Last Call Ch. 07

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Transference.
1.3k words
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Part 7 of the 7 part series

Updated 10/07/2022
Created 04/22/2010
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sr71plt
sr71plt
3,017 Followers

It was amazing how time can move so slowly in the heat of danger—or to be more specific, how much fucking Fazil Fikret was able to fit into such a short span of time. It took Chaz and his team longer to bring me back around to consciousness than it had taken Fazil to meet me on the third-floor landing of his Kyrenia harbor building and fuck me both there and in his flat on the same floor into unconsciousness.

Although I refused to believe him, the chief of station insisted that he and his find-and-retrieve team hadn't waited the full thirty minutes I had specified before storming the building to attempt to capture the notoriously slippery and dangerous international arms smuggling king pin.

"We didn't hold off at all, Jack," Chaz declared. "By the time we got here, we were only about ten minutes short of your timetable for us to enter the building, and we came in straight away. You were taking on too much danger, and we didn't want Fikret to slip through our fingers again."

"So, where's Fazil?" I asked weakly, as I sputtered back from unconsciousness. I was sitting on the edge of the dining room table of the darkened flat in Fazil's building and rubbing the tender thumb-print bruises where Fazil had applied pressure and put my lights out after he had double fucked me with his thick dick and a dildo.

"Gone. He's slipped through our fingers again." No laugh at the irony of Chaz's statement, but no wringing of his hands, either. This cat and mouse stuff was precisely what international intrigue as made of. To a certain extent it was all a game. If you didn't win today, there was always tomorrow—except that sometimes the stakes were so high there actually might not be a tomorrow. Thus far Fikret and his gun-running operations to Muslim ethnic "cleansers" in the Balkans didn't fit the bill for direct danger to my country, though, which made his capture more of a "very nice to have" than a national necessity. That was until Fikret found a nuclear bomb to peddle.

"How could he have done that?" I asked. "I heard your guys on the stairs while I was immobilized and being choked unconscious. You were swarming all over the exits to this building from Fikret's glassed pied-à-terre at the top of the building down to the subbasement. There are no balconies and probably not even any unbarred windows in this building. How could he have just vanished on us?"

"Sometimes the simplest explanations are the best," Chaz said. I blessed him for sitting there and talking normally, one intelligence agent to another, without commenting on how they had found me—naked, trussed up, with a gag in my mouth and with a dildo up my ass. Chaz's team was crawling all over the place, but the chief of station was just calmly sitting there in his don't ask/don't tell mode and going over the case at hand with me. And I harkened back to my own thought on this when I was kicking myself for not taking into consideration that Fikret occupied more flats in this building that just the small glassed retreat on the top floor.

"We found a door at the back of a closet in the bedroom to this flat that leads into the building next door." Chaz said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I'll bet we find he owns both buildings. His escape plan couldn't have been simpler. He just walked out the quay-side door of that building while we were deep in trying to hunt him down in this building."

We sat there in silence, both appreciating Fazil Fikret's excellent use of tradecraft, but neither of us wanting to voice our admiration aloud.

"I don't suppose you remember what he was wearing," Chaz said in a careful tone. "He probably changed clothes, and he's probably hopelessly in hiding again—Turkish Cyprus is his environment, not ours. But it might help."

I sat there for a moment. This would be the final nail in the coffin, the ultimate betrayal. Chaz was right; we both knew counting on Fazil to still be in the clothes he was wearing here was hopeless. But this was the last vestige of my ability to hold anything back, to set Fazil above my duty in any form. "Worn jeans, a black turtleneck—and his hair was down. He has shoulder-length graying black hair. He almost always wears it in a pony tail. Today it was down."

I smiled grimly to myself. I knew Fazil's ponytail was already history as part of his disguise change. For several months, he would have to live with the knowledge that I'd forced him to part with that.

Chaz smiled and stood and walked over to a member of the team and passed this information on. It was useless information. We both knew that. But somehow it meant the world to both the chief of station and to me as a marker on where I stood, whether I could be fully trusted or whether I had to be played like any of our assets.

I felt the door to a highly pleasurable aspect of my life clinking shut as surely as Fazil probably felt the same thing with his departing "Farewell" statement.

Chaz came back to me. "You'll go back to London?"

"Yes, I said. I'll go back to working on tracking Fazil Fikret and all of the other Muslim extremists down—and whoever is aiding them."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow, I don't think," I answered. "I have some reordering to do, and this is a good place to do it."

"I understand," Chaz answered.

He didn't understand, not really. He couldn't possibly understand. We were two very different people. I couldn't just go cold turkey on the high that Fazil had been giving me. I had to have a cooling down period, to adjust to realities—unless . . . Well, I didn't want to think too much about that now. But he could accept my judgment that I needed some time and space, and he could give me space—and not ask too many questions. He was among the best when it came to chiefs of stations.

"You know we'll get Fikret one of these days," Chaz said. "Someday he'll trip up."

"Yes, I'm sure he will," I agreed. "And I hope I'm there to help bring him down." And I was surprised at myself—I think I actually meant that.

"Steve dragged into the embassy just before we left," Chaz said. I was glad he had changed the subject. I was sure that he realized that he should.

"Did he?" I asked.

"Yep. And he brought some good stuff back from Tahir. And the woman we have watching Tahir in the prime minister's office also called and said Tahir was back at work this morning and acting like his old self. Not showing depression or dropping dangerous hints. It looks like Steve will work out just fine on the Tahir handling."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Want one of the guys to drive you over to the clinic on the other side to be checked out?"

It was the first and last—and closest reference—to how Chaz's team had found me in this flat.

"No. I'll be fine. In fact, I have a tennis date."

Chaz gave me a questioning look, but he didn't put it into words and I didn't elaborate.

Gunny turned out to be more than fine as at least a first-step transference from Fazil. And it wasn't much of a step away from Fazil. It involved leather boots and a sling and wrist and ankle cuffs and a riding crop—and the longest, thickest, blackest cock I'd taken for some time, wielded by a real man with the stamina that only a Marine can sustain. And as far as danger went, there was always a chance that someone other than Gunny knew about this storage room just across the wall from the ambassador's office.

"The Marines Do It Better," isn't just a pithy recruitment slogan.

sr71plt
sr71plt
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3 Comments
gayswallowergayswallowerover 7 years ago
love it

I love this story. Congrats.

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
NOOOOOOOOOOOO D:<

How can that possibly be the end?? They were supposed to run off into the sunset together! T=T

whiteasianlvrwhiteasianlvralmost 14 years ago
Your Amazing as Always

Thanks again for the amazing story! I've always wanted to visit Cyprus and now think I'd rather spend my time on the Turkish side! You have a vast capacity to develop characters that are believeable and plant them in places that can be visualized through your writing. I can "see" the places you describe and almost feel the heat of the sex that follows. WOW! You truly are the best!

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Last Call Ch. 06 Previous Part
Last Call Series Info

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