Prologue
Owen Reynolds came down the stairs, a copy of Predatory States in hand. His textbooks were in his locker because he didn’t need them in his classes. His friends followed him, Steve Graham, Emily Thomas, Sara Anderson, and his best friend since kindergarten, Ryan Alexander. They’re seniors, soon to graduate from private school, each heading off to a prestigious college. Steve would study psychology at Yale, Emily would study environmental science at Northwestern, Sara would study law at Stanford, Ryan would study programming at MIT, and Owen would follow his family’s tradition of studying at military schools. He would study law at Norwich University, in lieu of going to West Point as his father and grandfather had done, then pursue a career in some agency within the military.
As they descended the stairs, they heard a commotion. Some boys talking loudly, and it is obvious in a taunting manner.
“…faggot.”
“I think he’s going to cry,” someone else exclaimed followed by laughter.
Owen came to a place on the stairs where he could see three boys standing over another and he stopped. He knew each of them. Dexter, the leader of the group and the one he knew bullied for the pleasure he derived from it. Next to Dexter stood Milo and Brody. Owen knew Milo was desperate for Dexter’s attention and went along with anything he did, and Brody bullies to take it out on others what he must endure at home. Owen doesn’t understand how Brody can inflict cruelty on others when he knows how it affects him.
On the floor is Devin Jordan, a tenth grader who is introverted with only a few close friends. Owen had seen him around the campus of the private school, huddled up with the gamers and those that read science-fiction and fantasy. Devin looked his way, eyes pleading as Brody kicked his books across the floor. The three bullies laugh as others move wide, avoiding getting involved. Owen felt the tug inside, one that told him when something was wrong, and he started down the stairs. A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to see it was Ryan.
“Ms. Becker is coming,” said Ryan.
Owen turned in time to see her come up to the boys.
“That’s enough. Dexter, Milo, and Brody, to the principal’s office. Now!” Becker exclaimed. As the three boys headed for the principal’s office, she turned to Devin. “Pick up your things and get to class.”
Owen started to say something to her, ask how she could be as cruel as the bullies but the hand on his shoulder squeezed, and he swallowed the words, then led his friends to their next class.
Owen knew in two weeks, they’ll graduate and come fall enter college, and he wondered if Devin would be okay after the three bullies graduate too. He hoped so but couldn’t convince himself that it would be the case. He is only eighteen and yet feels the weight of the world’s injustices. It is May 2005, and there is still unrest in Baghdad, recovery continues after the tsunami in the Indian Ocean, and the usual saber rattling by North Korea, Iran, and his own country. The specter of war seemed to loom over them, always one foolish move or misunderstanding away. He wondered what he could do about it. He considered how each person eventually carves their own niche and either does good or bad. He looks back at Devin picking up his books and swears he will do good.
July 2019
Owen came out of the Callisto Research facility and stood on the wide walk leading to the secure underground parking deck. He looked up at the sky, vivid blue, such a backdrop for the mountains surrounding the facility he wished he could appreciate it more. He looked back thinking of the look on Dr. Leonard L. Reynolds’ face. The shock of his resignation was expected but not the degree of disappointment.
The research wasn’t an issue, but it was the other aspects of the agency’s operation, the one he was intimately involved in, that he could no longer tolerate. The clandestine operations in the Middle East or off the coast of China or in the Siberian wilderness, and worse, the ones on American soil. The last mission went too far, and people died needlessly for the higher ups wanted results and wanted them immediately. It was no pleasure to know they would not get their results. That died on the bridge over the Watts Bar Dam Bridge.
“Owen; wait up.”
Owen turned to see Dr. Reynolds coming his way, the lanyard in hand that held his ID card. It was odd how he looked at the man that was his father but didn’t consider him as such when at the facility. They were both too professional and strict in the decorum dictated by their jobs. He waited to see what his father had said. He knew his father didn’t know everything he had been doing. The aspects of the little group tucked in the back corner of the facility away from the Pentagon and the CIA authority, doing missions they neither wanted nor could handle.
“Owen…son…don’t quit.”
“Dad, you’re going to play the we’re family card on me?”
Dr. Reynolds smiled. “If it will get you to reconsider.”
“I can’t, not after what happened in Tennessee.”
“I know that was a real fuck up. I know they have been pushing you too hard. I’ll talk to them, see what I—”
“Dad; you know what’ll they say. Yes, of course, anything you need, then in three or four months, it’ll be back to the same shit as before.”
A heavy sigh, a nod in agreement. “I know. With me in the laboratories I’m insulated from that bullshit, but you, out in the field…”
“Dad, I’m not coming back.”
“Okay, but what are you going to do?”
Owen shrugged his shoulders, then smiled. “I’ve got some ideas but it’s too early to say.”
“Always playing the cards close to your chest. Okay, I’ll let the upper floor know they’ll have to rely on Bill or Catherine for now.”
“Good luck with that,” said Owen, knowing neither were ready for the bullshit that would come down on them.
“Hey, don’t forget dinner this Sunday.”
“I won’t or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
July 2020
Kuang Anwei left the meeting, with notes folded up and in an inner coat pocket. He looked around for the police or some government official, always afraid of being found out. Rushing down the alley, he came out onto Xingwen Road, blending in with the other pedestrians making their way home or to work. He slowed to the pace of the others keeping his eyes focused ahead. He went three blocks until he reached the rack where he had his bicycle locked up. He unlocked and straddled it, then headed home.
He rode along with traffic, turning to cross the Yangtze River. The bridge towered over the river, and he would look up still marveling at the engineering it took to build such a bridge. He stayed on the road, crossing the island, then the bridge over Jiajiang until back over land. It was getting dark by the time he arrived at his apartment building.
Bicycle secured, Anwei made his way inside and up to the fourth floor where he pressed his thumb to the doorknob, letting the scanner read his print. The latch released and he entered the small apartment to the smell of simmering meat and vegetables.
“Anwei, dinner is almost ready,” said Huai, poking his head around the corner as Anwei removed his shoes.
“I’ll wash up.”
Anwei looked across the table at Huai, the man he had been living with for five years, the one he loved so much he would cry if he thought of it. To their neighbors, they were roommates, just two men sharing an apartment. Anwei hoped the local authorities believed as much, or nothing at all.
“How did the meeting go?” asked Huai.
“I think we might be ready.”
“Don’t you think it is too soon. They have been cracking down. Three more television programs have been censored and raids have occurred at the markets looking for illegal movies and books.”
“I know, but we can’t keep hiding waiting for the perfect time, or we’ll never gain our rights.”
“But I worry.”
“I know, but I’m careful.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Silence descended over the room, Huai unable to say what he wanted to, the thing he had rehearsed over and over for the last week. And Anwei feared saying more, for he knew he was making promises he may not be able to keep. He really didn’t know how safe it was to meet. He knew someone in their group could be spying for the authorities, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
“I’ll help with the dishes,” said Anwei, as they came to their feet and picked up their bowls.
The dishes were in the rack drying and the lights turned out. In the bedroom, Anwei undressed Huai, slowly, slipping the shirt from the narrow shoulders, then undoing the pants letting them fall around the ankles. He leaned in and kissed the chest and down over the stomach as he eased down on his knees. He pressed his face into the crotch feeling the cock stir against his cheek. He turned his face and mouthed it, working along the growing length eventually taking the head into his mouth. He sucked and mouthed it until the underwear was wet.
“Anwei,” whispered Huai.
Anwei grabbed the underwear on each side, hands balled into tight fist clutching at the soft white fabric and he tugged them down until the cock was free. He let the underwear drop on top of the pants as he captured the cock with his mouth. Huai moaned and shivered with his manipulation, spurring him to keep going. He sucked the cock until it was fully erect.
When he stood, he pressed his clothed body against Huai sensing the nakedness and feeling the cock press against his own. He held the body in an embrace as they kissed, then Huai pushed him back and worked the buttons free on his shirt. It fell open down the front and a hand touched his chest, then rubbed upward until cupping the back of his neck. Huai kissed him again while slipping the shirt from his shoulders. He held his arms down letting it drop to the floor. Hands worked his pants undone and tugged everything down until he was naked, and Huai pressed against him, bare skin against bare skin, hard cock against hardening cock. He pushed against Huai, worked his cock against Huai’s cock, then he walked backwards pulling Huai to follow. He felt the bed bump the back of his legs and he lay back, pulling Huai to follow. He spread his legs, opening himself to his lover, his partner, the man he loved. He felt the cock rub over his ass, up and down and he moaned and pushed upward against it.
Huai took Anwei by the back of the legs, pushing them over until knees pressed into the bed either side of his chest. His ass angled upward, spread wide, and cock touched his tight opening, pressed against it until he felt himself stretch open. Huai penetrated him, eased into his body slowly, centimeter after centimeter until hips pressed against his ass.
It was so natural, this connection between two men who were gay, Anweir couldn’t understand why the authorities were so against it, made laws banning it, censoring anything that remotely referred to it. He wanted to live with Huai like the couple across the hall, openly, holding hands in public, at times even giving each other a quick kiss. He wanted it so bad he was going to fight for it, push for reforms that made it legal for two men to live as a couple.
But those thoughts soon evaporated as cock worked inside him, pushing into his depths then tugging outward, over and over, until Huai was moving with the steady pace of a fuck. His own cock flexed with his arousal as Huai moved over and within him. He clutched at the bed as Huai bore down on him, pushed his legs down against the bed and kept fucking.
“Anwei,” Huai uttered, then shoved into him all the way, shuddering and jerking with release.
The shower ran warm, the water like a caress against the skin, and Anwei braced his hands on the wall and leaned forward, ass pushed back for Huai. He felt the hands hold his waist and the cock rub along his ass, then penetrate him again. Huai eased into his depths, pushing until pressed against his ass. Huai kissed his shoulders then laid on his back. A kiss to the back of the neck, along the right shoulder, as hips ground against his ass working the cock inside him.
It was a slow fuck, one that would last a long time. Intimate, with hands moving over Anwei’s body. One would take his cock stroking it until he needed release. As cock fucked him, his own grew harder, thicker, then spurt wad after wad against the wall. As his ass spasm around Huai’s cock, he felt the change in pace, the urgency of it. He knew Huai was close. A shove into his depths a few more times, then hips pressed against his ass shuddering with Huai’s release.
They lay in bed, limbs intertwined, Huai softly snoring in sleep. Anwei stared out the window looking at the skyline of the city as rain began to hit the glass. Then he heard a sound in their apartment, and he froze, fearing it was the authorities coming to take him away. He knew it would happen eventually. He slowly turned to look at the bedroom door. It opened slowly and he looked for who pushed it open. Only a dark doorway and silence.
He was trembling with fear, one he had not felt in a long time, not since getting arrested in college. He had been lucky back then, another being responsible for their activity. But now he was the leader of their movement, and he stared at the empty doorway into the darkness. Then he sensed movement, more than he saw it. Darkness shifting within darkness with a silence that made him hold his breath. Huai stirred and rolled to his back, pushing the cover down revealing the bare chest.
Anwei stared into the darkness, waiting to see what he sensed. Then he saw it, a man’s silhouette. Just a dark outline. It moved close to the doorway then pulled a balaclava from the face. It shone white in the dark, with two dark sockets where eyes should be. Maybe there were eyes, just shadowed from view, but Anwei wasn’t convinced, for he considered it a ghost, come to take his soul.
“Anwei, you need to come with me. It’s not safe here. Not for you or Haui.”
Despite speaking his language, the voice sounded foreign.
“Who are you?”
“Someone come to rescue you. The authorities are on their way. They will be here any minute.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been monitoring them. Come on, get up and dressed; we have to go.”
“Anwei, what are you saying,” mumbled Huai, stirring awake.
“Wake up. We have to go,” said Anwei, wondering if they could really trust the man standing in the doorway dressed all in black.
“Anwei, you have to get moving, Huai too. And dress in dark clothing.”
The man led them down the stairs and to the back of the building. He moved with knowledge of the complex, where alleys existed, pathways through garden areas, until on the road that ran along the back side of the complex. Two police vans came into view, then turned into the complex, turning off their flashing lights.
“Come on, we need to get away from here,” the man said, as he led Anwei and Huai across the street and down a narrow side street. They came to an old Volkswagen Lavida, the grey body filthy and had dents and scratches. The man went to the driver’s door and got in, unlocking the doors for Anwei and Huai.
“Who are you?” said Huai as they buckled their seat belts.
“Not now,” the man replied as he started the engine. “We need to get out of the city.”
They drove east, staying on the main road that ran parallel with the river. It was mostly industrial parks and factories along their path but after an hour, the three of them riding in silence, the man turned on a narrow road the angled toward the river. Woods blocked their view of it, and it made Anwei grow more anxious.
“Where are you taking us?” said Anwei, the fear evident in his voice.
The man looked over and sighed.
“I have a boat ready to take us down river. In Nantong we’ll go to the harbor and board a cargo ship heading to Taipei. From there, we’ll fly to anyplace you want to go.”
“Are you serious?” said Anwei.
“Yes. You are not safe here. The authorities are aware of your intentions.”
“And you’ll take us where we wish to go?” said Huai.
“Yes.”
“I wish to go to America. Can you arrange that?”
The man smiled then nodded is head. “I can arrange that.”
Three weeks later, Huai stood on the balcony of the apartment overlooking the street and the park beyond. He knew the San Diego Zoo was on the north side of the park. He knew he was on the south side, set up in a small one-bedroom apartment with Anwei. They had papers showing American citizenship and ID cards for jobs at a nearby agency specializing in helping to relocate people from foreign countries.
Anwei came out wearing shorts and no shirt. He looked at the familiar body.
“I still don’t believe we’re in America,” said Huai.
“I know.”
“Did you ever find out who helped us?”
“No.”
“The woman who drove us here said he was a ghost and to forget we ever saw him.”
Anwei stood next to Huai, smiled at him, then looked at the open park across the street. He thought of his first impression of the man, how he emerged from the darkness. “A ghost. I can make that into the truth.”
January 2021
He moved along the narrow alley, walls of stone over two thousand years old rose on each side of him. He heard gun fire in the distance wondering if this time the place would once again erupt into all our war. Sooner or later, it would do so.
He circumvented the check point entering the old city of Jerusalem. Its streets and buildings that lined them as familiar to him as those in his city, Bethlehem. He crossed a narrow street and entered the dark alley, following its meandering path until he came to the small courtyard, the one with apartments overlooking it. He entered a door, climbed the stairs until at the third floor, and went down to the apartment that looked out over the street instead of the courtyard.
His name was Abdel Yassin. He was thirty-two years old and Palestinian. The door he raised a fist to knock belonged to Tobias Cahana, a twenty-nine-year-old Israeli and his lover for the past six years. Two sharp raps and the lock was released and the door swung open.
“You’re late,” said Tobias, fear evident in his face, one Abdel understood.
“I had to wait for those terrorists to move from in front of my apartment,” said Abdel, referring to the Hamas soldiers that were prolific in his neighborhood.
Tobias knew not to comment, and he stepped aside to let Abdel enter, then closed and locked the door.
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“Then let us eat,” said Tobias leading Abdel to the small table next the kitchen area.
As they ate, Abdel talked of the recent activities of their group, the printing of pamphlets listing their grievances, the lobbying of politicians, and the protest planned next month. Tobias nodded but didn’t reply, always doubtful of Abdel’s efforts despite his best intentions.
“What do you think?” said Abdel.
“About what?”
“The protest.”
“I think it may be too early for a street demonstration. You know the government will put it down if they think it has any merit.”
“That is why we need to strike now.”
“I just worry,” said Tobias pushing back from the table.
“I know, and you have so much to worry about,” said Abdel sliding off his chair to his knees. He moved up between Tobias’ legs and kissed him.
Abdel moved over Tobias, body undulating in that familiar way of sex. The rise and fall of the ass working cock into him. The holding down of hands. The kisses, lips against lips, lips against the neck or shoulders. They knew each other, what aroused them. Tobias begged for Abdel to fuck harder. To keep going. Abdel lifted himself on hands and did as he was asked. He hammered his cock inside Tobias’ depths. The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoing in the small apartment.
Tobias cried out; told Abdel he loved him then pleaded for him to fuck harder. They moved as one, ass rising to meet descending hips. Tobias grabbed Abdel by the ass feeling the flex and movement that he felt inside. The cock bore into his depths. The fullness of it gave him indescribable pleasure.
Abdel came, grinding hips against the ass, shuddering and jerking with each ejaculation. Then he lay on Tobias, his body sweaty and gasping for breath. He eased down Tobias’ body, took the hard cock into his mouth and sucked. He sucked to bring Tobias pleasure, then to get him off. He captured the cum as the cock erupted, then swallowed it with a reverence.
The sound of the city filtered through the open window with Tobias nestling up against Abdel. He woke, suddenly aware of a sound that alarmed him. Abdel didn’t stir and he knew it was because Abdel was used to such sounds, becoming immune to them. How many times had Abdel been arrested. The first time when he was only thirteen, then at sixteen, twenty-one and the last time at twenty-six when he had been imprisoned for two years. It was as if he knew it would happen again, and he would sleep for as long as he had.
But Tobias knew if the military came for the two of them, it would be worse than before for Abdel, and he shuddered to think what would happen to him. He eased off the bed and stepped up the window and looked down on the street. Four vehicles were parked in it, blocking any traffic that may try to pass. Two were Davids, military green and men in military gear were congregating around one of them. The other two were AIL Storm vehicles and the men standing next to them were in civilian clothing, and Tobias knew they were the ones to be feared the most.
“Abdel, get up. We have to go and go now,” Tobias exclaimed in a high-pitched whisper.
“What?”
“They’re hear, the military.”
“Shit.”
They quickly dressed then grabbed the two backpacks they kept ready. They eased out into the corridor, down to the stairs that had roof access and climbed up and onto the roof.
Owen Reynolds sat in the old Land Cruiser Prado, the desert tan paint faded and scratched. There was a bush guard on the front and gear in the back he hoped he didn’t need. It was always tricky doing an operation in Israel, especially one involving a Palestinian. He pulled up his laptop and logged into the crypted site, then put his comm in the left ear.
“It’s me, I’m in place.”
“You have to hurry, the military showed up five minutes ago.”
“What? They were not supposed to move until early morning.”
“Someone got impatient.”
“What about the subjects?”
“On the move. They are on the roofs and lucky for you, heading your way.”
“Patch me into the drone.”
“Doing it now.”
The image of roofs came into view, narrowing the focus down until Owen saw two figures running across a roof. He overlaid their surveillance of the area; stairs, alleys, underground passages, some that were too dangerous to enter. He switched the image to his goggles and slipped them on. The image played to the upper left of his vision, and he climbed out and headed down the alley across the street.
He ran down the alley, then walked patiently across the street, then ran down the next alley. Across the next street, he entered an apartment building, going up the five flights of stairs and out onto the roof. He stood in the shadow of the stair structure, watching to his south where the two men should appear any second. They were less than a hundred meters away and closing fast. He checked the apartment building the men had fled seeing the military was on the roof, breaking up into groups, then heading out, one heading their way.
Owen watched two figures emerge out of the darkness coming his way. They jumped parapets, ducked under wires and clothes lines, until only a few meters away, and he stepped out of the shadows with hands held up.
“Tobias. Abdel. This way, I’ll help you escape,” said Owen in English, knowing using his native language would show he was not Israeli or Palestinian.
The men froze, looked back, then back at Owen. Owen stood still, knowing he had no time to really gain their trust.
“Tobias, the military is not far away. There are four men heading this way right now. We need to go.”
“Who are you?” said Abdel.
“Someone who wants to help.”
“And how do we know you’re not—”
“If that were the case, I would not be standing here with my hands up.”
“And how will you get us out of here,” said Tobias.
“First, we’ll go down to a vehicle I have parked nearby, which we’ll drive to a place I have better transport waiting.”
“And where will you take us?”
“Where do you want to go?”
A long silence, one too long, then Abdel stepped forward. “A place with winter. I want to see snow.”
Owen smiled. “I can do that.”
Abdel, followed by Tobias approached Owen, who led them into the stairs and down to the street. They backtracked to Owen’s Prado, Tobias climbing into the front seat and Abdel in the back. Owen eased out of the parking space and drove casually down the street, turning at the first intersection heading away from the men’s apartment building and the military.
Using the drone, Owen navigated through the city avoiding check points, the police, and military. He made his way eastward until driving on a narrow two-lane through the low mountains. He turned left, then right, so many times Tobias had no idea where they were, but eventually, Owen pulled on Highway 1, heading west. After a few minutes, he exited the highway, getting on 3, continuing west.
“Exit on 44 and head north.”
“Roger that,” said Owen into his comm.
Tobias looked over, suspicious about who Owen was communicating with.
“It’s my team. They are monitoring us with a satellite and a drone, making sure we’re not being followed and setting up a rendezvous point,” said Owen.
“Does our government know you do this?” said Tobias.
Owen scoffed, shaking his head, and for the first time Tobias smiled, sitting back relaxing.
Owen drove north for two kilometers.
“Turn to your left on that access road,”
Owen slowed and began to turn.
“Go straight for about eight hundred meters and park.”
Owen climbed out and retrieved his gear from the back of the Prado as Tobias and Abdel slowly climbed out. He tossed his gear on the hood, then went back to the driver’s door. He pulled out a canister, twisted the cap, and tossed it into the interior, shutting the door. The interior fogged up filling with the gas released by the canister.
“What is that?” said Abdel.
“An acid. It’ll eat away at the interior but more importantly, it’ll destroy any fingerprints we left behind,” said Owen, turning to look up into the night sky. There were no lights nearby, just darkness over the fields all around them.
Something black, darker than the nighttime sky, moved over the landscape, closing fast. It moved in near silence and impossibly low to the ground. It slowed as it drew near Owen and the two men, then rotated midair and landed close by. It was a helicopter, but unlike any Tobias and Abdel had ever seen. The flat black faceted body, the tail having four small fans in lieu of one large tail rotor, and main rotors that spun almost silently.
“Let’s go,” said Owen, leading the two men to it. A door slid open revealing a man in black, who climbed out to help them load up and get on board.
“Let’s get out of here before we get spotted,” said Owen.
“You got it,” said the other man as he slid the door closed. The rotors spooled up and they lifted off heading back to the west. They flew fast and low.
“Have we been spotted?” said Owen.
“No, sir.”
“Let’s see if we can get to the ship without being seen.”
A few minutes later, the pilot rose higher in the sky, over one developed area after the next, then out over the Mediterranean Sea. They came to an old ocean explorer vessel with a helipad at the bow and landed without issue.
“Get Tobias and Abdel set up in a room. I’m going to check in,” said Owen to the man in black. He turned to Tobias and Abdel. “Get settled in and I’ll be with you shortly to discuss your future. We’ll be at sea for a few days, because we’re not putting in until Tangier. From there, we will catch a flight to Canada.” Owen looked at Abdel. “Are you serious about wanting a place with winter?”
“Yes.”
“How about Montreal?”
September 2022
Taher checked out the older woman buying a bag of rice. She took her change, picked up the bag and left his small shop. He watched her go out into the fading light for another day had come to an end. Another day that the city didn’t erupt into protests and the police and military beat them down, arresting many. Another day that just saw arrests and more businesses closing in his neighborhood. He felt the tension and anxiety that permeated through the city. He knew all well how it could explode at any minute. He also knew some of the people were preparing more protests seeking an end to human rights abuses. Yashar, his partner for the last seven years, was a part of the movement fighting for their rights. He felt proud of him when listening to the plans and the commitment to their goals. But when alone, like now, he felt fear. Fear that Yashar would be in a protest that the government put down. Fear that Yashar would get arrested, or worse, just disappear one day.
He pulled the cash from the register, shut off the lights, and went out to the sidewalk. He locked the door, pulled down the security grille, then just stood still for a moment, looking up the quiet street. Few people were out, and traffic was nonexistent. It was four blocks to their apartment and Taher wondered if this would be the time he didn’t make it.
In a quick pace, Taher set off along the familiar sidewalk. He overstepped the section busted up; he circled the trees in cut-outs and glanced into empty shops until at the narrow side street that took him to the apartment. He moved cautiously down the darkening street and when the apartment came up on his left, he looked up at the third-floor windows seeing lights were on. He sighed in relief, for Yashar was home.
As he climbed the stair, he wondered once again how Iran, his country, could become so unsettling to live. He knew other parts of the city were flushed with money. He knew there were those that lived comfortably, lavishly. Yashar talked about what it was like during the revolution that put the clerics in power, repeating stories told to him by his parents who lived through it. Yashar would always look defeated when talking about how the country traded one abuse for another.
Yashar was placing two bowls on the table when Taher entered the apartment. He tossed the cash bag on the counter and stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands as Yashar went to the range for one more dish.
“How was your day?” said Yashar.
“Good. Sales were a bit better today.”
“Really? That is good.”
Taher came to the table and sat in his usual place, opposite of Yashar who was already seated. They began to eat silently at first with a radio playing in the background. Yashar scooped more food, then sat back for a second, looking across at Taher.
“We’re setting up for next Sunday,” Yashar uttered.
“Next Sunday? You mean…”
“Yes.”
“But…that is too soon.”
“Taher, we have to start, or we’ll just keep losing rights.”
Taher nibbled at his food as he tried to think of some response. It felt final, like this was it, after next Sunday, nothing would be the same.
Taher put away the last of the dishes as Yashar rinsed the sink. Taher switched off the kitchen light and followed Yashar to their bedroom. Nothing was said as they entered the dark room, neither bothering to turn on the light. It was obvious both were anxious, their fears simmering just below the surface.
Yashar moved first, pulling Taher to him into a kiss. They held each other while kissing, then Yashar pulled back and undressed Taher. He rubbed the chest and stomach, then toyed with the cock. He stooped before him and took the cock into his mouth. As he manipulated it, it grew longer and thicker until it filled his mouth.
“Yashar,” Taher uttered.
Yashar led Taher to their bed guiding him to lie down. He stood by the bed and undressed. When he eased on the bed next to Taher, a hand took his cock. He moaned then lay on his back with Taher moving over him.
Taher sensed the larger body beneath him. More muscular, taller, older, even at twenty-eight, a man himself, there were times he felt like the twenty-year-old kid that had followed the older man, one thirty-two at the time, around the community. He had sensed Yashar was like him, a man attracted to other men. It had taken months to get Yashar to pay any attention to him, but only a few weeks later, he had captured his heart.
Now he clung to the man, loved him to the point of breathlessness. He rubbed against the muscular body, pumped his cock against Yashar’s hardening cock until hands grabbed him by the ass and pulled them together.
Taher sat up and worked his ass back and forth over Yashar’s cock until fingers dug into his thighs. He knew Yashar was fully aroused. He rose, took the cock and eased down on it. He shuddered with the penetration, then shivered as he descended on it. He moved slowly, up and down, taking more of the cock as he moved until descending all the way. Hands came to his narrow waist and held him as he increased his pace. He moved on the cock until so aroused he was breathing hard and sweating. His cock smacked Yashar on the stomach until a hand took it and roughly stroked it as he kept moving up and down.
“Taher…”
Taher knew Yashar was close. He heard it in the tone of voice and how Yashar was pushing up. He moved faster, slamming his ass down on the cock while Yashar kept stroking him. Then Yashar shoved upward, pushed cock into his depths and shuddered and cried out with release. He leaned back, worked his ass on the spurting cock, then shoved upward through the hand and came.
Taher lay on his stomach as Yashar slow fucked him. The slow gentle push into his depths, then the slow tug outward. Yashar lay heavily on his back, at times grinding hips against his ass, all the time kissing and nipping at his neck, shoulders, and ears.
This fuck would last a long time, and Taher would relish the intimacy of it, how it left him feeling raw and exposed to the man he loved. Open to his ministrations and caresses and physical manipulations that would bring them both to release.
We’re setting up for next Sunday.
Taher stood at the French doors overlooking the street below. He couldn’t sleep because whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Yashar utter the phrase before everything burst into flames. It seemed like doomsday; the day of judgement was upon them.
Hands slipped around his waist.
“You can’t sleep?” said Yashar.
“No.”
Yashar kissed the side of his neck while reaching around and manipulating his cock. Despite his anxieties, the fear of what could happen, Taher responded to Yashar as he always did. Yashar pulled him back out of the streetlight into the darkness of the room, where he was guided to bend over. Hands ran up his back as hips pressed against his ass. He felt the cock, how it quickly hardened. He reached back and spread his ass and Yashar entered him.
In the middle of the living room, French doors and windows open, they fucked. Fucked until both were sweating profusely and uttering obscenities. Taher begged Yashar to fuck him, to fuck him harder, and soon the room filled with the sound of bodies coming together.
Taher came first, his cock spurting wad after wad on the floor. Yashar bearhugged him, pulled their bodies tight together and shoved into his depths, bellowing with his own release.
Owen Reynolds drove the old ZAMYAD Company truck along the rough road, navigating it through the dry desert terrain. Next to him sat Ryan Alexander, using a laptop to navigate. They had known each for so long, they rarely needed to speak while on a mission. Just a word or two was usually enough. Owen couldn’t believe how everything came together after quitting the research facility and the clandestine missions operated out of it. Ryan and he had thought college would be the end of their close friendship, but they had crossed paths in October of 2019. He had been flying to meet someone who had work at NSA and Ryan was heading Japan to discuss military contracts. While waiting on their flights, Owen eventually admitted what he was planning. Seven months later, Ryan was joining him at the facility set up in the panhandle of Florida, close to Eglin AFB. He had been thrilled to have Ryan on board, but it wasn’t Ryan he had wanted the most. Not the one he sought. That came later.
They had landed in Baghdad the night before, procured the faded blue truck with the boxed in bed and more aggressive tires, then grabbed some much-needed sleep before heading out late in the day. They had crossed into Iran after dark, hoping the old truck let them blend in enough to not draw attention. It was slow going through the rough terrain and rough roads, and they hoped they didn’t arrive too late.
“Any update?” said Owen into his comm.
“The date for the start of protests is still Sunday, but reports indicate tensions are high. Things could go sideways before then.”
“We should be there by noon, giving us half a day to get them and get out,” said Owen.
“Turn left here,” Ryan interrupted.
Owen slowed, turned on the side road and accelerated as best the old truck would allow.
“How was the crossing into Iran?”
“As expected, rough as hell on that old trail road, but we’re back on a decent road now,” said Owen. “Is the car in position?”
“Yes, and the pilot is set to land at the airport in Kirkuk.”
“Did we get the modifications to the car?” said Ryan loud enough to be picked up on Owen’s comm.
“Yes. They changed out the engine, reinforced the front end, and put a roll cage in it.”
“And fuel cell?” said Owen.
“Yes, and increased capacity, so you drive it flat out as much as possible.”
“Let’s hope no one looks at it too close before we get to it,” said Owen.
“It is in a garage as planned. You have the key, right?”
“Yep.”
Taher sat behind the counter eating his lunch. Frustration and fear nearly overwhelmed him. Yashar was out there somewhere, setting up a protest for the next day. He had woken at daybreak to Yashar getting dressed, telling him to go about his normal routine, that he would be home after the protest the next day.
Taher realized there had been no customers since ten o’clock. He looked out and saw a few people walking by with heads down. He sensed it. There was something going on. He wondered if Yashar’s group started the protest already.
Getting up from the old stool, Taher moved to the storefront, looking down the street both ways. His breathe caught in his throat. Military and police vehicles were at each end of the block checking everyone who was passing by.
“Shit,” Taher uttered, then moved away from the window and back behind the counter.
A man came into view, his Aba flapping in the wind and hat pulled low in the head. Taher watched how the man looked up the street in both directions, then slipped into his shop, pulling the door closed instead of waiting on the closer to do it.
“Can I help you?” said Taher, his voice betraying his nervousness. Then he saw the man’s face and knew he wasn’t Iranian. He looked British, or worse, American. “What do you want?”
“To help Yashar and you.”
“What?”
“Yashar is about to get caught up in something that he may never return from.”
Taher heard the words, understood them for they were the same he had thought so often over recent months. But to accept them was beyond his ability.
“I don’t understand.”
The man stepped up close, only the counter between them.
“Taher, we don’t have time for you to process what is happening. I know Yashar’s team were going to start a protest tomorrow, but that is not happening. There has been an incident, a woman killed by police in custody, and now protests are breaking out in city after city.”
“There are protests happening elsewhere?”
“Yes. Yashar didn’t need to plan one. All it took was police brutality to go too far one time too many.”
“Is that why the police are at the end of the street?”
“I’m afraid not. They are here to pick up Yashar. So, you need to tell me where to find him.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then he may be lost.”
“No. No…no, no, no.”
“Then think, Taher. Where could he be?”
Taher felt as if the ground had fallen from beneath his feet. He grabbed up his phone and dialed the only person he knew that might know.
“Arman. No, listen, listen. Do you know where Yashar is at?
“I know, but it is too late for that. There are protests all over and if I don’t find Yashar, and right now, the police will get him.
“He’s where?” said Taher, shocked at the location. “That is…” he said into the phone, then looked up at the man standing before him. “He’s at the end of the block in an apartment on the top floor.”
The man smiled. “Perfect, he’s close. Do you know which one?”
Taher asked then hung up quickly and turned to the man.
“He’s in the unit on the corner facing the streets.”
“Top floor, corner unit?”
“Yes.”
“Fox 1, do you copy,” said the man in a comm in the right ear.
“I copy.”
“The apartment building at the end of the block from Taher’s shop, top floor, corner unit.”
“Roger that. I’ll get him and meet you at the rendezvous point.”
“Who are you?” said Taher as he watched the man grab bottles of water and some snack bars.
“My name is isn’t important. I’m with a small group who help people who get into trouble for doing the right thing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Right now, you don’t have time to debate it. Either come with me or see what awaits you.”
Taher knew an American in his country was unusual, more so one that came to rescue Yashar and himself.
“Taher, don’t worry about anything here, just leave everything for we need to go. Do you have a jacket or something to conceal you?”
“I have a jacket in back.”
“Get it and let’s go.”
“How are we getting out of here with the police at each end of the street?” said Taher coming from the back putting on the jacket.
“The apartment is to our left, right?”
“Yes.”
“The police will no doubt be watching it. We’ll go right and duck into the building two doors down.”
“The office building?”
“Yes. It has roof access.”
“We’re going over the roofs.”
“Just to the next street over.”
Taher felt like they had walked through hell and survived. Owen led him down the sidewalk and into the office building. They had raced up the stairs to the roof, then made their way to the next street, hoping over parapets and ducking power lines. They rushed down the stairs and out to the sidewalk. The street was just as deserted, everyone knowing something was going on.
Owen led him to the opposite side of the street and ducked into an alley where they waited. Owen kept a watch as Taher leaned against the wall and tried to calm his breathing, telling himself the worst was over.
“Here they come,” said Owen.
Taher moved up behind Owen and peered around him. A man was leading Yashar and Amiri, Yashar’s best friend, along the sidewalk on the opposite side. Owen waved and the man leading them waved back.
As they crossed the street, Taher about to step out to greet Yashar, gun shots rang out. They were loud, too loud, and Taher jerked back into the alley as Amiri went down and Yashar got hit causing him to stagger. The man with them grabbed Yashar and pulled him to the alley. Taher could hear their yells and screams, none more so than Yashar’s.
“Come on, Yashar, he’s gone. There’s nothing you can do for him.”
“No, no, that is my friend.”
“It’s too late.”
It’s too late. The sentence choked Taher, made tears fall from his eyes.
“Fox 1, come on,” Owen yelled.
Suddenly they were rushing down the alley, across the next street, then into a restaurant. Owen was in the lead, and Ryan was behind him helping Yashar run. They rushed through the dining room and kitchen, and out the back door.
“The truck is just ahead. Taher, you and Yashar will get in back and hide,” said Owen as they rushed down another alley. It was a major road in the neighborhood, treelined with traffic moving in both directions. Owen led them to an old ZAMYAD truck, pulling the tailgate down and pulling the tarp to one side covering the opening. “Get in.”
Taher climbed in and helped Yashar to get in behind him.
“He’s been shot!” exclaimed Taher.
“I know. Put this on the wound to slow the bleeding. We’ll tend to it once we’re somewhere safe,” said Ryan.
Taher lay next to Yashar holding the pad to the gun shot wound. It was soaked in blood. He looked at Yashar who smiled back.
“Taher, relax. We’ll be alright.”
“But Amiri—”
“Not now. Let’s talk of him when we’re safe and we can do so with honor,” said Yashar, tears streaming from his eyes.
Taher knew Yashar couldn’t talk about Amiri and was just trying to ease his mind, get him to calm down some. The truck rocked and bounced as it navigated the streets, turning left then right as it navigated the old city. Taher was comforted by the movement, the constant shift and bounce, for it meant they were moving away from the police and their guns.
When the truck stopped, Taher almost panicked knowing it was the police that stopped them. But he heard the doors open and the two men talking back and forth. The tailgate dropped and the tarp was pulled to one side, and Taher looked toward the back of the truck to see the one that came for him standing there with a hand held out.
“Come on guys, we have to get off this street.”
Yashar slid down the bed, letting his feet drop over the tailgate and to the ground. He staggered on his feet but kept his balance as he held the pad to the gun shot wound in his shoulder.
Taher followed, coming to stand next to him. They followed the man around the truck, down the sidewalk, across the next cross street, and down to a garage door on the opposite side of the street. The other man unlocked it and pushed it up.
“Come on, get inside,” said Ryan as Owen checked to see if anyone was watching them.
Taher looked into the garage before entering, surprised to see an old black Audi S8 sitting in it. As he helped Yashar along the side of the car he noticed the roll cage in the interior. He heard the garage door go down and the interior get darker, lit by a single light overhead.
“Get Yashar in the back and I’ll get that bullet out,” said Ryan, pulling a medical kit from a backpack sitting the floor by the wall.
“The car looks good,” said Owen.
Taher looked at the bent fender and rear door and the scuffed paint, wondering if Owen was seeing the same car as he. Owen looked at him and smiled.
“I know it looks rough; it is meant to be. But it has plenty of power and it can take a beating.”
“And it has a new engine,” said Ryan.
“And the front is stiffened,” said Owen looking under the raised hood.
“Our getaway car,” joked Yashar.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to test it out,” said Owen, closing the hood.
Yashar shuddered while gritting his teeth. He looked straight ahead and tried not to think of his rescuer digging into his shoulder for the bullet. Despite having anesthesia, he still felt pain.
Ryan didn’t want to knock him out, instead gave him local anesthesia that would not take all of it away. They needed Yashar to be awake and alert.
“Got it,” said Ryan, holding the bullet in a tenaculum. “I’ll clean the wound, sew it up, and we can be on our way.”
Yashar watched the bullet fall into a small pan, then he looked out of the car at Taher and the other man talking at the front of the car.
“How long have you guys been together?” said Ryan.
“Seven years.”
“Must have been tough at times.”
“Yes, but worth it,” said Yashar turning to Ryan with a smile. “Are you and that man together? You seem very close.”
“The two of us?!” said Ryan, chuckling and shaking his head. No, I’m married to a wonderful woman who would never be involved in this craziness.” He looks up toward Owen then back to Yashar. “But he is gay.”
“Does he have a partner or does this line of work prohibit it?”
“He has a partner; someone he is very close. In fact, the geek is our logistic person and the one we are in contact with while on mission.”
“How did they meet?”
“Funny enough, they crossed paths years ago a few times, but it wasn’t until he was working for this research company—”
“Research?”
“It was a front. But while there they met again, working together on a mission, much like now. When he quit, he got set up with this organization and eventually brought our little geek boy over. When they went from a working relationship to one intimate, I’m not sure, but I think it was just before we got set up.”
“I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions, but I’m curious. How do you fund this? I mean, you came to Iran to rescue someone of no importance. It must have cost a fortune.”
“We have contract work that pays for everything,” said Owen, leaning down watching Ryan sew up the wound.
“And with the profits from that you do rescues?”
“Yes.”
“But why me? Of all the people in Iran, why me?”
“Those that have greater exposure will be taken in. You are just low enough to not be on the top of the watchlist, but you have contacts, some very important contacts, that later on could make a difference, and you are the one those various contacts listen to.”
“You really think we can make a difference?”
“Of course, or we wouldn’t be here,” said Owen. He looked at Ryan. “You finished up?”
“Yep,” said Ryan.
“Get the car packed up and I’ll go make sure the coast is clear to head out.”
Owen turned his collar up, pulled his hat low on his head, and slipped through a door to a storeroom off the garage. He moved through it to a door leading out. He cracked it open and glanced out. The street looked normal. A small car was driving away, and a few pedestrians were moving along the sidewalks on each side of the street. He stepped out, closed the door and moved toward the intersection. He kept his head down but not so much he couldn’t cut his eyes up and look around. At the intersection, he leaned against the wall and took out a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a long draw. He exhaled slowly using the time to survey his surroundings. He hated smoking, but in some areas, the simple gesture of smoking was a way to blend it without notice.
The coast was clear. No police or military. But he did notice the people moving about looked nervous, some looking back far too often. They needed to move and now. He kicked off the wall and strolled back down the sidewalk, fighting the urge to run.
“We need to go,” said Owen as he entered the garage.
“The police?” said Ryan.
“No, but the people look nervous, scared, as if they know something is up.”
“And we know that is the case. Taher, get in. We’re going.”
Owen raised the garage door as Ryan cranked the big Audi. As soon as Owen was in the passenger seat, he was moving out of the garage and down the street.
“Keep it slow unless we’re spotted,” said Owen.
“Slow and easy,” Ryan uttered in reply as he came to the intersection.
“Right, then we’ll take a left in 3.5 miles.”
“3.6 miles.” Ryan and Owen heard over their comms.
“You heard the man. 3.6 miles,” said Owen.
Ryan negotiated the streets, making his way toward the southwest, then west, leaving the city. They drove past the airport and entered the rolling terrain. As they drove by a service station on the left, a police vehicle pulled out and fell in behind them.
“Ryan.”
“I see him. I’m on my best behavior.”
“It would be a Mercedes.”
“Why couldn’t it be one of those top-heavy SUVs.”
“Maybe he’ll go right up ahead.”
Ryan stayed on the road heading south where there was an interchange for a road heading west.
“Well, he didn’t turn,” said Ryan.
They motored along until upon a small development on each side of the road.
“You want to take the dirt road on the left just past the restaurant.”
“Want that be obvious?” said Ryan into his comm.
“Doesn’t matter. You have to bypass a check point just beyond the shopping center.”
“We’ll need to address our escort if they follow,” said Owen.
“There is two sharp curves just before the road comes back to the highway and runs parallel with it.”
“How long before we can get back on the highway?” said Ryan.
“About two point five miles, and you’ll be going through two small villages.”
“Roger that.”
Owen turned to Taher and Yashar, looking to see if they were buckled in.
“Keep those seatbelts fastened and tight. It could get a bit rough.”
Ryan slowed and eased off the road onto the dirt road and motored away at a leisurely pace. The police cruiser came into view, and he saw it turn too.
“Shit, they are following us,” said Ryan.
“Go,” said Owen.
Ryan floored the big Audi, all four wheels spinning for traction as the car sped up. He drifted around the first curve, then got the car straightened, dust billowing up behind them.
“His visibility is going to be bad,” said Owen.
“Good,” said Ryan as he drifted around the next curve, all four wheels spinning trying to get traction.
The dirt road straightened and Ryan accelerated. The car bounced and shuddered over the rough surface. Behind them the lights of the cruiser became visible in the dust cloud.
“Here he comes,” said Owen.
“You’ll go around the slight curve to the right then about four hundred yards you have the first of the two tight curves.”
“I see it,” said Ryan. In the mirror he saw the cruiser had fallen back but was still in pursuit.
Around the first curve, Ryan accelerated. Just before the next curve, he spun the car around, sliding backwards to a stop. He floored the accelerator, heading back toward the first curve.
“Just run him off the road,” said Owen.
“That is the plan,” said Ryan.
The cruiser came around the curve and for a while they were headed straight at each other. Ryan continued to accelerate.
“Ryan?” said Owen
“I got it,” said Ryan as the big Audi continued to accelerate rapidly.
The cars closed in on each other. Ryan tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Come on…come on,” said Ryan.
Ryan wanted to force the police cruiser off the road but the driver of it was holding his line. He steered the wheel back and forth making the Audi swerve a little. Ryan prepared to steer hard right as the cars got closer.
“Fuck,” uttered Ryan.
The police cruiser suddenly swerved hard left as Ryan swerved hard right. They were too close, and the police cruiser lost too much traction, the rear drifting out. Ryan knew he would hit the back of the car, and he steered harder to make it as minor as possible. He clipped the car just past the rear wheel. The Audi shuddered as the police cruiser spun. The Audi shuddered again as the cruiser spun into their rear. Ryan steered hard left then right struggling to stay in the road. The Audi got sideways, and Ryan didn’t fight it, letting it rotate until they were facing the other way.
Ryan and Owen saw the road was empty, just dust blowing along it. Ryan eased forward, staying to the right until Owen could see the police cruiser over an embankment, wheels up, and the two officers climbing out.
“They’re okay; go, go,” exclaimed Owen.
All four wheels spun as Ryan floored it.
When the highway came into view, Ryan accelerated. The tires barked when he hit the pavement, and he kept accelerating, pushing the big Audi as hard as he dared.
“Before you get to the border, there is a dirt lane to your right. You’ll take it.”
“Just let me know when we’re close,” said Ryan into his comm.
Traffic was light and Ryan passed each vehicle without slowing. They passed a sign indicating the border with Iraq was one kilometer away.
“Get ready to turn.”
“Backing off on our speed,” said Ryan into his comm.
“It should be visible. I doubt it is signed.”
“I see it.”
Ryan braked hard, slid the Audi off the pavement and onto the dirt surface of the lane. He accelerated as fast as the tires would let him, heading into the rolling terrain. Before they had gone a hundred meters, a police cruiser, a large SUV, pulled out from behind an abandoned building nearby.
“Shit, they were waiting on us,” said Owen.
“But he thought we were going on the highway to the border, so we have a lead on him,” said Ryan.
“Not for long. It’s a G-wagon and it is moving fast,” Owen replied while looking back.
The police SUV bounced over the rough ground, slid onto the dirt lane, and accelerated. Ryan increased his speed, drifting around curves, all four wheels spinning as he pushed the big sedan as hard as he could.
“You need to lose them and fast. The trail head for the hike into Iraq is only a kilometer away.”
“Shit, that might not be possible,” said Ryan, looking over to Owen. “I know you don’t want to do it, but I don’t see another way.”
“Owen; listen to me. You have to get them off your tail.”
“I know! Fuck,” said Owen reaching down into the backpack in his footwell. He pulled up a small submachine gun. He flipped the safety off, lowered his window, and looked at Ryan. “After the curve, keep to your left.”
“Will do.”
Ryan maneuvered around the curve, slowing down to let the G-wagon catch up. He held to the left side as Owen released his seat belt and got on his knees in the seat. He leaned on the door with his upper body out the window aiming at the road behind them.
The G-wagon came into view and Owen immediately opened fire, firing one round at a time in rapid fashion. The first hit the passenger side of the windshield. The next hit the driver’s side headlight, the third round went through the radiator. The fourth round hit the driver’s side of the windshield and blood splattered across the broken glass. The G-wagon went off the road and into a ravine.
Taher didn’t know if he was in shock or not, but when he looked at Yashar, it calmed him for Yashar smiled back nodding his head.
“We’ll be okay,” said Yashar in a low calm whisper.
Taher looked at the two men ahead of him wondering who they are, what organization they were with, for nothing official out of the United States would do such a mission, or he didn’t think so. He could still hear that gun being fired, each time so distinct, so loud, it took his breath. He saw the one that rescued him grimace after that fourth shot, then got seated again, securing his seat belt, and nothing was said between the two men up front until they got the trial head, leaving the car behind.
He pictured the Audi sitting on the side of road, interior all fogged up with something one of the men tossed into it. Cleaning it so no one can get fingerprints, or any other evidence his rescuer had said as they checked the backpacks. The other man handed him a small backpack and two water packs, one for Yashar, then they put on large backpacks each with a gun clipped to the side of it.
“It’s not far,” said the other man.
His rescuer spoke into his comm. Taher saw him smile and say something to other, then the two of them sped up, making Yashar and he do the same.
“Are you okay?” said Taher, looking at Yashar.
“Shoulder is sore but I’m fine.”
They hiked along the valley, then over the ridge to their south. As they were coming down the other side, Taher saw a dust plume from an approaching vehicle in the distance. This must be the one come to pick us up, he thought, and he felt a surge of energy as he followed Yashar and the two Americans.
At some point they crossed into Iraq. To Taher it was just a hike across desert terrain with nothing to indicate what belonged to Iran and what belonged to Iraq. It seemed foolish, this demarcation in a dry land. Who cared about such a thing, knowing governments cared a lot.
A Toyota Land Cruise pulled up to them. It was new, the paint shiny, despite the layer of dirt over it. The passenger window lowered.
“Come on guys, let’s go,” a female voice called out in broken Persian.
Owen and Ryan stowed the backpacks as Taher and Yashar climbed into the back seat, Taher shifting to the center position. Ryan climbed in next to him and Owen climbed into the front passenger seat.
“Is the plane ready to lift off?” said Owen.
“Yes, and we have an army doc standing by to check that gunshot wound,” said Sara.
“I think I got it taken care of, but a doctor should check it,” said Ryan.
“That geek degree you got in college wasn’t for surgery,” Sara joked, glancing around, first at Yashar who she winked at, then at Ryan.
They drove along a trail then a highway that took them toward Baghdad.
“We’re set for the old miliary airfield south of the city?” said Owen.
“Yes. The plane is nearby and will land when we are coming onto the grounds,” said Sara.
“We can confirm it is circling ready to make a final approach.”
“Good. We don’t want that plane on the ground a second longer than necessary.”
“What’s the condition of the runway?” said Ryan into his comm.
“It has windswept dirt on it, but the paving is still pretty good. Nothing the Pilatus can’t handle.”
“We should get one. The Gulfstream is good, but it can’t handle a dirt or rough runway,” said Sara.
“Boss man has already ordered one. After the mission in Africa last year, he said we needed better capability,” said Owen.
Taher listened to the Americans banter, at times in English and at times in his native Persian, when his curiosity got the better of him.
“Excuse me, but if you don’t have a Pilotatus, then who’s plane are you using?”
“It’s a Pilatus, and we got it from a non-profit out of the UK,” said Sara.
Taher knew not to ask further. He sat back and looked at the passing terrain marveling how it could be so similar to that of Iran and yet, he could tell it was different in some ways. It was obvious to him that they were not in Iran anymore.
Sara turned left and soon they crossed the infamous Tigris River. He knew the legends and myths that arose along its banks and seeing it in person he could see how the civilizations that arose on it would make it seem divine.
Sara turned off the main highway as the sun was almost on the western horizon. She accelerated, going as fast as traffic would allow. When they were away from all settlements, nothing but fields on each side of the road, she turned left.
“We’re almost at the base,” said Sara into her comm.
“I see you. I’ll radio the plane to get on the ground.”
Taher didn’t understand what was being said but he sensed there was a possibility of escape, and he rested a hand on Yashar’s leg. A simple gesture of comfort, for Yashar and for himself. He watched the woman called Sara turn and accelerate onto the abandoned military base. In the distance he saw a jet coming down with the landing gear coming out preparing to land.
They stopped at the end of the runway and everyone climbed out, Ryan and Owen rushing to the back of the Land Cruiser to retrieve their gear. Taher was surprised to see Owen toss one of the canisters into the vehicle quickly filling it with that fog he knew would eat away at the interior.
The jet taxied to the end of the runway and turned around. It came to a stop and the door was opened with someone leaning out motioning for them to get on board.
Sara guided Yashar to the plane, Taher following, not wanting to lose sight of him. In the plane there was a man waiting, hands gloved with a medical bag next to him.
“Sir, come sit here and let me check that wound,” the man said.
Yashar sat next to the man and Taher took the next seat.
Taher didn’t know where they were going and still felt anxious, worrying that they were not yet free. He looked over and saw Yashar had dozed off, as had the doctor. Up front the three Americans were huddled together, the woman holding a laptop. He heard bits of their conversation but with it in English, he understood nothing they were saying.
He tried to go to sleep, wishing for a way to make time pass because he was letting his fears get to him. He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him, so he sat silent listening the Americans.
“Taher?”
He opened his eyes to see Ryan standing next to his seat.
“Can we talk?” said Ryan, his Persian stiff and fragmented.
“Yes.”
“You know you can’t go back to Iran for some time.”
Taher nodded.
“We’re not sure the best place to relocate you. Do you have someplace you would like to go?”
Taher was shocked at being asked where he wanted to go. He didn’t think he would have any choice in the matter. He looked over at the sleeping Yashar wanting to wake him to get his opinion. Yashar was always better at these kinds of decisions.
“He should sleep,” said Ryan.
“I know…” said Taher, then he looked at Ryan. “What nation would accept us?”
“I think there are several.”
“What about the United States?”
“We could take you there, but the political climate is adversarial toward immigrants at the moment. We were talking about Ireland or France, or maybe Morocco. We have contacts in those locations.”
“Morocco? Where Tangier is located?”
“Yes.”
“We had friends visit there once. Said it was beautiful.”
“So, it’s Tangier?”
“Yes; you’ll help us go there.”
“Sara, you heard him, Tangier,” said Ryan looking back at Sara. Then he stooped down next to Taher. “We’ll get you settled there, but we know Yashar will eventually want to go back.”
“Yes.”
“We should stay in touch for we might be able to assist in your return,” said Ryan. “We’ll give you a way to contact us, if you need it for any reason.”
Taher felt like a weight had been removed from his chest. He took an easy breath and smiled for the first time. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek and wiped it away quickly, feeling foolish for such a display.
“Get some rest,” said Ryan, patting his arm, then going back to his seat.
August 2024
Owen and Ryan were in the back of the jet asleep. They had completed a mission in Mexico for their government and were on their way back to their base of operations in the panhandle of Florida. The pilots were flying out over the Gulf of Mexico on a course to their private airfield.
Sara came back and tapped Owen on the shoulder.
“Wake up.”
“Yeah, what…is it,” stammered Owen as he stretched then looked up at her.
“We have a situation back home.”
“A situation?”
“It’s Reggie’s sister.”
Reggie was their main mechanic for their two jets and the King Air prop plane. A man Owen had found in Warner Robbins, Georgia at the Air Force base. He arrived on the day Reggie had retired out of the military offering him the job for the new organization Owen was leading up.
“Reggie’s sister? What’s wrong?” said Owen. He knew she was expecting, and Reggie had been on cloud nine this youngest sister was finally starting her own family.
“It’s an ectopic pregnancy.”
“Sounds bad.”
“It is very bad. They need to do an abortion.”
“And the doctors won’t do it.”
“They’re afraid of being charged with some new law enacted in the state.”
“She lives in Frisco City up in Alabama. What hospital is she at?”
“The county hospital in Monroeville.”
“How critical?”
Sara just stared back, suddenly showing how shaken she was about Reggie’s sister. She and Reggie had formed a friendship, one that entailed obscene jokes and a banter that sounded like sailors on shore leave.
“Let’s get a plan together before we land. How long before we touch down?”
“An hour and a half or so at our current speed.”
“Michael,” Owen radioed to the pilot.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Push it, Get us on the ground as fast as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael replied and immediately they could feel the jet accelerate.
Owen and Sara were on the Pilatus PC24, for it would have taken too long to refuel the Gulfstream. The jet thundered down the airstrip until the nose came up then the whole plane lifted off the ground. It didn’t climb as much as usual because Monroe County Airport wasn’t that far away. Instead, it accelerated at a low flying altitude pushing to make the flight as fast as possible.
“We need wheels on the ground,” said Owen.
“I called in some favors and a police officer will meet us.”
“How hard is it going to be to get her released?”
“The doctors are so scared; it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Owen looked back at the cabin. They had specially ordered the plane with an air ambulance layout in back because they needed it far too often on some missions. In the front of the cabin, they had it set it up with five seats, plus the one next to the stretcher.
“This is going to be beyond our medical training. Can we get a doctor to go with us?” said Owen.
“Officially, no, but we’ve arranged for one of the doctors to be on vacation. He’ll meet us at the airport.”
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
“Tell me about it.”
They landed at Monroe County and as soon at they came to a stop, a police cruiser was pulling up. Owen and Sara rushed to it, Owen squeezing into the front seat, crowded by the laptop and gear, and Sara jumped into the back seat.
“Thanks for your help,” said Owen to the young officer behind the wheel.
“I know Jessica and…glad to help,” the officer replied.
It was a short drive, barely a half mile to the hospital and Owen and Sara were soon in Jessica’s room. Two nurses were preparing her for moving while a third explained to Sara the doctor, Dr. Honeycutt, had all the things needed for her transport. Sara explained that their jet had emergency medical capabilities and some supplies on board.
Aaron, Jessica’s husband, rushed in carrying a small suitcase. Owen guided him to stand to the side of the room to give the nurses room.
“We’ll be leaving shortly. You got everything Reggie told you to get?”
“Yes, but why our birth certificates and other personal documents?”
“You’ll need them for a while, until we know how the state responds to us taking her for an abortion.”
“Will she be alright?”
“Yes,” said the nurse who was talking to Sara. “Where will you take her,” the nurse asked Sara.
Sara looked at Owen who shook his head.
“It’s best we don’t tell you,” said Sara.
The nurse nodded, then looked at the two nurses who had Jessica on a stretcher ready to move. “Let’s go.”
The ambulance drove to the airport rapidly but without lights and siren. It pulled up to the jet where a middle-aged man waited with two hard cases by his feet. The ambulance crew jumped out and got Jessica into the jet while Sara and Owen introduced themselves to the doctor then led him and Aaron on board.
The jet secured and ambulance pulling away, the pilots taxied to the runway for takeoff.
“Where will you take her?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.
“Montreal,” said Owen as he looked from Sara to the unconscious Jessica.
“That far? She needs attention as soon as possible.”
“I know,” said Owen as the jet thundered down the runway and lifted off. It arced around until heading northeast accelerating hard.
“We should be on the ground in about two and a half hours,” said Sara.
Dr. Honeycutt nodded, then turned his attention to Jessica.
“We’re going to Montreal?” said Aaron.
“Yes,” said Owen.
The surgery completed and Jessica resting in a room, Owen led Aaron out. In the corridor were two men.
“Aaron, this is Tobias and Abdel. They are going to take you to their place to get cleaned up.”
“And we have some foot prepared for you as well,” said Tobias.
“Okay,” said Aaron, the fatigue and fear still evident in this voice.
“And we’ll bring you back to be with your wife,” said Abdel.
“Guys, give them what help you can,” said Owen.
“Of course,” said Tobias. “We owe you so much.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” said Owen, then he turned to Aaron. “We’ll be in touch about what to do next. We’ll see if we need to relocate you or if you can go back home.”
“Relocate us?”
“Reggie said you have family in Virgina. Maybe we resettle you there.”
“But my job is in—”
“Sir, don’t worry, Owen can take care of you. He did so for us,” said Abdel.
The jet landed back at the base pulling up to the hanger. Reggie was waiting for them and as soon as Sara was on the tarmac he was hugging her tightly.
Owen patted Reggie on the shoulder, gave him a knowing smile, then headed inside. He put away his gear and strolled out to the parking lot looking up at the nighttime sky. Clouds blocked the stars, hovering close overhead and he wondered if it would be raining come morning. It would be nice to wake up to rain, he thought as he unlocked his car.
He drove along the narrow two-lane highway, heading toward Crestview. The small town was the closest, the place they dined out, went to a movie, or to the little bar on the south side of downtown. But he would not be driving into town tonight, for before he got there he would turn off on a narrow-paved road, unmarked and not on any map. It was a private drive, one lined with pine, oak, and live oak. He drove a quarter of a mile before coming up to the security gate. He punched in his passcode and when the gate rose, he eased forward, slowly accelerating for he knew deer were bad about running out in front of him.
He came to a clearing, and behind it a house with windows lit up like a beacon luring him to come home. He turned off the main drive onto the one that led to his home. Further down were the homes for the rest of the crew.
He pulled in next to the SUV in the garage and sat for a second, just taking one deep breath after the next. He smiled at the success of getting Jessica treatment, then climbed out of his car. He entered the house, kicked off his shoes in the mudroom, then made his way through the kitchen, living room, and down the hall to the primary bedroom.
“You finally made it,” came the familiar voice of the one he loved. The one who performed most of the logistics on base, kept in contact with him and the crew through every mission, and once back home, took care of him in ways he couldn’t describe.
“Yes.”
“Reggie said everything went well,” said Devin.
“Yes.”
“You must be exhausted. I’ve run a bath for you.”
Owen woke to sunlight pouring into the room. He rolled to his back and stretched, then looked over at the sleeping form next to him. Devin Jordan, the boy two years his junior in high school, the one who put up with bullying and harassment, the one he crossed paths with years later. He had been seduced by the man Devin had become. Toughened by a tour in the military and matured into a lean muscular man. He leaned over and kissed him, gently, so as not wake him.
“I’m awake,” whispered Devin.
Owen smiled, then gasped as Devin playfully grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss.
Devin rolled over Owen, ground his morning erection against Owen’s. Owen held the ass feeling it flex with Devin’s movement.
Owen spread his legs as Devin’s cock slipped beneath his nuts and slid along his ass. They kissed, touched, and Owen began to work his ass against the cock. Devin was soon pushing against his tightness, and he moaned and pushed back. He shivered with the penetration, then threw his head back and moaned again as Devin kept pushing deeper and deeper.
Arms hooked his legs as Devin shifted position. He was spread wide, and cock began to pump his ass. He felt every inch with the slow push inward then a tug outward, over and over and over. For the longest time Devin slow fucked him, until his own cock drooled on his stomach.
Devin rose on his hands, hovering over Owen and increased his pace. He moved faster, until the bed rocked beneath them.
“Devin,” Owen uttered.
Devin shoved into Owen’s depths and shuddered with his release. He kept jamming his hips against Owen’s ass with every ejaculation, until finally spent.
Owen lay back watching Devin slide down until between his legs and holding his cock. He watched Devin tongue it, lick it from base to head, and it made him shudder. He watched Devin take it in the mouth. The warm slickness of it made him push upward, and Devin held his open mouth over it, letting him pump it over the tongue.
“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Owen uttered.
He felt the mouth close around his cock just in time to take the first wad. His cock ejaculated wad after wad into the suctioning mouth until he was spent.
Devin moved over him, and they kissed. Owen tasted his own cum as their tongued worked around each other.
Owen lay on his stomach as Devin moved over him. He felt the undulation of a man’s body that was fucking him again. The hips and stomach that pressed down on his ass and back. The utterances and grunts as he felt the fullness of penetration. How his own cock hardened beneath him. He clutched at the bed and pushed his ass upward as cock bore into his depths.
Devin fucked him a long time, until sweat rained down on his back and slick skin rubbed against his own. Then there was the push into his depths and the shuddering from another release.
They lay intertwined, touching each other in familiar ways. The light was coming in at a higher angle showing the morning was over half over.
“We should get up,” said Devin.
“Why?”
Devin laughed, then after a falling silent, he kissed the top of Owen’s head. “Why indeed.”
