Chapter 2

You're probably wondering why I had a life long obsession for a girl, now a woman of my own age, that I've only made love to once. True it was my first time ... but it remained ever afterwards my best time too! I was spoiled by receiving miraculously fantastic sex right out the starting gate, and every encounter afterwards was something of a disappointment. Army girls, Middle Eastern girls, 'Company' girls and even local Virginia girls, the net result remained the same, slightly disappointing. I had never again met the girl of my dreams, figuratively and literally, and I was beginning to think that I never would.

I mentioned earlier that my family was on a visit to England right at the time of my sixteenth birthday. My father was giving a paper at an academic conference, and enjoying the local gay scene with our host's equally homosexual husband, while my mother and Mrs. Grantham held a lot of very private discussions about Elizabethan poetry behind a locked bedroom door that seemed to involve an awful lot of bedsheet rustling and loud screaming cries of 'Oh God, lick me harder, I'm about to cum!' at all hours of the day and night. The house had survived the London Blitz during the war, but my mother could scream through a foot of battleship armor plating.

For the most part, I was all alone for most of our three day visit and I played tourist all by myself during the day and read books on the sofa in the evenings while my parents rather blatantly indulged in their passions in separate bedrooms. I only discovered that our hosts had a teenaged daughter of my own age by accident, when she came home to quickly pick up a few items. She had been staying with a girlfriend nearby; having had more than clue about the sort of same-sex fun her parents would be having with their visiting American guests she sensibly wanted to be elsewhere. Unlike me, she had other sleeping options and chose to stay with a school friend.

I'd like to say it was love at first sight, but really it was all just teenaged lust. We made our introductions and she hugged me, mashing her firm young bra-less breasts against my Pink Floyd t-shirt. With a twinkle in her eye, she asked me if I wanted to go up to her room with her for few minutes to quote, 'listen in on the fun'. I ought to have said, No ... since I didn't really care in the slightest what my parents or their lovers muttered during hot same-sex encounters, but she giggled and grabbed my hand and I let her tow me upstairs.

She was quite right, the way the heating vents in the house were configured, while inside her bedroom she could clearly hear every word whispered, muttered or screamed in both bedrooms, as our mothers and fathers fucked each other, separately, loudly and with considerable enthusiasm. As we listened in to the gay and lesbian lovemaking, Anne seemed to become rather aroused and began to regard me with some considerable interest. To this day I haven't a clue why.

"I love listening in to their lovers!" She whispered right into my ear as her right hand touched my mid-thigh, and it began to inch upwards to my hardening cock."

"You don't find it a little creepy?" I whispered, right before her lips brushed my cheek.

"Not really. I got used to listening to this sort of thing years ago. My mom has even taken me to a few of her private hen parties, hoping I'll fall in love with one of her gal pals or their daughters. It disturbs her that I slightly prefer cock to cunt, but I'll sometimes do a few of her younger friends to make her happy and keep peace in the house. Sometimes she hosts parties for both all of her lovers and some of dad's gay friends as well, and I'll then have to snog or diddle some old twatbag, just to be polite. For some reason the women always get hot watching the guys go at it, but the novelty of watching that wore off fast for me. Your cock seems to be getting nice and fat ... which do you prefer, boys or girls?" She whispered, giving my cock a squeeze through my jeans.

"Girls! Very much so!" I stammered before she kissed me hard on the mouth and started to fumble with my zipper. In a moment, her t-shirt was off displaying her young perfect breasts and my jeans were down enough that she soon had her hands, and then her mouth wrapped around my cock.

Being a virgin very new to all of this, I was rather stimulated by the experience and blew with very little warning my first load of semen right into her mouth. Fortunately, she didn't at all mind and kept sucking until I was rock hard once again. Probably my cock had never once even thought about shrinking, and when I saw her smile and quickly shuck off her own jeans, I knew that another piece of my sexual education was going to be corrected. Naked, we both climbed onto her bed and we began to make our own set of erotic grunting noises.

First of all, she patiently began to teach me how to eat her out and give her cunt and clit pleasure with my mouth and fingers. She wasn't the slightest bit apologetic that her practical instruction in this art had come from other girls and women, and she had been an avid learner. At least now I was going to learn these lessons from someone with significant practical experience instead of trial and error. Also being a smart kid and quick learner, I quickly figured out which parts of her clit were the most sensitive and exactly how she liked her nipples caressed, tweaked and even pinched. I was proud to say that I made her cum ... at least twice, and not particularly quietly. That should have been a warning to us both, but all of my blood was still in my cock, instead of my brain.

The last of my formal education, the act of coitus, was delightful beyond words. I was apparently a very nice size and thickness for her vagina, and soon we were rather enjoying ourselves. I came again inside rather quickly once again, but she kept the rocking of her hips going, and even soon placed her legs right upon my shoulders so I could fucker her harder and deeper. Somehow I just stayed hard and obliged her.

"She was screaming 'Fuck me!' rather louder than was appropriate and I had just blown another load inside of her when we realized that we had made entirely too much noise - and we now had unwelcome company. A pair of naked parents emerged inside her bedroom, neither set of which was happy about finding their young offspring fucking each other! After listening to the riot act, we 'disgusting deviants' were separated and Anne was sent back off to her girlfriends for the rest of the night, and I never saw her again.

My parents gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the vacation, which suited my dour mood just fine. The looks that they gave me were filled with disappointment, as if my bold declaration of heterosexuality was a personal affront to them both. Certainly my father never quite forgave me for preferring girls to suitable young men. Several times during my later high school years he hinted that there were some young men he'd like to introduce me to, and once he tried (unsuccessfully) to get me to watch one of his gay porn tapes with him, but he could tell that I was a lost case, another 'gawdamn breeder!' Acute disappointment soon turned to complete indifference. By the time I left home to stay with Phil right after graduation, neither parent much cared what I did with my life.

With Anne's rather unconventional sexual education, I wasn't at all quite sure how she would have turned out as an adult. Married probably, perhaps even with children ... but perhaps with a lesbian lover on the side at any given time, I decided, before I read the final intelligence briefing. I'd quite nailed it, actually ... as usual.

Anne had been married once early in her twenties and had produced a young daughter by the name of Holly before soon divorcing. She was cited as the respondent in the divorce under claims of multiple adulteries, several of them noted as being 'unnatural' affairs. There was a mention that she had been picked up but eventually released a few years later on for suspicion of prostitution, but no charges had been filed, or else after community service her conviction had been erased from the records. Currently she was sharing a small flat somewhere in Southwark with an openly lesbian woman named Leslie, and they seemed to be a happy couple, according to recent police interviews with her old neighbors, conducted on Ed's request. They had just changed their address about two weeks ago and Ed didn't have her current one located yet, but he was still trying. Utilities can sometimes be slow about updating their records, despite computerization.

The reason for her sudden relocation was obvious. She had an ex-boyfriend by the name of Alfred who had been stalking and threatening her for several months, according to the police complaints. Alfie was definitely a yob, and a 'Jack-the-Lad' sort of fellow, easy with the ladies, with a long history of violence, petty theft, pimping and a string of recent ASBO's (Anti-Social Behavior Orders) against him and his gang of droogs. The exact nature of the complaints appeared to be just a little bit vague, but they did overtly mention repeated non-consensual sexual assaults with threats or actual use of violence.

Eddie, being a pretty smart sort of MI:5 bloke, figured out fast that since Anne was squeaky clean from any kind of terror connections, that it had to be Alfie I was really investigating, and I carefully didn't correct him. Actually, reading between the lines in the four dozen or so pages of Alfie's rap sheets, I noticed he had quite a few old reform school chums that worked the waterfront, with more than a little hint of involvement on the lower rungs of some smuggling activities. It wasn't hard for my fertile imagination to draw a vague sort of dotted line from there to suspected weapons activities, and even illegal immigration.

Quite suitable, all in all, I thought smugly as I got off of the plane to meet Eddie. We didn't know where Anne was, yet, but I was pretty sure that if we put a watch on good-ole Alfie that he'd lead us straight to her. The dumb fucktard was most definitely the sort of man that didn't know how to take 'No' for an answer.

My new best friend Eddie from MI:5 met me outside of the gate and grunted with approval that I was traveling light and had no checked bags. I also knew more Brit slang than he was prepared for, having worked with the British Army on more than one occasion, and I was determine to go local, and show off my vocabulary, much to his annoyance. He wasn't public school, but his top bosses were, and anything outside of plain BBC English was bad form.

The wankers in baggage handling were muttering about a pending union strike and had already started some 'industrial action' by slowing down their work to a bare crawl, and with lots of tea breaks. I've always travelled light and for this trip I had stripped myself down to the bare essentials, two changes of clothes, my Company laptop and a few little toys that I thought might become useful.

Eddie was a good ten to fifteen years older than I was, but then most veteran spooks in the business were. In fact, Ed didn't really look much like a spook, except in a vague 'George Smiley' sort of way, and without the old school tie. He was City College and proud of it ... and he'd make management or get a real office with a door. He was short and stout and possessed a great stock of receding and thinning but still brilliantly red hair. His specialty was in fact smuggling and human trafficking along the wharves of the East End, so my little errands in Southwark fit in perfectly with his expertise. Ed was expendable for a week or so to handhold a Company visitor, but his brain was certain top notch.

After asking Ed to find me a tolerable but nondescript hotel in that area, I gave my partner a brief overview of my investigation that was frankly very weak on any actual details. He knew I was giving him the piss, but he let me finish my minimal briefing and drove in silence until we reached the front of my hotel. Then, almost casually, he began to clear the air with me.

"Christ on a fucking bike! I haven't heard a weak ass story like this since my ex-wife told me she wanted to spend a week at Brighton with her sister, just so she could instead go bang her new loverboy instead! Look you bullshitting wanker, I may look fat and stupid but my bosses gave me this job to help your soddin' arse! My mates over at MI:6 say you're tops, a real bollocking dick swinging genius, and we owe you ... especially for the warning that Hadji knew that a Royal was visiting that Guards base in Afghanistan, not to mention the help you gave our Ghurka units those two times. In short, you limp knob-ended colonial, my bosses think you deserve Class A support so I'm under very specific orders to be useful to you. So, with that out of the way, I don't frankly care if you're on vacation trying to hunt up some old bird you once banged, or if you're on Company business trying to trace a lead on a smuggling group. Bollocks to that, I just don't care mate! Just tell me what you'd like me to do, and I'll try and do it for you ... just don't treat me like a numpty! I'm actually pretty good at my job and my very specific orders are to hold your cock for you while you piss and even shake it for you if it will make your mission any easier. I'm two years from retirement and I don't want to piss my boss off! Now sod off inside and drop your bag off in your room and let's really discuss this operation over a pint at the local pub!"

Yeah, Ed was no fool alright, and over a couple of pints in a dark quiet corner of the pub, me and my best new mate rather frankly discussed the issues of my mission.

"Yeah, I really do want to track down that old flame, that old bird I once shagged when I was a young tosser, but the more I read the background files the more I think there is something happening just around her periphery. Alfie seems to be a real coont-rag, and perhaps he might have once been her pimp, and while he's not particularly interesting at the moment to either the Company, Homeland Security, or both MI:5 or 6, he seems to have a lot of friends in very low places ... and some of their friends might be of genuine interest to us. Our Alfie seems to be a useful sort of arsehole that just might be able to lead us to his pals, the big dick swingers down at the waterfront, but first I'd like to get my bird Anne a bit out of range of the fun."

Ed agreed that there was currently quite a lot of dubious activity going on right now at the waterfront, largely by rather mysterious foreign third-parties, possibly Islamic. Some local sods were doing all of the low grade porting swag back and forth and had been well paid enough that Ed didn't really have any firm leads to any of the middle range bosses, let alone any top ones. One thing was sure, he admitted.

"Girls, young and pretty ones, are disappearing all over London, and guns and large loads of drugs are appearing in the same parts of town, and Southwark seems to be an epicenter. I think we have a very well organized and secretive smuggling and white-slavery operation, bringing in guns, drugs and illegal immigrants into the country and taking kidnapped women out of the country, probably to either North Africa or the Middle East. My gut says that this is a Hadji operation, funneling in weapons and explosives for local Islamic terrorist cells as well, and that the local yobs are only involved as paid street muscle and have never even met the organizations middle-men. We've questioned dozens of them, included a couple of Alfie's droogs in the past, but they don't know bollocks or aren't talking. Their operational security seems to be unusually good; never anything written on paper and a very tight hierarchy with only one or two underlings knowing the contact to the next tier of the operation. Everything on disposable cells and never any business on a landline, or else it's in code. Smart, very smart bastards. None of the local street muscle is in any position to learn anything that they shouldn't ... and they knife the dumber yobs that don't toe the line."

"Any pattern on the snatchings? Young, blonde and pretty, usually?"

"Got it in one. Stereotypical harem fodder. Usually tourists or girls that don't have close friends or family. Any bird they think won't be missed for a few days or even a week or more until they're safely out of the country. They tend to prefer country girls and avoid the really posh up-market birds that might have a rich or powerful daddy. They know their marks well and the places that they take them from, and nothing obvious ever shows up on CCTV. Smooth enough to talk the bird into a car without creasing the hint of any disturbance. Met has tried to correlate snatchings with ships that regularly port but didn't find any obvious patterns, so there might be more than one smuggling boat. Slow and steady seems to be their game, with only very minimal peaks or slow periods without a kidnapping. The real problem is that so many girls come and go from London, including all of the new eastern European imports now in the local sex trade, that its easy for them to just disappear sudden from their jobs, friends or family, assuming they have any. They might have met a new bloke, gone into a knacking shop to make a few quid, or just gone, like my ex-wife, to Brighton to take the sea. Disappeared or kidnapped? Damned if we can tell usually!"

Ed was right. Just counting the incoming eastern girls, a hundred women could easily disappear every month from the city and no one would care or have a clue. If a really smart a clever group or groups of lad specialized in picking up girls that wouldn't be missed, an entire fleet of them could be sailing out of town daily. This wasn't encouraging.

"They'll need a big warehouse then, near or right on the docks, to keep the girls until their ship arrives. Some of Alfie's friends, or their friends seem to work that kind of business, dealing with dodgy goods and stolen swag both coming and going, can you get a crew to stakeout a few of the more private and dodgier warehouses?" I suggested.

"We're already doing that, and even searched a few of the more suspicious ones and found nothing any more interesting than bargain basement fencing. A Met team is still on it, but they've reported that any police in the areas, even undercover officers, seemed to stand out and look out of place. There seems to be some decent but unobtrusive security and every time anyone gets near a suspected location, everything suddenly gets all quiet and they secretly move everything somewhere else. Tossers!"

Still, Ed agreed with the working plan of putting a few Met officers to stake out Alfie, very carefully. No, he wasn't going to lead us to the treasure trove, well not directly anyway, but for starters he'd do fine at doing our legwork for us, and maybe even for finding Anne and her daughter! Then we'd compile a master list of all of his criminal associates ... and then their dock working associates as well. If they'd get very lucky, the very loose surveillance might even catch one of them making a snatch, but we both figured this case would only get solved the hard way, slowly tying up every dotted line for charted the entire Southwark criminal operations on the docks. That could take years, easily, but if I could get Anne away safely then I could go back home and offer remote help while Ed slowly tied up the pieces of this case here. It all sounded very interesting, but it didn't yet connect any solid dots for me to Hadji fundraising or terrorist supply operations.

We finished our beers and made a few phone calls. Ed was right, I was very much on the persona-grata list and we soon had a team of six plain-clothed Met officers to assist us, for the duration, and we easily found a few useful tasks for them. It was still only early afternoon, my having arrived on the red-eye that morning but I rejected any thought of taking a quick nap. The best way to reduce jet lag is to strictly stick to the local day-night schedule.

While waiting for one of our fishing hooks to catch something, Ed took me on an extended and detailed tour of Southwark and the docks. True to what I had heard, the area was pretty much a slum, and had at least its share of crime and dodgy activity at all hours of the day or night. The vast majority of it petty, but more than major criminal organization in the past (and undoubtedly the present) was based out of here. Finding our one specific international criminal (and hopefully terrorist enterprise was going to some require some definite luck!

Actually, Alfie had the same idea that we had come up with. We had assigned a pair of our officers to put a very discrete watch on Holly, Anne's young teenaged daughter, as she left school, and to then follow her home. They had been given a photo of Alfie and pictures of the members of his gang that we had mugshots of, and given very strict orders to contact us if any of his gang came anywhere near her, but to otherwise stay distant and just follow, regardless of whatever else happened next.