The Sacrifice

II.

--2000--

Singapore--August is always hot in Singapore! Even the gentle, constant breeze off the Straits did little to allay the oppressiveness of this August early afternoon. The locals hugged the shadows, avoiding the open sidewalks in an attempt to be a little cooler as they went about their business. Orchard Road, normally bustling, was nearly deserted.

"It must have been here that the saying 'mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon day sun' was coined," Rick thought as he entered The Mandarin Hotel. He was hot and his muscles ached from the confinement of the long flight. L. A. to Narita--thirteen long hours--then another five and a half hours to Changi Airport! He had a Business Class ticket, but the seats, although relatively comfortable, did not allow him to stretch out fully.

"Too bad The Group doesn't give out first class tickets," he mused and added to himself, "At least I get a decent hotel." He checked in, went up to his room --1402, next to the entrance to the fire stairs--and took a long hot shower. Still his muscles felt like wound up springs. He called down to the desk and inquired as to whether or not the hotel had an exercise room. He was told that there was a complete facility the third floor.

Rick donned light beige cotton slacks, a dark polo shirt and slipped into new leather sandals. He grabbed a canvas bag in which he had shorts, tank top, sweat socks, gym shoes and a fresh change of underwear. As an afterthought, he stuffed into the bag a hotel towel, locked his room and took the elevator down to the third floor.

Indeed, the exercise room was complete. It sported a full compliment of gleaming exercise equipment many of which resembled Medieval torture machines. There were three other men in the exercise room--straining on various pieces of equipment. There were private massage cubicles as well as men's and women's locker rooms with showers and steam rooms for both. He opened an empty locker, stripped to his briefs and put on his exercise clothes before locking the narrow metal door. Going into the brightly lit exercise room, he spent a half hour on a treadmill. He dialed it up to a fast walk and then went to the pneumatic stairs for another fifteen minutes. By that time he was sweating profusely and the muscles which had long been inactive seemed alive, again.

He returned to the locker room, stripped, went to one of the several private, curtained shower stalls, and cleansed his body again. Still dripping, he wrapped the towel about his waist and entered the steam room.

It was small, nine by twelve feet with three tiers of stepped, wooden benches along three walls--'U' shaped, they were. A small bulb shed enough light to barely illuminate the center of the steam filled room. Rick sat on the lowest bench opposite the door. There were four others in the room sitting on different levels as he glanced around. Three of them--Asians, carefully wrapped in their towel coverings, red from the moist heat and sweat streaming down their bodies--who sat with heads bowed. The fourth, a Caucasian, sitting opposite Rick on the second tier was uncovered. Rick smiled to himself. He had been briefed before leaving the States that Asians were quite modest even within the confines of a same sex locker room or other similar facilities. Public nudity, even in this situation, was frowned upon. Rick, having been raised in the States, had no compunction about nudity, especially amongst men in a location, such as a locker room. Yet, he respected

he locals' beliefs and kept covered.

He glanced briefly at the 'foreigner.' He was young, approximately his own age, well built and obviously well endowed. He leaned back against the upper tier, arms spread to the right an left, and his thighs likewise spread exposing completely his considerable 'equipment.' Two of the wrapped men, rose from their seats on the top level, carefully stepped down from the upper level to the floor and left. But not, Rick observed in amusement, without a brief, furtive glance at the exposed crotch. Rick was amused at the obvious chagrin of the two--or was it open, comparative curiosity--and a little miffed at the young man's calculated, obvious display.

The door, opposite Rick, opened and a tall dark man entered and sat on the lowest level, to the right of Rick and opposite the displaying Caucasian. At first Rick thought that he was an African, but then realized that he was a Tamil. Singapore, like Malaysia was the home of many Tamils whose predecessors had come to work in the plantations of the former Malaya. The other wrapped Asian quickly left, but as with the previous two, not without sneaking a glance at the display as he passed.

Rick sat for twenty minutes, allowing the moist heat to do its work. Then, completely relaxed, infused with renewed vigor, he got up and left.

After a cool shower, he dressed, left the area, returned to his room. There he took out his laptop from his carryon bag and punched in a code. The laptop appeared as any other, but this device was considerably different. It had a built in antenna with powerful batteries that allowed it to bypass the normal phone lines and communicate directly with a satellite orbiting high overhead. He wanted to check, for the fourth or fifth time since his assignment, the hour and place of his 'appointment.' Additionally, he needed to check to see whether his control had any more information on his contact. He had been briefed that he was to meet a contact at a specific date, time and place. Initially, there was to be no verbal contact, but a series of well choreographed movements with appropriate props to be utilized. Verbal confirmation would come later. Still, this worried Rick. He would have felt more comfortable if he had a name or a face.

Rick had been sent by The Group. The Group (Government Resources for Operations and Undercover Penetration) was the informal name of the 'agency' for which Rick had been so carefully recruited and trained. It was highly exclusive and known only to a small number of those of the highest echelon in the government. It was reputed to be beyond the ken of the Secretaries of State and Defense--it's only connection with the President was through his National Security Advisor. The funding for this clandestine organization was sufficient and under such deep layers of bureaucracy that only the best investigator might discover it--that is, if he or she knew what they was looking for.

Rick had been sent to Singapore to make contact with an individual associated, loosely with a some Near East organization. Information had come to The Group from one of its numerous sources that there was to be a meeting--know only to a handful--between representatives of the two feuding groups from that arena. Further, additional information was uncovered, from another source that Das Brüder--a heretofore unknown Russian group which had strangely assumed a German name--had sent a 'representative' to Singapore at the same time. Was this a coincidence? Was there some connection? Rick was to ascertain whether there was any correlation.

"Your contact is extremely important, Jaak--not personally--but his connection is of the utmost value. He cannot be lost or compromised in any way. He must be maintained. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Perfectly!" he answered. This was to be his first assignment outside of the country.

That was ten days ago. "Now I'm in this damned oven," Jaak grumbled to himself as he grabbed his towel and wiped his face. He sprawled out, trying to achieve some comfort. Across the small steam filled room sat a dark skinned man sitting on a white towel. To his left another guy wrapped in a towel.

"What a stupid place to meet!" he thought and adjusted himself.

The man opposite glanced at Jaak. He had a number of times in the short period since he had entered the steam room. Generally his gaze lingered on Jaak' semi-exposed cock and balls.

The man sitting to his left, "A European," Jaak had thought, got up and left the room--leaving just he and the dark man, opposite him.

"Have you taken your lunch yet, señor? There's a fine restaurant on the roof," the dark man commented.

Jaak looked intently at the steam swathed figure, "It's probably too windy up there this time of year," he carefully repeated the countersign.

The dark man slipped off the bench, saying, "1209."

Jaak gave his room number in return, completing the code, "1014." He sat up from his slouched position and wiped his face again.

The man stood in front of Jaak and stated lightly, "You'd better be careful of that treasure." At the same time he reached out and fondled Jaak' exposed cock.

The Lithuanian recoiled from the touch. The man smiled, actually leered and left in a swirl of steam.

Jaak' mind raced, "Just my luck to have a fuckin faggot for a contact!"

Ten minutes later, he stood up, wrapped the towel 'bout his waist and stepped out of that damnably humid heat. The locker room was empty. Jaak stepped into one of the shower cubicles and stood under a cool, invigorating stream of water.

His mind ticked off the various items that he had memorized from his long briefings. He had an uncanny ability to commit to memory and instant recall reams of information. The Knights found this most useful. His training, under their auspicious, was varied. At first it centered upon things physical which he accomplished with little difficulty. Arms training was also quickly assimilated. When he had quickly absorbed elemental codes, he was then singled out and trained further in the more arcane aspects of the trade. The Knights' active realm was Lithuania and the other two Baltic republics. However, the organization's reputation was such that frequently allied organizations made use of the particular expertise. So it was with Jaak. He was "on loan."

Nonetheless, he was ultimately responsible to and for The Knights. To fail in this assignment was to fail the brotherhood--something he could not, would not allow to happen. There had been ingrained in his training a loyalty to the brotherhood that was second to none. It was not that he had been brainwashed, but The Knights' goal had been ostensibly the freedom of his motherland. That appealed to Jaak intellectually and emotionally.

He finished his shower, dried off, dressed, and left. He stepped out of the elevator, walked across the lobby and out into the heat of the afternoon. "I need a beer," he thought. He had decided to turn right but saw the dark man across the street. He was carrying a bundle. An imperceptible nod from his contact made him change his direction and follow at a distance.

His contact continued down Orchard Road. After several blocks, Jaak was confident that he was not being followed. Yet, he kept his guard up. The man turned right. Jaak did not increase his pace but walked slowly observing the various items in the shops he passed as any visitor might do. Each time he used the windows' reflections to scan his former path and to look for anyone who might be tracing the same steps--a rudimentary reaction. At the corner he turned and bumped 'accidentally' into his contact who had turned and was retracing his steps. The bundle fell to the ground.

"Sorry," the contact said apologetically, as he retrieved his parcel.

"Excuse me," Jaak said simultaneously.

"I should be more careful," the dark man said, flashing a smile.

"No, it was my fault."

"You're new in Singapore?"

"Yes. This is my first time."

"Well, then, allow me to buy you a cool drink . . . a welcome gesture from an awkward Singaporean," he said, again flashing a broad smile.

"That's not necessary."

"Nonsense, there's a cafe right there," he stated nodding across the narrow cross street, and strode towards it, saying, "Come."

Jaak followed. They took a table on the sidewalk and ordered.

"My name is Shala," the dark man announced and reached his hand across the table.

Jaak shook his hand and replied, "Jaak."

All this would have appeared positively normal to anyone on the street. No one would have suspected that they had made contact earlier. Soon they had relaxed into easy conversation.

Jaak, by now, had had time to carefully observe his contact. Shala's six feet made him a bit taller than Jaak' five feet eleven inches. But Jaak' 185 pounds was ten more than his counterpart. The Tamil's skin was mahogany colored. Curly black hair framed a broad, smooth forehead punctuated by expressively arched black brows--arched eyebrows! They caused a painful relict to flash across Jaak's inner, mental screen. However, Jaak had to admit that his dark brown, almond shaped eyes with their black lashes were indeed impressive but cold. The Tamil's nose was aquiline terminating in slightly flared nostrils. His mouth was full and frequently spread into a brilliant smile displaying the whitest teeth he had ever see, All the above were supported by an angular jaw and a strong chin which possessed a slight dimple. While in the steam room, Jaak had noted that his body was hard and his slightly angular frame was balanced by sleek muscles. Jaak admitted to

himself that this man was handsome--in a way.

"You stay at the hotel?" Jaak asked after some time and added, "I thought you were a Singaporean?"

"I am," Shala admitted and continued, "My company maintains a room in The Mandarin for business guests."

"I see."

They continued to chat. Soon darkness began to descend.

"I'm getting hungry," Shala admitted. "Lets go back to the hotel for dinner. There's a good restaurant there."

"Sure," Jaak assented, "But, I'm not keen on Chinese food," he admitted quietly.

"No problem, they have a fine continental restaurant there as well."

"Good."

They ambled back to the hotel. Shala talked about Singapore and its many attractions. To anybody who might be following, the meeting, the coffee and the walk back to The Mandarin seemed as innocent as any chance meeting might be--except this wasn't a chance meeting.

The restaurant was quiet, off the beaten path on the second floor. The menu was varied. They first decided on a drink. Jaak ordered a vodka, straight, and Shala a glass of pinot blanc.

"That stuff's too strong for me," Shala admitted, "Besides it has no taste to speak of!"

Jaak laughed, "Well, I guess it's all in what you get used to."

They ordered dinner.

"Would you like to order wine?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, that would be nice, how about you Jaak?"

"Fine, you order,"Jaak stated. The truth of the matter was Jaak was not too familiar with wine. The price had placed it way out of his reach back home. Further, it was not one of the areas in which The Knights trained their recruits. Jaak made a mental note that he would have to become familiar with the elementary aspects of wine--later.

Shala, also no great wine connoisseur, ordered a bottle of Burgundy.

The food was served along with the wine, they ate and drank the wine as they chatted amiably. Jaak had begun to relax, partially because of the alcohol and partially because of the open relaxed manner of Shala. But, not so relaxed that he forgot his mission or the perils involved.

Cognac was ordered and its amber liquid slowly sipped and savored. Cognac was one liqueur that Jaak relished. The bill was paid and they strolled out of the restaurant towards the elevators.

"Let's go to my room," Shala suggested.

"Yes," Jaak answered quietly, "We need to discuss some things," he added.

They stepped of the elevator at the twelfth floor, walked to 1209, Shala inserted the keycard and they entered his room. It was much the same as his own, Jaak noted as he sat in one of the comfortable chairs.

"Another cognac?" Shala suggested as he walked to the sidebar where a bottle and several glasses stood.

"Maybe a light one," Jaak nodded, "I've nearly had my limit."

Shala poured two fingers into one glass and the same into another. He handed one of the glasses to Jaak and sat in the chair opposite him.

"Cheers," he toasted Jaak and the both took a sip.

"There are some things I need to clear up," Jaak started.

Shala raised his hand as if halting traffic, "Not here! Tomorrow," he quietly stated, arching his eyebrows and cocking his head, conspiratorially. Jaak nodded in understanding. If Shala's 'company' did maintain a room here in The Mandarin, it might be known by other 'companies' and the likelihood of the room containing some sophisticated listening device was high!

Jaak had earlier, upon entering the room, quickly and carefully scanned the space for any obvious devices--part of his training. The ceiling light was flush, there were no vents in the ceiling either, and the other furnishings were simple and unadorned. The installation of a miniature camera would seem unlikely, but listening devices were far easier to position.

They conversed casually and upon finishing the cognac, Jaak set the glass down and stated, "I need to get some sleep . . . better go to my room." Saying this he raised himself out of the chair and started towards the door. A rosy glow had infused his being, and, besides, he was tired. Jet lag had not completely lessened its grip on his being.

Shala, likewise, got up and followed Jaak towards the door.

The vodka, dinner wine and two cognacs had worked their way into his system. Jaak, quite naturally, felt a trifle dizzy and he inadvertently caromed into the luggage rack. He grabbed for the wall to regain his balance.

Immediately, Shala who was behind him, threw his arms around Jaak' chest to steady him. The strength and warmth of the encircling, steadying arms were welcomed.

"Are you all right?" Shala asked quietly.

"Yeah . . . I guess . . . I had a little too much . . . to drink," he stammered out.

"That happens," came the reply. Shala had not relinquished his grip. As a matter of fact Jaak was aware that he had been drawn closer. He felt Shala's warmth and the fact that his hands were beginning to move languidly over his chest.

He was aware of the ultimate intent of this attention. He tried to extricate himself from the grasp, "Not now . . . another time," he stated hoarsely, straining to free himself.

Still Shala did not loosen his embrace. His hands had moved to the nipples which had begun to harden and fingers began to pinch them lightly through the cloth covering.

"There may not be another time," Shala breathed. His lips were next to Jaak' ear. He snaked his tongue out and curled it into and around the shell like ear.

The combination of his nipples being stimulated and the hot moist, probing tongue sent wild shivers through his being. When Katya had tongued his ears, those many years ago, the action brought the young Jaak to almost immediate erection. He was now aware of a similar reaction. This surprised him. It had been a long time since such reactions had skipped through his body! But, never. . . well almost never with a man! He remembered Mikal!

He could not accept this response.

"I should go . . . I'm a bit drunk . . . and tired," he stammered with increasing breathlessness, casting about for any excuse. This was unaccepted! He strained for release.

"Relax! Enjoy . . . . Just let me do all the work," Shala crooned as one hand slipped down over the hard muscled abdomen and cupped the bulging, pants covered crotch. "Besides you don't seem too drunk or tired," he snickered as he lightly squeezed the hardening bulge in recognition of its condition.

"His connection is of the utmost value. He cannot be lost. He must be maintained." The words of his "control" flashed across his mind.

"But, does it mean this?" he questioned silently. "Well, as long as I don't have to take an active part . . . I guess it has to be endured!" he mutely stated in way of a compromise. Jaak consciously refused to consider the fact that the physical attentions of this man were stimulating him--were pleasant! He ceased to struggle.

Shala immediately sensed the relaxation. His tongue moved from the ear and began to trace its way down to that most sensitive area on the neck, just below the ear. Again shivers coursed through the Lithuanian's body. Simultaneously the other hand dropped to the waist and the two hands together deftly unbuckled the belt, and opened the fly. The trousers, along with the briefs were lowered to mid thigh. Jaak' substantial cock arched up, liberated as the opulent ball sack swung free. Warm, hot fingers wrapped around the rigid shaft and slowly slid towards the head. That touch brought a strange admixture of conscious revulsion and not a too unfamiliar, pleasurable response to Jaak.

A cosmic battle raged in Jaak's being. On one side rose the black miasma engendered by the Russian soldier's action those years ago, and the 'shelving' of his normal sexual urges. On the other side, loomed the obvious uncontrollable physical response that was now surfacing with sonic speed. Shala's expertise brought to the surface a need so elemental that even the relict of the humping soldier was overshadowed. Although his mind, his mental powers did not 'shut down,' they began to assume less control and importance.

Quickly, Shala loosed his grasp and circled to the front of Jaak. Kneeling down he avidly sucked the hardened cock into his mouth.

Jaak, uncontrollably, gasped! The sensation was too primitive, too delicious to negate! He had closed his eyes tightly. "I don't want to watch. This isn't acceptable!" he whispered to himself as his conscious mind began to lose the debate. The feeling engendered by that hot, moist mouth, as it moved up and down his cock, was inexpressibly lascivious,

Suddenly, Shala gave up that stiff pole, stood up and gently maneuvered Jaak to the edge of the bed. Quickly he unbuttoned the shirt and stripped it off. He bent over and lightly licked one of the erect nipples. Again Jaak gasped uncontrollably. Then, the Tamil gently pushed Jaak back onto the bad. The latter complied--a not too unwilling automaton at this point. Years of denial could no longer be supported.

His pants and briefs were expertly peeled off along with the shoes and socks. There Jaak lay completely nude, momentarily untouched. He opened his eyes briefly to see Shala removing his briefs--naked and hard. Again he snapped his eyes shut and felt hot hands swiftly moving up the inside of his smooth, muscled thighs. Jaak braced himself. He need not have done that, as he soon felt that torrid, wet mouth returning to his powerful cock. The sensations were indescribably delicious. He half-unwillingly succumbed to the wondrous sensation.

Jaak recalled the feelings he had experienced those few years back when Mikal had sucked him. Similarly he began to spiral upwards into that sensual cosmos. He luxuriated as Shala's tongue moved over the full length of his cock and then began avidly licking his balls. Uncontrollably, with out conscious knowledge Jaak' head began to move quickly from side to side in a wild, aroused manner. The tongue traveled off the ball sack, over to the exposed, sensitive inner thigh, down halfway, back up onto the lower belly and up to the right nipple. No, not only did Jaak' head whip back and forth, but his whole body began to react--it torqued this way and that. He had totally surrendered his conscious will to the sensual ministrations!

Shala' tongue moved up to the hollow of the neck, up to the chin an towards the mouth. This Jaak could not allow! He clamped his mouth shut and turned away from the invading tongue. Shala merely shrugged in acceptance of the denial and moved down to the other nipple. All the time his mouth had moved off that cock the hot sensual hand fondled, stroked and licentiously played with that raging tool.

Jaak was brought to the brink of release. Suddenly he felt Shala retreat off the bed. He felt cool air replacing hot tongue and hand. Again he opened his eyes and saw Shala reaching into a small suitcase. He snapped his eyes shut as the Tamil returned to the bed and knelt beside him. Suddenly Jaak felt a cool substance being slathered over his cock. His eyes instantly snapped opened as he raised his head to observe what was happening. Shala, was smearing a clear, slippery substance over his entire cock. with his right hand. Shala's left held a tube from which he squeezed a liberal amount of the same substance onto his fingers and thrust his hand between his legs.

With horror, awareness dawned on Jaak, slowly. His head dropped back to the bed and his eyes again snapped shut.

"No one does this of his own will!" he screamed to himself.

The dark man straddled Jaak' hips. Shala's hand grasped that cock which had begun to become detumescent from the knowledge of the impending action.

"Strange!" Shala said to himself as he became aware that the heretofore unyielding cock had lost some of its rigidity. Slowly he fondled it back to its former state and then positioned himself strategically over the large, flared head and began to lower his body. Subsequently some pressure was required. Then the head popped passed the muscled opening and into his hot fuck tunnel. He stopped briefly and bore down again. Soon he was completely impaled on that substantial, florid, sturdy cock.

Jaak was incredulous. His sole experience--the rape those many years back--was so painful, so horrid, so unwanted, so demeaning that the concept of anyone wanting, desiring to be fucked in this manner was totally inconceivable. Yet, here it was. This man, this Shala, was about to allow a cock to penetrate his ass! It was beyond belief!

He felt his reinvigorated cock positioned and its head meeting some resistance. More pressure was felt being exerted. And, then . . . the most incredible sensation! The head of his cock slipped into that hole and was immediately infused by a feeling that was confining, seized, hot, foreign, but wonderful--all at once! When Shala lowered himself completely, Jaak thought he would faint from such extreme pleasure. He recalled the pleasurable sensations elicited by Katya fondling his cock, he recalled the pleasant sensations when he frequently masturbated, he recalled the luscious sensations when Mikal had sucked him, but, he was not at all prepared for this!

The truth was that Jaak had not had intercourse of any manner before this. The shock, the horror, the elemental trauma of the rape had somehow severed all desire for any physical, sexual contact. He was, in a very real sense virgin! Had this detail been perceived by any of his friends or the members of The Knights, they would have found that fact very strange, indeed. Especially for a man who was as obviously physically sound and apparently masculine as he. He may have been labeled a misogynist--rare, but acceptable. Yet Jaak's cock had been virgin to all except Mikal's mouth, and, until a few minutes ago, to Shala's mouth as well.

Shala raised up, almost totally off his impalement--off that pleasurable muscle. The feeling of that secondary movement released any compunction Jaak might have had in the past. Elementally, without thought, he flexed his buttocks and drove his cock upward, back into that heavenly, indescribably pleasurable hole. Without further instruction he began to fuck Shala--naturally.

Shala grinned at the delectation that Jaak was giving him. He grabbed his own monumentally hard and substantial cock and began to stroke it in rhythm with the fucking cock!

The sensations for both men were fantastic! Shala wanted more. While Jaak wanted. . . ? He did not truly know what he wanted now--he was too close to release!

Shala suddenly twisted off Jaak' cock, got off the bed, walked over the the chair, bent over it, ass towards the bed and said, "Fuck me this way!"

Jaak was at first confused by the sudden withdrawal. He sat up and gazed momentarily at Shala. Images of the past--standing up, bent over--were too much.

"No! Not that way," Jaak spat out as the past was unceremoniously dredged up.

Immediately Shala turned around. He was taken back by the vehemence of that statement. He shrugged his shoulders. "To each his own," he said to himself and crawled back upon the bed--doggy style.

"Fuck me this way," he commanded.

Leadenly Jaak complied, crawled up behind the proffered ass with its beckoning hole, positioned his cock and thrust it violently in and again closed his eyes. Both men groaned with renewed pleasure. Jaak' buttocks flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed as he drove his cock again and again deep into that wonderful hole. He had forgotten the earlier idea--"as long as I don't have to take an active part"--was totally forgotten as he actively fucked this man's ass. Later, he would muse at the fact that the fucking motion seemed so natural! "An elemental reaction," he assumed.

Suddenly, without preamble, Jaak uttered a deep, primordial, loud, "Arghhh," thrusting deep into that hole, flooding that hot interior with copious amounts of lustral, opalescent cum. He collapsed momentarily onto Shala who, likewise, had released his load over the coverlet, gave way under the weight of the heavier man on top of him.

Seconds later, Jaak rapidly got up, grabbed his clothes, ran into the bathroom where he washed and dried his cock before quickly dressing. He left Shala's room hastily without a word, walked to the elevator and took it down to his floor!

"What a strange bird," Shala mused out loud, adding, "But what a beautiful body . . . and a great fuck!" He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

In 1014, Jaak was also getting into the shower. He turned it up as hot as he could stand it, soaped and rinsed his body repeatedly, and then just stood there as he tried to empty his mind of the events and sensations of the last hour.

Somehow, sleep came easily for Jaak--a combination of the alcohol and the physical release.

Rick went to bed relatively early that night and fell directly to sleep. He woke at seven the next morning, showered, shaved, grabbed his canvas bag and went down to the exercise room. After an hour's workout he returned to his room, showered again, dressed and took the elevator down to the lobby. He stepped into the coffee shop and ordered a light breakfast.

Mentally, he again went through the movements of the first contact. As he drank his second cup of coffee he noticed the "immodest" European guy he had seen yesterday in the steam bath, stride across the lobby and out into the morning sun. Short minutes later he also observed the same dark skinned man he had also seen in the steam bath leave the hotel. The coincidence caught his interest. "Just a coincidence?" he wondered.

Upon paying his tab, Rick returned to his room, opened the laptop, punched in the access code and then rapidly typed, in code, a complete description of both men. It would take some minutes before an answer would be relayed back to him. He checked his watch--9:00 am. He had time. Taking the television's remote control from the coffee table, punching the power button and flipping through the channels to CNN, he sat back to watch "World News." Images appeared and dissolved on the screen as he half watched the news pass before his eyes. He became alert when the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was aired and then completed.

"Nothing new," he thought.

Twenty minutes later the lap top gave off an audible "click." He reached for it and again typed a second code. The screen jumped to life. "First: unidentified. Second: probable identity." He moved the cursor to the "Second:" and hit the "return" button. An image appeared upon the screen, slightly blurred, but unmistakable. He hit the "return" again and a concise "bio" appeared: "Known name: Kumar A/L Kamaraja, aka: Siva, Rajendra, Shala/ Born: 15 October 1967 (?), Madras, Tamil Nadu, India/ Description: height 6', weight 175#, skin dark (Tamil), eyes brown, hair black curly. distinguishing marks (none)/ Education-Training: Primary, Secondary, University (2 yrs.), other (?)/ Associations: Tamil Tigers 1986-(?)/ Spheres: New Delhi (freq), Colombo (1987-1989), Kuala Lumpur (freq), Singapore (freq), Cairo (1991)/ Control: unknown/ Contacts: unknown/ Position: unknown/ Sanctions: unknown/ Rank: 3/Last update: 4-8-2000/ END."

Rick arched his eyebrows. "Interesting," he said, half out load.

He typed a "confirmed sighting" back into the lap top and signed off. Closing the cover, Rick replaced it in the carryon bag, checked his watch and left the room.

In the lobby he perused the news stand and casually purchased a copy the The New York Times, folded it in half and then in half again, tucked it under his left arm and left the hotel. He turned to the left and left again, walking down a narrower side street. Three blocks later he saw a coffee house on the opposite corner, crossed over, took a table on the sidewalk near the door and ordered an iced tea. He casually unfolded the newspaper and drew out the sports section, the remainder of the paper he placed on the chair to his left and he began to peruse the sports. Presently the ice tea was served, three times he capped the straw with his fingertip, drew it out and allowed the contents to empty on the sidewalk, then he took one sip of tea through the cleansed straw, discarded the straw and took another swallow directly from the glass. He returned to the paper.

"I had asked for 'teh O ais kosong,'" Rick heard the man one table over say to the waiter, "this tea has sugar in it." He glanced over, casually, as the waiter took away the plain, sugared ice tea. The man glanced over at Rick and returned to his newspaper. He was scouring the Business Section of The Straits Times. Plain iced tea without sugar was placed in front of the man, twice he capped the straw with his fingertip, drew it out and allowed the contents to empty on the sidewalk. He returned to the Business Section, ignoring the tea. Shortly, he folded his paper, placed a few coins on the table, got up and left, walking behind Rick as he left. A leaflet fluttered to the ground as he passed.

Rick finished his tea, paid the tab, reached over for the unread sections of the paper and glanced down to the fallen leaflet. It was a typical tourist brochure for the cable car to Sentosa Island. He folded his paper, tucked it under his left arm and walked down the street. Twenty minutes later he alighted from the taxi at the entrance of the Sentosa Cable Car station, purchased a ticket and climbed the stairs to the boarding platform. He was alone as he waited for the next car. A bell rang, announcing the impending departure of the cable car. Suddenly the man Rick had seen at the cafe ran, breathlessly into the gondola as the door silently slid shut.

The man was a bit taller than Rick--possibly 6' 1"--and about his own weight, Rick initially observed. He had dark eyes hooded with luxurious lashes, naturally arched eye brows, a strong, arched nose and full lips. They quietly and quickly observed each other.

"Singapore can be very hot this time of year," Hamid intoned.

"Better here than in Murdow Bay," Rick answered.

Hamid observed his contact and memorized his features. "About 6 feet, around 180 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes, straight, unimpressive nose, lower lip fuller than the upper, strong, angular jaw and chin--rather average," he described to himself and continued, "Well we can't have all we want."

"That's life!"

"Insyallah."

Contact was confirmed.

"Ahmad," Hamid said, using his friend's name and nodded his head.

"Rick," answered with his own name.

Tentatively they began to probe. First contacts were always a hesitant ballet during much was sought, but little given. Both were here, ostensibly for the same thing--to confirm the presence of the two Near East protagonists, whether or not they met, where, when, how long? Little by little each revealed snippets of unimportant information. The dance continued.

It was reputed that this meeting between the Israeli and Palestinian was of vital importance in the easing of tensions in the area. It was arranged in utmost secrecy--but in this world little is truly secret. Officially, neither group acknowledged the possibility of one of their members meeting their opposite, counterpart anywhere. Yet, there had been uncovered interesting bits of seemingly unconnected information that pointed to a possible monumental breakthrough--a meeting of minds.

Unknown to anyone except to four or five of the highest members in both the Israeli and Palestinian camps was that each of their member/negotiators possessed, individually, the power of signature that was tantamount to a confirmed treaty. This fact made each man vitally important. A number of countries would view them as extremely dangerous!

Rick noticed that Hamid/Ahmad quickly focused and then just as quickly glanced away from the passing gondola. Rick glanced to the right as the Singapore-returning glass enclosed car silently slid passed. There were three persons in the enclosed car--one he recognized. He looked back at 'Ahmad.'

"You recognized someone! Who?" he asked quietly.

Hamid shook his head, "I recognized no one," he lied.

"Listen man," Rick began firmly, "If we are to be of any help to each other--we must trust each other. If we work together, we might achieve something. If we don't--we fail!"

Hamid's dark eyes probed briefly Rick's, debating with himself. "It's probably a little thing he said to himself," then continued out loud, "There was a Tamil in that car. He's a associated with The Tigers. Probably nothing as he now lives in Singapore."

"Does he have a name?"

"Of course, but I'm not sure, they change, you know . . . I think it's Shala."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Everyone possesses the possibility of being dangerous."

"You know what I mean!"

Hamid smiled knowingly, "He's a conduit only--a messenger."

Again, Rick repeated with a steely edge to his voice, "Is he dangerous!"

"If you mean, 'Has he stopped anyone,' killed any one?" Hamid stated calmly, "I have no information regarding that. But, as we all know a Tiger can never be house trained." An arched eyebrow punctuated the last statement and then a smile.

Rick returned the smile and nodded his head as the gondola slid into the Sentosa Terminal. Rick left the car first. Hamid followed a short distance behind--another, separate tourist!

Having stopped at the first tourist stall, Rick purchased a guide to the island. Opening the bright brochure he grinned at the large, colorful map inside, "Reminiscent of Disneyland," he mused.

Hamid had stopped at another stall and had purchased a cool drink. Rick ambled passed, read the comic map and glanced about. To his left and about ten feet lower was another path leading to a landing at which one could board a ferry rather than the gondola. There were a number of people walking towards the wharf. Suddenly Rick 's trained eyes recognized one of the visitors. It was the "immodest" European he had seen at the hotel. He hesitated slightly and continued along the upper path.

"Problem?" queried Hamid, soto voce. He was a couple of steps behind Rick.

Rick glanced to the right as if observing the city. "Red polo shirt, beige slacks, below," was all Rick said. The brief description was uttered low enough so that only Hamid could hear. Rick continued walking along the path, reaching into his pants pocket for a small cell phone into which he punched a local number. Quickly it was answered and Rick made an equally quick report and description.

Hamid casually walked over to the railing, leaned against it and pretended to look at the garden beyond. Furtively he sought out the described figure below and made a mental catalogue of the man--Jaak.

A kilometer or so later on a rocky tree covered knoll with an obscure, railed overview Rick and Hamid stopped, leaning against the rail, separated by about four feet.

"Who was it?" Hamid asked gazing to his right, away from Rick.

"I don't know, but I've seen him twice in the last twenty-four hours and always close to your man--Shala."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," said Rick, a bit exasperated, then added, "Do you know him?"

"No. Never saw him before."

"Close on a single occasion may be of interest. Close on two occasions becomes quite curious. But, three times . . . !"

". . . Cause for concern," Hamid finished.

"Right."

Both made mental notes to contact their control with this information. They continued to share that information which they thought was of importance, but keeping back key pieces for their own assessment. Rick had informed Hamid about the Das Brüder byte. Hamid was surprised, but hid his astonishment of what this information might portend. They exchanged the information they had of the two conferées. Neither had any knowledge as to what specific proposals might be made. Both discussed the fact that such a supposedly secret confab was not so secret! They made arrangements to meet again the next day and exchanged hand phone numbers. Hamid suggested that he leave first. He would go straight to the gondola. Rick would spend forty-five minutes more on the island before returning via a different route.

Several hours later, back in the hotel, Rick had made quick use of his laptop. First, a detailed description of Hamid, who he only knew as Ahmad. Second, a report of the three sightings of Kumar aka Shala and the muscular Caucasian. Third, confirmation of his phone call from Sentosa--a call he had hoped would give the other end enough time! And, finally, a detailed report of his meeting with Hamid, aka Ahmad. Thirty minutes later, the laptop click and after the appropriate response the face of the man he knew as Ahmad appeared, followed by the "bio:" "Known name: Hamid al Omar, aka: Ahmad/ Born: 20 May 1970 (?), Cairo . . . . / Associations: el Amarna (unconfirmed but probable)/ . . . . Last update: 5-8-2000/ END." He read and noted all the salient points. While rereading the information the hotel phone rang. He let it ring a second and a third time before answering, "Hello?"

"Mr. Waldorf?"

"No, you have the wrong number. There's no Mr. Waldorf here."

"Sorry," and the connection was severed.

Rick logged out, closed the laptop, placed it in his carryon bag and left the room.

He entered the lobby news stand just as another man had left. Immediately he went to where the Time magazines were displayed and quickly drew out the third from the front. He chose the third Newsweek as well as the second U.S. News and World Report, paid for them and went back up to his room. He discarded the Newsweek and the U.S. News and quickly fanned the Time. Most magazines possessed small advertisements in the form of insertions of a heavier stock than the printed page. They were maddening in their profusion. As the second insertion was revealed, Rick carefully turned to the next full page. There, along the inner margin, was tipped a thin paper photocopy. It bore the crisp image of the the man he had seen in the red polo shirt on Sentosa--the man that he had seen twice before in the hotel. "Thank God, my call had been in time," he thought.

Again he took out his laptop, signed in. His fingers flew as he typed, in code, his confirmation of the man in the photostat. The screen flashed: "insert." Carefully he fed the thin photostat image into a narrow slot in the front of the laptop. A light whirring sound commenced as the image was relayed across half the world and within seconds, the photostat reappeared from the same slot. This time, however, it emerged shredded into impossibly fine strips of paper. Rick wadded the shredded photostat, went to the bathroom and flushed the strips down the toilet--waiting to make sure none remained in the bowl.

As he left the bathroom, Rick's hand phone sounded. He picked it up, looked at the face and recognized Hamid's number. Rick frowned, this was too soon. He answered, "Yes?"

"Fifteen minutes, first base." The connection was severed.

Rick's consternation grew as well as a deep sense of foreboding. Earlier they had planned on meeting in two days. Only an emergency would have prompted this call. Quickly he stored the things he had been working with and left the room. He crossed the lobby, eyes darting around for anything or anyone unusual. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But, ordinary in this life never is! A pair of eyes noted Rick's departure.

Rick retraced his steps of the morning and walked casually to the cafe where he had first made contact with Hamid. As he approached, he saw Hamid sitting at the same table that he had occupied earlier. He strode to a table and sat down behind Hamid and ordered a coffee.

"Sorry," Hamid apologized quietly, "I just found out both of the prime objects have checked in to your hotel." Having passed on his information, he drained his ice tea and left.

Rick was a bit startled. This was too early! The information that he had been given inferred that the two would be arriving next week sometime. He slowly drank his coffee while he pondered this information as well as all possible permutations. After he finished he returned by another route to the hotel and immediately contacted his superiors via the pseudo laptop.

Rick slept fitfully that night, got up at seven and repeated his early morning regimen--shower, exercise, shower and breakfast--after which he took a long walk nearly to the end of Orchard Road. He needed to clear his head and to think.

On his return Rick heard the klaxon of some emergency vehicle. As he neared the hotel he observed an ambulance at the front entrance. It was 10:20 a.m. Normally he would walk to the elevator and go directly to his room. However, this time Rick walked up to the desk and asked, "Any messages for room 1402?"

The clerked checked, "No, sir, nothing."

"Thanks," Rick said calmly, and just as calmly added, "By-the-way, I saw an ambulance out front, any problem?" He had taken a chance, but it might have been important.

"No, sir, nothing to worry about. Some one had a heart attack."

"I see, well I hope he or she will be all right."

The room clerk merely smiled and Rick went up to his room.

On the third floor, in the exercise facilities, paramedics were frantically working on the heavyset form of a man. He lay, unceremoniously on the floor of the locker room. His body violently arched as the fourth shock was sent to his heart . . . . still no response! He was ashen in color. A stethoscope was placed on his chest by one of the team as the other checked the sphygmomanometer. They looked at each other and shook their heads. Abram Weiss aka Adam White was dead. He was placed in a body bag and hoisted onto a gurney. A white blanket was tucked securely around the body and he was wheeled out of the exercise room and to the freight elevator at the back.

Back in the exercise facility cleaners were quickly and efficiently clearing away any and all trace of the unfortunate death. A soiled towel was placed in a black plastic bag along with the rags that were used to clean up the steam room and a plastic cup found beside Weiss. The latter had contained water which he had carried into the steam room. He had always done that. Every morning after his brief exercise he would sit in a steam room for no more than fifteen minutes and take with him a glass of water--doctor's orders. The bag was tied, thrown down the refuse chute and fell into a dumpster container at the back of the hotel. There was no reason to keep anything. The plastic glass with traces of aconitine was lost forever!

The next day Rick met Hamid in the Tiger Balm Gardens. They found a secluded spot from which they could observe anyone approaching and fell into troubled conversation.

"Are you sure?" inquired Rick after Hamid's initial statement.

"Yes. His name was Abram Weiss. 58 years. I received information from a contact here that the autopsy confirmed a heart attack. Apparently, he had had two previous ones. It seems to be a natural occurrence . . . unfortunate but natural."

"This seems . . . too convenient!"

"I agree, but at this point there's nothing to suggest anything more."

"What about the Palestinian? Has he left?"

"No, Yahaya hasn't checked out yet . . . to my knowledge."

"I think we must really scour our sources, Hamid."

Hamid blinked as Rick used his given name, "I agree," and then added, "Apparently yours are very good!" A wry smile spread across his face.

Rick nodded, acknowledging the inference.

"We should concentrate on Shala and the "red polo shirt," too. Maybe their presence here is not a coincidence. What do you think . . . Rick?" Hamid asked. "It is . . . Rick, isn't it?" he added, again with a knowing glance.

"Yes, it is," Rick smiled an acknowledgment. Just then his hand phone began to vibrate. He was startled. Hamid was the only one in Singapore to whom he had given his number. Control was the only other one who knew this number. Quickly he put the phone to his ears and answered, "Yes."

A voice on the other end merely uttered one word, "Gopher." Rick blanched white, glanced furtively around as he placed the hand phone back in his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Hamid asked seeing Ricks reaction. He too scanned the area as his counterpart was doing.

"God damnit!" Rick whispered.

"What's wrong, Rick?" Hamid asked more insistently as his whole being tensed.

"Something's gone wrong! I've got to seek quick cover . . . now!"

"Do you know a place?" Hamid asked and continued, "I know . . . ." Before he could finish his sentence, his hand phone sounded. "Yes? . . . Are you sure? . . . . Thanks." He quickly placed his phone in his pocket and announced, "I've just been given the same suggestion!"

"What's happened?" Rick queried . . . to no one in particular.

"Do you have a safe place?"

"I did, but the code indicated it's not available or useable. I have to find my own place . . . Shit!"

"I have a place," Hamid admitted, "It's safe, very safe. You'd better consider using it!"

"I have no other options . . . now."

"Let's go. We'll take a taxi."

"I have to stop at the hotel and pick up something," Rick said.

"Is that wise?"

"It may not be, but I must."

"OK, then. We'll go separately. Meet me at 4:00 at the Kampung Padang. It's a restaurant in Little India. It's popular--every cab driver knows the place. When you get there just say that you only want something cool to drink. And keep clean."

"I will!"

They quickly left, glancing around as they hurried to the entrance of the gardens, got into separate cabs and moved off in two different directions.

Rick entered his room, quickly placed his shaving kit into his carryon bag along with his lap top and left. He punched the floors 8, 6, 4 and lobby. Getting off on the eighth floor, he quickly took the service stairs down to the third floor, turned left as he entered the narrow corridor, walked to the freight elevator, took it down and exited into the alley. Quickly he walked through a narrow passageway between two buildings, entered a bustling street and hailed a taxi. Forty-five minutes later and four taxis Rick stepped out at the Kampung Padang and entered the restaurant.

A tall man just inside the entrance at the cash register, asked, "Will you be wanting something to eat, sir?"

"No, I only want something cool to drink," Rick answered.

The man nodded and smiled. "Yes, sir. It's very hot today," he said solicitously. "You may want the air-conditioned room, upstarts," he said with an imperceptible wink and motioned to the steep narrow stairs at the back.

"Thank you," Rick said, went to the stairs and climbed them. Half way up was a landing with a curtained covered door.

As Rick reached the landing, the curtain was pulled back and Hamid said, "This way, quickly."

Rick followed Hamid down another stairway, through the kitchen and into a small store room. There the man from the front peeled back a worn piece of linoleum, opened a flush-mounted trap door and motioned the two down. Rick followed Hamid, the door was quickly closed and they were plunged into darkness. Hamid switched on a small penlight and they carefully made their way along a long, narrow, dank passageway. Rick estimated that they had traveled some fifty yards when they were faced with a ladder. Hamid climbed, knocked twice on the overhead, trap door. Quickly it was opened and the two entered another small room. Silently a man beckoned them to follow--the went through one of the two doors that led into the room and found themselves on a small, narrow loading platform.

A lorry with a filthy canvas covering was backed up to the platform. Inside, the dank interior was piled with bags of dirty laundry. Several bags were pulled aside, Hamid and Rick wedged their way in, the bags were replaced, the tailgate raised and the flap secured. Upon two hard kicks to the tailgate, the lorry lurched forward and careened out of the alley. Twenty minutes later, the lorry stopped, backed up against another loading dock. Hamid and Rick were quickly and unceremoniously ushered to what was to be their world for the near future.

Their accommodations could have been far worse. It consisted of a single room on the second floor with a substantial steel covered door. The space was approximately twelve by fourteen feet off of which was a small, simple bathroom consisting of a sink, squat commode and a shower head--no window and no vent. There was a single window in the main room with shutters nailed shut, a screened louvered opening over the window--normal in an older structure such as this--and a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Furnishings were minimal--a double mattress on the floor, a wooden table and three wooden chairs all of different design.

"Well, it's not The Mandarin!" Rick stated.

Hamid shrugged his shoulders as he quickly inspected their accommodations.

"If you must have the light on at night," their host began, "It's best to place that tarp over the opening," he finished pointing the folded canvas on the floor beneath the window and it's upper vent.

Both occupants nodded their understanding.

"We'll bring you food in the morning and the evening, along with drinking water," their unknown host declared.

"Thank you," Hamid answered.

"I'll be locking the door from the outside. You bar the door from the inside," He instructed, pointing to a substantial steel bar and it appropriate holder, "but, if you need to . . . leave here. . . quickly . . . there's a trap door in the toilet to the attic and one to the roof," He brusquely related, pointing to a small, covered opening in the ceiling of the bathroom.

Again, both nodded their heads in understanding.

Finally, the last instruction, "When we come in we will knock twice before unlocking the door and twice after we've unlocked it--then you can unbar the door. All right?"

"Hamid nodded his head, "We understand perfectly. Thank you."

The man left, they heard the padlock's hasp being hooked into place and they hoisted the steel bar into its holder, securing the room.

Rick placed his carryon with his laptop in a corner and his shaving kit on the table.

"You come prepared!" laughed Hamid who had decided not to return to his former accommodations in a lesser hotel, opting, instead to travel straight to the Kampung Padang and wait for Rick.

Rick smiled, "Well, this," motioning to the shaving kit, "was not my prime concern. That was more important!" he stated nodding to the carryon in the corner. Deciding that it would be impossible to hide this important tool from Hamid, he slipped the laptop out, set it on the table and plugged it into the receptacle directly above the light bulb.

"I see what you mean," Hamid stated having immediately understood the importance of the device and a little envious at not having one himself.

He sat across from Rick, who lifted the screen/cover, typed in his code and busily began relaying his present situation. After fifteen minutes he logged out, closed the lid, unplugged the device and slipped it back into his carryon.

"Well," he began, "apparently my cover had been blown . . . and I suspect yours as well. My control feels that Weiss' death was not by natural causes. Also, both your name and mine was intercepted in a coded cypher with a request for termination!"

Hamid raised his eyebrows and whistled lightly--recognizing the import of the message as well as the efficiency and speed of Rick's organization.

Rick pondered to himself and decided to share another piece of information, "My control is sending a team to neutralize the problem here. I am told that it might take several days."

Hamid nodded in understanding. They spent an hour debriefing each other, trying to ascertain what went wrong. It was futile.

They both had been scrupulously careful! But, in their world no one could be sure--no one could be invisible! As they had been trained to observe, others had been trained, too. As they had uncovered Shala and the other European, they had been uncovered, too.

As the light outside faded, they decided to go to bed early. The day's events had exhausted them both. Besides there was nothing to do except to wait.

Rick stripped to his briefs, went into the bathroom and took a quick shower.

Hamid was somewhat embarrassed at the sight of the scantily clad figure partially visible in the ambient light that seeped in from the shuttered window. But, he decided, there was nothing else to be done in this situation except to accept it.

Rick, having no towel, stepped out of the small cubicle nude, carrying his briefs and shaving kit in one hand and stripping the water from his body with the other. "Sorry man," he stated simply, "no towel, I'll have to air dry . . . be damned if I'll wear wet drawers!"

"No problem," came the half lie. Hamid stripped to his briefs and singlet and went rapidly to shower. The sight of Rick's nude body in that dim room and his close proximity sent strange sensations coursing through him. He thought he felt an unwelcome response in his groin. Quickly he showered, stripped the water from his body and finished the drying process with his damp singlet. He rinsed out the undershirt, exited the bath room, and draped his singlet on the back of one of the chairs.

Rick was already laying on the mattress, up against the wall, with his hands cradling his head. "I'll be damned," he said, "if I can figure out what went wrong!"

Quietly Hamid lowered himself to the outer edge of the mattress, turned on his side, facing away from Rick and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning Hamid awoke just as the morning light was filtering into the room and became painfully aware of a raging piss-hard-on. Quickly he adjusted himself and clamped his hands over the offending bulge.

"Hey, man, don't let that bother you! I wake up like that nearly every morning," came Rick's amused voice.

Rick was sitting at the table with his laptop opened. He wore only his briefs.

Hamid flushed with embarrassment, twisted off the mattress, grabbed his clothes to shield his offending member and disappeared into the bathroom. Several minutes later he emerged, clothed and sheepishly said, "Sorry!"

"For what?" Rick asked, "For having a piss-hard-on? Hey, man . . . There are worse things. Besides, if we can't accept a few 'inconveniences' we'll go crazy here . . . . OK?"

Hamid nodded his head.

"Besides," Rick added, "it's so fuckin hot in here that I'm not going to put on my clothes 'til room service comes! If you want to do the same . . . won't bother me," he added.

It was hot, and, more . . . oppressively humid. Hamid decided that he could stand it.

After two complete days of this confinement with only a newspaper that was supplied to relieve their boredom, the two had talked mostly about their family, childhood, etc. Actually in the short time that they had been in Singapore and the two days thrown together in their confinement, Rick and Hamid had developed a true liking for each other. They began to relax in each other's company.

The third night, after their usual showers, they lay on the mattress, talking.

"Do you have a girl friend?" Hamid asked Rick.

"I did, for a while, but not now," he admitted, "How about you?"

"No, " Hamid confessed.

"Not now?" Rick asked.

"Not ever," Hamid admitted, slightly embarrassed.

"Really? I thought that all you Egyptians did from age twelve was to fuck all the time!" Rick joked with a snort.

To hide his amused embarrassment, Hamid snorted, "Well, that may be, but, at least we don't do it in public on park benches like you Yanks!"

"Hey! Not me," Rick said with a chuckle, "just in the barn!" He then reached across the space between the two and pinched Hamid's side.

Hamid stifled a yell and grunted. He immediately reacted, spun onto his side and grabbed Ricks wrist. Soon the two were locked in a friendly wrestling match in that dark, hot room. Their days of inactivity had built up, in both men, a need for some sort of physical release. The room and their need to be absolutely quiet during the waking hours precluded any exercise. But, now it was night, the spaces below would have been empty. They were not altogether heedless of their situation as they quietly strained against each other's moves and countermoves.

Both men were evenly matched. Bodies strained, muscled tensed and their breaths quickened. The two days without any physical activity were concentrated into this friendly bout.

After several minutes they ceased their straining and rested, breathless, momentarily. Hamid was sprawled on top of Rick, legs spread to maintain his advantage. Rick's arms were locked about Hamid's chest.

Suddenly, Hamid became aware that this man's body, partially nude, against his, was creating a heretofore unknown feeling, and, more importantly a stirring in his groin. With shock and embarrassment, he relaxed his hold, wanting to get away from this skin to skin contact.

Rick, sensing this relaxation, tightened his grip on Hamid's chest, spun his body and ended up on the top. Their bodies pressed together along the whole of their torsos--chest to chest, belly to belly, crotch to crotch.

Hamid was acutely aware of his growing condition and became aware that Rick was suffering from the same impediment. This did little to defuse the situation, in his mind, on the contrary, it caused his half swollen cock to lurch uncontrollably.

Rick felt that slight, elemental movement and became conscious of the fact that he, too, was in a similar predicament. Yet, his innate, but previously controlled, aggressiveness would not allow him to surrender his advantage--under any circumstances.

Within seconds, both men had grown erect. Both men were aware of their physical circumstance, Both were aware of the other's plight as well.

Still, Rick did not relinquish his advantage.

Hamid, in an attempt to escape, dug his heels into the mattress and arched upwards, trying to dislodge Rick. All that that action achieved was to grind his hard cock inexorably against Rick's. He fell back panting. He knew that his erection, by now, had not gone unnoticed by his counterpart.

"What is he thinking?" Hamid questioned to himself.

He felt Rick's hot, panting breath being expelled next to his ear. It sent imperceptible shivers through his system. Similarly, Rick felt Hamid's breath flowing passed his ear, which elicited a similar response.

Almost simultaneously, both men became aware that this situation, as consciously unacceptable as it might have been, was not altogether unpleasant. Hamid, in a sense of resignation, loosened his grip around Rick's heaving chest. In so doing his hands moved lightly apart--an unconscious caress.

That movement sent a sensual jolt through Rick. Without conscious volition, his hips reacted by flexing slightly, advancing his cloth covered cock against Hamid's. With equal lack of will, Hamid's buttocks tensed--meeting pressure with pressure.

Rick slightly rotated his head, an innocent response, causing his lips to graze Hamid's ear. That motion, brought an sharp intake of breath.

The sensations that were suddenly coursing through their bodies overwhelmed them, as the situation caused their consciousness to overload, sensually short circuit and relinquish its control.

Rick's tongue, licked his dry lips and in so doing, graced the lobe of Hamid's ear. Hamid groaned lightly, flexed his buttocks again and moved his hands lightly over Ricks sweating back. Rick reacted by lightly moving his hips from side to side.

Both men were in heretofore unexplored areas. Both realized this. Both questioned their individual condition, position and response.

"What's happening?" the question escaped from Hamid's lips more as an exclamation than an interrogative.

"I don't know!" Rick whispered against Hamid's ear. Again the movement of the lips against his ear combined with the hot breath involuntarily caused Hamid to gasp and his whole body to react--to lurch. The movement of Hamid's body sent a nonverbal telegraphic message of undeniable content. And, as a trapped animal, he repeated "I don't know!"

Rick rolled off Hamid, without relinquishing his grip. The two men now faced each other in the darkness of that room, on their sides. Rick's freed hand moved down to the small of the other's back.

That feeling, that sensual movement onto that sensitive area caused hips to grind forward against the other's. Soon, willingly, hands were coursing over torsos and backs, exploring--reveling in the exploration, and, in the feelings that the opposite's hands were creating. Legs intwined--thighs against thighs. Soon hands began to move over these muscled form's upper regions. Arms, shoulders, hands, partially chests and bellies, as well as thighs became the domains of these searching, exploring hands.

This sensuous exploration was accompanied by crotch pressed against crotch, cock against cock in which the only movement was the uncontrolled lurching of hard shafts--an erotic tattoo. This forced both men into sensual domains that they had not experienced before! Domains that they purposely avoided. Hamid's right arm encircled Rick's shoulders while the counterpart's left was similarly placed, Their free hands tentatively roamed, but, as some unwritten, non verbalized rule, neither of the men's hands strayed onto that cloth covered barrier and the pulsing, engorged forms underneath.

Hamid, in a last conscious effort to shift the consequence of these actions, loosed his exploring left hand and rolled onto his back. Rick's right hand, which now assumed the role of an 'alien hand,' moved over the now fully exposed belly and down towards the waistband. An uncontrollable moan announced the effect of this action. Without conscious volition, that hand moved past the waistband border and focused its search over the bulging, hot, covered cock!

"Allahmah!" was all Hamid could utter. The feeling of Ricks hot hand on his cock was a sensation of such cosmic import that his only reaction was to roll back on his side and grasp Ricks raging, brief covered cock in his left hand.

Simultaneously, they insinuated their hands under the waistbands and grasped, skin to skin, those turbid muscles. Both groaned as hands began to fondle and then move, synchronized in motion and speed up and down those hard shafts. The placement of hands upon cocks and the subsequent movement caused the waistbands to slip down over that motive hands and manipulated cocks.

Each man reveled in the feeling of his cock being fondled in such a manner. Each man delighted in the feeling of the other's hard, pulsating tool in their hands. Their movement increased exponentially in speed. Suddenly, both men strained, both gasped and both expelled copious amounts of opalescent cum over their own and their partner's belly. The release was punctuated by deep moans.

Hamid and Rick loosed their corresponding grips, rolled onto their backs and fought to regain their breath. Rick got up first, went quickly to the bathroom and rinsed the mixed fluid from his body. He returned to the larger room. Hamid had also arose and was standing by the shuttered window, As soon as Rick had walked to the mattress, he walked to the bathroom and took a long shower.

Later, both men lay on the mattress, strictly separated and ruminated over the happenings of the past half hour. They did not speak. Both fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Rick awoke, turned his head towards Hamid. His place was vacant. He quickly scanned the darkened room and detected Hamid near the window, kneeling, hands held in the Islamic mode of prayer. In the two and a half days that they now had been in this place, Hamid had not prayed once at any of the five prescribed times. Rick lay still waiting until Hamid had finished.

Hamid finished and gazed absently out the window. Quietly Rick rose, gathered his clothing along with the small towel that finally had been supplied them and went to the bathroom. Hamid glanced at Rick and then back into the darkness.

Their first meal of the day was served along with a second newspaper. Both ate in silence. Both read the newspaper in silence. There was an external, outward hush, but internally there was a raging debate for both men. Having apparently finished his reading, Rick retrieved his laptop and began to type in his code.

"What are you doing?" Hamid asked insistently.

"Making a report."

"About last night?" came a second, anxious question.

"No," Rick answered as he stopped, not having completed his entry code and slowly closed the cover. "Hamid," he continued quietly and with obvious distress, "I think we have to talk."

Hamid nodded his head in agreement, although he wanted to avoid any reference to 'last night.'

Rick began, choosing his words with utmost care, "I don't know why what happened between us last night . . . happened! It was the first time . . . I have ever had . . . such an experience!"

"I have never had such an experience . . . either!" Hamid blurted out insistently.

Rick gazed across the table and saw in that face consternation and bewilderment.

"I can only surmise that it was a aberration, created in part by the stress and the situation that we find ourselves in . . . especially in the last two or three days."

"I agree."

"This must be forgotten," Rick stated--not believing that it would ever be, at least for him.

Again, Hamid nodded his head in assent and uttered, "I also agree," also not believing that it would ever be, at least for him!

"We will probably have a few more days here, or hopefully outside this room and we must operate as normally as possible."

Hamid nodded agreement, but his face communicated something else--extreme doubt. The tension in the room was palpable.

"We must! I know you can do it . . . I can do it!" Rick stated positively.

"Well, you're stronger than me," slipped out, uncontrollably.

Rick arched his eyebrows. In his preparation for this assignment, he had been briefed on local slang and argot. The word 'strong,' when not attached to another condition or thing--i.e., 'strong muscles,' 'strong will,' 'strong taste,' etc.--but attached to a person, especially a man, refers to a state of being erect, sexually stimulated--possessing a hard-on! Rick audibly chuckled, amused at the permutations that English can take in the various English speaking countries.

"What's so amusing," Hamid asked as he glared at Rick.

Rick raised his hands as if to calm the tension and said, "Well, your use . . . of the word . . . 'strong." Rick explained the source of his amusement in an attempt to defuse the situation.

"I don't understand. What's the connection?"

Smiling, hoping that his sense of humor was not too arcane for Hamid, "Well . . .," he began, "if we're talking about 'strong' in that sense . . . I'd say that we are equal!" Rick could still see that his definition had not been completely understood. Then with a grin and chuckle, "It seemed that our . . . dicks were . . . equally strong!"

Hamid understood, and further understood Rick's attempt to defuse a potentially difficult situation. A smile of understanding flashed across his face. Hamid held out his right hand which Rick took and they shook hands on this most secret pact. Hamid smiled broaden as he stated, "Equally strong!."

Both men laughed out loud. Their laughter was cut short by two knocks on the door. It was too early! Both tensed and Rick reached for his laptop. From under the door a white envelope appeared and was shoved a few inches beyond. Both men looked at each other.

Hamid stepped over, retrieved the envelope, held it tentatively and inspected it carefully. With utmost precaution he carefully opened the unsealed flap. Nothing happened! He slipped out a single piece of folded paper. Opened it and quickly read its contents.

"What is it?" Rick asked.

"My accommodations are no longer available," he stated with some anxiety.

"Why?"

"I don't know!" he stated blankly. "This," he nodded holding out the folded sheet of paper, "is from my control . . . from Cairo."

Rick took the paper and glanced at its contents. "It's in Arabic!" he stated.

Hamid smiled, "We Egyptians write in Arabic. I also can write in the Roman alphabet," he added with a smile.

"Touché!"

Rick sat down, opened the laptop, quickly typed in his code. After a few quick, cursory questions, he logged out and closed the lid. The information that he had been given was, in part, troubling. There had obviously been a leak. It was efficiently ascertained that the 'leak' was internal--within The Group! It had been, he read, "Plugged/ damage considered minimal/ remain alert/ END."

"Apparently the problem, . . . our problem has been solved. It has been . . . neutralized."

Hamid shot a questioning frown.

"My control says I can resume my assignment, normally." After two or three seconds, he added, "Apparently the problem was not connected with Shala and the other . . . a Jaak."

Hamid's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Shala's friend has been identified as a Lithuanian named Jaak Romke. Nothing much is known about him."

"That's very good!" admitted Hamid, impresses again at the efficiency of Rick's agency. "How did they find out?"

Rick smiled. "State secret. Besides," he continued, "I probably should not have even given you his name."

Hamid smiled knowingly, but he tried!

"By-the-way, Hamid, can you pick up your things where you were staying?"

"No. That's not a viable option," he said simple.

"Did you leave anything important there?"

"Only my clothes and a suitcase. Both can easily be replaced." Then he added, tapping his pockets, "I travel lightly. No cumbersome equipment." The latter statement he uttered with a good natured grin, nodding with obvious envy at the laptop.

"Well, you can stay in my room until you find a place. We'll have to come and go separately, but that should be no problem . . . for a day or two."

"All right," Hamid quietly agreed.

That evening, there was the expected two knocks on the door, the sound of the padlock being removed and two more knocks. Hamid removed the steel rod and opened the door.

Their erstwhile gaoler entered without the expected tray of food. Bluntly he stated, "You're supposed to go now. Come quickly."

Rick grabbed his shaving kit, stuffed it into his carryon, next to his laptop, zipped it closed and followed Hamid out of the room. They entered a panel truck and were told that they would be deposited at two separate locations. While bouncing along the streets, Rick whispered to Hamid instructions. "I'll go straight to the hotel. You come at 9:30. Take an elevator to the eighth floor, go to the fire stairs and up to fourteen. My room is immediately to the right of the fire stairs door. When you come to the fourteenth landing, knock twice on the right wall, I'll open the room door a crack. Check the hall and then quickly come in."

"Got it," Hamid replied.

Two hours later, after taking a long hot shower, changing into much needed fresh clothes and checking the things that he had left behind during his 'confinement,' Rick heard two knocks on the wall opposite his room's door. Quickly he opened his room door a crack and stepped back. Within two seconds Hamid hastily entered, silently shut and locked the door.

"Any problems?" Rick queried.

"None," breathed Hamid, as he glanced around the room.

"Want a shower?" Rick asked.

"Yes. I really need one," repeated Hamid.

"You can use these," Rick said off handily, motioning to neatly folded jeans, polo shirt, socks and white briefs. He added, "We're about the same size . . . I think."

Hamid, thankfully took the pile, smiled at his counterpart/friend and said, "Thanks." He disappeared into the bathroom.

While the shower was running Rick turned on the CNN, contacted his control and made a full report, including the fact that Hamid was, temporarily, under his wing. Control's reply was brief: "acknowledged/ take care: Hamid/ END."

Minutes later Hamid emerged from the bathroom carrying the towel with which he continued to dry his hair. He looked like a different man--clean and his three day stubble had been shaved, leaving only his dark, full mustache. "I took the liberty of using the complimentary razor."

"No problem," Rick stated and added, "Looks like the clothes fit you pretty well."

"Yes, thanks," and adding with a wry grin, "Didn't wear the underwear . . . too small! I left them in the bathroom." The fact was that underwear were so private an article of clothing, it was unthinkable to Hamid to wear those which belonged to someone else!

Rick arched his eyebrows, "You put back on those filthy things that you've been wearing?"

"No, I washed them out and hung them to dry by the vent . . . should be ready soon."

Inadvertently, the knowledge that Hamid was not wearing underwear, caused Rick's eyes to glance briefly at his counterpart/friend's crotch. There he perceived the faint outline of the under hanging form.

Hamid saw the quick glance towards his crotch and that knowledge sent chills through him.

Slightly embarrassed at his none too subtle glance, Rick asked, "Hungry?"

"Yes," Hamid answered simply.

"What do you like?"

"Anything . . . " then quickly added, "No pork."

Rick lifted the receiver, punched in a single number and ordered, "Two double hamburgers, a large order of fries, a chef salad, a bottle of Burgundy--house burgundy will do. That will be it. Room 1402, Thank you."

He hung up the phone, saying, "I'm sure they figure I have a monumental appetite, but I don't want them to know that there's another person here."

Hamid nodded his understanding punctuated with a smile.

"There's bottled water in the bar fridge," he stated nodding at the small refrigerator next to the desk. "The wine's for me, since I don't suppose you drink . . . . I assume?"

"Don't assume too much!" Hamid parried with a broad grin, "I like wine."

"Oh? I thought that drinking alcohol was against the teachings of Islam?"

Again, Hamid parried, "Isn't the consumption of alcohol against Christian teachings as well?"

"Touché!"

Twenty minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the room's door. Hamid quickly entered the bathroom, closed the door while Rick unlocked and opened the door.

"Room service," The waiter announced as he entered the room and placed the linen covered tray on the coffee table. Rick placed a gratuity in the waiter's hand. "Thank you, sir," he stated and quickly left the room closing the door behind him.

Rick swung the night latch into place and knocked on the bathroom door, "Dinner is served."

Hamid reentered the room and the two consumed the much needed food and shared the bottle of wine. They quietly watched CNN for a while.

"I'm tired, Rick announced, went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and returned to strip down to his briefs. He was in Hamid's peripheral vision and the latter glanced over at Rick several times. Rick was aware of the furtive glances, but didn't seem to mind them.

A "Special Report" was announced. Rick walked over to get a better view of the screen. He stood to the side of Hamid's chair. His close proximity, especially in his state of undress, caused strange sensations to course through Hamid's body. He found it difficult to concentrate on the newscast, the natural projection in Rick's briefs visible in his periphery.

He got up. "Think I'll get ready for bed," he announced and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He checked his underwear. It was still quite damp. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself. He wrapped the bath sheet tightly around his waist, left the bathroom and quickly climbed into the bed.