The London operation over, I spent the next three months in training with several different SAS teams in Northern Scotland. It was a despicable place, far from the nearest town and as desolate as I imagine the dark side of the moon to be. It was all business with these guys, as they practiced every aspect of agent insertion and extraction. Not the insertion I had in mind when first hearing that expression, and after being around them for a few days I realized that any ideas I might have related to that should be kept completely to myself. I had the distinct impression that any one of them would cut off my nuts and feed them to me for breakfast if I made the first overt move toward them. After a few weeks of this non stop training, I was dying to get out of there.
Salvation, and escape from the torture of training came in the form of the misfortunes of one Anthony Baden-White. The sixteen year old son of a mid level British diplomat in Saudia Arabia, Anthony took holiday from his English boarding school and visited his father in Riyadh before going on for a weeks stay in Bahrain. He went missing sometime around his third day there, and hadn't been heard from or seen in almost three months now. His suitcase full of clothes, and his passport were found in the hotel where he stayed and the trail ended there. Bahrainian authorities had a record of his arrival from Riyadh, checked in to the hotel, and nothing else. They had combed the island with absolutely no results. It was if he had dropped from the face of the earth.
Unconfirmed sightings of a slightly built blonde male filtered out from deep agents in Kabul, but nothing could be substantiated, and thus nothing could tie these sightings to anything.
The first real data came in an unexpected way from a recently expelled Filipino who was returned to Manila from Bahrain. He had been caught stealing from his Arab employer who had him deported, and he offered the British consulate the first definitive information on Anthony in exchange for a visa to seek employment in the UK.
He had spent a few days in a Bahrain jail prior to being deported and supposedly had shared a cell, albeit briefly, with a young boy named Anthony. This information seemed to be the second data point on what may have happened.
Anthony had been brought to the jail late on his second evening in Bahrain, picked up on some unspecified charge to be held for the night until a magistrate arrived in the morning. Sometime that evening, he disappeared.
The Filipino told a haunting story of life inside the jail, the beatings, the mistreatment, all the makings of a hellish experience. Anthony spent maybe an hour in his cell and they traded names and experiences before the guards separated them and put the young English boy in another cell a few doors down, ostensibly to isolate him from the other inmates. But the Filipino had been there long enough to suspect that they had other ideas in mind for the boy. Beatings and rapes in the jail were common, and the Filipino had seen and heard enough to guess just what they had in mind for Anthony.
Sure enough, within another hour, the guards paid a visit to the boy's cell, and the Filipino fully expected to hear the brutality. But what he heard surprised him. No beating, at least none that he could hear, as the sounds coming from Anthony's cell told a different story.
The faggot little bitch was giving it up without so much as a meek protest, and as the night wore on it became evident that he was gladly taking on all comers, even to the point of begging for more. The sixteen year old product of English boarding schools had discovered his sexual preferences long before that night, and the guards lined up to get a piece of what this white boy offered. And wanted.
Sometime during the night, the Filipino saw him being led back up the hall and out thru the doors into the reception area. That was the last confirmed sighting of our young Anthony. The Bahrainians had no record of him other than his arrival. No arrest. No jail. Nothing.
Gone. Into the vast expanse of the Middle East, perhaps Asia. The subsequent sighting of a young blonde boy in the obvious custody of unsavory characters in Kabul put the rest of the theory on the drawing board and brought me into play.
White slavery, much talked about but seldom proved any more, disappeared from the world decades ago. Except, it seemed, in certain areas of the Middle East.
The demise of the former Soviet Union, along with the utter collapse of any semblance of an economy, had Russian whores streaming thru the semi permeable southern borders and into the Middle East where oil money still bought what they offered. And not just women. Young bi and homosexuals took advantage of it as well, offering their wares along the borders at first and then making the trek across to more lucrative markets. A few of the apparently 'straight' ones as well.
They were taken immediate advantage of, finding themselves chattel of the Muslim and Arab mafias that operated behind the scenes.
A cute piece of ass like Anthony would fetch a nice price, either sold outright or rented by the trick. It was a cheap investment that posed little risk to business minded Arabs and, it was suspected, where his trail would lead.
The lights below appeared as diamonds on a black velvet cushion and I came awake from my thoughts as the 747 touched down in the pitch black night of Bahrain Island. The mission had begun.
The immigration officer seemed amused at my student visa but waived me thru anyway. After all, what would a student study here? My Canadian passport was an excellent copy, the work of the experts in London.
At midnight the temperature was still a sultry 95 degrees, and the perspiration trickled down my back as I made my way out of the terminal into the mob that descended on the arrivals hall. Overcome by the pressing crowd outside the terminal, I succumbed to the first offer of a taxi and soon found myself in the relative luxury of an airconditioned ride thru the labrinyth of streets leading from the airport to the Diplomat hotel. A quick check in and elevator ride later, I collapsed in bed, the combination of jet lag and uncertainty taking its toll. The mission would have to start tomorrow.
I tried to take stock of things the next morning, fresh from a good night's sleep. As I sat at breakfast I replayed the briefing instructions given prior to my leaving London.
If Anthony had indeed been snatched by white slavers, or someone attempting to sell him to white slavers, the best hope of picking up his trail seemed to lie in somehow emulating his movements in an effort to suffer the same fate. It was what was referred to as a 'low tech' operation, devoid of the sophisticated communication and surveillance equipment that marked most other operations. I would be followed, shadowed, tailed. Nothing more. There was too much risk in wearing communication or homing devices since it was assumed that I would be searched before being snatched and any such devices would only tip the perpetrators to the mission and endanger me in the process. I had to rely on trust and faith in my handlers to keep track of me every minute of the mission. I had no choice.
But how had Anthony been picked up? What had he done to attract the attention of the Bharainian police? The Filipino didn't think Anthony had been drinking, so a trumped up charge of drunkenness didn't seem to be the reason. What else could it have been? Deviant behavior? Could the little queer have made a pass at the wrong man, a cop perhaps? My mind ran wild with the possibilities as I conjured up the mental image of this blonde English boy prowling the streets in search of illicit sex with a man. Finding a seemingly willing participant who turned out to be an undercover policeman. It made for a convincing scene, and I felt the first stirrings of excitement at the possibilities it offered. I hadn't cruised for sex since before my training in Scotland, and found the thoughts of it mildly erotic.
Quickly returning to my room and changing into a pair of ass hugging short shorts, tee shirt, and flip flops, I made my way out of the hotel and into the hot midday Mid East sun drenched day. The warmth of the sun on my skin coupled with the stare of the doorman only heightened my sense of adventure, and I wiggled my butt as I walked into the bright day, trying to look as obvious as possible.
I spent most of the afternoon strolling thru the gold souk, browsing with absolute awe at the beauty and splendor of all that jewelry concentrated in just a few blocks. I could have lingered there all day, and the attention I got from the Arab and Indian men tempted me to do just that, but the reality of the mission pervaded and I found myself striking out for other, more seedy hunting grounds in the maze of alleys and shops just behind the souk. As I picked my way slowly along the dirty lanes, I felt the stares from the shop keepers and knew that my attire and demeanor were having the desired effect. I was signaling my availability while maintaining the illusion of innocence at the same time. The whole thing made me incredibly hot and I found myself brazenly scrawling my hotel room number and the date on the dingy wall of a public restroom just off the souk. By mid afternoon, I had managed to leave this same message in three other public toilets along the way from the souk back to the Diplomat. I was leaving an easy to follow trail in hopes that it would be picked up by the right people.
Returning to the hotel bar shortly before sunset, I drank til past midnight before finally scoring in the mens room, sitting on the commode and letting an older Arab businessman fuck me in the mouth til he came. Drunk, but satisfied with the days accomplishments, I slept til morning.
My second day in Bahrain was, for the most part, as my first. I dressed the part and roamed the narrow alleys of the city, flirting here and there with the Indian and Pakistani shopkeepers who gave me a second look. I visited the toilets again, changing the dates on my messages but finding no takers there. Returning to the hotel bar, I played easy to get again and was rewarded by two satisfying encounters in the men's room. I was beginning to think that I might have to keep this up for a while, and that was fine with me. After the sexual frustration of training, I was back in my element.
I noticed the tail on my third day out, a tall dark man who followed me as I sauntered thru the alleys, stopping when I did which was the dead giveaway. I circled, backtracked, and used every trick I had been taught to confirm that he was, indeed, tailing me. By the end of the second hour, I spotted the second one as they played tag and trade off. I just hoped my handlers were having the same luck at spotting them as I was. Sure that they were, I visited one of the public toilets, lingering to draw him in, and finally making my way out when I didn't.
It was the tall one, the one I had first spotted, and he was leaning against the wall just outside the doorway as I came out. Making eye contact, I started down the alley, away from the doorway, before turning to look at him again. When he stared back, I reversed and slowly came back to face him. His hand was massaging his crotch in an obvious offer, and I lost no time in replacing it with mine. Meeting absolutely no resistance, I let my fingers play along the outline of the semi hardness of his cock, taking the zipper and pulling it down as I sank to my knees in front of him. He wasn't wearing underwear, and an uncut 8 inch cock sprang from the confines of his trousers. He thrust the wad of bills in my left hand as my lips opened to take the tip of his penis in my mouth.
What happened next was a blur as I was grabbed from behind and wrestled roughly off my knees to the ground, a knee thrust into my back. The cold steel of the handcuffs encircled first one wrist then the other as I lay, unresisting, on the cold wet concrete of the doorway. As the tall one zipped up, the other grabbed my arms and lifted me to my feet, propelling me in front of him down the alley and into the backseat of the waiting car. I was laying face down on the backseat as the doors shut and the car sped off thru the crowded streets of the city. Before I knew it the gag was in place and someone held my head down on the seat.
I had to admit that they pulled off the snatch with some degree of efficiency. Not as professional as my SAS buddies, mind you, but not bad for the Middle East. They had blown the tail and I was sure my handlers had picked that up and followed the whole thing. That thought alone was the only thing that kept me reasonably optimistic as the thug kept my face pinned to the foul smelling back seat while the car bucked and bumped over the rough hewn streets. Going, god knows where.
I had to keep reminding myself that this was what we'd planned, my handlers and me, and that the plan was working, so far. The fear, if it was fear, lasted on a few seconds, and I stopped struggling, lying face down and offering no more resistance to my captors.
"Good boy" the one holding me down muttered "keep still and we will not harm you". He was Arab. My language recognition training had prepared me to make that observation, which I filed away in my 'mission memory', another skill drummed into me over and over. The 'hostage' training in remote Scotland was heavy on victim response, and I felt a calm sense of being on top of the situation, so to speak. I just had to keep calm and play along, using my skills and senses to set up just the right hostage-captor relationship in order to reduce their fear factor and convince them that I wouldn't be a threat to their plan. They had to feel that everything was working in their favor, that they were pulling this off without risk. My chances of survival were infinitely better that way.
I went limp at his instruction and felt him ease his iron grip on my neck just slightly as his fear factor obviously eased a fraction. Good. If they didn't shot me, or slit my throat, that was a good sign.
From the apparent speed of the car and the smoothing out of the ride, I deduced that we had left the city and headed to open highway. I guessed that we were not headed for jail. At least not an 'official' jail. Though out the entire episode neither had spoken a word to each other, distancing my chances to identify them. That was good too. As long as they didn't think I could identify them I was less of a risk.
He drew the black cloth around my head, covering my eyes, and tied it tightly in back. Then he pulled me up by the shoulders and sat me upright in the seat. I offered absolutely no resistance as I heard, and felt, the car skid in a turn and leave the paved surface of the road. I offered no resistance as I was pulled from the car and led across what felt like gravel and into a building of some sort. With the blind fold and gag still in place, I was pushed down to the floor, where I sat spread legged as someone adjusted my hands behind my back. Silence. As light filtered under the bottom of my blindfold, I could see the dirt floor beneath me.
This must have been some kind of 'safe house' where they kept me. I could detect the two of them milling around in the darkness in front of me, but that was all.
I dropped my head in a show of total defeat. I was their victim. I was utterly and completely in their charge. I would offer no resistance. I would do as they instructed. All the makings of perfect victim. Their confidence must have been soaring at this point, but they didn't give away a thing as I sat there and awaited whatever fate was to befall me.
They must have held me there the entire day. At regular intervals one of them loosened my gag and fed me water, which I gulped down every time they offered it. After what seemed like hours, I was pulled to my feet and propelled out the door and into the car again. Only it didn't seem to be the same car. The seats were leather, and the air conditioning kept them cool against the bare skin of my legs as we drove back to the main road and sped off. We had turned right coming in, and we turned right going out, so I surmised that we going in a direction away from the city. But which direction? Bahrain is an island, and the only direction one can travel in for any real distance is toward Saudi Arabia. That must be where we were headed.
He loosened my gag and fed me water again, but this time he didn't re gag me. Another sign that they were confident I would offer no threat to their plan.
"You realize, of course, that you have broken our laws" the voice jarred me out of my mental lapse "that it is illegal what you have done. What you are." Ah, finally a chance to communicate with them. The next, vital step in the dance.
"I don't--I--" I stammered helplessly.
"Our laws strictly forbid these kinds of things. You have entered our country on false pretenses." Uh, oh. What did he mean?
"No..." I said softly, so as not to spook or provoke him "I've not...what do you mean?"
"Our laws strictly forbid sexual deviates of your kind. It is clear on your application for entry to Bahrain. You have entered under false pretenses. And you have attempted to corrupt a Bahrain citizen by a deviate act. In blatant disregard you have violated that law." Whew, at least we were on track here. I slumped in the seat in apparent dismay at what he was saying.
"I...I only, well, I thought..." I stammered.
"The punishment for this crime is most severe" he went on, his voice dripping with authority. "Most severe."
"Wha...?"
Before he could answer the car left the highway again and slowed as we bumped along what must have been a dirt track to the left.
"Death" he finished.
"Ohhhhh" I sighed in disbelief and slumped lifelessly in the seat. I suspected what would come next and prepared to play it out as they expected me too. I managed a shutter as I sat quietly, trying to work up a good cry. The car came to a halt and I was led out and made to kneel. The course sand was rough on my knees as I tried to balance and keep from toppling over. If I had misgivings about my mission, they turned into raw fear as I felt the cold steel barrel of his pistol in the back of my head. Was this motherfucker really going to waste me? Did they go to all this trouble, take all this time with me, to cap me in the dessert? Stay calm. Play it out. Look for the hook. The handle to the situation. My training had, susposedly, prepared me for this moment. Don't panic now. Play it out.
"Noooooo..." I sobbed quietly, my head slumping away from the gun "Please...no" my emotions kicked in, right on cue, and I could feel my eyes well up until the tears ran down my face from under the blindfold. "Please..."
The click of the hammer being drawn back triggered my reaction. Fear, real now, gripped me and panic was not far off. "Nooooooo..." I pleaded into the emptiness in front of me.
"Perhaps..." the other voice said, somewhere behind me "another way." Bingo. The hook.
"The law is clear" the first voice said calmly "the punishment is clear."
"Yes, you are correct. But if he were to leave our country. Another way."
"Yes" I spoke up, letting the fear choke my response into short, sob like words "another way. Anything." I was genuinely into the act now, pulling the hook, finding the handle.
"But he must be in the custody of others. I will have no part in keeping him here."
"You will go with others." It wasn't a question. "You will leave Bahrain in the custody of others. You will go with them. You will obey them. It is understood?" I had the handle now. I would cooperate and be given to others. And these cruds would probably make a pretty penny in handing me over.
"Yes. YES" I said eagerly, apparently agreeable to my means of 'salvation' from this situation. "Anything" I added to seal the deal. I detected the hammer being gently eased down and the pistol withdrawn.
"And you will not return. And you will not speak of this. Understood?" "Yes...yes. Anything." The hands that pulled me to my feet weren't either of my captors, but I didn't realize it at the time. As the gag was pulled tightly to my mouth again, another set of hands propelled me forward until my knees banged on what must have been the back bumper of a car and I was tipped in, landing on my back as the lid was closed on this, my latest, prison cell. Breathing a sigh of relief, if it could be loosely called that, I lay flat as the engine started and we bumped back to the highway where I detected another right turn on the smooth pavement.
I sure hoped my handlers were tailing us.
To be continued lesli99@hotmail.com