Date: Sat, 27 Jul 2002 16:24:20 +0200
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Infamous Trade 12

----------------------------

INFAMOUS TRADE
by Andrej Koymasky
(C) 1998 - 2002
written the 20th of July, 1995
translated by the author
English text kindly revised by Jer

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"INFAMOUS TRADE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes
of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so
on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But
if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you
really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

-----------------------------

TWELFTH

Manhattan

At ten thirty-five of the morning after his clash with Kin Shin and his
body guard, Black was sitting on a green leather armchair in Silvan York's
office. He had a cup of black coffee in one hand, a rolled up copy of the
New York Times in the other and was looking at the Treasury agent. This one
was at the telephone and was receiving dressing down from somebody on the
other end of the line.

His problems came from the fact that Kevin M. Black, the vice-marshal of
recent appointment entrusted to him, did thrash up a diplomat of the South
Korean Embassy.

At a certain point, Silvan, his face red, threw a black glance from his
desk towards Black, who smiled and raised his cup in a toast before
drinking a sip of coffee. Kevin got the impression that Silvan didn't
appreciate his gesture. The Treasury agent squeezed his eyes and started to
wrap the telephone wire around his big hand. At the end Silvan hung up the
phone and called his secretary on the intercom, ordering her to answer to
all calls. Then leaning the palms of his hands on his desk, stared at his
fingers hardened by years of football. A career during which he reached the
record in the Cotton Bowl for the number of matches he played in the role
of defense.

At the University of Texas, Silvan York, besides playing two years on the
best team in the American Championship, also graduated with high marks,
above all thanks to his photographic memory. Unhappily the three operations
he had to undergo on his right shoulder excluded him from the National
Football League, This did not upset him too much, as the career of a
professional player seldom lasted more than five years.

Instead of following in his father and two brothers' footsteps, working in
a bank, Silvan, who thought of himself to be one of the few football stars
also gifted with a brain, decided to build a position for himself in
Washington, working on the staff of a Texas Senator.

Thanks to this experience he saw from close up the world of the Secret
Service. As a branch of the Treasury Department, they did much more than
protecting the President and his vice. They also investigated federal
crimes like the counterfeiting of money, government titles, laundering of
dirty money and more. They also watched for menaces against foreign
diplomats in the U.S.A. A job much more interesting that a career in a
bank. Another aspect of that job that Silvan appreciated was the strong
feeling of comradeship among the agents. It was a feeling that took him
back to the camaraderie of the football team. There were naturally also
collateral advantages, having the government behind him. For instance, he
could enjoy great power without having to be part of a political office or
a lobby.

It had been the senator, a lanky man with bushy eyebrows, with thin eyes
and lips, who warned him of the risks one could run working for the
government. "Now you are working for the politicians. With all the power
they have, it would be stupid thinking that a day or another they could not
use it against you. Like LBJ told me once, "serving people who can do
anything they want, can't get you anything good."

In the Manhattan office, for a while, neither Silvan nor Kevin said a word.

Then the Treasury agent leaned on the back of the turning armchair and
spoke, his face turned toward the ceiling, "The Justice Department, the
State Department and the District Attorney's office are breaking my balls
because of what you did with that Korean diplomat. So now it is up to me to
give you a good telling off." He lowered his eyes to Black, "It is the
types like you who send everything to hell. You presume you know
everything, while we don't understand shit. I cautioned you to go smoothly,
but it seems that an official warning is needed to convince you. Well, my
dear city boy, if you want to play smart, you should not be amazed if
people kick you in the ass. For too long now you're acting like a fool."

"I guess I should be worried, now..." Kevin said with a crafty smile.

"Listen to me, piece of shit -- even your mates think you overdid, this
time. Your district commander, the bosses at Police Plaza are just longing
to fuck you in the ass. And it's not even noon."

Kevin shoved him his copy of the Times, "Anyway, if you want to know, I was
not drunk and it was not me that started the brawl. Here they printed a lot
of bullshit,"

"Your problem became MY problem. Let me explain it. I don't give a shit
about who started the scuffle. You are in a bad position and this puts me
also in a bad position. A vice marshal who beats the shit of a foreigner
diplomat! Damn! Didn't you understand a shit of what I said to you? I
ordered you to concentrate on Firestone and about the death of two
undercover agents. Forget Terry What's-his-name, I told you..."

"You also recommended I stay away from Yung Chem. Anyway his family name is
Dos Santos. What has all this to do with Kim Shin?"

"Don't you understand anything, boy? I think the situation is escaping you.
There is an advantage to knowing the essential details, so before starting
to talk about how often you miss your goal, let me explain how things are.
Our country spends more than three billion dollars each year to defend
South Korea. North Korea is building a plant for the recycling of nuclear
material. The rumor is that there is an agreement between the two Koreas
for reunification. So what can we poor God fearing men do? Only try to
remain in the game and to do that we need friends. Whether we like it or
not, we have to be on good relations with the South Koreans. And we can
start by not roughing up their diplomats, for instance. Do you understand?"

Kevin put down his coffee cup on edge of the table and crossed his legs,
"What I understand is that a man deliberately lies, and is mocking me from
the start. What I see is a man cutting my legs to stop me from creating..."

"Detective Black, your personal story says that you are a lonely and
unhappy man. And unhappy people often think too little or too much..."

"I see it in a different way. I'm not the unhappy one. It is the world that
is rotten." Kevin said with a smile.

Silvan also laughed, "For a man in your position, you should worry a lot
more. On the contrary you are behaving like Inspector Callaghan and this
just confirms the theories of the liberals that cops are just prick-heads.
You didn't give a shit even about the orders of our government, and this is
not exactly in your interest, I assure you. So, why you are sitting there,
happier than a pig in shit? Do you know something that we don't? Or did you
just go crazy?"

Kevin leaned against the back of his armchair, his hands crossed behind his
neck, "Last night I was held by the police in Alberto's office, until they
checked my badge and phoned to confirm it was good. My colleague came to
bring me my raincoat. I was sitting on Alberto's desk so I put my raincoat
on his agenda file. When the check of my documents was over, they told me I
could leave..."

"You left with your raincoat and his agenda. At times I ask myself who made
you so..."

"Back home, the first thing I did was to check the names in that agenda.
Alberto had in it the telephone numbers of Kim Shin, that of the Korean
Embassy, his home, and Seoul. He had also several telephone numbers in
Seoul, but all without a name near them. I checked to see if one could
correspond to that of Yung Chem. Then there were other names, terribly
interesting names... that of Dan Firestone and Russell Fort, then telephone
numbers of half the world, France, England..."

"Who's Fort?"

"An ex policeman who knows Firestone very well and who has big debts with
the gambling loan-sharks. The little friend of Susan, who works in the
police archives, with the computer and that, among other things, takes care
of the profiles. Firestone makes checks about Yung Chem's clients, and
protects Fort. And now it's evident that he is connected with Alberto
Sacchi... In my opinion it is not just about the washing of dirty money, in
my opinion there is something rotten. Something bigger, good Lord, I can't
understand, I don't think it is drugs, but... I want to discover it."

"According to your references, you are able to deal with people. With whom
do you intend to start, since you can't start with the Koreans?"

"With Fort. Fort is a gambler and I think he gathers money to finance his
vice in two different ways -- selling undercover agent identities and
thanks to his mysterious trips to Mexico... The end of the line must be
there..."

"Good, Kevin. Let's go to take Fort and nail him with the question of
undercover agents and we make him spill the beans about his trips to Mexico
and his relationship with Firestone..."

"We have to also take Susan Scudder at the same time -- that woman for love
would do anything. It should be her who sold our two boys to Fort..."

"Did you talk about those suspects with somebody in the police?"

"No, when they entrusted me with this case they told me to trust nobody. We
knew that the leak happened on the inside. So I thought it was way better
to be wary. Firestone still has friends in the Corp. When I'll move against
him, I have to do it without fail, I won't get a second chance."

Silvan took the letter opener and slowly patted it on his palm. "It could
be a good idea to throw a rope to Fort and offer him a way out. We could
possibly persuade him that it would be convenient for him to confess. I
shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want you to leave here thinking that I
used you. I never did and never will do that. But also a cowboy like you
should learn to respect the rules sooner or later. You can't always do
things your own way, and charge forward with your head lowered like a bull.
There are occasion, believe me, where you have to follow the line that
others laid down. And about what concerns that kid you are looking for,
that Terry How's-his-name, I didn't twiddle my thumbs... Before Chem killed
our undercover agent we had information that a certain Mister Fox, and
Englishman..."

The telephone rang. Silvan took the receiver and brawled, "Damn, Nina, I
told you to take all the ca..." then knit his forehead and looking to Black
said, "I see. Yes, he's here," and handed the receiver to Kevin who
recognized the signs -- something bad had happen and, on a scale of one to
ten, had to be above six.

Silvan had the look of someone who would much rather be some place else. If
he was sure that it was bad news, Kevin had only to ask himself -- how much
and who had been touched, this time? He listened for a few seconds, then
closed his eyes. The news could not be worse. Much above level six.

All he said was, "Oh Christ! I've got to run." then gave the receiver to
Silvan. "He said there's a car is waiting for me outside. They shot my
colleague, Ellen Dekker. They don't know if she'll make it or not. I've got
to go."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

London

Thirty-three hours after the robbery at the security depository, Rowland
Preston was sitting in the waiting room of Heathrow airport, sipping whisky
from a silver hip flask. Twenty minutes until boarding time for the eleven
'o clock flight to New York. Twenty minutes farther from the meeting with
Yung Chem. Also the Korean would be in New York. And he had to face him,
and explain to him that he'd lost his eight million dollars. The same eight
millions he accepted in custody and that had now disappeared with all his
most valuable belongings, and his diaries describing in detail all his
activities. Of all those who used him to wash their dirty money, only that
of Chem was in his safety box -- he should find the way to give it back to
Chem, and also rapidly, he knew well.

Rowland, scared and confused, contacted Scotland Yard in hopes that the
robbers forgot something, only to come to know that in his box nothing at
all remained. Those bastards didn't leave even a paper clip. He didn't know
if it was better that his diaries were in the robbers' hands, or if it
would have been better they left them inside his box -- if Scotland Yard
saw and read then, it would have been infinitely worse. But now, in whose
hands would they end up?

Some of the other victims of the robbery refused to make a report or to
discuss with the police about the content of their boxes, and hence about
their activities, preferring to keep some information far from the
authorities. Rowland was so desperate about the loss of his diaries that he
would have asked the devil himself, just to have them back.

He also thought about canceling his trip to New York, but this could be
interpreted as the fact he didn't intend to refund Chem's money, or even
worst, his involvement in the robbery. Avoiding the Korean meant to confess
a guilt he didn't have, and this would not allow him to live for long. He
had to contact him at once, and to try to settle everything in the best of
ways -- giving him for free the little Terry, giving him all the money he
got from the auction, calming him down...

While he was putting the flask to his lips, his hand trembled. For the
moment the only thing he could think was the well deserved fame for cruelty
of Chem, especially if he suspected that somebody was trying to cheat him.
He would of course accuse him of the loss, exactly like General Kin Jong
accused Chem.

The thought of Chem's wrath provoked atrocious spasms in his stomach,
accompanied by a weak sensation in his hands and legs. Fear swept all his
energy away from him. He swallowed another big sip of whisky desperately
trying to convince himself that Chem would not kill him when they would
meet in New York. That he would give him an opportunity to find the money
and to save his life.

Too late he was aware he too thoughtlessly passed over the homicidal manias
of Chem, only because it didn't concern him directly. He closed his eyes to
the unpleasant truth and now he had to pay its price. When he heard that
Chem killed one of his young waiters, a Filipino, after torturing him for a
long while, cutting him in small pieces so that he didn't die too quickly,
only because the young man tried to kiss Elton when this was his boy,
Rowland just smiled...

Rowland's first reaction to the news of the robbery had been to withdraw in
his bedroom, ignore all telephone calls and to drain a bottle of whisky,
just to become insensible to everything. Yung Chem was not the only one to
fear, he feared also what could happen to him if Chem and the others named
in his diaries came to know about the existence of those papers. Rowland's
fear had been so strong that he even seriously considered the possibility
of suicide. Then he decided that killing himself would be too cowardly a
solution to this nightmare of a situation.

Thomas. God only knows where he could be at that moment! It's not that he
would be any help in such an emergency, that good for nothing. Thomas was
an eternal adolescent, unscrupulous and foolhardy, absorbed only in the
seeking new and unusual sensations. At the moment he had to be engaged in
his imaginary business that was going to make him rich, that poor mug! But
if he were here, his terribly erotic presence, his unique way to make love,
could give him some relief - comfort. Could help him distract himself a
little. He missed him as never before.

Crying uncontrollably like a weakling, Rowland placed another log in his
bedroom fireplace. How the hell could he escape all of this? He always saw
himself as a unique unequaled person, so much above the masses. The danger
he was now running was a brutal demonstration that, everything considered,
he was exactly like all the others. Lying on his bed he continued to look
at the fire. The sparkles of the flames projected like a crimson aura on
the floor. This was a comforting sensation that pushed him to serious
reflections about his life.

Once he was a nice and perfectly normal teen in Clapham, a London suburb.
To start him up the road on an unrestrained sexuality had been the Reverend
William Cobden of the Anglican Church. A forty year old vicar with a face
like a full moon, he was a secret pedophile. Even if Cobden had lured him
into the way of lust, Rowland's hunger for sex, showed him to be a
voracious pupil. In a short time, he took the reins of the perverse game
where, among various things, the boy offered himself in obscene poses to
Cobden's camera. He even pushed the priest to find more boys to get even
more daring pictures, where he fucked with his occasional mates found by
the reverend.

Cobden was just the first of a long list of men with whom the young Rowland
indulged in pleasures of the flesh. One of his uncles, a police agent, an
art merchant were just some of the mature men who enjoyed his graces. What
made Rowland different from all the other boys addict to sex with adults of
their same gender, was his refusal to see himself in the role of the victim
of sexual abuse, as a conquered, seduced boy.

>From the beginning he was sure that sex between a boy and an adult was a
good and right thing. The kid got pleasure from the possibility to exercise
a power over men who often were the pillars of society and that at times
were old enough to be his grandfathers. He loved making them beg him for
sex, imposing his conditions, directing them at his will before allowing
them to fuck him.

Finally, the blatant sexually behavior of Rowland became too embarrassing
and his father, the forty-two years old manager of a pub, threw him out the
day after his fifteen birthday. In just one week he became the lover, all
but faithful, of a forty-four year old gangster from the West End. His
contempt for convention ended when Rowland was only twenty-two.

He met Roger Lesley, an athletic forty year old man, who was the director
of a racing car factory in Park Lane. Passionate and affectionate, Lesley,
was a man of success, strong and gentle. He conquered the drifting boy,
tamed him, and Rowland, for the first time, fell passionately in love with
somebody. For his Roger, he became a honest boy. He never cheated on him.
He found in him strength and gentleness, safety, shelter, warmth and
passion. He could desire nothing more.

Two years after they became lovers, they moved to Cape Town, where Roger
took command of a branch of a big American car company. The move had been
traumatic for Roger's sister. Finola was a thin bony woman, with thin lips,
who controlled the charity foundation started by their grandfather -- the
Lesley Foundation. Deeply devoted to her brother, the woman knew he was
gay, so she accepted Rowland with some coolness but without hostility.
Rowland in his own mind suspected that the cause of the alcoholic problems
of the unmarried and demure Finola were based on a carnal, unsatisfied
desire towards her brother. For love of Roger, Finola and Rowland always
treated each other in a civilized way. Anyway, Rowland thought that the
truce would last only as long as Roger tacitly imposed it.

In Cape Town Rowland continued to love and respect Roger. He never cheated
on him -- the man knew perfectly well about his young lover's past, and
accepted it. He also knew that's exactly what it was, just a past. The man
totally wrapped him in his love, which made Rowland feel the center of the
man's life. In bed, Roger was a passionate lover, open to anything new. He
conceded to Roger all the pleasure he desired. Rowland in exchange, more
and more in love, reserved a fidelity he never granted to any other man in
his life. When he was with Roger he didn't even feel the desire to use his
ability to seduce and dominate other men. Also, Roger was the first man
that Rowland didn't try to dominate.

While Rowland carried on a sober life, the same could not be said about
their friends in Cape Town. For instance Alberto, a gay Italian
restaurateur that Roger met in a bar on shore. Alberto regularly invited
them to parties where partner swapping happened, group orgies, but the
couple always refused those invitations. They were not interested in sex
with runaway boys, white or black, that Alberto gathered in from the roads
and hosted in his home as long as they sexually appealed to his guests. And
then he threw them again out on the road. To fuck a kid, Alberto assured,
is a magic elixir to keep a man young. This statement scandalized Roger and
left Rowland indifferent .

Alberto started to have sex when he was twelve. He became the willing lover
of his mother's lover, a thirty two year old man. When his mother was not
at home, he always teased the man, until they merrily ended up in bed and
the man fucked him for a good long time. Alberto loved feeling the big and
strong hot body on top of him to feel in his little hole his hard and long
tool. Knowing he was the master of the man's pleasure. And now, he loved to
be on the other side, to fuck kids at his will, to have even three or four
of them in his bed, ready to please him in every way he fancied. And he
liked to look at his friends using his kids for their pleasure.

For six years Roger and Rowland lived happily together. That comfort of
wealth and peace came to an end the day Roger decided it was no longer
possible to remain indifferent to the apartheid system.

Against their white friends and his work mates opinions, Roger openly
supported the strikes by the black workmen and the radicals of the African
National Congress lead by Nelson Mandela. He also took part in a
demonstration in the city of Shaperville to protest against the laws
restricting the movements of black people in the areas inhabited by the
white minority. The police repressed that demonstration with unheard of
brutality, killing seventy people. Also Roger had been hit by a bullet,
getting a light wound in his leg.

Immediately after this incident, the ANC, the Communist party and other
groups of blacks, were officially excluded by the law. The government acted
with an even greater brutality against those who opposed apartheid. Even if
he was scared for what could happen to his Roger, Rowland admired the
courage and determination of his man in manifesting his ideals.

"South-Africa is a wonderful land, but without a future. There is too much
hate, and hate brings only mishaps and accidents, remember my words." Roger
told him.

Just one month later, Roger's prediction came to knock at their door. On a
rainy night a man dressed like a priest went to their house and rang the
bell. When Roger went to open the door, he shot him three times in his
chest, straight into his heart. Roger died in Rowland's arms, without
recovering his senses. A few days later, an anonymous voice threatened the
young man on the telephone, ordering him to leave South-Africa in
forty-eight hours if he didn't want to follow his "lover's" fate.

As he took the threat seriously, Rowland went to see Alberto. The Italian
really did help him in that terrible time. He took care to organize the
immediate cremation of Roger, and Rowland's flight to London with his man's
ashes.

But Roger's business was not too simple to settle. It was found out that
Roger left a will leaving Rowland as his sole heir. But after paying the
inheritance taxes, several outstanding taxes, some debts and the
installments of a bank loan that Roger had and the funeral expenses; he
found he had to abandon the life of luxury life which his lover had made
him accustomed to. After selling almost all his estate, there remained only
enough to survive a few months, less than a year.

In London, Finola, Roger's sister, unexpectedly showed that she cared very
much about Rowland's fate. She gave him a job in the Lesley Foundation and
also found him a small apartment, for free, in Bayswater. Their sorrow drew
them closer and made then forget about the past; their hidden grudges.
Eighteen months later Finola passed away. Rowland suffered because with the
death of the woman his last tie with Roger was lost. But Finola also left a
will so that Rowland became the director of the Lesley Foundation. The
Foundation started to become a modest financial success, good enough to pat
him a reasonable salary, but at least he could now live decently.

Rowland didn't feel like becoming the lover of another old dirty man, so he
seriously took care to solve the Foundation's problems and to raise its
level. Anyway it was difficult to find the capital to finance such an
enterprise, People had no difficulty giving away old clothing or used
objects they no longer needed, but contributing cash was entirely another
matter.

Two months after Finola's death, Rowland learned that Alberto would pass
through London on his vacation. The man had a favor to ask him -- would
Rowland be so kind as to launder for him a certain sum of money, twenty
thousand dollars, to be precise, through his charity institute? It would be
an easy job, and nobody would know about it. He could keep the interest and
use it for some good deeds...

Rowland was troubled, not so much by the Italian's request, but the
possibility to handle so much money and to earn a profit with so little
effort. A couple of bank transactions and it was done, The question of the
illegality of the operation never touched his mind. He was three months
late with rent payments, and the landlord, a hideously fat and stinky man
from Cyprus, had given him only twenty-four hours to pay, before demanding
from him sexual services as a guarantee. Rowland found Albert's proposal
infinitely more enticing.

The Italian, overjoyed, told him that it was just the beginning -- as the
racial conflicts in South-Africa were reaching towards a logical and
dramatic conclusion, it was necessary to transfer all the money that he
illegally accumulated in that country. During the following weeks Alberto
intended to recycle several hundred thousand dollars through Rowland's
charity institution. Afterwards he would move to Saigon, where he had some
friends -- in that land, the war between the South and North created
several opportunities for a good profit. If Rowland correctly handled the
funds coming from South-Africa, Alberto would also send him money to
launder from Asia.

Rowland gotten fed up managing the Institute and was almost thinking about
getting rid of it. It was not a very profitable activity and the kids got
on his nerves. But in the light of Alberto's proposal, he reconsidered his
disgust for philanthropy. The Italian, finding him so ready to cooperate,
suggested to him different ways to get more money from the Foundation.

Alberto had a friend in New York, a French psychiatrist he met a few months
earlier. Recently, Doctor Jacques Roux, a psychologist-psychiatrist, had
been forced to leave his tenure in a small Canadian hospital after a sexual
scandal that involved a recently hired young male nurse. So Roux moved to
New York, where he opened his studio in Manhattan, specializing in the
therapy of males having problems accepting their sexuality. A part of the
treatment consisted in making his patients couple with men with a strong
will, of course wealthy ones, and who naturally paid Jacques, in secret. To
"heal" his patients.

But Alberto confided to Rowland that this kind of men were often more at
ease with adolescents than with adult males. They were people ready to pay
good money to find the right boy to submit to their desires. Was he
interested in taking part in this kind of business, an operation that would
be highly profitable? Rowland invited Alberto to the Ritz for tea. An
in-depth discussion followed about the way the Foundation could become a
more profitable activity than it was at that moment.

So, the Foundation started to supply male boys overseas and the sales were
masked as adoptions. One of the clients was a high official of Unicef, who
made the Foundation get official recognition that not only facilitated the
movement of the boys, but also increased the stock of boys the Foundation
had to adopt, from the war or poverty zones, at Unicef's expenses, of
course. Business spread like wildfire. And Jacques conditioned the boys and
youths so that they were happy to become sexual slaves, to be sold and
bought -- they were the best, that is the most handsome and docile. Rowland
then had the idea to sell them at auction and his profits increased even
more. He then meet Chem...

Now, in the waiting lounge of Heathrow International Airport, Rowland was
meditating with his flask in his hand. Behind dark glasses, his eyes took
on the crystal tone of those of a hawk. A cold smile crossed his lips. The
thought he conceived was a challenge worthy of being tried, if he wanted to
continue living the high life. He would risk everything in a single chance
-- if he won, or he killed himself, it would be settled.

He stood up, closed the flask and looked around for a telephone. He could
feel his blood rushing to his head. The excitement that was seizing him,
had something sensual. And at the same time he felt a sensation of relief
that helped to calm him down.

A young Arab with a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a kefish over classic
western clothes, let him pass with an excessively kind gesture, while
looking at him with lusty eyes. A glance that at any other time would have
Rowland shivering with pleasure, but now left him completely indifferent.
Turning his back, he went to the duty-free shop. He started to walk more
rapidly while he was inspecting all the details of his plan to save his
skin. He had to immediately call Dan Firestone -- he would give him any
sum, to kill Ying Chem. He had to eliminate Chem before this one killed
him. It was necessary to go on the attack. It would be him to put fire to
the powder. Dan killed people for anybody who paid him. Why wouldn't he do
it once more for him? And for a very good sum of money. He could kill the
Korean when he showed at his home to finally put his hands on Terry. In
that way, moreover, he could sell the boy at his auction starting from two
hundred thousand dollars, and he would for sure get a higher sum than that
he agreed with Chem, and he would give all to Dan. Certainly twice what
Firestone could earn from the projected sale to Chem.

Yes, it was a good sum for the help he was asking him, but in any case,
with his life in game, no price was too high. And he knew that Dan needed
lot of money to assist his lover. Moreover, he wouldn't have to sell all of
his estate as he would have to do if Chem demanded from him a fast refund
of his money. He would not lose his shop, nor his apartment, and neither to
empty all his accounts in the various banks anyway risking not to be able
to put together the eight million dollars he would have to give back.

He had just solved what at first seemed to him an insurmountable problem,
and his life would again find order. He could continue to live comfortably
and continue in his profits without a problem. He didn't need Chem, he had
already started a formidable organization.

At the duty-free shop, a young Sikh pointed him toward the telephone.
Without thanking him, Rowland ran headlong in the direction pointed out,
praying in his heart he could find Dan immediately. He would at once
communicate with him. They had agreed he would go to the airport to pick
him up, but Rowland was in hurry to talk with him and he wanted to spend
the hours of the flight with his heart in peace.

He had to wait for an incredibly thin old woman to finish her call -- he
felt homicidal instincts. She was making him lose very precious time. At
last the ugly old woman ended her conversation and hung up the phone.
Rowland seized it, inserted his credit card and rapidly dialed the number
of Jacques house -- he guessed that he would find Dan at his lover's
bedside, at that time.

-----------------------------

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER THIRTEENTH

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read them,
the URL is

http://andrejkoymasky.com

If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

PLEASE NOTE THE NEW URL AND E-MAIL ADDRESS

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