Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2001 21:43:23 -0400
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Operation Queer Bait Pt 12

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