly run into two of only three drivers who would let a faggot go down on them. If subjected to interrogation by the ordinary police, they would claim they did this purely for the money from OAFI, of course. That was where Shane had come into OAFI's picture: they had recognised his value to them if they could persuade him to become "queer bait".
As they figured it, Shane could keep the target busy with sex, while they took photographs or made a film of all the action. There was simply no way to discredit that kind of evidence and getting a confession from the mark would be straightforward. Naturally, once operational, Shane could not go back to his former duties in Intelligence work. That was out of the question for an admitted queer boy. However, there was no reason to publicly expose him either, as that would have the wrong effect. Instead, his 'long awaited transfer' to other duties had miraculously been approved - he had applied for no such transfer, but such was OAFI's power - and he had been assigned, with immediate effect, to work in the administrative offices at his current location. That way, he would remain on base, in the same barracks; to those who would be unaware of what had been going on, Shane would still be a member of the Intelligence community. This was important as a front for any later activity which might involve the Stasi or their like. Shane was returned to base in time to get a decent night's rest, shake the grim last two and a half days from his mind - at least, as much as he could - and report for duty as an assistant to the Chief Administration Clerk, who just happened to be a German Air Force Oberfeldwebel or staff sergeant. No doubt he had been thoroughly informed of Shane's situation and he made sure no questions were asked about Shane's absence, where he had been or what he had been doing. No questions, even from senior officers, were answered.
Shane had no way of knowing when he would be called on to actually go on operational work for OAFI. He was to be contacted by Jonas and given instructions where and when he wanted Shane to meet him for his briefing before each assignment. Shane thought, "Fuck, this is like being in a spy movie." He went about his normal routines like nothing had happened, settling into the relatively boring role of admin clerk, working straight days, eight to five, and hitting the Other Ranks Club at night. Following his orders from Jonas, he never went into town now, staying on base. One or two of his erstwhile drinking buddies were puzzled at first, but soon left off quizzing him as to why he never seemed to want to get bladdered or fuck off to a bordello for a good shag. By the end of the first week, Shane was getting fed up with the whole thing. He had made up his mind to sneak out on Saturday to Zitronenbaum Platz, where you could find the nearest whorehouses to the base. He never got the chance. The phone on his desk rang on Friday afternoon.
"It's on." Shane instantly recognised Jonas's voice. He sounded excited. "Meet me at the Glinka Bierkeller in the town tonight. 19:00 hours sharp."
"OK," Shane managed to reply. He was shaken by this call. He should have expected it but it had been so long in coming he had begun to think they had had second thoughts about him.
The Glinka Bierkeller was at the end of Koenigsbergstrasse, a seemingly never-ending crowded street packed full of bars, brothels and shops selling every kind of pornography and sexual 'aid'. It was a sordid street in a German town at its seedy best, with hundreds of would-be bar girls plying their trade here. He took a cab from the base to Koenigsbergstrasse, choosing to walk back from the far end to the Glinka Bierkeller. After being cooped up on the base for an entire week, he drank in the sights, sounds and smells of the town's foremost meat rack.
Pushing through the curtained door of Glinka's he entered the smoky bar, almost succumbing to the stench of stale beer and cheap German cigarettes. Jonas was seated at one of the tables along the back wall of the bierkeller and waved to Shane as he entered and looked around. His eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the strip club and bar. A short stocky girl was doing her best bump and grind routine on the dance floor, but other than shaking her tits she was not achieving much. Not that it mattered to the half-drunken crowd of horny men urging her on. As he drew closer to Jonas he noticed another guy sitting at the table with him, not the crew-cut OAFI type like Jonas but a tall blond lanky guy, aged about thirty. Shane's curiosity was immediately aroused, as was a more physical part of him. He had to fight hard to prevent it from reaching a full erection - he would have given a month's pay to have been able to make a pass at the guy.
"This is Sergeant Axelsson. He's with the Air Force Security Division (AFSD)," explained Jonas. Shane nodded to him in acknowledgment. The stranger looked him up and down as if he was an extraordinarily uninteresting bug. Catching sight of Shane's incipient hard-on as he did so, he went back to his Stein of beer, ignoring Shane completely.
"Sergeant Axelsson's got a suspect and we're gonna help him to get the goods. Seems that a Commie bastard from up The Point. . . (he was referring to a small outpost of the main base where our people listened in to radio chat from the other side, in the hope of intercepting something 'interesting') . . . has been asking around Gobbler's Alley for a boy. One of our whores tipped Sergeant Axelsson off about him. She had told the guy that she could get him a willing Kerl not from the town and he should come back tonight." Gobbler's Alley was the closest most of the foreign military men could get to pronouncing its proper name: Grubenarbeitersgasse.
"And I'm going to be . . ." Shane interjected, weakly.
"You got it, Mary." Jonas had taken to calling him 'Mary' during Shane's enforced stay. "The story the mark'll be given is that you were looking for a boy to have sex with too and the whore just put two and two together."
"And came up with a queer five," Sergeant Axelsson said dryly, his accent baffling Shane for a moment. Then it dawned on him: of course, with a name like Axelsson he must be Swedish American. Shane shifted his gaze away from the pair. He knew that if he said anything he would be in trouble. Sergeant Axelsson probably wanted nothing more than to kick Shane's arse from here to the States and back, and he was not too sure if Jonas cared if he did. No, the rule Shane lived by now had to be, "SHUT UP AND TAKE IT."
Jonas had been slightly put out by Axelsson's interruption but he continued, "Alright, now listen. We've got a camera set up in a room next to where the whore's going to put you. You get there first. The mark should be calling around nine, according to the whore. You just . . . you know . . . do whatever it is you do, we get it all on film, and we take care of collecting the Comrade tomorrow or the day after. There's no hurry, after all he's not gonna go anywhere."
"You've got to . . . you know, you gotta do IT," Sergeant Axelsson broke in, putting heavy emphasis on the last word. "If we don't get him on film doing you . . . or you doing him . . . it'll be no good for a bust. Understand?"
"Mary understands," Jonas shot back before Shane had a chance to open his mouth. "Mary's good at this, ain't ya, luvvy. Don't worry, it'll be plenty good for a clean bust. Won't it, Mary?"
"Yes," was all Shane could say.
Convinced that they were all singing from the same hymn sheet, Jonas, Axelsson and Shane left the bar and made the short trip down one of the side streets connecting Koenigsbergstrasse with Lindenstrasse. About halfway down this crowded side street, Gobbler's Alley shot off to the right. It was a narrow alley, poorly lit and perpetually slimy, hemmed in on both sides by sleazy peepshow booths and a jumble of small bars, crushed one upon the other to save valuable space. Each bar doubled as a whorehouse, although poor displaced refugee families also lived in these places. It was quite common to stumble up the slight incline of Gobbler's Alley, open a door and find a refugee family having dinner or watching TV - if they could afford one, that is. You could negotiate with one of the girls or boys - or even with the mother or, as a last resort, the grandmother - for the eldest boy to give you a blow-job. You were simply taken into what passed for a bedroom, invited to lie down on the stinking bed and the boy would proceed to suck you off, while the rest of the family continued eating or watching some stupid show on the cheap TV. It was to a set up similar to this that my target had first come, probably drunk, asking where he could get a good blow-job from a boy. Alternatively, perhaps, he could give a blow-job to a teenage boy. Whatever, the word had got back to AFSD and OAFI and the guy was marked.
About halfway up the filthy alley, on the right, Jonas knocked lightly on a door. An untidy, middle aged woman opened the door, spoke a few words with Jonas in broken German, and led the three of them inside. It was a small tenement typical of the neighbourhood and Jonas's hulking form took up more than half the living room area. A few more words and the woman took Shane to a bedroom just off the living room. She gestured to him to enter and closed the paper-thin door. Shane's eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness of the room and he made out the essentials: a bed, a small table, and what appeared to be a small storage closet. Beside the bed was the customary bucket of water with a filthy washcloth draped over the edge. He had learnt from his whoring around with women of the town this was to wash the sperm from their cunts. He supposed the woman had put it there by force of habit. Or had she? It slowly dawned on him, as he sat on the edge of the bed listening to Jonas and Axelsson positioning the camera in the adjoining room, that he was certainly out of his league now.
He wondered about his target, his mark. Who was he? Was he anyone he'd be likely to know? How old was he? Had he done anything like this before? How experienced was he? What kind of sexual play did he like? Was he top or bottom? Shane assumed the mark would want the same kind of things he would want but maybe he was more experienced than Shane. He interrupted his train of thought. Stop thinking, my brain is whirring. Just ride this out. No guarantees, no questions, no display of interest, no problems. He sat there for what seemed like an hour, first listening to Jonas and Axelsson going about their work next door, followed by silence as they also sat waiting.
Waiting . . .
Waiting . . .
Next: Chapter 8.
Laurie (rampage938) 30/03/17
Please note: there is likely to be a pause after the forthcoming chapter 8 but I will resume production as soon as I have sorted out a potential problem. Nothing to worry about and things will resume as quickly as possible.