A chair scraped, a cadet snuffled. The Drill Shed was dark and barely lit by the red emergency lights that gleamed dully along the bulkheads. Chef had placed a large table at one end of the huge chamber, and arranged metal folding chairs in rows in front. The chairs were not the most comfortable seating for praying and contemplating.
The chairs had originally been arranged so that each cadet candidate had a measure of privacy. This had lasted all of two minutes. Colin had placed his chair close to The Phantom's. Cory and Todd had pushed their chairs so close together that they appeared to be seated on one. Randy and Joey, slumped in sleep, had arranged their chairs on either side of Phil Thornton's. Phil was sitting quietly, awake, alert, with an arm draped casually across each of his young lovers' shoulders.
Colin looked around the drill shed and saw that the boys had chosen to sit as close to those whom they loved as they could. Tyler and Val, Mark and Tony, formed a small group in one corner. About halfway down the shed Harry sat with Calvin. Matt sat closer to the Twins, but far enough away to eliminate any hint that they might be together. Nicholas chose to sit alone, as did Rob.
Behind and to the right sat three "strangers". Peter Race sat beside Nethanyu Schoenmann, and Eion Reilly sat quietly on Peter's other side, fingering a rosary. Behind Nate sat Sandro, the Tallit of Maidenek around his shoulders. Both Sandro and Nate wore kippas.
As he looked around the dim chamber Colin saw other cadets seated, Two Strokes and Thumper together, Jon and Chris holding hands. Stuart and Steve, suddenly inseparable, sat together and Colin smiled indulgently as he watched them, sitting there, saying nothing, just looking into each other's eyes. Nathan and Fred were also sitting together, and both were sound asleep, Nathan's head resting on Fred's shoulder. Colin smiled indulgently at the cadets, slouching, squirming, sleeping boys. Glancing at his watch, Colin saw that it was well past 0400. He yawned and stretched, trying to loosen his cramped shoulder muscles. He then glanced obliquely at The Phantom and saw his love looking at him, his green eyes twinkling. "You should be praying, or contemplating," Colin whispered with a soft smile as he slipped his hand into The Phantom's.
"Praying has never come easily," admitted The Phantom with a slight shake of his head. "I did pray, but to be honest, I really didn't know what to say!" came The Phantom's whispered reply. He laid his head on Colin's broad, firm shoulder. "I did thank God for letting me know you."
Colin could not resist. He kissed the side of The Phantom's head gently. "So did I," he said with a deep murmur. "I thank God for your love, for allowing me to just be with you. I also asked Him to give me the strength, the resilience to keep up with you!"
The Phantom chuckled quietly. "I'm not that bad," he returned, smiling.
"No, you're not," said Colin. He rubbed his cheek against The Phantom's. "I wish I had met you sooner. I say that not because I might have changed things, but because I do believe that you have this intensity, this absolute sense of loyalty, that I could not change then, and I know I can't change now. I wouldn't want to change anything." His body shrugged. "I spent more time contemplating the past than the future."
"So did I," admitted The Phantom. "I thought about . . . about how it all started. I thought about how things might have been if I hadn't gotten all pissed off at my friend, Sam, and snuck across the causeway."
"Did you think about what that led to?" asked Colin.
"Actually, I did, and now I regret much of what happened." The Phantom smiled wanly. "I'm truly sorry that I took advantage of those sleeping boys. I was selfish and had no feelings at all for them. I wanted what they had, what they offered, if you will, and I didn't care what they might have thought or felt."
"You're not alone," said Colin. He slipped his arm around The Phantom's waist. "You went to their beds and did what you did because you could. I did what I did because it was expected of me and let's face it, it was all so available."
"Available?"
Nodding, Colin continued. "Phantom, you will agree that I am a very good looking man, with a wonderful personality, and hung . . ."
"Don't push it, Colin!" said The Phantom with a giggle.
"You never complained," returned Colin briskly. "Anyway, had I met you sooner maybe I wouldn't have had to perform so much, or pretend."
"Now you've lost me," said The Phantom, turning to look at Colin.
A long, sad sigh escaped Colin's lips. "Phantom, guys are not the only ones to brag, or compare notes. When I was just starting high school I rode the bus and sat behind two junior girls. Every morning they would compare the guys they'd been with the night before. They either thought that I was just an insignificant freshman, and not worthy of their notice, or they forgot that I was there. Before very long I didn't have to peek at the guys in gym class because thanks to those two girls I knew the status, length, girth, staying power and kinky preferences of just about every jock in school!"
The Phantom gave Colin a long, steady look. "The girls left you alone? A guy like you?"
Colin bristled. "Well, let's just say I filled out a lot!" He snickered. "They weren't interested in me because I was just a skinny kid and not a jock. I didn't play football, and while I was interested in girls - then - I really didn't want my dick size talked about in the back of the school bus!"
"But it was, eventually," replied The Phantom, for some reason jealous. "And often?"
Colin gave The Phantom a squeeze and laughed at his lover's obvious pique. "No!" Then he qualified his "no". "Well, maybe. I never really found out because in my sophomore year I started driving to school. I never did anything with the two girls so they never had the opportunity to talk about me. And, just so you know, I didn't play around all that much in high school. I lived in a small town and people talk, you know."
"Tell me about it!" sniped The Phantom. "Amy Jensen, who was the girl who did Eion at the beach party, gave one of the football jocks a blow job and it was all over town the next day!" He sniffed. "Some people have nothing better to do than to talk about their sex lives."
"Phantom, everybody does," replied Colin. "You've heard the guys in the locker room."
"If you ask me, half of what they were bragging about were their imaginations talking," returned The Phantom. "There's another girl I know, Louise Metcalfe, she's supposed to have blown or let most of the football team go all the way with her, and I know that maybe she's boffed three or four of the guys, but she's not quite the slut everyone wants to make her out to be." He felt Colin stiffen slightly. "What?"
Coughing delicately, Colin asked, "You obviously haven't been to town lately, have you?"
"I have, but only to see Mr. Schoenmann."
"Well, then you don't know that Amy and Louise visited the ship!"
"They did?" asked The Phantom, his eyes widening. "They usually don't fool around with outsiders."
"I can't speak for Amy, but Louise sure did," offered Colin with a chuckle. "The commanding officer found her and Neil Menzies in the paint locker, and they weren't discussing what colour to paint his cabin."
"Which means his vital statistics are all over town," responded The Phantom sourly. "Louise likes to advertise."
"Which explains why she has a reputation," said Colin. "She talks about the guys she sleeps with and suffers the result. I sometimes wonder how the guys she's slept with feel about having their performances talked about by half the girls in town. Speaking from experience I . . ."
"Experience? You mean . . .?" asked The Phantom with a giggle.
Colin glowered. "Yeah, they did. I had this reputation of being a stud. The guys in my frat house would take bets on how long it would take me to get laid whenever we went out to a bar. Thinking back, I was in a sort of vicious cycle. Here is Colin Arnott, stud, out on the town and everybody knows that sooner or later he's going to be approached. I didn't have a choice in what happened next, whether it was a blow job or an upright in the alley. Everybody, my buddies, the girls, expected me to respond. Horny Colin always did and all it ever meant was ejaculation! I got my nuts emptied, but it didn't mean anything and, to be honest, I never felt anything for the girl."
Snickering even more, The Phantom asked, "The earth didn't move? No skyrockets exploding in air?"
"Actually there were skyrockets the first time," replied Colin flippantly. He leaned in and whispered. "I was 14. I got my first blow job on Canada Day. She did me during the fireworks display. Man, what a rush!"
"Colin!" gasped The Phantom, a disgusted look on his face.
Laughing, Colin whispered, "Gotcha!"
Squirming, The Phantom pulled away. He looked seriously at Colin. "I love you Colin. I truly, deeply, love you."
Colin sensed that something deeper than love disturbed his young lover. He pulled The Phantom to his feet and silently led him outside. The Phantom wondered what Colin was up to, and desperately wanted to have a smoke, but did not. He looked into Colin's blue eyes, waiting.
"Phantom, you are the sun and the moon and the stars. I know they're all a bunch of hokey clichés, but you are, to me! When I'm with you the earth does move, and the fireworks explode. I feel so damned wonderful. You make me feel clean, loved, and all sorts of good feelings rolled into one! I am not about to leave you and I'll fight Steve Winslow for you, I'll risk the `wrath of the gods' for you."
The Phantom reached out to touch Colin's pink-cheeked face. "You don't have to worry about The Gunner. He will always be a part of my life, but what we had is over."
"But I do have to worry about the Twins," returned Colin. "You're in love with them." He cocked his head. "Am I wrong?"
A long, low breath escaped The Phantom's lips. "Cory more than Todd," he admitted reluctantly. "We need each other from time to time. I can't explain it, but I won't lie to you." He looked embarrassed as he said, "There's also Ray, and Matt. They're, hell and sheeit, Colin, this is difficult!"
"Phantom, Cory, Todd, Ray, Matt, were and are a part of you," Colin responded gently. "It's only natural that you have feelings for them, and that they have feelings for you." He waved his arm toward the Drill Shed. "Every cadet in there is there because of you. You touched something in them, made them respond to you, made them love you and want to be with you. You're what holds them together!"
"And that is what frightens me," said The Phantom, a note of desperation in his voice. "They look up to me, they love me, they want to follow me and damn it, Colin, I'm not sure that I can be what they think I am, what they want me to be! I don't want to let them down, to disappoint them! I'm not some knight in shining armour. In a lot of ways I'm just a country bumpkin, a yokel from a small town in the middle of nowhere!"
Colin shook his head. "Listen to me, Phantom Lascelles," he said forcefully. "For whatever reasons, you are all of the above, but not all of the above. You're young, you've made mistakes, and you'll go on making mistakes. But, my dear, sweet, unpredictable Phantom, you've got something very few people have. You have charisma, you have presence, you're not afraid to speak your mind or act in defence of the people you love. The cadets recognize you for who and what you are. If they didn't they'd be off in the canteen, or in their bunks. If I didn't, I'd be down in Esquimalt at the Hug and Slug waiting for one of the Fishing Fleet to put the moves on me. If I didn't I wouldn't have agreed to having my tackle examined, been insulted by Chef, or agreed to be the Guardian of Princes!"
The Phantom looked searchingly at Colin. "You mean that?"
"I do," responded Colin, his lips formed into a thin, determined line. "I've had a lot of time to think about us, our relationship, and our future. I'm willing to risk everything for you, Phantom." He reached out and pulled The Phantom close. "Laugh if you want, Phantom, but when I'm with you there are skyrockets. Big, blasting, wonderfully loud fireworks! I want to hold you, to make love to you, to be with you! I want to protect you, to hold your hand when you come to a rough patch in the road, and damn it, I will be!"
"Even when I'm being a `pestiferous brat'?" The Phantom asked, smiling, his emerald eyes bright with love.
Colin drew back. "Where did that come from?" he asked. Then he added, "Never mind, I think I know the answer." He snickered. "Chef!"
"Chef," confirmed The Phantom with a sigh. "I'm afraid I make his life miserable at times with my demands." He regarded Colin a moment. "I shouldn't have demanded. I should have asked," he said sadly. "Chef deserves better."
"If Chef objected he'd have had at you with his cleaver," replied Colin. "Chef knows and understands that you are intensely loyal to your friends, and that you recognize your friends. He knows, as I do, that of all the boys that have passed through Aurora this summer, only a handful have stayed the course." He grinned. "On the other hand, Chef can be a stubborn old fool when he puts his mind to it. He also knows that what you've asked, or demanded, is the right thing to do. He has his reputation to think of, though, so he grumbles and complains and in the end he gives in."
"Still . . ." began The Phantom doubtfully.
"There is no `still' about it," said Colin. "You make a judgement, and so far you've not been wrong. If Chef had any doubts about any of the boys he'd have turned them away. He hasn't, and he won't. He trusts you and he trusts your judgement. It's an awesome responsibility, I agree, but so far you've not put a wrong foot forward."
"Actually, I have," said The Phantom softly.
"You have? How?"
Taking a deep breath, The Phantom said, "There was a cadet, Paul Greene. We called him Little Big Man. He's one of the reasons we are all here. He was writing letters to his father, letters that while they were filled with lies, could have destroyed a lot of people. He accused the Twins, The Gunner, Tyler, Val, hell and sheeit, me, of being fags and queers and of molesting the younger cadets."
"Ah, now I understand why you were so worried about Harry," replied Colin. "You took care of this Little Big Man." His words were not a question.
"I did," said The Phantom. "When we were in Victoria for the August holiday we, the Twins, Harry and I, we overheard a friend of The Gunner's telling him about a letter that Paul's father had written to SIU. They sent the letter on to Special Branch, which already had Paul's father in their sights because he's a racist, and a bigot and involved in some Nazi bullshit. Special Branch dismissed the letter as nothing more than sour grapes."
"But something else happened, didn't it?"
Nodding, The Phantom continued. "At the time we had meeting. Tyler, Val, the Twins, just about all the senior cadets. Harry wanted to beat the shit out of Paul, or at least tie an anchor around his neck and dump him in the harbour."
"Not a very wise idea," observed Colin dryly. "An excellent solution to a problem, but not wise."
The Phantom chuckled. "Harry can be very direct when he wants to be. In the end, we realized that there wasn't a hell of a lot we could do."
Colin scratched his chin. "If Special Branch was investigating this Paul Greene's father, blowing Paul's cover would put their investigation at risk."
"Exactly." The Phantom looked at Colin. "I, we, couldn't do anything. In the end we decided to just keep an eye on him and hope he'd go away without doing too much damage."
"But something happened, didn't it?" asked Colin.
"Greg, the Yeoman? He found two more letters. This time he'd put two and two together and came up with six! Paul was writing basically the same thing, but he also knew about our sailing trip, and surmised that we'd all been fucking like minks. He couldn't know what happened, because we'd all kept that trip very quiet. He knew that Harry and Stefan Gillan were close, and going into the School of Wind a lot. He also knew about Greg and a kid named Steven Tyler Perkins."
"Were Greg and . . . Stephen Tyler . . .?"
The Phantom shook his head. "No, at least not that I know of. Greg says they never went all the way. All that happened was that Stephen Tyler would give Greg a hand job and then hump Greg's leg. They never even took off their pants!"
"Messy, but effective," responded Colin with a hint of humour. "What about Harry and Stefan?"
"They never made love," replied The Phantom with quiet dignity. "They fooled around a lot but the furthest they went was oral sex. Harry loves Stefan more than most people know. He didn't want to do anything to hurt Stefan." He snickered despite himself. "And if you ever see the Pride of the Fleet when it goes to Action Stations, you'd know what I mean."
"I'll pass," Colin replied pointedly. Once again he scratched his chin reflectively. "Paul saw, or heard, enough to think something was there, when it wasn't. He assumed, wrongly, that Harry and Stefan were doing things they weren't, that Greg and Stephen Tyler, that you when you were on the sailing trip, and so on and so on."
"Yes. Nothing happened on the sailing trip. We did swim naked, and we did spent a lot of time running around without our clothes on, but nobody, Colin, did anything wrong. We grew closer together, we bonded, yes, but every dick stayed home!"
"A colourful way of putting it," said Colin. "You must tell me about this sailing trip one time."
"I'll show you the pictures," responded The Phantom, chuckling.
"Pictures?" Colin's eyes widened. "Did Paul see them?"
"No! Nicholas made up some albums but Paul was in Coventry by then and nobody was talking to him. Nobody from his Mess went on the trip and anybody who did go would have burned the pictures before they let Little Big Man get his hands on them!"
"Even without the pictures, Paul picked up on things," observed Colin. "You were right in just keeping an eye on him." He looked inquiringly at The Phantom. "And why was he in Coventry?"
"There was a party in the Gunroom," began The Phantom. "This was long before I became involved with the cadets and the details are hazy because I wasn't there. All I know is that the American cadets came in and the Twins threw a party. There was booze, as there always is, and somehow they ended up doing a Zulu Warrior."
Colin could not help sniggering. "I did that, once. When I was a first year officer cadet they threw us all in the Cape Scott, the `Fred'. We got the Buffer to smuggle us some Thunderbird and . . ." He hesitated, and then continued on. "My first year classmates and I have no secrets."
"But no one walked in and then scrambled on his hands and knees to your Divisional Officer to report the party."
"Hell no!" protested Colin. "Sailors don't squeal on their mates."
"Paul did," said The Phantom quietly. "He heard the laughter and the noise and walked in. Harry was naked, and so were Mark and Tony, I think. He called them perverts and Harry threw him out of the Gunroom. The next morning Paul went to see the Executive Officer, who wasn't on board, and told The Gunner, who was, all about the party. The Gunner basically blew him off." The Phantom ran his hand across his face. "That party, and Paul's squealing is what started my relationship with the cadets." The Phantom shook his head ruefully. "Talk about cause and effect!"
"What happened?"
"Well, Harry blew his cork! He would have killed Paul if he could have found him." He shrugged. "Paul knew that the guys were pissed off and took off, on a day steam on board the American cutter. Harry ranted and raved and stormed about the ship, looking for the rat. Harry was down by the swimming beach, sitting near the causeway and throwing rocks at the seagulls when I happened to pass by on my way to work and saw him. Harry told me what happened and I'm the one who suggested that Paul be sent to Coventry."
"Which limited his ability to snoop," supplied Colin.
"Yes, there is that," agreed The Phantom. "But did not limit his imagination. He still wrote things that weren't true. No one was sleeping with his brother, as he accused, and Tyler and Val were not going into the barracks and molesting the Sea Puppies."
"But Greg found the letters," said Colin, wondering how the letters had come into Greg's possession.
"Yes, and we burned them," answered The Phantom without elaboration. "But we still worried about what would happen when Paul went home." He regarded Colin carefully. "If our affair were to become known, you do know what would happen to you?" he asked.
Colin nodded. "I would be, as the saying goes, `Dismissed With Ignominy from Her Majesty's Service'. Neil Menzies can stick his dick in an underage female and all that will happen is a letter of reprimand. He'll get his dick slapped and probably never go to sea again, but he won't be turfed."
"Because he was doing it with a girl. If I were a girl, and The Gunner were boffing me it would be no big deal. He'd be in for a rocket, and probably never make Petty Officer, but . . ."
"Boys will be boys?" supplied Colin.
"Basically. Menzies can bang Louise and all she'll get out of it is a brown baby, which will cause all the tongues in town to cluck and wag. Menzies will be thought a jerk, but his career would not be in danger. By having sex with me The Gunner, being a Permanent Force sailor, risked his career, and risked being court martialed. Harry risked being charged with child molestation, and worse when word got out back home. Tyler is going to Royal Roads. Even a hint of scandal and he could kiss his appointment goodbye! The Twins' parents are very prominent, and . . . hell and sheeit, Colin, you must see what could have happened if Paul's lies were even partly believed!"
"Once the cloud of suspicion settles, everybody gets hurt." Colin knew what could happen. "You couldn't, or wouldn't let that happen, so you did something about it."
"I seduced Paul Greene," said The Phantom bluntly.
Colin sat down abruptly on the small bench that stood outside the Drill Shed. "You . . . you what?"
"I snuck into the Petty Officers Mess and seduced Paul Greene," repeated The Phantom. "The Twins, Cory more than Todd, thought that Paul hated gays because he was gay, and wouldn't admit it. I thought that if I proved to Paul what he really was, and threatened him with exposure, he'd back off."
"Did he?" asked Colin, still trying to absorb The Phantom's words.
"With a little help from the Twins, yes." The Phantom sat down beside Colin. "I, well, let's just say that Paul responded with enthusiasm," he said glumly.
"You sound as if you didn't enjoy the experience," said Colin.
"I did not!" replied The Phantom with icy words. "I did what I did and I felt as if I were covered in slime! The Twins took me into the galley heads and they, with Tyler and Val, scrubbed me with scrubbing brushes, Pusser scrubbing brushes."
"Jesus!" Colin gasped. "Those things are lethal weapons!"
"Not a pleasant experience," returned The Phantom. "I don't remember all of what happened after I left Paul moaning for more. I lost my mind, really. All I can remember is wanting to clean myself, to scrub the slime of Paul Greene off of my body."
Colin thought a moment. "I understand, because I've done the same thing."
"You have?"
"I have. More often than not all I did was get my rocks off because I was expected to respond to whatever female was trying to get into my Jockeys. I was expected to let her blow me, or screw me. Afterward I would spend hours in the shower, just rubbing the soap over and over my parts. To be honest, Phantom, I ended up feeling soiled rather than satisfied."
"Which is how I felt," said The Phantom. "I didn't want to do it, but it was the only way I could think of to stop Paul." His green eyes grew soft. "Afterwards, after I'd been scrubbed, the boys took me to the Wardroom and put me to bed. Cory spent the night with me. We made love, and that was the night we fell in love."
"You needed someone, Phantom. You needed someone to make you feel better again."
"You're not angry?"
"No. I understand your motives. You stopped Paul. That was all that mattered."
"Yes, but at the same time I wonder just what sort of a monster I created." Once again his green eyes probed Colin's face. "Paul is a mean, evil boy! He hates the Twins, he hates his brother. If he knew about me, knew it was me who did him, I can only imagine what he would do!"
"What can he do? You found a way, I take it, to ensure his silence. He's gone, and he's not coming back."
"Yes, we found a way. We taped every sound," confided The Phantom. "Todd bought a small tape recorder at Radio Shack. It was voice activated and all I did was turn it on. After I was finished Cory went into the Mess and got the recorder. He and Todd played the tape to Paul and told him that if he ever opened his mouth about what happened here that they'd spread the word. They would, too."
A tape recorder? Colin was tempted to blurt out that the next time he and The Phantom were alone together he was going to check under the bed but instead said, "Phantom, it sounds to me that this Paul Greene has been given the fright of his life. He's deep in the closet and plans on staying there. He's been exposed once and he didn't like what he saw. Remember, he's involved with an organization that is blatantly homophobic. They'd turn on him in a New York minute if they knew what he's really like. If he turns on you, and I'm not saying he will, he risks exposure. He doesn't want that, so he'll keep quiet. You shouldn't worry about what you did to him. He responded because he wanted to respond and he certainly never yelled rape, now did he?"
"No. In fact he did something that I suppose could be called rape."
Colin's eyes widened. "He did?"
"A boy we know, his name is Logan Hartsfield, he was working here as a civilian employee, picking up the gash. I know him."
"And?"
"Logan was in a bind, and needed cash, so he went into the Petty Officers Mess and was looking into the lockers, looking for something to steal. Paul was skiving and caught Logan. He forced Logan into a sex act and threatened to yell rape if Logan didn't go along with everything he wanted to do. Logan was so afraid of Paul he left town."
"This kid is that evil?" Colin asked. He considered himself a modern man, a man who did not believe in the old wives tales of someone being born evil, Hollywood and the authors of romance novels not withstanding. Nor was Colin naïve. He realized now that Paul Greene could be a formidable enemy if the situation presented itself. As the Guardian of Princes, Colin had to know his, and The Phantom's enemies.
"In my dream I saw evil, Colin," said The Phantom, his voice calm and controlled. "There was this huge, hazy thing in the background, and all sorts of spectral shapes screaming and waving." He turned to look directly at Colin. "Only one had a face."
"Paul Greene," whispered Colin, a cold shudder running down his spine.
"Yes. If I believe that Sylvain was calling for me, and I do, then it follows that I must also believe that Paul Greene, Little Big Man, will be, or even possibly is, not only involved in this horror, but that he will be a part of my nightmares for a long time. He hates, Colin, and in his hatred there is something else: revenge."
"But he doesn't know that it was you, Phantom," Colin pointed out. "He can't seek revenge against someone he can't identify!"
The Phantom nodded thoughtfully. "He blames the Twins for what happened, and truthfully they tried to talk me out of going into the Mess. He also blames Matt, his brother, who was not involved in any way." Thinking of Matt, The Phantom's face grew sad. "Matt will end up getting the brunt of Paul's hatred, I'm sure of that, because Matt wouldn't toe the party line and blew up one night in the Mess Hall, and basically called Paul a fairy. Paul's hated him ever since." His shoulders sagging, The Phantom continued, "From his letters I know that Paul thinks that I'm some faggot screwing his brother, which puts me high on his hate list." He glanced obliquely at Colin. "He doesn't know that I'm the one who did the dirty with him, and I'm sorry about that. I'm the one who seduced him and he's blaming the wrong people!"
"He's lashing out at old hatreds, Phantom. He has to blame someone, anyone for exposing his darkest secret, which makes him irrational," returned Colin firmly.
"Which makes him even more dangerous," came The Phantom's equally firm reply. "He's also cold and calculating. When Logan told Brian what happened Logan said that Paul's eyes were dead, with not a spark of emotion, not even when he had his . . ." The Phantom paused and blushed. "Not even when they were doing it. Paul terrified Logan, really terrified him and if you met Logan you would know that he's not one to be easily terrified. He's a street punk, or at least he was."
"Was?"
"The Gunner arranged for friends in Victoria to look after Logan. I hope he's okay. He's not a bad guy, and he's had a few hard knocks. He deserves a break, and I hope he gets it."
"The Gunner is a very powerful man, and if his `friends' are looking after Logan I think the boy will be fine," said Colin. "And if The Gunner, and his friends are as powerful and as careful as I know they are, then they've taken steps to keep an eye on things."
"The Gunner gave me his word that he would look after Matt," said The Phantom. "He can, I think, keep his word . . . in Ottawa." He saw the questioning look on Colin's face and explained, "Matt, and Paul, live in Ottawa. Their father is a sergeant in Supply. He, and his family are being posted to Germany." Shrugging, The Phantom added sorrowfully, "I worry about what will happen there! I worry about what Paul will do to Matt and I worry about how many other boys he'll hurt, he'll terrorize! How many innocents will Paul Greene destroy, Colin? Can you answer that question and can you tell me what I must do to prevent it?"
"No, Phantom, I can't," replied Colin with simple honesty. "I can only ask you to cross that bridge when you come to it. At the moment you have a group of boys depending on you to lead them. They love you and they trust you and that, my Phantom, is what is important. Because of you, they are here. They believe in you, Phantom. That should be your focus."
"Focus on the here and now, but keep an eye out for the unexpected and my powder dry?" returned The Phantom, smiling. Colin was right. He could not worry about what Paul Greene might do in the future. The Phantom glanced at the door leading to the Drill Shed and nodded slowly. He would not dismiss Paul Greene from his thoughts for he firmly believed that Paul was a danger, to his friends, to the Order, and to himself. He held out his hand to Colin. "We should get back."
"Yes," agreed Colin, taking The Phantom's hand. "Just remember, though, that I will always be with you, always be at your side."
The Phantom gave Colin a quick peck on his lips. "That's your job, Guardian of Princes," he said with a giggle.
"No, that is my desire," whispered Colin in reply as he led The Phantom back into the Drill Shed.
Michael Chan slowly replaced the telephone receiver and looked intently at the Major. "It has begun," he said slowly.
The Major slowly closed the dossier he had been studying and looked carefully at his employer. He had arrived barely two hours before and Michael, as he always did, had wanted an immediate report on the marriage contract. The Major, now very tired, and out of sorts, growled, "Shall we then cry havoc and set loose the dogs of war?"
Michael looked askance at the Major, and then remembered that his oldest friend, and mentor, had just spent 24 hours travelling in a cramped cigar-shaped cabin of an aircraft, having spent days arguing with that most obnoxious of creatures: a Chinese father determined to wring the last silver tael of dowry from a prospective bridegroom, and did not lash out. "They have already been loosed," he replied calmly.
The Major raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
"Simpson is dead," Michael informed the Major dispassionately. "The Gunner and his people were called to the old man's house and he walked in on them. Simpson actually suffered a heart attack." Michael's tone was one a person might use when describing a particularly boring day spent watching grass grow: disinterested and of no consequence.
Sniffing disdainfully, the Major shrugged. "Simpson's passing will be little noted nor long remembered," he said. The Major had never cared for Simpson, and had never lost an opportunity to express his disdain for a man he considered to be a traitor and a collaborator.
"He will be rushed early to his grave," opined Michael. "The Gunner has the situation in hand."
Michael walked slowly to look out into the dark garden. The moon was high, but deep shadows lurked. As he watched he saw a duet of young men clad in combat uniforms, automatic rifles slung over their shoulders, patrolling the edge of the greensward. Another pair stood guard at the massive gates leading to the outside world. Michael also felt the presence of more guards standing sentry on the terrace.
The Major heard Michael's heavy sigh at the enhanced security, but said nothing. A coded message had been sent to him at his hotel in Hong Kong, and he was aware of the treachery of Captain K'ang. He was secretly pleased with the expulsion of the Chinese guards, a force he had never trusted. He could not have argued against them because their presence had been "business". Michael's partners had demanded concessions, which Michael had been forced to accept, all under the heading of "business", just as he had been forced to conclude the marriage contract with the Soongs. All was "business".
The Order was something different. To Michael, and to the Major, the Order was "personal", and much more important. Michael would make concessions when it came to his partners. He would not compromise or yield when it came to the Order.
"Where is Patrick?" asked Michael, referring to the young man whom he had come to care deeply for.
"He is in his rooms, resting," replied the Major, doubting that the young Chinese was sleeping. More than likely he was walking the floor, waiting impatiently for Laurence, who was, much to the Major's proud amusement, still playing silly buggers with the Outside Security Force.
"Cousin Tommy?" asked Michael. His face was expressionless for he suspected that Tommy was with Joel.
Answering truthfully, the Major replied, "He's with Joel. They were going to dinner and then back to Joel's flat." He did not need to elaborate. What Cousin Tommy and Joel did in the privacy of Joel's bedroom was their business. The Major then added, to forestall any further inquiries about the whereabouts of the staff, "Joe Hobbes and Gabe Izard went to Louis Arundel's house for dinner. I had the impression that Joe would be spending the night."
Michael turned his head slightly, thinking, "Good!" He then returned to observing his gardens. "The Gunner has made his plans, Richard," Michael said without preamble. "He plans to make his move on Monday next. We must be ready as well."
"We are ready," replied the Major tonelessly, his face blank. "Tsang Su Shun has kept his people busy. We know exactly where the men we seek are, and whom they are with. Cousin Eddy Tsang has sent his wife and children to Hawaii and prepared his house to receive the boys we hope to rescue."
"Nine boys, I believe?" asked Michael, who knew exactly the number of boys held captive by six men, all of whom lived in Victoria, or its suburbs.
"Yes." Without consulting any notes, the Major rhymed off the names of the six men that the Order had determined were paedophiles, four of whom were knights. "A doctor has been engaged and he will be in attendance when the boys are brought to Eddy's house. The doctor is a recent arrival from Hong Kong who has not been able to practice because of the present laws concerning foreign-educated professionals."
"Which helps to explain why our medical system is in the shambles it is," observed Michael as he moved to sit behind his desk. "But, no matter." He wrote a name on a piece of paper and pushed it across the desk toward the Major. "The doctor is to be granted full privileges." He pointed at the name he had written down. "That man is in my debt."
Pocketing the paper, the Major nodded. There were many men who owed Michael, men for whom a service had been performed and who would, sometimes reluctantly, be called upon to return the service. The Major knew better than to ask just what service had been performed for the man Michael had named. He knew too well what would happen if the man did not repay his debt. The Major would make the telephone call and the Chinese physician would suddenly have full privileges with few, if any, questions asked on either side.
Michael looked reflective for a moment and then said, "The four knights are to be brought here to stand before a Bar of Justice. Cousin Tommy is to prepare a place. He will know what to do."
Coughing delicately, the Major felt constrained to point out that the sudden disappearance of four men of prominence might draw attention. Michael was far and away ahead of his counsellor.
"Four seats have been booked on four different charters going to four different countries," Michael said with a sly smile. "The charters will land in countries that do not have extradition treaties with Canada. Beginning Monday morning four men, each purporting to be one of our knights, and each bearing proper papers and travel documents, will board flights to connect with the charters. Upon arrival at their destination they will disappear."
"White men?" asked the Major, his tone expressing his admiration at Michael's plans.
"Of course. We cannot have four Chinese with Western names, now can we?" asked Michael, leaning across the desk. "Cousin Andy Tsang made the arrangements with the Toronto Italians, using Terry Hsiang's connections. Everything is prepared."
The Major smiled knowingly. Using the Italians guaranteed silence. There would be a paper trail showing that the knights had fled. The men who boarded the planes in Canada would destroy their travel documents and return, more than likely using other aliases. He nodded, and then thought out loud, "Evidence of their perfidy?"
"Enough will be left behind to show what they were," responded Michael. "Their residences will show signs of a hasty departure, evidence showing the presence of young men, or boys, will be found. Paulie Tsang, who has a mind almost as devious as your own, is in charge of the arrangements. Joel has managed to infiltrate the banking systems and large sums will be transferred to numbered accounts in countries where the privacy laws are airtight. It will take the authorities years to unravel the mystery, if they unravel it at all."
"And the others, the men who are not knights?" asked the Major.
"We will use the power of the press," replied Michael succinctly. "A rumour will be planted with certain newspaper reporters. Certain covert photographs will be sent to the newspapers." Michael snorted. "These . . . creatures feel so secure in their positions that they think themselves above the law, above surveillance. The photographs are, at first glance, innocuous and innocent." Michael held up his hand. "But, they are open to interpretation. If you were a newspaperman, always looking for the `scoop of the century' and saw a man of prominence and importance snuggled together with two boys wearing nothing but the briefest of bathing costumes, boys who are not his sons, or of any degree of relationship that can be established, would you not be curious?"
"Put that way, and being a reporter for one of the gutter press tabloids, which delight in printing the salacious, yes," agreed the Major.
"We are merely using their own stupidity against them," observed Michael dryly.
"There are what, a dozen men involved?"
Michael nodded. "More, actually," Michael replied. "The Gunner and his people have unearthed a trove of correspondence, taken from Simpson's house. They are going over it all at the moment. He hopes to have a complete list of names before today is finished."
"And who knows what else will be revealed, what names will surface?" observed the Major.
Shrugging, Michael agreed silently. Then he said, "As we speak a group of young men are sitting a Vigil. Tomorrow we will travel to Comox and declare them knights. Friday they will leave and begin what is to them a crusade. We must do everything we can to smooth their path, and to prepare them for what is to come. And we must do everything we can to ensure that no harm comes to them."
"And punish those who would harm them," suggested the Major.
"Yes. We must be true to our oaths, Richard, and eliminate the abomination that has sullied our Order. I do not suggest that these young men are innocents. I do suggest that we give them an Order that is worthy of their membership. They are prepared to give their lives, and to pledge their sacred honour, to our Order. They are the future, Richard, and we must ensure that what we pass on to them is worthy of their trust."
"We are all working toward that goal, Michael," the Major replied.
"We must work harder," returned Michael. "Have Patrick go for a walk."
"I beg your pardon?"
Michael smiled. "I have not gone mad, Richard. I need Laurence back here. He will see Patrick and Patrick will tell Laurence that his playtime is over."
"Lieutenant Sheppard will be relieved, if all the stories I've been hearing are true," said the Major with a chuckle. "I understand that it is game, set and match for the Booties over the Leathernecks."
Michael returned the Major's chuckle. "Much to young Sheppard's chagrin. I must add that Sheppard understands what Laurence is doing. Sheppard's men are much more alert, much more careful, and very much less complacent."
"I noticed," answered the Major sourly. Sheppard's men were everything Michael had said of them, and more.
"Then you will notice the difference when our young gentlemen are put through their paces," said Michael flatly.
"You're up to something," accused the Major, smiling.
"Of course," replied Michael. "The cadets from Aurora will be our guests and we must entertain them. I think a session on the obstacle course, which Sheppard's men, under great adversity, and not a little nudity, have finally managed to complete, will be quite beneficial to them."
"With Laurence, and Sheppard, lurking in the shadows?" supplied the Major.
"Of course." Michael frowned. "The young men who will leave here must be prepared as much as possible for what lies ahead. We do not know what dangers are out there. Nobody knows. We can only prepare them as much as possible to face those dangers. I will send Laurence and Sheppard with them, and Paulie and Andy Tsang will be their backup. Everything that can be done to ensure their safety will be done. I expect no complications, but we must be prepared, and so must they."
Michael sighed and continued. "We must also understand that we are dealing with teenage boys, boys who think that they will never die, boys who think that they are invincible. Death to them is an abstract, something that happens to other people, not to them. They take chances without considering the consequences, and sometimes they allow their enthusiasm to rule their actions."
The Major, who had served in two wars and one insurgency, knew well what Michael was talking about. Young men, be they soldiers, sailors or marines, all projected an air of bravado, of absolute self-assurance that the bullet that would kill them had not been manufactured. Sadly, the war cemeteries were filled with young men and boys who had not remembered that violence touches everyone. "I shall use all my experience, all my expertise," the Major assured Michael, "to keep them safe."
"I know you will, Richard," replied Michael. "I only wish we could extend our efforts to the boys being held against their will. There has already been one casualty and I fear there will be more."
"A casualty?" the Major asked, paling. "Dead?"
Michael shook his head. "Raped and beaten," he said simply. "And not dead." Then Michael added grimly, "At least not yet."
Sophie rose shakily and clutched at James Edgar's hand. The doctor, a tall, bespectacled, cadaverous man advanced down the short corridor that led from his surgery.
"How is he?" asked Sophie, her eyes red from crying, her voice trembling with fear.
Doctor Langford, together with his son, who was almost always referred to "Young Doctor Langford", had been waiting, as promised. After a quick but thorough examination of Eugen by both doctors, the elder physician shook his head slowly. "Sophie dear, the boy is in critical condition. He must be taken to hospital. He needs an Intensive Care Unit."
"How bad is he?" asked The Gunner who had been standing impassively to one side.
Doctor Langford took a deep breath. He had known Sophie Nicholson for many years and knew that she would not tolerate euphemism, or veiled words that all doctors used to comfort the kin of terribly injured patients. He did not know the young man with the flaring, angry eyes who stood to one side, nor did he know the small group of determined men who stood obvious watch at the clinic's entry. He knew enough to speak bluntly. "Eugen has been brutally raped and beaten, which you know. He has three broken ribs, from being kicked, I think, and a broken left cheekbone. His rectum is torn and while we did manage to get the bleeding under control, he has lost a great deal of blood." Young Doctor Langford, his lips set in a grim, thin, line, continued the diagnosis. "Because of the tearing to the rectum we fear sepsis. Clinically there are early signs of such infection. He is hypotensive, his extremities are warm to the touch and flushed and he presents tacchycardia, a rapid heart beat." "Which could merely be due to blood loss," observed Doctor Langford. "We have him on intravenous normal saline, which is to replace the blood volume and to help raise his low blood pressure." The old doctor's face grew soft as he emphasized gently, "We really need to run tests to learn what we are up against. We need laboratory confirmation through blood tests whether there are bacteria infecting his bloodstream."
"Is he dying?" asked Sophie, dreading the answer.
"If we cannot get the infection under control, he will die," replied Young Doctor Langford stoically. "He was left untended for too long and . . ." Doctor Langford's long friendship with Sophie, and his kindly nature, and his years of experience would not allow him to express the pessimism shown by his son. Eugen was very ill, but . . . "I am hopeful," the doctor said as he ran his hand over his face. "All the clinical features suggest sepsis, although we can't be sure until we do the tests. We are giving him antibiotics and so far we have not observed anything that would lead us to think that he is in septic shock." Seeing Sophie's look of grief change to one of hope, the doctor held up his hand. "That is not to say that his present condition will not deteriorate." "We wish to know everything," said The Gunner emphatically. Nodding, Doctor Langford continued. "There is a massive haematoma over the left side of his abdomen, which leads me to suspect splenic trauma." "Dear God!" Chief Edgar gasped. "I knew it was bad, but . . ." "There is hope," replied Young Doctor Langford quickly, trying to show some optimism. "If we can get him to a proper hospital for emergency surgery, blood transfusions, proper care, he will probably survive." Doctor Langford looked firmly at Sophie but his voice was kind as he said, "Sophie, we are doing everything we can, but I agree with my son."
Shaking off Jim Edgar's hand, Sophie clutched at the doctor's green surgical scrubs. "You must save him, Henry."
Doctor Langford slowly pulled Sophie's hands from his jacket. "I will do my best, you know that I will, Sophie, but I am not a miracle worker. Eugen is in God's hands." He turned to look at The Gunner. "Sophie has told me a little of what you are doing, and I understand your desire for discretion. Bur as a doctor, I must insist that you forget your needs, and concentrate on the needs of this boy. I do not have the facilities, or the equipment, here. Eugen must be hospitalized, and the sooner the better."
Terry Hsiang, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward. "The Chinese Community Hospital," he suggested. "It has everything you need."
Doctor Langford nodded. CCH was a new facility, built with government largesse in these boom times, and had a fine reputation. It also had a private wing. There was, however, a problem. "I don't have privileges, and the boy needs . . ." The doctor's voice trailed off. "I do not have privileges."
The Gunner had picked up on the doctor's reluctance. The man was hesitant, which meant that Eugen was much worse than any of them suspected. The Gunner decided that there was no point in distressing Sophie further. He glanced obliquely at Terry.
Terry spoke up quickly. "Privileges will be arranged. Every facility will be made available to you."
Relieved that at last something was being done, Sophie asked, "May I see him?"
Doctor Langford nodded. "He's in a coma, Sophie. I fear a concussion. And his face is, well, battered."
"I still wish to see him," replied Sophie. She turned to The Gunner. "Whatever it takes, we must do, Stephen."
"That goes without saying." The Gunner smiled at Sophie and looked at Terry Hsiang. "Do whatever must be done. Arrange for an ambulance." He saw Doctor Langford turning to accompany Sophie into the surgery and spoke loudly, "A word, doctor?"
Doctor Langford recognized the authority in The Gunner's voice and turned to his son. "Why don't you take Sophie down to the room?" He turned to Sophie. "The boy is unconscious and you can only stay a few minutes." Chief Edgar took Sophie's hand. "Come, Sophie dear. We'll visit Eugen for a moment or two," he said as he led Sophie down the corridor, following young Doctor Langford to the room where Eugen lay.
When Sophie was out of earshot The Gunner asked coldly, "Now, tell me the real truth," he demanded quietly.
"I have told you the truth," replied old Doctor Langford. Eugen we suspect is suffering from septicaemia, blood poisoning. On the plus side we believe that the sepsis is not advanced, that it is in the early stages, as we have observed no tachypnea, which is a rapid rate of breathing indicating damage to the lungs, and no oliguria, which would indicate kidney dysfunction. And his skin, his extremities, are warm, as opposed to being cool and clammy." He smiled thinly. "All good signs, really." "However?" The Gunner bluntly asked. "Septicaemia might be the least of his problems. In addition to the spleen and possible other internal injuries, I suspect that he has a concussion," replied Doctor Langford, "which will need to be looked at by a specialist, a neurologist."
"Go on." The Gunner's voice was tense, but controlled.
"He will also need a urologist," Doctor Langford replied grimly. "Whoever did this paid vicious attention to the boy's genitalia. We managed to insert a Foley but it was difficult. I believe his urethra is damaged, as are his testicles, which are bruised and badly swollen. Someone deliberately stomped him, Mr . . . Mr . . .?"
"Winslow," supplied The Gunner. "Anything else?"
"Eugen's prepuce was torn from the meatus and the fraenulum is ripped. Given the damage, I cannot see him ever regaining normal sexual function, and I fear that he will need to have one, or both, testicles removed." Doctor Langford shook his head. "I have never seen such wanton, deliberate damage." He scowled angrily. "Mr. Winslow, whoever did this deliberately set out to cause as much damage as they could!"
The Gunner, fearing the answer, for he had seen what had been done to Eugen, steeled himself and asked tightly, "The prognosis, and please, the truth."
"The truth?" Doctor Langford scowled and spoke emphatically. "We must get him to hospital. He needs whole blood and emergency surgery. If we can get the infection under control, if the internal damage can be surgically repaired, he'll live. The boy is young, strong, and healthy. Had he been looked at sooner, I would be more hopeful. As it is, given his blood loss, and the extent of the damage to his internal organs, and the infection, I just don't know if we got him in time, or how well he might recover."
The Gunner placed his firm, strong hand on the doctor's shoulder. "You will do your best, which is all than can be asked of you," he said kindly. "Whatever help you need, will be provided."
"I will need to call some people," said Doctor Langford. "Specialists."
"Do it, then," directed The Gunner. He released the doctor and walked slowly down the corridor toward the surgery.
Sophie was sitting in a chair beside Eugen's bed, holding the young German boy's hand. She wanted desperately to reach out and brush away an errant lock of his hair that had fallen across his forehead, but feared to touch him.
Eugen seemed to have tubes in every orifice, and was breathing with the help of an oxygen mask. His face was hideously swollen, both closed eyes purple, his face one huge, disfiguring bruise. He lay completely still, a slight twitching of his hand giving the only indication that he was in any discomfort.
"They have him filled with morphine," Sophie said needlessly as The Gunner entered the room. She brought Eugen's hand to her lips and kissed it gently. "Don't sugar coat it, Stephen," she said, never taking her eyes from the boy. "He's dying, isn't he?"
"He is very ill, Sophie," replied The Gunner. He could not bring himself to tell Sophie the true extent of Eugen's injuries.
Sophie seemed not to hear. "When you find the man who did this, I want to be there," she said coldly. "When you punish him, I want to be there."
"Sophie, I . . ." began The Gunner helplessly.
Sophie turned cold, hard eyes at The Gunner. "You will find the man who did this, Stephen. I am not asking you, I am telling you. I do not care what it takes, or what it costs. Do it!"