Keeping Secrets

Main Characters from Previous Stories and/or Chapters 

• Preston and Brody (Introduced in Paradise)
• Wesley and Quinton (Introduced in The Boy Who Could Fly, Chapter 1)
• Liam (Introduced in The Boy Who Could Fly, Chapter 2)
• Jonathan (Introduced in Keeping Secrets, Chapter 1)
• William (Liam’s boyfriend, Introduced in Keeping Secrets, Chapter 1)
• Elijah and Brandon (Introduced in Keeping Secrets, Chapter 2)
• Reese (Jonathan’s boyfriend, Introduced in Keeping Secrets, Chapter 2)
• Bobby and his brother, Jessie ( Introduced in Keeping Secrets, Chapter 3)

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Three Years Later

 How did he escape?

 He flew.

 He had a plane?

 No! He flew…like Superman.

 That’s impossible…but…there were rumors a few years ago.

 Of another guy that flew, yes, I remember.

 And this guy flew like that?

 Yes.

 So, the rumors… 

Must be true.

  

Jerry stood across the street from the diner, watching people pull into the alligatored parking lot and enter. His stomach growled with hunger as he watched the locals go inside and take a seat, some at the window where he saw a waitress come to their table, talking animatedly to each one, then going to get drinks or place an order in the kitchen. He looked at the trucks and cars with their bumper stickers showing Confederate battle flags and slogans steeped in racism and bigotry, considering how everyone was white that entered the diner.

 It didn’t feel safe.

 Jerry had no idea where he had landed. Somewhere in eastern Alabama, or maybe he had made it all the way to Georgia. It all looked the same from the air. Hell, it looked the same on the ground too. The same sense of struggle. The same self-righteousness, convinced of their own goodness. He had seen it back in his hometown. How the whites looked down on the blacks. How they looked down on him.

 He looked down the road and saw one of the fast-food restaurants so prevalent in the region, and he stepped out to the shoulder of the road and headed toward it, resolved to a burger for dinner.

 

 He had left Mississippi that afternoon. He hadn’t planned on leaving. It wasn’t something he had been considering, not seriously. Despite the hardships of his life in the small town of Kosciusko, and being the son of a preacher, he knew his life wasn’t as bad as he sometimes made it out to be. But there had been moments so trying he had considered running away, but his father, for all his faults, always ended their disagreements with a hug and the often-repeated phrase I love you, no matter what.

 When he had been fourteen, just a skinny punk of a kid, he had defiantly come out to his father, telling him he was gay. The events that lead up to that confession had been so upsetting he had been ready to burn the world down. His first boyfriend got scared of being found out, so he not only broke up with him, but outed him at school. He knew Darius had been just lashing out, trying to look like one of the straight guys, and to do so, betrayed him. It had been as he feared. The white students made fun of him, and the black students ostracized him. When he got home, he expected his father to already know. It only made sense one of the church members would find out from their son or daughter, then make a call to his father. But his father was in the kitchen preparing dinner, oblivious to his distress or what had happened at school.

 Jerry remembered coming into the small kitchen where the small dining table took up much of the floor space and watching his father move back and forth from the range to the refrigerator to the sink then back to the range. He remembered looking at the picture of his mother hanging over the table as he did every time, he entered the kitchen. Six years since she passed away, and he still missed her until it hurt. He remembered the pleasant greeting from his father, the inquiry about how his day had gone and when supper would be ready, never calling it dinner. He remembered thinking how the Rev. Norwood would find out, probably before dinner was over.

 The conversation played over and over, as it did when he was stressed or feeling scared.

 Dad, we need to talk.

 Oh, about what?

 Me.

 Jerry remembered how his father had turned around with a look of concern, realizing it was something serious.

 What is it, son?

 You’re going to hear soon enough. I’m gay.

 The look that passed over his dad’s face would haunt him. The initial disapproval, then some resolve. There was a confession how he had suspected but had hoped he was wrong. Then his father hugged him and said what he had said so often in the past. But this time it was different. It really meant something special to Jerry to hear it again.

 I love you, no matter what.

 For the next four years his dad stood by his side, took up for him when others were putting him down. There were problems in the church, but after a meeting with the deacons that lasted long into the night, his dad had come home smiling, telling him everything would be alright.

 Jerry foolishly believed it, despite his real secret.

 When he was thirteen, he found he could float. Just lift off the ground and float in the air. It had terrified him at first, considering all manner of evils that could be responsible for his ability. But it didn’t make sense. Nothing he remembered from the Bible gave any indication of evil giving one the ability to fly, and he knew he was no angel, good or bad.

 He began to read comic books, especially Superman, Thor, and Silver Surfer, those that could fly. At times he fell into the fantasy he was becoming a superhero. But a bullying incident would squash any thought of that. But everything made him question his faith, the teachings from his father and the church. By sixteen, he had found himself a non-believer, never able to use the term for it, for the finality of it. He kept it from his father, knowing being gay had caused enough of a burden, and he knew his ability would be terrifying to him. So, he kept his secret, only flying at night after his father had retired for the night.

 

 Entering the garishly lit interior of the fast food restaurant with its hard orange and beige finishes, he eased into the short line behind two men and one woman. As he waited, he thought of his ability, how it improved over the years. He had learned to control himself, change direction, elevation, and his speed, although he never flew as fast as his comic book heroes.

 The woman stepped aside, her order placed, and the two men moved up to the register. Jerry glanced over at the women sensing her stare. Her physical nature only took a second for he knew it all too well. The blonde hair that had been dyed far too often and was stringy and thin. The heavy eyeliner and makeup trying to hide her age. Even her dress, jean shorts and white blouse looked like what younger girls were wearing, but on her looked sad. But it was the cold stare, the look of hatred that was the most unnerving.

 The two men moved over and the woman behind the counter gave the woman her order, then came back to the register.

 “Can I help you?”

 It sounded like anything but a request to help him.

 “Yes, I’d like…”  He ordered his usual and moved over noticing the two men focused on their conversation, paying him no mind. The men got their order, then the woman disappeared to the back. He waited, seeing his order placed in the metal bin. It seemed several long minutes before the woman returned and she unhurriedly drop his order on a tray and slid it across the counter to him.

 “Thanks,” said Jerry as he lifted the tray and headed to the dining room, taking a seat by the front window where he could watch the traffic. He wondered if there was anyway for those men to find him. Could they be tracking him? He couldn’t figure out how they found him in the first place.

 He took a bite of his burger and slowly chewed it as he contemplated how he ended up at a fast-food restaurant in an unknown place. That morning had been like any other. He got up, dressed, ate the breakfast his father had set out, then headed out for the community college for another day of classes. He attended the one to the east in Scottsdale instead of the smaller one in Kosciusko. It was an hour’s drive, but they had the courses he needed.

 He arrived at the college, attended his three morning classes, ate lunch in the cafeteria, then headed to his last class of the day, a short walk across campus. He was halfway to the building when two black Tahoe’s drove recklessly across the grass, over one sidewalk, then skidding to a stop across the one he was transversing. Men in dark suits and dark shades climbed out, four from each Tahoe. At first, he considered it a joke, some prank, for the men were dressed in such a manner as to be a cliché. Then he saw three of them brandish stun guns and come toward him.

 “Jeremiah Evers Norwood! We need you to come with us,” said the closest man.

 They know. He didn’t know how, but they knew his secret. How they knew wasn’t something he had time to contemplate but it was obvious they were after him, and being a black male who was gay didn’t draw the attention of such men. Being able to fly; that would be something for it was usually something of fantasy, and horror if the men captured him.

 He slung his backpack over both shoulders and held tight to the straps, looked across at the men approaching him cautiously, as if they weren’t sure if he had other secrets. Then he lifted off the ground and flew as fast as he could, up, up, as high as he dared, but high enough for the men to lose sight of him, then he flew west, heading home. Halfway there, he knew he couldn’t go there. If the men knew he attended the college, they knew where he lived, and he circled around heading back to the east and flew as fast as he could.

 

 Jerry walked down to a small park, where children were on the playground equipment and parents sat on benches watching them. He ambled past, keeping his head down, and made his way to the far side behind a Little League baseball field. He sat on the top run of the small bleachers, the wood gray and splitting with age and exposure. For a long time, he just stared across the baseball field, to upset to control his thoughts, then he realized he had to determine where he was going. He dug into his backpack and pulled out a small black notebook. He opened it to the drawings of his superheroes, of designs for his own costume he had done as a naïve fourteen-year-old, and after a few more pages came to his research on the rumors of others having special powers. A post by someone in Vancouver who claimed to have witnessed a boy flying. It disappeared less than an hour after he found it, but he had noted what was said, including the place and time of the post. The sightings in DC, Orlando, Charleston, and one from Scotland, each one noted where he found it, time and date, and the source, and each time the posts would disappear within a few days.

 It was the DC sighting that interested him the most. There had been several witnesses, and a couple of veterans claiming firsthand knowledge. The veterans later recanted their stories and the post by witnesses disappeared, but Jerry sensed DC was the place, or it was at least close to the place he needed to be.

 His cellphone rang and he saw it was his father.

 “Hey dad.”

 “Son, where are you?”

 His dad sounded under duress, not his usual self.

 “Not sure. Somewhere to the west…I think.”

 “I see…don’t come home-”

 The connection ended and Jerry pulled up the number to call his dad back. A recording came on telling him the phone was not in service. When he hung up, his phone rang again, this time with a number he didn’t know. He sent it to voicemail, then sat staring at the phone, fearful of what may be happening to his father.

 

Another Failure

 Lucan Drayton listens to the phone ringing waiting for him to answer. He looked at his notepad, frustrated by the report he had already read three times trying to find some positive aspect knowing it was futile. The fourth ring then a connection.

 “How did it go? Did you get him?”

 “No, the guys moved too soon giving him the time to get away,” said Lucan, tensing up for the reaction.

 “Fuck. Why is it so hard to grab one of these bastards?”

 “He can fly.”

 “So fucking what. Our guys are supposedly trained for any situation.”

 “They knew to get close to him before moving against him, but they let him spot them on their approach.”

 “Lucan, I’m really tired of hearing these excuses. That assault on their lair was a goddamn disaster, then we have a track on one on his own, and…”

 The silence said more than any words Lucian expected to hear. He waited, fearful anything he had to say would be thrown back at him.

 “We’ve missed two prior to this one and right now we don’t have a line on another and no idea what hole those bastards have crawled into.”

 “Maybe we can proceed with the plan without worrying about them interfering.”

 “Too risky. We’re talking about ending this bullshit democratic nonsense and getting control of this country, putting our people in place, and if we don’t do it right…we’re fucked.”

 “You still think General Edwin will go against us?”

 “For one, but we have men below them ready to step in if we can get set up at the top.”

 “But those boys could ruin everything…” Lucan uttered letting his voice trail off as he contemplated the repercussions should they be stopped.

 After a long silence. “Lucan, Damien is still searching for any clue where they took off. We think it is South America, but that is a lot of terrain to scan. There was a radar tag for something going into the valley at their old place, but the cross-section was so small it was initially ignored. Fucking idiots were told not to discount anything.”

 “We still on for the fifth?”

 “Of course. I want to keep pushing and hopefully by then we have actionable intel.”

 “We’re still confident we’re secure on our plan?”

 “The marines haven’t beat down our doors, so, yes, we’re still secure.”

 “I’m on the plane in the morning heading back to DC.”

 “Don’t’ forget to send me a report on what happened.”

 The connection ended before Lucan could reply. He looked out the hotel window at the clear skies wondering if the god forsaken place would have more storms that afternoon.

 

On the Run

Leaning against the wall next to the door of his motel room, Jerry looked across the parking lot at the construction trucks and vans that made up the vast majority of those staying.  He wondered where they were working, for he had not seen a large construction project when making his way to check in. He knew why they chose this motel. It was the cheapest one he could find, and one look at its dumpy single-story structure with faded red mansard roof cantilevering over the narrow sidewalk gave reason for its cheap cost.

 He also knew where he had landed. Cedartown, Georgia, not far from the Alabama state line. It was dark, the time he should be using to fly, but he was also exhausted. A few hours sleep is all he sought, then he would continue on his way. Holding his phone out he looked at the compass program, one he had loaded after dinner, wondering how much it would help him in getting to his destination. It was northeast the direction he needed to fly and knew somewhere to the north he would find himself following the mountains that cut through North Carolina and Virginia. If he took the right path, he would just miss South Carolina.

 He went back into his room, secured the door, and lay on the bed fully dressed. He had to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

 

 It was not yet first light, and Jerry stood on a mountain looking down at the lights of Roanoke, Virginia. It was quiet, only a few vehicles moving along one road or another. He pulled out his cellphone and searched for a motel, something cheap, for he didn’t have much cash left on him, and he knew not utilize his debit card or the credit card that was in his father’s name.

 There was a cheap motel on the other side of town and right in front of it, a Waffle House. Just the realization the place was there made his stomach growl with hunger. He looked at the map, saw how the by-pass interstate crossed 117 near the motel and looking below, he made out the interstate. He lifted off and rose high enough to be out of the street and security lights and headed toward his destination.

 

 Hunger satisfied and only twenty-three dollars left in his wallet, Jerry laid on the bed feeling the fear and confusion well up once again. He knew why they were after him, but he didn’t know how they found out about him in the first place. He thought of the rumors, of others out there like himself, and he wondered if they got rounded up or found some escape from this madness. He remembered some of the references, the odd posts, most of which disappeared after a few days. He rolled to his stomach and unlocked his phone, then typed in the boy who could fly. The results popped up, line after line. The first were for comic books, an announcement for a conference in Las Vegas, then the conspiracy theories. He scrolled through them until one caught his eye. It had no activity for nearly a year, but the title captured his attention. We’re here to help.

 There was nothing on the link but a sky-blue screen with an infinity symbol. He clicked on it and the site took him to another screen, this one green. He clicked the back button and looked over the blue screen again. Nothing in the margins, nothing the pointer could find. Then he swiped the screen in frustration and another screen came up. It was white and in simple black numbers, a phone number.

 His phone rang two times, three, then four before a connection was made. A recording came on.

 If you need assistance, leave a message at the sound of the tone. Do not tell us your name or exact location, but just the name of the town or city in which you live and a place you can be in 24 hours from the time you make this call.

 Jerry listened to the tone and hesitated, not sure where to say to meet. He considered his current location, worried it wouldn’t be safe for 24 hours. He felt like he needed to keep moving. He had no idea where to send them. Then he remembered where he was headed. Arlington, Virginia, right across from Washington, D.C. A place with tourists and security cameras and police, and maybe, just this once, all to his benefit, not those after him.

 “Yes, I need help. Some men came for me yesterday at my college. I think it is because I can fly,” he stammered into his phone, the admission the first time he had ever spoken it aloud. “I can be in DC in 24 hours…the Washinton Monument…no, wait, the Lincoln Memorial.” He knew from pictures he stood a better chance of staying out of sight at the memorial. He ended the call thinking it was nonsense. No way was this a way to make contact with someone who would help him. It very well could be a trap set by those after him. He looked at the clock, noting it was 11 A.M., plenty of time to get some much-needed sleep. He turned off the lamp and rolled to his side wondering if he would be able to sleep. But it came quickly, and he was soon snoring softly.

 

 It was 10:45 A.M. and tourists were milling around the Lincoln Memorial, along the reflecting pool, and all the winding walks of the grounds. Jerry stood among the trees near the kiosk that gave information on the Korean War Memorial under construction. He was still exposed, the tree canopy offering no protection, but it was the best he could do and keep the memorial in view. Another glance at his watch, then back toward the memorial seeing how it was busy with tourists. Surely no one would mess with him in such a crowd, so he ambled out to the sidewalk and around to the front where the wide plaza led to the steps. He moved along the side using the ramp until to the base of the steps leading up to where Lincoln sat larger than life. Looking around nervously, he saw a man approaching him, eyes locked on him. Average build, nothing about the manner of dress or overall appearance that spoke of danger. He began to climb the steps thinking he would be better able to defend himself with a slight height advantage.

 The man drew nearer, and Jerry saw a man about forty years of age, slight greying at the temples. They were only twenty feet apart. Then fifteen with the man stepping on the first step.

 “Jeremiah,” said the man.

 Jerry turned and saw the man had stopped on the first step.

 “Who’s asking?” he replied, and his voice betrayed his nervousness.

 “The people you called. I’m Jonathan Coleman, and I’m here to help you.”

 “How can you help me?”

 “You’re not the first. Did you know that? Look, this is not the place to discuss this and unfortunately, we’re running out of time. You need to come with me if you want to get somewhere safe and…”

 Jerry saw Jonathan look around, then put his hand to one ear. He was listening to someone, then he looked up with greater anxiousness.

 “I’m sorry to put you in this position, but you either have to trust me and come with me now…or be left alone to your own devices.”

 “What?”

“We don’t have time to discuss this. Whoever came for you has others nearby. They were spotted to our south. Will you come with me?”

 “I guess I have no choice.”

 Jerry rushed down the steps and fell in beside Jonathan who led him to the north, then around toward the road. A Chevrolet Suburban, black with dark tinted windows raced up to the bollards where the road came up to the plaza then curved away. Jerry knew by the vehicles stance it was modified. Lower, tires wider, and the rumbling from the engine spoke to something with massive power. But the thing that stood out the most was the front bumper with its push bars. The passenger door swung open and a large guy behind the wheel yelled out.

 “Come on guys, they’re on to us.”

 Jonathan climbed into the front seat and Jerry jerked the rear door open and jumped into the rear.

 “Buckle up!” exclaimed the driver.

 Jerry clipped the buckle into place as the driver floored it, barking the rear tires and speeding away.

 “Can we lose them?” asked Jonathan.

 “Of course,” the driver replied, then glanced back at Jerry smiling, eyes concealed by dark shades. “I’m Reese by the way. You must be Jeremiah Norwood.”

 “How do you know my full name?”

“Your cellphone,” said Jonathan.

 Jerry held it up remembering all the times he had heard or read about the cellphone being impossible to secure and revealed much about its owner. “I prefer Jerry,” he uttered.

 “Jerry, give me your phone. We must stop their ability to track us,” said Jonathan, holding his hand out between the front seats.

 They were crossing the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, Reese going as fast as traffic would allow. Jerry handed his phone to Jonathan then looked out at the rippling waters of the Potomac River. Jonathan lowered his window and Jerry didn’t have time to respond when he saw his cellphone sail over the guardrail then fall out of sight.

 “I hope no one is boating through,” said Reese, smiling over at Jonathan.

 “Slim chance it hits anyone,” Jonathan replied, then looked back. “We got company.”

“I know,” said Reese. They’ve been following us since we got on 66.”

 “What are you going to do,” asked Jonathan as he and Jerry looked back at the Tahoe and Range Rover following only a few car lengths behind.

 “I’m going to drive out to 17 where I can get them on a road more restricted, then deal with them.”

 Jerry finally took in the interior of the Suburban. He scanned the steel pipe making up a roll cage around the passenger compartment, and in the rear, he looked at the crossed braced tubes reinforcing the cargo area. “Hey guys, what is this thing…and where are we going?”

 “Someplace safe, sweetheart,” Reese joked ignoring the question about the SUV as he shifted lanes and sped up. “Let’s play some cat and mouse games in the meantime.”

 Reese would pull away, then let the two SUVs catch back up. Over and over, he toyed with them, changing lanes, speeding up, then slowing down as he drove around Arlington, then toward Tysons, then curving away to the west following I-66. Traffic remained heavy, keeping them separated.

 Once past Wellinton, the interstate opened up, and Reese sped up. Their pursuers kept pace, content to follow.

 “I guess they think I’m going to lead them all the way to our destination,” said Reese, chuckling.

Jonathan finally turned to Jerry.

“Okay, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Your ability. How fast can you fly?”

“I got here in just over two days,” Jerry replied, smug at how fast he thought it.

“It took you that long?” Jonathan replied, looking disappointed. “Well, you’re still just eighteen and Wesley didn’t discover his true capability until his early twenties.”

“I’m slow?” Jerry uttered, then he leaned forward as much as the seatbelt would allow. “This Wesley; he can fly and faster?”

Reese scoffed and turned, “the fastest I’ve ever seen. Only Liam can get somewhere faster. and I don’t know how. Spooky shit, I tell-“

“Reese,” Jonathan interrupted him.

“How many others are there?” asked Jerry.

“Not now. Right now, I need to know everything about your capability.”

“I can fly as high as I need to and I got from Kosciusko, Mississippi to Cedartown, Georgia in about seven hours.”

“Okay, that isn’t bad. Tell me, when you fly, can you feel the air?”

“Feel the air?”

“Yeah, you know, like you’re pushing through it. Do your clothes billow around you?”

“Yes, of course they do. I’m-“

“He hasn’t developed that barrier,” Reese interjected.

“Barrier?”

“Wesley moves through the air without friction or disturbance,” Jonathan replied, then turned to face forward.

“Huh?” Jerry uttered, then sat back, not sure what to say, and it was obvious Jonathan had nothing to add.

 

For just a moment, Jerry felt relaxed. Foolishly, thinking the worst was behind him. Then Reese was slowing, taking the exit for highway 17 in a place with no signs of life. The two SUVs fell in behind them. As Reese came to the end of the ramp, he looked over the bridge seeing it was clear.

“Sit back and hold on,” Reese exclaimed as he floored it. The big suburban roared into life, spinning the rear wheels as Reese swung them onto the road. The acceleration was shocking, Jerry wondering how such a large vehicle could gain so much speed. He looked back and saw the other two SUVs falling back despite them trying to give pursuit.

“Let’s see which one of them has the most power, or the balls to drive fast,” said Reese as he slowed a bit. The Tahoe rushed up on them, swung into the other lane to pass as Reese floored it. They ran side by side, then Reese let the smaller Tahoe pull ahead until the rear fender was even with his front. He turned into the panel, forcing the Tahoe around, until sideways in front of them, and Reese floored it, cut the wheel to shift toward its rear. The Tahoe suddenly went from sliding sideways to flipping, rolling off the side of the road.

“What the fuck!” exclaimed Jerry.

“Here they come,” Reese uttered seeing the Range Rover gaining on them as he accelerated, but not as hard as before. “Come on, get closer.”

“I don’t think they’ll try to pass,” said Jonathan.

“I’m sure of it, but we have other ideas for them. Jerry, tighten your seatbelt and keep leaned back in your seat.”

Jerry sat back, eyes straight ahead. He saw Reese tighten his grip on the steering wheel and the two of them pressed back in their seats with their heads against the head rests. Then the big Suburban stopped. Freakishly fast, with tires howling in protest as the behemoth ground to almost a complete stop, then Jerry heard the loudest sound ever. The crushing of metal on metal, with glass flying through the cabin.

“Jesus, Reese, can we keep going?” Jonathan yelled.

“Not a problem. Just some minor damage to the rear,” as he accelerated away.

Jerry looked back, through the destroyed rear doors, caved inward and loose on their hinges. Through the gap between them and their missing windows, he saw the totaled Range Rover, the front so damaged it was unrecognizable. It looked like it hit a semi, not another SUV.

“Jesus” said Jerry, as he turned back around.

Reese laughed.

After a few miles, and sans one rear door, Reese slowed then turned.

“We’ll change vehicles in Albin,” said Reese. “I’ve got one stashed at one of those storage facilities.”

 

Jerry stared out the side window at the trees along the side of the road, catching glimpses of the valley below where there was a break in them. Music played over the stereo, Bruce Springsteen, then a band he didn’t know, as Jonathan and Reese talked about some abandoned mountain house. He settled into the leather seat of the Audi S8, a car he had only seen in pictures. It wasn’t as big as he expected but in all black, it was an imposing car.

Reese turned off the narrow two lane to a gravel road that climbed steeply up the side of the mountain. The road was nothing but switchbacks for what seemed like miles, then it leveled out, running along the side of the mountain until they came to a fence. As Reese pulled close, the gate opened allowing them to pass. After a few more turns, Jerry saw a house come into view. It was tucked into the side of the mountain and with its natural wood and dark metal roof, it blended into the woods surrounding it.

“Holy shit, this place is killer,” said Jerry, leaning forward trying to get a better look.

“It was,” said Jonathan, and Jerry didn’t catch the tone of despair.

 

A Fading Hope 

Jonathan watched Jerry take a few steps toward the house and stop, staring up in awe. He remembered when he felt that way. For a couple of years, every time he arrived, he had that moment of awe wash over him. He stepped out of his car and looked at the house once again trying to recapture that feeling. He remembered when sitting in the main living area looking out over the valley as conversations filled the room. Or when he went over to Chester’s house, passing through the mountain. It had seemed so surreal.

Looking up at the leaf littered roof and the windows that were dark, he thought about three years ago when Preston and Robert came up with the plan. It seemed so ridiculous at the time, but even Reese agreed to its necessity. A plan for evacuation should they be discovered by some group not friendly toward them. It took months of planning to execute. The biggest hurdle was to determine where to evacuate. The suggestions that were tossed out seem so quaint now. The Rocky Mountains, Alaska, West Virginia, then locations further away, such as the mountains near La Ticla, a place dear to Preston and Brody. Even Chester was onboard until Reese pointed out they had too much history with the place, and someone would surely look there.

Switzerland, Thailand, New Zealand, and other locales all around the world were given consideration. It was Chester, of course, who made a few calls, and the location was determined, one that seemed obvious in hindsight. But none of them really believed they would need to evacuate. It seemed so implausible, especially after the previous attempt to grab one of them had failed. But then the day came when the phone rang with the dreaded news.

 

Jonathan rolled to his back and looked toward the window; its blinds closed but still allowing light to reflect through. The room had a faint glow from the early morning sunlight, a comforting level that added to the feel of the bed with its warm cover and the soft breathing of Reese laying next to him. It was Sunday morning, a day the two of them had no appointments or tasks that needed doing. It was a day they planned paddle a section of the South Fork Shenandoah River, staying overnight somewhere still a possibility. 

Reese stirred then rolled up next to him, hugging their bodies close. He felt the heat of Reese’s body, and the hard cock pressing against his own.

"Good morning,” Reese uttered in a low sleepy voice.

“Good morning,” Jonathan replied, snuggling up closer, then kissing Reese on the neck.

It never took very much. Just a kiss or a simple touch. Their naked bodies responded quickly to the other, and Jonathan was soon on his stomach feeling the weight of Reese on his back. Cock pushed into his depths, piston in a slow grind that made his own ache beneath him.

“Reese,” Jonathan exclaimed when Reese tugged on his earlobe.

The bed began to rock with the rhythm of their fuck. A slow movement, one that increased their sensations. Reese increased his pace, and the bed began to squeak at the same pace.

“Fuck,” Jonathan uttered, then buried his face into the bed.

Reese pushed up on his hands and began to fuck harder. It was the physical fuck Jonathan crave, one that fueled his own arousal. Hips smacking down on his ass as cock plunged into his depths. The room echoed with the sound of their fuck. Flesh against flesh, and the bed squeaking in time with it.

Then Reese was laying next to Jonathan holding his cock up. It flexed then drooled its slick.

"Jonathan,” Reese uttered breathlessly. 

Jonathan moved quickly, with desire and need. He straddled Reese, moving over the cock. Then eased down on it, feeling it breach his opening and once again sink into his depths. He moved up and down, thighs flexing with his movement. He held his head back and moaned with the fullness of every descent. Then he shivered with every rise, feeling the thick cock slip through his opening.

Up and down, Jonathan moved, continuously, relentlessly, until sweat trickled down his face and chest. He leaned over, kissing Reese along the neck and jaw, until their lips pressed together. He worked his ass on Reese until his own slapped down on Reese’s stomach. Then he leaned back until resting on his hands. Hands held his ankles as he worked his ass up and down, faster, and faster, until the cock banging his insides made him see stars. His own cock flopped over his abdomen, with wet smears left by its drooling head.  

It was too much for Jonathan, and he took his cock in hand, stroking as fast as he moved his ass. He worked his hand from the slick head down to the base of the shaft as he pushed his ass down on every inch of Reese’s cock. The physicality of it strained every muscle.

Reese shoved upward, cried out, and shuddered with his release. He thrust upward with every ejaculation, pumping every wad into Jonathan’s depths, then fell back gasping for breath.

Jonathan felt how his ass moved slickly on Reese, the cum lubricating his movement. He raised his head looking down his sweaty torso, past his cock he was stroking with a furious pace, down to Reese who lay with mouth open sucking in air. He shoved down on Reese’s spent cock, ground his ass down it, then came. Cum erupted from his cock and roped up his chest hitting his chin, then pooled on his stomach, as he stroked his cock until completely spent.

They laid on the bed as they always did after sex. Side by side on their backs waiting for their breathing to settle down to normal. There were playful touches, a kiss of a hand or the finger swirling through puddles of cum.

“Let’s shower,” said Reese as he climbed off the bed and held out a hand to help Jonathan up.

Jonathan stood behind Reese looking at the broad muscular shoulders, the close-cropped hair, and the bulging biceps as Reese adjusted the water temperature until it was perfect. Slightly hot and steaming up the bathroom. Reese stood at the side and let Jonathan enter first stepping into the shower behind him. Immediately Reese touched Jonathan. Hands moved over the back, around to the chest, down the stomach, until the fingers were fondling the cock. Jonathan responded quickly, cock thickening, elongating, until once again rock hard.

“Yeah, baby, let me,” Reese whispered as he turned Jonathan and pushed him against the tiled wall. He squatted and captured the cock in his mouth and Jonathan moaned with the pleasure of it.

The phone rang.

“Fuck,” Reese uttered, then looked up at Jonathan. “It’s Preston.” Reese had set his cellphone up with different ringtones for those that were important. Chester, Preston, Robert, and John all had different tones, and currently it was the one for Preston.

Reese stepped out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist, not bothering to dry off. Jonathan quickly washed the cum off then stepped out too.

“Preston, what’s up?” Reese answered.

“Fuck, are you serious?” Reese replied to Preston as Jonathan stood nearby wondering what Preston was saying.

“Okay…I got it. We’re moving in five.”

“What’s happening?” Jonathan asked as soon as Reese ended the call.

“John got whiff of a group planning a move against us. They’re either going to take the guys or kill them, whichever option they need to take.”

“That’s…no…”

“Yes.”

“Who? Do they know?”

“Not sure, but my bet is on that asshole Eric Pritchard.”

“The private security guy?”

“And the one who syphoned millions during Iraq for private operations they never completed…or even started.”

“When is this happening?”

“The chatter was from out west and there was indication we have a week, maybe two at tops.”

“We have to get to the mountain,” Jonathan replied, suddenly realizing their backup plan was about to be put into effect.

“Get dressed.”

 

Reese raced up the gravel drive, slowed enough for the gate to slide open wide enough for him to pass, then raced up the final section until sliding to a stop below the house in the parking area.

Jonathan jumped out, not waiting on Reese for he knew Reese would be right behind him by the time he got to the door. They entered the foyer and rushed into the living room where most of the guys were gathered. At the dining table sat Robert, Preston, and Wesley, with Liam and Eli pacing back and forth behind them.

“What’s the plan?” said Jonathan as he took a seat opposite Wesley and next to Preston. Then he saw what they were working on and gasped. Preston had an obituary laid out, one for Chester Anderson.

“What? When?”

“Jonathan, we don’t have time. We need you to focus on the plan. The plan!” said Robert.

“Yeah…but Chester…he’s really…”

“Jonathan,” said Preston, looking at him with sadness. “We need to execute the plan and get everyone evacuated by tonight. We can’t wait until the last minute in case John’s intel is wrong.”

“Okay, I’ll get it going.”

Jonathan looked around the room, seeing Quinton, Brandon, and the two newest arrivals to the house. Catalina who could make things combust and was only eleven and Dae-jung, a Korean boy who had just turned fourteen and could bend light. He saw within each of them a fear he too felt.

He climbed to his feet and rushed to the computer room to get to work.

 

Five hours later, two helicopters came into the valley and landed below the house. Jonathan looked out the window at them as their blades slowed. Both Sikorsky models, one an S-76D and the other, a larger S-92. Both were painted flat black and had no markings. It was surreal to think it had come to this, but the sight of the two helicopters, here together, made it suddenly all too real.

“Okay guys let’s go!” exclaimed Reese who was next to Jonathan. “Our rides are here.”

As everyone loaded up, only Jessie stood aside, next to a Honda CRF450X trail bike. Bobby went to him, hugged him for a long time, then told him to be careful. As the helicopters lifted off, Jessie was on the bike racing down a path away from the house.

 

Reese led Jonathan and Jerry up the steps to the front door, reliving that day, and those that followed. It seemed like a long time had passed since then, but it had only been six months. Long enough to sink in as their new reality and to allow the house to look forlorn and abandoned.

As Reese opened the door, he wondered how safe it was to rendezvous here. Wasn’t it being watched? All indications had been it was clear, the group busy searching for where the new hideout was located. There had been raids in Colorado, Arizona, Florida, and even an excursion around La Ticla looking for signs of them. All were their diversions, places vaguely referenced in one manner or another. A document left behind in the house, a flash drive from Robert’s house, or a file from John’s office. All planted by them as a diversion from their real destination, one not in any computer file or any paper trail left behind.

The abandoned house had been searched from top to bottom by the group after them, so it was considered the safest place to meet that was nearby.

 

Jerry entered the large living and dining room and spun slowly around, mouth open, amazed such a place existed.

“They were here? The others lived here?” asked Jerry.

“Yes, this was the place Chester created to protect them.”

“Who is Chester? Is he the leader of the group?”

“Chester is…was the fixer. He had the means to provide the group with whatever they needed. His grandson, Preston fills the role now.”

Jerry moved through the room to a hall, then looked back. “Can I look around?”

“Sure, just be quick about it,” said Jonathan. “We expect our contact within the hour.”

As Reese kept lookout, Jonathan followed Jerry from room to room just to see the look of awe at each new discovery. He missed the feeling, the raw excitement the place itself could generate. But he never felt it, instead there was the sadness of the place, especially when he saw Jerry investigate the computer room and step back. They had blown it on the day of their evacuation. Destroyed the computers and everything in the room. The smell of burnt wood and plastic still hung heavy in the air.

“Did they do this to you?” asked Jerry looking through the doorway.

“No, we did it to keep them from getting to our files.”

Jerry continued through the house, going into the large kitchen, then upstairs going from room to room seeing each was in disarray and dust covered from their abandonment.

“Hey guys, get down here,” Reese yelled from below.

Back downstairs, they found Reese at one of the windows, the casement swung out. A gentle breeze blew in but what Jonathan noticed first was the sound of a motorcycle.

“Let’s go meet Jessie,” said Jonathan as he headed toward the side door that led down to the patio area below.

 

Reese stood guard just behind Jonathan and Jerry looking in the direction of the motorcycle, its engine revving up and down as the rider maneuvered from the next mountain, across the stream in the valley, then back up to the house. The sound increased until the red bike raced out into the open and pulled to a stop.

Jerry watched the rider climb off and remove his helmet. The guy was young, not much older than he, with a look of concern.

“Jonathan, Reese, it’s good to see you.”

“Jessie, good to see you too,” said Jonathan stepping up and giving him a hug. “This is Jerry.”

“Hey Jerry, I guess you’re our VIP for the day. Your ride should be here shortly after dark. And Jonathan, Reese, you’re to go too. John sent word your place was raided about twenty minutes ago.”

“We knew it would happen,” said Reese.

“Have you talked to Bobby?” asked Jonathan.

“Only by letter, and those take so long to get here.”

“I know it must be tough, having been separated before and to have it happen again.”

“Yeah, but this time we’re in control, right?”

Jonathan heard the question, how it lingered in the air, heavy, daunting in its implications.

“For fuck’s sake guys, yes, we’re in control,” exclaimed Reese coming around Jonathan to give Jessie a hug. “Good to see you, and I think we’re clear.”

“There was nothing on the sensors except deer, raccoons, and bears for the last three months,” said Jessie.

“Let’s go back inside to wait,” said Reese.

Jonathan led them back to the steps with Jessie falling in beside Jerry and Reese bringing up the rear.

“So, Jerry, what can you do?” asked Jessie.

 

When the sun dropped over the horizon and the valley got its darkest, Reese led everyone down to the landing pad where they waited in the shelter positioned to one side.

“Are they sending one of the Sikorsky’s?” asked Jonathan, looking up at Jessie who stood next to Reese. As Reese watched their surroundings, Jessie was watching the dark sky.

“No. Preston said to watch out for something he called Petrel. I assume it is one of those tilt engine things, but he was deliberately vague about it, just saying I’d know it when I see it.”

“Petrel? What is that?” asked Reese, looking around at Jonathan.

“I don’t know what it is, but I know a petrel is a bird that flies long ranges, especially over the oceans, hunting for food, and does so mostly at night.”

“Long range and at night…sounds like a good name,” Reese replied as he kept scanning their surroundings.

Then they heard what sounded like a blow torch, then as it drew near, the sound changed to something like a large fan spinning at high velocity. A dark mass flew into the valley, then hovered overhead. The air stirred violently as the craft descended until sitting on the pad. It was shaped like a plane only with small wings curving out its sides, each with a circular opening revealing a large fan slowing down. Instead of horizontal tailplanes and a fin, there were two angled tailplanes rising from the tail. The overall shape consisted of a curved fuselage with the nose lowest to the ground and no windows anywhere along its length.

A door opened in the fuselage, an upper section swinging up and the lower section down with steps folding out and down. Someone stepped out and jogged over to them.

“Hey guys, come on, let’s get out of here,” said Liam.

“Liam? What is that?” said Jonathan, as he pointed at the craft.

“I’ll tell you once we’re back in the air.”

Inside there were two rows of seats with 3-point safety harnesses, and in the back seat on the right sat Robert looking at the screen on his computer.

Jonathan moved to the seat next to Robert, with Liam and Jerry taking the next two and Reese taking the seat nearest the door. As the door closed, they could hear Jessie start up the trail bike, then the cabin was silent except for the hum of the engines as they spooled up the fans and jet engines within the fuselage.

“Okay guys, get buckled in,” said Liam.

“Any problems?” asked Robert, finally looking up from his computer where a map of the valley was laid out with sensors blinking their positions.

“There were two SUVs pursuing us, but Reese dealt with them once we were outside the city.”

“Good. It’s good to see you guys,” said Robert finally sitting back and relaxing as the craft lifted off, moving straight up.

"So, what is this thing?”

Liam turned his head to look back at Jonathan. “It was developed to be a spy plane, but it seems the military chose another proposal, so with a little maneuvering by John and Preston, we got them.”

“Them?”

“There were two built for testing and demonstration. We got both with the paperwork manipulated to say they were dismantled.”

“So, they don’t exist.”

“Correct.”

The craft flew out of the valley, climbed until the clouds were far below them, the light of the moon reflecting off them creating an eerie glow. Then the jet engines took on a different note and the craft accelerated, moving with such force as to pin everyone in their seats. The pressure in the cabin increased, and they could hear air blow through vents along the edge of the ceiling.

“Jesus,” exclaimed Jonathan as everyone heard Reese laugh.

“Mach 6.2 and flying right below the edge of what we call outer space,” said Liam.

“How do the pilots see out?”

“All computer monitoring and at the speeds we’re traveling, no need to see out.”

“Robert, where are we going? Can you tell me now that I’m going there,” asked Jonathan.

“Argentina, to a place west of Cordoba. We should be there in about an hour and fifteen.”

“Jesus,” said Jonathan again, not know what else to say at the absurdity of it.  He looked over at Jerry and saw a look of shock. Eyes wide and looking straight ahead. “Jerry.”

“Yes?” Jerry replied, not looking around.

“Have you ever flown before?”

“Not like this.”

“Get used to it,” said Robert, and Liam and Reese laughed.

 

The Refuge

Jerry finally relaxed, loosening his grip on the armrests, and looked around the cabin, then across to Liam. “What was your name again?”

 “Liam, and you’re Jeremiah, right?”

 “Yes, but call me Jerry.”

 “Jerry it is.”

 “Liam, what is your…ability?”

 “I can control electromagnetic waves and pass through a fourth dimension, or that is what we think it is.”

 “You…pass through another dimension?”

 “Yeah, sounds creepy but it is so simple and…I’m sorry, I’ll start rambling if I’m not careful. You can fly right?”

 “Yes.”

 “How fast?”

 “Evidently not fast enough.”

 “Oh, they told you about Wesley.”

 “How many are there? You know, with abilities?”

 “There are six of us, that we know of. Who knows how many are out there hiding their abilities.”

 “Six.”

 “Well, seven now, with you now a part of the group.”

 Jerry looked back at Robert, a man with gray hair and a face that looked tired. He looked at Liam again. “How old are you?”

 “I’m 28. Wesley is 32.”

 “33” said Robert.

 “Oh, I stand corrected.”

 “And Wesley’s speed increased when he got older?”

 “Yeah, mid-twenties, I think. Jesus, he went from flying through the air, to just moving through it like it didn’t exist. He could have flown to DC, grabbed you up, and been back to the mountain in time for lunch.”

“The mountain? I thought that was the place we just left?”

“Yeah, that was the mountain too.”

Jerry began to replay the last two days, how he went from being on campus to suddenly flying to Argentina on a craft most people didn’t know existed. He replayed the phone call with his father, then suddenly remembered the danger he was in.

“My father…he is in danger, they got to him, and-“

“Jerry, relax, we got him.”

“You got him.”

“Preston sent Wesley to get him. He’s waiting on you.”

“You brought him to Argentina?”

“Normally, we would have set him up somewhere in the states, but time was short, and we didn’t have time to put into action one of our backup plans.”

“I see,” Jerry replied, trying to make sense of it. Then he turned to Robert, capturing his attention. “Thanks.”

Robert smiled for the first time; a gentle smile that made Jerry reconsider his first impressions. “You’re welcome.”

 

The craft descended, Jerry could feel it, the way it slowed, then tilted forward. He felt his heart racing, his breathing increased to the point of almost gasping for each breath, as the craft flew down toward the surface of the earth. He wanted a window, desperate to look out and see the surface below, anything to show him his place in it.

“Hey Robert, can we turn on the monitor?” asked Liam.

“Yeah, sure,”

A panel tilted down at the front of the cabin then came on showing the dark ground below with points of light from small towns. They moved over the landscape, then turned until flying over a range of low mountains, then a wide flat desert. As Jerry watched the dark silhouettes and various shades of grey and black with points of lights scattered through them, he felt himself relax again.

“Okay guys, we’re landing in five,” said the pilot over the intercom.

An outline of mountains showing the horizon. Rugged, severe profiles not yet worn down by time. They flew over the first range, then dipped down into the valley. The craft slowed and the sound of the fans in the wings soon were louder than the jet engines. In front of them light spilled out of an opening, one growing wider and wider, until a landing pad within became visible. Then it was out of sight when the craft was over it, hovering in place. As it slowly descended, Jerry watched the monitor. The craft passed through the opening, and the monitor showed the large doors, then the facility within. The craft touched down and the fans slowed until they could no longer be heard.

“Jerry, welcome to your new home,” said Liam as he unbuckled.

 

Jerry followed Reese and Liam down the steps and saw three men approaching them while another group rushed around the craft, blocking the wheels and opening panels on the fuselage. The doors above began to close, the sound not nearly as loud as he would have expected. As the three men drew near, he sized them up. One was in his mid-thirties if he had to guess, attractive, and even dressed casually carried himself as if the leader of the group. Next to him an older man, much older, dressed as if he came from a beach resort. And next to him, a young guy, one about his own age, tall and skinny, still a teenager, not yet a man. Jonathan came up next to him, then moved past looking shocked.

“Chester! I thought you were dead!” Jonathan exclaimed.

“Merely a ruse to get our adversaries to stop digging into my past trying to find me,” Chester replied with a chuckle.

“Hey Robert, any problems?” asked the other man.

“And what about Jessie. Is he doing, okay?” asked the youngest.

“No problems, and Jessie is fine. Carried out his part perfectly.”

Liam strolled up next to Jerry. “Hey Chester, that Petrel is awesome.”

Chester laughed. “Don’t thank me, you know it was John’s doing. And you must be Jerry,” Chester said, turning to him. “Welcome to our little hideaway. I hope you will feel safe and welcome.”

“Don’t worry, we got this,” said Liam. Turning to Jerry, “come on, I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”

“See me?” Jerry asked, hoping it was his father, but daring not to get his hopes up. Liam led him to a wall of glass windows and a few doors, heading toward double doors near the center of the wall. As they drew near, Liam smiled at Jerry.

“Your dad has been waiting.”

“Dad,” Jerry uttered when his dad stepped through a pair of doors and came to him.

“Son, are you okay?”

Jerry ran to him, embracing him tightly.

 "I thought…I was worried they did something…”

“I’m okay. Jerry, I’m okay, really,” said Sam finally pushing Jerry back so he could look at him. “And you’re not hurt or anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Jerry, Mr. Norwood, let’s get inside. We can show Jerry to his quarters and get him settled in, then we can all meet in the dining room for a late dinner,” said Liam as some of the others came up to the door.

 

That night Jerry listened to Wesley talk of finding his dad being held by some men in their home and rushing in and snatching him and flying back. He listened to Chester and Preston talk about their ruse, a means of ending some of the digging around about Chester, and there were recaps of their night, the drive from DC to the mountain the most entertaining to the other guys for the way Reese told the story, so deadpan as to seem a joke.

He saw demonstrations of the other’s powers. Liam stepping out of existence, then back again in a different place. Eli changing the state of a glass, turning it into a puddle of hot glass then back again, aligning the molecules as they had been before. Bobby, who was Jessie’s brother, made a seed sprout and grew into a flowering plant. Then he made a tin can rust to dust. Dae-jung, so shy as to have barely spoken to him, bent light around a wall, then had it circle a column. Then the youngest of the group stepped forward, Catalina, who was only eleven, made a section of 2 x 4 ignite into flame. Then she did the same with a rock, where it turned to molten puddle, bright orange with flames spouting from it from escaping gases. Then he floated into the air and circled the room seeing Wesley smile, nodding his head, and when he landed Quinton, Wesley’s boyfriend was next to him telling how Wesley did the same years before and how it had shocked those that saw it. And far too soon, fatigue overcame him, and he realized the hour was very late. Everyone went to their quarters, and his dad led him to his own, refreshing his memory which corridors to take.

In his room, he finally opened the curtains that lined the back wall, wondering what they could be concealing, thinking it must be some common room within the mountain. As the curtains parted, he saw a ground surface, one with small plants and moving water as if it were a small stream, then he saw the small trees, and the vines hanging down. Once the curtains were open all the way, he looked up at the clerestory windows along each long side of the atrium space, their windows dark with night, then he looked at the other windows lining the atrium. Most were closed off, slivers of light bleeding through a gap in the curtains in a few, but in one on the next level up, directly across the atrium, he saw Eli and Brandon kissing, then moved out of sight. It was the first real gesture between any of the couples he had seen that spoke of their relations, and he felt envious as he twisted the rod to close the blinds, suddenly fearful of being seen looking. He showered, letting the hot water relax his muscles and make his fatigue even more pronounced, then he climbed into bed and for the first time in two days, and quickly fell asleep.

 

As Jerry drifted off into a deep sleep, Eli moved over Brandon. He smacked the left ass cheek, nipped at the back of the neck, then ground his cock against the ass, moving with the slow undulation of a fuck, teasingly arousing Brandon until he was pushing his ass upward and begging Eli to fuck him.

Brandon would cry out with the penetration then clutch at the bed as Eli fucked, pushed into his depths until hips ground against his ass.

 

Next door, within the shower, Brody pushed Preston against the wall and penetrated him. He pushed upward, all the way, sinking every inch of his cock inside him. He put his hands over Preston’s holding them against the wall and fucked. He fucked slowly so they could sense every inch of his cock tugging outward then pushing back in. He kissed the back of the neck, along the side of it until tugging on the earlobe, then the side of the mouth that was urging him to fuck, to fuck harder. He pulled outward until nearly slipping free, shifted his feet back, and fucked. He slammed against Preston’s ass, and uttered profanities into his ear. He finally let go of one hand so he could reach around Preston and take his cock. He would push into Preston’s depths while slamming his hand down to the base of it, working the two of them to the point of release.

 

In the room below, William clung to Liam. Arms around the chest, legs wrapped around Liam’s legs. Liam was inside him, moving slowly with an undulation that made his own drooling cock rub Liam’s stomach smearing its slick. He held his head back until he could see the wall over the headboard, then closed his eyes as he sensed their floating up and down, as Liam hovered the two of them over the bed.

It made him submissive to Liam, unable to find any purchase. He could only float in Liam’s embrace and take his fuck. It had been awkward at first, but now it aroused him to the point he would come first, erupting with such a release, cum would be smeared over their chest and stomachs by the time Liam pumped a load into his ass.

 

In the room over Jerry, the bed rocked in rhythm to Wesley’s fuck. Quinton lay on his back, thighs pressed against his chest as Wesley held them down and fucked. Quinton clutched at the bed, then Wesley’s thighs, then moved his hands over the sweating back, all the while urging him to fuck harder, faster…to keep going. Wesley moved with a stamina that was always a surprise. The lean body with every muscle flexed tight beneath the skin moved relentlessly, tirelessly, thrusting into his depths over and over and over until his own cock ached for release.

Then he was on his knees, head down on the bed with hands holding his narrow waist. Cock plunged back into his depths as the hands tightened. Then Wesley was fucking him again, driving into his depths until hips smacked against his ass. He rocked with their fuck and felt his own cock swing heavily between his thighs. He reached back and slipped a finger to the side of his opening feeling the piston action of Wesley’s cock, then he slipped it in next to the cock making his hole tighter. Welsey uttered a profanity as he moaned with the feel of it.

 

Next door, in a room fully lit up, Reese sat on the bed against the headboard with Jonathan riding his cock. Jonathan would move up, dragging his own cock up Reese’s stomach, then he would move down, sinking his ass down Reese’s cock. He moved slowly, deliberately, feeling every inch tug at his opening. He kissed Reese, then leaned back and worked his ass faster, slamming it down on the cock.

Jonathan wound Reese up, made him so aroused he could no longer sit still. Suddenly, Reese was lifting him up, then pinning him down. With his legs over the broad shoulders, Reese moved over him until folded in half and his ass angled up for Reese’s cock. It raked over his ass, smearing its slick over it, then breached his opening again boring into his depths. Reese began to fuck with a physicality that would make him cum. The thrusts that pushed into his depths all the way, the big hands that held him down and the muscular torso that pressed down on him until it was hard to breathe.

 

At short, end of the atrium, the end closest to the offices, Chester stood in his quarters, looking out his window. Behind him, Elizabeth slept for it was way too late for her, but for Chester, always a light sleeper, he felt a second wind, one that would last an hour or two. He looked at the windows along each side, the ones bleeding light and those now dark, and he smiled with satisfaction everyone was safe and that Jerry had made it with little difficulty. He knew the days to come would eventually lead to a moment of great danger if they grew reckless.

He wondered about John, now retired to Hawaii with his wife, leaving them no one within the system very high up. Reese had contacts, but those had to be used sparingly and with great care. But he knew their real adversary wasn’t within the system, not in any official government agency. They were private, lone wolves now running wild without anyone trying to control them. He knew the truth. One party wanted the corruption and chaos they could create, and the control over those that might get in their way. There was so much that seemed out of control and heading in the wrong direction, and if the people kept voting for it, kept voting for the cruelty and the authoritarianism, then there was nothing they could do to stop it.

But they could cut off the head of the snake that directly threatened them. He knew those in power behind the scenes had released them. He knew they would not stop hunting them, for there were confirmations of their actions from all across the country as they searched for them. Eventually, they would have to reply to the threat. They had no choice, and they would do it, for once they confirmed it was who they suspected, they would act.

Then they would wait. Seek that moment when they might be wanted. When it was obvious, they had been no threat, that the threat was closer to home. Then they would return.

 

Jerry found himself falling into a routine. Breakfast with Preston and Brody, the others never got up early enough, then doing the chores assigned to him. There was staff at the facility, those that serviced the planes, helicopters, and vehicles, those that did the main cleaning, and those for maintenance, but the guys had given themselves chores to do, something to occupy some of their time and make them take some ownership. Preston and Brody kept their library organized, adding new books, which seemed to Jerry to be almost every day a parcel would be delivered to the rendezvous point. Wesley and Quinton took the kitchen, helping to prepare meals, for lunch and dinner, the latter often with the aid of Preston. Eli and Brandon took care of the atrium, trimming plants, planting new ones, and even reworking one section, adding a concrete lantern Jerry recognized as something influenced by Asian gardens. Liam, William, and Bobby tended the gardens that were under grow lights in a section next to the atrium. Catalina taught the others Spanish and Dae-jung taught them Korean.

Jerry had no idea what to do when Liam asked him about what role he wanted. Chester had been sitting nearby and cut in, asking him if there was something he liked to do. Some tasks that allowed him to clear his mind. Jerry had started to say nothing, for the thing he enjoyed he thought would be silly, not something anyone would find worthwhile. But Chester had a way about him, one that pulled one to open up, and speak freely.

“I like to iron.”

“You mean, like iron clothes?” Liam replied, grimacing as if the idea was disgusting.

“Yes, and I know it’s silly.”

“No, it’s not,” said Chester. “I think it would be a wonderful thing to contribute. It would keep us looking neatly dressed, a certain sense of civility that could quickly fade from being holed up here. I’ll tell Preston to let everyone know. You can get set up in the laundry room, or if you prefer, in your own quarters. Play music or watch movies while you do it.”

“Really? This would be worthwhile?”

“We have to keep our spirits up, and this can be one more thing to do that.”

Therefore, after two weeks Jerry found himself in his room playing some of his favorite music while ironing shirt after shirt. It relaxed him, made him forget what had happened, and when Preston had seen the first shirts he had ironed, there was a smile and a thanks that confirmed what Chester had said.

But he still worried about his father. How he found him roaming the corridors or sitting in the small lounge room at the end of the atrium just staring at it. He knew his dad was lost without his own purpose. A man who lived his entire life in the service of others could not find peace with himself without one. Once again, it was Chester who came forward with a suggestion.

They were far from home, in a place no one would think to look for them, especially a preacher from Mississippi. San Juan, the nearest city was a vibrant place, with tree lined streets and shops, museums, restaurants, and bars, like any city. But like any city, it had its poor sections and those in need.

Chester had seen some children on the streets, some as young as ten or twelve, and he broached the issue with Sam. Jerry had been shocked at the speed at which Chester got his dad set up. On a street within the city in the poorest neighborhood, one lined with low squat single story buildings, most residential, but some small businesses that catered to the neighborhood, and near the center of one block, a residence that had a small yard behind a low fence, and a front of only one door and three small windows. But within the building there was a courtyard space with rooms situated around it.

It was purchased within a week, and over the next five weeks, renovations were done to the interior, with the exterior facing the street left as is. A new kitchen with two rooms turned into one for a large dining room. A space set up as a residence for Sam, a common living-dining area, his own small kitchen and two bedrooms (one for Jerry to visit on occasion) sharing one bath. Sam was insistent no more space than necessary was to be wasted for his own space, for most was to be for children, enough rooms older children would have their own, and each large enough for younger children to share for companionship.

Construction wasn’t complete when Sam took in the first children, a girl and boy he had believed sister and brother, but later discovered they had merely been companions helping each survive on the streets. After completion, most of the rooms were quickly occupied.

Jerry knew the appearance of just waiting was a deceit, for Jonathan was on the computer all the time, searching, seeking information. Preston too was on a computer, but what he was doing Jerry had no idea. It always seemed to be about money and acquiring things they needed in a manner so as not to draw attention. He also sensed it among the others, how their banter would get anxious, or their conversations fall into silence with some referral to their situation. To help pass the time small groups of them would go into San Juan. Dinner at a restaurant, or an evening at a bar listening to a local band, or just strolling the streets on a pleasant day. Jerry went with them when invited, but more often than not, he went alone, everyone assuming it was to visit his dad. It was true most of the time, but there were times he just roamed the city, looking through storefronts, watching the people, citizens of the city and the few tourists who had made the long journey. In his surveying of the people, his eyes were always drawn to the men he found attractive, watching them until they were out of sight.

He realized most of the men had bodies like guys back in Mississippi. Lean, muscular, stocky, with a few overweight, like far too many in Mississippi. Most had dark hair, black or very dark brown, but a few had light brown hair, or dyed hair that stood out drawing attention to them. And they had brown eyes and mischievous smiles, playful and alluring. He wondered how they viewed him, a black man from the states with close cropped hair and a decent body if he did so say. His skin tone spoke of a mixed ancestry, like most from Mississippi. The slave owner’s blood, or the rapist, then the next century where the coupling of black and white defied societal norms until the day it no longer did so. It gave him a tone his barber called almond, the tone his mother had possessed, his father’s skin tone slightly darker.

He saw the looks, some obvious trying to figure out if he was a tourist. But some seem to look with a sense of attraction, or so he hoped. He wanted someone to desire him. He needed someone to want him. It was living among so many couples, guys in relationships that he had only dared to imagine as possible. Even with Preston and Brody in their mid-thirties, together for sixteen years, they were still playful and romantic in their relationship. He was envious to a degree he dared not say aloud. But he saw Chester watching him and felt the man knew. If anyone at the mountain did, it would be Chester, or his wife, Elizabeth. She was quiet where Chester was outgoing and talkative, but she seemed to see things as clearly as Chester, and Jerry found himself gravitating to her more and more, seeking advice or just to talk. It was she who told him to go into town more often and seek the companionship of others.

It had seemed an impossible thing, an American with no foreign language skills, expected to engage with others in San Juan. But Catalina gave him a rudimentary vocabulary, and he soon found himself roaming the streets of the city.

 

The Suiter

Jerry had visited his dad for lunch, sitting with the children, his dad at the head of the table telling stories while the woman hired to translate did so for the children. They would giggle, or shriek with laughter, or shake their heads in disbelief at the stories his dad told. When lunch was finished, he hugged his dad and took his leave, not admitting how he would roam the city until dark or after.

He walked down to the main street, hailed a taxi, and rode into a part of town not explored before. He strolled the streets until thirsty and ready to get off his feet for a while. He found a small coffee shop, its wood façade standing out among the stone and glass of the adjacent buildings. It was narrow with a few tables on the walk. Even a foosball table sat on the sidewalk where two young men were playing each other. Inside there were only a few tables, all occupied. Jerry ordered a black coffee, paid, dropping what he knew was an exorbitant tip into the jar, and went out to sit down. He considered it serendipity that a couple got up as he came out and he took their table.

Jerry looked across the street at children playing in the park, then he watched the pedestrians passing by, especially the men. Up the street he saw a guy cross the side street. Dark hair longer than most, wearing a tank top and jeans. Jerry watched him approach, the slow stroll of someone in no hurry, then he saw the attractive face, the smooth skin tone, with arms showing just enough definition to speak of his masculinity. Jerry told himself not to stare, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away even when the guy saw him looking. When the guy smiled, Jerry finally looked away embarrassed at being so obvious. When he looked back, he saw the guy go into the coffee shop.

“Get a grip,” Jerry uttered under his breath, then chucking at how he was acting. He watched a truck go by, a Nissan but a model he did not recognize, like so many other models on the streets. A child yelled and his eyes went to the source where two young boys were at a slide in the park.

“Puedo sentarme contigo?”

Jerry turned to the voice, husky, masculine, and saw the guy in the tank top standing next to his table. He didn’t catch what was asked, but assumed the guy wanted to take the chair from the other side of the table.

“Si.”

Jerry watched the guy take a seat at his table, sip his coffee, then lean back smiling at him. He held his breath, shocked to find the guy seated across from him.

“Vives por aqui?”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Jerry stammered, flustered by the how he was attracted to the guy and could not understand him, speaking Spanish too fast and using words he did not know. “No Espanol.”

The guy smiled. “You’re American?”

“Yes…si, si.”

“It’s okay. You can speak English. I understand.”

“Great,” Jerry replied and now he was smiling.

 "I’m Lorenzo.”

“Jerry…I’m Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. What brings you to San Juan?”

“I’ve moved here. Well, not in the city, I’m outside the city…to the west.”

“Zonda, or Villa Basilio Nievas?”

Jerry chuckled nervously, for those were obvious places for him to consider. He wondered what Lorenzo would say if he told him how far west, he truly was, one that took three hours to drive having to navigate narrow 2 lanes roads through the mountains then back down through the wide valley. He could fly it in a fraction of the time but knew the dangers of daytime flight. So, he drove from the mountain in the seven-year-old Toyota Hilux pickup, Preston adamant they drive vehicles that blended in.

“Actually, I live near Calingasta.”

“Wow, that far away. What do you do there?”

“I’m with an expedition that is surveying different regions in the mountains.”

It was a lie, one Preston and Jonathan came up with for sooner or later they knew someone was going to ask questions and they might as well be prepared, ready to respond without stammering.

“How long will you be surveying the mountains?”

“We think a few years.”

“So, you really have moved to Argentina.”

“Yes. Even my dad moved down. He lives here in town.”

“What does he do?”

“He takes in homeless children.”

“Really; that is a noble thing to do. Are you in the city alone?”

“Yes. I’m kind of a third wheel with the group, most of the guys are in relationships.”

“Just the guys?”

"Yeah, they…”

Jerry realized what he had said, and worried how Lorenzo would respond. But he wanted him to be gay, to be attracted to him, so it was a way to find out if he was at least tolerant.

“Most of the guys are gay and in relationships. There are a couple of people single…and me, and two husband and wife couples. But I’m single…and gay.”

Lorenzo laughed, then sat up leaning over the table. “I’m single too, and gay.”

 

Two hours later, standing by the pickup, Jerry was trying control the smile on his face. The expression of happiness he felt for this one afternoon with a guy who seemed interested in him. They had strolled down streets, talking of their lives. Lorenzo being from La Paz to the south and how he moved around looking for a job that would pay him enough to live. San Luis to the east of La Paz, then Mendoza to the west, working in restaurants and bars, or once, a warehouse for a food supplier in Mendoza. It was ironic how that was the job that brought him to San Juan, the first time making a delivery, the next time to start a job in a higher end restaurant, one the tips and his hours made for a decent living.

When Jerry had found himself struggling on what to say, Lorenzo asked who he liked to read and who were his favorite authors. Lorenzo was exuberant in telling of his current favorites. Julio Cortazar, Silvina Ocampo, Roberto Alt, and another Roberto, Bolano. They were all unknown to Jerry. Then Lorenzo waited for his reply. He thought of the authors he had read as a teenager, books recommended by his father or his friend from high school, Phyllis, an outspoken black feminist who seemed ready to burn the world to the ground for the injustices that existed. Books that shaped his views reinforcing the idea it was okay to be different. Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Richard Wright, and Octavia Butler were the first to come mind. On the ride back to the mountain, he would remember Ida B. Wells and Paul Laurence Dunbar, and Maya Angelou.

But standing by the truck, what he wanted to talk about was when they could get together again. It was Thursday afternoon and Lorenzo would be working the next three days until closing.

“When are you coming back into the city?” asked Lorenzo.

“I’m thinking early next week. Is there a time you wouldn’t’ need to work and can hang out, maybe get dinner?”

Lorenzo smiled exposing teeth impossibly straight filling the gap between the lips Jerry could only describe as sensual.

“I’m off Monday and Tuesday.”

“I can come into the city on Monday. I can have lunch with dad then meet you somewhere.”

“I’ll give you, my address. You can come to my place when you finish lunch. Do you have a cellphone number I can have?”

Jerry pulled his cellphone out, knowing they had to be careful utilizing the device for how easily it could be used to track him. But they had gotten them for emergencies, keeping them turned off most of the time.

“Lorenzo, give me your number, but just so you know, we keep our phones turned off when we’re working.”

“So do we. We’ll just have to leave messages and wait impatiently for a call back.”

Again, with the smile and Jerry felt tempted to stay the night but knew there was something he had promised Liam and Bobby, he would help them do in the morning. He opened the door to climb into the pickup when Lorenzo leaned over, took him by the chin turning his head for a quick kiss.

“I can’t wait until I see you again,” said Lorenzo.

Jerry spent the next couple of days planning his trip to San Juan to see Lorenzo. He felt obsessed, how his attraction to the Argentinian consumed him. He pictured the easy smile, the dark brown eyes that stared back with such intensity, it caused such a desire it scared him. There was so much that could go wrong. What if those that pursued them could figure out, they were in Argentina, and some comment or reference to his connection to Lorenzo revealed their location. It was almost ludicrous to think such a thing possible, but he had learned a long time ago that the most insane possibilities could come true.

Then there were his feelings, his desire for another. Living with the guys made it worse. He was envious, made more pronounced by his loneliness. The chores were meant to distract him as well as give him a purpose, but all it did was allow him to get lost in his thoughts.

“Jerry? What’s up? You seem so distracted,” said Eli, coming up next to him.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Well…it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I see you guys, all of you except the younger ones in relationships. It makes me feel…”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re down here in a strange place hiding out making it hard for you to meet someone.”

“I have met someone.”

Eli looked at Jerry with a wide grin. “You have? Do tell.”

“I ran into this guy in San Juan. Lorenzo, and we’re supposed to get together next time I’m able to go into town.”

“When are you going?”

Jerry chuckled, Eli rubbing off on him. “I’m hoping to go the day after tomorrow. Lorenzo has the day off. Unless something comes up.”

“Nothing is going to come up, and if it does, some of us can deal with it for you. You have to go; in fact, I’ll let Preston know you’re going to San Juan on Monday. We can even have you do a supply run for anything we might need when you come back on Tuesday.”

“I didn’t say I was staying overnight.”

“Whatever.”

 

Jerry couldn’t stop smiling, had been all morning. He woke earlier than usual excited by the fact Monday finally arrived and nothing was going to interfere with his plans. He ate breakfast in the kitchen while the staff prepared breakfast for the others. He went through the facility, down the tunnel to the north side and out to the old farmhouse with its garage in the rear yard where they hid their vehicles. He tossed an overnight bag into the passenger footwell of the Hilux, backed out of the garage, and headed to San Juan.

The land became flat for as far as the eye could see as Jerry drove down 436 then south on 40. With no radio reception to speak of, or at least anything he cared to listen to, he let his mind drift in the wind rustled cab of the truck. From the date with Lorenzo, to how they met. He considered how there was no need to keep this a secret. It was such a relief to be in a place where being gay wasn’t something to feel ashamed or fearful. But he had another secret to keep, one like some of the others at the mountain, but with their support and camaraderie he knew it was a secret he could keep without feeling guilt or frustration.

His secret. The ability to fly. To literally defy gravity and soar in the air. It had been so frightening at first, something Wesley had admitted was the same for him. But he wasn’t nowhere near as fast as Wesley. It staggered the mind the speed at which Wesley could fly protected from the friction of the air. Would he ever be as fast he wondered as the first buildings came into view of San Juan on the far horizon.

 

Jerry followed Lorenzo down the narrow two-lane road. Most of the buildings were single story with small windows, if any at all, which made the few multi-story buildings stand out. Halfway down one block, Lorenzo pointed at a narrow building four stories in height. It sat between two single story buildings with a narrow courtyard along one side not more than ten feet wide. It was the side the apartments faced, for the upper three floors were lined with narrow balconies with sliding glass doors. On the street level there was only a small lobby, a glass door with three windows to its left, and to the left of the lobby, a drive into the car park that resided behind the lobby. The pale brick was worn and rough looking and the stucco sections faded to a dull pink hue.

“This is home,” said Lorenzo, leading Jerry into the lobby. They climbed to the third floor and moved down the narrow hall lined with doors with small windows set high in the wall in between. Near the end of the hall, Lorenzo stopped at a door and slipped a key into the lock.

Jerry saw only one more door before the end of the hall where a door led out to a fire escape noting the location of the apartment within the building, next to last on the floor. He followed Lorenzo into a small one room apartment divided by a half wall. On the entry side, a bed sat along the side wall and a chest of drawers at the front wall under the two high windows. To his left a sliding door that had to be a closet, then another door, open to reveal a small bath. Just past the low wall, a small kitchen along the side wall, a table with four chairs out from it, and along the back wall, the one that opened to a balcony, a small living area. The décor was eclectic, the art on the wall’s original pieces, and books were stacked by a chair and crowded a small bookshelf on the side wall opposite the kitchen. The apartment looked neat, lived in, a comfortable place and he found himself relaxing from his nervousness.

He strolled past Lorenzo to get a better look out the sliding glass doors to the balcony, seeing the city stretch out and glowing in the early evening. Then he felt hands rest on his shoulders, lips kiss the back of his neck, then a soft whisper.

“You’ll stay with me tonight?”

“Yes,” Jerry replied without hesitation as the hands moved down his arms to his waist. They held him in place, as Lorenzo pressed seductively against his ass.

Time seemed to freeze. The city of San Luis fade to an illusion outside the sliding doors. The small apartment felt smaller, more intimate, the air warmer. Jerry held his arms down and slightly behind him as Lorenzo slipped his shirt off. He struggled to control his breathing as fingers worked his jeans loose and spread them open allowing a hand to slip inside his boxers. Bare contact, flesh against flesh as the fingers manipulated his growing erection. His jeans loosened, then slid down his legs. The boxers soon followed, and a hand was stroking his cock, bringing him to full arousal. He pushed his bare ass against Lorenzo feeling a push back. He turned with the arms until facing him. They kissed as Jerry felt the clothed body against his bare skin. It exaggerated his nudity, made him fully aware of his masculine nature. Cock rock hard and every touch so sensitive he nearly gasped for breath.

Jerry kicked his shoes off then struggled to free each leg as they kissed and touched and nipped at bare skin. Lorenzo nipped along his shoulder, he along the long neck, feeling the smooth skin with his lips. Fingers laced with his own and Lorenzo led him back to the bed. A gentle playful push and Jerry fell back on it, giggling, then laying back, legs spread revealing himself to Lorenzo’s eyes. As the eyes looked upon his nudity, Lorenzo tugged off his T-shirt, worked jeans and boxers off, then stood naked by the bed. Jerry watched him take his half hard cock in hand and manipulate it, stroke it until it was a thick curving shaft with a wide flared head.

“Do you like what you see?” Lorenzo asked in a playful tone.

“Yes, very much so,” Jerry replied as he stroked his cock, hand moving up and down every inch.

Lorenzo moved down and over Jerry. Cocks rubbed against each other, undulating stomachs and chests were pressed together, and lips touched, tongues dueled, and hands roamed over every inch of exposed flesh they could reach. Then Lorenzo was between Jerry’s legs, tongue dragging up one thigh, over the loose sac, then up the hard cock until moving over the head. Jerry watched, aroused by every touch and the anticipation of the next one. He watched as half his dark thick cock disappeared in Lorenzo’s mouth, then came back into view wet. It flexed in Lorenzo’s face, then disappeared through the lips again.

Jerry watched the head move up and down on his cock until his toes curled and he was clutching the bed. He began to push upward, and Lorenzo held still with lips wrapped around his cock. He began to pump his hips, thrusting upward, faster and faster, until he couldn’t hold back.

“Oh, fuck,” Jerry exclaimed, then shoved upward with every ejaculation.

 

Jerry held Lorenzo’s legs against his chest as he pushed forward. He shivered with the squeeze on the head of his cock; Lorenzo shuddered with the stretch of his hole. Inch by slow inch, Jerry pushed into Lorenzo’s depths until half buried inside him. Then he began a slow fuck. One that allowed him to feel every inch tug and push through the tightness. He knew Lorenzo felt it too. Lorenzo moaned and pushed against him, back arched, cock hovering over the abdomen, flexing with his arousal. Jerry watched how Lorenzo clutched at the bed and moved with such sensuality Jerry found himself moving at the same rhythm. Slow, openly sexual, every movement, every touch a titillation. He slid his hands down the smooth legs until holding them behind the knees and pushed forward, then down. He pressed each thigh against the chest as he moved over him. With ass angled up perfectly for his fuck, he began to move faster, swinging his hips for full penetration. With his abdomen bouncing off the upturned ass, he fucked and fucked until sweat dripped from his face and cascade down his torso.

“Fuck…fuck me…fuck me harder,” Lorenzo uttered breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Jerry whispered as he pushed each leg to the side burying the knees into the bed. He pushed down into Lorenzo’s depths so hard the sound echoed in the room. He thrust with such urgency, such need, Lorenzo’s moans were a staccato of sound, full of lust and desire. The bed began to squeak, then banged into the wall.

Jerry heard the sound of their fuck, how it filled the room. He felt the hands on his sides moving slickly over his skin. He felt his cock, so hard he ached for release, plunge into the heat of Lorenzo’s hole until he was jamming his hips down on the upturned ass with every ejaculation.

Then Jerry was on his back next to Lorenzo gasping for breath. His cock was still hard, and his dark skin glistened in the dim light. He looked over at Lorenzo, watching him take his cock in hand and stroke.

“Lorenzo; do me.”

 

Lorenzo guided Jerry to his stomach and moved over him. He pushed his cock against the round ass, worked it along the crevice between the cheeks while kissing the back of the neck and along the right shoulder. He laced his fingers with Jerry’s and held him down as he worked his body, undulating with desire, so sexually aroused his cock left a trail of slick as it moved over the ass. Jerry raised his ass and Lorenzo’s cock slipped between the cheeks finding its target. A push, then another, and the flared head stretched Jerry open.

Jerry buried his face into the bed and cried out as cock bore into his depth. Then he was pushing his ass upward as Lorenzo began to fuck. They moved as one, bodies undulating with their lusts, their desires. Lorenzo moved over Jerry’s back and the contact was hot, slick with sweat, and so sensual Jerry didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.

“Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…” Jerry uttered, his voice trailing off as he gasped for breath.

Lorenzo pushed up, hovering over Jerry’s prone body, only his cock making a connection between them, and he began to fuck with such physicality the bed protested beneath them and Jerry cried out, begged for his fuck, while grinding his own erection into the bed. On and on, Lorenzo kept up his pace until he didn’t have the strength to continue.

Jerry got him on his back and eased down on the hard drooling cock. He slid down all the way, then leaned back, torso stretched out, and worked his ass up and down on it. His own cock flopped against his abdomen, the head smacking wetly against his sweaty skin. Hands held each ankle with a tight grip. He took his own cock in hand while continuing to fuck his ass on Lorenzo’s.

“Goddamn it,” Jerry exclaimed.

“Si…si,” Lorenzo cried out.

As Lorenzo pumped cum into his depths, his own cock rained cum down on his chest and stomach. It covered him, thick wads pooling on his hot skin, then trickling over his sides as he slammed his ass down on Lorenzo’s spurting cock.

“Stop, stop, I can’t take anymore…please…Jerry,” Lorenzo exclaimed, and Jerry fell still on his cock.

 

Jerry stayed with Lorenzo for as long as he could, getting back to the mountain late into the night of the next day. Over the course of the next three weeks, he stayed in San Luis more than the mountain. There would be lunch with his dad or with some of the guys that made the trip into the city, and every night was in Lorenzo’s bed fucking to the point of exhaustion. After a few hours of sleep, they would fuck again, and again in the early morning hours as the skyline of the city began to glow with the rising sun.

During the days when Lorenzo had off from the restaurant, he would show Jerry the city, taking him to one neighborhood or another, and on the days, he had to work, Jerry would show up for a late lunch or dinner, Lorenzo’s last customer of the day, then they would return to the apartment.

 

A Plan

“It’s confirmed,” said Jonathan to the group sitting around the large dining table. They had sandwiches and chips spread out before them; what Preston called a working lunch. They had a breakthrough, and Preston, Jonathan, Reese, Richard, and Chester stayed up the rest of the night finalizing the plan they had been devising for weeks. Chester had retired to his quarters that morning, leaving Preston and Jonathan the task of explaining everything to the rest of the group.

“Should I be here?” said Jerry, looking nervously around the room.

“Yes, of course you should be,” Brody replied making Preston smile.

“Guys, it is as we thought. Eric Pritchard’s group was behind the attack,” said Preston, tossing photos across the table. “Jessie got these two weeks ago and they arrived three days ago. The guy with the ball cap is Lucan Drayton, number three at New Moon, the security and training company Pritchard started a several years ago. It is well funded; some say with stolen tax dollars during our occupation of Iraq.”

“How did Jessie get these?” asked Bobby.

“Our house was rigged with cameras on mechanical switches connected to the doors. They could come in, sweep for electronic devices, finding nothing, then start their search as our camera system eventually clicked on,” said Jonathan.

“And it appears the pickup for Jerry threw up a red flag and they think they might have missed something,” said Preston. He leaned back smiling at their lucky break. “They spent an hour going through the house, scanning and ripping into walls.”

“Did they find the tunnel?” asked Eli.

“No, they seemed to have skipped over the kitchen.”

“Who are the other two?” asked Wesley.

“Low level foot soldiers,” Preston replied, sliding a photograph close enough to point to each one. “This is Carl Coughlin. Ex-Navy seal, convicted of assault against a girlfriend, and five years ago recruited by New Moon to be a part of their security detail.”

“Nice,” Liam uttered sarcastically.

“The other is Elliot O. Jones, former member of Patriot Front, a veteran of the Iraq war, Army, and recruited to New Moon six years ago.”

“But we don’t care about those two, it is Drayton and the man above him who answers only to Pritchard, Damien Ohme, we’re interested in. And Pritchard, of course,” interjected Jonathan.

“Cut the head off and the body dies,” said Richard.

“Exactly,” said Preston.

“And how are going to do that?” asked Wesley.

“We expose them,” said Jonathan. He turned on the projector showing an aerial view of mountains. Zooming in until only a few houses were visible in a valley, he brought up red circles around three of them. “These are vacations homes for the three men. Most of the year, they reside in their main residences, Pritchard in the eastern part of North Carolina, Jones in Montana, and Coughlin in Wyoming and New York City. But we’ve been able to work out the three of them take a vacation at least once a year, usually in the fall, and it is always the exact time for the three.”

“Where is this?”

“An area just northeast of Asheville, North Carolina. Mount Mitchell is just to the east. It is a remote region, which keeps them out of the public eye but also works to our advantage too.”

“Their timed vacations allow them to have a face-to-face meetings,” said Preston.

“We’ve managed to scan all three residences and get some not so accurate floor plans for Coughlin and Jones’ residences. We know each has a large office within them and two showed a safe, a large safe,” said Jonathan.

“How large?” asked Wesley.

“Bank vault large.”

“Big enough to go into,” said Liam and it was obvious what he was referring.

“Yes. We think you can do whatever it is you do and get into them.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Accounting documents, operations that are off the books…anything that looks suspicious,” said Preston.

“And we’re going to turn these over to the DOJ or CIA or FBI?” asked Wesley.

“No, for we’re afraid they’ll disappear by a sympathizer. We’ll send copies to the media outlets we can trust, especially overseas outlets.”

“BBC, DW, Reuters, hell, even Al Jazeera…whatever it takes to get them exposed in a manner that forces someone in this country to take action,” said Jonathan.

“Won’t they go underground?” asked Wesley.

“They’ll try and that is the next mission. We wait for their next planned vacation to these houses, go in a few days prior and do a document search and if successful, then we take them into custody once all three arrive.”

“We’ve made a plan to take all three the day before we release our findings, then on the day of the release, the three of them end up outside FBI headquarters in DC,” said Preston.

“Jonathan, fill them in on the plan,” said Richard.

 

Preston entered the room shared with Brody. He was anxious, more so than usual. He began to unbutton his shirt, then stopped to take off his shoes, then one sock, before returning to the final buttons of his shirt.

“Here, let me,” said Brody coming up to him, brushing his hands away then working the last two buttons free. “What are you worried about?”

“Someone gets hurt…or worse.”

“Liam can step out of our realm so fast as to appear to disappear, and Wesley can fly faster than those Sci-Fi spaceships you dare call a plane.”

“They are planes,” Preston jokingly replied. “But Pritchard is an expert in security and the place he would have all his gadgets is that house in the mountains.”

“Inside the safe too?”

“I would.”

“What does Liam plan on doing to avoid them?”

“Hover in the air. Never touch down. But he would need to open any drawers inside the vault.”

“Did you know he can slip just his hand through the other realm.”

“What? No.”

“He keeps practicing with his ability until about a month ago he figured out how to reach into a box and take out its contents without opening it.”

Preston laughed. “No shit. That makes this easier.”

“So, relax,” said Brody, pushing Preston to step back until the bed hit his legs. “Let me take your mind off of it.”

Brody understood him probably more than Preston understood himself. He knew Preston kept up a façade of total competency, far too often a seriousness of expression that made others feel a bit intimidated. He also knew within their quarters Preston needed his support, and in times like now, to take control. To let himself be submissive and wanted and able to let everything go, even if for only a short time.

He moved over Preston, seeing the relaxation in expression and in the body. He cupped the neck and leaned down until their lips were pressed together. As hands moved over his body, he began to undo the pants. Gently, slowly, he removed the pants, then boxers until Preston was naked. He moved up between the legs, taking the hardening cock and sinks it into his mouth.

 

Preston rolled to his stomach and felt Brody move over his body, cock sliding up his leg and over his ass. It moved along the crevice, back and forth, until he was pushing upward. He reached back spreading his cheeks. The cock bore down between them until pressing against his tightness. He moaned and pushed up against it. Then shuddered as the cock stretched his opening and penetrated him.

Hands slipped under his arms and held tight to his shoulders as cock bore into his depths. He felt Brody moving over him, the undulation of the torso as cock piston inside his hole. He relaxed to the fuck, pushed upward in desire trying to get that cock deeper, just a bit deeper. He felt the hot exhales on his neck, then a nip of the skin.

His own cock was rock hard and every push inward by Brody, pushed it into the bed until it was almost painful.

“Preston…I’m going…” Brody uttered in his ear.

He knew what it meant. The urgency in the voice, the increased pace of their fuck, how Brody smacked down against his ass, over and over until both were gasping for breath. Then Brody was shoved into his depths, jamming hips against his ass, and he knew was pumping a load into his depths.

When Brody rolled to his side, he rolled to his back and held his cock up, slowly stroking it smearing its slick along the shaft. He watched Brody move over him, take his cock in hand and ease down on it. The tightness squeezing over the head made him shiver and fight for control of himself. He wanted to push upward, to get inside Brody as deeply as he could, but he clutched each of Brody’s ankles and held still, watching his cock disappear inside him.

Then Brody was moving on him, up and down with an increasing pace. Soon, Brody’s half-hard wet cock slapped down on his stomach as Brody slammed down on his cock.

It didn’t long. Too aroused by Brody’s fuck, now the feel of tight ass moving on his cock just pushed him over the edge. He tightened his grip on the ankles and shoved upward as his cock erupted. He shuddered and jerked with every ejaculation until spent and gasping for breath.

 

Brody lay against his back, hugging their bodies together. Preston was exhausted and he finally found himself not obsessing over the plans. Within minutes, he was asleep.

 

Phase I

The Petrel, the name everyone agreed to for the plane that technically didn’t exist, was loaded for the first phase of their plan. Jonathan and Reese were set up in the back of the cabin, computer monitors on the wall lit up as they brought up the programs and links they would need. Liam and William sat at the front next to each other, William quiet, leaving Liam to his thoughts. Wesley sat between them, back up for Liam if anything went wrong. Jerry sat next to Wesley, along for the ride as Chester had put it, but he knew it was to see how the operation was carried out. A way to see the others in action, gaining insight from exposure rather than listening to one of them drone on about how things would work.

As the engines spooled up, the overhead panels began to slide open, the two halves growing further and further apart.

“Okay, everyone, we’re in the air in less than a minute. Make sure you’re buckled in,” said Emily Lockhart. She and Oliver Watson were the two pilots who Chester had lured out of retirement.

Jerry checked his seat belt, still shocked by the number of people involved. The pilots, the mechanics, the ‘shoplifters’ as Liam called them who got the parts they needed, the cooks, the cleaning and maintenance staff, and the groups outside the mountain facility that provided backup. He looked around and wondered if the others realized how insane it felt, at times almost comical.

The plane rose straight up, the fans a whir of white noise in the cabin, then the jets were throttled up and they swung around and moved toward the west. Jerry knew the flight path like everyone else on board. If something happened during the flight, they needed to know where to expect to find themselves. A quick westward flight over Chile until over the Pacific Ocean, then a flight path paralleling the western coast of South America, a few hundred miles away. Parallel with northern Peru, they would stay on a northernly course, flying over Costa Rica, the eastern side of Nicaragua and Honduras until over the Caribbean Sea. Once they slipped between Cuba and Mexico, they would fly over the Gulf of Mexico, increasing altitude and speed, pushing the Petrel near its limits to avoid detection. They would fly over waters closely watched by the US, the state of Florida nothing but a listening post for threats. Once over Georgia, they would slow and descend, swinging over the least populated areas of Georgia, then western North Carolina.

“Liam, we’ll be in position in less than 1. We’ll take a hovering position in the next valley over from the targets as planned. All scanning shows us clear. There is traffic about a UFO coming out of Florida and Hartsfield,” said Emily over the intercom, chuckling for she found it humorous, “nothing we didn’t expect.”

Jerry watched Liam stand up and move into the center aisle. He bent his head to one side then the other stretching his neck. He smiled back at Jonathan.

“I’m going in,” said Liam before the plane was in final position.

Jerry watched him, dressed in solid black with some inner layer that greatly reduced his heat signature, how he seemed to relax, give a quick nod to Wesley, then simply vanished.

“Damn, I can never get used to that,” said William, and Jerry wondered if he would ever get use to it.

 

Liam phased halfway back into the visible realm, floating through space after space, nothing solid to him in the other dimension. He floated through Lucan Drayton’s house smirking at the garish nature of it. A place decorated to impress, show off prize possessions of artillery shells, taxidermy of endangered species, including a gray wolf and a tiger. It made Liam want to burn the whole place to the ground, and maybe he would when they came back to take Lucan into their custody.

He found the office, one floor down, not up, partially recessed into the side of the mountain. He circled the enormous room, over a gaudy desk then a conference table in the middle of the room, and along the stone wall, knowing there was nothing behind it but more stone until facing the wall of metal panels behind the desk. Steel panels that concealed a room for activities he didn’t want to consider and a vault the size a small bank would use. He slipped through the solid metal and concrete and hovered in the middle of it. Gold bars, stacks of cash, and boxes of files lined the shelves. A briefcase sat on one shelf, and he saw it was rigged with explosives. A trap for anyone who might get in. Then he saw the loose folders along the back wall. The file names jumped out at him. Darfur, Iraq, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Iran, Bush War, Paraguay, Lebanon, and a few more he didn’t take the time to read. All he knew was the files were the most important thing in the vault. He hovered in place, neatly stacking them, then transitioning them to their base back in Argentina. He hovered over to the file boxes and created three groups which he sent back. He moved to the briefcase, not daring to touch it in any way, smirking at what it would look like to Lucan when he entered the vault. He moved to the gold bars and stacks of money, seeing it was dollars, British Pound Sterling, euros, and Yuan. He transitioned all of it back to the base, leaving only the brief base. Then he vanished from the room.

 

Damien Ohme’s house was less tacky, rustic in a way, only millions of dollars could afford, with large heavy timber framing and windows that span one wall overlooking the valley below. Liam nodded in approval after seeing Drayton’s place, then set about to find the vault.

At first, he was going to float down to the lower level, but reconsidered and floated up to the level above that was over bedrooms. He found the primary bedroom suite, then an office that didn’t face the valley, but back toward the side of the mountain. A small waterfall and native plants filled the large view out. Swinging around facing the wall opposite the window, he saw the vault, how it was set into a concrete structure in the center of the house. He floated into the vault and saw it was like Drayton’s. Money, gold bars and large envelopes with the name of banks from Switzerland and Germany, and on a lower shelf, a violin case, a box that contained old coins, and a few very rare books. In the back there were paintings set into vertical slots, and Liam recognized one as a piece stolen a few years ago. On the opposite wall, boxes of files, neatly labeled and stacked. No loose folders, everything sorted in a box. He looked for a trap, a brief case or a box that was rigged, peering through everything, seeing it from all dimensions.

It seems Damien is a bit more trusting, Liam thought to himself. In less than a minute, everything was back in Argentina at the mountain.

Liam floated in the other realm, a place eerily silent with the visible realms a fragmented array around him, everything visible at once. He moved toward the place that was Eric Pritchard’s house. He saw it as a whole, every room, every structural element. It was similar to Damien’s, and Liam wondered if the same architect and builder did the two of them. He floated to the edge of space-time, cautious of what Pritchard could have laying in wait for any intruder. He looked up through the upper level, then down seeing the spaces that made up the house. Down below, a theater, game room, wine cellar, a garage that contained three Porches and a Range Rover. And at the back of the level, a hidden passage set in the concrete retaining wall where the room abuts the mountain. It was a short descent down stone steps to the vault. Set in solid rock surrounded by heavily reinforced concrete, it should have been impenetrable. For anyone else, it might have been. He drifted lazily into the vault, hovered over the floor seeing the cameras that were no doubt capturing his image. He sent out a charge, massive voltage shorting out the lights, cameras, and any other electrical system in the vault. The door clicked and Liam knew it was locked down, but no alarm was sounding.

Liam scanned the shelves. There was no money, no valuables of any kind, just file boxes, a box of hard drives and flash drives, and a plastic bag containing a bloody knife. There were no traps among any of it, and within seconds it was all back in Argentina. Liam floated to the center of the room and vanished.

 

“Okay, let’s go,” said Liam.

Jerry turned around from having been in a conversation with Wesley, stunned at how suddenly Liam appeared. He looked at Wesley who shrugged his shoulders, then back at Liam.

“You’re done?” asked Jerry.

“Yep.”

“Buckle up,” said Emily.

The plane tilted back from its climb out of the valley. By the time it cleared the ridge, the plane was accelerating at a rapid pace. By the time they were leveling off, the plane was at Mach 5. They swung west, a large arc over Tennessee, across northern Alabama, and down the state line between Alabama and Mississippi, an area loosely populated. The plane began to glow in the dark skies as it flew out over the Gulf of Mexico. They would cross over to the Pacific Ocean at the narrowest section of Mexico and swing around to come parallel with Peru’s coastline and back to Argentina.

 

A Day of Reckoning 

“Jesus Christ! Richard! Come check this out. The bastards have been interfering with other governments for years. Look at this…they were involved in a propaganda campaign in Darfur, Africa, and even Thailand,” said Jonthan, swiveling around to face Richard.

Jonathan had taken the hard drives and flash drives and Richard, Preston, Reese, and Chester had taken the file boxes.

“There’s too much here,” uttered Reese in frustration. “How are we going to make this public when the public will get bored with all of this after a couple of days.”

“We don’t release it all at once,” said Richard as he crossed the room to look at what Jonathan had found.

“Agreed,” said Chester.“We release it in stages. The Middle East, the African continent, southeast Asia, and within our own country,” said Preston holding up a file that had BLM written on it.

“Not surprised those assholes were stirring up shit here,” said Reese. “What do we release first?”

“I think we release the domestic abuses first, then the southeast Asian stuff. It’ll bring China and Japan into the array,” said Chester. “The State Department will get an earful and public pressure from abroad and hopefully at home will make them act.

“They are going to be at their vacation houses in a week. Can we have this ready in time?” said Preston.

“I may not be able to get through everything on the files, but I’ll have enough to bury them,” said Jonathan typing away at the keyboard, bringing up another document for Richard to look at.

“Damn,” Richard uttered, shaking his head. “They need to pay for this.”

“I found their file on us,” said Preston, holding up two thick folders.

 

Preston was against it, feared someone would recognize him, but Jerry begged them to let him go into San Juan to see Lorenzo.

“How will anyone know to look in San Juan? I mean, of all the places in the world for them to consider, I would think San Juan would be damn near the bottom of the list,” said Jerry. He saw Preston grimace and Wesley gave him a sympathetic look, but it was Chester who stepped in, telling him he should be fine, just go to Lorenzo’s place and stay in.

“Okay, but only for two nights. I want you back here by Wednesday night. The next operation is Friday night and I want everyone here, safe and sound and rested,” said Preston.

“Deal,” Jerry replied grinning from ear to ear.

 

Eli carried Jerry’s overnight bag to the truck as Jerry talked to Preston. He overheard the cautions, how Jerry was to keep an eye out, look at his surroundings, especially men who looked American. How Jerry was to get to Lorenzo’s place and stay inside, and not go out until it was time for him to return.

Eli set the bag in the passenger footwell and turned to see Preston hand Jerry what he knew to be what they loosely called a sweep, a device to scan for electronic devices. He moved toward them hearing Preston repeat how to use it.

“…move it over the truck, underneath it, and around the cabin. And do a visual sweep as well. The truck is dirty, so anything stuck to it should be clean, therefore visible.”

“And wait until I’m out of the city on desolate section of road to do it,” said Jerry sarcastically, showing Preston he remembered everything.

Eli saw Preston smile and nod his head.

“Preston, I know this is serious and we can’t take too many chances. I won’t forget to check the truck before coming back here.”

Then Jerry was driving away, a trail of dust kicked up in the short drive, then just the sound of the truck driving away on the narrow two-lane road.

“Let’s get back,” said Preston.

Eli fell in behind Preston wondering how he did it. All the aspects of the situation, all the planning and execution. There were others involved, Jonathan on the computers, and others helping with the leg work, but there was some unsaid thing among them, that despite Chester and Richard’s presence, it was Preston that was their leader.

He felt left out, unmoored in a way that made him feel unsure of himself, for it was Liam and Wesley who were taking on most of the burdens of the operations. Liam’s ability was so incredible as to defy the imagination, and everyone knew there was no place on earth or in space that he could not go. He wondered if he had a real part of the plan being devised.

They entered the old cabin, raised the floor panel to the tunnel below that led to the mountain facility. Stepping to one side, Preston let him go first. As he descended the ships ladder, he heard Preston climb down behind him. They moved down the tunnel until at the electric cart. Eli climbed behind the wheel, for Preston never drove, always using the time to check the status of the operation or run down the facilities maintenance charts.

He drove down the tunnel until the lights grew brighter and the rear entrance to the facility came into view. It was a simple space, only about fifteen feet in height and about twenty by thirty in size. Eli pulled in next to the other three carts, climbed out, and plugged it in to keep a full charge. He looked up to see Preston halfway to the security door and he jogged over so as not to keep him waiting.

A scan of an eye, then the hand, and the door unlatched and slowly swung open toward them. Eli followed Preston inside and touched the panel inside to close the door. They were almost to the dining room, close enough to hear voices coming out the doors.

“Hey, I’m going to go find Brandon.”

Preston made a grunt of acknowledgement while switching his focus from the corridor to his monitor. It made Eli shake his head at the focus Preston could have on something, blocking out everything else. He turned left down the corridor that led to his quarters as Preston continued to the dining room.

 

Eli entered the room he shared with Brandon to find him coming out of the bathroom, a towel around the waist and another being used to dry his hair. He looked at the familiar body, the pierced nipples, hoops in each ear, and black hair cut short on the sides, but longer on top, long enough he could get a grip on it during their sex. He knew every aspect of the body, one that had filled out, grew more muscular from the workout routine Reese kept everyone on.

Eli stopped trying to understand how he, someone who grew up so timid and introverted, could find himself loving someone so different. So extroverted, so outspoken, who always dressed to make a statement. Someone who drew attention to themselves. Someone who pushed the boundaries of their sex. There were times it was slow and gentle and so intimate, but when Brandon was really aroused, keyed up about some situation then he wanted the most physical sex. The ass spanked a bit, the nipples tugged and twisted, or his hands bound behind the back and legs kicked apart, submissive to Eli.

They had been together five years, and he still blushed whenever one of the guys joked about their sex. It seemed they were too loud at times, or a bit reckless in doing it whenever the mood struck, even fucking in the atrium late one night thinking everyone else was asleep. Quinton never let them forget he had seen them. But when he was honest with himself, it aroused him, this pushing past the prudish notions instilled in him by his religious parents as a young boy. To have sex that was physical, a bit rough, but in the end satisfying to the point of exhaustion, he couldn’t get enough of it.

He crossed the room, snatched the towel from Brandon’s hand, then the one around his waist, tossing both on the floor. He pushed Brandon on the bed, climbed over him while undoing his jeans. As he got over Brandon’s chest, he had his cock out.

“Suck me.”

Brandon smiled, then leaned up and took Eli’s cock. He sucked it, tugged on it with his lips, and worked his tongue over the head.

Eli quickly became rock hard. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall and pumped his cock through Brandon’s lips in a slow fuck. A hand rested on his hip, and he knew the other one was getting a cock hard. He sat up, balanced on his knees, and removed his shirt while continuing to pump cock into Brandon’s mouth. The hand on his waist dug fingers into his side and it spoke to Brandon’s arousal.

Eli climbed off Brandon, standing by the bed. He looked down the muscular body with its black hair trialing down from the navel to the pubic hair and hovering over it a rock-hard cock.

“Rough or gentle?” Eli asked as he removed his jeans and boxers.

“Let’s play rough,” Brandon replied, and Eli smiled at him, then moved with aggression, flipping Brandon to his stomach and slipping between the hairy legs, ticklish against his own smooth legs. He held the neck pushing Brandon’s head down while rubbing his cock over the ass. Brandon pushed up against it, then reached back spreading his cheeks.

“Do it…do it Eli,” a muffled plea.

Eli put his cock to the tight opening and pushed. His cock breached it, then squeezed through, inch after inch until halfway inside the hot little hole.

“Fuck,” Eli uttered as he began to do so.

He held Brandon down as he bore into his depths. He moved slowly, letting Brandon feel every inch, pushing inward until against the ass. Then he tugged outward until his cock hovered over the tight opening trying to close. He pushed down, breaching it again, then penetrating the ass until once again pressed against it. Over and over, he slowed fucked Brandon, worked his cock through the tightness until the ass was pushing upward with his every push inward.

“Eli...fuck me…fuck me harder,” another muffled plea.

Eli shifted, knees locked into place, released the neck only to grab Brandon by the hair tugging the head back, and he began to fuck faster, harder, the bed rocking beneath them. He nipped at the back of the neck, then along the left shoulder. He drove his cock into Brandon’s depths until he felt his growing need for release, and he pulled out.

“Roll over.”

Brandon lay before him, cock hovering over the stomach, flexing up and down. It drooled its slick and Eli watched it pool on the stomach. Then he reached down and tugged on the tightening sac until the nuts were crammed in the bottom of it and it turned an angry red.

Brandon moaned and his cock drooled more slick.

Eli stroked the cock, roughly, squeezing the head, tugging on the Prince Albert, then just trailing a finger lightly along the shaft.

Brandon shivered and the cock continued to drool its slick.

Eli trailed his fingers up the stomach, over the chest, then circled the nipples. He tugged on the right one, then twisted it until Brandon shivered and arced his back, pushing up against his hand. Eli saw Brandon reach out and tug on his cock. He felt a shiver race down his spine as fingers toyed with the head, then tugged on his sac.

“Fuck,” Eli barked, then climbed on the bed. He moved between the legs as Brandon submissively held them up. He slid his hands up each calf, the hair ticklish against his palms, until he held each leg behind the knee. A hand took his cock and pulled, guiding him to shift forward until touching the ass. As he pushed into the ass, he pushed the legs down until thighs were tight to the chest. He bore down on the legs as he pushed his cock into Brandon’s depths, then he began to fuck. A hard physical fuck, hips smacking the upturned ass.

As he found his rhythm, one that made the muscles in his abdomen burn with this exertion, he briefly wondered if the others fucked like this with everything that was going on. Did the stress of their situation make their sex just as physical?

“Eli,” Brandon uttered.

Eli squeezed tight to each leg and pushed his body up until he could move swiftly, full undulations of the hips, as he slammed his cock into Brandon’s depths with hips smacking against the upturned ass. Over and over, until Brandon was moaning and grunting and gasping for breath. Over and over until sweat cascaded down his face and chest and rained down on Brandon. Over and over until his cock ached for release and he didn’t slow, just kept hammering Brandon’s ass until he came. He shuddered and jerked with each ejaculation until finally spent.

On his knees, working his still hard cock through the slick opening, he kept fucking Brandon as he watched him masturbate. The back arched upward, then the body tensed tight. The hand was a blur of motion, up and down the slick cock, then there was the familiar fist slamming to the base of the cock and holding still as the cock swelled thicker, then erupted with thick ropes of cum. Over the chest, then the stomach, cum rained down on Brandon until finally the cock was spent and the hand was just smearing the last of the dribbled cum down it.

Eli stopped fucking, slipping out of Brandon. He leaned over and dragged his tongue up the stomach and chest, capturing some of the cum, then he kissed Brandon, sharing it with him.

 

Jerry lay back, this time the one submitting. Lorenzo slipped between his legs until cock pushed at his ass. Then it breached his loosened slick opening, one Lorenzo had rimmed to a slopy wet mess. The cock pushed into his depths making him moan. He pushed upward, feeling his own cock press into the undulating stomach. He threw his head back with open mouth gasping for breath as lips touched his neck, jaw, and chin. Then the lips closed over his mouth, and he dueled tongues with Lorenzo as the long lean torso undulating on top of him. He ran his hands along its sides, feeling its heat and movement. He took his legs behind the knees and spread himself wide for Lorenzo. Opened himself to Lorenzo’s fuck, relishing the fullness of every thrust inward.

Lorenzo fucked with a slow steady rhythm, one that pushed his own arousal to the breaking point. He pushed upward pressing his cock into the undulating stomach as Lorenzo kept up his fuck. Their bodies began to sweat, and they moved slickly against each other. Lorenzo kissed his neck, dragged a tongue along it up to the ear where he tugged on the earlobe.

“I wish we could do this forever,” Lorenzo uttered.

“Yeah,” Jerry gasped breathlessly as he felt cock sink into his ass again.

Every move, every touch, every push into his depths, Jerry felt it. Lorenzo made their sex so sensual he was breathless. Lorenzo rose over him to increase the pace of their fuck. He looked up at the sweating body and the glazed expression as he took his own cock in hand and slow stroked it. He reached out with his other hand and touched the hot bare chest, rubbed the back of it across hard nipples and smooth slick skin.

Jerry didn’t know how much he could endure.

Lorenzo came to his knees and guided Jerry to roll over to his own hands and knees. Jerry held his head down seeing his own cock hover beneath his stomach. It drooled its slick and he watched the clear drop stretch down to the mattress, then he focused on the legs behind him, how they moved in rhythm to the pumping cock in his ass.

Lorenzo leaned over his back, then lips touched his neck. He pushed back on the cock and held his head down exposing his neck to the lips, not wanting them to stop their gently kisses. A hand touched his side then moved around until grasping his cock. As cock moved inside him, the hand stroked his cock.

Their fuck became a blur of touch and movement and soft utterances. Jerry had been on his hands and knees but suddenly found himself on his stomach with Lorenzo’s arm around his neck and lips moving over the side of his face and over the ear. Lorenzo’s fuck increased in intensity, hips smacking down on ass, the sound of it echoing in the small apartment.

“Take me,” Lorenzo uttered as he thrust into Jerry’s depths and shuddered with release.

As Lorenzo came inside him, Jerry felt his own cock spurt wad after wad, wetting the bed around it.

 

For the remainder of the day, they stayed in bed, naked, fucking to the point of exhaustion. That evening, with night descended over the city, Lorenzo cooked chorizo and served it in fresh bread rolls from a bakery down the street. They teased each other, talked at greater length of their lives with Lorenzo talking about his dream of owning a restaurant while Jerry skirted the topic, changing the subject.

That night they fucked, then fell into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Lorenzo didn’t understand why Jerry wanted to stay inside all day, but he relented, and they laid in bed, naked and sated, touching and talking, until aroused once again. By night they had exhausted their desire for sex, and lay on the bed listening to music, Jerry letting Lorenzo hold him.

 

The next morning, Jerry packed his bag while telling Lorenzo he would be tied up for a few days but would return as soon as he could. Lorenzo kissed him goodbye and remained inside to get cleaned up to go to his job at the restaurant. Down the stairs and out to the street, he strolled back over to the next street where the truck was parked. He passed a grocery store, a barber shop, then a coffee shop with a few tables on the sidewalk. He scanned the faces, looking for one that was out of place. A glance across the street he saw two men and a woman leaning against the wall of a store. One man had a camera slung around his neck while the other was on the phone. They looked like tourists on first impression, but something about the way the woman was staring back made him nervous, and he turned in the next alley. As soon as he was out of sight, he ran. He had a vague sense of where the alley led, having scoped out the area after parking two days prior. He cut left, then right, ran through a small courtyard, then into a service drive cutting through the block. He ran down it until at another alley and cut into it slamming himself against the wall. He stood frozen in place trying to slow his breathing, then carefully eased over to the corner of the building to look along the service lane. An old Nissan truck was coming his way and he saw the driver was an old man.

Satisfied he wasn’t being followed, he eased back over to the street where the truck was parked coming out below it. He looked it over as best he could without drawing attention, tossed his bag into the passenger footwell, and climbed in. With the truck running, he did a U-turn, not wanting to go past the place he saw the three people, and headed back.

About ten miles north of the city along a desolate section of road, he pulled into a side road, nothing but a dirt path cutting out into the dry terrain. He swept the cabin, then around the outside of the truck, then got down on his hands and knees and swept the undercarriage. At the passenger door, the device began to beep.

“No,” Jerry uttered as he leaned down lower and looked under the truck. A block box was stuck to the steel underbody. It was small, but Jerry knew it was large enough to spell trouble. With a shaking hand, he pulled it away feeling the magnet trying to hold it tight to the metal.

Back on his feet he looked at the device, tempted to just toss it into the scrub brush along the side of the lane, but he knew Jonathan would want it. He reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a small box, one Jonathan had gave him, telling him it would prevent any signal from getting out for it was lined in gold and aluminum. He put the device in the box and the box into his bag. Knowing someone was probably following, he climbed into the truck and sped up the road to another side lane, where he drove down to an abandoned barn, parking the truck behind it. He took out his bag, stepped clear of the barn and low stunted trees, and flew straight up as fast as he could. Once high enough no one could see him, he headed back to the mountain, worried he had revealed their location.

 

“Jerry, stop worrying about it. What do they know? You’re in Argentina. They can’t know if we dumped you here and went elsewhere or if we are in the region, and if so, where. They probably think we’re holed up in some large house or building in one of the cities,” said Jonathan for the third time as Preston looked over the device taken off the truck. Jonathan had it dismantled to confirm who made it, finding it was from the States and one New Moon used.

“The two men; you’re sure you didn’t recognize either one of them?” asked Preston.

“Yes.”

“Foot soldiers,” Preston uttered as he turned to Jonathan. “This changes nothing. We go on Friday. I want to take those assholes right after their arrival in the mountains, when they are tired from traveling and hadn’t had a chance to get settled in.”

“I hear you. We’re ready. Reese is going to load up everything tomorrow after checking it for the hundredth time,” Jonathan replied.

Preston smiled. “He is good at his job. At dinner, we’ll go over everything one more time and let everyone rest up tomorrow. We’ll take off right after dark on Friday.”

 

Jerry helped Wesley load up two duffel bags, the contents he wasn’t sure of, but knew everyone hoped it was something not needed. Most of the operation depended on Liam with Wesley as backup. The plane was being checked over one more time with crews working around it as they climbed into the cabin. Jerry still couldn’t fathom such a craft existed and calling it a plane seemed a joke. But what else to call it he wasn’t sure.

Jonathan and Preston were already seated in the rear with laptops open, no doubt checking to see the latest news on the packages delivered that morning. Jonathan drove the old Land Cruiser into San Juan on Tuesday dropping off parcels for air shipment to their destinations at several media outlets, two Senators, DOJ, and CIA. The arrival of the packages was to take place that morning.  It didn’t take long for the news outlets to do a report, then follow up reports all day long as they dug into the information. To make it international news, each parcel covered New Moon’s activities in southeast Asia, and to make it strike at home, the involvement in the BLM protests, stirring up resentment and the white nationalists.  In a week, Jonathan would ship out another group of parcels, this time covering the Middle East and Iraq, the latter particularly damning, and sure to make things happen if the first parcel didn’t do the trick.

The first parcels were headline news around the world, and sure to make the little vacation planned by Eric Pritchard, Damien Ohme, and Lucan Drayton a bit more interesting.

“Everyone, buckle up, we’re ready to take off,” said Oliver over the intercom as Emily did a routine check of all systems. The door closed on the cabin as the mountain panels were nearly open. Jerry looked around the cabin. Wesley and Liam were seated together going over the plan, and across from them, Reese was leaning back, earbuds in and eyes closed. Jerry knew it was his way of settling down and focusing his mind. He wished he could relax in such a manner, but his right knee bounced up and down and he kept fidgeting in the chair.

“Okay, we’re a go,” said Oliver as the plane lifted off, rising vertically until clear of the mountain. The jet engines spooled up and they moved forward, gaining altitude as they went. Jerry listened to the white noise of the jet engines, then when they were at some ridiculous altitude, he heard the change in their sound as they switched to scramjet mode. The acceleration was still shocking as they increased speed. Then the cabin grew eerily quiet as they reached peak altitude and leveled off. Just the sound like blowtorches being used nearby.

 

“We’re coming into the position,” said Emily as Oliver maneuvered them down into the valley across the western ridge from the three vacation houses.

Liam stood up, twisted his head back and forth, then smiled at Jonathan who nodded in reply.

“Liam, remember they may be expecting something,” said Reese.

“I know, so let’s make this quick,” Liam replied, then vanished.

 

Liam floated into Damien Ohme’s house. He saw the wife reading on the sofa of the main family room, and upstairs two teenagers, each in their own rooms on their cellphones and down in the kitchen, two staff preparing dinner. He swung around and to Damien’s office where he saw him pacing back and forth on his cellphone. He moved into the edge of space the room occupied and waited for him to hang up, knowing it was Eric Pritchard on the other end.

“…I don’t care how valuable you think Drayton is, he is a bigger liability. You’ve seen inside his houses. He’s a nut job and will be our undoing. Eric, cut the asshole loose.”

Damien moved behind his desk and sat down as he listened to Eric.

“I know, Eric. He could spill the beans. I don’t mean to let him walk away. I mean we disappear the bastard. Drop him in a hole where no one can find him. With the breach, and I don’t know how the fuck anyone got those documents, it is going to be hairy. Right now, we deny, deny, fucking deny. Say the documents are forged to make us look bad and…

“I know Eric, but…”

Liam knew Pritchard had hung up, and he watched Damien stare at his cellphone as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Fucking asshole is going to get us caught,” Damien uttered as he stood, slipping his cellphone into his pocket. As he crossed the room heading out, Liam appeared before him.

“Remember me?” said Liam, and before Damien could respond he enclosed the space around him and transitioned him to the mountain into a holding cell. Then the fragmented ghostly image of Liam vanished.

 

Jonathan looked over to Preston. “Damien Ohme just showed up at the mountain. Eli and Richard are ready to search him and get him ready to be dropped off.”

“I hope he has his cellphone on him,” Preston replied. “I guess Lucan Drayton is next.”

“Yep.”

 

Liam transitioned into Drayton’s house seeing immediately it was quiet, just some old country music playing. He floated down through the house until in the basement office. Drayton sat at his desk smoking a cigar. With a grimace, Drayton looked like he knew Ohme had it out for him. On the desk sat an empty glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey. His cellphone and a small black device lay next to the glass. Liam planned to take Drayton, then retrieve the cellphone. He transitioned into the room and saw Drayton’s shock, then just as quickly, recognition.

Drayton slapped the black device.

Liam knew it had to be bad, something he needed to escape, and he floated back into the other dimension as the room exploded around him. He floated up through flames and debris, everything rising with him. He floated out over the valley and watched the fireball that had been Drayton’s house mushroom upward. He transitioned into the visible realm of space-time and touched the comm in his ear.

“Drayton is gone. I’m going for Pritchard.”

Then he transitioned into the space of Pritchard’s house. He saw Pritchard’s wife drop a book down on the coffee table then go to the window to see Drayton’s house aflame. Upstairs the youngest daughter, the only one still living with them, rolled off her bed and went to the window, pulling back the curtains. Liam looked in every room, every niche, attic, and crawlspace too. Eric Pritchard was not at the house. He floated upward and looked around the property, transitioning into a garage at the back of it, then an underground bunker hidden in the rear yard. Nothing everywhere he looked. He transitioned through space and stepped onto the floor of the cabin.

“Guys, that Pritchard fuck is not here.”

 

The mountain was open for their return and Emily and Oliver maneuvered through the opening and set down. As the fans slowed, the door opened. Liam, Jerry, and Wesley climbed down first, followed by Reese, then Preston and Jonathan who were in heavy discussion on where Eric Pritchard could have gone. They knew of his residences in the states, had each one monitored, and nothing was showing up at any of them.

Chester and Richard were waiting for them and looked at Liam for a report on what happened.

“Eric Pritchard was not at his house,” said Liam.

“What of Drayton?” asked Richard.

“He blew himself up.”

“What?” Chester replied, then stepped forward with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I transitioned out of his office as he blew it.”

“It’s Eric Pritchard I’m concerned about,” said Preston as he came up to the group.

“I’m going to get on it now,” said Jonathan, walking past everyone heading to the doors.

“Jonathan, get some sleep first,” said Richard.

“You know he can’t sleep until he figures something out,” said Reese, stepping around and heading in behind Jonathan. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

 

Jerry followed Wesley inside, Liam going with Preston to check on their prisoner then see what Jonathan was up to. He turned into the corridor that led to his quarters, the fatigue of the long day and finally being able to relax made him feel dead tired. All he could think about was a hot shower and his bed. He stripped and got into the shower, letting the hot water relax his muscles, taking the tension away.

He came out of the bathroom toweling his hair dry when someone knocked on his door. Three rapid raps.

“Jerry! Open up,” exclaimed Reese.

Jerry went to the door, wrapping the towel around his waist, and opened it to Reese and Preston standing in the corridor.

“We have a problem,” said Reese.

Preston stepped closer. “We’ve been monitoring the calls to our phones and-“

“But they are turned off and cards removed,” Jerry interrupted.

“Yes, but we have a remote system that monitors any calls made to them. Lorenzo has been calling your phone for the last thirty minutes non-stop.”

“Lorenzo? At this hour? Something is wrong.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but we think you should go check it out.”

“You mean fly there while it is still dark and see if there is a problem.”

“That’s right,” said Reese. “Wesley will go with you. Liam is exhausted. Something about all that space travel just wears him out.”

“Is Wesley ready? I need to go now,” said Jerry.

“He’s waiting for you at the observation deck,” said Preston.

 

Jerry and Wesley flew down into the narrow courtyard space by the apartment building, landing in the very rear in the darkest corner of it. Jerry took out his cellphone, slipped the card into it and powered it up. As they waited quietly, he pointed out Lorenzo’s apartment to Wesley.

There were fifteen missed calls and five messages, already knowing what each one was.

We have Lorenzo. Come alone and bring us the files on the Bush War and Paraguay.

No one understood why those two would be the ones wanted, but they knew the caller was Carl Coughlin and Jonathan guessed those were missions he had been most involved in. Maybe Carl was looking out for himself after getting word Drayton blew himself up. There had been enough time for him to find out and act.

Jerry pulled up Lorenzo’s number and hit send.

“Took you long enough.”

“I just got your message.”

“Well, when are you getting here with my files?”

“It’ll take me an hour to get to San Juan.”

“You can get here must faster than that and we both know it. You got ten minutes…flyboy.” The connection ended.

Jerry slipped the phone in his pocket as he tried to control his breathing. Wesley tapped his shoulder.

“You want me to go?” Wesley whispered.

“No, I need to do this. Lorenzo needs to see its me,” Jerry replied, then he floated upward, slowly, carefully, working his way along the building until next to the balcony to Lorenzo’s apartment. He drifted over and down until standing on the balcony. Through the doors he saw Lorenzo tied to a chair and Carl Coughlin standing behind him with a gun to his head. Lorenzo was wide-eyed, a look of shock on his face, and Jerry didn’t know if it was Carl with the gun or his flying down to the balcony.

“I knew you’d be here quicker than you said,” said Carl.

“Let him go, then I’ll bring the files inside.”

“Fuck you. You’re not calling the shots, I am.

Jerry felt the danger. Knew Carl was a foot soldier who looked forward to the violence and bloodshed. He could see it, the grin that said to bring it on and the steady hand holding the gun, just itching to put a slug into Lorenzo’s brainpan. Then he felt his own being, charged in a way he had never felt before. The hair stood up on his arm, then everything grew quiet. Then he knew.

Before Carl could blink, Jerry flew across the room and shoved him so hard he flew across the apartment hitting the far wall. Before the gun hit the floor, Jerry had Lorenzo and was flying toward the open window. Wesley flew in as he flew out, and by the time he was landing on the outskirts of the city to see if Lorenzo was hurt in any way, Wesley was setting down next to him.

“Are you okay?” asked Jerry.

“I’m…you can fly?” Lorenzo stammered.

“Yes, but Lorenzo, are you okay?”

“I think he’s fine other than a bit of shock,” said Wesley. “Let’s get back to the mountain.”

“Is it okay to take Lorenzo?”

“He’s now a target to get to us, so yes.”

“And that guy back there. It’s Carl Coughlin.”

“He was Carl Coughlin. You pushed him a bit too hard. He won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”

“Oh shit…I…”

“Don’t. Don’t think of it,” Wesley cut Jerry off. “Let’s get back to the mountain, then we can talk about it.”

“Lorenzo, we’re going to keep going to a safe place. Okay?” said Jerry.

“Yeah…a safe place…of course,” Lorenzo replied, then he moved up to Jerry and hugged him tight. “Just don’t go so fast, okay?”

 

Jerry landed with Lorenzo clinging tight to him. Wesley and Quinton had to help Jerry get Lorenzo to let go. The three of them guided him into the facility and to Jerry’s quarters.

“Will you stay with me? Or are you scared to be with me?” said Jerry as Wesley and Quinton stood at the door.

Lorenzo walked into the room, looked through the open curtain at the interior courtyard dimly lit up. He turned slowly taking everything in, then looked at Wesley and Quinton, finally back to Jerry.

“You live here?”

“For now.”

“Those men have been after you?”

“And others,” Quinton cut in.

“And all of you can fly?”

“No, some have other powers, but most here are…normal,” Jerry replied. He moved toward Lorenzo until standing close. “Will you stay with me?”

Lorenzo smiled for the first time, nodding his head. “Of course, but we need to talk. You must tell me everything.”

“Of course,” Jerry replied.

“We’ll see you guys in the morning at breakfast,” said Wesley, pulling Quinton out of the room and closing the door.

 

Jerry and Lorenzo sat on the bed and talked long into the night. Jerry told of his childhood, growing up gay in a household with a preacher for a father. Then he told of his ability to fly, how it developed and how it terrified him at first.

Lorenzo asked questions and at times seemed to be pulling away, but over the night, they were soon laying together, Lorenzo against Jerry talking about the others in the facility, what Jerry knew and what had been happening. Then they talked about the possibility of a future for them, or if Lorenzo would go back to San Juan and Jerry eventually back to the states, each to their own lives.

 

Preston braced himself against the shower wall, head under the spray as Brody worked cock into his depths. Their fuck was slow, intimate, a moment they could forget all that was happening and just be together.

Brody leaned over the long torso and kissed between the shoulder blades as he held the waist while working his cock through the tight opening. He slipped one hand around the waist until holding Preston’s cock, slowly stroking it.

They would remain in the shower for a long time. The heat of the water easing the tension. Their sex easing the anxiety of what was happening around them.

 

Wesley was over Quinton, legs on his shoulders, moving with a steady rhythm. A familiarity that comforted them, kept them close and longing for each other. He kissed the right calf, slid his hands down them until holding the legs behind the knees. He pushed forward, leaning over him while sinking his cock all the way into Quinton’s depths. He fucked with a steady rhythm as Quinton uttered soft pleadings and the bed began to gently rock beneath them.

 

Liam floated William and he over the bed as he thrust into William’s depths. He clung to him, desperate for their fuck. He moved against William, body undulating with every tug outward and push inward. He kissed the long neck, the rough jaw feeling the stubble of a day’s growth, then kissed the soft lips until their tongues moved around each other.

William touched him, moved hands over his back and along his sides. Legs rubbed along his own, almost ticklish, and so arousing. He spun them around, William above him and he pushed up into his depths. Then he transitioned them into the other realm. A sensory overload of space-time, of everything visible at once, until their senses no longer perceived any of it. It was just the two of them floating in space. Just the two of them in an intimate fuck.

 

Eli smacked the right cheek until it reddened. He pushed Brandon to his back, held the legs up and spread wide, then penetrated him again. A push that sunk his cock all the way inside the ass, then he began to fuck. Once again, he fucked hard, fast, quickly sweating with his efforts. Brandon pleaded for it, begged him to fuck harder, not to stop.

Eli got Brandon to flip to his stomach, and he bear hugged him, arm around the throat, hugging so tight as to restrict Brandon’s air as he fucked. Hips smacking against ass, the bed rocking and banging into the wall. And Brandon begging him to keep going.

 

Bobby sat on his bed staring across the room at nothing for he was lost in his thoughts. He was lonely. He wasn’t alone, not the only one single, but he was almost eighteen years old and still a virgin. He told himself he would find someone. The other guys had done so. He just needed to get out and meet guys, like Jerry had done. Until now, Preston had discouraged him from going out alone, and thus it kept him feeling lonely. He knew the risks and understood Preston’s concerns. But he couldn’t stay holed up forever.

Laying back, he resolved to get Preston to let him go into San Juan. To go on his own, at first just to explore the city, but eventually with the mission of meeting guys. Catalina was teaching him Spanish. It was something she loved for it gave the eleven-year-old girl a purpose. Dae-jung was fourteen and he could see the same loneliness developing that he felt. He could see Dae-jung’s anxiousness and knew the day would come for him to venture out.

 

Chester Anderson stood on the small observation deck looking across the dark sky, the outline of the mountain ridge visible against the star filled sky. He wondered how they found themselves so far from home. He knew the dangers that they had faced and would continue to do so. He worried about Preston, but smiled despite his worries, for Preston was so competent, so much better at planning and getting things organized. He just wished Preston could relax, loosen up, and hoped his relationship with Brody provided him with the escape from everything when he needed it.

He sipped the glass of bourbon, felt the way it warmed him from the inside, so comforting in the cold night air. Once the glass was empty, he eased back inside, quietly navigating the corridors until back at his quarters where he would slip into bed next to Elizabeth and drift off to sleep.

 

Judgement Day

Senator Crawford climbed out of the Suburban and strolled across the sidewalk into the Garfield, the newest restaurant to be seen in if you were in Congress or someone in the know. He stood inside the door looking around the dining room until he spotted Senators Wagnor and Bennett, both from Montana. He knew they made fun of his southern accent behind his back, but they also knew he had more clout and always deferred to him.

“Gentlemen, I trust you haven’t been waiting long,” said Senator Crawford, knowing he was twenty minutes late.

“No, not at all,” Senator Bennett replied.

As he sat down, the news on the television over the bar captured his attention with the reference to Eric Pritchard.

“…still missing, last seen at his training facility in North Carolina. There has been no report from Lucan Drayton’s house that exploded last week and based on telephone records he was inside the house when it exploded…”

“This is getting out of hand,” whispered Senator Wagnor. “It is just a matter of time before someone comes knocking on our doors.”

“Relax. Yes, those fucking documents tie us to some of their activities, but no one has the balls to come after us, not with the courts and some in DOJ on our side,” said Senator Crawford.

“But Tom, Eric Pritchard and Damien Ohme are missing, and that prick,” pointing at the television as a picture of Lucan Drayton is shown, “has blown himself up.”

“You don’t know that for a fact, and Eric and Damien being missing is probably just them laying low. They’ll turn up in due time and put an end to this shit.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” said Senator Bennett. “What about the current operation,” he leaned in and whispered.

“It’s royally fucked. The boys and their handlers got away, but Eric has every resource looking for them.”

“You know they are behind the release of those documents and probably behind the disappearance of-“

“John, for Christ’s sake, we don’t know that.”

“…this just in, the BBC has acquired more documents, this time connecting New Moon to events in the Middle East, including Iraq, and it once again shows Senators Crawford and Wagnor were in the know…”

“Goddamn it,” Senator Crawford uttered far too loud, and they saw the looks from others in the restaurant.

As the three of them simmered in their anger and frustration, Senator Bennett in pure fear, they slowly ate their high carb lunches and consumed four cocktails, Senator Crawford ordering a fifth with dessert. They shifted their conversation to current bills being proposed, those that they intended to derail, those they would proudly vote against, and the one, another tax cut for the rich, they couldn’t wait to vote yes on to show their supporters they were still on board and loyal.

The waiter brought the check, and Senator Crawford nodded toward Senator Bennett as the one to give it to, then he sat back wishing he could light up a cigar. They could hear sirens some distance away, but quickly realized they were getting closer. Suddenly four unmarked cars pulled up to the curb out front, with four marked cars pulling up to block the street in front of the restaurant.

“What the fuck is this?” said Senator Wagnor, as they watched men and women climb out of the unmarked cars and come toward the restaurant. The first to enter, a woman that was easily six foot tall with short hair and the demeanor of someone who loved their job. She scanned the room, smiled when looking at the three senators, then strolled toward them as she took some documents from her jacket pocket.

“Imagine seeing the three of you together, making my job so much easier. Gentlemen, you need to come with us.”

“How dare you; do you know who I-“

Cutting Senator Crawford off, she tossed the documents on the table. “This is an arrest warrant for the three of you. Are you coming with us willingly, or do I get to slam your heads down on the table and toss you down on the floor to handcuff you?”

 

A week later, in northern Canada, Eric Pritchard came out of the small cabin for more firewood, the only means of heating it. The temperatures had dropped drastically the night before after snow began to fall again. He looked across the small clearing by the side of the cabin at the Airbus H155. It sat half covered in snow and would require digging out. He would have breakfast then come back out to do it. The helicopter, one of the fastest civilian helicopters on the market, needed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know the status back in the states having cut all communications, but he knew sooner or later he needed to get somewhere he could make contact with someone, maybe Senator Crawford, to see how things stood.

With an armload of wood, he got back inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

Just to the west, flying barely above the treetops, the flat black Petrel was on course to arrive at the cabin in less than a minute. Inside sat Reese, Eli, and Wesley. Liam was in Africa seeking one of Eric Pritchard’s associates and everyone else waited for their return at the mountain.

“I still don’t like doing this in the daytime,” said Reese as the plane rose and fell with the terrain, Emily and Oliver pushing the plane as hard as they dared, knowing Eric Pritchard could not be given too much forewarning.

“Jonathan didn’t find him until last night and Preston didn’t want to wait for another day to pass. He said our luck had to change on getting this guy,” said Wesley.

“I know, I know, believe me I know this guy is a snake, but…” said Reese letting his voice trail off as he looked up at the monitor giving their position in relation to the cabin. He replayed the scenario and the lay of the land. A small cabin, four rooms, on the shore of a small lake north of Great Bear Lake. Satellite imaginary showed a helicopter parked in a small clearing nearby and a snowmobile next to the cabin. There were no roads to the cabin, one that records showed was owned by a dummy corporation that Jonathan eventually tracked down through the maze of corporate identities created by Eric Pritchard to hide assets and dark ops. 

“We’ll be in place in fifteen seconds,” Oliver exclaimed as he checked instrumentation while Emily flew.

The cabin came into view and Emily pulled back until they could pass over the cabin slowly. The fans were at full thrust to keep them aloft and the downforce blew snow and shingles from the roof. Drifting out over the clearing between the cabin and the helicopter, she rotated the plane around and pumped fuel in the jet engines. They fired it, then the thrust from the engines hurled the ball of burning fuel out the rear and sprayed the helicopter setting it on fire.

“You’re going to blow us up one day doing that,” said Oliver as he started opening the cabin door while Emily set them down.

 

“Let’s go,” said Reese thinking he would be first out, but Wesley flew past him, then Eli.

Wesley floated up over the plane watching the front of cabin for Eric to stick some weapon through a window. Eli moved out toward the lake intent on circling around to the side of the cabin. He kept looking at the cabin more than where he was heading, expecting to hear gunfire any second. Instead, he heard the snowmobile start and turned in time to see Pritchard rev the engine and take off across the frozen lake.

“Fuck,” Eli uttered as he stood up watching the snowmobile race across the ice. Eric Pritchard turned and fired a short blast of automatic weapon fire, the bullets hitting the ground just short of Eli. It brought back Alaska when Liam got shot. He saw the guy running across the ice shooting back at them, then he saw Eric Pritchard turning to shoot again. “No,” he uttered, and the ice steamed up, then turned to water as the snowmobile fell through into the lake’s depths. Eric Pritchard surfaced trying to swim despite wet layers of garments.

“Eli, NO!” yelled Reese.

But it was tool late. The lake refroze, a solid layer of ice over the frigid waters that was crystal clear, and out in the middle of it, Eric Pritchard’s hand sticking out.

Wesley touched down next to Eli. “It’s done.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Eli uttered.

“Yeah, maybe not, but this way we know that bastard doesn’t get away. No one in the DOJ or in congress can let him go.”

Reese stumbled up next to them. “Let’s get him out of the ice. We still need to make him disappear so those that worked with him will be looking over their shoulders from now on.”

“I’ll get him,” said Wesley. “Eli, thaw the lake when I get out there.”

 

With the frozen body of Eric Pritchard stowed away, they flew west to Alaska, where they would find an isolated place to set the plane down. Emily and Oliver would keep the engines and fuel warmed up with a heating system installed for just such scenarios, while the others prepared to get some much-needed sleep. Come nightfall, they would head back to the mountain.

“Before we turn in, let’s take care of Pritchard,” said Reese, looking over at Eli. “I’ll need your help.”

 

Outside, standing on a small flat clearing of frozen ground, Eli focused on a small area, turning the hard ground into loose mud. Reese eased Pritchard’s frozen body into the mud working it down until out of sight, then he stood to the side.

“Okay, Eli, freeze it.”

 

Over the coming weeks, Jonathan released more documents and monitored things back in the states, wondering when it would be safe to go home. The mountain fell back into a routine of daily life, everyone making the best of it while Chester and Preston planned their return to the states.

 

Epilogue 

Part I 

The truck bounced over the gravel road as it made its way over the mountain heading toward La Paz, a Bolivian capital more than eleven thousand feet above sea level. In back, sat three workers and two hitchhikers picked up that morning after camping overnight along the Morrenas cerro Wayra.

“A quale progetto stai lavorando?” asked Lorenzo.

“Una clinica medica,” one of the men replied.

Jerry understood enough to know the man referred to a medical clinic as the project they were going to work on. He looked at the rugged terrain with a clear cloudless sky. It seemed so far removed from home or the mountain to the south in Argentina. Taller, more rugged, almost mythical in a way. The truck bounced over a washed-out section of the road shaking everyone and bringing his attention back to it.

“Ehi, rallenta!” one of the men cried out as everyone laughed.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Lorenzo.

“I’m good,” Jerry replied. And he was. He finally felt in control of his life. Finally had someone who wanted to be with him, knowing Lorenzo had been tested with everything that happened.

They had been hiking for three months, making their way north, camping in the mountains, in some places for days at the time. They had no destination, nothing that required their attention. He wanted to see more of the ruins, some in Peru on his short list of places to go. He wanted to camp on the Pacific Ocean, to visit the towns along the way that spoke of a culture he was just becoming aware of. He wanted to paddle Lake Titicaca, visit part of the Amazon rainforest, and party in Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires.

He wanted to do all that and more with Lorenzo.

Of all the guys at the mountain, he never would have believed it would be Preston who suggested the hiking trip, although Preston suggested it be done by truck. Jerry learned of Preston and Brody’s own journey from Atlanta to a small village on the Pacific Coast of Mexico and how they lived there for a few years. Even Wesley and Quinton had spent time there. He thought of that morning when he broached the subject. Chester had laughed, a shocking response, then Preston and Brody laughed too.

I think that would be a wonderful idea. You need such an adventure.

How Preston had said it had been a pleasant surprise, then the way he referred to that little village in Mexico as paradise, telling him he should find his own paradise.

Money was waiting in certain banks along his chosen path but a call to Preston would have money waiting wherever he needed it, and any supplies the two of them required.

The truck started down the other side of the mountain and the road became a smooth paved road. They passed the first signs of civilization then parts of the city came into view as the road curved down the mountain.

Lorenzo slapped the side of the truck, then waved at the driver when he looked back. The truck pulled to the side of the road and Lorenzo climbed out, then helped Jerry out. They shouldered their backpacks as the truck drove away, then set off on foot, watching more of the city come into view as they descended the mountain.

 

Part II

Bobby sat at the small two-top table on the sidewalk watching the men stroll past. He could hear the two young boys, about fourteen if he had to guess, play foosball while their mother and another woman talked at the other table. He cupped the hot coffee warming his hands then took another sip.

The previous weekend he turned eighteen and there had been a party, the guys singing Happy Birthday as Liam carried in the cake with eighteen candles aflame. It had been a joyful occasion, one followed by loneliness when back in his quarters. For the next few days, he rehearsed what to say, how to broach the subject of coming into San Juan alone, a guy just strolling the city hoping to meet someone.

He approached Robert first, who sent him to Preston, the one that still made him nervous from time to time. So, he was shocked that Preston said he could go. It had been Reese who worried about him being alone, that someone should tag along with him. As Preston listened to Reese go on about the dangers of one of them alone in the city, Chester stepped up and he could still hear the simple reply. It’s okay, Reese. He’ll be fine.

He arrived the day before yesterday, excited and eager to start exploring the city, to stroll down one street after the next, to go into restaurants, coffee shops, bookstores, and even bars where it was legal to drink at eighteen. He saw guys strolling the walks, shopping in stores, eating out, and drinking in dark bars with loud music. But none gave him a second look and the bars were all straight, none with gay guys as far as he could tell. Two nights, he ended up back in his hotel room alone and feeling sorry for himself. He wondered what the guys would say if he returned having met no one. It made him feel pitiful.

A motorcycle rumbled up to the curb and Bobby couldn’t help but stare at the rider, concealed within black leather pants and jacket, even his helmet was black with a darkly tinted face shield. A mystery man, one that seemed almost threatening. He looked at the long legs holding the bike level, then noticed the bike. A Triumph, its silver emblem on the side of the black gas tank. The bike was old school, a roadster with wire wheels and a solid black paint scheme. It added to the mystery, the very image of a bad boy…a rebel.

The rider pulled his helmet off and Bobby saw the smooth cheeks, full lips, and long neck, but the eyes were concealed by dark shades. But Bobby knew the eyes had to be brown, probably so dark as to look black. The guy wore his thick black hair slightly long, for it touched the collar of his jacket. When the guy climbed off his bike, he unzipped his jacket revealing nothing but a white T-shirt, loose around the lean torso. Bobby tried not to stare but he couldn’t turn away as the guy stepped up on the sidewalk just behind the two women, both of whom were watching him too. The guy turned and appeared to look Bobby’s way, then strolled across the walk into the coffee shop.

Bobby watched him until he disappeared behind the reflections on the glass concealing the interior. He felt his heart racing and an attraction toward the guy that unnerved him. He adjusted his jeans and sat back trying to calm his breathing as he kept looking at the entrance of the coffee shop wondering how long it could take to order a coffee. Then the door swung open and the guy came out with a cup in hand.

Bobby turned away, embarrassed at how he had been staring. Then a shadow fell over his table, and he looked up at the motorcycle rider standing opposite.

“Posso sedermi con te?”

Bobby knew enough Spanish to know the question. May I sit with you? He fumbled for the Spanish words as his nervousness increased.

“Yes, yes…I mean…si, si, per fa…favore siediti.”

The guy removed his shade revealing the eyes that were as Bobby imagined and smiled as he sat down.

“You’re American,” said the guy in a Spanish accent.

“Yes. I guess it’s obvious.”

The guy chuckled, then took a sip of his coffee. When he sat back Bobby found himself surveying the torso, how the T-shirt lay against it: loose, revealing a lean build.

“I’m Victor, and what is your name?”

“Bobby.”

“Bobby, what brings you to San Juan?”

“I’m just…” He hesitated, not sure what to say. Then he found himself telling Victor the unvarnished truth, or as much as he could. “I just turned eighteen and I have been lonely as fuck,” he began, letting the hard sound of the word fuck hang between them for a second. “There’s a group of us down here on business staying near Calingasta, and all the other guys…they have boyfriends and…” He let his voice trail off realizing what he had just said, this indirect admittance of being gay not even knowing if Victor was gay, straight, or somewhere in between.

Victor leaned forward, arms on the table. “There isn’t much to do in Calingasta, especially for someone who is gay. You are gay, right?”

Bobby nodded and sat back wondering what Victor would say next.

“When we finish our coffees, would you like to ride with me. I’m just out joyriding on this pleasant day. We can get dinner later, and if you’re enjoying my company, maybe, come back to my place?”

Bobby smiled, then chuckled as he felt his anxieties fade away, replaced by the excitement on offer by Victor. “I would love to ride with you.”

 

Part III 

Sam laid out lunch, tacos with three different fillings, allowing the kids to pick what they wanted. He went out to the courtyard and called them to come eat. Standing at the door to the dining room, he watched them pack up toys and notepads, mark places in books, then head his way. Doors opened to some of the rooms where the older ones had been holed up, playing video games or reading, and he noted that one boy was missing as the kids moved past him. Isidore, the one that concerned him the most. Isidore was thirteen, soon to be fourteen. Quiet and introverted, he had little to do with the others. Unlike other boys his age, he didn’t flirt or tease the girls, instead he sat at the periphery watching the boys.

Sam knew what it could mean. He had seen the same with Jerry. The same isolation and the same stare at boys. But he wasn’t sure, and feared approaching the boy about it, for what if he were wrong. He had intended to get Jerry to talk to the boy, but kept putting off mentioning it until it was too late, and Jerry and Lorenzo were hiking toward Chile. He knew he could call Preston and get one of the other boys to come talk with Isidore, maybe Liam, for he is so outgoing, drawing out anyone he met. In the meantime, he did the one thing he considered the most important. He told each of them, no matter what, he loved them.

He crossed the courtyard going to the door to Isidore’s room. He was going to knock, always conscious of the kids having some privacy, since the place provided so little of it, but the door was cracked open, and he leaned close the gap and peered in.

Isidore was on his bed in just a pair of gym shorts, his skinny torso bare, and skinny legs crossed underneath him. He was holding his hands out about a foot apart. Floating between them a baseball hovered in space, slowly spinning.