FOUR
Landstuhl is about three miles from Ramstein, while Kaiserslautern is about 16 miles from Ramstein. With more than 50,000 American military personnel on the base, together with their dependents, the two towns provide nearly all of the needs of an American GI. Hotels, both upscale and hot-sheet; bars; restaurants, both traditional German and American fast-food; shopping; prostitutes, both male and female. Additionally, Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, the largest American-operated hospital outside of North America, provides completely up-to-date facilities for military personnel as well as US government agencies and their dependents in Europe.
Mario's first goal was to get Lina into LRMC for a physical, and to have a battery of tests run to insure she was going to be permitted into the US. Certain ailments were still frowned upon by the State Department. In addition, he was going to surreptitiously have blood tests taken in order to facilitate a DNA search later. If `Norton' could be found, there would still remain the issue of connecting Lina to her supposed father.
This was the step in the journey which Stuart could facilitate: Mario anticipated that a few well-placed phone calls from Los Angeles to Washington, DC and/or Germany would open the doors. In fact, as they were landing, the Spanish Air Force captain notified Mario they would be met by a US military police escort: it did not feel as reassuring as he had hoped. As a California lawyer, he had seen enough bending of the rules by authorities, not just the Rodney King case, to be not fully trusting of police in general.
He was relieved to find that Stuart had smoothed that road for him: a ruggedly handsome blonde MP captain named Rigby greeted him when the door opened on the Lear. Mario thought at first that the MPs must have recruited their officers directly from the ranks of Mormon missionaries. Captain Rigby ushered Mario and Lina into a Humvee parked at the foot of the steps, seating himself in the front next to another Mormon missionary-clone driver, Private Stevens. Rigby turned to face Mario and related the agenda: they were going directly to Landstuhl RMC, where Lina would stay overnight; Mario would meet there with government representatives while Lina was being cared for.
"I have also arranged for your quarters for tonight; here is my cell phone number, please call me as soon as you have finished your meetings and I will drive you to the quarters." Captain Rigby seemed to be very accommodating. A little bell in the back of Mario's mind was ringing. Maybe Tommy might get off with a lighter punishment.
Jim Richins from the State Department met Mario in a small conference room, two floors down from the exam room where Lina was seated. Richins, it turned out, was one of the neighborhood boys whom Mario had met years before in Malibu, who had been a close friend of his "adopted" son Carlos, the young Venezuelan Mario and Mason had taken in. Jimmy, as he was called then, and his neighbors Vince and Jeremy, as well as Carlos, had been involved in a shooting incident in Hollywood at one point, which turned out to be the time when the boys were forced to come out of the closet to their parents. Mason, Mario, and Stuart had all been a part of that process.
Consequently, while this meeting at Landstuhl RMC was a huge surprise to both Mario and Jim Richins, it was also extremely cordial, more than the normal bureaucratic bullshit to which Mario had grown accustomed over years of practicing immigration law in California. After first shaking hands with Mario, Richins hugged him, and as they sat and enjoyed coffee together, Mario brought him up to speed on the situation; most of it Richins had been warned of ahead of time by Stuart, and he had already made some calls to Tommy to get more background.
Mario said, "You don't know how glad I am to see you: I was thinking this assignment from my boss would be impossible, so I'm hoping you can show me the way through this potentially shitty situation." Richins laughed.
"It is shitty; the first problem is establishing that Lina has a right to enter the US in order to find her father, and there are three or four avenues for that. One is under refugee status: if she can demonstrate persecution in her homeland, or some other endangerment to her life or status as a resident there, she can get temporary immigration."
"Temporary?"
"Sure; six months."
"Is that enough time to find `Norton'?" Mario wondered aloud.
"Probably; we can actually start the search process here at Ramstein, since all of the European command staff is headquartered here, and we can pull some strings and get access to personnel records pretty easily and quickly."
"So, you know people?" Mario asked.
Richins smiled: "OK, this does not leave this room, but the MP captain who met you at the jet?"
"Ah." Mario smiled, suddenly understanding.
"In fact, you will be staying at his house tonight and tomorrow; well, our house."
Mario suddenly felt a huge load of anxiety falling off his shoulders: Jim Richins and Captain Rigby, big beautiful brawny American government employees, Mormon missionary look-alikes, who were sleeping together, were going to be the key to getting answers for a shy Iraqi perhaps half-American girl accused of spying. Mario smiled at Richins: "God I'm so glad to see you." They both laughed.
"The Captain has already arranged for us to have dinner together, so if you want to check on Lina and her progress with her doctors, then we can meet out front by the main entrance whenever you are ready." Jim stood and hugged Mario again, and Mario let go of a deep sigh: "My God it's good to see you."
In about a half hour, Mario had spoken with the medical team which was taking care of Lina: he was briefed on her condition generally, and also told what to anticipate in the next twenty-four hours. She was under-nourished, at least according to American medical standards, which was not a surprise; the medical team had already given her anti-biotics, a round of adolescent vaccines, as well as an iron booster for anemia. In the morning she would have x-rays, but the doctors did not anticipate finding anything unusual. The American medical industry, Mario had found through experience with immigration clients, was motivated more by paranoia than anything else.
Captain Rigby and Jim Richins were waiting inside the Humvee; Private Stevens was at the wheel. "Stevens, `Weberstubchen' please" Rigby ordered.
"Yes sir."
Stevens drove them carefully but quickly through the light traffic in Landstuhl; it was already late in the evening on Tuesday, and most good Germans were at home watching some dubbed American TV re-runs, while most American GI's were getting ready for the following days' work. Most military assignments are mind-numbing to some degree; most are shift work, and follow routines, and are not highly dissimilar from American domestic corporate routines.
"I hope you like German food, Mr. Garza?" Captain Rigby asked.
"Certainly; I'm always a sucker for bratwurst" Mario answered.
Seated next to him, Jim Richins started giggling. Rigby glanced at the two of them, and then said "OK, I bet there is a story there."
"You already know a little of it; I just never gave you the names of the guilty parties," Richins replied.
"I can't wait" Rigby smiled.
Private Stevens cleared his throat and steered into the parking for the Weberstubchen restaurant. "Private, if you want to get a bite to eat and maybe a drink, I bet you can find a seat in the bar. We will not be longer than an hour," Captain Rigby said.
"Yes sir. I'm ready when you are sir."
Mario was not accustomed to the formality of the military, and he was a little chagrinned to see the Private sent off to eat alone. He had briefly imagined fucking the Private.
When they were seated in a booth and had ordered dinner, Rigby turned to Jim Richins and said "OK, spill. Names, dates, places, all the guilty parties."
Richins laughed; he said, "Mario knows this maybe as well as me, except for a few details, but essentially, I was forced to come out to my parents and to the whole god-damn neighborhood because I was shot, along with some friends, outside a gay bar in West Hollywood."
Rigby said "Yes, I remember you telling me that stuff, but how is Mario Garza connected to that?"
"Well, a young man named Carlos Salinas was living with Mario and his husband, Mason Taylor, and Carlos and I and a couple of neighbor friends, Jeremy and Vince, all teenage college students, were all fucking around together at that time. We thought we were keeping it a secret from everyone, until one night when we decided to drive into West Hollywood and find some gay bars. We had just parked and gotten out of Carlos' BMW and were crossing the street when we got shot at by some asshole gangbanger drug dealer, by mistake, and ended up in the hospital. Carlos got it the worst, but we all were greeted by our not-very-happy parents in the middle of the night who had been dragged out of bed by the police."
Mario had been silent through this re-telling of a story he knew too well. He decided to add some details: "My husband and I were devastated of course because Carlos was involved, we were terrified that he was shot, but it turned out to be serious but not fatal, and Carlos was up and around in a couple of weeks. Jim and Jeremy and Vince probably experienced more pain from their parents' reactions than from the shooting" Mario smiled.
"Probably? Oh my God; my father freaked out, and my mother thought she could not decide if she wanted to kill me or herself." Jim Richins had a wry grin. "But they all got over it; your husband was the best medicine for all of us at that time. He was so wise and calm and patient, and so was Stuart."
"Tell me about them?" Rigby asked.
Mario said "Mason Taylor was my husband; the love of my life and probably the best husband in California if not North America. He died seven years ago, and I have still not recovered from that. Stuart is his nephew."
Jim asked "It is none of my business, and you can tell me to shut the fuck up, but since Mason died, have you been with anyone else? Are you dating?"
"You are right, it is none of your business" Captain Rigby interjected.
"I don't mind; if you mean `am I having sex' by asking have I been with anyone, then yes, I have had a few. Am I dating anyone? No. I've been trying to find more and more excuses to avoid that topic over the past couple years." Mario sighed.
"Here is where I get to wear my Captain hat" Rigby said: "Maybe it's time to get back on that horse that threw you off?"
Both Mario and Jim laughed; "I may be too old for dating" Mario complained.
Jim asked, "How old was Mason when the two of you were married?"
"He was 50; he had already had an amazing life and an amazing career, and I have always counted myself as the luckiest man on earth to have found him and married him."
"And you are, right now, maybe 50?" Captain Rigby asked.
Mario just laughed and shook his head. "Yeah."
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, recounting the hours and minutes and events since he first landed in Palma, Majorca, how many days ago? It seemed like another lifetime, like a dream, but it had only been four days. He heard someone sighing; he realized that he was hearing the two Mormon- missionary-clone government workers in the next bedroom having sex, and he was suddenly erect. He heard more moaning, and was picturing in his mind what was happening: wondering who was sucking whom, who was getting an ass reamed, who was getting fucked, and what position were they into? He imagined that the big brawny Viking-like MP captain was topping the slender Jim Richins, could picture Jim on his back with his legs apart in the air as they fucked face-to-face, with Rigby's big cock sliding in and out like a battering ram in Richins' wet ass.
It took Mario less than 4 minutes to cum.