Date: Fri, 31 Oct 2008 21:00:48 -0700 (PDT) From: John Black Subject: The Assassin, Chapter 1 The Assassin Chapter 1 Phoot! Phoot! Two shots coughed from the shortened, silenced automatic, microseconds from each other. The target flinched. A puff of pulverized paper lifted from dead center. The second bullet struck an eighth of an inch to the right and above the first one. The tall, muscular man relaxed briefly, resuming his shallow breathing. The gun looked like a shortened machine gun, but all its components were made of non-metals that would pass any airport machine inspection. It could be fired in full automatic (which emptied the 30-round magazine in under a second) or semi-automatic (which fired twice each time the trigger was depressed). Boom! Clang! Boom! Clang! He glanced to his left ten feet. His partner's weapon smoked from the tip. He looked down the range and smiled. The other paper target was holed dead center as well. However, that target's center was completely obliterated. The munitions being used were from a far larger caliber weapon, the depleted uranium tip able to penetrate steel plating. Given the size of the bullets, only five rounds fit in the cylinder. The Kevlar and steel plating behind the target smoked. If one of those rounds hit a man, you'd need only a sponge and squeegee to find pieces big enough to bury. Obviously, his weapon wouldn't pass any kind of inspection. They removed their goggles and ear protectors simultaneously. The practice session had gone well. They had moved through many firing positions including running and diving to the ground. All had scored direct hits. With a high and low five, they cleared their weapons and left the gallery. Someone else had the task of cleaning up. "Good shooting," I smiled. "Same to you, Bruh," the other man replied. We had been a team since second grade. I watched his back and he watched mine. He was of Italian ancestry and I had a mixed pedigree (being a combination of black, Native American, and poor white trash). His coloring was a little darker than mine, but not by much. We both stood at 5'11" tall. He outweighed me by 20 very muscular pounds at 210. I was a scrawny (according to him) 190. I was a master of disguise and munitions: he was a marvel at accents and languages, including computers. They baffled me, except for the most rudimentary tasks. He spoke their language of ones and zeros like a native. Through sports in high school and college, through Special Ops training and missions, we'd been inseparable. But, a special unit had been formed that was hidden in a very black budget. No one other than the President, the Secretary of Defense, and the Joint Chief of Staff knew of our existence. Missions came directly from the four-star General, the Joint Chief. Each one was approved by the President. With their approval, we also freelanced. But, those "jobs" were reviewed carefully; to be sure they didn't conflict with national security interests. They never did. We were very selective about which clients and which tasks we undertook. We didn't come cheap, either. Depending on the circumstance and the target, our fee started at half a million dollars. But, success was guaranteed. So was anonymity. We are assassins. I'm John Black. My partner is Tony Coletti. We'd been more than partners and best friends. We were also lovers. Tony and I had done the usual exploring and questioning that all young boys do and thought nothing of it. However, by the time we were 13, we had begun pleasuring each other as only another man can do with expert blowjobs. When we started high school, a junior on the football team had taken an interest in us. I was sure it had something to do with our big, hard dicks that we waved at each other in the showers when we didn't think anyone else was looking. We jacked off with him that afternoon in the boys' bathroom and again the next day. "You wanna see something really great?" he tantalized us. We nodded warily. "Just be here at four this afternoon. Hide in the weight room with the lights off. At five after four, come out into the locker room and look in the window of the coach's office. You won't believe what you'll see!" He was right. We couldn't believe it. The football coach had Ron bent over the desk in the coach's office with his big black dick up the junior's ass, pumping away like mad. Ron was urging the coach to fuck him harder and faster, "really pound my ass," he'd shouted. We'd been through enough health classes to know that you were always supposed to fuck with a condom on, but the coach didn't have one on. He'd pulled out and rammed his thick, long dick up Ron's ass enough times that it was confirmed. "How can he take something that big up his ass?" Tony whispered. I saw a plastic bottle on the desk near them. "Hand lotion," I said, nodding toward the bottle. "Ron sure does seem to love it," I added. "Yeah!" Tony agreed. He paused and looked at me. "You wanna try it?" "Only if you let me fuck you, too?" "With that big thang?" he protested, grabbing my throbbing crotch. "It's only fair," I countered, stroking his hard ass. He thought about it for a moment as he watched the two males in the coach's office fuck like rabbits. Ron flipped over on to his back and took the big dick up his eager ass, again. "Yeah, Coach! FUCK ME!" Ron bellowed as he flailed his own dick. "Okay, but you gotta take it easy," Tony relented. "It looks hot, but I don't know how Ron can take that monster up his tight ass. I don't know if I ever could." Well, Tony could and he does, nearly every day, and almost once a day from me. We haven't been monogamous, that's for certain. But, we've only entertained other men when both of us were there. I wouldn't want you to think that Tony only bottoms when we're together, far from it! I take my turn taking his big Italian sausage up my ass and swallowing his creamy loads as deeply as he can squirt them up my butt channel. When the coach had finally blasted a load up the young man's ass and Ron had sprayed his chest and chin with his own load, the older man pulled out slowly and kissed Ron. We were dumbfounded. We'd never thought of sex as more than sex. This made us both wonder what it would be like to kiss a guy. Both of us had kissed a lot of girls, even at the tender age of 14. Then the coach licked Ron's sperm off, kissing down his abs and pushing his legs back into the boy's chest. When the coach buried his face in Ron's ass, both of us inhaled sharply. "What the fuck's he doing?" Tony exploded in a stage whisper. "Looks like he's suckin' his load outta Ron's ass!" I blurted out. "Ew!" Tony grimaced. "Not what I'd do, that's for sure!" I agreed. Well, it didn't take long after our first fuck of each other that we were felching loads from each other's well-fucked asses, too. We'd become major ass pigs and didn't mind at all that other men thought of us as kinky. It was what we did; we surely enjoyed it, and no harm done. And yeah, Ron had taken multiple loads from us before he graduated. We never did sex it up with the coach though. That just didn't seem right for some reason. Our current assignment from the President took us to England. The target was a firebrand Mullah with blood, drug money, and buggering young boys on his hands. He incited impressionable young men to fight the Infidels with his perverted version of Islam for the glory of Allah. Nearly all Muslims in England disavowed him, but he had his rabid followers and a trail of carnage that the Brits had been unable to pin on him. His lieutenants worked their nefarious deeds by poisoning the bodies of drug-abusing Britons while he poisoned the minds of his followers. They also recruited or kidnapped young boys to satisfy their collective needs to fuck boy ass. His hate message was being exported around the world. Specifically, the President told us that an attack on a shopping mall in Michigan was not the work of a disgruntled store employee, but of a man specifically recruited to bring as much mayhem and death to Americans as he could. By attacking at the economic hub of the country, one mall at a time, the Mullah hoped to get America to turn inward and leave the world stage. That showed how little he knew about how Americans react to that kind of threat. However, rather than alarm the public, a cover story had been created by the FBI after the delusional young man had been shot and killed. Fourteen other people had died in his random hail of bullets, including two security guards and one off-duty policeman. Four children were among the casualties, too. In Spain, his minions attacked a tour bus, killing the driver. The bus careened off the road and into a ravine. Fifteen tourists died. Initial reports laid this attack on the doorstep of the Basque separatist movement. But, we knew it was our targets' handiwork. In France, he stirred up the minorities in Paris, burning cars, beating non-Muslims, and generally causing enough chaos that the army had to be called in to quell the violence. Other atrocities followed in other countries, each carefully orchestrated to deflect blame from him and on to local "trouble makers". His reign of terror was coming to an end though. Tony and I were on the job. Our new President and the Prime Minister had conversed on the issue, but without resolution. "Before they hit us again," the Joint Chief told us, "take him out, as well as his chief lieutenants. Do your usual disappearance of the targets. No bodies, no questions." Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom didn't know of our impending job. The President thought it best not to say anything. Thus, our mission wouldn't be compromised in England by loose lips over there. If the mission was a success, no one would know what happened to the Mullah, other than he disappeared. That was how we worked. The target simply disappeared. He was never seen again, and there was never any trace of his body turning up. In our ten years of working covertly, we'd established a string of "helpers" who agreed (for a price and for the sake of patriotism) to assist in the disappearances. In this particular case, two of the cleric's assistants were to suddenly vanish as well. The General explained that they had to disappear, too; or there would be little point in terminating the life of the Mullah. Luck was on our side this time. His two lieutenants were also his bodyguards. They went with him everywhere. We flew Business Class directly from San Francisco to Heathrow via Virgin Atlantic on their 4:30 p.m. flight. It took us 10 hours to get there, arriving at 10:30 a.m. local time. Despite the noise, we slept fairly well. The subway took us to our hotel in Chelsea (which abutted the football (soccer) stadium) near downtown London. For the remainder of the week, we reconnoitered the mosque closest to our hotel. As there were ten mosques in the Greater London area, we waited for the errant cleric to hold services nearby. Our first task was to blend into the population. Tony quickly picked up the accent while I decided what disguises we should wear. In nearly all of our missions, I was the silent partner. If I opened my mouth, I'd give us away for sure. Given Tony's size, I decided that he should go into the mosque as an old, fat man. I would accompany him as his grandson. I lightened my skin a couple more tones, added a trimmed beard to go with my goatee, and purchased a ready-made suit. I made sure it didn't fit very well, so I'd blend in better into this lower class neighborhood. The General had already supplied us with two well-worn prayer rugs. Tony tottered along the sidewalk, leaning on me and a cane. We said our prayers for five days, five times a day. The monotony was getting to me. At least I'd had the good sense to memorize the prayers before we'd gone into the mosque. Of course, Tony spoke the language like a native, engaging several of the men in conversation afterwards. We learned exactly nothing about the Mullah and his henchmen. Finally, on the sixth day, he preached his version of Islam after evening prayers. We sat dutifully along with the rest of the men. When his ranting finished, we rose and left with everyone else. I picked up some muttering about the Mullah and his "crazy-headed" views. Tony picked up mostly the same from the Arabic speakers. However, he did hear one bit of good news. Our target was going up to Manchester in one week. At least, the Londoners wouldn't have to listen to him that evening. To be sure, Tony asked if the Mullah would be in Manchester the whole day or just for one prayer session. He eyed Tony curiously, then shrugged and said that the Mullah would be in Manchester for only evening prayers. With Manchester four hours away from London, he'd probably be leaving in the early afternoon. But, we couldn't be sure. It might be better to hit him on his way back from Manchester, but with evening prayers over an hour and a half after sunset, he may decide to spend the night in Manchester and go back to London the next morning. There were too many variables. "Maybe we should clip them the next time he's here," Tony suggested. "You know, after evening prayers?" "The Manchester scenario is certainly too iffy," I responded with a sigh. We walked to the side of the building and saw his Bentley idling by the curb. One of his bodyguards stood by an opened rear door. The other one stood by the back door of the mosque. Both scanned the area for potential threats. I nodded in their direction cordially, and then slid my view away. But, Tony kept his peripheral vision fixed on them, adding a running commentary as to how we could take them down on the darkened street tonight. There were too many witnesses now I decided and we had another plan in mind. Besides, this was not the right time or place. Perhaps, we should follow them, I suggested. Having parked the car only a block away, I casually rounded the corner and sprinted to the car. Of course, I opened it on the wrong side. The steering wheel was on the right. DUH! "What took you so long?" Tony whispered as I pulled up to the corner of the mosque. I shrugged, not willing to admit a stupid error. He turned slowly, surveying all vistas before he nodded in the direction of the idling Bentley. "I have no idea what's taking so long," he muttered. "One of the bodyguards went back inside," he added, nodding toward the Mullah's car. A driver was at the wheel, but the Mullah was still inside with the other bodyguard. "Perhaps, someone wanted some conversation with His Exaltedness, delaying him?" I smiled. "Shut the fuck up, you heathen," Tony laughed back at me. "Have a little respect. Here he comes!" We ducked lower in the rented car. Our motor was off as well as the headlights. The Mullah walked directly from the side door to the automobile. He left the door open for a moment. "What the hell is he doing?" Tony wondered. "Too lazy to close his own door?" I offered. "Rank doth hath ith privilegeth," I added. Tony laughed at my fractured old English. The door to the mosque opened again and the other bodyguard came out, dragging a boy. "What's that about?" Tony whispered. The boy was tossed into the backseat with the cleric and slammed the door. The second bodyguard walked around the car and got into the front passenger seat. The Mullah raised the divider window between the front and back seats and pressed a button. The glass became opaque. He leaned over the boy, but we couldn't tell what he was doing. The car drove off and rounded the corner ahead. I started up our car, jacked it into gear, and raced after them. At the corner, I could see them turn right again. They were headed back to the cleric's mansion Once more, I followed with my lights off. For another 10 minutes, we followed, allowing other cars to get between us, but never allowing the Bentley to get out of sight. Finally, it pulled up in front of his Georgian mansion. The bodyguard in the passenger seat got out and ran around the car. He opened the door for the Mullah. The cleric stepped out and looked back into the car. He smiled and motioned for the guard to bring the boy. The bodyguard reached far into the back seat and dragged the boy, kicking and screaming up the stairs and through the front door of the mansion. He backhanded the kid once to get him under control. Evidently it worked. The boy stopped struggling. "I gotta bad feeling about this?" Tony whispered as we drove by the Mullah's home and parked around the corner in a no parking zone. We wouldn't be away for long and need not worry about the car being towed at this hour. I left the car and peered back. The Bentley was leaving with only the driver. Parking was at a premium in this part of London, so he was probably parking in a secure spot underground nearby. I squatted down by our car as he drove by. Tony had already sprawled out on the seat to hide himself. "Now what?" I said as the Bentley disappeared. "We'll just wait for him to come back," Tony smiled. "And invite ourselves in." "Just like that?" "Just like that." "I love a good plan." Before I could disagree or suggest another way, the driver walked out of an alley and headed toward us. We'd been spotted. There was no point in trying to disappear. Tony still looked like an old, fat man and I was still his grandson. Tony turned and hobbled toward the mansion, using the cane I'd appropriated for his disguise. I helped him along, gripping his big, right arm, but not too tightly. I didn't want the driver to see how muscular Tony was. Tony said something in Arabic as the driver walked past us. The driver nodded and repeated what Tony had said. Evidently, it was "good evening" or such. We were less than ten feet from the five steps that led up to the double doors of the mansion. The bodyguard fumbled with his keys at the top step. In two leaps I was standing next to him. I smiled and hit him hard. He went down like a sack of flour. Tony pulled out a syringe, jabbed it into our victim's butt, and pushed in the plunger. The paralyzing drug coursed into the lieutenant's veins, rendering him incapable of controlling his muscles. The miracle of this drug allowed the autonomic nervous system to continue to function. Breathing, heartbeat, and vision still worked. His mouth worked too, but he had no control over his vocal cords, so he had no way to summon help. It was certainly our drug of choice. "Classy," Tony smiled. "What about an alarm system that he is supposed to turn off after he entered?" "Oops," I shrugged and pushed the key into the lock. The door opened silently. There was a keypad about five feet away, but the light was green. The alarm had not been set. I grinned smugly. "Lucky bastard," Tony murmured. "Ain't got nothin' to do with luck," I whispered. "When you're THIS good," I poked a thumb into my chest, "you don't need luck." "You're still a bastard," Tony rejoined. "Fuck you very much," I retorted. "No here, not now, but later," he grinned, cupping my heavy crotch. "Sweet talker," I quietly chuckled, brushing his hand away from my stiffening dick. He always did that to me. Touch my dick and I'm gonna get stiff. "Where you suppose they are?" Tony wondered. "They took the boy for sex," I began. "I'm gonna assume they're in a bedroom and that'll probably be upstairs," I indicated, pointing to a broad staircase. "Let's shove this guy in a closet and come back for him later," Tony suggested. We dragged his heavy ass into the closet and closed the door silently behind us. "Using the tasers tonight," I said as we crept up the stairway. Simultaneously, we pulled the weapons from our pockets. We checked the ready lights to be sure they were fully charged and functioning. As they had a range of less than 20 feet, we'd have to be close to make them effective. The first bedroom door was closed, but the next one was open. Whimpering emanated from it. With hand signals, Tony directed me to take point. I'd take out the first adult I saw and roll to the floor. He'd nail the second one. The first person I saw was the bodyguard, his pants around his ankles, and one hand stroking his hard dick. His attention was focused on the Mullah and the naked boy that was face down on the bed. The boy had a gag in his mouth and seemed only semi-conscious. With lightning speed, I stepped into the room and fired the taser at the bodyguard and dove for the floor. The bodyguard stiffened, shook violently at the nearly one million volts punishing his nervous system, and fell like a tree to the floor. Two more small metallic spears raced across the room and hit the Mullah on his naked ass. He had been climbing on to the bed behind the boy when the voltage incapacitated him. He rolled off the bed and hit the floor hard. I extracted two more syringes and administered the incapacitating dosages to both men. Still groggy from the stunning voltage, they offered no resistance. The boy, on the other hand, would be a problem if he identified us. Working quickly, Tony tied a scarf over the boy's eyes. The child grimaced, but said nothing. I dragged the bodyguard out of the bedroom while Tony hefted the Mullah and carried him downstairs. We dumped them near the back entrance to the mansion, not far from the kitchen. So far, we hadn't been detected. I wasn't sure anyone else was at home, but I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances of increasing the body count. Tony searched the pocket of the guy he'd retrieved from the closet and dumped his limp body with the other two. "I'll bring their car around and we'll take them away," he said. "See if you can find an alley," I countered. "We don't want to be seen on the street, pushing these guys inside." "Already thought of that," he replied. "There must be a service alley to go with this service entrance," Tony observed. He eased the door open and smiled. "I'll be right back." He bolted outside and disappeared. I checked our targets and smiled. Still dazed. I doubt if they have any idea what happened to them, I decided. I stripped both guards of their munitions and found pills and powders in the pockets of both. I didn't think the pills were vitamins. They needed to have drugs on them in case they needed to make a sale? That seemed awfully cavalier and dangerous. If they'd been searched, the Brits would have been all over them and deported them instantly. Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, I decided. Moments later, Tony arrived with the Bentley. The Mullah went into the boot (trunk) and the two bodyguards into the back seat. All three were coming around, but were still hazy on what was transpiring. I wasn't about to enlighten them. Twenty minutes later and with me following in our rented car, we pulled into the rear, covered portico of a funeral home. Our man was waiting at the door. First the Mullah, then his guards were "escorted" into the special space we'd reserved for them. They were alert to what was happening, but could do nothing to prevent it. The drug would wear off in another two hours, but it would be far too late for them by then. Three wooden coffins leaned against the far wall, their lids removed. Basil, the undertaker, carefully tipped the nearest coffin and laid it on the floor. Tony wrestled the Mullah's limp body into it. With Basil's assistance, we raised the coffin and placed it on a conveyor. We duplicated the "service" for the two bodyguards, placing them on parallel conveyors. Speaking in Arabic, Tony looked down at the three men in turn. "For your crimes against humanity and in the name of Allah, we commit your bodies and your souls to the fires of HELL!" With that benediction, Tony touched the "start" buttons above all three conveyors in sequence. A door opened at the head of each coffin. The three men slowly travelled through the yawning doors and disappeared. The doors closed. Tony nodded to each of us. We took our places next to him, fingers hovering over the "burn" button. With a universal nod, we pushed the individual buttons. The roar of igniting gas followed. "How long before we can retrieve them?" I asked. "Call tomorrow morning about ten," Basil answered. "They'll be ready. Would you like special containers?" "No," Tony replied. "A carton or box is sufficient for these vermin." "Separate?" "Your pleasure," I smiled back at him with Tony nodding ascent. We walked back out to the cars. Tony slid behind the wheel of the Bentley. "We need to dump this," he said. "Take it to the Docklands," I directed. "It'll be stripped before noon, if we leave the keys in it." We knew there were many chop-shops in that neighborhood. "Devious!" Tony laughed. "I like it." We dropped the car off at a conspicuous location. Within 30 minutes, the car had been inspected by a couple of nefarious gentlemen, opened to their surprise, and driven away. As they drove away, I noticed the driver. "It's going to a good home," I smiled. "Yeah?" "Reggie's driving," I explained. Reggie is one of our contacts in London if we need a vehicle that can't be traced. His chop-shop would have it disassembled within a day. Tony smiled. As we drove back to our hotel, he asked, "Where shall we dispose of the ashes?" "Pig farm?" I drolly suggested. "Heathen!" he laughed. "Allah would not be pleased. The gutter near the mosque?" he proposed. "His friends could walk on him! I like the way you think. But, I liked my idea better," I pressed. "I'm not tempting God, Allah, or any other deity," Tony insisted. "The gutter." I shrugged and continued driving. As we approached the hotel, I asked him, "I know we've had this discussion before, but does this killing bother you." "Every day," he answered. "But, I know it has to be done, and we're very good at it." I nodded agreement. "The world is a better, safer place because of us and what we do." I had to laugh. "We're gay men, and what we do is fuck ass." "You've changed the subject." "On purpose," I noted. "Assassination is hard work, especially if you don't wanna get caught." "How much can we trust Basil?" he asked. "He's been trustworthy for the last eight years," I replied. "And he knows we'll come after him and his family if he betrays us. Why do you ask?" "Basil may not have enjoyed the fact that we were burning three men alive," Tony responded. "He knew who they were and that they did, including buggering little boys," I reminded him. "And Basil has two young sons in their early teens." "Perhaps, it may be time to cultivate another operative," he suggested. "A guilty conscience is an odd thing." "You may be right." Arriving at the hotel, we showered and slipped into bed. An assassination was a downer. We didn't feel like sex. But, we did feel like being close. We cuddled for about 30 minutes before Tony fell asleep in my arms. A few minutes later, I pulled slightly away from him and fell asleep too. In the morning, we'd make up for it. This story is fiction. Your life isn't. Play safe. Constructive comments to blackhunk33@yahoo.com