<b>Debrief,</b>
	an erotic tale by AchtungNight

Tagline: Commando Clarke rescues Arab pop star Deeyah from
terrorists.

<b>Celebs:</b> Cat Osterman, Deeyah.
<b>Codes:</b> MF, oral, romance, interracial, violence.

<I>Standard disclaimer- This story is a satirical fantasy.  It is
fictional, even though its plot and characters are based on real
events and people.  All characters based on real people are
fictionalized.  All celebrities in the story are impersonated-
poorly.  I, the author, have no actual connection to any
celebrity mentioned in this story other than being their fan, and
I acknowledge that they do not act in real life the way my
characters based on them do. I did not write this tale for
financial profit and I expect none from it.  This story contains
controversial adult themes and situations, so it should not be
read by those who are close-minded or under age 18.</I>

<b>Intro:</b>  <I>Welcome, readers.  This story is another
chapter in my ongoing saga.  It details the past of an important
supporting player.  The main celebrity featured is Arabic musical
sensation Deeyah.  I've wanted to write about this lovely lady
for a while now.  Please forgive me if the job I do is impacted
by the fact that I only know about her through the Internet.  I
live in America, not the Middle East.  Most of what I've written
about that part of the world's most famous singer herein is
completely fictionalized.  It's the product of my imagination and
should be treated as such.  Also, please understand that any
opinions expressed in this story are those of the author.  I try
to keep an open mind but sometimes I don't get all the
information I need.  Should you disagree with what I say, you are
welcome to discuss your issues with me in feedback.

After this story, I will get back to the present day in my
writings.  The past has inspired me and that's why I have been
setting stories in it.  However, one can only live there for so
long.  In my stories' timeline, this tale follows "Passion of
Erika Christensen Ch.4" and "Inside Out".  Events in it also
affect "Passion Ch.2" and "The Beijing Streakers".  This tale is
stand-alone, though, so there is no required pre-reading.  I
thank all who helped me write this story, especially my editor. 
Any mistakes that remain in my tales after her examination are
completely my fault.  I appreciate the mistakes caught.

I want to emphasize that I mean no disrespect to anyone through
this story, least of all the good people of the Middle East and
the religion known as Islam.  I used some Muslims as villains in
this tale because that is how they have cast themselves before
the real world.  I have used some of them as heroes here too.

If you are familiar with the death of Pat Tillman, please be
aware that I am moving up this event two years in history for my
fictional story.  I greatly admired the man and mourn his loss,
therefore I wanted to give him a mention here.  I hope that is
all right.

One more thing:  This story was originally about Najwa Karam, not
Deeyah.  I had two Arab pop singers picked out for Clarke's
rescue and Najwa was my first choice.  Then I posted and a fan
told me Najwa was Christian.  I thank that fan and I apologize
for my mistake.  I should have done better research.  Thankfully
the story was easily altered by inserting my second choice, who I
have verified is indeed Muslim.  I know she's a Sunni.  She makes
more sense to me as a Sufi, however, so I switched that. 
Everything should be fine now, I hope.

I dedicate this tale to Pat Tillman and all the other people who
are involved in history's seemingly endless Middle Eastern
conflicts.  I pray that one day that part of the world finds
peace with the rest of the planet and within its own borders. I
also hope readers will enjoy my story.  All feedback is
appreciated.  (DougElder21@yahoo.com)  Now let us begin.</I>

***
<b>Debrief.
London, England.  September 2003.</b>

	Height difference can make a relationship awkward.

	This is true with both physical and achievement heights, Doug
Ramsay reflected.  As happened much too often when he should be
concentrating on something else, profound insights were intruding
upon his thoughts.

	Six foot two inch Cat Osterman was pressing her naked self hard
against him, her limbs coiled about his bare torso as he thrust
his manhood into her inner folds.  The gangly brunette was only a
few inches taller than Doug but this still made any coupling
between them uncomfortable.  They could not kiss lips to lips
without her leaning over, him rising on tiptoes to meet her, or
both of them lying down as they were now.  Neither of them minded
the height difference much, they had never really discussed it,
but still it was there.  They got around it as best they could
and enjoyed being together.  The other distance between them kept
them apart.

	They had met eighteen months ago in Austin on the University of
Texas campus.  Doug was visiting his alma mater to watch a
softball game.  Cat was on the mound, achieving another of her
many strikeout records as a pitcher.  Doug was a sheriff's deputy
back then and he used his badge to get into the players'
recreation area of the stadium after the game and meet Cat.

	A few sparks of conversation followed by an invitation to dinner
made them an item.  Doug had been startled that things had gone
so well at such speed.  He often felt like he and Cat were such
different people that they could never find common ground.  She
loved sports and he would only watch them if a beautiful and
skilled athlete like Cat was playing.  Being with her was like an
impossible dream.  Perhaps that was why Doug found it difficult
to concentrate on the present when he coupled with Cat and why he
did not honestly know where they were headed.  Their relationship
had continued to blossom rapidly after the first meeting, as each
was a free and open person who enjoyed the other's company and
wanted to keep things going.  Then Cat got the call.

	It came from a former coach who was very proud of her.  Cat's
pitching skills had paid off in the best way, he said.  She was
going to test for the Olympics and chances were she would get in
with the greatest of ease.

	Doug praised Cat as soon as he heard this but also scaled back
their dating.  She did not need the distraction, he told her. 
Forget about me and everything we have.  This is your chance.  Go
for it.  You have to get the success you deserve and turn it into
the coaching career that you want.  You're a legend.  I'm just a
common man, and probably not the man for you.

	Soon they were mere friends with benefits.  Doug remained one of
Cat's contacts and a good source of understanding but romance was
no longer on their minds.

	What we have is great on its own, Doug thought in the present,
leaning up and crushing Cat's face against his.  Their tongues
met from open mouths, entwining as they exchanged caresses.  Her
dexterous hands circled his shoulders and massaged his back. 
They then came around and toyed with the thin dark hair that
covered his strong chest and stomach muscles.  Cat lightly clawed
those muscles with her nails, further stoking his arousal. 
Doug's own fingers were on her breasts, squeezing and pinching
the tan aureoles.  Cat's legs pulled his firm manhood deeper into
her shaven loins and she yowled as she clenched her knees around
his rear.

	Cat's still not an Olympian yet, Doug told himself.  It will be
another six months or so before training for the Games begins. 
However, she's already taken off a year from college to achieve
this dream.  It'll be worth it, but it will still push her back.
My own life has changed too.

	When Cat and I broke up, Doug recalled, I was already feeling
the stress of law enforcement.  I couldn't do the job forever and
I had already achieved all I wanted out of it, so I decided to
retire.  I published my first bestselling thriller novel and then
quit the force to apprentice as an entertainment mogul with
Clifford Antone.  Aided by my membership in a secret society
known as the Friendship, I amassed some wealth and moved to
London.  There I opened my own dance club and bar called "Inside
Out".  Not bad for a young man of twenty-five years.  Cat and I
are in the penthouse of the swinger's haven that occupies the
apartments above my club now, enjoying ourselves on the last
night before she has to leave me again.  I never want this to end
but that's the way things have to be.

	He moved his hands off her tits and into her long dark hair,
stroking and yanking on the strands.  Cat sighed and licked his
face and he kissed her neck in reply.  Their arms went around
each other's torsos and they held one another tight as they
continued to exchange coital thrusts.

	They had to part, Doug knew.  They had different lives.  Cat was
more famous than he was even with his new achievements and that
could only grow.  She also had other lovers besides him, male and
female.  None of her relationships was that serious at the moment
but someday things could change.  He did not want to intrude on
that.  Denying someone happiness was a thing Doug never wanted to
do.

	Thus he contented himself with being Cat's fan, watching her as
she rose away from him and reached for new peaks.  What honor he
could give her he did.  Cat accepted it all.  She recognized
herself in a character in his novel and laughed, happy that he
cared.  They remained good friends even as they drifted apart
emotionally.

	"I will always have you on my mind," Doug promised her.  Cat
nodded and said the feeling was mutual, though she agreed their
steady relationship should be no more.

	All they had left was calls and visits, exchanges of advice and
happiness for the goals each had achieved.  Moments of loving
such as the present were growing less frequent and neither could
guess when the next chance might come.  Let us put it behind us,
Doug thought, fondling her hips and shoving himself into her. 
We'll let what we have be enough and make up for what we don't.

	Cat agreed, her brown eyes blinking at his blue ones as she
joined with him.  Her hands roamed all over his body, memorizing
by feel his stocky muscles and his thick dark blond hair.  Cat
often told Doug he physically reminded her of the actor Seann
William Scott.  It amused her that he did not always share the
lack of inhibitions usually exhibited by that actor's characters.
 Doug was as handsome as she was striking and had a wonderful
sense of creative humor.  It was because of this that Cat had so
quickly accepted him as a lover and friend.

	He admires me, she thought, in a strange way that I have trouble
appreciating sometimes.  I see him as just marvelous casual sex,
I always have.  He wants more, but I can't think about that now.
I have a life to lead.  I'm not part of his world and he can't
share mine.  We have to be happy with what we have.  My athletic
career is growing at an exponential rate.  Tomorrow I have to
leap away from Doug and go back to embracing it.  I have to get
my current semester of college over with and then head for the
Olympics.  Whatever's ahead, he'll cheer me on but our time
together will be sporadic at best.  We're destined to be
separated, even though right now we're so close.  Keeping this in
mind, she fervently caressed her lover's back.

	They clutched each other tight, forgetting the future and
reveling in the moment.  He speared his cock into her cunt, warm
moisture flowing from her and lubricating his condom-coated
organ.  Cat took that rod inside, bouncing strikes and fouls off
it with her fingers and inner muscles.  She tossed her head and
cried out as Doug's hands ran her body's bases, imprinting her
memory onto his brain with every sound.

	"How's that new Longhorn catcher working out?" Doug asked Cat,
slowing between kisses.  She smiled, recognizing one of his
distraction techniques to stave off a premature climax.  "Are you
getting along well?"

	"Yeah!" Cat replied in a breathless murmur.  "Megan and I are
best friends.  She's a great lover too."  Cat grinned and licked
his ear.

	"Awesome.  Think she'll go to the Olympics with you?"

	"I don't know.  She's good, but the coaches aren't noticing her
like they are me.  I'll miss her, but it's okay.  There will be
plenty of other potential friends."

	"Yeah," Doug agreed, pecking her on the cheek.  "I'll introduce
you to some more if the games don't give all you can handle."

	Cat smirked.  "Like Keira Knightley?"  The actress, a frequent
visitor to Doug's new business, had joined in their coupling
twice in the past few days.

	"Other beautiful women as well," Doug promised.  Keira was not
the only famous guest at his club.  There were many, and some of
the beautiful women were rapidly becoming Doug's lovers and
friends.  He was trying hard to relax and accept the experience.
"I'll get you men also, if you want them.  I'll do whatever you
desire, Cat, just to keep myself on your mind."

	It was the promise of a passionate moment, they both knew,
heartfelt but possibly not sincere.  Cat shrugged it off and
kissed Doug, telling him that such words were not necessary with
her deep silent breaths into his throat.  You will be with me
whatever happens, she told him, just as long as thoughts of me
are in you.  He sensed her promise and smiled, again enfolding
her in his arms as he struck the head of his cock against her
clit.

	They traded movements and caresses a while longer, sighing and
kissing each other's faces and lips.  Words were behind them now,
as the pleasure had become too overpowering within both Doug and
Cat.  He buffed her lips and neck, then leaned down and sucked
her breasts.  She scratched his torso like a favored
nail-sharpening device in climax, living up to her name with her
gestures and purrs.  He exploded into her seconds later, moving
his head back up to lick her lips as he shot his load.  They
broke apart, grinning at each other.  She slapped him once, hard
across the face, and then tumbled away from him as he laughed and
rolled his eyes.

	The lovers took a moment to recover, exchanging regular looks
and smiles as they both rested and let out heavy breaths.  They
lay among the white sheets of the penthouse bed, close to sleep
but not quite there.  Soon each person's hands were traveling
back towards the other.  Woman grinned at man, and man grinned in
reply.  They rolled together again and embraced.  Doug idly
played with Cat's cunt and nipples while she stroked his balls. 
They shared a kiss and then snuggled together, neither quite yet
ready for more.  Cat offered Doug her palm and he slipped his
hand into hers, giving a content expression that she returned. 
They beamed into each other's eyes, and then moved together as
they both felt their arousal flare once again.

	Knock, knock, knock.

	"Who's there?" Doug called out, releasing Cat and rolling away
from her.  He looked at the bedroom door.  It has to be someone
safe, Doug thought.  No one gets into the upper floors of my club
without a pass.  It's late at night, though.  I hope this isn't
an emergency.

	"It's Clarke!" came the reply.

	Doug gave Cat a frown, recognizing the voice of his security
chief.  His athletic lover shrugged and he nodded.  They both sat
up on the bed and steeled their minds.  Cat saw Doug's law
enforcement training in the way he readied himself for the
unknown situation and she responded to it with her own
preparations.  "Come in!" she shouted at the door.

	The portal opened at the touch of Clarke's master key.  The
security chief then walked inside.  He was a large Bushman over
six feet tall with powerful rippling muscles.  His head was bald
with a wise warrior's face and his voice unaccented.  Cat once
again reflected on how much Clarke reminded her of the former
wrestler turned actor Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.  He was as big
as the Rock, though with darker skin and less hair.  Clarke wore
a tan jacket, a black shirt and urban camouflage pants.  He
grinned when he saw Doug and Cat, looking both their bodies up
and down.

	Cat smiled at his attention.  She had caught Clarke eyeing her
several times during the past week.  They had talked a little and
become friends.  Clarke was a world traveler and had seen a lot
in the military.  He didn't mind sharing his experiences with an
interested person.  Cat hung on every word, intrigued.  Talk was
all she had done with Clarke thus far, though.  She was attracted
to the Bushman but catching up with Doug had kept her too busy to
pursue other men as of yet.

	Maybe next time I'm in London I will try and get with Clarke,
Cat thought.  That is, if by then Doug's gotten over me enough to
not mind me having sex with his best friend.  I don't want to
hurt him.  I'll just keep hoping enough other famous women enter
Doug's life and distract him from me between my next visit and
now.

	"Is something the matter, Clarke?" Doug asked, grimacing in
discomfort.

	Clarke chuckled.  "I've never seen you naked before, Deputy
Doug."

	Doug raised his eyebrows.  He and Cat were into free love, he
reminded himself.  She was more at ease with it than he was but
he was trying to improve.  Clarke was their buddy.  Thus, neither
he nor Cat had bothered to cover up in front of Clarke.  Was that
a mistake?  "And?"

	"You look good."

	Hearing Cat giggle, Doug blinked and stared at Clarke.  "Are you
coming on to me?"

	Clarke shrugged and smirked.  "Do you want me to?  I wouldn't
mind doing that, you know.  I go both ways, like most of my
team."

	He was referring to the squad of former Special Forces soldiers
who worked at Inside Out in various capacities.  They had once
been employed by the United Nations as an elite counterterrorist
unit under Clarke's command.  We were like the heroes of that old
cartoon "G.I. Joe", Clarke told those who asked.  An unorthodox
and very effective freedom fighting force.  We're not in the
military anymore but we still have our training and camaraderie.
We all sleep together too, more or less.

	The Bushman's current employer looked away from him and coughed.
 "Well, Clarke," Doug said, "that's flattering, but I'm afraid I
don't go both ways.  I'm straight.  I'm all about the ladies."

	"Really?" Cat jumped in, laughing again.  "I know you
experimented once."

	"Yes," Doug confirmed, "and I wasn't turned on at all.  Sorry,
Clarke.  Men don't do anything for me, not even you.  I got
nothing against gay people.  I fully support their rights.  I
have a gay brother in New York and, as you know, I adore bisexual
women.  I have other gay and lesbian friends too.  I'm just not
gay myself."

	Clarke pointed his index finger at Doug and clicked his thumb,
sharing Cat's smile.  "That's fine, Deputy Doug.  I'll be content
with fantasy."

	Doug gaped at him, incredulous.  Cat guffawed and clapped him on
the back.  "Relax!" she told her lover.  "Clarke's just pulling
your chain!"

	"I can see that," Doug replied, hiccupping.  "He's lucky I don't
mind."

	"You gotta understand, man," Clarke said.  "I'm a force of
nature.  I rarely discriminate in fucking or fighting.  It's just
who I am."

	"Most of the time, I'm grateful for it," Doug said, trying to
recover from the sudden shock.  "You're a good friend, Clarke. 
You've proven yourself quite an asset to me the past three
months.  I just don't like you in a ... well, you know."  He
gestured at Cat and himself.

	"I might like you that way, Clarke," Cat declared, seizing the
opportunity.  "When I'm here next and have time."

	Doug gave her a surprised look followed by a nod of acceptance.
Clarke was beaming at Cat, he noted.  No problem, he said to
himself.  You two have fun together.  Thanks, Cat, for showing me
just how far apart we've grown.

	"I'd like that," Clarke said to Cat.  He then looked at Doug. 
"What's the matter, man?  You've been having tons of women
lately.  Keira and her celebrity friends, for one.  They should
have bled all jealousy out of you by now.  Tess and Jodi Lee from
my team have both gotten with you too.  I know some of the other
women are also waiting their turn.  It's not just because you
knew Jodi Lee and several other people on my team in high school
either.  You've got seeds planted all over the place!  Let's not
forget that tall redhead and the little blonde who have come in
almost every night since we opened the club.  Why haven't you
gotten with them yet?"

	"Alicia's with Dave, Clarke."

	"That idiot fop who thinks he can break into celebrity life? 
They won't be together much longer.  If I had a nickel for every
time I've heard them arguing loud enough to wake the neighbors
..."

	"I know.  Still, I don't like to go after other men's women.  As
for Erika, well, I think I want to take things slow with her."

	"What?  Come on, man!  Those two are seriously hot!"

	"Yeah, Doug," Cat agreed.  "They're nice people and great
actresses.  I've gotten to know them a bit these past few days
and they both like you.  They're also into each other, although I
don't think Alicia's accepted that yet.  She's a bit of a
homophobe."

	"Right," Doug answered, throwing up his hands, "and Erika's a
rebel Scientologist paladin.  Both of them make me crazy."

	"So get over it."  Cat punched him in the arm.  "So what if
Alicia's a bitch?  She can change.  So what if Erika's religion
has a bad reputation?  Erika's a good person despite all that. 
Did you forget we have one of her people's churches on campus
back in Austin?  I know they're not completely bad."

	"I know that too.  It's kinda hard to forget they are bad as
well as good, though."  Doug blinked at Cat, a guess coming into
his thoughts.  "Wait a second.  Have you and Erika...?"

	"Yep," Cat confirmed, smiling.  "I was with her last night while
you said bye to your old girlfriend Angie.  You'd better not
reject Erika too long, Doug.  She's very skilled."  Cat smirked
slyly and licked her lips, tapping her fingers on Doug's chest.

	"Okay," Doug said with a wave of dismissal.  "Enough crazy sex
talk.  I don't think I wanted to know about half this stuff. 
Clarke, I'm sure you didn't come in here to discuss it."

	"No, man," Clarke replied, shaking his head.  "It's enjoyable,
but it's not why I stopped by your room.  I got something else I
need to share with you.  Uh, is she cleared to ...?"

	"Yes," Doug interrupted.  "Cat's one of my Friendship initiates.
 She's not a high-ranking member like you or I, but she can hear
whatever you want to say to me."

	"Good."  Clarke nodded as Cat beamed at Doug.  "I think she
might want to hear this too.  It's a story Cat's asked me about
before."  He walked to a chair near the bed, took off his jacket
and sat down.  "By the way, Cat, your flight's been delayed. 
Some al-Qaeda dumb-ass threatened to blow up part of Heathrow
Airport."

	"Damn it!" Cat cursed, looking at Doug.  He shrugged and gave
her a look that said, "What can you do?"  Cat nodded, then sighed
and turned back to Clarke.  "Is the terrorist in custody?"

	"Yes, but they think he might have accomplices.  All flights are
grounded until Scotland Yard makes sure all their suspects are
caught."  Clarke shook his head.  "The world just won't get out
of this stupid war.  I hate it so much."

	"Don't we all," Doug concurred.  "It's been going on since
before the Middle Ages and there are no signs of stopping.  It
slacks off for a while and then comes back worse.  I lost friends
on 9-11 and I have others who are still fighting.  You too,
right?"

	"Yep," Clarke said.  "I also used to fight in the war on the
front lines.  That's why I'm here.  You remember how we met,
Deputy Doug?"

	"Yes.  You were in a bar on the East End nursing past sorrows. 
I thought Alcoholics Anonymous was taking care of that."

	"It is, but there are some things I can't tell them.  You've
never asked me about my final mission either.  Don't you want to
know why I got relieved of my command?"

	"No, Clarke.  I figured that was your business.  You're capable
despite whatever happened and Keira told me it wasn't your fault.
 She's your longtime friend and martial arts student, so I figure
she would know whether I could trust you or not.  Keira vouched
for you and I got to know you, and that's enough for me."

	"Well, I need to tell you about my last mission anyway.  I was
thinking about it again tonight and I can no longer hold it
inside."

	"I figured as much."  Doug looked at Cat.  "Are you too tired to
listen to him?"

	"No," Cat said.  "Go ahead, Clarke."

	"Yeah, I'm not too tired either," Doug fibbed when Clarke looked
his way.  He and Cat fluffed up the bed's pillows and sat up,
ready to listen.  Doug grabbed the open soda can on the bedside
table and took a long gulp.  Clarke smiled and began his tale.

***
<b>The Middle East.  Fall 2002.</b>

	My name isn't really Clarke, but that's what most call me.  The
moniker was awarded during my training for the South African
Special Forces Brigade.  I excelled at every qualification
course, so much so that my instructors took to calling me
"Superman".  I told them I hated that name.  The other recruits
were envious about it and I felt I was no one special.  My only
intention in doing so well was to prove the formerly racist South
African government was wrong about people with my skin color.  We
can be great.  The instructors accepted my words and dropped the
nickname they'd given me.  They started calling me "Clarke"
instead.  That title I decided I could accept.

	You probably wouldn't be able to pronounce my real name.  It
means "wind in the valley" among my native African tribe.  The
witch doctor gave it to me at birth when he prophesied my
destiny.  I still laugh at the name today.  As I said before, I'm
nobody special.  Why should I put on airs?

	Even with my modesty, I achieved great things in life.  At just
shy of thirty years old I was a highly decorated officer in this
planet's finest Special Forces unit.  At least, that's what I
used to be.  I have a great job today too.  I gotta forget about
that job now, though.  I need to revisit the past.

	One year ago, I was the field leader of an elite
counterterrorist force directed by the United Nations.  My team
was composed of soldiers and support troops from various
countries around the world.  Most of those who are still alive
work in your club now, Doug.  You know Yoshi Aoi, the Japanese
chef with the soul of a samurai.  Jodi Lee Nichols, the Aussie
waitress who used to check out strange territory for me.  Mike
Hernandez, the Central American demolitions engineer who's become
your disc jockey.  Wouter Staal, my reliable Dutch coordinator. 
Contessa Winfield, the sweet sexy Irish-Italian doctor from
Greenwich Village.  Asher Stravjan, the albino Pole who cleans
your building's floors.

	Asher's a particularly interesting guy.  He looks like an old
man even though he's my age.  That's because of his condition, as
you're aware.  Asher's got the genes of just about every
persecuted people in history inside him.  His father was a Roma
Gypsy and his mother was a Polish Jew.  He's albino, gay and
extremely talkative.  Correction, he used to be extremely
talkative.  You'll soon find out why he ain't that way so much
anymore.

	Like Jodi Lee, Asher served me as an infiltrator and scout.  He
spoke over twenty languages back in the day and could talk to
anyone.  He's also very insightful and a master of trickery.  He
can get close to you and become your best friend and you would
never know he was planning to stab you in the back.  Not that he
would ever betray you or me, obviously.

	Asher's been picked on all his life, but instead of letting that
weaken him he's chosen to rise above it.  He's very like me in
that way.  He's quite handsome, he sort of looks like the great
action star Clint Eastwood when he's not disguised.  His father's
people trained him well in Gypsy stuff -- you know, costumes,
juggling and acrobatics.  Asher is also a genius at disarming
bombs and tense situations.  What, you want me to move on?  Fine.

	There are some others on my team you don't know.  Farouk
al-Kharish, the Saudi sergeant.  Baxter Page, the American
photographer and computer expert.  God only knows where those two
are these days.  Then there were those you'll never get to meet,
like Chen Ming, my Chinese second-in-command.  Also Tanya Brown,
who was a sniper born to a couple from Kazakhstan and New
Zealand.  Tanya and Jodi Lee were very good friends.  Oh, wait,
you did know her?  Shoot, Doug, I'm sorry.  This story may be a
downer for you.

	I can continue?  Good.  Thanks.  You got another soda?  Thanks
again.

	I had many other comrades back then too, lots of men and women
of diverse backgrounds.  I called most of them lovers and all of
them good friends.  We were made up of all human divisions --
sexual orientations, religions, nationalities, you name it.  The
only things we had in common were strong hearts, open minds, and
intense military training.  Almost every country in the United
Nations sent people to the team.  We had US Marines, Army
Rangers, and Navy SEALs.  There were also British Special Air
Service, German GSG-9, French GIGN, you name it.  The U.N. built
us to be diverse and fight terrorism.  We worked together very
well.  They didn't mean for us to break military protocol as much
as we did, but we got good results so it was usually okay.

	As of 2002, we had been in existence four years.  I served my
country for seven years as a Special Forces officer and ended up
highly decorated, so the U.N. requested I lead their new elite
unit.  My government agreed and signed the transfer.  I was still
in the South African military, but I only answered to three men
outside my team.

	First and foremost was General George Hawkins of Her British
Majesty's Army.  He was a veteran of the joint U.S. and U.K.
peacekeeping missions in the Middle East, where most of my team's
operations took place.  He kinda reminded me of the late actor
Richard Crenna, if you want a physical description.  Hawkins was
an elderly esteemed soldier.  I really respected him.  He was a
good leader and he was always on my side.  I'm not sure what he's
doing now.

	Hawkins's number two was an American colonel named Luther
Murdoch.  That guy looked like Gary Busey, the actor who almost
got the Oscar for playing Buddy Holly in 1978.  Thin gray-haired
little jerk, you could easily pick him out of a crowd.  Murdoch
was a micro-manager, a rear-echelon motherfucker.  He had his own
ideas for how my team should fight and didn't mind telling us.  I
always knew he hated me even though he never would say it.  He
envied that I was a great commander and soldier and he was not. 
There's a bunch of guys like Murdoch in every war.

	The third guy I answered to is someone you know quite well,
Doug: our chaplain, Ben Shapiro.  Shap was a U.S. Marine captain
back then.  Today he's the pastor of a Baptist church in Austin,
Texas where you're from.  Shap's a good man, Christian but
open-minded.  You can tell him anything and he'll usually absolve
you right off if it's a sin.  He'll laugh along with you too. 
You've met him, right, Cat?  No?  Think of the great black actor
Morgan Freeman in the prime of his life.

	Okay, you got most of the players now.  There are some others,
but give me a few minutes to get to them.  The mission we're
concerned with was code named "Operation Sweetheart".  They
briefed me on it at my team's main base in the Socotra Islands
off the coast of Yemen one sunny day in September 2002.

	"This is where I believe Aziz is held up," Asher was telling
Hawkins, Chen, Murdoch and myself.  "A small village fifty clicks
southwest of Kandahar."

	Asher and my other scouts had been gathering intelligence in
southern Afghanistan for several months.  We were after Salem
Abdul Aziz, also known as "the Scorpion Pharaoh".  He was a
Taliban mullah suspected of serious war crimes.  Aziz escaped the
United States' overthrow of his theocratic Afghan regime thanks
to connections with al-Qaeda.  Some of his worst offenses
included training several 9-11 hijackers along with sponsoring
numerous shootings and suicide bombings all over the Middle East.
 The most famous was that U.S. Navy destroyer that got hit in
June 2002.  Seventeen sailors died.

	What's that, Doug?  You say Erika knew some sailors on that
destroyer?  You can tell her my team and I avenged their deaths.

	Aziz also burned down at least four Afghan villages during the
US war with the Taliban and killed over one thousand civilians. 
He hated anybody who didn't follow his extreme view of Islam and
punished them severely.  Aziz was really the kind of mullah who
makes his religion look bad.

	Hey, stop frowning at me like that!  In general, I have nothing
against Islam.  Most of the followers are okay people.  Farouk
and some other guys on my team are Muslim.  I own a Koran too,
and I read it almost as often as I read my Bible.  I like how
Islam says you should submit to God and let him guide you.  I
also like how it says God is testing you constantly and never
gives you challenges that you can't pass.  Islam is wonderful
when it's done right, it's aided a lot of scientific and cultural
advancements.  However, too many people in history have done it
wrong.  Aziz was the kind of guy who exemplified that.

	Some followers of the religion have done it right, too.  My
Saudi sergeant pal Farouk was a good example.  He told me he
always hated the constant war in his country.  The idea conflicts
between competing Islamic factions, intolerance of other
religions, corruption, terrorism, religious police, everything. 
Farouk thought it all hurt Muslims more than anyone else.

	He wanted Muslims to peacefully co-exist with the rest of the
world and stop harming each other, but he saw no way to get that
to happen other than being a good man himself and declaring a
personal war against intolerance.  That was why he joined the
Saudi Army, to fight terrorism.  Farouk wanted to build a better
future for his people and figured that if he could stop enough
Islamic fanatics from harming others, he could make it so.  By
stopping the worst of his religion's enemies, he could maybe
inspire all the other followers to calm down and lighten up.

	Farouk told me he wanted to be friendly towards others, let them
do their thing as long as they let him do his.  Farouk's thing
was being a Muslim.  Unless you threatened that, he had no
problem with you.  Farouk saw no reason to spread his religion to
the rest of the world unless they wanted it.  Other people had to
make their own decisions on the path to paradise.  Sure you might
not like what someone was doing with their life, but you didn't
have to try and force them to stop doing it unless they were
actively hurting people for no good reason.  Let infidels be
infidels.  It was better to make friends with them and exchange
what gifts you could give each other than try to change them,
Farouk always said.  Who knows, you might be going to heaven
together since Allah loves endless variety.

	Farouk was a funny guy, very straight-laced, but a good man. 
The other Muslims on my team were pretty much like him.

	Also pertaining to my mission was another follower of Islam, a
woman who does her religion right named Deeyah.  Are you familiar
with her?  No?  She's a pop singer, born in Norway but very
famous in the Middle East.  Folks like the Taliban often harass
her for speaking out for women's rights.  She has this amazing
voice and likes to make catchy dance albums about good fortune
and love.  Deeyah's also a real looker with a great body, creamy
brown skin and long flowing black hair.  She's tall, hourglass
figure, dark laughing eyes ... I got a picture here somewhere. 
Here we go.  Yes, Cat, Deeyah and I are intimately acquainted,
long time past.  Aziz, her distant cousin, was the reason why we
met.

	What, you didn't know she had a terrorist in her family?  It's a
common sickness over in the Middle East, I'm sorry to say. 
Family squabbles are the worst. Only battles about religious
doctrine interpretation come close.  The Middle East has plenty
of both in serious amount.  It has always been that way.  I don't
know if things will ever be peaceful in that part of the world. 
Pardon me for my sigh.

	"You're sure the Scorpion Pharaoh is there?" Hawkins asked
Asher, who nodded and bent his pointer.

	"Ninety-five percent.  All my sources point at the caves near
this village in southwestern Afghanistan.  Aziz could have moved
on by now but I don't think we should ignore this chance."

	"It will be your ass if he has moved on, Lieutenant," snapped
Murdoch.  "Your boss's also."  The motherfucker pointed at me.

	"Mock me all you want, Murdoch," I answered.  "I think Asher's
information is solid.  Captain Chen, what about you?"

	My second-in-command nodded agreement.  He resembled that Hong
Kong action star Tony Leung, the short one.  Chen was very
dependable, a real solid guy.  He was also an ace scout like
Asher and Jodi Lee.

	"I vouch for Asher's knowledge," Chen said.  "He's never let us
down before."

	"He better not now," replied Hawkins.  "Deeyah's life is
depending on it."

	Did I forget to mention Aziz had kidnapped Deeyah?  I'm sorry
about that.  It happened about three weeks before our briefing. 
He despised her, you see.  A liberal Muslim female entertainer in
his family was a personal insult to Aziz.

	The Taliban doesn't like women getting empowered.  Really, they
don't.  They won't educate them, they won't give them legal
protection, they won't give them any advantages at all.  Not only
that, they want their whole view followed by the rest of the
world.  A famous flamboyant female pop singer like Deeyah would
not exist if the Taliban had their way.  A woman like you
wouldn't either, Cat, and definitely not one like Keira or Erika.
 Also, men like you and me, Doug, would not exist.  It doesn't
matter to the Taliban that millions all over the Middle East like
Deeyah, Muslim and otherwise.  The Saudi Royal family are fans of
her, and they maintain Islam's holy places.  None of that counted
as far as Aziz was concerned.

	Deeyah was giving a concert in Dubai for the impoverished.  She
likes to use her art to promote charity work and peace.  Aziz's
militia crashed the after-party and grabbed her.  The U.N.'s
spies intensified their tracking of Aziz after that.  We wanted
to find the Scorpion before he beheaded Deeyah live on the
Internet as he kept threatening to do.  He was putting out these
ranting blogs about how her death was Allah's will and he was
going to kill her at the start of Islam's holiest time, the month
of Ramadan.  Cleanse the world.  You see why I don't like this
spawn of a goat?

	You want to know what Aziz looks like?  Okay, imagine the
meanest Taliban motherfucker you can.  Beadier eyes, and he's
Egyptian.  His beard and turban were really long, gray and dirty.
 Got it?  Good.

	"I don't care about Deeyah," Murdoch said.  "She's just some pop
singer.  Aziz's capture is our first priority.  If we can
interrogate him, we might be able to prevent al-Qaeda's next
major attack."

	"Saving his hostage is our first concern, Murdoch," I countered.
 "Deeyah's well-known in the Middle East.  People ain't gonna
like it if she dies."

	"These people kill their own every day, Major.  Thousands of
civilians have died or lost their homes and families.  I don't
see them complaining about that much.  We're trying to help them
stop it and they keep protesting and yelling 'Death to
Infidels'."

	"Not all of them, Murdoch.  Some of them appreciate us."

	"Enough, you two!" Hawkins cut us off.  "We're not here to argue
politics.  Clarke, you need to bring Aziz in so he can face
trial.  We need a Nuremberg for this war and the Scorpion would
be a good start.  Save his hostage if you can, but if she dies,
it doesn't matter.  It'll be just one more crime on his record. 
I want her alive, my wife and I love her music, but she might
make a good martyr also."

	"Definitely a better martyr than all these terrorists who keep
committing suicide and calling themselves holy," Asher agreed. 
"We live in interesting times, eh, Chen?"

	My number two ignored the ancient Chinese curse.  "When do we
ship out?"

	"As soon as you're ready," Hawkins said.

	"One day to rally up and supply," I told him.  "Then two or
three days of transit.  I'll need all sixty-five of my team. 
Asher, I want you to take Rashid, Jamal and a couple other guys
ahead of us.  Get into the village where you think Aziz is and
confirm that he's there.  Make sure everyone you take can pass
for locals.  If what I know about the Scorpion is correct, he'll
have the people living in fear of him and worrying about us. 
They'll want us to save them but they won't seek us out.  They'll
shout 'Death to the Crusaders!' in the streets if Pharaoh Aziz
tells them.  Be careful, my friend."

	"Don't worry, Clarke," Asher replied.  "I've been undercover in
the backwater areas of Afghanistan and Pakistan many times.  I
know how it is."

	"You all watch yourselves over there," Hawkins told us.  "Good
hunting.  Dismissed."

	Murdoch stopped me as I was heading out the door.  "You know,
Clarke, General Hawkins is about to retire."

	"Our chaplain too.  So what?"

	"Word's come down from on high.  I'm not supposed to tell you
yet, but what the hell.  After this mission, I'll be in charge of
your unit.  I'm rotating everyone out and finding new personnel."

	"We get results, Murdoch."

	"Yes, you do.  However, your era of soldiering is over, Clarke.
There's no place in the world anymore for one-man commando squads
who think they're John Wayne."

	"I'm not a one man army, Murdoch.  I have an entire team backing
me up, including you.  I'm only twenty-nine and I just received
my gold shield from the Brigade.  I still got many years left in
me."

	"Wrong.  You need to get out.  War's changed, Clarke.  There's a
new way of fighting now."

	"Oh?  What is that?  Call down airstrikes liable to kill more
civilians than enemies?  Keep sending in troops nonstop and don't
let them do what they need to do to win even when they get tired?
 Let great soldiers like Pat Tillman die and then lie to the
public about what happened to them?"

	Murdoch grimaced and I went on, enjoying myself.

	"Bungle the institution of new government in occupied territory
and let the bad guys keep retreating and getting stronger? 
Forget politics and let evil scum like Aziz fester and run around
alive?"

	"It's precisely because of politics that we're keeping him
alive.  I hate the bastard as much as you do, but he needs to
stand trial.  You bring him back.  Maybe if you do, I'll consider
letting you stay where you are."

	I glared at him and then walked out to face my team.  Chen had
them all lined up.  Petite raven-haired Tess in her white
doctor's coat, the mustached Hispanic dwarf Mike with his
demolition bag, lanky brown-haired Wouter, tall noble Yoshi and
all the rest.  I gave them the mission.

	I told Farouk, who looks like an average middle-aged Arab man,
and Baxter, who's a hippie geek, to monitor the Internet in case
the Scorpion Pharaoh moved up his timetable.  I told Tess to be
ready in case Aziz had harmed Deeyah.  Shap introduced to us this
Muslim cleric he'd recruited to counsel Deeyah after her ordeal,
a guy named Sheikh Khalid bin Azim.  He was part of the Sufi
Islamic sect like Deeyah, a group of mystics that try to grow
closer to God in thought and deed.  Islamic radicals don't like
these people, but I do.  They're Islam's most peaceful and
tolerant folk.

	The Sheikh was quite an average-looking Arab, like Farouk, only
he was a lot older and wiser.  I talked to him briefly and
learned he'd been around the world and seen all kinds of things.
He agreed with Farouk that there were many paths to God and that
people of all creeds should work together towards enlightenment.
The Sheikh felt this way despite being of a different Islamic
sect than Farouk.  Like Shap, he was very dedicated to sharing
religious traditions, pacifism and easing spiritual pain.  We all
got along well with him.  It gave me some hope that maybe Islam
could find peace with the world someday.

	I asked Jodi Lee to go with Asher's party.  She's freckled and
has dark copper hair but put her in a veil and she can pass for
an Arabian woman, especially with those long stuffy veils the
Taliban like to force women to wear.  The farewell kiss that
gorgeous butch blonde Tanya gave Jodi Lee would really have made
Taliban mullahs upset.  I loved Tanya.  It was too bad she only
liked girls.

	Yes, Doug, I know she's not the only woman on my team like that.
 You don't need to remind me of Sabra the mechanic, Maureen the
nurse and the other three.  I'm like you.  I have my preferences
but I got no problem with other people having theirs.

	Asher, Jodi Lee, and four other scouts left the base that night.
 The rest of us followed on the morrow.  Little did we know how
much our lives were about to change.

***

	It took five days' journey to get to the mission area, counting
the fuel acquisition delays.  You can never get supplies when you
most need them.

	Finally, we arrived in the village near where we suspected Aziz
to be.  We got an e-mail from Asher three days before our arrival
that confirmed Aziz was there.  He had a sizable base in the
caves outside the town, just like Asher's intelligence showed. 
The terrorist militia protecting Aziz was bigger than we thought,
Asher said also.  Aziz had just over a hundred crazy Taliban
goons, mostly people he'd brought in from outside Afghanistan. 
There were also a few locals too ignorant or corrupt to care whom
they were letting command them.  The Scorpion Pharaoh was getting
rich thanks to international heroin sales and had his bullies
heavily armed.  My infiltrators thought we could still take them
and I agreed.

	Then we lost contact with Asher.  I was worried but I put it in
the back of my mind.  It wasn't the first time he'd gone off the
grid.

	We canvassed the village and found nothing, just another normal
bunch of Afghan citizens that barely looked surprised at the
presence of foreign troops.  We took a day to give them some
chocolate and medical care.  Then Shap and the Sheikh stayed
behind as liaisons with five men for security while the rest of
us headed for the village's outskirts.  Aziz's stronghold was in
a cave in the nearby hills.  They were waiting for us.

	The area around the cave was desert hill country.  Aziz had set
up a terraced poppy farm several miles wide.  Poppies are used to
make heroin, if you didn't know.  They'd covered the outer
perimeter with claymore mines.  I lost six good men before we
even got close to the caves.  I'd taken losses before, but this
was bad.  Fortunately we had some good US Army minesweepers with
us who were able to clear our way.  You know Vince and Steve,
right, Cat?  They maintain the video arcade machines downstairs.


	Anyway, we made it through the minefield.  Then the mortars
started raining down.  It was obvious Aziz's militia had spotted
us coming.  I split my team up and sent them to flanking
positions.  Wouter and Farouk coordinated everything.  Tanya and
her spotter Andrei found the enemy mortar teams and took them
out.  The Russian military trained Tanya.  They don't mind
females getting into combat like most nations.  She could score
headshots at two thousand yards -- one shot, one kill.

	About eighty of the Scorpion Pharaoh's bullies came running out
of cover around the caves after the mortars stopped.  They were
as fanatical and crazy as we expected.  My team and I met them
with our weapons.  I recall Wouter and Yoshi did especially well
that day.

	Yoshi wasn't just our cook, he was also a trench fighter and
heavy machine gunner.  He came from a long line of old time
Japanese warriors, men like Sanada Yukimura and Oda Nobunaga. 
They were some of the meanest dudes in history and definitely not
people you would want to mess with.  Yoshi exhibits his heritage
well when you get him pissed off.

	Wouter is good at spotting enemy positions.  He also excels at
close combat, as you know, Doug.  Our Dutch boy got right in the
enemy ranks during Operation Sweetheart and took out nine with
his rifle and bayonet.  He helped the rest of us find and take
down a bunch of others.  I didn't do so bad myself using my
grenade launcher and M4 assault gun.  Chen, Tanya and the others
got plenty of kills too.

	We took some additional losses in the fighting.  Several of my
team got wounded and had to fall back.  The worst was our
photographer.  Baxter got tagged in the stomach with an AK rifle
round by a big red-turbaned terrorist from Kashmir.  Our files
said he was Ramzi al-Zarquawi, Aziz's main henchman.  Farouk
gunned down this villain an instant after he got Baxter.  Tess
and her assistants pulled Baxter off the field under heavy fire
and treated his injuries.

	Damn these terrorists for going after non-combatants!  Medics
and press save more lives than anybody else in the military does.

	You don't believe me about photographers, Cat?  Think for a
minute about the psychological effects of seeing the
battlefield's horrors captured on film.  They can be very helpful
in getting people to lay down their arms.  Ah, I see you agree.

	There were a few kills on our side also, including Chen.  He
died right next to me covering my back in the poppy fields when
an enemy sniper got him.  Tanya used the shot to find and pick
off that guy, but just like with Baxter it was too late.  That
happens often in battles.  Don't let the movies fool you.  War is
hell.

	We made it through the terraced farm and then things got
especially bad.  An old Russian Type 80 battle tank rolled out of
a Quonset hut near the main entrance to the caves.  Aziz must
have held it over from the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in the
1980s.  That beast's cannon and machine gunners killed a dozen of
my troops in their initial volley.  They got Andrei and Tanya
with the first high explosive cannon shell.  The rest of us had
to scatter and hide.

	I didn't have any tanks with me and our rockets and grenades
weren't doing enough damage.  I had to call Hawkins for some air
support.  He sent down an American A-10 Warthog plane that took
out the T-80 with a missile.  Those were good pilots.  Jodi Lee
thanked them for avenging Tanya by giving them a fun night a
couple weeks after the battle.  If I had been inclined, I would
have offered the same.

	Don't be angry at me.  My troops who got killed knew the risks.
Yeah, I probably could have deployed them better if I had more
advance intelligence.  Or maybe not, since no plan survives the
battlefield.  I asked my commanders to parachute in some
reinforcements.  Murdoch told me only my team had clearance to be
in the area but he would try, the lying son of a bitch.  It
looked like we would have to solve this mess on our own.

	We rallied and surged forward up the final hill, storming enemy
positions.  Our other snipers besides Tanya, Richard from Germany
and Jake from Brazil, got the terrorist radiomen.  That helped. 
Yoshi and our other heavy machine gunner, Loyd from the SAS, took
out some would-be suicide bombers before they could get close to
us and that helped too.  The rest of us also fought hard.

	Soon we had the bad guys overrun.  They tried collapsing rocks
over the main cave entrance to block us but Mike blew things back
open with some C4.  I deployed most of my team to surround the
caves and cut off enemy escape routes.  It was an old iron mine,
so we had some maps of the place.  We knew there were only two
ways in or out and covered both.  Wouter and Farouk were in
charge of each entrance, with my other two sergeants backing
them.  You know Doug's chief bartender Ray and my assistant
security chief Connor?  That's them.  Back then, they were both
Marines.

	Once we went into the mine, the maps were pretty much useless. 
The terrorists had modified the caverns and set up a bunch of
traps.  Mike, Yoshi and I led ten men inside and got ambushed. 
Five kills on our side and twelve on theirs later, we were
hurting.  I radioed Wouter for additional personnel and Farouk
led ten more of my team into the caves.  A global positioning
device helped them find where my advance force was.  They helped
us beat back the terrorists and we moved on.

	In a dark twisting tunnel, a frantic screaming woman in a veil
jumped out at us waving a shotgun.

	Now, I don't care what morality tells you.  When you're fighting
enemy soldiers, shoot the women first.  Any female military or
terrorist operative has had to work ten times as hard as her male
counterparts to be accepted by their organization.  She will
often be quicker on reaction, abler in combat and far more
dangerous than many men will be.  You need to kill her first and
fast.

	I'm glad I hesitated this time, though.  The woman stripped off
her veil a second before I could pull the trigger and revealed
herself as Jodi Lee.

	"Goddamn it!" I told her.  "Don't scare me like that!  What
happened?  Where's Asher?"

	"They're holding him deeper in these caves," Jodi Lee answered
after she had recovered herself.  "We got ratted out by the
villagers shortly after we infiltrated Aziz's militia.  Aziz has
them scared of him, just like you thought."

	"Shit!  How'd you escape?"

	"I didn't.  I was the only one they didn't catch.  My veil
helped hide me.  Aziz never suspected a woman might be a spy. 
The people in the village kept me secret and gave up the men. 
They had to, or Aziz would have killed them and their families. 
He suspected we were coming to get him and had all the people
around here on edge."

	"What happened to Asher and the others?"

	"Jamal and Rashid are dead, Nouri and Tyler too.  They fought
back and Aziz's soldiers shot them on the spot.  Asher let
himself be captured.  I've been watching Aziz torture him for the
past three days."

	"You didn't try to save him?"

	"I was waiting for you!"

	Forgive me for not repeating what I said next.  There's a lady
present.

	I told Jodi Lee to take up position as our guide through the
caves.  I also shared our losses with her, including Tanya.  She
got really upset when she heard.  I pitied those terrorist fools.
 Jodi Lee had to put up with all manner of atrocities scouting
out the enemy.  Tanya was always Jodi Lee's greatest comfort when
she came back to us, and now Tanya was dead.  Yeah, Doug, I
mourned Tanya too.  I'm sure the twenty-four terrorists Jodi Lee
killed during Operation Sweetheart are also mourning Tanya,
wherever the hell they are now.

	We fought on through the caves and cleared out several enemy
storage rooms and barracks.  Jodi Lee, Yoshi and Farouk were
quite brutal as they took down Aziz's forces.  I was too.  You
don't want to back down when you're underground on enemy turf. 
We were reinforced once more by Ray and five other guys.  A
couple of the younger terrorists surrendered and we took them
captive.  The rest were so ready to die we had to oblige their
hopes.

	After a few hours of exploration, we caught the Scorpion Pharaoh
himself in one of the deepest chambers.  He was cowering on a
prayer rug, whining to Allah about how his defeat was
inconceivable.  I told him that word didn't mean what he thought
it meant right before I put him in flex-cuffs and had Farouk and
Jodi Lee take him and our other prisoners outside.  The rest of
us kept searching the caves and found Aziz's hostages.

	It makes me shiver today to describe what Aziz did to Asher. 
The Scorpion Pharaoh gave my friend all sorts of scars, physical
and emotional.  Worst of all, he cut out Asher's tongue.  That's
why our albino comrade only communicates in sign language these
days.  It's a real credit to his mental strength that Asher was
able to pull through that ordeal and smile once he saw us, not to
mention tell Mike with gestures how to disarm the bomb Aziz had
wired to him.  Shap and other counselors praised Asher for months
after our return to the base.

	Strangely, Aziz didn't give Deeyah any physical wounds at all. 
He was just keeping her locked up and malnourished, separating
his men from her.  I guess family does count for something with
devil wannabes like the Scorpion Pharaoh after all.

	Yoshi, Ray and I had to shoot the women guarding Deeyah.  They
were serious bitches.  Watching over this valuable prisoner was
the only thing Aziz had let them do in his militia.  Well, that
and getting themselves killed fighting us.  I don't even want to
know how Aziz got these women so worked up for his cause.  Please
restrain your own speculation.

	Deeyah collapsed into my chest sobbing when I busted open her
cage door and told her who we were.  I think she fell for me at
first sight.

	There were some other prisoners too, locals who weren't
practicing Islam like Aziz demanded.  Some were tortured worse
than Asher was.  They were very happy we liberated them.  I let
Baxter take our picture with them after the battle.  You want to
see?  Here we go.

	We came out of the caves bloody and bedraggled.  I called
Murdoch to extract us, but he said he was still working on
getting clearance.  It made me wonder if he even wanted us to get
out alive.

	Then I found out Aziz had wiggled out of his flex cuffs on the
way out of the cave while Farouk and Jodi Lee had their backs
turned.  He knocked out Jodi Lee, then grabbed Farouk's gun and
shot our other prisoners.  Farouk tackled Aziz and tied him up
again, but then Aziz chomped down on a cyanide pill he had
palmed.

	Damn it, why didn't I anticipate that could happen?  Murdoch and
Hawkins were going to be very disappointed we couldn't bring the
Scorpion Pharaoh back alive for trial.  Oh well.

***

	As you can imagine, I was real torn up after the battle.  I had
seen the appalling side of war before but not anything like this.
 My team had taken losses like they never had -- thirty dead,
twenty-one wounded.   The people we rescued had seriously
suffered too.  Erika and Keira have both done films about
post-traumatic stress disorder.  After Operation Sweetheart, you
could say I had a serious case of that.  I felt I had let my team
down, especially Asher and Jodi Lee.

	All I had experienced overwhelmed my usual coping mechanisms. 
Shap was ready to help but for some reason his sermons just
couldn't get through to me like they always had in the past.  The
Sheikh tried also, but we couldn't connect.  I wasn't familiar
enough with his religion.  In my youth, I sought spiritual help
from my tribe's witch doctor and some missionaries of Erika's
church in Johannesburg.  I never really fit in with my tribe or
the missionaries and had long ago left them behind.  Maybe they
could have assisted me with my new problem.  Maybe some
professional psychologists or existentialists could have too.  I
really don't know.

	It didn't help that we were stuck in the war zone for a whole
week while Murdoch arranged our exit convoy.  The locals were
grateful we had removed the menace of Aziz but they also made us
aware there were other people like him waiting to fill the void.
We weren't authorized to go after them either.  Why does hunting
terrorists always have to be like Whack-a-Mole and then the
arcade staff takes away your coins?

	The rest of my team got through the operation okay.  Tess, Mike
and Yoshi gave Asher a lot of assistance with his trauma. 
There's nothing like good friends to treat you right.  Jodi Lee
bestowed a traditional Aussie Aboriginal cremation on Tanya,
which was a very beautiful thing to see.  We buried Chen and our
other dead near the village.  We didn't have much family outside
the team and we wanted to give the locals something to remember
us by.  They were all right with us by the time we left.  I don't
think they'd easily give in to Taliban oppression again.  At
least, that's what I hope.

	Deeyah seemed to feel no pain after the Sheikh spoke with her. 
She helped us with the locals by giving out free music and good
will.  She's very popular over there, as I told you.  They all
recognized her and appreciated that an Arabian celebrity was
supporting our efforts.  With her on our side, we didn't seem as
much like foreigners anymore.

	I got to know Deeyah and so did the rest of the team.  Nobody
made any innuendos to her at first since we wanted to keep things
social.  I'd had a few celebrities before, USO entertainers and
U.N. goodwill ambassadors, but I didn't like to actively pursue.
Deeyah seemed to recognize that in me and it further attracted me
to her.  Hard-to-get works every time.

	We eventually got back to the base and faced the shit-typhoon
waiting for us.  Hawkins was glad Deeyah and Asher were alive but
saddened that we let Aziz die.  Don't even ask me if I tried to
explain it wasn't our fault.  A good soldier never complains
about things he can't control.

	Murdoch really got on me about Aziz.  He told me if he had been
in charge of the operation on the ground, the outcome might have
been different.  I really wanted to see that motherfucker go out
and try to live up to his word.

	Deeyah was with me all throughout the mission's aftermath, just
like my team.  She was hanging around with us, not yet ready to
go home and face her own family.  By then, she and I both knew
something was going to happen between the two of us.  A fortnight
after we met, it did.

	Murdoch had come after me again that day.  "I just sent off your
discharge papers, Clarke," he told me with a sneer.  "The U.N.
doesn't like you anymore.  They approved the medals for your
people, but you're all being rotated back to your former units. 
Your time is through."

	"You know, Murdoch," I said after I heard that, "I really don't
like you.  I think someone ought to belt you one in the mouth.  I
won't, though.  I won't."

	I paused, realizing all of a sudden my future didn't really
matter.  "The hell I won't!"  The next thing I knew, the
motherfucker was on the floor with a split lip.

	"You'll hang for this!" he snarled at me.

	"I don't care," I replied.  "I've had enough of people like you.
 I'm quitting the military.  But you remember me, Murdoch.  You
finish this war.  Save all the victims.  It doesn't matter who
they are.  If you don't save them, I'm coming back to finish
kicking your ass."

	I then turned and went to pack up my gear.  My comrades each
came to me and told me they understood what I was doing.  Many
said they wanted to do the same thing.  "How will you live?" they
asked me.  "Where will you go?"

	I gave them all the same answer.  "Day by day."

	I recall three goodbyes more than I do any of the others.  The
first came from Shap.

	"You need to tell me next time before you do something like you
did with Murdoch," the chaplain said with a Friendship hand
gesture.

	"Would you have stopped me?"

	"Hell no.  I might have joined you, though."  Shap chuckled. 
"Go with God, Clarke.  Remember to look me up in Texas if you
ever need a kind word."

	The second bit of good will came from General Hawkins.  He
didn't say anything to me about what happened with Murdoch.  He
just shook my hand and told me to keep doing what I had to do. 
Among warriors, such attitudes go a long distance.  I later found
out Hawkins had arranged clemency for me and recommended Murdoch
for a court-martial, conduct unbecoming an officer.  I never
found out if he actually went to trial -- by then, I didn't care
either way.

	The third gift came from Deeyah.  She visited my quarters on my
last night in the Middle East dressed in a long white gown.  Her
shining black hair was loose about her shoulders, darker than my
flesh.  Her skin was the color of polished cedar.  Deeyah's eyes
were sparkling hazel and her lips were bright red.

	"Clarke, you are hurting," she told me.

	"I'll get over it."  I could not look her in the eye.

	Deeyah clenched my arm.  "Do not lie to yourself.  Do not lie to
me either.  You need help.  Walking away from your life like this
is the wrong thing to do."

	I disagreed.  "It's the only thing I can do anymore.  I beat
Murdoch, but he was right.  People like him fight the wars now. 
They let the wrong politics guide them and forsake the victims. 
They let hatred and ignorance keep growing and make fools of us
all.  There's no longer a place in this world for folk such as
me."

	"Don't talk like that!"  Deeyah took my hand and sat me down on
my cot.  She sat beside me, put her fingers on my face and turned
it towards her.  "Think about what you did.  </I>You</I> saved my
life.  <I>You</I> defeated the terrorists.  Not men like Murdoch.
 Heroes like you and your team."

	"You don't understand.  They didn't want me to save you. 
Murdoch would have preferred you became a martyr, turned your
people away from Aziz and his ways.  Even Hawkins was okay with
that."

	"Do you really think that would have worked?  Martyrs aren't the
only people to whom we should listen.  It's better to stay alive
and keep giving your message over and over again, make sure your
message is clear and can't be distorted in any way.  Your message
also has to be for the good of the people.  That's the true
meaning of jihad, something my poor cousin could never
understand.  I'm sure Allah and the Prophet are explaining it to
him now."

	Deeyah put her hand on my chin.  "Many are dead, but we are
still here, Clarke.  Allah doesn't want us to leave this world
yet.  I want to continue my efforts towards peace, to grow closer
to paradise on Earth and in heaven.  You should join me."

	"I..."  I could not find the proper words.  "I don't know if I
can."

	"Let me aid you," Deeyah said.  She kissed my lips and I gave
in.

	Deeyah wanted to thank me for all I had done for her and her
people.  She wanted to encourage me to do more instead of stay on
my current course.  Could she have saved me?  I'll never know,
but I do know she tried.

	She huddled close to me on my cot as we embraced.  I tried to
push her away, but only for a few seconds.  I had wanted Deeyah
for some time now and I was glad to learn she wanted me too. 
Deeyah was an impressive example of human beauty and her people's
good ways.  After all I that had been through rescuing her, I
needed to see both at close hand.

	I ran over my mental checklist for sex while we made out.  I was
clean and so was my partner, according to Dr. Tess.  The room's
door was locked and we probably wouldn't be disturbed till
morning.  I didn't need a condom since I had a vasectomy shortly
after I first got into the military.  I saw my buddies doing a
lot of sleeping around and wanted to join them in their endeavors
but I didn't want any children.  There are too many unwanted
babies in Africa already.  I'd like some kids in the future
maybe, if I meet the right woman.  I can always get my operation
reversed.

	Deeyah didn't seem to care much about birth control that night.
She caressed me, stripped off my shirt and spread her pleasure to
the shores of my chest.  She reached into my pants and touched
the black pillar of my manhood with her fingers.  Grasping it,
Deeyah unfastened my belt and shoved my pants off and away.  I
pushed her dress down from her shoulders and looked over her as
it hit the floor.

	She had small hard breasts with dark nipples covering most of
their area.  They looked a bit like those domes the Arabs put on
towers.  Her tanned skin held all the soft wonder of the desert.
It was cold at first, then rapidly burning hot as I explored it
further.  Sandstorms were in some places and moisture in others.
I moved my hands over it all, touching Deeyah's warmth and
seeking her most secret joys.  Her pussy was shaved but had a
light dusting of curls like a veil.  She was very experienced.  I
found she knew things I could never learn anywhere else in the
world.  Deeyah was also no virgin.  I doubt even seventy-two
virgins could provide as wonderful a paradise as she gave me that
night.

	I squeezed her hard many times in our coupling.  She kept
gasping and falling into my arms.  I caught her every time and
then we took flight.  I was a foreigner in Deeyah's ancestral
land, one of many who had journeyed there over the centuries.  We
wanted to solve the native peoples' problems.  We didn't want to
necessarily make them like us.  Okay, maybe we did at first, but
working with them gave us better ideas.  We found a middle ground
and decided we just wanted to stop them threatening their
neighbors and each other.  We also wanted peaceful and
pleasurable exchange of goods and ideas.  Deeyah gave me all
that, though she haggled quite a bargain out of me in return.

	She whispered beautiful phrases in my ears as I nibbled and
fondled her throat and teats.  I heard hopes, dreams, pleas for
change and understanding.  Every word seemed wise but I only
listened with half an ear.  I was too intent on what I wanted
from her, a few brief hours of passion and joy before I ran out.
I guess you could say we were each like a genie to the other,
only our wishes were in conflict.  Still, we put our hands on
each other's groins and kept rubbing those magic lamps.

	What, you're liking this?  Damn, I didn't mean to get so
detailed.  It's just, I remember it all so well.  It was a very
special experience for me.  I realize what I have described is
crude, though, and maybe even a little prejudiced.  I'll stop
talking about it if you want.  Oh, you guys don't mind?  You want
to hear more especially, Cat?  Okay, I'll keep talking.

	Deeyah was gentle and sensual, a real goddess.  I kept hearing
her music in my mind as we touched.  I don't know if you've ever
heard Deeyah sing.  I have, live and on recordings.  I like her
voice.  It's instantly recognizable and distinctly full of free
spirit and the sense of where she's from.  The background
instrumentation has lots of sharp chords and whispering cries. 
Deeyah was about four years my senior and willing to show me
everything she knew.  I didn't ask her for exact details of her
past lovers.  I never do that with those I fuck.

	Deeyah really liked my muscles.  They're very developed. 
There's strong, there's army strong, and then there's South
African Special Forces strong.  They call us the best in the
world at war and we certainly practice justifying that reputation
with all the bush rebellions and other skirmishes we get into. 
The rest of Africa often hires us as peacemakers and so does the
U.N.  I had the reflection of all that battle experience in my
body back then, even more so than I do now.  She traced every
inch of me, challenging my strength with the swords of her nails.

	Her head dropped like a legendary assassin, soft hair enveloping
my cock followed by harshly pouting lips.  Those lips sucked hard
on me, her tongue a stabbing dagger in accompaniment.  I knew it
would be a very long engagement if I even tried to push her away.

	I caressed Deeyah back instead, returning to her all the
pleasure she gave me, and then some.  I rubbed her hair and
shoulders as she took my organ inside.  I let her take control,
as was the only reasonable choice.  She got on top of me and
screamed with mad fervor.  I licked at her cunt when she turned
around on my body and offered it.  I stuck two fingers inside and
whacked every surface over and over.  I concentrated my lips on
snapping at the pearl.

	Deeyah kept mumbling stuff in her native tongue.  I didn't
really know the language that well, so I only got the emotions. 
She was humming about beauty and love, about seeking peace and
growing closer to paradise.  I told her some of my own thoughts
on that as we coupled.  They were a bit different in tone than
what she said, but no less forthright.  I think we both got the
gist of what the other was trying to say.

	I kept biting her clit and pushing my hands into her thighs,
seeking moisture from the oasis.  Dark tangy oil flowed out,
thick with exotic scents.  That oil added fuel to my body's motor
and I pushed into Deeyah like a piston as she gave me juice.  She
kept jacking her price up and down, only giving scant thought to
my needs.  I remember several moments when she stopped what she
was doing and cut me off until I made her happy or she lost
patience.  There were other times when she gave me so much
ecstasy I felt like a guzzler, taking too much in and risking a
spill or something worse.

	Deeyah never stopped giving me charity.  Her pauses were short.
Every attention she gave me remained steady and with time, things
got easier to predict.  She would squeeze my cock with her hand
or mouth, then move on to other muscles.  I stroked her torso and
legs in reply, securing assets and snatching what I could.  When
she slacked off, I increased my efforts and made her aware of how
much I needed her.  As soon as she was ready, she resumed giving
me the goods.  All throughout, she sang to me in that distinct
throbbing alto voice.

	I don't know how long it took before she came for the first
time.  I can still envision it, though.  Have you ever seen the
dances Sufi Muslims do when they earnestly profess their beliefs?
 They shake all over and wildly gyrate every muscle of their
bodies.  Deeyah was like that when she climaxed.  I think it was
paradise for her, or as close as she could get.  She looked very
happy when she came, though not as much as when I'd seen her on
stage.  I did my best to seem happy too.

	Her climax was brought on by our exchange of fondles and good
feelings.  Deeyah wanted me to stay on her side of the world and
for a while, I agreed.  She was taking responsibility for her own
needs but wanted to serve me also.  I gladly accepted her into
the ranks of my lovers.  The few, the proud, the...

	Okay, Doug, you're right.  Maybe my lovers shouldn't be called
"the few".  To be honest, I've had hundreds of lovers.  I add
more every chance I get.  I actually slept my way into the
military and Special Forces to overcome recruiters' lingering
racism.  Hey, is it wrong if I wanted to serve my country?  Is it
wrong I turned out one of their greatest soldiers of all time? 
Is it wrong the recruiters enjoyed what we did together as much
as me?

	You didn't need to hear that?  Sorry, man, it just came out. 
You had better stop injecting smart remarks into my story if you
don't want me to argue back at you.

	Thanks, Cat.  I'll forgive Doug and continue my tale.

	Deeyah hit a home run on my bat shortly after she climaxed. 
Watching her orgasm really excited me.  Bright diamonds came
pouring out of my body and into her mouth.  She swallowed them
down, savoring them and giving me back further riches with her
own caresses.

	What, you don't get the metaphor?  Diamonds are what I call my
climactic spurts.  My operation still allows me to have such
spurts.  Real diamonds are the most precious resource of my home
nation South Africa.  Okay, you're smiling now.  Good.

	I fondled Deeyah's thighs while I came.  I've trained my body
not to collapse at the moment of completion.  I don't fumble or
flinch, like most men.  I've got true grit.  I can hold out for
the longest night and keep on searching for pleasure with anyone.
 If some stunning woman or man tells me to fill their hand, you
bet I will.

	That's a John Wayne reference, Doug.  Murdoch called me "John
Wayne" earlier, remember?  I guess I am like a black version of
that actor's characters in some ways.

	I stroked the palm fronds around Deeyah's tunnel as we settled
down from our first orgasmic exchange.  She shook and smiled, as
she was very sensitive.  Our inhibitions towards each other were
gone now and we had nothing left to lose.  I let her turn around
on me again and she pushed her body down onto mine.

	Deeyah made a voyage to the black pillar of my cock, surrounded
it with her cunt's tight heat and whirled with intensity.  I felt
some very strong vibrations inside me responding to her force.  I
massaged her back and tits, making her muscles twitching and
attentive.  For everything she gave me, I gave more in return.  I
think I would have stayed with her forever if she had asked me
and I had been willing and able to understand.  Deeyah was lost
in emotion by then, though.  She was too caught up in screwing me
to give any real respect to my needs.

	Her cunt squeezed my member, and I realized I risked becoming
dependent on her sensuality.  I didn't want to be an addict for
what she could give.  Yeah, I liked it, but I'm a free man.  I am
not the type to change my worldview for anyone, not even a
remarkable woman like Deeyah.  I just took pleasure from her and
paid her back in kind.  That was all that we had needed to be, or
so I believed.

	She scratched me and pressed herself against me.  I stroked my
fingers against the minarets of her nipples and the hard pearl of
her clit.  More oil came out of her and I took it into my engine.
 I was the rest of the world to Deeyah's Middle East.  Her
tempests kept drawing me in because I wanted what she could give.
 She shook and sang, then lapped my lips.  I kissed her back and
groaned because I knew I could not stay.

	Once more, my diamonds flowed into her body, and as before, she
rewarded me with a wondrous display of climax.  The oil gushed
forth from Deeyah's loins and pained delight filled her speech. 
I think she knew in that moment I could not turn from my chosen
path.

	"Clarke, stay with me," she pleaded after her final climax had
left her.  "Remain a hero, a warrior.  My people need what yours
can provide.  I work for peace and so do you.  We can learn to
cooperate.  I know you think most of us are against you, but
we're not.  This war will end someday.  Your spirit and mine will
outlive it.  Stay with me, Clarke.  Put your pain aside.  Forget
it.  Kneel.  Kneel before Deeyah."

	I had no idea where she got those last words.  I just knew I
didn't like them.  The super-powered son of South Africa could
not kneel before this daughter of an alien world embroiled in
constant war.  It did not matter that she had given me such a
taste of heaven.  I could not submit to her.  I did weaken for an
instant, though, when I thought I saw a green flash in her eyes.

	"Thank you, but I can't," I coughed and told her.  "I just
can't."

	I was devastated in that moment, my doomsday.  I broke down
crying in Deeyah's arms.  She hugged and kissed me through it,
trying to give me more promises of hope.  I was too stupid and
full of myself to listen.  Eventually I lost consciousness and
slept with her still weeping alongside.

***
<b>London, England.  September 2003.</b>

	"To this day," Clarke finished, "I wish I had listened to her
words.  But I didn't.  I walked away from her instead because I
was so bitter.  I left the base early the next morning.  I didn't
even wake Deeyah up or say goodbye.  I remember it was a very
dark and stormy day.  It felt like all the forces of the world
were lined up to halt me, but I didn't let them.  I walked out
the gates of the base, boarded a ship at the nearby harbor and
wandered into the darkness, lost and alone.  The captain of the
ship offered me a drink when he heard my story and I took it. 
Then I took another.  Soon, I let the bottle swallow my soul. 
The effects of alcohol worsened the memories that haunted me.  I
kept going up that river and it wasn't long before I met Jim
Kurtz."

	"Jim Kurtz?" asked Cat.

	"East London crime boss," Doug answered.  "Clarke was working
for Kurtz as an illegal prizefighter before we met."

	"Oh."

	"Kurtz found me in a bar here in London called `The Crimson
Boar's Head'," Clarke filled Cat in.  "After I departed the
military, I roamed all around Africa for a while.  I kept bumping
into this or that person who had known me in some war.  It got
tiresome very fast.  Nobody wanted to believe the legendary
soldier Clarke had hung up his hat.  After a couple months, I
emigrated to London where fewer people knew me.  I stayed with
Keira and her family for a while.  They were good friends of mine
from times I had spent on leave training with the British Special
Air Service.  I taught Keira a lot about combat on and off
stage."

	"Are you and Keira ...?" Cat asked.

	"No.  We're not that kind of friends.  First, she was too young
for me and then I was in despair.  I know she's interested, but
I've just never been ready.  I've also been driving away a lot of
people who have tried to help me these past few months.  Maybe
that will change soon now that I'm happy again and working here."

	"I hope so," Doug said.  "Lots of famous women have been
stopping by the club and asking me about you.  The other day
Gabrielle Union wanted me to give her your number.  I told her to
ask you for it.  I'm not your manager or anything like that."

	"Gabby?"  Clarke's eyes widened.  "She's someone I've wanted to
see again for some time.  What about Sarah Ferguson?  She's
another old conquest.  Has she come around asking for me yet?"

	"The Duchess of York?"  Doug gaped.  "Man, you do get around."

	"When I have my mind set right, I do."  Clarke looked at Cat. 
"When you get to the Olympics, Cat, there's a couple athletes I
want you to say hello to for me.  Both are very daring and
gorgeous women.  I met them when I attended their college games
on leave in the US.  They're both going to their first Olympics
next year like you are.  Heather's on the soccer team and
Jennie's a softball pitcher like yourself."

	"I'll give them your regards," Cat said.  "What about guys?  Are
there any of them you want to see again?"

	"You bet.  Remind me before you leave and I'll give you the
names."

	"Why don't you finish your story, Clarke?" Doug asked to change
the subject.  "I don't think we're at the end just yet."

	"No, I guess not.  Fine.  I stayed with the Knightleys for a few
weeks, but I didn't let them help me.  They tried, just as Deeyah
and my team had, but I wouldn't let them get through.  Keira saw
me drinking and tried to take away my bottle.  I was almost drunk
enough to hit a teenage girl and when I saw her dodge in
preparation just like I showed her, I felt even more ashamed.  I
told Keira's father and he threw me out, told me to get myself
sorted before I did something I'd regret forever.  I was on the
streets for a couple weeks and then I found the Boar's Head.  The
owner, Fat Neville Hamid, took pity on me and let me run a tab
and sleep in a booth."

	"Then Kurtz found you," said Doug.

	"Actually, Igor Ilyich Ivanov came by first.  He's this former
Soviet Special Forces mercenary who works for Kurtz.  Igor was
shaking down Fat Neville for protection money and I didn't like
it.  I was going to beat the tar out of him, but I was so drunk I
couldn't stand.  He laughed at me and told me to lay off the
sauce.  I was surprised when I decided to pay attention.  The
next time Igor came back, I challenged him again and fought hard.
 He beat me, but he was also impressed.  So the next time he
visited the Boar's Head, Jim Kurtz came too.  He had a job offer
for me."

	"So you became a prizefighter," said Cat.

	"Yeah.  It seemed like the thing to do.  I needed to get strong
again.  I cut back on the drinking and bulked up winning and
losing matches.  For a while, I had trouble with my emotions. 
Kurtz told me the outcomes of my bouts and I let him be right. 
Igor was keeping me distracted -- I had to prove I was tougher
than he was.

	"Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.  I won a fight I was
supposed to throw and then I left Kurtz behind.  I left Igor
behind too.  He wanted me as a lover, but I never was attracted
to him as anything other than an opponent.  He hated that.  Kurtz
sent Igor after me, but I kicked the bastard's tail.  I hid out
with Fat Neville and the Knightleys.  I hooked up with Shap again
too, using the Internet.  He gave me counseling, this time I
listened, and my drinking scaled back to recreational.  About
three weeks afterwards, I met Doug."

	"Clarke reconciled with Keira," Doug picked up the story, "and
let her know he was healing.  It turned out most of his old
comrades were out of the military and in London looking for him,
hoping for reconciliations of their own.  The Friendship tries to
keep well-linked people together when it can.  I was a new
society viceroy in London starting my business and Clarke needed
a fresh line of work that would get him back some respect for
himself.  I gave him that."

	"You did," Clarke agreed.  "I will be forever grateful.  You've
got a streak of kindness a mile wide."  He turned back to Cat. 
"I helped Doug take this building from Kurtz, and here we are
today."

	Cat smiled.  "Where do we go next?"

	"I'm really not sure.  Somewhere good, hopefully."

	"Do you think you'll ever see Deeyah again?"

	"I want to.  We've been trading e-mails of late.  She's glad I'm
okay and is continuing to put out her music and work for peace. 
The U.N.'s been looking after her as much as they can.  The story
of her kidnapping and rescue got buried in the world press, but
it's still remembered well all over the Middle East and Europe. 
It has increased Deeyah's popularity.  Her music sells great and
most who listen get the words."

	"That's wonderful, Clarke," Doug said.  An idea to smooth over
some recently developed problems had occurred to him.  "Do you
have a recording of hers somewhere?"

	"Yep.  I got her new single, 'Plan of My Own', right here in my
Sony Walkman.  It's terrific mood music."

	"Why don't you put it on the stereo over there?  Then, if you're
not too tired out from all your talking, you can get undressed
and come here and be with Cat and me.  I won't touch you, but you
feel free to touch her."

	"I will touch whoever I want," Cat added with a grin.  She
tapped her fingers on Doug's rugged cheek, looking at Clarke all
the while.

	"I think my life has taken me to someplace very interesting,"
Clarke said, moving towards the stereo and unbuttoning his shirt.
 He was sure that he would revisit what followed with Doug and
Cat many times at later dates.

***
<b>The End.<b>