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Disclaimer: This story is a work of gay erotic fiction with some descriptions of or allusions to sexual acts between consenting males. Please note that this is essentially a romantic story, hopefully plot driven, and the reader who's expecting descriptions of gratuitous sex on every other page will be disappointed. Some readers may also be offended by the story's premise. If so, the writer apologizes profusely but would like to say that it is just a story. If you are under the age of consent or are offended by material of this nature, or if it is against the laws of your state/country of residence, or if it is against your religious beliefs, please do not read this story. Delete it or exit from the site where this story is archived. For those who have elected to read on, the author takes no responsibility for your decision but hopes this story will be entertaining.

Any resemblance to individuals, dead or alive, is unintentional and coincidental. Some situations and events described may seem familiar but the reader should note that this work of fiction describes an alternative, fantasy world which approximately mirrors our own. As such, the authorities, agencies and statutory bodies, their decisions and excesses, described here is pure fiction and in no way reflect their real life counterparts if, at all, they exist.

This is my first literary attempt, so comments of a constructive nature are particularly welcome. You may write me at: javriel@hotmail.com

Please note that all flames will be ignored. So don't waste your time with them.

AVATAR Copyright 1998 Seraph. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

The picture of a young man in his mid-twenties appeared on the 6' by 10' LCD screen mounted on the wall. This was followed by a short video clip of him as he exited from what appeared to be the London Dorchester. The camera lens tracked his movements until he entered a waiting Rolls. After that, there was another picture of him taken outside the Chrysler Building.

"This, gentlemen," Agent Janine Wrexler began, indicating the young man in the picture with a wave of her hand, "is Galen Owen Day."

She turned to her audience of eight, all men, and continued, "As yet we have no clear idea of his origins but we have established beyond a doubt that he's solely responsible for the bailing out of all the ailing Far Eastern economies."

"That's impossible!" spluttered a military top brass; a four star General. "No one can have that much money to single-handedly rescue those countries from the hole we dug them!"

"Which is why we're all here, General Brent; to find out what we can about this Galen Owen Day. Perhaps if you'll allow Agent Wrexler to continue, we may just be able to find out how he did it."

"Thank you Secretary Wilson. Now, as I was saying, we don't know his origins but we do know that he is worth a lot of money. In fact by Forbes' reckoning, and our other sources confirm this, young Mr. Day here may just be the world's richest man. Certainly he's richer by far than the Sultan of Brunei, or even Bill Gates. Current estimates, and let me stress that they're only estimates, put his personal fortune in the region of 25 trillion US dollars."

The whole room broke into an uproar at the statement. The tumult continued for some time until the Secretary of State, James Wilson, finally called for calm. He indicated that Agent Wrexler should continue with her briefing.

"Gentlemen, I know all of you find this estimate hard to believe. So did we initially, until we found that all our sources came up with figures that were in the neighborhood of this 25 trillion dollars, give or take a billion or two either way. What is even more astonishing is that it appears that this huge fortune really belongs to him. He is not a front-man for any cartel or grouping of nations inimical to our cause. At least our investigations so far do not lead us to believe that that's the case. As for how he came by all this money, we're as in the dark about that as we are regarding his history. All that's known is that he's very rich, but as to the rest, no one's sure when he first appeared on the scene nor when or even how his money came to be in the accounts they're now in."

"A real mystery man then," White House Chief of Staff Allan Johnson commented sardonically.

"A dangerous mystery man," corrected the Secretary of State. "Dangerous to our interests. Already, he's put a spanner in the works for us, as far as Asia is concerned."

"Surely what he did, was a blessing in disguise?" interjected Marc Jacobson, Chief Adviser to the President. "When we initiated what we thought then was an appropriate slap on the wrists for those intractable ASEAN countries, we had no idea that it would precipitate such a crisis! Of course, we made a killing in the Markets as well, but it looks now that what we made will pale in comparison to what we stand to lose should the financial crisis continue indefinitely."

"Oh we don't deny that our young man has been helpful, but I don't believe he did what he did because he was afraid the US of A will be in deep shit if the Asian financial crisis escalates. I believe he did it solely because he's against us. I mean, just look at what he did. All of a sudden he sells dollars just to buy up all those worthless Rupiahs, Bahts and the Lord only knows what else. Not only that, he's offering loans to selected companies in affected Asian countries at minimal to zero interest. If his personal fortune was arrived at through an acute sense of business, then what sense he had he lost entirely last month! And if you think that his actions have saved us anything at all; tell them Carl, just how much our maverick cost us as a nation."

Carl Lorber, Senior Financial Analyst attached to the US Federal Reserve, cleared his throat nervously, then told them just how much. That set the whole room in an uproar again.

"825 Billion US Dollars this Galen Owen Day cost us," began Secretary Wilson, "and you still think what he did was a blessing in disguise?" He raised an eyebrow at the Chief Adviser.

"Factor in the invisible costs in terms of our loss of credibility in the eyes of our enemies, for make no mistake they will interpret this turn of events as a welcome slap in the face for us, I think that young man is a bloody menace! Because of him, I've had bankrupt financiers at my doorsteps clamoring for me to intercede with the President on their behalf. They now tell me that had we not instigated them to launch the financial attacks on the Asian economies Mr. Day would not have felt compelled to do what he did."

"No doubt they neglected to tell you of the billions they raked in during the aftermath of the attack. I didn't see them camping on anyone's doorsteps then, begging the US Government to relieve them of their financial burden," retorted Marc Jacobson tartly.

"That they didn't," The Secretary of State admitted. "Why Marc, you almost sound as if you're pleased that this thing happened."

"No, I'm not happy that it has come to this at all. But then I did advise against what was eventually carried out. This was precisely what I was afraid would ultimately happen. Everyone was so gung ho about globalization that they forget, perhaps conveniently, that in a globalized world what goes around, comes back around. Mr. Day's actions only hastened the inevitable. When they gleefully agreed to weaken the financial structures of the target countries in East Asia, these financiers thought only of profits for themselves and their hedge funds. Did they stop to consider the fact that a country in financial straits will not make a good customer for US goods? No, they did not. Did they ever consider that if no one buys our goods, we'd end up in the same boat as those Asian countries? If not immediately, then in the future? Again the answer is no."

"Okay, okay, let's forget about that. Let's stick to our discussion on Mr. Galen Owen Day and what to do about him. Now, besides the fact that he's got a mysterious background, filthy rich and that in this instance he's against us; what more do we know about him?"

"That he's a loose cannon waiting to blow up in our faces?" Asked General Brent. "He's young, idealistic, and very likely a liberal, pinko-lefty. Fellas like him see everything as black or white. He'll never see the big picture, never consider that sometimes the ends justify the means. He'll never understand that sometimes, when you fight for a better world for everybody, some sacrifices have to be made. I think it's in our best interests to neutralize him as soon as possible."

"What do you think Pete?" The Secretary of State asked a nondescript looking man sitting quietly three seats to his left. "What's the Firm's recommendation?"

Peter Mazurkiewicz, head of the ultra secret, extra-government agency known only as The Firm, cocked a quizzical, bushy, eyebrow at the Secretary before rumbling, "Perhaps you should like to hear what the CIA's representative has to say before you hear my recommendation."

Taking her cue from there, Agent Wrexler continued with her briefing.

"Our counterparts in the Mossad had the same idea as General Brent. When they discovered the identity of the person who single handedly caused the massive run on the greenback and consequently the steep dive on the Dow Jones, they despatched their people to discover as much as they could about Galen Day. Amongst their agents were a few outstanding psychological profilers. These profilers were unanimously of the opinion that Galen Day was a person with a strong sense of what's right and what's wrong. But their observations, such as they are, also indicated that Galen Day's ideas of what's right and what's wrong don't necessarily coincide with society's.

"General Brent was of the opinion that Galen Day doesn't quite understand the need to make sacrifices to achieve a desirable end. Well, our friends at the Mossad would tell you that far from it, Mr. Galen Day knows very well that the end does justify the means. The only thing is that the end he's aiming for may run counter to US security considerations, and like most idealists, the means he may use to achieve it may prove more ruthless than we can imagine.

"Bearing this in mind, and with the real fear that Mr. Day may soon turn his attention to the decades long occupation of Palestinian lands by Israel, the Mossad was given the order to neutralize him. They were afraid that he would use his vast resources to finance nuclear weapon research and technology transfer to the Arab nations. Sort of to even things up between the Arabs and the Zionists, you might say."

"The Mossad failed of course," The President's Chief Adviser said. "Or we'd be hearing a different story now. It would seem the change at the helm not too long ago hasn't improved their mission success rate."

"Oh no sir," qualified Agent Wrexler. "In at least two cases that we know of, the agents sent against Mr. Day were successful in their objectives to poison him. If only Mr. Day had the decency to die when it was required of him."

"Are you trying to tell us, Agent Wrexler, that our young man here is immune to poisons?" this came from a grizzled walrus of a man, as befits his station of Admiral of the Seventh Fleet, Admiral Robert S. Beaumont.

"Well, it looks like it gentlemen," came the reply. Then, as if there was a need to elaborate further, Agent Wrexler continued, "In the first attempt, they used a cyanide derivative. They laced his drink to no effect. The second attempt was more direct. They injected the poison into him using the tried and tested human sandwich routine. This time they used something straight from their laboratories; a particularly virulent nerve toxin code-named X57, one microgramme of which is enough to wipe out a population the size of Manhattan's. No joy for our Mossad counterparts either, that time. Only trouble was, this time Mr. Day was alerted to the attempts on his life. The subsequent attempts, and we know that there were at least three more, are simply too painful to relate. While no life was lost since our young man apparently does not believe in taking life, at least not yet anyway, the Marquis de Sade could have taken lessons from him on how to inflict excruciatingly painful injuries. There is a definite twist in his psychological makeup, a childlike vindictiveness that according to the Mossad profilers, indicates an insecure psyche. They say that Mr. Galen Day is actually a very nice and pleasant young man who desperately needs to be liked and loved. Such a nature leaves him vulnerable. And subconsciously, he knows that. So he compensates by being aloof to the very things that he seeks. But he's not proof against being hurt, either physically or emotionally. So when he's hurt, he lashes out in retaliation. And because he won't kill, he compensates again by making damn sure that whoever hurts him will think twice before they did so again."

Admiral Beaumont laughed. He said, "Agent Wrexler, if this Galen Day chap is the Mossad's idea of a nice guy, I'd hate to meet up with someone they say is not nice."

"What I'm more interested in is how he seems to be immune to the poisons administered to him. Now, if we could just get a tissue sample off of him, we could do a DNA scan and who knows, we might possibly isolate the gene that confers the immunity to him. It'll definitely help if we could give our boys on the front lines that kind of immunity. At the same time, it may help us to find a way to get at him."

"What General Brent says has merit." Came the quiet rumble from the Head of the Firm. "And to that end, we have begun our own enquiries on Galen Day here. We are of the opinion that we need not necessarily kill him, if we can at all."

"What do you mean we can't kill him?" Asked Secretary Wilson.

"Our sources reveal that the Mossad did not only attempt to eliminate Galen Day by poisoning him. Apparently they tried other more conventional means. Those failed as well. Our young friend here seems to elude death in the most uncanny ways. I'm not a superstitious man by nature, but even I must concede that he seems to lead a charmed life. Of course I may be proven wrong, and Mr. Day will conveniently allow himself to be run over by a truck even as I speak. But let's just assume for a moment that it's easier to let him live. How can we turn that into an advantage for us?"

"You're suggesting that we try to rally him to our cause?" Asked the President's Chief Adviser.

"That would be a wasted effort I think," Pete Mazurkiewicz said. "Rather we play on his weakness. We divert his attention to less damaging pursuits, shall we say?"

"And how does the Firm propose to do that?"

"Ahh . . . When the Firm gets down to the serious business of compiling a dossier on a target, they are more thorough then their more renown counterparts."

Agent Janine Wrexler of the CIA flushed at the implication behind the statement.

"First of all, Galen Owen Day is 25 years old. Ahh . . . I see the anomaly immediately strikes all of you. We at The Firm, ask ourselves as well, how a person so young can amass such a huge fortune at so short a time. At first we thought he might somehow have manipulated the world's computer data banks to give the appearance that he was that wealthy. However, random physical checks worldwide through the agencies of our allies have shown that this is not the case. He may well be as rich as he's reported to be. So, how Galen Day came by his fortune and how he seems to have until recently escaped our notice, still remains a mystery. But what we do know for a fact is that he is currently in San Francisco. He's however, not an US citizen. But then, and you'll be intrigued by this I'm sure, he's not a citizen of any other country you'd care to name either. It's as if he appeared out of nowhere. Quite like his fortune you might say. But unlike his fortune, data on him is rather thin on the ground. Mr. Day's such a nonentity that even US Immigration and Naturalization doesn't know of his presence in the US. Likewise, I doubt if the other relevant arms of our Government even know he's set up a huge corporation with its headquarters in New York. I guess everyone just assumes that he's an US citizen."

"Then we can pin him on that, put him in jail for being an illegal immigrant, throw away the key and just conveniently forget about him." General Brent said.

"I have a strong suspicion that the minute we apprehend him, a high profile lawyer will turn up complete with his citizenship papers, not to mention a whole company of reporters. They'll have a field day over that. I don't think this Government needs another scandal do you? His corporation I believe, does a lot of charity work and has built up a lot of goodwill. I doubt the President would thank us for alienating his party fund contributors. No, I think a more subtle approach is called for.

"We have discovered that Mr. Galen Day is a homosexual. Not a very successful one I'm told, for all his huge fortune. He has had no lasting relationship that is of significance; the last one being a three weekend affair almost two years ago. I'm told that it ended on a rather painful note for Mr. Day. Since then, he's been alone. It seems that he doesn't believe in paying for his sex. I'd like to think he's just cheap; but I'd be wrong. From what his friends tell us, Mr. Day is just as idealistic about his relationships as he is about what's happening in the world. He's not into one-night stands nor paid sex. He's looking for `true' love from a man who will be gentle, considerate, who will love him for himself and who will be faithful to him."

"Sounds like he's been reading one too many romance novels." Agent Wrexler commented. "If true love's what he's looking for in real life, he'll be sorely disappointed."

"Agent Wrexlers's cynical views on love and men in general are well documented," Pete Mazurkiewicz retorted with a sly smile. "But returning to Galen Day, his hopes notwithstanding, he seems to have a knack for picking the most unsuitable men. We do know that he has a liking for what the Gay communities refer to as Bears', or hairy men' to you and me. Unfortunately, most bears go for bears, and Mr. Day is a bit on the `willowy' side, if you know what I mean. No doubt, the Mossad profilers will tell you that he's actually afraid of intimacy and hence subconsciously chose the type least attracted to him as objects of his desire. Personally, I think Mr. Day would do better to get himself a buxom woman to channel all his pent-up desires and anti-US sentiments on. He certainly gets along fine with them as friends. But there's no accounting for one's tastes I guess."

"Yes, that's all very well. But what are we going to do about him then?" Asked the Secretary of State.

"Why, we'll play matchmaker for him," replied Peter Mazurkiewicz with another sly smile.

Chapter Two

"Send O'Connor in, will you Cheryl?" The Head of The Firm spoke to his personal secretary through the intercom then leaned back comfortably into his high- backed swivel chair and waited. It was almost a week since the meeting at the Pentagon and he'd spent all that time going through the files the Firm kept on each of its operatives. None of them seem to be suitable for what he had in mind bar one. Unfortunately, that one could prove to be a risky proposition. Too headstrong and much too much like his intended quarry where his sense of justice was concerned. As for his ethics and honor; whoever heard of an honorable assassin for God's sake?

Peter Mazurkiewicz looked up from the file he was scanning through as the huge oak doors which led to his plush office opened to admit a large mountain of a man. He watched the redheaded giant approaching his table with some satisfaction. Physically at least, the man was a shoe-in for what he had planned.

Mike O'Connor stood at 6' 5" in his stockinged feet and weighed in at roughly 285 lbs., most of it muscles. There was a softness around his waist which probably spoke of a fondness for drink but which, thought the Head of the Firm, was hardly surprising considering a man with Mike's ideals. For a man who found the act of killing a traumatic experience, he was certainly in the wrong profession. Yet, there was no denying the fact that he was one of the best the Firm had in its ranks.

He was 35 years old, with a ruggedly handsome face which still retained a blush and complexion that, even a seventeen-year-old would envy. He had a straight and narrow nose. His eyes, under thick, relatively dark, bushy eyebrows, were a deep forest green and were set wide apart giving him a deceptively angelic innocence. Peter Mazurkiewicz had often wondered what Mike's victims might have thought as they breathed their last, slain by the picture of innocence. Somehow he never could without shuddering at the grossness of it.

Mike had thick, wavy rusty red hair which was unruly at the best of times. He kept it fashionably short. His darker beard and moustache, he kept as neatly trimmed. He had a generous mouth and a smile which toothpaste advertisers would kill for. When he grinned, it gave him that shit-eating expression that was so endearing and made him such a hit with women. If Pete was pressed to describe Mike O'Connor, he'd probably say that Mike resembled somewhat the actor in B.J. and the Bear. But if his sources were as reliable as he'd come to expect of them, perhaps it'd be more correct for him to say that Mike resembled the Bear more. At the moment, he looked like some backwoodsman who'd just come down from the Rocky Mountains.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

His voice suited him. Deep, with a lot of timbre and yet with a soft mellow quality to it. His speech placed his origins as somewhere from Colorado.

"Ahh . . . Yes, here you are Mike," Pete said. He pushed a file which was on his desk across to his man. "Read it carefully after you leave this room. There's not much, so you'll have no problem remembering all the details. It's your next assignment."

Mike took the file and his eyebrows rose as he recognized the name on it. He glanced questioningly at his chief who returned his look with a noncommittant one of his own. Frustrated in that attempt, he decided a more direct approach was called for. He said, more as a statement than a question, "So, you want me to take care of him."

"Well, in more ways than one." Pete responded, smiling as he leaned into his chair and steepling his fingers. "Tell me Mike. Are you getting any these days?"

Mike flushed at the question. He said, "With all due respect sir, I don't see what business it is of the Firm whether I'm getting any these days or not."

"Oh you'll be surprised at what the Firm finds interesting. Humor me Mike, better that than for me to remind you of your obligations to the Firm."

Mike O'Connor glared at his chief, who made a mental note that his rebelliousness bore close watching in the future. "Well?" prompted the head of the Firm.

"If you must know," Mike began, almost sourly, "The answer is no."

"Ahhh . . ." Pete nodded sagely. "And for how long now?"

There was a lengthy pause before a most reluctant reply came. "A year and a half."

"Surely not Mike? A fine specimen of manhood like you? I mean I'm no judge when it comes to what makes a man attractive to women, but looking at you I'd have thought that you'd be a hit with the ladies."

"Look. I've lost interest in the chase okay? Sex as far as it goes is fine but I want something more permanent and I can't have it, not while I'm in this damned job!" The last almost came out as a snarl.

"You sure didn't sing that tune when we first recruited you."

"Yeah well, we all make mistakes in our youth. The only thing is, some mistakes stay with you for life. Besides my sis needed help for her illness. I couldn't very well, say no to the Firm's offer of help now could I? I just didn't bargain on trading so many lives for hers. Even, if it's killing for my country."

"Well, I'm glad you at least understand that what you do is for your country. Whatever your feelings about your job, I hope you never forget that!"

A dangerous gleam appeared in Mike's eyes at that remark but his chief chose to ignore it. "Are you questioning my loyalty?" Mike asked in a deliberate manner.

"Are you loyal to your country? I don't know. You tell me," retorted Peter Mazurkiewicz. "All I know is that you bellyache enough every time we send you out on a mission."

When there was no response from Mike, he continued. "Anyway, you won't have to kill anyone this time around unless it's absolutely necessary. It'll all depend on you of course. Basically it's a fact-finding mission. We want you to find out all you can about your target, and his activities. If possible, we'd like you to get hold of his tissue samples. Our other operatives seem to have no success at all in that respect. Your quarry doesn't seem to shed any dead skin cells nor hair follicles at all. Or if he does, then he makes damn sure that when he leaves a place, they leave with him! But how you get close enough to him to carry out your task is up to you. It shouldn't be all that difficult for you since he's gay, and you're just his type."

"You're suggesting that I, cozy up to him, is that it?"

"You may have to do more than that, but how it turns out is entirely up to you."

"No."

"What's that you said?"

"NO!"

The word came out like an explosion causing Pete Mazurkiewicz to jump in his seat. When he'd somewhat recovered his composure, he looked levelly at his subordinate and in a cold voice said, "Care to play that by me again Mike?"

"I said NO. Look, I'll spy for you, steal for you, even kill for you. But THAT, I can't. I'm sorry. I just can't."

"It's not as if you have any choice in the matter, Mike" said his chief in a dispassionate voice. "When you signed up with the Firm, you swore to serve your country as an operative of our agency. Until we release you of your obligations, you're our weapon to use as we wish in the defense of God and country. Even your life is ours to use as we wish. If it were necessary, we'd sacrifice you to safeguard our nation, and don't you for a minute forget that! Besides, I don't see the difficulty in leading him on. Unless you have doubts about your own sexuality. Is that it?"

Mike gazed steadily at his chief, his mouth a grim line. His hands were bunched into fists, his knuckles showing white. His whole body was rigid with barely contained fury.

"Listen to me Mike," Pete finally said, in a more conciliatory tone. "We're not asking you to do anything that most of us have not before done or are not prepared to do in our careers with the Firm. None of us liked the things we had to do but we did them anyway. As far as we were concerned, the US of A came before all other considerations. Besides, I'm only asking you to get into his confidence. I'm not asking you to camp it up or anything. Just be yourself and you'll probably be halfway there already. As I understand it, he has a preference for he-man types. You would certainly fit the bill. And it's not as if you have to sleep with him, well maybe a kiss here or there just to make it look real. But even if it did come to . . . err . . . that . . . Well couldn't you just close your eyes and pretend he's some pussy you haven't had for almost two years?"

Chapter Three

Galen Day walked up the stairs to The Cafe's dance-floor and bar area. Hanging onto his arm was a stunningly beautiful Afro-American girl of around 17 years. The fact that she was with him allowed her to enter the club without being carded. She looked around her in awe and fascination. The music was vibrant and had an alluring beat which made her want to join the dancing crowd.

She was a small town Tennessee girl and this was the first time she'd been in a city as large as San Francisco. With her provincial upbringing, she could only marvel at what she'd thought was the sophistication of the city folks. She guessed she should consider herself lucky to have met up with Galen within minutes of stepping down from the Greyhound.

She had come to San Francisco using her meager savings on a one way ticket from her hometown, with not much left over for anything else beyond a sandwich and a cup of coffee. She'd left a note for her mother and three brothers telling them not to worry, that she would write when she could and that she loved them all dearly. She did not tell them where she was going nor what she intended to do when she got there. However, she had every intention to sell her body for a place to stay for the night and maybe earn enough to keep her going until something better came along. Anything would be better than being a burden to her mother she thought.

When she came out of the bus depot, with a small carryall which contained more or less all she owned in the world, she was approached by a kindly looking old gentleman. He told her that his employer would like to meet her. Intrigued, but also with a sense of trepidation, she'd followed him around the corner to where a sleek stretch limousine was waiting by the kerb. The old man then got into the limousine while she stood by the limousine's back passenger door waiting for it to open.

Instead, its darkly tinted window smoothly slid down with a soft whirring sound. She peered in and blinked when she saw the man sitting inside. He was incredibly good looking, even if he was white. Before then, she'd thought that she'd be meeting some middle-aged businessman on the lookout for a fresh young piece like her. Having seen him, she had to wonder what he wanted with her. He was far too good looking to need to resort to pickups like this. Why, he could have the pick of his women if he chose. So, why her?

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she responded.

"Errmm . . . you're new to this city aren't you?" He said, after a moment's awkwardness. He sounded foreign. Maybe English.

"Er . . . yes. I just got off the bus from Tennessee." She replied, too naive to consider the rashness of revealing too much to a complete stranger.

"Ahh . . . mmm . . . I see. Well . . . , err . . . would you like me to show you around San Francisco? I like you. Maybe we can become friends?"

"Sure . . . why not?" She said, thinking she knew what being friends meant. The young man, he can't be more than 25, seemed painfully shy. Maybe that's why he's resorting to these sorts of anonymous pickups. Throwing caution and all good sense to the winds, she opened the door to the limo and got in. When she was in, and the door slammed shut behind her, the windows slid back up and the limo purred to life. Soon they were away.

Then, the young man said something that brought her up short.

"Hello Jade," he said quietly with a faint knowing smile. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Galen."

"H . . . How did you kn . . . know my name?" she asked, shocked.

"The same way I knew that you'd run away from home and which greyhound bus, you took to come to San Francisco. How else?"

Then noticing the growing fear in her eyes, he immediately looked contrite. He hastily said, "Oh I say, it's not what you think. Look, Jade, before we go into a panic attack here, can I ask you to trust me? I know it may be a bit too much to ask you to believe me at this moment, but please, I really mean you no harm."

"Wh . . . what do you want with me?"

"Nothing much apart from a commitment from you. But we'll discuss that later tonight. Meanwhile, we've got some shopping to do. That is . . . if you would like that. If you think this is way too weird and you want out, I can always ask Geoffrey here to stop the car and let you out."

"You mean that? I can just get out any time I want?"

"Sure. Do you want me to stop the car now?"

"No, I think . . . I, . . . I don't know what to think. I guess I'll be all right with you. It's funny, you're a stranger and all, and you seem to know so much about me, but I feel as if I can trust you." And she did. Galen Owen Day radiated an aura of calm and serenity. He made her feel for the first time in her life, that all her troubles were as nothing.

"Come girl, don't think about it. We all make mistakes sometimes. At least you haven't made any major ones yet," he said as if he'd read her mind. She had indeed been suddenly assailed by the realization of the enormity of her one act of perceived selflessness. She'd thought that by running away, she'd be one less burden on her family, one less mouth for her mother to feed. She chose San Francisco to run away to because she'd heard of its cultural diversity and its art, although there was also the fact that it was the furthest point she could travel to on her limited finances. But when she reached her destination, how she was going to fend for herself, was never something she spent much time thinking on. She assumed that like most runaways, she'd need to use her body as her means of currency to get by. Dangers such as the predators who preyed on runaways, pimps, drugs and diseases did cross her mind but apart from the last, were never a major consideration.

She looked at the young man. Galen he called himself, sitting beside her. What did he want from her really? Sex? Again as if he read her mind, he smiled in an amused manner and said, "I'm gay, so you can put your mind to rest on that matter."

He's gay?! Then what did he want with her?

"Look, Jade, don't worry. I'm not going to pimp you off to someone else, nor am I going to use you for a satanic sacrifice nor am I a serial killer toying with you before I make my gruesome move. I just want us to enjoy ourselves; you, experiencing your first time in a big city and I, showing you around. Now, you must think me very strange but, once you get to know me better, you'll understand."

He had his chauffeur drive them around the city, took her up to Twin Peaks, then to China Town and Little Italy. They had lunch at a very quaint but exclusive restaurant going by the name of Lucio's, which according to Galen, only appeared on the scene not three months ago. The food was delicious. She had never had such good food before. While her mother was a good cook, they rarely had enough for her to exhibit her abilities.

Later, they went to Nieman Marcus where Galen made her choose a few outfits for herself. She'd protested, overwhelmed by the beautiful dresses and their, to her opinion, astronomical prices. Galen dismissed her protests saying only that he could afford them. After that, he took her back to his huge apartment, where he told her to make herself at home while he took care of some business. He told his elderly housekeeper to take good care of her. Before he left, he requested the pleasure of her company at 7.30 p.m. when they'd be dining out.

That night, Galen took them to a really swank restaurant where the price of their starters alone was enough to feed her family for two days. The food was delicious but she felt guilty eating such good food when her family back home had to exist on much less. It was during dinner that Galen revealed to her his plans for her. At the same time, she discovered that he was more enigmatic than she'd thought.

Halfway through the main course Galen asked, "Jade, do you mind if I say something?"

"Yes . . . ? I mean, no, I don't mind at all. Go ahead."

"I know why you came to San Francisco. But running away solves nothing. It only creates more problems. In your case, it'll ruin your life and cause your poor mother needless heartache."

"Hey! . . . You don't . . . " Jade began, prepared to be defensive about her decision to leave her family.

"I don't know anything?" Galen completed the sentence for her. "Oh . . . Jade, I know more than you think. For one thing, I know that you're a grade A student who's decided to sacrifice her future to help her mother. I also know that admirable as your action may be, it's the worst possible way in which you could help her. Now, before you start accusing me of being condescending to you, I'd like you to know that I'm not trying to pressure you into doing anything you don't want to. I'm only hoping that you'd at least consider this financial proposal I'm making to you. I hope you will accept it. Don't worry. It will only require a small sacrifice from you. Nothing painful let me assure you."

He reached out to gently stroke her cheek. He did it so naturally that she did not even think to flinch at his sudden gesture. "You are so, so beautiful . . . " He said softly. "Don't waste yourself on some unfaithful, two-timing swine of a husband, nor on some callow young man who'll treat you like some meat he bought off the rack to use as he pleased. Which you will be, if you continue on this path you've chosen for yourself. Prostituting yourself may feed you when you're hungry. It may even put you through college, if you're lucky. But it's a stain on your life which will never wash off. For some people, working the streets is their only option. You have more than them. You have a great future ahead of you, my dear girl. I would like to see you achieve it."

He lifted her chin so that she looked at him in the eyes. "I want you to go back home, to Tennessee to your family and finish your studies. Promise me you'll do that? I want you to go on to college to study to be the doctor you've always wanted to be."

"H . . . How . . . ?"

"Shh . . . Just promise me, okay? And in return, I promise you that your family will be well looked after. Now, please don't think of it as charity although some money will be involved. It's not. Your mum will still have to work to feed you all, but she will not have so hard a time of it. Besides, I will expect you to repay me after you've graduated. Maybe not in monetary terms, but be sure that what you do with your degree will be payment enough for me. Now, let's finish our dinner. We'll have our dessert and then go to The Cafe for a dance if you like. Then Geoffrey will see you home and tomorrow morning at 10.00 a.m. I hope you will be at the San Francisco office of my foundation where my personal secretary Gabrielle will explain all the details of our agreement to you. There will be some legal papers for you to sign. But don't worry, you're not going to be signing your soul away. The papers will mostly concern the scholarship you'll be getting from us"

"Your, Foundation?" She asked, then almost to herself, continued, "Well, I guess it would be yours wouldn't it, seeing as you're so rich and all. What's it called?"

He smiled wryly and told her. "It's known as the Eden Foundation. We help those who help themselves. By that, I mean people who are not averse to working hard to better themselves, or who make extraordinary sacrifices for others and yet still retain that zeal to improve their own lot. You happen to be one of them. We may not be able to help everyone, but we try. We are quite an extensive family of sorts. At least none of those we've aided has thought of leaving the umbrella of our extended family. There is no coercion nor brainwashing if that's what you're thinking. It's just that we really do good work and those we've helped want to return the favor by helping us help others."

"Wow. It sounds almost too good to be true." Exclaimed Jade.

"It does, doesn't it? But then, as they say, the proof of the pudding is in the eating."

Chapter Four

At first Jade was a little bit worried about being left on her own in a gay club. She'd noticed not a few women present eyeing her with interest.

Galen stared at her for a moment then said, "Are you for real, girl? Considering the fact that not so long ago, you were ready to go home with whomever could provide you with your next meal, what have you got to fear from the girls here?"

"You can be so cruel, do you know that?" Jade said in a hurt tone.

"I'm not cruel. I'm only stating the truth. Can I help it if the truth quite often hurts as much as it informs? Now, don't be a dope and quit being so overly sensitive. Go out and enjoy yourself while I get us both a drink. I picked this place because it's not such a meat market as some of the others. You'll be safe. Besides, if someone approaches you, just say no if you're not interested or say you're with me. Heck, I won't be away that long anyway. Go on . . . "

He ushered her toward the dance floor after which he went to get their drinks at the bar. It was while he was waiting for the bartender to serve him his order of two Cokes, that he felt a huge presence behind him. The man was being pushed against him by the surging crowd and Galen wondered for the umpteenth time what it was that drew him to The Cafe especially on a Saturday night which was without exception the most crowded night of the week.

The man behind him turned to growl at someone who'd pushed into them. Galen was intrigued. He found the man's voice most attractive indeed. When he got his drinks, he turned around to find himself staring at the man's broad chest clothed in checkered flannel. Peeking through the shirt opening at his neck were thick curls of reddish hair. Galen looked up past the man's neatly trimmed beard to find his dark green eyes staring down at him. The man gave him a white toothed grin and said "Hi!"

Galen flushed at the smile and for a moment was truly flustered.

"Er . . . Hi," He responded awkwardly. Looking at the man's smiling, open face, he felt an ache in his heart and an indescribable feeling wash over him. He smiled wistfully at the bearded red-haired giant before him. Then murmuring an excuse, he eased his way past the man, then went in search of Jade. Somehow the evening, which had begun promisingly enough, was now spoilt for him.

He knew that he was extremely attracted to the bearded man, who was like someone who'd just appeared from right out of his most romantic fantasies. Knowing that, he also realized that it was a lost cause. Which was a shame really because he knew, as he knew most things, that if he showed even a modicum of interest in the man he could have him eating out of his hands. But that would all be an act. He wanted the genuine article, not someone who was acting against his true inclinations although, even Galen was hard put to tell definitely what the man's true inclinations were. All he knew was that the man was at The Cafe under false pretenses. He was there for one purpose only, and that purpose was Galen Owen Day. Galen sighed. Just for once, he'd like to have someone who was interested in him for himself alone.

He walked down a short flight of steps from the bar area to the dance floor, just as the deejay started another dance track. It was obviously not to Jade's liking. After a brief word to some girls she was dancing with, she left the dance floor and came toward Galen.

"I see you've made some new friends already," Galen observed mildly as he handed her a glass of Coke.

Jade glanced at him. He sounded subdued. Something must have happened at the bar, she guessed. She looked over at her newly made friends and said, "Oh yes, they're sweet. They're Harriet and Chloe. They're lovers."

"Hmm . . . Nice couple" he opined with a distracted smile, as he watched them gyrate to the sounds of the deejay's choice of the moment.

"So what took you so long?" Jade asked, drawing his attention away from the young lesbian couple.

"The crowd. Everyone seems to develop a dying thirst every time I decide to go up to the bar for drinks. It never fails to happen."

Jade laughed out loud at that. "And I thought it was because you were otherwise occupied by some hunk-o-man that you'd forgotten all about li'l ole me."

"Well there was someone, but I wouldn't say I was exactly occupied with him. More like he was blocking my exit from the bar," was his deadpan response. "Really Jade, if we ever do this together again, we need to choose a day that's not Saturday. Saturdays at The Cafe are simply too crowded for words."

"Speaking of someone, don't look now, but I think some guy is eyeballing you but good." Jade giggled to him, hoping the observation would draw him out of his funk. "What a hunk. If you like them large and frontier born and bred that is."

"Is he a bearded red-haired giant in checked flannels?" Galen asked, a little agitated.

"Yup! That, the someone you were `occupied' with just now?"

"You might say that."

"Well what's the matter with him? Not my cup of tea for sure, but he's a looker all right. He's rather wholesome in a rugged sort of way, I suppose. He might actually be really handsome underneath all that hair."

"He's not all that covered up by his beard that you can't see what he looks like," Galen protested, sounding a bit more like his old self.

"Oh, so you noticed huh?!" Jade remarked slyly.

"I did and before you go on any further, I do agree with you that he's very good- looking. But take it from me, I'm not his type."

"Well, the way he's looking at you, you could've fooled me."

"Will you stop looking his way?" Galen hissed at Jade. "He'll know we're discussing him!"

"He already does. He just raised his glass of beer at me."

"Oh Heavens! That's all I need."

"What's the matter Galen? He seems really interested in you."

"Trust me girl. I know he's interested in me, but not the way you think."

"Did something happen back at the bar just now? Did you have an argument with him? Is he going to make trouble for you?"

"Well yes, something happened at the bar but not what you think, and no, I did not have an argument with him. And he won't be making any trouble for me if you'll just ignore him like I asked you to."

"Galen, I know I may be speaking out of turn here and it's none of my business, but could you just explain to me what is going on here?"

"Girlfriend, you'd try the patience of a saint. Okay, I know he's interested in getting to know me. I even know that he's angling to strike up a conversation with me. But I also know he's not someone I'd like to get involved with even though my heart and a certain part of my body says otherwise."

"But how would you know?"

"How do I know your personal details?" Galen shot back at her.

"Oh. Okay. You've got a point there."

"Look, finish your drink. I think we need to get onto the dance floor before he decides to come over." Galen suggested. "I don't think I can bear an evening of stilted conversation and false bonhomie."

They finished their drinks and made their way to the dance floor just as the deejay began to play the fast paced disco version of Mariah Carey's Honey, a personal favorite of Galen's. They danced to the frenetic beat of the track and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, discovering in each other a good dancer who was not averse to being outrageous at times. Then as the track wound into `I Don't Know (What to Do Without You)' from the soundtrack of the film "Jeffrey", Galen found himself unconsciously lip- synching to the song while staring at the bearded stranger. Abashed at his action, he quickly turned his back on the man who had in turn been gazing at him with an unreadable look on his face. But try as he might, Galen couldn't seem to ignore the man. His eyes were drawn back to the man time and time again. He kept stealing glances at the man when he thought the latter wasn't looking. Finally, deciding that it was wiser to stop the nonsense before it got out of hand, he leaned over to Jade and asked her, above the music, if she'd had enough. She did. It had been a long day for her and she was feeling tired.

Galen followed her to where Harriet and Chloe were so she could bid her farewells, noting absently that if nothing else, the girl did have good manners. The parting words spoken, they made their way down to the street where as if he'd read his employer's mind, Geoffrey drove up from around the corner to stop at The Cafe's entrance so they could get in. As he drove off, Galen said, "Oh Geoffrey, just drop me off at Eden's will you? I've got some business to attend to before I call it a night. After that, please take Miss Branston home to the apartment. Hannah will have made up her room and prepared some hot cocoa for her I'm sure."

The limousine headed back toward the center of town, by Van Ness, and stopped before an imposing monolith of a building to let Galen off. Before he left the limousine, he said goodnight to Jade and told her not to forget her appointment with his personal secretary Gabrielle. "Geoffrey will be waiting to pick you up from the apartment at 9.30 a.m. After your interview with Gabrielle, Geoffrey will take you to the airport so you can catch your flight back home."

When Jade protested that he'd already done enough for her, he said, "Hey no sweat! It's all taken care of okay? Besides it's not as if you have any choice in the matter. You've used up most of your savings to come here remember?" he said, giving her an impish grin. "Just enjoy your flight back and make sure you don't disappoint us is all I ask of you. And the clothes we bought? They're my gifts to you. They'll come in handy on prom night, trust me. Well girlfriend, they certainly won't do me no good. I'm gay, not a cross-dresser. Besides sweetheart, I've long since kissed my 26 inch waistline goodbye."

He gave her a hug and said, "Good luck Jade. I probably won't see you tomorrow, but I promise you'll be seeing me from time to time. Who knows, I may even be at your prom to see how fine you'll look in that deep sapphire number I chose for you this afternoon. In the meantime take care of yourself and please, no more heroics okay?" He drew back from her and gave her a quirky smile, then reached out to gently wipe the tears from her face. She gave him a brave smile in return and would have said something but for his finger on her lips.

"Hushhh . . . " He said. "I know . . ."

With that, he kissed her on her brow, marking her as his, then left the limousine, shutting its door in his wake. He watched as it purred to life and pulled away from the kerb. He waved at Jade, then turned and made his way into the imposing building where he would be making arrangements for Jade's mother.

He dismissed the notion of being an anonymous benefactor knowing that Naomi Branston's pride would never allow her to accept charity of that nature. Buying up their tiny piece of land was not an option either since the family would never sell it even though it had no intrinsic value, being very unsuitable as farmland. Truly, beyond the fact that it provided a place to site the Branston family's dilapidated shack of a house, the land had absolutely no redeeming feature. However, as providence would have it, Naomi Branston nee Calloway did have rather prosperous relatives. Of course, none of them would deign to recognize their poor cousins down south, but that didn't mean that things couldn't be arranged for them to do so. Galen smiled at the thought.

As he passed through the great hall to get to the elevators, he was greeted by the security guards.

"Good evening guys," he responded with a smile and a nod of his head. He entered the penthouse elevator and was soon in his private sanctum. As he sat pondering in his leathered swivel armchair, there was a soft knock at his door.

"Come in Raphael," he said, and a beautiful young man of around eighteen years, walked in with a file in his hand. "You're working late tonight." He commented as the young man approached his imposing desk.

"No more later than you Galen," the young man retorted with a smile that would have been described as beatific. "I have the details you asked for on the Boston Calloways. There are 465 Calloways in Boston and its suburbs, but only 25 are of African American origin. Of that number, 15 are related to each other."

"And . . . ?" prompted Galen.

"You're quite correct that one Amelia Louise Calloway is near death's door. We expect her to leave this life in exactly 84 hours, 25 minutes and 53 seconds' time. She is related to Naomi Calloway through Abe and Ned Calloway who were brothers. One was a hardworking sort and the other a ne'er do well."

"No guesses needed for whom the ne'er do well was," Galen said.

"Right. He was Naomi Calloway's grand-da, as she called him," confirmed Raphael.

"How much is dear Amelia worth? Eight million?" Galen asked.

"Eight million, one hundred and thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and forty- eight dollars and a quarter to be precise. And that is after all death duties are paid."

"Well, I'll leave you to the details Raphael. Just make sure she bequeaths a small sum to Naomi. Oh . . . enough for her to start up a small eatery. I'm told she's a very good cook."

"It shall be done as you wish. I can't wait to see the looks on some of Naomi's co-beneficiaries' faces when her name's mentioned. It'd be even more interesting if they were to know that her portion came from a little bit of theirs."

"Alright, you may be allowed to watch the fruit of your labor but mind you, nothing more than the parameters I set, I adjure you."

At Raphael's crestfallen look, Galen added, "You do worry me sometimes, Raphael. I agree with you that Naomi Calloway's Boston cousins are not a very prepossessing lot for all their wealth, but this glee in seeing someone get their comeuppance, no matter how unpleasant they may have been, is rather unbecoming, don't you agree?"

"No, I don't believe you do," sighed Galen after the reproachful glance he got from Raphael. Shaking his head at his subordinate, he went on. "Now, tell me, what other good works have been achieved around the world in the name of the Eden Foundation?"

And thus far into the early hours of the morning, Raphael recited a long list of people who were found to be deserving of aid, and the growing numbers of selfless individuals who have been added to their extended family of volunteers.

Meanwhile, Mike O'Connor spent a sleepless night tossing in his bed, trying to figure out the enigma which was Galen Owen Day.

Chapter Five

"What do you want? What do you really want?" The young man asked. He appeared no more than twenty-five. Beautiful. Far more beautiful than any male had a right to be. His beauty hurt. Were he any younger, he would have been mistaken for a girl. He probably had been in the past, but now there was an angularity to his jaw-line, a determination to his chin that was decidedly masculine. And yet, he had skin like porcelain, its paleness the kind Victorian ladies would've killed for. Soft, softer than a baby's bottom, delicately kissed with pink at his cheeks. His nose was straight and narrow, and his lips a cupid's bow, slightly moist and with a touch of rose.

His eyes, framed by dark lashes, were a deep blue. The blue of twilight, when the first stars appear in the heavens before the fall of night. His brows, strong dark lines that, with the cut of his face, defined his masculinity. And his hair, he kept very short, in a short back and sides buzz cut, with a result that resembles jet black waves of crushed velvet.

He was about 5' 9" in height and was slim, weighing possibly 150 lbs. His body's definition was slightly lost in the immaculately cut suit he wore but you could see that he was well made up. He carried himself well and stood gracefully in the lush garden with the air of someone full of confidence.

He approached but seemed no closer than when he started, slim hands reaching to unbutton his dark coat. Then a sudden wind whipped at him and caught hold of his coat, making it flap about him like ravens' wings. He raised his hands and the wind drew it off his body and whisked it away. Free of the coat, his hands began to unbutton his shirt.

Soon the shirt went the way of the coat and the young man stood naked from the waist up, exposing a pale and slim, but muscular, torso. He had a smooth body with a washboard stomach and a nicely developed chest, capped by two pink kissable nipples, erect against the caress of the wind.

"Is it me you want?" He asked, an eyebrow arched in enquiry. His voice was soft and low. Smooth like well-aged Cognac. Smoky and yet surprisingly youthful. Tantalizingly seductive, caressing one's body to stoke one's arousal.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, striking a rather insolent and provocative stance, with arms at his hips and legs apart. It was as if he was offering up his body. Two thumbs traced the waist of his pants to the front where one popped the button at the top of his fly. Slipping further in, they pushed his fly further apart, revealing a hint of dark hairs.

Suddenly he was so close his breath, smelling of fresh mint and clover, could be felt against sweat beaded skin, a ticklish caress that ruffled at the hairs that grew there. Then his touch, electric.

Mike woke up with a start and found that for the first time in years, he'd had a wet dream. Groggily, he stared down at himself and at the wet mess congealing in his pubic and belly hairs. Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he stripped his crumpled sheets off his bed and wiped himself off with them. Then rolling the soiled sheets into a tight ball, he threw them near the door to be washed later. For a couple of minutes after that he stayed sitting in his bed, trying to collect his wits about him. Then with a sigh, he crawled out of his bed and stumbled into his bathroom for a hot shower to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

His shower took far longer than he was accustomed to mainly because he needed the time to think. His encounter with Galen the night before did not go as he'd intended. What was even worse was that he'd ended up far more affected by the fleeting encounter than he'd considered normal. When he finally came face to face with Galen at the bar, he'd felt as if he'd been sucker punched. He had to draw in a sharp intake of breath. The guy was breathtakingly good looking; far more beautiful in person than his photograph would suggest. And all this while Mike had thought his detachment toward women was as a result of his profession. He told himself that he couldn't afford to be interested because it wouldn't be fair to either of them. If that was so, then why the Hell was he feeling this way, and toward of all people, a man? A man who was a security risk. Someone whom he might one day be required to kill. For Heaven's sake, he'd just had a wet dream over him as well!

Mike scrubbed himself vigorously, as if the act of doing so would wash off every trace of the enigmatic young man who haunted him right into the day. Even as he tried furiously to expunge the young man from his thoughts, they kept returning to him. How he moved as he danced with that young girl. And who was she anyway? All the data he had concerning Galen pointed to him being gay. There was never any mention about him being interested in women. Could his information be wrong? Was Galen bisexual and not entirely gay? Somehow that thought alone upset Mike no end. He didn't like that at all.

If he was interested in the girl, then why did Galen take every opportunity to steal glances at him? The young man may have thought he was being discreet but to Mike who was at the club precisely to observe him, he was patently obvious. But if Galen was actually keen on him, then why did he act to the contrary? In fact he'd actually argued with his female companion about him. Unfortunately Mike was only able to get the gist of one side of their discussion. Lip-reading while useful, was quite limiting. Especially so, when half the time your target's lips are obscured by someone else. And what was he to make of Galen's mouthing those words, `I don't know what to do without you', at him?

He'd have to try his luck again that night. Hopefully, Galen will be there at The Cafe although why he should, was anybody's guess.

Meanwhile, the object of Mike's thoughts was himself deep in thought, doodling on a sheet of note paper twenty-five thousand feet above the Earth in his Boeing 747- 400C en route to Rio de Janeiro. A part of Galen was on the report from that city of the mysterious disappearances of the city's street children. Well, he knew what became of them. Hence his visit. The other part of him was lost in Never Never Land.

There was a soft ruffling sound from behind him. Then a discreet cough broke into his train of thought. He looked up and then smiled a warm smile of welcome to the person who'd disturbed him. She had hair as black as his, with an electric blue sheen to it. It fell in thick waves down her shoulders and some of it brushed Galen's face as she bent down by his seat. She was stunningly beautiful; fair of face, eyes a particular electric blue and lips to die for. She was dressed in a bluebottle green power suit.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked in a throaty voice, as she took a seat opposite him.

"Not really," he replied. "I was thinking about the missing children, . . . and of someone."

"Again?" She asked gently, as if she was familiar with this start to their conversation.

Galen smiled wryly. "It looks like it."

He looked away for a long minute to gaze at the passing clouds outside. Then sighing deeply, he turned back to his personal secretary. His voice was bleak when he said, "I don't think there's much we can do about the missing ones. But we can try to prevent the rest from suffering their fates."

He looked at her. "Tell me Gabrielle," he asked. "Do you think me foolish to go on the way I do?"

"Do you mean these causes you take a personal interest in, or do you mean the current object of your affections?"

"Both I guess . . . "

"Honestly?"

"Nothing but GOD's honest truth I beg of you."

"That's easy since I can't lie to you anyway." Gabrielle said with a smile. This was soon replaced by a slight frown of concentration as she seriously considered Galen's question. After what seemed like a long pause, she began slowly, "Well, you can't really help the way you feel. You are who you are. As I see it, it's a matter of focus. In the past you acted through proxies. However, you felt that your proxies weren't achieving the results you desired, and I don't blame you. The results spoke for themselves. So now you take a more personal approach. Only this time, what you lack in terms of scope and coverage, you gain in terms of effectiveness. And the best thing about this is that in most instances, the successes you achieve now, will last and will build upon themselves. But you keep getting the feeling that you're not doing enough. You're worried that in focusing on a few issues, you're losing the ever growing battle. You feel that you have so little time in which to do all that's needed to be done. After all, these lives of ours seem so short don't they? But don't forget, they're only as short as we allow them to be."

She glanced at Galen. "As for the other matter . . . We are all subject to the weaknesses of the Flesh in one way or another."

"I wish I were above it all. Since I can't have that, then I wish there was more happiness to be had. Is life really so lonely and sad? You'd have thought that money which everyone seems to crave so much, and which I have in abundance, would be able to buy me an ounce of true happiness. It doesn't."

"Some people are perfectly happy to have even a billionth of what you have. It's just that your priorities are different from theirs. You already have your financial security. Now what you seek is emotional security. You can manipulate the one, but you're stopping yourself from doing the other."

"Is it so wrong to want something to be freely given? I don't want a reluctant love slave."

"Some people are thankful to have even that. But nooo . . . That's not for you. You want a willing love slave."

"That's not true! I don't want any love slave. I just want someone to love and who will for once, love me back unconditionally."

"You may want that, but that doesn't mean you'll get it. Few are they who are lucky enough to get what they wished for." Gabrielle said. Then seeing Galen's sharp look, she sighed and continued. "All I'm saying is that you might still get your love slave. The only thing is that he won't be a reluctant one. And since you've given Fate free rein, that may be precisely what you might get. But at least he'll be better than all those parasites who've latched onto you in the past."

Galen glared at her.

Smirking back at him, she asked. "So, who's this new man in your life then?"

Galen edged the note paper he'd been doodling on toward Gabrielle. She glanced at the one name which had been repeatedly written on the paper.

"Hmmm . . ." She mused. "Michael O'Connor. Know anything about him?"

"More than I care to my dear." He retorted.

"You mean you only skimmed the surface."

"That was quite enough, thank you."

"Another lost cause?"

"It appears so."

"Then why are you still fixated on him?"

"I don't know." Galen said. "I really don't know. Maybe it's because he's caught me at a particularly vulnerable period of my life. Like, I have this desperation for a relationship, a permanent one? I somehow feel that he's different from the others. At least, I'd like to think he is. To be honest Gabrielle, on a purely physical level, he's the only one so far who's managed to push all my buttons, so to speak. But I'm getting mixed signals from him though. Certainly I'm having mixed feelings about him myself. My head tells me he's trouble, but my heart says otherwise."

"After all the troubles your wayward heart has led you to and you'd still listen to it? Who is he anyway?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to go in too deep. But I do know what he is."

"Okay, so what is he?"

"A hitman."

"A what?"

"He's an assassin for an US quasi-government agency called The Firm. An agency that's so hush-hush that even the President himself doesn't know that it exists."

"Oh, one of those autonomous outfits that are almost a law unto themselves."

"Yes. And I have reason to believe that they've `sicced' him onto me."

"The Asian crisis?"

"What else? They had a clandestine meeting at the Pentagon just two weeks ago. Some of the big guns were there. I'm only surprised that the National Security Adviser wasn't in on it as well. But knowing him, he most likely sent a proxy. They probably see me as a maverick that's a national threat. I can't blame them since my intervention did cause a huge market upheaval in the country, and a flight of capital. But it's no more than their bully-boys deserve. Just think of the multitudes who were suddenly made jobless by their irresponsible speculation. Even if they did it at the behest of their government, it's still uncalled for when so many innocent millions have to suffer deprivation. Trouble is, when they do it, it's a piece of adroit business' but when I do it, it's economic terrorism'. Talk about double standards."

"Do you think he's sent to . . . well . . . assassinate you?"

"Maybe not at first. Most likely they would have received reports from their counterparts at the Mossad that I'm not that easy to kill." At which Galen smiled a really wicked smile.

"I think it's more likely that he's been sent to worm his way into my affections and get as much information about me as he can before they decide on the next move. He'll probably be looking to get his hands on my hair follicles or dead skin flakes or the like."

"And if you allow him to `worm' his way in, maybe he won't have to go that far. I'm told their laboratories can do wonders with mere milligrams of sperm samples."

"Really Gabrielle. How crudely put! I thought I taught you better than that."

It was then Gabrielle's turn to smile wickedly.

"Okay, enough about my problems. How did your interview with Jade go today?"

"I like the girl. She'll work out just fine. I don't think we'll have any problems with her after this slight deviation from her intended path. And her three younger brothers are potential candidates for our enterprise as well. They probably won't need our direct intervention as with their sister, but I don't need to tell you they'll be great additions to our efforts."

"Jade, a world-renown Pediatrician; Jacob, an Engineer; Jedediah, a Missionary Priest in the Amazons; and lastly, Jeremiah who will be a Democrat Senator. A fine family indeed. And to think the silly girl thought she'd be doing her family a favor by turning tricks on the streets of San Francisco." Said Galen.

"She told me that she was going to look for a job as a waitress."

"No doubt. But that didn't stop her from getting into my limousine. Oh she knew, or thought she knew, the score alright. I think she'd decided quite early on that she might have to resort to prostituting herself to keep body and soul together while she looked for work. I know she didn't have all that much money on her when she came down from the bus. She may have intended to get a legitimate job, but will those predators that haunt the `Frisco bus depot let her? I somehow doubt it. Speaking of those predators, I hope you took good care of them?"

"Oh no, Uriel did. I just hope they like where Uriel put them since they won't be leaving for a long time to come. As for the young ones who came through the bus depot, some will be reunited with their families. The ones who are past reconciliation I have had our people send them to the shelters which Eden operates. Some will need counseling, while others we can set on their feet almost immediately. They will all be taken care of according to your wishes."

"Good."

Chapter Six

He'd been away for almost two and a half weeks, and he'd been feeling wound up and angry for almost as long. It had been a bad business in Rio and the same could be said of Sao Paulo as well. That had been next on Eden's list.

He'd been met by Hafniel, one of Eden's representatives in Brazil and had gotten down to business almost immediately. It seemed an easy task to begin with. Just identify the culprits responsible for the disappearances and replace them. Unfortunately, some of those identified were quite prominent in Rio and to replace them without making a stir within the community, much less amongst their vociferous newspaper reporters was nigh unto impossible. Hence a more subtle approach was called for.

Galen had ended up spending the whole of his stay in Rio shut away in his penthouse on top of the thirty-floored building which was the Eden Foundation's bureau Headquarters for the Mercosur countries. When he emerged, his mood was thunderous but the parties responsible for the disappearances of the street children in Rio were finally dealt with. It had required quite an extensive reality adjustment, something he hated to do because it involved so many nitty-gritty details and there were only so many details the human mind could cope with. Nevertheless, even with that limitation, he had managed it. What upset him was that he had to go so far back to begin his unraveling and repairs. He'd discovered that while the perpetrators' actions were unforgivable, they were themselves to a certain extent, products of the environment they grew up in; an environment that had been made worse through successive generations of violence, self- serving and neglect. He didn't know if he could trust himself to carry on after Sao Paulo, and venture further on into the overcrowded cities of the South Americas. He was afraid his anger might get the worse of him, causing him to do something regrettable.

In the end he'd sent for Uriel. He was a huge mountain of a man with a placid nature that was slow to anger. He was calm and collected, and could be depended upon to carry out his task with far less risk of losing his cool than Galen. Even if he did, he didn't have the wherewithal to inflict the kind of damage Galen could. Besides, he had a way with children, to which even Galen had to admit he was a poor second. He could be trusted to do his best for the street children once their immediate threat of extinction by secret hit-squads was dealt with. Galen had given him carte-blanche to do as he saw fit.

So three weeks after he'd last seen Galen at The Cafe, Mike O'Connor walked into the club one Saturday night to find him sitting alone in a corner, watching the dancers strut their stuff on the dance-floor. Mike had almost lost all hope of meeting him there. He'd come to the club every night until the bartenders there knew him by sight if not by name. He'd also developed an unenviable reputation. After a few brave souls had actually propositioned him to their regret, word got around that he was no more than a straight voyeur who got his kicks from watching the gay crowd at their antics. In the end he was left to his own devices and treated with contempt by the regulars.

It got so that he'd actually begun to try working out his chances of ever seeing his quarry again considering the fact that the latter was wealthy enough that he could choose to be in any gay club he wished all around the world. Yet at the end of the second week, when he'd reported back to Headquarters that his stakeout at the club had drawn yet another blank, he'd been told by Mazurkiewicz to stick with it. Apparently Galen had been sighted in Sao Paulo. What exactly he was doing there no one at the Firm was quite sure, but they thought it might have something to do with the incidences of mass disappearances of street children there. His appearance in the city had suddenly put a stop to it.

Not for the first time, Mike wondered at the priorities of the people he worked for. If a person like Galen was out to do some good for the world, why did they regard him as their number one threat? Could it be because Galen was not in their control and could never be? It was a pity that they were in opposite camps. He could get to like a guy like Galen. Hell, if he were really honest with himself he'd say he liked the young guy a whole lot already. The dossier on him gave a detailed list of all his projects around the world and there wasn't any that Mike could fault him for. If anything, they made Mike like him all the more.

He approached Galen hoping he wouldn't receive the kind of treatment he'd been dishing out to some of the regulars at the club. He was surprised to discover that he actually wanted to get to know the guy. How this was going to affect the performance of his duty to the Firm, he didn't know. And for the first time since he started out with The Firm, he didn't much care either.

"Hello." He said. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Ehh?" Galen looked up, startled out of his reverie. When he saw who it was, he gave a curious, sad little smile and shrugged. "Not at all, be my guest."

Mike didn't know what came over him but all of a sudden, seeing the sad wistful smile on his quarry's face, he just felt like cuddling the young guy close to him and not letting him go, ever. God, but the guy was even more beautiful up close, and in real life, than in the dream he had that night. The very thought of it brought blood rushing to his cheeks and brought a stiffening in his crotch. The subject of his strange thoughts missed his blush however, having turned his attention back to the dance-floor. There were a few of the dancers there whom Mike recognized as having been turned down by him. They had probably felt at the time the way he did just then. It was certainly not a very good sign to have the person you're trying to chat up turn his attention from you.

Mike tried another tack. "Can I buy you a drink?" He asked. He didn't know what the usual gay pick-up lines were but this usually got him positive results with women.

It certainly got Galen's attention. He turned and looked at Mike, then asked him in return, "Are you trying to chat me up?"

But there was a twinkle in his eye when he asked the question which gave Mike more confidence to go on. Always a straightforward guy who had more than his fair share of confidence, he somehow felt cowed by the man who was ten years his junior. Still, he managed a sheepish grin and confessed, "Well it looks like it doesn't it? Will you say yes?"

There, he'd said it.

"Yes to what?" Again the twinkle in the eye. "Yes to the drink or yes to being chatted up by you?"

"Both?" This time he added a somewhat hopeful leer.

This made Galen laugh. He said, "I think I'll play it safe for the moment and just settle for the drink."

"Okay by me," Mike quickly agreed, somewhat relieved that things were going that smoothly. Sure, he was supposed to fit the type that Galen went for, but that was according to the opinion of the person who'd made up the dossier on Galen. But suppose he went only for blonds? Or maybe he went for dark-haired guys? There's no accounting for some people's tastes.

In his eagerness to get them their drinks he almost tipped their table over. That he was Galen's `conquest' was quite obvious to the few he'd turned down nights ago. After they'd gotten over their astonishment, they threw Galen some murderous looks from the dance floor. Galen meanwhile took them in his stride. If they only knew how he wished he was anywhere else but with Mike. However since Mike had more or less cornered him, and he didn't feel up to meddling with anybody's mind that evening, he'd see how things went before he decided on a course of action. He wished he'd chosen another place in which to unwind after the events in Brazil but he was not about to leave San Francisco just yet and The Cafe had the kind of easygoing atmosphere he liked. Besides, the deejay there played great dance tracks.

The presence and the looming shadow from behind him told him that Mike was back with their drinks. He had a Bud in one hand and a Coke in the other. He offered Galen the Coke. When Galen eyed the Coke and raised an eyebrow at him, Mike grinned sheepishly and said, "I saw you drinking the stuff the other night you were here, and since I'd forgotten to ask your preference just now, I didn't think I'd go far wrong if I got that for you." Then he hastily added, "But if you want something alcoholic, I can always get you something else . . . "

"No, the Cola's fine, thank you." Galen said, accepting the offered drink.

He took a long sip from it and then leaned back against his seat to look speculatively at Mike. He mused. "So, you saw me here the other night, huh? Let's see. Hmm . . . The last time I was here was about three weeks ago. And you remembered what I drank then? Boy, I must have made quite an impression on you."

His tone made it sound as if he couldn't believe how he could make an impression on anyone, much less Mike. Talk about low self-esteem; but then everyone had their own idea of perfection. Obviously Galen didn't think he measured up to his own standards.

Mike sat across from Galen and allowed his eyes to scan his face and the dark suit he was wearing. He said with a crooked smile, "Well I guess you could say that I was favorably impressed. You weren't exactly inconspicuous you know. You were in your tux, the only guy in here that night dressed in a tux, and we bumped into each other as you were getting your drinks out from the bar. That sort of thing does tend to stick in one's mind. It certainly did in mine. Besides your partner was also pretty stunning in her red cocktail dress."

"Yes, Jade was stunning in that."

"You two make a beautiful pair and all. It's almost as if . . . Umm . . .Well . . . Are you . . .?" Mike began, then faltered and his face flushed red with embarrassment. It was not precisely the kind of question he wanted to ask but somehow the words came tumbling out from his lips anyway. He had to know.

". . . Lovers?" Galen finished the question for Mike. He had an amused look on his face. He'd never seen a grown man blush so prettily as Mike and sought to ease his embarrassment. "The answer is no. If you must know, I'm one hundred percent queer, although I can't say the same for everybody here." Galen finished, giving Mike an appraising look which made him wonder if the last was a jibe aimed at him.

"Having said that," Galen continued, "I don't think being gay should preclude me from having friends of the opposite sex. Far from it, some of my best friends are women. Or did you think that I was bisexual?"

"It did cross my mind." Mike replied.

"Well, I suppose I can't really fault you for thinking so. I mean, people are not always what they seem are they?"

Once again, Mike had the uncomfortable feeling that Galen was making a jibe at him.

"What do you mean?" He hazarded a question.

"It's quite obvious that you're new to the area or you'd know. What I mean is that, although basically a gay nightspot, The Cafe is a place where you can find gays, bisexuals and even straights enjoying themselves in the company of their friends. And unless someone is really overt, which I guess means more than half of those here," Galen laughed. "You'd be hard-pressed to tell who is what."

"Oh."

"But what's so neat about this place is that its DJ's play great dance tracks and the atmosphere here is friendly and nonthreatening. And while sometimes strangers do meet and end up going home with each other here, it's basically not a pick-up joint. Which in the end, is probably why I like it so much."

"Oh, so you're not here to cruise then?" Mike asked jokingly.

Galen looked at him, then answered in a serious tone, "No."

"What happens if the opportunity presents itself?"

"What do you mean `if the opportunity presents itself'?"

"I mean, what if someone is interested in you?"

Galen took a long drink from his glass of Coke, then looked back up at Mike, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He ventured softly, "Someone, as in you . . . ?"

Mike smiled back sheepishly and shrugged his wide shoulders, and said, "Erm . . . Well . . . I guess you could say that."

"Oh!"

"Well?"

"I'm sorry. My gaydar must be off tonight. I had you pegged for a straight. Imagine that."

`Shit! He knows!' A tiny voice within Mike screamed at him, even as outwardly he displayed no hint of how affected he was by Galen's words. On the off chance that Galen had meant nothing by his words, Mike thought he'd brazen it out and see what happened next. "Yeah, imagine that," he echoed Galen, barking out a laugh that sounded uncomfortably false even to his own ears.

All of a sudden, it seemed very important to Mike that Galen should believe that he was gay, and it came as a surprise to himself that this need had nothing to do with his assignment for The Firm. He asked again, "Well . . . What if I were interested . . . ? Will I have a chance with you?"

"That depends . . ." Galen began, then allowed his sentence to trail off, following it only with a smile that hinted at gentle irony. Then he turned away from Mike to watch the dancers strut their stuff.

Mike felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest at Galen's lukewarm response. He was also overcome by an unaccustomed feeling of fear and desperation that Galen might not be at all interested in him. He tried to imagine what it would be like if he never saw Galen again, and found that he couldn't; not without feeling an acute sense of loss and emptiness. Was that how those he'd rejected felt? Or did they just shrug it off as par for the course, something which was to be expected when one went cruising in a gay nightspot? Mike, being in the profession he was in, managed to mask his feelings admirably. Still he was not consummate enough to keep his voice entirely free of how he felt at the moment. Galen picked up on that, even through the loud music, and wondered.

"You don't sound very eager," Mike said quietly. "It's me right? Am I being too pushy here? If I'm not your type and you feel that I'm bothering you, just tell me and I'll leave you alone."

Galen looked at Mike and wondered once again at him. What he'd said was couched in the bravado of a proud man bracing himself for rejection. As if offering up excuses why Galen might not be interested in him would lessen the humiliation, or even the pain of the rejection. Maybe he felt it was better to make a graceful exit than to be shown the door. But behind that valiant gesture, Galen was intrigued to sense a thick vein of misery and fear. Galen wished he could probe deeper just to be sure but he'd made a promise to himself that he'd only do so with a proven foe. So far, Mike had not shown himself to be anything beyond a potential friend. But that was Mike's job, wasn't it? To get close to him and find out his weaknesses so that Mike could report back to The Firm. Maybe he'd be the one The Firm chose to deal the killing blow. If so, should he even be giving Mike the time of day let alone suddenly feel sorry for him?

Unfortunately, while his head may give wise counsel, it was Galen's heart which ruled. Instead of taking up on Mike's kind offer of a way out, he found himself explaining himself to Mike. His heart told his head that if it wasn't Mike it would be someone else. If The Firm wanted him, be it alive or dead, they wouldn't stop just because he gave Mike O'Connor the brush off. They were bound to send someone else after him. So, better the Devil he knew, than the Saint he didn't. Besides, Mike was all that he could have asked for as a suitor, even if it was all pretend and he was as straight as they came. It couldn't hurt to lead him on a merry dance and enjoy oneself in the process at the same time, could it?

He continued to quietly examine Mike who'd remained in his place, for all his offer to leave Galen to himself, and allowed himself the luxury of memorizing every detail of his handsome bearded face. His twilight blue eyes were gentle with some hidden sadness, as they gazed into the assassin's deep forest green ones.

"I'm sorry." He began cautiously. "I came here just to enjoy the music and maybe dance a bit should the mood strike me. I didn't come here expecting to be picked up and to be truthful, I'm not that keen to be picked up. Please understand, it has nothing to do with whether you're my type or not. If you must know, you are just my type and I find you very attractive, and I'm not saying this as a preliminary to giving you the kiss off. I am really flattered that you're interested in me. But as I said just now, it all depends . . . I mean, it depends on what you were expecting when you first approached me. If it's just for a one night stand, then I'm sorry you've wasted your time here with me. I'm not into one night stands. Frankly, I've had enough of casual pickups to last me a life time."

"Okay, I've got no problems with that," Mike said. "So I guess there's still hope for me yet then?"

"What's that?"

Now that he thought he knew where he stood with Galen, Mike felt a burst of optimism within himself. He shrugged his wide shoulders and gave Galen a shy, hopeful smile, " I said I guess there's still hope for me yet then."

"Oh."

"Look," Mike hastened to add. "I really would like to get to know you better."

"You do?"

"Hell yes! Or else I wouldn't have come up to you in the first place. So, can we be friends?"

"If we can get through tonight without either of us taking a knife to the other, I guess we can be friends." Galen said, smiling.

"And will you say yes to going out for a meal with me sometime?" Mike asked with a shit-eating grin.

"Hold on a minute," Galen protested. "Seems to me like you're trying to capitalize on an advantage here. Next you'll be trying to get me into bed with you!"

"Aww shucks! You saw through my little ploy there." Mike said jokingly but privately, he was surprised and shocked that the very idea of sleeping with the good- looking young man before him actually appealed to him. This was certainly a far cry from the revulsion he'd felt when Peter Mazurkiewicz first brought up the matter that he might have to bed Galen in order to get at his secrets.

"Yeah right," Galen said dryly. "Well, just so as you know that I'm only committing myself to friendship."

"Of course, being butthole buddies is a form of friendship ain't it?" Mike declared with a lascivious grin.

"You wish!" Galen responded, laughing at Mike's rude choice of words.

"Ever since I saw you that night," came Mike's swift rejoinder, once again surprising himself that he actually meant what he'd said.

Galen laughed again. "You never let up do you?"

"Nope." Mike grinned at him. "So, how about dinner with me huh?!"

"One thing at a time please. We hardly know each other."

"Well now is as good a time as any for us to get to know one another. Besides, I'd have thought a dinner would be the best occasion for people to get to know each other. But we'll have it your way. Anything for the love of my life."

Galen raised an eyebrow at that last declaration, only to be met with an unrepentant and rakish grin from Mike. The latter then said, "Look, can we go somewhere quieter? The music is fine for dancing, but it's too loud to hold any meaningful conversation here."

"Well, we can go over to the balcony. It should be quieter there."

"Fine with me. Do you want another drink? Another Coke?" Mike asked, indicating Galen's empty glass.

Galen looked at him. Then smiled and nodded a yes.

That night, they took their first awkward steps toward friendship. Awkward for Galen because he still wasn't sure if he was making a huge mistake getting involved with someone who might one day be expected to kill him. What more when he could feel himself falling like a tonne of bricks for the big guy. Yet all good sense flew out the window when he was with Mike.

The situation was not all that far different with Mike either because all his professional instincts screamed against becoming involved in any capacity with a potential target; one whom it seemed he was getting to more than just like with each passing minute of their acquaintance. Unfortunately, professional instincts took a back seat as far as Galen was concerned. Even worse, straight he may have considered himself to be, Mike thought he might actually be falling for the beautiful young man. Could a straight guy suddenly turn gay for a man, even if that man was unearthly beautiful? Could one actually fall in love so quickly?

But that's life, and stranger things have been known to happen.

Chapter Seven

"Rise and shine!" A cheerful voice broke into his dreams followed by the sound of drawn curtains, as his world burst into light.

He opened one bleary eye, saw who it was, then promptly closed it again and snuggled deeper into his blanket and sheets.

"Come on, wake up. It's almost 12.00 noon. You should have been up ages ago. The faithful have already been to church and back while you're still stuck in your bed."

"Oh please leave me be Gabrielle," Galen mumbled from within the folds of his blanket. "Let the faithful do as they've always done, listen devoutly to their priest for one Sunday morning then promptly go back to their sinning. I would prefer to promptly go back to sleep!"

"Come on, Hannah's fixed you a delicious lunch and you don't want to upset her by missing it altogether now would you?"

There was a further burrowing into his bedding. Then he stopped. After a few minutes, Galen finally surfaced; his hair a mess. "Oh all right." He said resignedly. "Anything for Hannah. Speaking of whom, how did you manage to get past her?"

"I'll have you know I came in here by conventional means. She let me in."

"Oh she did, did she? I see I will have to remind her about not to letting anyone, and I do mean anyone, interrupt my communion with the Heavens on Sunday mornings!"

"Oh please don't be cross with her. She's only human. She can't help herself. I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Besides, she's as anxious as I am to find out what happened to you last night."

Galen sighed. "Nothing happened last night!" He protested.

"That's not what I heard from Geoffrey. You stayed on at The Cafe until closing time. And that's never happened before. Usually you only stay there for no more than an hour."

Galen groaned. "Geoffrey too? This is intolerable! Betrayed by my own household!"

"They all have your interest at heart. And well you know that! So what gives? I guess you met up with Mr. Mike O'Connor last night then? I think Geoffrey did mention a giant of a man leaving at the same time as you did."

"Yes I did meet him, and no, it was not planned. He approached me and asked me if he could buy me a drink. Well, I couldn't be rude, could I? Besides, I'm cheap. I never pass up on a free drink! Anyway, we engaged in conversation and that's that. Now, if you'll allow me to make myself presentable? I don't want to upset Hannah by being late for lunch."

He shooed Gabrielle out of his bedroom, got out of bed and went into his bathroom to get ready for the day.

Mike's day was spent preparing a full report of his meeting with Galen and what transpired between them. Pete Mazurkiewicz had wanted him to get himself wired so that he could get everything on tape but he'd refused. He was glad he'd done so. His excuse was that there was a chance that Galen was paranoid enough to have a bug detector around and he didn't want to spook the guy. The truth was that being wired meant that his part of any conversation with Galen would be on tape as well, and with that kind of material there would be no telling what the Firm's spin doctors could do. He'd just as soon the Firm didn't have anymore material than it already had, to use on him when he finally decided to quit. He'd always had a suspicion that the Firm would renege on their agreement to let him go when he finally decided to call it a day. Pete Mazurkiewicz's intentional distortion of his working relationship with The Firm the other day seemed to bear his suspicions out.

Since meeting and getting to know Galen, he'd felt finally ready to call it quits. He'd never liked the killing which he was sometimes called upon to do, but had often tried to rationalize it away as his duty to his country. It was easy enough to do so when he was young and naive. But as the years went by, it became increasingly difficult for him to justify the killings when it was so obvious to him that most of them were carried out for reasons that had little or nothing whatsoever to do with national security. With any luck, there would be no killing required this time around. He would prefer not to think of the choices he would have to make if in the event he was ordered to waste Galen.

He'd managed to get hold of the glass which Galen drank from. It was sealed in a sample bag which was labeled, ready to be despatched to The Firm along with the report. Maybe the guys at the lab would be able to get a saliva sample out of it and do something with it. Then again, maybe not. Mike could care less. All he could think of at the moment was the coming evening.

On the balcony, at The Cafe the night before, after he'd returned with another round of drinks for them, Mike had finally introduced himself. Going against standard operating procedures, he'd used his real name instead of one of his countless aliases. Even so, somehow he had the feeling that Galen already knew who he was. At any rate, Galen had then introduced himself with an amused air as if to say, "Well that's me, as if you didn't already know."

After their introductions to each other, Mike had once again asked Galen to have dinner with him. He'd even surprised himself by reaching out to hold Galen's hand when he posed the question. It felt so natural, so right. Mike could still recall the slender hand within his rough and larger paw, the softness under his gently caressing thumb. He was gratified that Galen hadn't drawn his own hand away but instead had allowed the hand to remain in his. If he suffered to allow Mike to hold his hand and even allowed himself be caressed, if only by Mike's thumb, did it mean . . . ? Mike hoped so, and not for the first time, wondered at himself and his confused feelings.

"I'd really like for us to meet again." He'd begun simply, and he meant every word of it. "Will you have dinner with me sometime, or maybe catch a show or something? Whatever you like. What do you say?"

"When?"

Just that. One word. Softly spoken, and it meant the whole world to him. At first he'd thought he'd misheard it, so geared to getting a negative response from Galen. It must have shown on his face because Galen had given him a rather cheeky smile and then repeated himself, this time somewhat louder.

"I asked when. When would you like for us to meet or have dinner, or to catch that show?"

"Oh . . . Err . . . What would you say to tomorrow?" Mike had asked hopefully.

"That you're a fast worker?" Came Galen's smartass reply. "Or are you working on a tight schedule?"

Mike had immediately backtracked, thinking he'd put Galen off by being too overeager. "What? Oh! No, no I'm in no hurry at all. I guess tomorrow's too soon huh?! Well, someday next week then? Whichever day's convenient to you?"

"Oh no. Tomorrow's fine with me," Galen had laughed, his voice strong and masculine, yet music to Mike's ears and apologized. "Sorry about that wisecrack, I hope you're not pissed off or anything. I meant that as a joke."

Mike had grinned, his sheepish grin and said. "Well I'm still here, aren't I? And I haven't chewed you out for that dig of yours. So, I guess I'm not too upset."

His hand still caressed Galen's. A hard, squarish looking hand, more like a paw really, with red fur thickly covering its back from where the hand emerged from the long sleeve of a beige sweater, extending to the second knuckles. And yet it was not all that rough to the touch, although by no means as soft as Galen's. It was the hand of a man who still remembered its harsh origins but have not seen hard work for many a year. Probably the only hard work encountered was when breaking the windpipe of a target, or pulling the ends of a garotte tight.

Galen had gazed at Mike's thumb as it made circular motions on the back of his hand. He'd said, almost to himself, in a speculative manner, "Well I'd hate to see you get upset. I'd hate to have those hands of yours wrapped around my neck."

Mike's thumb had suddenly stilled and an uncomfortable silence between them had ensued. Not so the general conversations around them which seemed to have grown intolerably loud. Galen had looked up from Mike's still hand and transferred his gaze to Mike's face, as if searching for an answer to the sudden awkward silence between them

Mike's own gaze, unfathomable but touched with hurt, finally caught his and holding it, he'd asked Galen in a quiet, serious manner, "Why did you say that?"

Galen had paused, and then in an apologetic tone of voice he'd answered, "I don't really know. I guess I've offended you now. I can't seem to say anything right tonight. I was noticing how your hand dwarfed mine and it just struck me that a person your size can do a lot of damage in a fit of anger. But I'm really sorry. I had no right to remark as I did."

Mike had taken a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. This time, without being the least bit self-conscious about it, he'd taken Galen's hand in both his, then looked earnestly at him and said, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a temper, or that I've never lost it on occasions. But please believe me when I say that you have no cause to fear me on that account, and you never will."

Perhaps Galen believed him, perhaps not. But at least he'd made no further comments. Mike had to wonder at Galen. He seemed to be a very cautious young man indeed. Or maybe he was just naturally pessimistic. He certainly seemed to anticipate the worst. Maybe having been in a few failed relationships could do that to one.

The potentially contentious issue resolved, or so Mike hoped, their conversation had returned to the matter of deciding what they wanted to do on Sunday. That led to something else and before long they were discovering more and more of each other. Perhaps it was Galen's way of making up for his unfortunate remarks but Mike would have had it no other way. He'd felt more alive, more happy that night than he'd been for a long, long time. Maybe this was love. He didn't care. Not anymore.

Galen spent his Sunday lunch being pumped for information by his personal secretary. In the end she managed to pry out of him the fact that he was indeed going to have dinner with Mike, and on that very Sunday night itself.

"Dinner eh? Sounds promising. So, who did the inviting?"

"Mike of course. Would I be that forward?"

"Well, there's always a first time for everything. So . . . , he invited you out for a meal. And on the very next night after a first meeting as well. Hmm . . . Either he's got it bad himself, which I have reservations about, or else he's running on a tight schedule."

"My words to him exactly, dear Gabrielle."

"The Firm's probably commandeered a restaurant for just such an occasion as this, so that they can collect your hair samples, skin flakes or the saliva that's left on the glassware. It's highly likely that they're due to hand the restaurant back to its owners and didn't want to extend their occupation of the place if they could get you to agree to dinner immediately. By the way, who chose the restaurant?"

"Mike chose the place but I think you're mistaken about his intentions this time. I didn't sense any dissembling from him when he asked me out last night and he was quite willing to change the date to suit me. So I guess his haste to have dinner with me tonight can't be because of any schedule he has to keep. Besides, The Firm would be wasting its time and the taxpayers' money if they were to go to all that trouble just to get those samples you mentioned. First of all, you know as well as I do that I don't shed. Secondly, I don't have dandruff. At least I've never noticed white flakes on my blacks. Thirdly, they could easily have taken my saliva samples from the glasses I drank from at The Cafe. In fact I'm reasonably sure that Mike had one of the glasses in his possession when we parted company last night and it's very likely being couriered to the Firm's headquarters in New York this very moment, much good that will do them of course."

"So, you're telling me that my caution in this instance is misplaced?"

"Essentially, yes. There may be cause for concern in the future, especially when they discover nothing out of the ordinary with my saliva samples. But for now? The only thing that concerns me at the moment Gabrielle, is where all this will lead." Galen sighed, his fork playing idly with a piece of boiled shrimp.

"What do you mean by `where all this will lead'?"

"I mean this personal interest in me. The dinner and all that."

"Ahh . . . ! You're not sure of this Mike are you?"

"I'm never sure of the men I care for, Gabrielle. With Mike, I'm not sure at all. That's what I hate about this life. It's so full of uncertainties."

"Well excuse me, but I seem to recall someone telling us, when he limited our use of clairvoyance for ourselves, that half the fun of living was in not knowing what awaits us just around the corner."

"That's right, kick a guy when he's down," Galen groused.

"Look, so Mike seems to be displaying all the signs of being interested in you now. Maybe he's for real or maybe he's just a consummate actor. But so what? It's early days yet. Give the guy a chance to show you his true colors. If he's the genuine article fine. If not, then forget him. I really don't think any man is worth all this `does he love me or does he not?' business that's going on with you. For Heaven's sake Galen, you hardly know the man and already it seems to me as if you're eating your heart out for him!"

"No, I'm not! I'm only wishing I knew where I stood with Mike that's all."

"Well, you're not going to know because you won't allow yourself to. And knowing you, I'd say you've probably already put up enough barriers before him to make it difficult for him to show you where you stood with him! I mean it's so like you. You say you're desperate for love, but you set impossible targets. When someone likely comes along, you work yourself up into a lather over him yet you're not willing to meet him halfway. And now this uncertainty about where you stand with someone you've only just got to know for less than 24 hours. All I can say is, spare yourself this unproductive speculation. If you won't do anything to address your situation, moaning about it certainly won't help."

"Thank you very much. What a comfort you've turned out to be." Galen said, dripping sarcasm. "No doubt that's why I have you as my personal secretary."

"You're very welcome," Gabrielle responded, laughing and unrepentant. "So, where is he taking you?"

Chapter Eight

Mike took Galen to a Chinese restaurant which was tucked away in the middle of San Francisco's Chinatown. It was not exactly the type of place you would take your dates to, not if they were ones whom you wanted to impress. Fortunately, when they'd arranged to have dinner at the place, Mike had told Galen to dress casual, as the restaurant had a very casual atmosphere. Looking around him, Galen had to admit that there was nothing formal at all with the way the place was run. It was essentially a `family' restaurant as attested to by the number of families, mostly Chinese, who were dining there that night. It was certainly an unpretentious place where the children were free to run amongst the diners. It was a wonder how the waiters and waitresses managed to avoid tripping over them. Even more of a wonder was that they tolerated it at all. And yet perhaps it was not so surprising considering the fact that they seemed to know the kids by name and were in turn greeted by the kids, as Uncle this and Auntie that.

The ambience of the place was one of amiable chaos. There was one girl who was fascinated by Mike's beard. She'd walked up to him to ask him if he was Santa and if he had dyed his beard so that he could spy on naughty children incognito. Her grandmother soon had her back at her family's table; the old lady apologizing profusely to Mike in Cantonese for her granddaughter's ill-mannered intrusion. She was pleasantly surprised, as was Galen, when Mike made light of the little girl's interruption of his dinner, all spoken in almost flawless Cantonese.

That Mike was able to speak Cantonese was hardly surprising considering what he did for a living. So could Galen, who was no slouch in the linguistics department either although in his case, he had an unfair advantage. What was surprising was that Mike chose to have dinner at all at that restaurant. It was obvious that he'd eaten at the place before and so knew what the place was like. Yet here he was, and with his date at that. Not that Galen minded the hubbub around him. In fact he really liked the whole setup. There was certainly nothing pretentious about it. The restaurant owner made no apologies for the fact that his place was meant mainly for families to have a dinner out together. There was no need for a reservation, no haughty maitre `d to show you to your place, no need for formal dress and most definitely, no policy which prevented you from bringing your kids along for the meal. The waiters and waitresses made you feel most at home, and the food was delicious. Truly authentic Cantonese cuisine as cooked by Chinese chefs for the Chinese palate.

Their dining out at Uncle Chen's that night revealed a little bit more of Mike to Galen. The latter was favorably impressed by Mike's obvious easygoing nature. Unless he was putting on a show for Galen, Mike appeared to be an unassuming sort. He'd made no complaint when the waitress misheard one of his orders and brought in a different dish, nor was he at all bothered by the little girl who thought he was Santa. In fact it seemed to Galen that he was actually pleased to have been approached by her. Galen guessed not many people did that. They were probably intimidated by his size or perhaps cautioned by some sixth sense which warned them that he was not safe to be around.

Galen thought that it must be a sad existence he led, to be alone either as a result of people's instinctive fear of him or because he wouldn't allow them to come too close to him because of his profession. He felt genuinely sorry for the guy.

There wasn't much conversation between them that evening not that it would've been possible considering where they were. However they made up for that lack with lingering looks at each other, and if it was true what was said about eyes being the windows into one's soul, then Galen truly had an eyeful of Mike's. He saw pride of possession in them, colored by a hint of self-doubt. Hunger was there and sweet yearning, tempered by fear, possibly of rejection or of the future. There was a tenderness there, of overwhelming love, and there was sorrow and regret. Galen saw too, the grim determination within those deep forest green eyes, and the resolve. But of deceit, he was surprised and very relieved to find no hint.

Even so, Galen was not prepared to have Mike know where he actually lived when he was in San Francisco. Not just yet anyway.

After dinner, Mike suggested that they went somewhere for coffee. Unfortunately, Galen had to decline, citing some urgent business which had to be attended to before Monday morning.

"Besides," Galen said. "Somehow I don't think, having coffee after a Chinese meal is right, do you?"

"Well, we could always have tea . . . "

"Yeah, tea would've been a better bet, but I really can't. Not tonight. Something came up this afternoon and I have to deal with it before tomorrow morning. In fact I have to leave soon. I'm sorry to spring this on you now, but well . . . I didn't expect we'd do anything more beyond dinner."

Galen looked across the table at Mike, but man's expression was unreadable. Shutters seemed to have been put in place so that his eyes told Galen nothing of how he felt about this abrupt end to what had been a lovely evening for both of them. Galen sighed. He wanted to explain a bit more because he felt he owed Mike at least that. However a part of him thought that it might only make things worse. Any further explanation would only sound like a pathetic excuse and he didn't want Mike to think that he was playing games with him; trying to be coy, or play hard to get, or whatever. And yet, if he was truly honest with himself, he did want to keep his distance with Mike; at least until he was very sure where they stood with each other.

In the end, he said nothing and just sat quietly, waiting for Mike's response.

Finally, after what seemed to Galen like an interminable wait, the silent and increasingly tense moment between them was broken by Mike's harsh intake of breath and its exhalation. The handsome, bearded man closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, training their emerald fire on Galen. Then, disregarding his surroundings, he reached across their table to take Galen's slender hand in his.

Galen winced at the powerful grip of the large man before him. It was a grip which was made all the more painful by the sudden burst of emotion in the man.

"Okay," Mike spoke in a soft husky voice. "Whatever you say. I won't push the issue. But I'd just like to say that I enjoyed my time with you tonight, and I'd very much like for us to meet again; if it's all right with you that is."

"I would like that very much Mike. And thanks for being so understanding. If it were me, I'd be really upset that the evening had to end so soon."

"Oh, don't think I'm not upset. I'm pretty much upset. But hey, I've got to impress my date by being calm and understanding, haven't I?" Mike declared with a wry smile.

"Just as well you didn't make a scene to show how upset you are. We're in a Chinese restaurant after all. It won't do to have the cook and his assistants come after you with meat cleavers and who knows what." Galen teased, making an attempt at levity to break the ice that had seemingly formed between them.

"You watch a lot of Hong Kong kungfu flicks don't you?" Mike asked, the bleak look on his handsome face softened with an indulgent smile.

"Oh, you mean my general reference to Chinese cooks, and their meat cleavers?" Galen chuckled, somehow reassured by Mike's smile. "Actually, I should think that there's some truth to that. After all, unless they're of the fantasy genre, most films are a reflection of real life. The only thing is they tend to overdramatize the mundane, with Hong Kong kungfu flicks tending to do that more so than others. Speaking of which, if you can comment as you did, you probably saw the same flicks I did."

Mike laughed. He released Galen's hand and signaled for the check. He insisted on picking up the tab for their dinner and would brook no argument from Galen, saying only that if Galen wanted, he could pay the next time.

"That is, there will be a next time won't there?" He asked, with an eyebrow arched in studied nonchalance, although his voice betrayed his worry and uncertainty.

"Sure, there will be a next time." Galen replied giving him a sharp glance. "Why? Do you think this is only going to be a one-off thing?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Boy, for a good-looking hunk of a man like you, you certainly don't seem very sure of yourself."

"Only where you're concerned, I'm not."

"You flatter me, Mike."

"But it's true. Usually, they fall all over themselves to get at me," Mike said, tongue-in-cheek, although it was really not all that far from the truth. "But you've somehow managed to withstand my devastating charm."

"You mean I'm one of the few individuals who've not fallen into bed with you at the drop of a hat." Galen qualified.

"What do you mean a few individuals? You're the only one who's shown such resilience and it's eating me up!"

Galen laughed. He enjoyed their mixture of teasing and flirting; that is, when they were not inadvertently stepping on each other's toes. He wondered though if Mike was by nature a sensitive person, or if Mike was only overly sensitive to his sometimes careless remarks because Mike considered him to be more than just an assignment. His heart quickened at the very idea, but just as swiftly his innate sense of low self-esteem kicked in. Naw, he thought. Someone like Mike could have the pick of anyone he wanted. He couldn't possible want to have anything to do with someone like him, much less, agonize over his trivial remarks. Besides, Mike was straight. Wasn't he?

"Come on," Mike said, breaking into his train of thought. "Let's get you to where you want to go." The bill was settled and they were ready to go.

They got up and made their way through the crowded tables, doing a remarkable job of avoiding the charging children who'd somehow initiated an impromptu game of tag. As they passed the cashier at the front, Mike tapped Galen's shoulder, saying, "Hang on a minute."

He turned and asked the Chinese girl at the cash register for a pen and a piece of paper while Galen waited, bemused. He tore the paper in two, then scribbled something onto one half. "Here," he said when he'd finished, slipping the piece of paper he'd written on into Galen's shirt pocket. "It's my phone number and address in case you want to give me a call, or visit, whatever . . . "

"And I suppose you want my contact number in return?" Galen remarked with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Well it's customary." Mike told him, pushing the pen and the balance half of the paper across the counter toward him.

"Okay, here's my phone number." Galen said, writing it down on the paper, then handing it over to Mike. "I'm usually home in the evenings. But if I'm not, there'll always be someone around to take a message."

"What? You're not giving me your home address? And after I've given you mine? If you ask me, I don't think that's fair." Mike declared, looking at the slip of paper in his hand with a mock pout on his face.

Galen just laughed and pushed open the restaurant's glass door to walk out into the cool summer night. He held the door open for Mike who followed him out. Then, the two of them made their way to where Mike had parked his old, beaten up Range Rover, about three blocks away.

As they walked toward the car in a companionable silence, Mike brought his right arm around Galen's shoulders and pulled him in close. Galen gave a sigh of contentment and leaned into the embrace, slipping his left arm around the back of Mike's waist. They walked thus into the night, and being where they were, blended in just nicely with the crowd.

"Mike . . . ?"

"Hmm . . . ?" Mike looked down to find Galen gazing up at him. It may have been the reflection from the countless neon billboards that lit the sidewalks of Chinatown, but he could have sworn that Galen's eyes were star-fields staring back at him.

"I'm sorry for not being more forthcoming about my home address."

"It's okay Galen. I understand. You probably didn't want me camping at your doorstep."

"Yes, well . . . What would the neighbors say?"

"There goes the neighborhood?"

They laughed at Mike's self-deprecating humor. Then, as they approached Mike's car, Galen said more soberly, "I'm hoping that you'll be patient with me. It's just that, having been through a few so-called relationships where I've ended up with the short end of the stick has made me a tad more cautious that's all."

"I know . . ." Mike murmured. "I know."

He buried his face in Galen's velvet soft hair, smelling blackcurrants in them, and kissed his head. He hugged the young man closer after that.

Chapter Nine

When they reached the battered Range Rover, Mike unlocked the door to his side of the car, got in and then leaned across to unlock and open the passenger's door for Galen. He got in and began to fasten his seat belt while Mike started the car up. Then, as the engine rumbled to life, Mike turned to him and asked, "Where would you like me to drop you off?"

Galen had arranged to meet Mike at the entrance of Tower Records downtown. From there, Mike had driven them to Chinatown. Now, he was wondering if Galen would ask to be dropped off at the nearest bus stop or subway entrance.

Instead, Galen asked Mike if he could be dropped off at the entrance of the Eden Foundation building. "It's on Van Ness, near St. Mary's Cathedral."

"No problem at all. I know the place." Mike said. "It's on my way."

He took the car out of its parking space, then kept to the left of the road to take the left turn at the next junction. They drove to Galen's destination in silence, with each caught up in his own thoughts. When they finally arrived, there was a moment of awkwardness as both men tried to figure out what to say to one another in parting without exposing too much of their own vulnerabilities. Galen's hand was at the door handle but he made no move to open it to get out. Mike meanwhile just sat at the wheel, staring at some infinite point in front of him, his breath sounding labored and loud within the confines of the car.

In the end, it was Mike who spoke. His voice sounded explosively loud after the long silence during the drive. "I'll give you a call during the week?" He asked.

"I'd like that very much," Galen replied. On an impulse, he suddenly leaned over toward Mike, took hold of his bearded chin in his left hand, turned the surprised man's face to him and closed the distance between them with a brief kiss on the lips. Then he was gone, leaving Mike in a daze, the ghost of the kiss only just registering on his brain.

Galen walked swiftly into the sanctuary of his building, amazed at his own temerity. Well, at least he didn't wait to see the disgust on Mike's face after the kiss. He was still convinced that Mike was straight, although the man did put up quite a credible act of being homosexually inclined. And he was so caring and considerate that Galen just couldn't resist the kiss. Well, if Mike was repulsed by the act of being kissed by another man, then he'd have to chalk it down as one of the occupational hazards of working undercover pretending to be a gay man.

Galen had to smile, even as that thought crossed his mind. Of course, he had no inkling at all that his assessment of Mike O'Connor was way off the mark. He truly had no idea of the effect he had on the redheaded bearded giant, nor was he aware that he'd just left the poor guy with a huge hardon and an itch he couldn't scratch. But then, Galen would never spy on the people he cared for, at least not through unorthodox means, and certainly not for his own benefit. And Mike? Well, Galen cared for him very much indeed, far more than he would care to admit.

Then again, not everyone had Galen's scruples. Certainly not his Chief of Intelligence. Certainly not the seraphically beautiful Raphael who was already awaiting Galen when he arrived at his penthouse.

"Had a nice evening hmm?" Asked the irrepressible eighteen-year-old as Galen walked into the huge apartment.

"And a good evening to you too, Raphael," retorted Galen as he made his way into the study where he promptly sat down on his favorite recliner and with a contented sigh, eased his trainers off with his feet. Then when he was comfortable, he turned to his Chief of Intelligence who'd followed him in, and said, "Your progress report on Jade and her family, please."

Raphael cleared his throat and began his report on Jade Branston and her family. He reported the surprise bequest of half a million dollars by the late and lamented Amelia Louise Calloway to her dear grandniece, Naomi, Jade's mother.

"Half a million huh? I believe I told you that she was to be bequeathed a `small sum'. I hardly think half a million dollars is exactly a small sum."

"Trust me, Galen," Raphael said placatingly. "In this day and age, that is a small sum. Besides, I thought she'd need a wee bit more to help her put Jade's brothers through college."

"Didn't I arrange for them to have scholarships when the time came? Or did it slip my mind?"

"No, Galen. You were very explicit in your instructions. Even so, every little bit counts."

"I suppose you've got a point there. So she gets the half million. I only hope she didn't get her share from someone deserving of it; although from what I know of the Calloways, I'd say I'd be hard put to pick one who was more deserving than Naomi. So, whose share did she get it from if I may hazard to ask?"

"Oh, some lowlife nephew who's lived off the old lady for the better part of twenty years. By my reckoning, what Naomi Calloway got from dear departed Amelia Louise doesn't even come close to what's been sponged off by that sponger."

"So he's left with nothing?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. He did get her collection of prettily colored sea-sponges after all."

"Hmm . . . How ironically appropriate. Did he appreciate their meaning?"

"Her will was very explicit."

"I suppose I can attribute all that to your acute sense of justice?"

Raphael reserved comment but smiled wickedly, if it were possible to say that with the beatific face he had.

"Right, so the nephew's left with almost nothing. All I want to know is this. Will Eden have his suicide on its collective conscience?"

"Naw . . . Clifford Devante is far more likely to die by another's hand than by his own, and violently too, I'd wager. That man's not poor by any means. It's just that he finds it more to his financial advantage to use his aunt's money than his own."

"Oh. And I thought he was destitute."

"Far from it."

"Drugs?"

"Cocaine."

"Colombian connection?"

"Possibly. But at the moment he's dealing with a particularly vicious local gang and I think his run of good luck with them has just about run its course."

"I see. Not only was he sponging off his aunt, he's also cheating on his `associates'."

"You've certainly got that in a nutshell!" Raphael grinned.

Galen had to shake his head at his Chief of Intelligence's cheery attitude. Raphael never seemed to take his work seriously and oft times his outlook on life in general, and on his work in particular, ran counter to the `by the book' and conservative culture at Eden. Yet for all his seeming frivolity, Galen would be the first to admit that his intelligence work was impeccable.

"You did good, dear Raphael." Galen said.

"I exist only to do your bidding."

"Flatterer!" Galen laughed at Raphael's sycophantic posturing, knowing full well that his Chief of Intelligence existed only to do as Raphael bade. Still chuckling, he made himself comfortable on his recliner. Once he was comfortable enough, he closed his eyes meditatively. "Okay. That's Jade's family sorted out satisfactorily. Now tell me," he began. "Tell me what you can of Mike O'Connor."

Raphael walked across the room and sat down in a leather armchair. Resting his elbows on the chair's arms, he leaned into the softness of the seat. He closed his eyes for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. Then, seconds later, he opened his eerie, gray mirrorlike eyes, and began his recitation.

"Michael Donovan O'Connor, late of Eagle, Colorado, was born on the 10th of May 1963, of third generation Irish immigrant parents Robert O'Connor and Mary Joyce. The eldest of three siblings, he's 35 years old. He has a brother, Luke who is 30 and a sister, Sarah who's 24. He had his education mainly in Eagle but was in college at Harvard on a sports-scholarship."

"A jock was he?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Meaning?"

"Well, he was no slouch on the football field, certainly a great quarterback, but he was also a grade `A' student."

"Oh."

"And here's something that you might find interesting. He actually went to Harvard Divinity School."

"He what?!" Galen opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Raphael. He wasn't quite sure if he heard him right.

"No, you didn't hear me wrong. Your pet assassin was a Theology major " Raphael confirmed with an ironic smile. "It does lend a certain soupcon of perversity to the matter does it not? Who would have guessed that one of The Firm's most successful killers had initially studied to be a man of God?"

"Just because someone chooses to major in Theology doesn't mean he wants to be a priest."

"True, but in Mike's case, he did have every intention of taking the cloth when he completed his studies. He was after all, a scion of a rather devout Irish Catholic family and had as an example, a distant uncle who actually served as a secretary to the previous Pope at the Holy See."

"I guess that would have been Monsignor Duncan O'Connor of County Durham, Ireland. No wonder I felt like I knew Mike from somewhere before. He has his uncle's burly stature and russet coloration, and his open, innocent looks."

"Well, tainted innocence at best, I'm afraid."

"That's true." Galen sighed. "What happened to turn him into what he is now? When I first met him, I had the impression he was not very happy with his work. However, I'd put that down to the fact that he had probably been instructed to play at being gay to worm his way into my confidence. I can well imagine how that would have made a rampant, bona fide heterosexual feel. But now that you've mentioned his earlier intention to join the priesthood, I think I begin to understand his unhappiness. I just wonder if it has anything to do with his sister as well. There was always this sense of guilt hovering around him, and it always involved a young female relative whom I thought might be his sister. I didn't want to probe any further although perhaps I should have. But I didn't think it was right to do so."

"Well, you know me. I don't have your scruples Galen, which I guess is why I make such a well of information for you." Raphael's flawless beauty screwed up into an impish grin which he directed at Galen.

"Not to mention a trial on my patience," Galen retorted tartly. "Now, please, what happened?"

"You're right of course. It was his sister. During his sophomore year at Harvard Divinity, Sarah O'Connor contracted cerebral meningitis. The O'Connors weren't exactly poor white trash, but neither were they rich. They didn't have health insurance, that's for sure."

"I guess this is where The Firm comes into the picture? How fortuitous that they should be at hand to be of assistance. I mean, cerebral meningitis is quite a virulent disease. Within 24 hours of infection, a victim of the disease could well be dead. How could The Firm know so soon of her condition much less arrange for her to receive appropriate treatment?"

"Pure luck I guess. Or perhaps our pre-Eden operatives were doing their jobs for once."

"Oh?"

"The Firm already had its eye on Mike O'Connor since his high school days. He was spotted during one of their nationwide trawls for new blood to boost their ranks. And Mike, being very athletic as well as brainy, and of course poor, made a very desirable candidate as far as The Firm was concerned. They weren't very happy with his career choice, but hey, such things could easily be taken care of couldn't they?"

"So, The Firm was following Mike's progress through high school and into college, and at the same time keeping tabs on his family?"

"Yes. Which was just as well because, when Sarah was diagnosed as having contracted cerebral meningitis, The Firm was on hand to provide timely and much needed assistance."

"At a price of course."

"Why certainly. They made Mike an offer he couldn't refuse. But it must be said that they did make the deal even more palatable by appealing to his sense of patriotism and all. However, they failed to mention of course, the true nature of the work he would be expected to perform in the name of national security."

"Hmm . . . Such providence. It's almost too good to be true. Are you sure Sarah's condition was not artificially induced by The Firm just so that it could get Mike in its clutches?"

"That might well have been the case if it were Peter Kowalski Mazurkiewicz at the helm then, but he was not. Fourteen years ago, The Firm was under the more benign administration of James Andrew Embury."

"Ah, yes. James Embury. An honorable man that. Not really all that suitable a candidate for the post he held, which was probably why he opted for early retirement at the earliest opportunity. Okay, so an unholy pact of sorts was struck between Mike and The Firm. And like most pacts of that nature, I suppose Mike came out the loser in the end?"

"Correct. Sarah may have survived her illness, but she did not survive it unscathed. She . . . well . . . suffered some brain damage in the process, and her hearing was impaired."

"Brain damage you say? How extensive?"

"At the moment, she's still an eleven-year-old living within the body of a mature woman. A beautiful mature woman I might add."

"I see. And how has this affected Mike?"

"He blames himself of course, although I can't begin to see why. It wasn't his fault that his sister became ill. If anything, he was instrumental in saving her life. If he signed his soul away, it was to ensure that she had the best nursing care money could buy to aid in her recovery."

"Yes he may have done all that to save her life. But maybe, just maybe he regrets that decision which has now condemned her to a twilight existence of neither here nor there. Does she even know who he is now? You say she's an eleven-year-old living within the body of a mature woman. I doubt she's even that. All she probably is now, is a tabula rasa who needs constant supervision. I sympathize with his parents who will live with the constant fear of not knowing how she will be cared for when they're gone. I think Mike realizes this now."

"Do you mean to say that he's thinking that perhaps it would have been kinder for all concerned to have allowed her to die?"

"Seeing the way she is now, I think yes. Of course, he had no way of knowing the course of her disease back then. The vast majority survive meningitis relatively unscathed. It is unfortunate that she should have been in the minority. Still, as long as there's life, there's hope."

"Are you considering her as another Eden project?"

"At the risk of being accused of attempting to further my cause with Mike O'Connor, I just might. Speaking of Mike, does he visit with his family often?"

"Very seldom, if at all. The only member of his family he has contact with, with any regularity at all, is his brother Luke."

"But why?" Asked a startled Galen.

"Self-loathing I guess. He feels he can't face his parents for the monster he thinks he's turned out to be. Also, guilt. He feels he's let his father down terribly by dropping out midway through Divinity School."

"Of course, his family had no way of knowing he'd been recruited by The Firm."

"Nor will they ever know, if Mike has anything to do about it."

"What about his sister? Doesn't he want to know how she's getting on, how she's grown to be a beautiful woman? That is, if `woman' is the correct term to use for someone in her condition."

"Well, that's just it. That's the part I can't fathom about him. He wants to see her and yet he doesn't, if you know what I mean."

"I don't. Kindly enlighten me please, Raphael."

"I believe his sister brings out a gamut of conflicting emotions in Mike. On the one hand, he wants to know everything regarding her progress, her current situation, her health, and such. Which is why he's in contact with Luke, who's a neurosurgeon by the way. On the other hand the very thought of her brings back unwanted memories. Happy memories, of what was. The year before her illness, when she was the prettiest angel in the school nativity play. The pride in his father's eyes when the acceptance letter from Harvard came. The year when the future seemed so bright, so promising. And all for naught."

"I see . . ." Galen sighed.

"Perhaps also, when he thinks of her, it brings out that part of him which he would rather not face. The embittered part. The part which whispers to him that if he had trusted to the will of God, if he had enough faith, he would not have to live as he did now, slowly dying within with each killing he has to make. Instead, he had made a pact with the Devil and as a result, lost both his sister and the way to God."

"But surely everyone knows that all roads lead to Him? Maybe in Mike's case, he's just taken a longer road that's all."

"Does everyone know that? Does he?"

"At any rate, though he may feel bad now, he'd feel even worse if he'd just stood aside, trusting to the will of God and she'd died instead. Then, until his dying day, he'd be eaten up by guilt. He'd go through life always asking himself what if he'd taken up on The Firm's offer."

"Well, he does feel bad. He's a mess actually although he doesn't show it. He hates his job and he hates himself."

"Oh?"

"He's thinking of quitting and going back to finishing his university career. He never graduated you know. He just dropped out mid-course."

"Easier said than done. I don't think The Firm will allow him to quit. Ever."

"It's written in his contract with them that after 10 years, he can opt out of the profession anytime he likes. But you're right. The Firm intends to renege on the agreement. At least Peter Mazurkiewicz intends to. I think Mike suspects so as well, but I don't think he quite realizes the extent they will go to, to do so."

"Will they send the pack out after him then?"

"Even worse. They'll initiate the Haynes Protocol and turn his brains to mush. The Firm managed to place a radio controlled, micro-explosive device at the base of his skull, near the cerebellum. Once the protocol's initiated, no matter where he is in the world, a press of a button will be all it takes to detonate the device."

"Is this standard procedure for all Firm operatives?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I don't think The Firm is confident that Mike will not expose their existence when he retires. He has always been considered a maverick by his colleagues, someone to be tolerated for what he does very well, but never trusted."

"I see. Dead men tell no tales, huh?"

"Precisely."

"How did they manage to get that explosive device into him?"

"It was a marvelous piece of nanotechnology, introduced in his drink."

Galen was silent for a moment. Outwardly, he appeared cool and collected but Raphael knew from the faraway look in his eyes that wheels were rapidly turning in his head as he digested the news and worked out their ramifications. Suddenly he asked, "How long does he have?"

"Seven days, six hours, twenty minutes and thirty-eight seconds."

A dread chill spread through Galen's heart. He felt cold sweat prickle his forehead and a wave of dizziness pass him. He felt almost ill. Seven days and Mike would be dead? No, he couldn't allow that to happen. Having met Mike and gotten to know him as a person, despite all the dark secrets that Mike still kept close to his chest, Galen couldn't imagine life without him at his side. This was his best chance for happiness and Galen wasn't about to let some two-bit protocol get in his way. But seven days wasn't all that long a time.

"Why so soon? What precipitated it?"

"Your kiss." Raphael's reply was swift, delivered almost gleefully.

"My . . . , what?!" Galen yelped, almost leaping from his recliner to stare at Raphael.

"You kissed him tonight, just before you came into the building."

"But it was only an impulsive peck on the lips. Hardly a passionate one. We didn't even trade saliva for Heaven's sake!" Galen protested.

"Well, there you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's like the Chaos Theory. They say a gentle flutter of a butterfly's wings in one corner of the world becomes the precursor of a devastating hurricane in another corner. Cause and effect, dear Galen. That will teach you to consider your actions, especially around a man who loves you to distraction."

"He's straight!"

"Why are you still denying the fact that he's not? I would've thought you'd be glad to have your fears regarding your future with Mike O'Connor settled in your favor. Believe me, straight or otherwise, he loves you."

"I'm not denying anything Raphael. Of course I'm overjoyed to discover that my ideal man does love me after all. At least I won't have to be so circumspect in my attitude toward him after this. At least for the length of time he still has, that is. I'm surprised that's all. I'd always pegged him for a macho straight guy who was forced to cozy up to me as a means to an end."

"Well, he certainly gave you enough hints that he was interested, hints that were so glaring even a blind man could've picked them up!"

"I just thought he was an accomplished actor. They all are, who work for The Firm and have survived until now."

"Indeed!" Raphael remarked caustically. "If you'd use more of what you have instead of limiting yourself due to some misplaced sense of fair play, you'd have known."

"And you don't have such limits."

"Only those you set me, Galen." Raphael was quick to point out to Galen.

"It would seem that quite often, even those have been circumvented." Galen commented mildly.

"Well," Raphael protested. "How else am I to be an effective Chief of Intelligence for you if I can't make full use of all that is within my capability to use? As it is, you have severely limited my ability to delve deeper into the future not to mention to intervene as I see fit. You can't have it both ways you know. If you want accurate and before-the-date information, you've got to accept the fact that they can't be obtained without using paranormal means. Even if it means a gross invasion of the target subject's privacy."

"I'm sorry, Raphael. You're right of course." Galen rubbed his throbbing temples. "This night started off so promisingly. Now . . . ," There was anger in Galen's deep blue eyes, and as if in reflection of his feelings, there was a rumble of distant thunder beyond the penthouse's glass wall. "Man's genius for wreaking destruction on his fellows continues to amaze me."

"They were made in the image of God after all."

Galen glared at Raphael who gave him a cheeky and unrepentant grin in return. "I will have you know," he began in measured tones, "that while Man may indeed have been made in the image of God, the word image is the operative word here. Man was made to resemble Him in appearance, not in thinking. Now, I know you're hankering to debate the merits of giving mankind too much free thought and free will but let's just call it a night okay? It's late and the news you've brought me regarding Mike has kinda spoilt the evening for me. I think I need some time to myself now. To plan for what comes next."

"As you wish Galen," Raphael said as he got up from the armchair he was sitting on. He made a small bow to Galen then went to the doorway. At the threshold, he turned to look back worriedly at his chief. Galen was lost in thought, looking out of his penthouse study, through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, into the night sky.

Raphael shrugged, then turned and left Galen to his thoughts.

There was not much for him to think really. It took him no time at all to accept the fact that where Mike was concerned, he would move Heaven and Earth to ensure his safety. His principles did baulk at the idea of using the full extent of his powers for personal benefit. But that only took up mere moments of his time before he decided that principles were a luxury he couldn't well afford. Not when Mike's life was at stake. If he had to choose, he would rather compromise his principles for Mike's safety than sticking to them only to live a lifetime of sorrow and regret.

Chapter Ten

It was almost 24 hours since Mike's dinner date with Galen, and Mike was feeling down right depressed. He wondered. Could a person get addicted to another?

The night before, he had driven home in a euphoric state. Galen had kissed him. The impulsive and spontaneous kiss had, by its very spontaneity, revealed more to Mike of Galen's true feelings for him that a whole night of verbal parrying had not. Throughout his drive back to his Presidio apartment along Lincoln Blvd., he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And every now and then, his hand would steal up to touch his lips where the ghost of Galen's kiss still lingered, like a brand which refused to fade.

Now, he thought back to the previous night's kiss. Sure, it was a light peck, performed with even less passion than you might accord a fish. Still, the love and affection behind it could not be denied. At least that was the indication he picked up from the unguarded expression on Galen's face as he drew away from the kiss.

So how did he feel about being loved by another guy? For that matter, how did he really feel about loving the guy in return? And not just in a sexual way, but with such desperation that every minute away from him seemed like a lifetime in purgatory. At least, he now had evidence that for all Galen's caution, and actions to the contrary, he did to a certain extent return Mike's feelings for him. Feeling the way he did about Galen, it would be unbearable if it turned out to be just a case of unrequited love. But now that he was in the thick of it and with the reassurance of Galen's kiss, Mike guessed he wouldn't have it any other way.

But why now? All this while, he'd no interest at all in members of his own sex. He'd always thought of himself as a full-blooded heterosexual, although if he were to be honest with himself, he didn't find women all that fascinating either. Oh sure, he had his flings with them. Who didn't? But they were just that, brief sexual encounters with no strings attached and which more often than not, left him feeling empty and somehow guilty.

At first he put it down to his refusal to allow himself to feel anything for any woman because he did not want to form attachments with them. He didn't want to expose them to the dangers his job brought with it. All very noble of course, but now Galen seemed to have put a lie to it all. With Galen, he didn't have the same sense of detachment he had with most other people who were not family. Somehow, loving Galen seemed so right to him. He'd never felt that way before, not since the time he felt his calling to be a Catholic priest. There was a sense of rightness to it. A sense that, come what may, whatever sacrifices that will have to be made, they would all be worth it in the end.

Mike went into his kitchen and got himself a cold can of Bud from the refrigerator. He pulled the tab off and started drinking the beer from the can as he walked back into his living room. He sat back in his couch, put his stockinged feet back onto the coffee table and was about to relax once more to the strains of Handel's Messiah and renew his musings about Galen, when his peace was shattered by the phone.

It was Pete Mazurkiewicz.

"The initial findings on the sample you sent us told us nothing beyond the fact that it's human saliva."

"Of course it's going to be human saliva. Galen Owen Day is human. Or are you suggesting he's anything but?" Mike said.

"I'm not suggesting anything." Came his superior's testy response. "All I'm saying is that the laboratory technicians were hoping to come by some buccal cells for their DNA sampling, but no go. It looks like we'll have to get our boy's DNA from a different source, and we'll have to get it quick."

"Quick? What's the rush?"

"We've just got word from one of our most reliable sources that Mr. Galen Day here, has caught the attention of a radical Muslim organization with interests totally inimical to our own. The same source reports that the organization will be mounting a kidnap attempt on Mr. Day in a matter of days. You can imagine just how useful Mr. Day will be to them, with his trillions and all."

"Fine," said Mike. "Let them make the attempt. I'll make sure he stays secure. That way he'll trust me even more. In no time at all, he'll be eating out of my hands."

"Sorry Mike. But that's not how the committee sees it."

"Than how does the committee see it?"

"Your brief now is to get a sperm or blood sample any which way you can from him. My suggestion is that you rape him." Pete Mazurkiewicz said callously. "That way, you'll get both in good measure."

Pete's ruthless suggestion shocked Mike. Provoked into recklessness, he swore into the phone at his chief. "Rape? What is this? Why not just kill him and be done with it for God's sake? That way you'll get all the DNA samples you'll need."

As if this was what he was after all along, Pete immediately pounced on the suggestion. "Great idea Mike! I thought you'd never suggest it. Seems like you still have the killer's instinct in you after all, my lad. Good! We'll do it your way then. I'll inform the committee."

Dismayed by this swift turn of events, Mike tried to backtrack. "Hey, hold on a minute! I was only joking. I thought we agreed that there'll be no more killing this time. Look, I'll get those damned samples for you by hook or by crook, but no killing, okay?"

"No can do Mike," Pete's voice floated out of the phone, a hint of self-satisfaction in it. "The committee's already decided that our boy's better off dead than alive. I only threw in the rape bit for your benefit that's all. The committee thinks that as long as he's alive, Galen Owen Day will always be a security risk. If he's not the target of the radical Muslim group today, he'll be the target of some other terrorist group another day. And do you know why? Because he's so bloody rich, that's why. He'd be the proverbial cash cow for anyone who gets a hold of him and his fortune. Besides, with his anti-U.S. sentiments, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't just willingly fall in with their wishes without needing to be forced. But, why am I justifying the committee's decision to you anyway? You've been given an order, my boy. Carry it out!"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I can't do it."

Pete laughed, not quite believing that Mike would actually dare to say no to the executive order. "What's this Mike?" He asked in an almost taunting voice. "Don't tell me that you've gone and developed feelings for the little fag? A great, big, macho, he-man like you? Will I have to watch my ass then, the next time we're alone in a room together?"

"Think what you want to think Pete. But I've had enough of this killing business."

"You understand, The Firm can always get someone else to do the job."

"Fine, then let someone else do it."

"Then I guess your usefulness in San Francisco's just ended. I'll expect you back in New York by the first available flight tomorrow." Peter Mazurkiewicz's voice had lost its note of jocularity, becoming deadly serious.

"I think that would be just a waste of time," Mike said into the phone, just as serious. "I won't be coming back to The Firm, Pete. I want out. I want out of The Firm. I'm tired of the masquerades. I'm sick of the killings. I just want out of the assassination business, period."

"God, this Galen Owen Day has really got to you hasn't he? Within just two days of establishing contact, he's managed to turn you."

"He doesn't come into this at all. I've been meaning to get out of the shadows for some time now. I guess now is as good a time as any to do so. You'll have my resignation letter on your desk latest by Wednesday morning. If my memory serves me correctly, my contract with The Firm stipulates that after 10 years, I can opt out of service with it. Well, I've been with The Firm for the better part of 14 years now. I think it's time I got myself a life. I'd like to get back to my interrupted studies at Harvard Divinity."

"Spare me your reasons. Just make sure that letter of yours is on my desk first thing Wednesday morning."

"Sure, Pete. Oh, before I forget, you'll also find a check made out in favor of The Firm enclosed with that letter. It's for all the money spent on my sister Sarah, plus interest. It's not that I'm not grateful to The Firm for the care given to her all these years. I am. Let's just say that I only want to make this break between us, as clean as possible."

"Yeah, and I'll show you just how clean it will be my lad," Pete Mazurkiewicz muttered to himself after he got off the line to Mike. He pressed a button on his desk and wooden panels slid silently into their receptacles, to reveal a screen on the wall to his left. Swivelling around to face the screen, the fingers of his right hand swiftly punched up a series of codes on the panel of buttons affixed to the arm of his chair.

Almost immediately, the face of a distinguished looking man of African origin appeared on the screen.

"Ah . . . Wallace. Just the person. Get hold of Jack Feldstein for me, will you? Pull him back from Islamabad. If he gives you any shit about that, just tell him he's now officially on the Galen Day job. Tell him Mike O'Connor's been turned. That'll shut him up. Next, inform the Secretary of State and the National Security Advisor that we may have a rogue agent on our hands. Just tell them that we'll need to initiate the Haynes Protocol. They'll understand."

At the same time, while those wheels were being set in motion, Galen, the cause of it all, was blissfully lost in reverie; until that is, he was rudely brought out of it by the shrill ring of his telephone.

"That's probably him now," Gabrielle commented. She, Raphael and Uriel were with Galen in the living room of his Lincoln Way apartment. It was a beautiful and eminently livable ground-floor apartment whose back led into a beautiful garden which bordered onto the Golden Gate Park. Uriel and Raphael were seated on the sofa, each sitting on one end of it. Gabrielle was ensconced decoratively in one couch while Galen was seated in its twin. They had been discussing the matter of Mike O'Connor and had been expecting his call.

"Hello?" Galen picked up the phone receiver and answered.

"Uh . . . Hi . . . It's Mike."

"Hello Mike, I was hoping you'd call." Galen said, melting inside at the sound of Mike's deep voice.

"Uh . . . Listen, Galen, this is not exactly a social call. Don't slam the phone down on me okay? Just hear me out, please. I know it's late and all, and you have every right to think that this is all bullshit, and that I'm trying to pull a fast one here. Please believe me. I'm not. Something has come up and it's really important that I see you tonight. Can we meet somewhere?"

"This sounds serious."

"It is. Look, if you're worried I'm gonna kidnap you or do something bad to you," at this, Mike gave a nervous chuckle, " we could meet somewhere where there're lots of people around, and you could bring along a friend or two. But I need to say what I've got say to you in person."

"It's okay Mike. I trust you. Besides if you'd wanted to do me harm, you'd have done so already last night. You needn't have waited until tonight to do the job. I know, why don't you come on over to my place instead?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure."

"Okay, how do I get to your place?"

Galen gave Mike his address and then put the phone receiver down. He turned to the three who were looking expectantly at him.

"He'll be over soon. It won't take him all that long to come over from Presidio."

"I guess we'll be leaving then." Uriel said, getting up from the sofa.

Following Uriel's action, Raphael got up as well. "Will you be all right?" He asked Galen, concern evident in his voice.

"Of course I'll be all right. The most that will happen between Mike and I would be an act of gross indecency." Galen replied with a cheeky grin.

Raphael laughed at that. Then, he sobered as a new thought struck him. "Do you think it will work?" He asked Galen.

"Oh ye of little faith," Gabrielle answered, slipping her arm around his. Then, turning from him to give Galen a sly look that would have done a Siamese cat proud, she continued, "Of course it'll work Raphael, sweetheart, if it hasn't already. In fact, why don't you do a check and see for yourself? I believe he was supposed to have only six more days to live."

Raphael did as Gabrielle suggested, closing his eyes in concentration. Almost immediately he blinked them wide open and stared at Galen in shock.

"You didn't?" He exclaimed at Galen, in consternation.

"What do you think?" Galen answered him as he walked his aides to the front door. "I finally decided to take a leaf out of your own book, Raphael. You're right. We can't always go through life bound by strict dos and don'ts. Rules and Laws are important, yes. But they also need to be flexible, to be able to be adapted to current needs and situations. If they can't, then they should be changed. Since I made these laws, I don't see why I can't change them. Especially in this case, when changing them would most certainly answer to my needs."

At Raphael's silence, Galen said. "What Raphael? You would begrudge me this one act of selfishness?"

"No, Galen. You know I don't." Raphael said, finally finding his voice. "You surprised me that's all."

"He surprised all of us," Gabrielle said soothingly. "But methinks there'll be more surprises ahead."

"Well, one never knows. After all, God does work in mysterious ways." Uriel remarked, giving a booming laugh. He opened the front door and they all trooped out. At the front gate, Gabrielle turned and gave Galen a peck on his right cheek. "Well goodnight then Galen, and take care." She said.

Uriel and Raphael wished him good night as well and then the three were walking to the Mercedes where Geoffrey was waiting to take them home. Galen watched until the car drove out of sight, then went back into his apartment to wait for Mike.

Chapter Eleven

The first comment Mike made when he was let into Galen's apartment was, "You live well."

He was casually dressed, wearing a light cream pullover, faded jeans and trainers. His red hair seemed ruffled and his beard unbrushed. He looked slightly disheveled but not unkempt. Yet it only enhanced Galen's attraction to him.

Galen smiled at the comment and replied in a matter-of-fact manner, "I guess I do."

They went into the living room where Mike sat down heavily on the sofa, in the spot just vacated by Uriel not so long ago. He noticed the empty glasses on the coffee table. "Company?" He asked.

"Yeah. They only just left." Galen said, collecting the glasses and taking them into the kitchen.

"I hope they didn't leave because of me."

"Don't worry about it. They were about to leave anyway." Galen told him from the kitchen. He then asked, "Do you want a beer, Mike?"

"Don't mind if I do," Mike replied.

Galen got a cold beer out of the refrigerator for Mike and for himself, some carbonated mineral water. He poured them into two glasses and then brought them out into the living room where he found Mike hunched over his knees, staring at his own feet.

At the sound of his return, Mike looked up and Galen's heart lurched at the expression on his face. It revealed a vulnerability in the man which Galen never suspected existed beneath the rough and rugged exterior. It was like that of a puppy which had once suffered badly at the hands of a cruel master, but was now being approached by one whom it knew was kind and gentle. There was a look of overwhelming love in his deep green eyes, tempered by the fear of rejection and the expectation of the death of his dreams. Galen was almost undone by the emotions Mike's look caused in him. Giving him a lopsided grin of sorts, Galen offered him the beer.

Their finger tips touched as Mike took the beer from Galen and small shock ran through Mike. The touch seemed to renew his spirits somewhat, though not by much. Still, he managed to return Galen's grin with a smile of his own, but one tinged with a little sadness.

"So what's up?" Galen asked, sitting down on a faux animal skin which doubled as a rug near Mike's feet.

Mike held his beer in both hands and stared at it as if it held the secrets of the universe. He remained silent for so long that Galen wondered if he'd even heard his question. Then, just when Galen was about to repeat himself, Mike gave a sigh. He lifted his head and trained his eyes on Galen. Once again, Galen was struck by the vulnerability within their forest green depths.

"Whatever you think of me after this Galen, please believe me when I say that I really and truly love you. Apart from my family, I've never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. I know it may be hard to believe considering the short time we've known each other, but it's God's honest truth. To be honest with you, I didn't want this. It complicated things." He gave a humorless laugh and looked away. "Boy, did it complicate things. But heck, when your own heart just won't take no for an answer, there's not much you can do apart from giving in to it."

He fell silent for a moment after that. Then he took a gulp of his beer. When he brought his glass down, he wiped the foam off his moustache with the back of his hairy paw. His gaze returned to Galen for a minute before he lowered it. In a soft voice, he said. "If all this is a real turn off for you, I'm sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest now, cause I know I may never have the chance again. Not after you hear what I've got to say."

Galen wanted so much to reach out to him and tell him that it was all right, that he understood, but he knew he had to allow Mike to deal with the truth the best he could. So, keeping mum for the moment, he waited for Mike to continue.

"I . . . Um . . . I really don't know how to say this." Mike began, giving Galen a pleading look. He ran his right hand through his thick head of hair, as he thought over carefully what he wanted to say. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued. "Remember, when you asked me last night, during dinner, what I did for a living and I sort of sidestepped the issue?"

"Look, Mike, it's not a problem with me whatever you are. I'm only interested in Mike, the person, nothing else. You may be a millionaire entrepreneur, or a lowly, menial worker. I don't care. You may even be an ex-con. But if you're even halfway as decent as I know you are, I'd still want to be your buddy, and maybe even more."

"It's worse," Mike said, almost in a whisper.

"What could be worse? Don't tell me you're a serial killer?"

"Well, you could say that. Only thing is, I do it on demand."

"Oh. You mean you're a contract killer."

"No, I work for an outfit, under the U.S. Government." Mike explained. He looked askance at Galen and continued. "You don't seem very alarmed by this revelation."

"What's to be alarmed about?" Galen asked. "But it does answer the question of why you were so upset that night, on the balcony of The Cafe. Remember? When, I made that comment about how your large hands could easily strangle a person? You suddenly went all quiet. And now, I guess you're telling me this because I'm your target."

Moving with a swiftness which belied his heavy frame, Mike was suddenly on his knees, on the rug, with Galen. Even with all his certainty about Mike, for a moment Galen actually thought that Mike was going to attack him. Mike saw the flicker of fear in Galen's eyes and it just about broke his heart. He drew a ragged breath and said to Galen. "Do you remember too, what I said that same night? That you will never have cause to fear me? Well, you don't. Not now, not ever."

Mike held Galen by his shoulders as he gazed longingly at the young man's upturned face. Galen's beauty really took his breath away. There was nothing effeminate about Galen, and yet he could put some of the world's most beautiful women to shame with his looks. Mike could just keep looking at him forever. Instead, he turned away sadly, and in a rather forlorn way said, "I could never hurt you. I only came to warn you."

"I'm sorry, Mike. I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What's there to forgive? I love you Galen. I love you so much it hurts."

Before Galen could react, Mike had pulled him close and roughly kissed him. For a second, he'd resisted. Then his own emotions got the better of him and he returned Mike's kiss just as hungrily, snaking his tongue into Mike's mouth, tasting him. And when Mike's tongue forced its way back into his mouth, he sucked at it like a baby suckling a teat.

They held each other tightly, hands roaming frantically over each other's back, as if seeking purchase to pull each closer to the other. They remained lip-locked for almost five minutes before finally surfacing for air.

Mike looked in wonder at Galen. At the same time, he was also abashed at his actions. He tried to apologize. "I . . . I'm sorry Galen. I've got no call to be doing that."

"Well, I'm not," Galen responded, giving him an impish grin.

Mike groaned and hugged him again, this time tighter still. He said into Galen's neck, "I want so much to make love to you, but now's not the time."

Galen luxuriated in Mike's warm embrace, breathing deeply of his body scent, a mixture of soap and musk. "I don't care," he declared.

He moved his hands to the front so he could slip them under Mike's pullover to run them through the thick hair which coated his front, from belly to chest. Mike took a sharp intake of breath as Galen's questing fingers soon found his sensitive nipples and began to tweak at them. "Don't," he pleaded. "Not now."

"Why not?" Galen asked. "We've plenty of time. Feldstein's flight from Islamabad doesn't come in until Tuesday evening at the earliest."

"F . . . Feldstein? . . . How?!"

Galen silenced him with another kiss, this time trying to shove his tongue as far down his throat as was humanly possible. Mike automatically began to suck on it, drinking the cola flavored saliva, then allowed his own tongue to do some exploration itself. Before long, whatever resolve he had about warning Galen of The Firm's designs on him was overwhelmed by his desire for the man before him. On their own accord, his hands began to feverishly unbutton Galen's shirt-front. In his haste, he almost tore the shirt off Galen's back. Next he concentrated on unbuckling Galen's belt and undoing his pants.

Galen loved the feel of Mike's warm breath on his face and the crispness of Mike's beard and moustache on his lips. His own hands weren't idle either as he sought to undo Mike's pants for him. Every now and then he'd squeeze at the hard rod of muscle encased in the tight jeans as if to reassure himself that this was for real, and not a waking dream.

Soon, Mike had Galen down to his pale blue briefs which were jutting out at an angle, with a growing spot of wetness where his cockhead was attempting to punch a hole through the fabric. Then, laying Galen down on the faux animal rug, he stood up and swiftly peeled off his own pullover to reveal a torso which was covered with a thick pelt of red hair. The hair grew thickly over his somewhat soft belly, to fan up across his wide, muscular chest, then continued to his shoulders and presumably down his back. Next, he got rid of his trainers and socks. Finally, he pushed his already undone jeans and briefs off his hips, allowing them to drop to the floor in a puddle. He walked out of them and kicked them out of the way, then stood over Galen, gazing down at him.

Galen lay on the rug with his arms nestled behind his head, watching Mike watching him. He grinned at him, allowing his eyes to caress Mike's hirsute body, now revealed to him in all its glory. That Mike was hairy was an understatement. The man was a fucking bear! Almost every part of his body was thickly covered with the soft russet fur, so much so that from afar, it looked as if he was on fire. He was well built, with a wide, well-defined chest, strong arms almost the size of Galen's thighs and muscular thighs that were almost as thick as Galen's waist was slender. But, from the softness around his middle, it was also obvious that Mike liked his beer. Yet that bit of imperfection served to humanize him. He was no gym-rat, that's for sure.

His cock stood at attention, at an angle from his belly, rising proudly from the forest of red. It was seven inches long and uncircumcised. To a purist, Mike's cock was probably on the shorter side considering his, six-foot five, frame, but to Galen it was more than adequate.

Mike scratched at his egg-sized balls. He smiled uncertainly down at Galen.

Galen returned his smile, his heart bursting with love for this hard looking, hairy, giant of a man whose rugged exterior hid a gentleness and vulnerability which until their meeting, had been all but buried under the exigencies of his role as a soulless killer. Galen stretched sensuously on the rug, bringing a lump to Mike's throat, then twisted sinuously as he worked his light blue briefs off his hips.

"Like what you see?" He teased his man-mountain.

"You bet," was Mike's hoarse response. He liked what he saw very much indeed. As far as Mike was concerned, Galen was perfect. He was even more beautiful in person than when he appeared in Mike's dream. He had smooth, porcelain white skin where the hair on his head, pits and pubic region, appeared as shocks of black. Fine hairs covered his thighs and legs, becoming more evident as they grew thicker near his calves and ankles.

Galen was slim and well proportioned for his 5' 9" height. He wasn't overly muscled, nor was he skinny. His chest was reasonably well defined, but it was a definition that came from having good genes and not constant exercise. It tapered down to a 30-inch waist and washboard belly. His hips were narrow and his legs, long and muscled like those of a long distance runner.

And in the middle of all this, rising shamelessly above his sparsely haired ball sack which housed his medium sized balls, was his cock. To Mike, it was the centrepiece of his perfection. All six inches of it.

Like Mike, Galen was also uncircumcised. Unlike Mike, his penis was a slender, ivory tower which did not have red hair growing nearly halfway up its length. And, even in his excited state, his foreskin was almost long enough to cover the whole cock head leaving only a small aperture. From this, peeked a blush of pink and drooled a steady stream of clear fluid, with more dribbling out to pool at his belly with each involuntary jerk of his six-inch hardness.

With a groan, Mike went down on his knees between Galen's spread thighs. His large hands ran feverishly up and down their satin smoothness, causing Galen to twitch now and then out of ticklishness.

As Mike worshiped Galen's body with his hands, running them along his flanks, rubbing the pool of precum into his washboard belly and caressing his heaving chest, Galen closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feelings he aroused. All the while he was doing this, Mike kept on saying how beautiful Galen was, how he didn't deserve such beauty, what more his love. It was almost a mantra, one which lulled Galen into a state of semi-consciousness.

Then, one of Mike's hands moved down to gently cup at Galen's balls, rolling them in a gentle massage while the other hand took hold of Galen's penis and slowly pulled the foreskin back over his shining, blood-engorged glans. As he did so, Mike's thumb began to rub at the little bit of skin which attached the lower lip of Galen's foreskin to his glans penis, using his seminal fluids as a lubricant. When he did this, Galen moaned in pleasure.

Mike continued in this manner, sometimes varying his technique by spreading the precum over the urethral opening itself and just rubbing at the tender cockhead. At other times, he just resorted to a straightforward jacking off motion. Galen writhed and moaned at the intense pleasure his hands generated and Mike was fascinated by Galen's reaction to his manipulations.

This was the first time he'd held another man's penis in his hand. He was fascinated by the differences in its texture, its size and the fact that his every caress could evoke an immediate response from its owner. As he watched Galen's penis slide slickly in and out of the tunnel his hands made, and as the smell of musk and rampant cock wafted through his nostrils, Mike was suddenly struck by the urge to take Galen into his mouth.

Without even considering the fact that he's never blown a guy before, Mike sneaked one glance up at Galen, then bent down and slowly took Galen's cock into his mouth.

"Shit!" Galen exclaimed. His eyes popped wide open in shock as he felt the warm wetness enclosed his cock. He looked down his body to confirm his suspicions and saw, sure enough, Mike's head slowly moving down on his modest length. At one point, Mike sort of gagged and had to stop to recover. Once his urge to throw up passed, he gamely resumed his descent on Galen's cock until his nose was buried in Galen's pubic hairs which were faintly redolent of sandalwood. When he had all of Galen's cock in his mouth, he began to slowly withdraw until his lips felt the ridge of Galen's cockhead. Then he began the downward journey once more, using his tongue to lave at the cock with his tongue, tasting the slightly salty flavor with its unique nutty after-taste. Once he got into a comfortable rhythm which did not interfere with his breathing process, he began to bob diligently up and down on Galen's tool, actually coming to like its taste.

Galen watched as Mike's head bobbed up and down on him. He reached down to caress his russet locks, his face and when he could reach lower, his hirsute shoulders. His legs closed round Mike's hairy back and he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the incredibly sexy feeling of their soft, and yet, rough texture against his smoothness, while having the most intense feelings of his being almost sucked out of himself. Blindly, he sought and found Mike's hands and gripped them tightly as his feelings began to overtake him and he gradually descended into the beginning of his orgasm.

Soon, Galen began to moan louder and louder, unable to keep his feelings of intense pleasure to himself.

"Oh yeah, Mike. Uh . . . huh . . . Yeah. That's it." He moaned. "Oh shit, that feels so good. You're going to make me cum soon. Uh . . . Very soon."

Involuntarily, his hips began a thrusting motion of their own, wanting, needing, to drive as much of himself into Mike's warm mouth as he could. Mike, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of him, having discovered that he actually liked the unique taste and smell of Galen which was a heady blend of sweat, musk and sandalwood. As his tongue teased at Galen's piss slit every now and then, and generally tickled the sensitive underside of his cockhead, he soon felt Galen's shaft grow stiffer and stiffer. Galen became more incoherent, and his moans louder and louder. Suddenly, he felt Galen's hands on his head, trying to push him away.

"I'm cumming Mike. I . . . Ooooh . . . Oh Heavens!"

Mike brushed Galen's hands away and renewed his efforts. Within seconds, he heard a guttural cry from Galen, as if he was in pain, followed by a violent buck which drove the shaft in his mouth deep into his throat, almost choking him. Then, Mike was rewarded by a warm splash of nuttiness on his tongue and at the back of his throat. He pulled his head back off slightly from Galen's throbbing shaft so that he wouldn't choke on his lover's seemingly neverending flow of sperm. Mike's throat swallowed reflexively until the flow became a trickle. He retained some of his lover's seed in his mouth, got off his cock which plopped limply onto his heaving belly, then crawled up to him with a sheepish, almost embarrassed smile on his hirsute face.

Galen gazed lovingly at Mike as he hunkered above him, and returned his smile with a beatific one of his own, caught up in his post-orgasmic bliss. He said, "Mike, in case you don't already know, I love you too."

He reached out his hands to entwine them around the back of Mike's neck, and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting his own sperm as Mike shared it with him. The kiss became passionate and extended. Galen loved Mike's weight on him and the sense of security his powerful embraces brought him. He liked the brushlike feel of Mike's hairy body as it writhed on his own smooth torso, and was intoxicated by Mike's strong scent of arousal. He ran his hands all over Mike's hairy back, kneading his firm, hirsute buttocks, generally delighting in the massive, solidness of the man on top of him.

Feeling Mike's shaft prodding him in the groin, Galen snaked his hand between their grinding bodies to grab hold of it. He rubbed at its wet, exposed head with his thumb drawing moans from Mike, and causing him to shiver as waves of pleasure washed over him. After jerking him for a couple of minutes, Galen broke their kiss and looked dreamily up at Mike. He said to Mike in a hoarse whisper, "I want you in me."

Mike's surprised expression softened into an all-encompassing look of love. He looked totally besotted. But while he was more than willing to give Galen what he wanted, he also knew that a disastrous fuck could be a major turn-off and could easily nip their blossoming relationship in the bud. "Are you sure?" He asked anxiously.

"Yeah I'm sure. Corny as it may sound, I want to be yours in every way." Galen told him, then continued. "Of course, I hope you'll return the favor one day."

This last brought a very worried expression to Mike's face. "Uh . . . What do you mean `return the favor'?" He asked.

"What do you think?" Galen asked in return, grinning slyly up at him.

"Well, I . . . Err . . . I . . . I've never been fucked in the ass before."

"I'll wager you've never given anyone a blow-job before tonight either."

"Well, yeah. There's that," Mike admitted, giving Galen a shit-eating grin. "Okay, I guess my ass is yours. But only because I love you. I'm not letting anyone else near it." He declared as he began to nuzzle at Galen's neck while planting kisses along his lover's clean shaven jaw-line.

"Well, that's nice to hear, " giggled Galen, tickled beyond endurance by Mike's moustache and beard. "As long as you remember that then we're okay. I don't mind telling you that I'm the possessive sort. I don't like to share."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Mike retorted as his kisses along Galen's jaw-line soon became an effort to clean out his ear.

Galen writhed as Mike's wet tongue laved at his sensitive ear, licking and delving into its recesses. But while he didn't mind the attention that Mike was lavishing on him, he wanted to return the favor and make Mike feel just as good, if not better. Unfortunately he was more or less pinned down by Mike who had a weight advantage of around 135 pounds on him, and the man was enjoying his role as pleasure giver too much to relinquish it.

After some effort, Galen managed to convince Mike to lie on his back while he, Galen, was straddled on top of him. "Now just lie down there and let me do all the work." Galen said before planting a long kiss on Mike's lips. Then, without a word, he raised both Mike's arms above his head and held them in place. Mike felt a just a tad vulnerable being spread out like that but knew that if he wanted, he could easily get out of the position he was in.

When Galen had Mike spreadeagled the way he wanted, he began to lick his way down his lover's hairy body, starting at his neck. He kissed, licked and nibbled a path down to the man's quarter-sized nipples and began to tease them through the thick growth of hair which almost obscured them. Concentrating on one, he nursed at it as he would if he were an infant, sucking and gnawing at the stiffened appendage which grew stiffer still at the attention lavished upon it. Mike arched his chest up toward Galen, hoping to feed more of his sensitive tit to him, but Galen ignored his hints. Soon, Galen turned his attention to the other nipple. This time, instead of gnawing at it, he nibbled at it, gently biting at it while allowing his tongue tip to flick at its sensitive tip with butterfly touches, causing goose pimples to rise in Mike and making him shiver uncontrollably.

Mike groaned, both out of passion as well as frustration. He was not a passive lover and never had been. He wanted so badly to show his appreciation by running his hands along Galen's body or anywhere he could get his hands on but they were held down by Galen. And he was mindful enough of Galen's wishes to resist disengaging his arms from Galen's token hold. So all he could do was writhe at the sensations induced by his young lover and voice his approval.

From Mike's nipples, Galen continued to lick a wet trail through Mike's dense body hair, across his massive, heaving chest to his armpits. There, he began to nuzzle and lick at the bushy growth, tasting the saltiness of his sweat and breathing in deeply of the smell that was uniquely Mike - a mixture of sweat and body musk, and of soap and some citrus smelling cologne. Mike, could only bask at the attention lavished upon him by Galen. He'd never been so sexually stimulated in all his life, and Galen was only attending to his tits and pits. His cock was harder than it had ever been and was leaking profusely. Mike felt that if this were to go on any longer, he'd explode.

Finally, Galen stopped for a rest. He released his hold on Mike's arms and sat back on his haunches to view the man laid out before him. Mike, lifted his head up and grinned at him. He returned Mike's grin, slowly stroking the man's thick and hairy thighs. He had to admit it; Mike, was more bear than man. He was so hairy. Well, apart from certain portions of his face, his palms and the soles of his feet, he seemed to be densely covered with red hair. Even his cock had hair growing along nearly half its length.

"Are the male members of your family as hairy as you?" Galen asked.

"What if I told you they are? You're going to make out with every one of them?"

"Pervert!" Galen laughed, slapping Mike's flank.

"Hey!" Mike laughed in response. "I'm not the one with the hair fetish."

"Sez who? I can just as easily have you shaven and still find you attractive, you know."

"Oh no, you don't." Mike said hastily. "I like the way I am, thanks very much."

All this while, Galen was gently stroking, up and down, Mike's thighs. "So do I," he agreed. Then, with a swift motion, and an evil grin at Mike, he pushed Mike's thighs wide open before zeroing in for the kill.

"Shit!" Mike gasped in an explosion of breath as he felt Galen nuzzling at the sensitive area below his belly, between his thigh and balls. This was soon followed by a yell of "God! You're killing me," as the feathery sensations of Galen's tongue licking at his sensitive flesh soon caused a sharp mixture of pain and pleasure lancing through his groin. He begged Galen to have mercy on him, being very ticklish there but Galen only gave him a moment's respite before continuing with his nuzzling, burying his nose into the thick growth of hair there.

When he'd had his fill of torturing Mike, when Mike's involuntarily violent twitches and knee jerks became too uncontrollable, Galen finally relented and came up for air. Mike was gasping. He had a grimace on his face as he battled the cramp-like pains at his groin, waiting for them to fade away. When he finally opened his eyes, they held such a wounded expression of someone betrayed that Galen could not help but laugh.

"It's not funny," Mike said sulkily, glaring up at Galen. "I was in agony just now. If I'd known that you had this sadistic streak in you, I'd have thought twice about getting involved with you."

Which only made Galen laugh all the more. But the laugh was short lived however as, with a surprised yelp, Galen was flipped off his perch when Mike suddenly rose from his supine position to wrestle him down.

"Laugh at me when I'm in pain will you?" Mike growled in mock anger, glowering down at Galen whom he now had pinned under his hairy bulk, completely at his mercy. "Maybe it's time you learnt some respect for your elders, boy."

Saying that, he began to tickle Galen mercilessly making him howl. Using his superior weight and reflexes honed by years out in the field of service, he managed to thwart every attempt by Galen to thrash and squirm his way out of his predicament. When he finally relented, Mike found himself almost as worked up as Galen. He was certainly panting as much. Drops of sweat wound their way down his bearded cheeks to linger at the ends of his beard before dropping onto Galen's clean shaven, baby smooth face. Galen looked up at him, his eyes filled with love, and lust.

"Now," Galen said softly to him. "I want you to fuck me now."

Mike gazed into Galen's eyes for a moment, then brought his lips down on Galen's in a bruising kiss. When he finally surfaced for air, he gasped out, "Do you have any condoms with you?"

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you that I'm HIV negative or that I'm immune to it?" Galen responded flippantly. But seeing Mike's serious expression, he remarked, "I guess not."

"And you'd be guessing right." Mike retorted.

"Some people are so lacking in trust, it's unbelievable," Galen declared, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "You'll find them in the left bedside drawer. And while you're there I suppose you'd better bring the tube of KY as well."

"I won't be a minute," Mike said as he got up to go into Galen's bedroom, his hard cock swinging before him. Then as a parting shot, he added, "You might want to think on this until I come back. The last time I threw caution to the winds, I ended up as what I am today. Besides, it's not just me I'm worried for. The last time I had myself tested was over two years ago."

"Oh yeah. Like you've been dicking every woman in sight since then." Galen muttered under his breath.

When Mike returned, he found Galen sitting up with his knees drawn up. He stood before Galen who looked up at him. There was a faint, secret smile playing upon Galen's lips as he watched the sway of the heavy uncut penis swinging before him. Galen reached up to grasp at the thick, hairy tool before him, gently jacking it and watching the play of Mike's thick foreskin as it wrapped and then unwrapped over his purple cockhead.

"I guess I can't complain if you're the cautious kind." Galen said. "And considerate too. I like that."

He pulled at Mike's cock, using as leverage as he got up onto his knees. "C'mon," he said, even as he impudently gave it a quick tongue-bath, "Let's get this beauty wrapped up then."

Galen took the condom pack from Mike, tore it open, then slowly worked the rubber over Mike's thick shaft, using his mouth to help it along. When he'd finished the rather erotic task, he laid back on the rug and lifted his legs to expose his winking rosebud to Mike's frank scrutiny. He said, "It's all yours."

Mike quickly got down to his knees and edged closer to Galen. He squeezed a generous amount of the KY onto his palm and began to coat his rampant cock with it. Then he squeezed even more KY onto his fingers and began to lubricate Galen's tight asshole. At first, he merely teased at Galen's anal ring making the latter squirm pleasurably. Then, as he felt Galen loosen up substantially, he began to push his middle finger deeper into Galen's tight passage. This brought a grunt of discomfort from Galen as he felt the unfamiliar intrusion of the thick finger.

"God, you're tight." Mike said. "It feels like you're gonna cut off the blood supply to my fingertip."

"Maybe your finger's just larger than what usually passes through down there." Galen responded dryly.

Soon Mike had the whole length of his finger deep inside of Galen, and began to finger fuck him in earnest. Before long, Galen's expressions of discomfort gradually turned into moans of pleasure. The moans quickly became whimpers, especially when the questing finger found Galen's prostate. Soon, Mike added a second finger to the probing. Then after some time, two fingers became three.

Meanwhile, Galen had reached below his upraised buttocks to grope at Mike's stiff rod. He jacked it until Mike had to call a halt to his activities.

"Stop Galen or you'll make me come before I can get in you." Mike groaned.

"Sorry. Maybe you'd better have a go at it now?"

Crouching over Galen, Mike raised the latter's legs up over his shoulders, then pulled himself closer. He gazed into his lover's deep blue eyes and said, "You ready?"

"For you? Yeah, I've been ready for a long, long time."

Hearing Galen's words, Mike began to aim and then press his cockhead at the loosened anal opening. Then slowly, almost tortuously, he eased himself past Galen's tight anal ring, into the clutching moistness within. It was like sliding his cock into a velvet glove that was just a size too small. And it sure beat the wet, clammy, comparative looseness of a woman's vagina. He hissed at the snug, almost strangulating warmth around his cock. Galen meanwhile, gasped at his blunt intrusion, and at the surge of thickness that seemed to reach to his heart.

Taking his time because he didn't want to hurt Galen, Mike slowly worked his cock into him. He only hoped that Galen would show him the same consideration when it came his time to be on the receiving end of a buttfuck. After what seemed like an interminably long period of starts and stops, as he allowed Galen time to adjust to the presence of his cock, Mike was soon fully embedded in him.

When he finally felt his balls slapped against Galen's smooth butt, Mike stopped. He was panting from the strain of his efforts not to come immediately. His hair was matted to his forehead and sweat ran down his hirsute body, some splattering onto Galen's naked chest. It was his first time fucking a man, and the excitement of actually joining physically with the man he loved was almost too much for him. "Are you okay?" He asked Galen in a hoarse voice, concerned that he might be hurting him.

"Y . . . Yeah," Galen managed to utter, trying to accustom himself to the feeling of fullness within him; a feeling that, for just a moment, made him think that he was going to explode or tear below. None of his previous lovers had made him feel this way. Then again, very few of them ever got this far. Mike may have only been about seven inches in length in the cock department, but it was seven very thick inches and Galen wondered if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

"Okay, I'll go slow. But if I hurt you, you'd better let me know." Mike warned.

Slowly, he began to saw in and out of Galen. At first his passage would make Galen wince in pain. Gradually however, he could see Galen's grimaces relax into a passable representation of bliss. He picked up speed and began to fuck Galen at an easy pace, pushing himself deep into Galen with every thrust of his pelvis. Sometimes his cockhead would bump into the hard knot of Galen's prostate and cause Galen to moan out loud. When he discovered that he was actually causing Galen to feel pleasure and not pain by hitting that special spot, he tried to repeat it as often as he could. But soon his own pleasure dictated his movements. Feeling his orgasm coming fast upon him, Mike increased his pace. His thrusts became more and more forceful as he hunched down upon Galen and mashed his lips to Galen's in a brutal kiss.

Galen returned Mike's kiss just as violently, overcome by his feelings. He sucked hard at Mike's snaking tongue even as his hands clutched desperately at the bunched muscles on Mike's back. He tried to help in Mike's fucking, pushing back as Mike thrust forward, forcing Mike's shaft deeper into himself. This only increased the pressure on his much abused prostate. And combined with the intense sensations from the rubbing his sensitive cockhead received from Mike's heaving, hairy belly, Galen was well on his way to his second orgasm. Only this time, it was going to be a really powerful one.

As he felt the toe curling sensations begin their build up, he discovered to his shock and dismay, his painstakingly constructed mental barriers crumbling in tandem. Galen tore his mouth from Mike's and tried to warn him. But all that came out from him were incoherent sounds as his psyche fractured.

At the same time, Mike's controlled pelvic thrusts degenerated into disorganized rutting as he loss any control he had on himself. He felt a sharp intense itch begin just below the flange of his exposed cockhead. It made him thrust faster into Galen, in a vain attempt to rub the itch away. The feeling spread to his feet making his toes curl in reflex, then swept over his whole body in a wave of pleasure that made every follicle of hair on his body stand on end. It finally ended at the base of his balls, tightening into a knot of sensation that was almost painful.

The buildup was intense. His cock felt larger and harder than he'd ever felt before. His hips snapped back and forth as they drove him deep into Galen's receptive, silky warmth. His own anus was clenched tight as he tried to clamp down on the irresistible approach of his orgasm, wanting to heighten his pleasure even more. Then, just when it became almost too much for him to take, when pleasure became indistinguishable from pain, his orgasm overtook him.

"OH FUCK!!! . . ." He bellowed out loud, echoing Galen's own cry of release, as he shot spurt after thick spurt of his cum deep into his lover's bruised ass. As Galen's mental barriers gave way, so too did Mike's reality shatter. He felt an intelligence of infinite proportions flood his mind, merging with him, effectively taking him over. Even if he was not so overcome by his sexual efforts, Mike would not have been able to withstand the terrible onrush that swept into him and carried him away. The last things he saw as his mind finally gave, were stars. Trillions of them.

And at that precise moment in New York, Pete Mazurkiewicz woke up in a sweat. His thinning hair clung damply to his wide forehead and his bed felt as if it had been soaked in water. With a grimace of disgust, he threw his bedclothes off of him and dragged himself out of bed. He staggered into the kitchen of his bachelor pad for a drink of water. His head throbbed and almost unconsciously, he reached behind him to massage away the ache that had somehow developed at the base of his skull.

Chapter Twelve

When Mike finally came too, he found himself being comforted by Galen. "Huh!?" He uttered, in bewilderment. His voice sounded nasal to him and he had a runny nose. His face was wet and his eyes stung. "What happened?"

"You were crying." Galen told him.

"I never cry," Mike protested.

Galen cocked an eyebrow at him and said sardonically, "And I suppose my shoulder's wet because you've been drooling all over me?"

"Well . . . ," Mike amended, snuffling a bit, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "At least I don't believe I've ever cried since I took on this job of mine. Anyway, I'm okay now."

"You're sure?" Galen asked solicitously.

"Yeah. I'm sure." He eased himself off Galen, then turned to lie on his back. He rested his head on his folded arms and stared up at the ceiling above him. They had uncoupled sometime during his blackout. Not that it mattered. He assumed that Galen had most likely worked himself out from under his dead weight. Most likely it had been a struggle. And from what little he knew of his young lover, he had probably been cursing the whole of that time. Mike couldn't help but smile at the very thought.

But what had happened? Mike knew he was as fit as a fiddle. Heck, he'd only just taken his half-yearly physical and had passed it with flying colors. He had no history of blackouts; at least, he didn't think he had. So where did that come from? And why did he have this feeling that he should know the answer to that question, and more? And the stars. He recalled the stars. Trillions of them. It was like he was physically flying through them. He'd had one hell of an orgasm for sure, but since when did orgasms bring about what was akin to an `out of body' experience?

"Hellooo . . ."

"Hunh?!" Mike turned to find Galen lying on his side, his head resting on his hand which was propped up at the elbow. The twenty-five-year-old was looking speculatively at him.

"Are you okay?" He asked. "You seemed to be out of it just now. Is this the equivalent of a cigarette after the sex act?"

Mike smiled. "Nah," he said. "I was just thinking that's all."

"Care to share your thoughts with me?" Galen asked, a strange gleam in his eyes.

"I don't know if it would make any sense to you, my thoughts. It doesn't even make sense to me. They're all jumbled up, and some of them just refuse to be recalled."

"Oh well, I guess you'll tell me all about it when you're good and ready." Galen said with a smile. He made to get up from the floor.

"Where are you going?" Mike asked.

"To the bathroom to clean up and to dispose of this, before someone accidently steps on it." Galen held up the soiled condom which he'd already tied into a knot at the end. " I have no intention of soiling my carpets more than they already are. As it is, I might have to take the rug under you to the cleaners first thing tomorrow morning."

"You have such a way with words, Galen." Mike deadpanned. "Very romantic."

Galen gave him a mischievous grin. "Aren't I just?" He said, wiggling his butt cheekily at him before disappearing into his bedroom to get to the bathroom.

Mike growled "C'mere you!" to his disappearing back before getting up to chase after him. He reached the bathroom in time to find Galen sitting on the toilet, very unromantically discharging the excess lube which Mike had shoved up him, and then some.

Galen blushed a delicate pink at Mike's unexpected entrance.

"Well, I guess you can't get any more personal with a guy than to be present when he's on the toilet doing his business." He remarked resignedly after a brief moment of mortification.

"Hey. It's not a problem with me." Mike said. "I'm not bothered if you're not."

"Me. Bothered? Whatever gave you the idea?"

"Ohh . . . Nothing. Nothing at all." Mike almost smirked as he said that. He walked up to where Galen sat then bent down to plant a kiss on his head. "Hurry up okay? I'll go get the shower ready for us."

He went to the shower which was isolated by glass panels which kept the rest of the bathroom dry. He slid the shower door aside, walked in and began to fiddle with the shower controls until he got both the desired water temperature and spray pressure. Then sliding the shower door shut, he ducked under the shower and just enjoyed the warm massage of the water against his hirsute skin. Before long, he heard the toilet flush. Minutes later he was joined by Galen who wordlessly, began to help him soap up, concentrating on his massive, hairy back.

Mike turned and gathered Galen in a bone crushing hug. In a voice choked with emotion, he said, "I love you Galen. Now and for always."

Galen's eyes teared at this heartfelt declaration. His tears mingled with the shower water and slid down his cheeks as he looked up at Mike. He whispered, "Always is a long time, Mike. Are you sure you're up to it? I don't want you to make any promises you can't keep."

"As God's my witness, I mean every word of what I said."

"Be careful of what you say. It may come back to haunt you one day."

"I'll have no regrets." Mike said solemnly.

With a tremulous sigh, Galen stood on his toes to give Mike a gentle kiss. In a voice so soft, that Mike barely heard him above the noise of the shower, he affirmed, "I love you too, Michael Donovan O'Connor. I always will." Having said what he had to say, he rested his face onto Mike's hairy chest and hugged him tight.

Their exchange in the shower seemed to have put paid to any further conversation and they finished their joint shower in silence, each caught up in his own thoughts. When they finished, they dried each other with the same towel. Then Mike left the bedroom to gather his clothes which were strewn on the living room floor. Galen followed him and stood against the bedroom doorway, watching his muscles bunch and shift under his hairy pelt as he bent to retrieve first, his shirt, and then his trousers.

"Will you stay the night?" Galen asked shyly.

Mike stopped what he was doing. Then slowly straightening up, he turned to face Galen with a very pleased smile on his face and replied, "I would like to very much, yes."

Galen's own smile widened at the reply. Wordlessly, he nodded and turned to go back into his bedroom leaving Mike to finish gathering his clothes.

When he was done with his, Mike started in on Galen's as well, folding them and stacking them into a neat pile besides his own. When he was finished, he went into the bedroom where Galen sat in his bed waiting for him. He crawled into bed with Galen who made space for him. Fluffing up the pillow behind him, he eased himself into a half sitting, half reclining position and then gathered Galen up into the crook of his arm. He tilted Galen's head up and planted a wet kiss on his lips, the tips of their tongues making brief contact with each other. Having settled down comfortably, his hand began to gently stroke Galen's silky smooth flanks. Then, in a quiet voice, he asked, "How do you know about Feldstein?"

Instead of replying immediately, Galen snuggled further into his embrace, his face on his thickly haired chest and one leg across his. He idly ran his fingers through the forest of chest hair, gently tweaking the two quarter-sized nipples until they were as hard as diamonds. He could also feel an accompanying stirring against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he moved his thigh so that it rubbed against the growing tube of flesh and muscle until Mike was painfully erect.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "You were saying?"

Mike swallowed audibly and repeated his question. "I asked, how do you know about Feldstein?"

"Oh, Feldstein." Galen echoed, moving his roaming hands from Mike's hairy chest, down through the thicket of hair on his belly before finally settling onto his massive erection. Almost absently, he began a slow wanking motion on Mike's cock, finishing each upward stroke with a gentle rub against the lips of his urethral opening, drawing a gasp from Mike every time he did so.

"How do I know about Feldstein . . . ," Galen repeated musingly, maintaining the slow wank. "How do I know about anything?"

Galen tilted his head so that he gazed up at Mike, stifling a sneeze in the process as Mike's chest hairs tickled his nostrils. "I'm not without resources Mike," he said. "Let's just say that I know a lot more about him than is common knowledge."

"Boy, if Pete Mazurkiewicz were to find out that The Eden Foundation knows more about The Firm's operations and its operatives than he does himself, he'd have a fit."

"Now, I didn't say that. So don't you go putting words I didn't say in my mouth Mike, or we'll be having words ourselves, you and I," Galen warned playfully. "Just to set the record straight, although it probably has as complete a dossier on Jack Feldstein as any investigator could possibly hope for, I didn't get my info from Eden."

"Then . . . ?"

"If I told you all my secrets, where would the mystery be then?"

"One of these days . . . Galen," Mike began, in an ominous tone of voice.

"One of these days, you'll know more about me than you'd care to. I promise." Galen finished for him, pulling himself up to give him a kiss before settling down once more on his furry chest.

Mike sighed. "So, if you know so much about Feldstein, you probably know just as much about me then."

"Yes."

"So, you had me checked out huh?!"

"Yeah I did, but only because I wanted to know more about you. You see, you fascinated me, and I don't mean just physically."

"Run that by me again. I don't get you."

Galen moved further down Mike's belly, until he was face to face with Mike's huge, leaking erection. He bent it towards his mouth and gave it a lick, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Mike, before he continued. "The first time I set my eyes on you? That night when you bumped into me at The Cafe? I knew what you were even then. And you wondered why I wasn't all that surprised when you told me that you were an assassin from The Firm." He turned and gave Mike a cheeky smile before resuming his teasing activities.

"You bastard!" Mike cried out, then yelped when he felt teeth on his manhood.

"Now, now." Galen cautioned him. "You don't want to go calling people no names, least of all when they have your prized possession in their mouths. You never know what damage they can do if they take offence. Besides, I'll have you know that I'm very sure I wasn't born out of wedlock."

"I went through Hell tonight did you know that? The whole time I was driving over, I was trying to work out how to tell you about myself, scared shitless that I would lose you once you knew about me. And all that while, you knew!"

"So?" Galen left off what he was doing and moved up the bed so that he was now face to face with Mike. He gave him a gentle kiss on the brow, then hugged him. "I still stuck with you, even when I knew. Surely that must tell you something?"

Mike just hugged him real tight in response.

"I admit, I wasn't very keen to be involved with you to begin with. I knew what you were and knew why you were trying to hit on me at the Cafe. I mean, let's face it, bears seldom go for twinks and he-man types have no use for the likes of me. Unless of course they're into the bondage scene."

Then, as if the thought just struck him, Galen gave Mike a sharp look and said, "I hope you're not into that scene."

Mike returned his look with an evil grin and retorted, "I thought you knew everything about me." Then he added, almost leering at Galen, "Well, let me tell you a little secret. I'm the dominating sort. What I say better goes, or there'll be trouble!" He finished by giving Galen's soft butt a smack.

"Hey!" Cried an outraged Galen, rubbing his butt. "Less of those strong-arm tactics please. That hurt!"

"Just so that you know who's boss in this relationship."

"Well, you'd better not get too comfortable with that notion because I like to have things MY way!" Galen declared firmly.

"Are we going to have the first quarrel of our relationship now, hmm?" Mike asked, planting kisses along Galen's jaw-line.

"No, we're not." Galen giggled, tickled by Mike's beard as it brushed against certain susceptible parts along his neck. "We're just stating our positions, that's all. Besides, I know you didn't mean what you said just now."

"I didn't mean it, huh? We'll see about that!" Mike said grimly and began to tickle Galen until he begged for mercy.

"Well?" He asked Galen. "Are you going to see things my way then?"

Galen gazed into his deep-forest-green eyes and smiled dreamily at him. "It depends." He replied, slipping into Mike's hairy embrace, luxuriating in the abrasiveness of the man's coarse body hair as it brushed against his silky smooth skin.

"What do you mean `It depends'?" Mike asked, a mild note of outrage in his voice. He briefly considered another bout of tickling to convince Galen of his argument.

"If you're considering another round of tickling, Mike, don't." Galen murmured, uncannily reading his thoughts. "When I said `It depends', I meant that I'd only follow your lead if you were in the right. I'm afraid you'll have to accept the fact that I won't be agreeing to everything you say. I've been on my own for a long time now and am used to following my own counsel. Besides, this is going to be an equal partnership, isn't it?"

"It is Galen," Mike said, hugging him and kissing him on his forehead. "It is. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

They remained as they were in companionable silence. Mike had an arm around Galen and gently stroking his smooth flanks. Galen's head was resting on Mike's broad hairy chest and he was sighing in contentment. Both were enjoying, in their own way, each other's company.

"I've decided to call it quits, Galen." Mike suddenly said in a soft voice.

"I know."

"You know? How could you know? I only just decided this evening. You had my apartment bugged or something?" Mike asked suspiciously.

Galen laughed as he lifted his head off Mike's chest to look at him. "No. I did not have your apartment bugged. I didn't need to."

"Then?"

"Well, when you told me about yourself and The Firm, there could've been only two ways about it. Either you were going to send me off to the hereafter with that bit of knowledge as my going-away present, or you were going to make a break with your old life. Since I'm still here, I guessed it was the latter case. Unless you're playing a deeper game than I thought you were."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mike's asked in an affronted manner.

"Oh. . . ," Galen began with mischievous nonchalance, "Now if I were the devious sort, I'd pretend to reveal the truth about myself so that my intended victim will let his or her guard down. Then when they trust me enough so that they finally give me what I want of them, I deliver the coup de grace."

"What the . . . !" Mike almost exploded but was quickly silenced by a gentle finger on his lips.

"Hush . . ." Galen whispered. "I said `if'. Besides, I know you're not playing that game. I know you're not the sort to toy with his assigned targets."

"Like you know about Feldstein?"

"In a way . . . But differently. Let's just say that, with Jack Feldstein, it was more a case of hard facts. With you, it's more a matter of instinct. And if nothing else, I trust my instincts implicitly." Galen said enigmatically.

Mike gave a ragged laugh at Galen's last words, uttered with such self assurance. He shook his head, amazed that Galen believed in his instincts so much. He forgot that almost twenty years ago, he himself was about to devote his life to the Church based on nothing more than faith.

He kissed Galen gently on his lips and looked at him with an expression full of love. "C'mon," he finally said. "Let's get some shut-eye. Tomorrow's almost here and we still have Jack Feldstein to plan for."

"What? You don't want me to finish that for you?" Galen asked, pointing to where Mike's cock was making a tent in the sheets.

"Nah. It's okay." Mike said, as he turned towards Galen and spooned up against him, slipping his hardness between his younger partner's smooth butt, and wrapping his burly arms around him. "I mean, we're in this together for the long haul, aren't we?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Then let's just save it for after we've sorted Feldstein out."

Mike kissed the nape of Galen's neck and then settled down to sleep, letting out a contented sigh in the process. In all his 35 years, he'd never shared a bed with anyone. Even when he was involved with the few women in his life, it was more a case of hit and run. He never brought anyone back to his place but would follow them back to their place. And afterwards, he would make some excuse, dress and leave. He never stayed the night.

Now, he was actually snuggling up to another person and for the first time since he was inducted into The Firm, he felt content and secure. Sleeping with someone was not so bad after all, particularly if he was someone you loved.