Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  "You ain't a bad lay yourself, fucker!" I smiled. "Get

  up here!"

  He scooted up beside me and chuckled as he blew

  on my nose. "Do I have cum breath?" he teased.

  "I don't know. Lemme see," I said, pulling his sweet

  face to mine, passionately kissing him. "Tastes all right to

  me!"

  We had planned to take a little post-play nap. We

  didn't wake until the morning.

  SANDER AND JOHNNIE were in the final throes of their

  lovemaking. It was the sex before their work-forced

  separation, and they were as passionate and as loving as

  the first time they were together those many months ago at

  the Nyhavn 71 Hotel in Copenhagen.

  They were not alone.

  Outside their door the engorged penis of their

  watcher was furiously being pounded to orgasm. He was

  enthralled by the activity he espied. His feelings were

  many, were convoluted, were inappropriate. This he knew,

  but his urge trumped the loyalty he knew he should have

  practiced. The decency. Especially after all they had done

  for him. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was breaking

  trust. He knew.

  He came in four huge spurts, this time landing one

  of them on the door. He wouldn't be able to wipe that one

  away with a sock. And if he tried to clean it off, the door

  would have creaked open, giving him away. He pulled up

  his pants and flitted away. He hated himself.

  Chapter 21

  arge told me to ride the train into Copenhagen. I

  was to leave my car at home. I would receive

  M departure instructions from the office on

  Amaliegade, which would lead me to the contact that had

  the actual mission sensitive material. All of this for an

  assignment that was a Virgin trip. What's a Virgin trip?

  One that maxes out at seventy-two hours. Why is it called

  a Virgin trip? Because there's one virgin for each hour.

  There is no business in the world that I know of

  that has a catalogue of inappropriate humor as large and

  as politically incorrect as the intelligence community does.

  And a lot of it these days comes from anti-Arabic, Islamic,

  and Israeli sentiments and shop talk.

  The CIA is a very alpha-male-centric organization,

  regardless of one's actual gender. And, thankfully, the

  sensitivity police have been held at bay for the foreseeable

  future, because the sarcastic nature inherent in such jabber

  can be a soothing coping mechanism when things don't go

  our way.

  So, thanks to Allah's 72 virgins and our

  disdain for his way of doing things, we have a fun little

  code word for a three day job.

  "Somebody order a pizza?" I joked, entering the

  sparse and chromatic offices of the Artists Central Agency,

  a real live talent agency for artists in all mediums. It also

  happened to be a U.S. Government CIA field station.

  Marge was no longer posted to this office, but a very nice

  lady from Indiana called Stogie Murphy was ready with

  the particulars for her part of the assignment.

  "Forget it, fella, I'm watching my weight," she

  quipped. "You, on the other hand, could use about three

  pies. I swear you get sexier by the day. Tell me it's a gay

  thing!"

  "Maybe! Never thought about it," I answered.

  "Well if it is, I'd turn dyke in a flash. My luck, I'd

  just be one a them lumber jack-lookin' ones and I'd be

  doomed to be the Chas Bono of Steubenville," she joked.

  "That's in Ohio!"

  "If I'm a gay lumberjack, ain't no way I'm goin' back

  to Indiana, sweet cheeks. I think I'm doomed to be a fat

  housewife for Stan and my soul-sucking kids anyways."

  "I think you're cute!"

  "I think you're blind. Or nice. Can't say which."

  "You ever seen Sander?" I said.

  "Okay, I get it! So you're not blind!" she chuckled.

  "Nope! I just got good taste. And if you don't hurry

  up and get me my itinerary, both our husbands just might

  have something to worry about, Mrs. Murphy!"

  "Johnnie, you do know how to woo. I'll give ya

  that," she said, pulling a sealed packet out of a locked

  cabinet. "Here! Now get outta here before I put you in an

  afternoon fantasy you don't wanna be in!"

  "Oh, Stogie! Another time, in another place..."

  "Get! Go!" she laughed. I turned around and made

  for the door. "Wait! don't walk so fast. I'm recording me

  some mind porn for later!" I gave myself a butt slap and

  her a big wink.

  "See ya soon, girl of my dreams!"

  "Be safe, love! And next time you better really bring

  me a pizza!"

  A VERY FAST CAR was assigned to me for the first part of

  the assignment. I was to drive, quick as safety and

  avoidance of contact with local law enforcement would

  allow, to an Air Force base in Germany. There, I was to

  meet a specific contact who would provide an assignment

  briefing. That's as far as I knew.

  The car—an Audi A6—was parked farther down

  the street, past the Amalienborg palace square. About a ten

  minute walk from where I stood.

  I headed for the colonnade, and as I crossed

  underneath it I remembered the first "date" that Sander

  and I had one summer evening that had brought us here.

  He had a plan to play a practical joke on the

  Queen's guard, and damned if we didn't actually pull it

  off. By using the unique layout of the four palaces and the

  square, he was able to throw his voice in a way that would

  trick the guards into thinking that a sergeant had ordered

  them to stop and salute the Queen. It had worked, and we

  made a clean getaway.

  I nodded at a pair of sentries as I passed by, and

  saw the vehicle parked across the square. Lest you think

  there's some secret CIA reason for the car being parked

  this far from the office, the reason is nothing more than at

  the time the car was delivered, this was the closest parking

  space.

  The key was in the envelope, along with the

  driving instructions and contact info for the air base. And

  ten minutes later, I was on the motorway headed for

  Germany.

  "GOOD MORNING, TORBEN, Sander offered, welcoming

  his former friend and lover to the breakfast table. "It's

  pancakes and boiled eggs today. And some baked ham

  that Jannik made yesterday. Help yourself."

  "Thanks. Did Johnnie get away okay?" Torben

  asked. "I thought I heard a car this morning, but maybe I

  was sleeping."

  "Yeah, he's away. It was me you heard. I drove him

  to the station, so now he's gone for a bit," Sander told him.

  "He'll be back in a few days."

  "Do you miss him when he goes?"

  "I have to grow a new arm every time, because it's

  like this one gets cut off from me every time he goes. I can't

  stand it. None of us can," Sander replied.

  "What's it like?" Torben wondered.

  "Well, it's like you're a child who's lost at the fair, or

  in a store. All you can think about is
when will you see

  him. You don't care about anything except if he's okay, and

  where he's at..."

  "I didn't mean that. I mean, what's it like to be

  loved; what's it like to love somebody else like that?"

  Sander blew out a breath as he sat back in his chair,

  his head lowered. Seconds passed and then his eyes met

  Torben with both regret and resolve.

  "Torben, there's one thing that I know. And that's

  that you know what it's like to be loved. I was there. It's

  something you've felt. As for the other, I can't answer for

  you. But I can tell you that it feels better than being loved.

  My love for Johnnie has no limit, and it gives me a feeling

  that shows me just what life is for. If you've never felt that

  before, well, I don't know what to say except that it's the

  thing that I feel most sorry about for you," Sander said.

  Torben knew, of course, that his friend was right on all

  counts.

  "I think I'm out of time for what could be in that

  way, and you're right—I remember how you were to me.

  But we were kids then, and I wondered if it's different is

  all," Torben said. Sander just slowly shook his head.

  "What I felt for you was true love, Torben. Yeah,

  we would have grown into that love as more time passed,

  I'm sure. That's what Johnnie and I have done. But the love

  itself, even though it feels like it grows bigger, is still just

  love. And that's what I felt for you."

  "I know it. I really know it now."

  Sander took the broom in the kitchen and walked

  to the center of the room. Taking the broom by the bristles,

  he tapped the tip of the broom handle against the ceiling.

  Moments later came the boomp-boomp-boomp of Jannik's

  reply.

  "I'm his alarm clock," Sander chuckled. He stacked

  some dishes in the sink for later, and pulled milk from the

  refrigerator, a bowl and a spoon, and a jug of orange juice

  and placed them on the table. "He's easy to make breakfast

  for."

  "You guys really watch out for each other. I

  remember that from when we...I remember when he used

  to follow us everywhere and I swear he thought you were

  the end-all-be-all," Torben said.

  "He still does. I'm here today because of that, and

  he's my best friend," Sander said. "Do you talk with your

  sister very much?"

  "No. She's a school teacher in Greenland. I haven't

  seen her in three or four years," Torben replied.

  "Greenland! Wow! That's commitment."

  "She has a guy over there and I have a niece I

  haven't seen yet. Probably won't ever see her. But I've seen

  her picture, and she's a cute little thing."

  "Jannik is in the house!" came the cheerful

  announcement from the cheeky boy. "I'm hungry!"

  "It's on the table. You know what to do," Sander

  said. "And then after there's your dishes, and their friends

  waiting for you at the sink."

  "Yeah, yeah..."

  "Don't yeah, yeah me just because Johnnie's gone.

  You do it because you love washing up the dishes because

  it's just that much fun," Sander teased.

  "Lucky for you I'm in a dishwashing mood. By the

  way, how about a trip to the town later?" Jannik suggested.

  "Could be fun."

  "Only if you like Lego stores, Nike stores,

  McDonald's, and the Gamer Café," Sander said.

  "Maybe. Have to think about it," Jannik smiled.

  "Okay, I thought about it. I'll do it if we have to."

  "You okay here? Or do you need to go into town

  too?" Sander asked Torben. Jannik's face fell a few

  centimeters while waiting for his reply.

  "I'm fine here. I'm tired, and I wanna go to bed!" he

  joked. "But maybe you could pick up my meds if it's not

  too much trouble..."

  THE TRIP TO THE AIR BASE was quick and uneventful. I

  pulled up to the gate an hour before I was expected, but

  there were no hassles. A couple of MP's in a jeep led me to

  an anteroom in an aircraft hangar, and I just chilled with

  some snackage and some very tasty spring water awaiting

  my one-to-one briefing.

  Right on time the field coordinator arrived with a

  thin vinyl packet of presumably orders, instructions, and

  some cartography. Maybe this would be a quick in-and-

  out mission as promised. Everything seemed casual

  enough.

  "Are you Rascal?" he began.

  "The one and only," I answered.

  "Your ADC?" he asked.

  "Papa Mike Juliet Juliet. And you?"

  "Foxtrot Twenty. Your day is gonna be more jam-

  packed than a Vegas hooker's, friend Rascal," he laughed.

  "And it's no do-over's. You get it right, or you suffer the

  shame," he said.

  "How so?"

  "You've got about a day and a half to figure out

  how to get an asset and three civilians from the British

  consulate in Rabat and back to jolly old England safe and

  sound," he said.

  "Damn! It really is Africa!"

  "Come again?"

  "My superior. She said I was going to Africa. It's

  not my beat, and what do I know fuck all about Africa?

  Damn!" I exclaimed. "This bites. What am I supposed to

  do? I don't see any specific contacts here. Why can't they

  just fly out of Casablanca, or even out of Algiers?" I asked.

  "Because the DST is watching them like hawks, and

  none of us wants to see them in Temara anytime soon,

  least of all them," he replied.

  Temara is a horrible place; a detention center in the

  loosest sense. It's really a torture facility for the Moroccan

  Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory. The DST

  has absolutely no oversight, and if you ever get caught in

  their web, just kill yourself.

  "So why aren't the Brits taking care of them? This

  so looks like an MI-6 job; what's the deal?"

  "They're in on it too. They're gonna provide the

  smokescreen. We're doing a slight-of-hand job on 'em,

  that's why we get one and only one chance. While the DST

  is following the supposed SAS team and the MI-6 guys are

  leading them south, you will get their people out in plain

  sight. Only thing is, nothing commercial. The DST might

  as well be the ticket agency there. Nothing goes in or out of

  the place legit without them knowing about it," he

  explained.

  "Who's my U.K. liaison?" I asked.

  "That would be me!" said the thin, chipper man

  who walked into the room. "David Fouts-Rushbrook at

  your service. You fellows ask, and the crown delivers—

  within reason," he chuckled.

  "David! This is Rascal. He's your man; I'll leave it

  with you men. I've completed my role. Good luck!" said

  Foxtrot Twenty. And with his adieu, he left the room as

  quickly as he came.

  "Rascal is it? You may address me as Fouts. All do

  who are in the know. That little man is not in the know. I

  always find him to be rather presumptuous and, for lack of

  a more politically correct description, a tad bothersome.

  But enough about
that. What are your ideas to extract our

  friends from that ghastly country?"

  "Can I have a yellow pad, a ruler and some pens,

  and about an hour?" I asked.

  "I should say so. Back in a flash, young man! Oh,

  this all sounds very exciting!"

  Part Three

  Chapter 22

  wo steps forward and three steps back. That's how

  Sander felt these days. He'd found his soul mate in

  T Johnnie, and was definitely looking ahead toward a

  lifelong future with him. His relationship with the

  American guy was turning out to be everything he had

  ever dreamed of as a young, gay man. He'd imagined that

  it wasn't possible, based on the many gay stereotypes he'd

  been led to believe existed ever since he first knew in his

  heart that he loved men.

  According to conventional wisdom, gays seldom

  sought anything resembling a long term love relationship.

  In Gay World, if a guy went to bed with you more than

  three times, it was considered to be serious.

  Conventional wisdom also said that young queers

  never settled down so early. To commit to anyone at either

  his or Johnnie's age was as rare as Halley's Comet. So,

  loving and being engaged to Johnnie was definitely the

  Two Steps Forward part of the equation. It was those

  fucking Three Steps Back that irked him so.

  A brother who'd been so mind-fucked by his

  harrowing experience in Russia; his ex boyfriend who was

  responsible for him nearly taking his own life, now couch

  surfing in the very home that he and Johnnie were creating

  together; his own self doubts that perhaps he might not be

  good enough for Johnnie, and that maybe it's all

  happening too soon, and too easy.

  And what did he have to contribute, anyway? He

  was an ace auto mechanic, sure, and would be graduating

  from the most prestigious auto engineering and mechanics

  academy in all of Denmark within weeks of the wedding.

  But he wasn't sure if he really wanted a tradesman's life.

  What he wanted to do was ridiculous, he thought.

  It wouldn't be fair to Johnnie to even try for it. He owed it

  to his impending marriage to bring in half of the income,

  and his passion wouldn't pay. I may as well say I want to be a

  rock star, it makes that much sense, he reasoned.

  Trouble is, he knew that Johnnie would back him

  up a hundred percent, and he was torn by the

  responsibility of doing the right thing, against his dreams