Special Forces - 3. Chapter 3

‘Unknown caller.’

“Nick Poulos,” I answered.

“Mr. Poulos, this is Mr. Smith calling. I’m a colleague of Mr. Kozitsky. May I have a word?’

They’ll call you if I get hurt.

Suddenly I was short of breath. Fuck!

“Mr. Poulos, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, as I said, may I have a word?”

Mr. Smith had a strange, formal way of speaking, like someone from England.

“Mr. Smith,” I said. “If you have something to say, say it. Is Sam hurt? “

“No. He’s perfectly fine.”

“Who are you?”

“As I said, I’m a colleague. And I’d like to have a few words with you.”

“Well I’m not going to talk to you without Sam’s permission.”

“Very good, Mr. Poulos,” he said. “Your reticence to speak is admirable. Yes indeed.”

This was weird. I decided to end the call. “I can’t talk to you. I’m going to hang up. Good bye, Mr. Smith.”

“Certainly, Mr. Poulos. Good bye for now.”

I hung up wondering what the hell had just happened. I was worried sick. Was this Mr. Smith a threat? Surely Sam’s team wouldn’t play silly phone games. Damn, I needed to talk to Sam.

The call had interrupted my work, and I found it difficult to concentrate again. I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. I brought it back to my desk and sat staring at my cubical wall, worrying.

When my phone rang again, and it showed ‘unknown caller,’ I cringed.

“Nick Poulos,” I answered.

“Nick this is Susan Daniels. Remember me? You came to a barbeque at my place?”

“Of course I remember you, Susan. Is everything okay? More importantly, is Sam okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Mr. Smith asked me to give you a call. He said you were a wily character. I think that’s a compliment,” she said.

“Susan, what’s going on?”

“Nick, can you meet me for lunch today? Say noon at Shiloh’s.”

“Sure, I’ll be there. But why all the cloak and dagger stuff, Susan?”

“I’ll explain at lunch,” she said.

At noon I walked into Shiloh’s and saw Susan waiting for me alone at a table near the rear. She waved, and I joined her.

“Let’s order,” she said. “I’m famished.”

I ordered my favorite Shiloh burger and wondered if Susan hadn’t picked this restaurant because it was a place I frequented. She’s probably sending me a message that she knows my routine. After all, didn’t Sam tell me I’d been tailed?

As we waited for our lunch to be served, Susan said, “I hear you and Sam bought a boat?”

“Did you hear that from Sam?”

She shrugged.

“Come on, Susan,” I said. “Be straight with me. And just for the record I won’t discuss our personal life with you or anyone.”

She accepted that with a nod.

Our lunch came and Susan got to the point. “We’d like you to help us, Nick.”

I was still a little pissed over all this cloak and dagger stuff, so I gave a flippant response, “Sorry, Susan, I don’t do domestic work, but I can recommend a good cleaning service if that’s what you need.”

“Mr. Smith was right, Nick, you are a slippery character. I want to talk to you about doing some contract work for us. Your, uh, skills are just what we need.”

“What skills?”

“Knowledge of the stock market. And your French.”

She had me confused and unbalanced. Suddenly I was very annoyed at Sam: How could he do this to me without warning? Did he think I could just drop everything and come running? I couldn’t believe he would do this to me. In fact, he wouldn’t do this to me. He must not know!

“Does Sam know about this?”

“Not yet. We thought we’d check with you first.”

“Tell you what, Susan, I’ll discuss this when Sam is in the room. I’ll never do anything behind his back. Talk to him. If he approves, then maybe we can talk.”

“Okay, Nick, have it your way,” she said.

I must admit, I was intrigued. I wondered what the job was and what I might do to help. Perhaps it would be exciting. Like a James Bond movie....

My mood darkened when I thought how Sam might react. Would he be upset that his work and our personal life are intersecting?

Susan and I said little to each other as we finished our meal. My appetite had deserted me, and I left half my food untouched. Susan paid the check and we said our goodbyes.

Shortly after I got home that afternoon, and much to my relief, Sam called.

“Sam, I’m so happy to hear your voice.”

“You too, Nicky,” he said. “They just told me what they’ve done—approaching you out of the blue. I’ve got to tell you I’m really pissed at those people.”

“What’s going on, Sam? What should I do?”

“Hang tight Nick. I only have a vague idea about what’s up. I’ll talk to Susan before I come home. Let’s try to sort this out then.”

“Okay Sam. I’m pretty curious, but I can wait. Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Can’t say, Nicky, but hopefully it won’t be long.”

“Okay, Sam. I love you. I miss you.”

“Love you too, Nicky. Miss you too.”

I was always restless when Sam was away, but for the next few days, as I waited for Sam’s homecoming, I was like a caged tiger. To alleviate my anxiety, I ran, I worked out, I tried to read. Nothing worked. I slept poorly.

Sam had sounded angry on the phone. Was angry with me? It wasn’t my fault, I knew, but our relationship was still new, still being tested.

Finally, Sam called me at work to say he was home and waiting for me. “Hurry home, Nicky, I can’t wait to see you.”

His tone was sincere. There was no anger in it. The tension in my shoulders eased. I left work an hour early and nearly ran all the way home.

Sam hugged me really tightly when I got in the door. We had a lot to talk about, but I could feel his hard dick pressed against my equally responding cock, so I figured talk could wait until we had a good “reunion.”

And good it was:

After a lot of kissing and licking and sucking Sam rolled onto his back and asked me to fuck him slowly. An unusual request from him (remember, he usually presented himself doggy style), but I was glad to comply. I was stretched out against his belly and chest, moving just my hips. He kept his eyes on mine, and I was so turned on I came within just a few minutes. The frotting got him going too, and when I groaned I was coming, he echoed, “Me too!” and I could feel his pulsing jizz making our bellies delightfully slippery.

I was lying with my head on Sam’s chest. His arm was around me.

He said, “We’re okay, Nicky? I was worried....”

“We’re good, Sam. I was worried too, but not now.”

I felt Sam’s chest rise as he sucked in a big breath, then he let it out with a sigh.

I was content and relaxed, and I dozed off.

The next thing I knew, Sam was kissing the top of my head.

“You hungry, Nicky?”

“Yeah. I’ve got some chicken in the freezer and lots of salad greens. How does a chicken Caesar sound?”

“Excellent! Let’s hit the shower, and I’ll help you make dinner.”

We got each other pretty worked up in the shower, but we held off finishing, knowing it would be all the better later for waiting.

We sipped on Coronas as we prepared dinner. I put out some corn chips and salsa, and we talked about Susan’s proposal.

“Susan gave me a rough outline,” said Sam. “Some guy in Montreal, Canada, is running a stock market scam. We’ve been hired to recover some money. That’s pretty much all I know.”

“Yes,” I responded. “Susan said it had to do with my stock market knowledge and my ability to speak French.”

Sam nodded.

“But Sam, I can’t just up and leave work. What do you think she has in mind?”

Sam frowned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Nicky. First, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to get you involved in my work. But let me ask, how do you feel about all this?”

Sam was looking directly into my eyes. He’s in interrogation mode, I thought. Honesty was the best policy.

I squirmed a little, feeling guilty. “Sam, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. Your world is mysterious and exciting. What can I say, Sam, I’ve got a big, fat ego....” I shrugged and blushed but held his gaze.

Sam nodded as if that’s what he expected me to say.

“How do you feel about it, Sam?”

Sam was pensive for a minute, and then he smiled. “You’ve put the ball back in my court, Nicky, you’re good. And you’re honest. I understand where you’re coming from, and I respect that. Here’s what I suggest. Let’s meet with Susan or this Smith guy and see what they propose. But, Nicky, if there’s even a hint of danger, we’re out of there in a New York minute. Capisce?”

“Capisce, Sam? Are you going all mob on me?”

Sam narrowed his eyes in mock anger.

I put my hands up in surrender.

Sam put his arms around me and kissed my neck.

*****************

Susan called the next day and asked me to come to an appointment after work the following day which was a Friday.

I showed up for the meeting at the address I’d been given and was led to a conference room. Sam and another man were seated at a large conference table.

The man looked to be in his fifties. He was trim and distinguished looking.

Sam had an inscrutable expression on his face. I wasn’t getting any clues from him.

“I’m Smith,” said the man.

He motioned me to a chair, and I sat. I put my hands together and placed them on the table.

Mr. Smith smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. I felt like I was in the principal’s office, about to get into trouble.

He began by saying, “Your ability to speak French fluently as well as your expertise in banking and the stock market make you eminently suited to this job.”

Smith explained that a stock promoter in Montreal had engineered a colossal fraud involving penny mining stocks. He had cheated people out of hundreds of millions of dollars and continued to do so unchecked. He used several shell companies then disseminated false reports to inflate the price of the stock. And he was a native Canadian French speaker.

“Our job is to recover the purloined funds on behalf of our clients. Unfortunately, our team’s lack of French hinders those endeavors. In that matter, as I said, your help would be invaluable. As, of course, would your knowledge of the stock market.”

Smith sounded so formal—almost a parody—that I nearly laughed. I glanced at Sam. His face was a neutral mask, but his eyes were twinkling, so I knew he saw the humour in the situation.

It was an intriguing proposition, but I already had a job. “Even if I was interested, Mr. Smith, I’ve got a job. I couldn’t get away.”

“You’d be granted a leave of absence. Your bank will do us this courtesy. Management is appreciative of our previous efforts on their behalf.”

“Why isn’t this a matter for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police or the Sûreté du Québec?” I asked.

“Mr. Poulos, the Canadian federal and provincial police forces are powerless in these situations. It would take years to investigate this crime, and years more to bring it before the courts. The voleur, as you say in French, would have scattered the money to the four winds. Our clients would never recover their funds.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“You can start by signing this non-disclosure agreement,” he said.

I looked at Sam; he nodded slightly. I said, “I’ll sign this agreement, Mr. Smith, but I’d like to discuss this further with Sam before I commit fully. Will that be alright?”

“Of course, Mr. Poulos, but remember, time is of the essence, we need to start planning our operation almost immediately. I will look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I signed the document and passed it back to Mr. Smith.

“Goodbye for now." He gathered his papers and left.

Sam looked at me and shrugged. He made a zipping motion with his fingers across his lips and looked upwards.

I got his meaning. The room was monitored.

We walked home in silence.

Once home and settled, Sam and I sat with beers and discussed Mr. Smith’s proposition. Long story short, we decided I would help Sam’s company this one time.

Sam phoned Susan and told her. Susan phoned back a few minutes later and said that Mr. Smith was delighted. I’d hear back from them within a week.

Sam suggested we have a fun weekend and forget about work for a couple of days. I enthusiastically agreed.

Early Saturday morning we headed to the marina.

Determined to learn to pilot Budweiser, I asked Sam to teach me. He suggested I also sign up for navigation lessons, which I promised faithfully to do.

By unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss, or speculate about, work. We concentrated on our new nautical life. Sam was an excellent teacher. He encouraged me to be independent and lavished praise when I did something right. Within a day I could maneuver Budweiser in and out of the dock and steer a straight course.

The boat’s queen-sized bed was perfect for sex (lots of sex) and sleeping.

Sam was brimming with happiness. I was in heaven.

I didn’t hear from Susan or Mr. Smith all the next week.

On Saturday night I suggested we go dancing at one of the gay clubs in the Hillcrest District of San Diego. Sam was reluctant. He’d never been to a gay club, and he’d never gone dancing. I cajoled. Sam gave in.

I suggested we wear jeans and t-shirts. I convinced Sam to wear his clothes a little tight to show off his muscles. We got to the club around ten in the evening, just when things were getting raucous. Sam looked terrified, but judging from the looks he was getting, the tight clothes were a hit with the crowd.

The music was blasting, of course. I led Sam to the bar, and we stood and had one beer, then another. Sam was intently watching the crowded dance floor. After beer number two, I saw him starting to move in time to the music. It was time to introduce my man to the gay dance scene.

I led him into the melee. At first his moves were subdued, but after a few minutes he relaxed and let himself go with the beat. He became enthusiastic, then crazy. After half an hour, off came our t-shirts. Sam got stares. I was bursting with pride. We got drunk and danced our socks off.

In the taxi on the way home Sam told me that he had never had that much fun.

The next day, Sunday, we didn’t get to the boat until after eleven in the morning. But we still had a good day out on the water. Once clear of Cabrillo Point Sam got me to open the throttles, and the boat took off like a rocket with me steering an almost straight course.

That Monday my boss called me into her office. She didn’t look happy.

“Head office just called,” she said. “You’ve been approved for a leave of absence. The call came from someone very high up. He told me not to ask any questions. Anything you’d like to tell me?”

I shrugged and shook my head.

I finished up what outstanding files I could that week. My new “job” would begin the next Monday.

Sam and I called our friends in Venice Beach and we arranged to motor up on Saturday. Luckily Rob, the flight attendant, wasn’t working that weekend. Jerome arranged a mooring for us at Marina Del Rey. We got there in the afternoon and the guys met us at the dock with their delightful twin boys in a stroller.

I hadn’t seen Venice Beach before and was amazed at all the hubbub and excitement.

They treated us to a barbeque at their house before Sam and I headed back to the boat for the night. Sam and I both thought the boys were adorable.

It was the type of day that makes you forget your cares and worries. I felt playful. We were in the 69 position, and I got an idea. I’d recently had my eyes tested, and thought about the optometrist asking his questions.( Is it clearer like this, or like this?) I told Sam I wanted to learn more about his dick, and I was going to perform a series of two moves on it. He had to choose the one he liked best.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, here’s number one.”

I took the head of his dick in my mouth and swirled my tongue around it.

“I like number one,” he said.

“No, you have to wait for number two.”

Then I licked his shaft slowly from base to tip.

“Which did you like best?”

“It’s hard to tell. Can you do the test again?”

“Sam!”

I performed several sets of tests, and Sam was unrepentantly undecided after each one.

We laughed a lot. Finally Sam put a stop to it and begged me to finish him off.

Afterwards I was snuggled against him. His arm was around me, and my head was on his chest.

“I never knew being in love could be so much fun,” he said.

We were sad to begin the homeward journey the next day.

Early Monday morning, Sam drove me to a warehouse near the airport. The sign said it was an import-export company. But inside the warehouse there were offices, computers, workout equipment and multiple lockers of gear. There was even a soundproofed shooting range.

Susan chaired a team meeting.

There were six of us. Susan, Sam, Bugs, Zee, me and someone I hadn’t met. He was introduced as Blade. Blade?

Susan explained that that a man by the name of Alain Bourse, in Montreal, was running a suspected pyramid scheme. One of his investors had become suspicious and had asked for a return of his funds. Bourse was stalling. This investor and others were getting nervous. The objective, she stated, was to recover funds of multiple investors. In order to do this the team needed to gain access to thief’s bank accounts, and Bugs would literally steal the money back.

Susan explained that there was good reason to believe that all the stolen money was accumulated in one or two offshore banks. Once our team had access to Bourse’s records, we could find out which banks and account numbers. From there it was an easy job for Bugs to hack into the banks’ systems, reverse the transactions, and return the money to the investors.

Bugs hadn’t been able to hack into the perpetrator’s computer because the guy had enough smarts not to leave it connected to the internet any longer than it took to do his banking. He said the guy was probably using a laptop and only connecting it to the internet when he needed to transfer funds.

My job was to provide translation support and intelligence from the field in Montreal. I would visit Bourse as a potential investor and describe his office building and its security, if any. I would describe Bourse’s office layout; where his files were kept, what kids of locks and security system he had, and anything else relevant I could observe.

I would pose as a rich investor. I was to be a guy who had just come into funds from a trust account. I’d be looking for an investment paying a good rate of return.

I’ll explain why my French would be helpful:

Normally, someone like Susan, from the team, would go in undercover. But this time someone who spoke American English would stand out like a neon sign. My French wouldn’t put me under immediate suspicion if I could act ‘normal.’ I promised I’d try to act ‘normal.’

You see, Montreal, Quebec, Canada is the world’s second largest French speaking city (after Paris) and although the majority of residents are French/English bilingual, there was still a social gulf between the native French and English cultures. Our man was from the French culture. A native French speaker, like me, would have an easier time gaining his trust. I wouldn’t stand out in the French milieu of Montreal.

The field team would be me, Bugs, Blade and Sam. Everyone but me would be travelling on fake US passports. I would have a fake Canadian passport with all the appropriate identification like driver's license, birth certificate, and credit cards.

I was curious how these were obtained. I questioned whether they would stand up to cross-border security checks.

Susan hesitated for a moment, clearly coming to some sort of decision. “Nick, I might as well tell you, we are not as private as you might think. Yes, we do work in the private sector, but we also do work for a government agency that reports to another agency and so on, up the chain.”

“You mean like the CIA?

“Something like that.”

For the job I was to become Alexandre Paquette. Alexandre being my middle name, and Paquette being my mother’s maiden name. Easy for me to remember, and both common enough names in Quebec. My ‘cover’ was as close to real life as I could get. The only difference was that my fake parents would have been very wealthy and left me a sizable trust fund.

The next few days were spent learning my new identity and familiarizing myself with team methods and equipment. I was given the Coles Notes version of training and some self-defense lessons. They taught me evasion tactics to use if I thought I was being followed by bad guys. I had to learn certain codes to use on the phone that would indicate if I was either safe or in danger. I was not given any firearms training because that was unnecessary for the job.

We had a simple emergency code for the phone. If I was alright I would answer my phone, or begin a conversation with “What’s up?” If I was in trouble, I would say instead, “How are you?”

It seemed silly to me, but they made me practice it a lot. “You need be ready for contingencies,” said Susan.

In order for me to look rich, the team rented a townhouse in a trendy area of Montreal, where I would ‘live’. It was on Rue (street) Redpath and was only a few blocks from the business district.

Bugs set up accounts in my name at a Canadian bank. He laughed and said the balances were fake so not to get excited. I was to approach Mr. Bourse and tell him I’d heard his fund earned good returns, and that I was looking to invest ten million dollars.

It was a large sum of money, and more, apparently, than Bourse’s other investors had provided. But they felt that the large sum would act as ‘bait on the shark hook,' perhaps making Bourse greedy and careless.

The next week, after I had satisfied Susan that I was comfortable with my new identity, I flew alone to Montreal. As promised, I had no problem with Canadian customs and immigration.

When I landed at Montreal’s airport, it was a little like arriving in a European country. All the signage was in French and English, and French was the dominant spoken language. The French reminded me of my parents, and for a moment I felt sad. I laughed, however, when I heard someone exclaim, “Tabernak!” which roughly means “Fuck!” to the French Canadians.

I spoke French to the taxi driver who delivered me to my townhome. We discussed the weather, of course, and he told me about an upcoming hockey game. I understood him perfectly, but when I spoke my French was a little rusty. I had trouble getting my tongue around some of the non-English sounds. I needed to practice.

For the first week I was on my own, and my job was to get tuned into current Montreal culture. I needed to become comfortable with the latest words and slang. I listened to the radio, watched television, shopped for current fashions with my fake credit card, ate at restaurants and generally kept my ears open. I struck up conversations with everyone I could, trying to get my accent back. I wasn’t sure I could polish off all the American tones. But my cover of having lived in the US for many years would explain that.

My townhouse was very luxurious. It was fully furnished with antiques and original paintings. I could get into being rich, I thought.

Montreal’s weather was mild at that time of year but still much colder than San Diego’s balmy climate. So I bought a trendy French-looking pea coat. I also bought a watch cap, which is called a ‘toque’ in Canada and some scarves.

I had been given a new cell phone with all my ‘friends’ numbers programmed into the contact list. Susan was Sally. Bugs was Bruce. Blade was Blair. Zee was Zack. Sam was Sam.

I said I was ready. And the fun began.

I made an appointment to meet Alain Bourse, explaining that I had several million dollars from my trust fund to invest. He asked me out to lunch, but requested that I stop at his office first for a meet-and-greet first.

Arriving for my appointment, I was surprised by Bourse’s appearance. I had expected a shady-looking, older character. But instead, I met a good looking man, not much older than me. He was dressed impeccably, and his manner was charming. As rehearsed, I outlined my story and my desire to invest.

Alain presented me with a beautiful tooled leather attaché case, assuring me he had the perfect investment vehicle for my situation.

Then he suggested leaving for lunch, and in my discombobulated state, I forgot to take both my coat and the attaché case.