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 Undercover 11

   By Katzmarek

   Author's note

   This work remains the property of the author and can't be used for gain
without the author's express consent in writing.  This story is fiction of
a sexual nature.  If you are liable to be offended or it is illegal to view
such literature then pass on, friend.  Any views expressed or implied do
not represent the personal opinions of the author.

   Part 11

   Warren Hastings made his regular briefing phonecall to his supervisor,
DS Sperle.

   "Sir, I have another request."

   "Go on," his boss replied.



   "Can you persuade the Office of the Palace Guard here to release to me
the Tongan Weekly Review's accounts and ledgers?"



   "What the hell have they got them for?"

   "A'oka's under investigation for sedition, so they say.  The Police
Chief here just turned them over.  Apparently he regards requests from the
Guard as a royal command."

   "So who gives this Palace Guard its orders?"

   "The King's Chief Minister, through the Guard Commander... really the
King..."

   "The great untouchable?  What's your take on all of this?  What did you
get from A'oka?"

   "Plenty, sir... Treadwell provided the money to set up A'oka's
newspaper. They went to University together.

   Treadwell arrived in Tonga about 10 years ago.  He went to see his old
University buddy which puzzled A'oka a little.  Apparently they never got
on THAT well together..."

   "I see..."

   "Well, sir.  Treadwell wanted a place to stay... out of the way, he
said. A'oka's extended family have this island... only a few people live
there... so they cut a deal.  Treadwell gets his island hideaway and A'oka
gets his newspaper.  Treadwell becomes a silent partner."

   "Hideaway, eh?  I wonder what he was hiding from."

   "Given what you've told me, I wouldn't be surprised if a few people had
a score to settle with him."

   "No doubt.  He had money, eh?  Now THAT'S interesting," Sperle said.

   "Probably from his past activities.  I also think that our Princess
knows a lot more than she's telling."

   "I KNOW she is, Warren, anything else?"

   "Just one thing... A'oka said Treadwell kept pretty much out of the way
until he published a story about the Princess.  A'oka said Treadwell went
ballistic... they had a big fight, apparently.  Treadwell threatened to
pull out of his share of the business.  Then A'oka gets busted a week
later."

   "Coincidence?"

   "A'oka thinks that Treadwell is the Princess's man... he reckons she can
be very charming... personal charisma, sir.  A'oka thinks Vai, well...
seduced him, that's the words he used."

   "Seduced?  Shit?  You telling me Treadwell was bonking her?

   "I don't think he meant that... more Platonic seduction, I think."

   "How did YOU find her?"

   "Charming would be a good choice of word.  I can see how she could
seduce someone like Treadwell."

   "Well you keep your pants on around her, Hastings."

   "I will sir."

   Jess didn't meet Chris when she arrived for work the next morning.  It
was her stint in the control room, where she would be under the supervision
of an experienced operator.

   The Central Police Station preferred women operators because their
voices were clearer over the radios.  Apparently too, women were considered
better at dealing with people calling in distress.

   Being the nerve centre of Central's operations, security was tight. 
Entry being by key-card only.

   The morning was quite slow, mainly a few `fender-benders' on the crowded
motorway and Jess had plenty of time to think about Gray.

   She'd woken up in his arms, her body snuggled into his bronze chest, a
leg thrown over his.  She listened for a while to his steady breathing,
watching his chest rise and fall.

   She gently stroked it, feeling the little bumps of his nipples, flicking
them to see if they stood up like hers.  She touched one with her tongue,
grazing it with her teeth.  She eventually put her mouth over one and
sucked.

   Almost imperceptibly, she felt Gray's hand snake up through her hair,
his fingertips massaging her scalp.  She looked into his face and smiled.
In response he moved forward and kissed her passionately.

   "Hi."

   "Hi."

   Jess returned to the task, kissing and caressing all over Gray's torso,
gradually working down towards his navel.

   Gray felt the tiny bumps of her nipples grazing across his skin, her
crotch, hot and moist against his hip.

   Jess's hand bumped the hard ridge in Gray's briefs.  She lightly
explored him, feeling the soft twin lumps of his balls.  Jess liked the
feel of a man's balls.

   Judging by the movement within the confines of the cotton, Gray liked
the feel of her hand.

   Jess stretched out her tongue and touched the head of Gray's penis.  She
felt Gray give a sharp intake of breath followed by a rippling movement
down his abdomen.  His cock twitched.

   She eased Gray's briefs carefully over his erection and pushed the
elastic down past his balls.  She spent a little while just watching him
and tickling his cock with her finger.  Making up her mind, Jess lifted
herself up and stripped off her T-shirt.  She then lowered her chest down
onto Gray's crotch, arranging herself between his legs.

   Pressing her breasts against him, she slowly slid herself up and down,
licking and kissing him around his navel.  Slick with perspiration and
precum, his cock nestled between her tits.  Gray's hands caught the sides
of her breasts stroking and squeezing them around him.

   Jess lifted up and, bending down her head popped it in her mouth.  As
she worked the head around with her tongue she heard a low groan escape
from Gray.

   Right then, Jess wanted him, needed him to be inside her.  Her whole
body throbbed with lust.  She kissed her way up towards him, her long hair
loose and flowing over his chest and down his sides.

   Shedding her panties, she pulled herself up so her pussy was sliding
along his slick erection.  Lavishing kisses over his face she whispered,

   "I want to fuck you, Gray."

   "Love to... no rubbers," he replied, desperately.

   "It's ok... I'm safe... got any diseases?" Jess asked, trying to catch
him with her pussy.

   "No..."

   "There... got you... feels so good... oh babe..."

   Jess rocked herself backwards and forwards, luxuriating in the fullness
of his cock.

   "Wake up, Constable!  You have two calls waiting."

   Jess jerked herself back into the present.

   "Sorry."

   "Yes well, I know it's a slow morning but," her supervisor said.

   Warren Hastings read once again the message in his hand, making sure he
was following the directions.

   `MR.  HASTINGS.  I WISH TO MEET YOU.  I HAVE INFORMATION THAT MAY BE OF
ASSISTANCE.

   It was signed,

   TIMOTI TAMASESE TAPUA.  KING'S CHIEF MINISTER.

   There followed a set of directions.

   Warren found the old man bare-chested, wearing what the Samoans call a
`lava lava,' a traditional skirt.

   He greeted Warren warmly and bade him to sit beside him.  Together they
watched the spear fishermen at work in the placid, evening tide. 
Eventually Timoti spoke to him.

   "I wanted you to see this," he said in good, though clipped English,
"this is the Tonga of my youth.  They have been doing that for
generations."

   His hand swept towards the fishermen.

   "These islands have provided everything we need, the sea, the land,
trees, even pigs, the early Palagi visitors left for us from their ships."

   "You're Samoan, aren't you?" Warren asked.

   "Half and half... my mother was a cousin to the great Tupua Tamasese
III, killed by your Palagi guns."

   "Yes, I've heard of him, founder of the `Mau' independence movement of
Samoa, before the Second World War."

   "Yes... we are `Matai' my family, both sides, Samoan and Tongan,
traditional chiefs... We live in the Garden of Eden here, Mr.  Hastings. 
But now, well, even Eden had its snakes."

   "Oh?" Warren looked at the old man.

   "My family are sworn to uphold the honour of the Royal Household, Mr. 
Hastings.  It is dishonourable for us to criticise the Royal Family to
outsiders, inconceivable!  Do you understand, Mr.  Hastings?"

   "Yes, Minister."

   "Timoti, while I'm on my land, I am Timoti."

   "Yes, Timoti."

   "Our young people want to leave the islands and live and work overseas.
They have done this for a long time.  When they retire they come back to
their villages."

   "Yes, many live in our cities."

   "Precisely!  There are some, however, that get into bad ways, meet bad
people and do immoral things.

   We are very fond of our churches, sir.  God tells us to cherish and
protect our young people, but I fear we have not been doing our job.  Our
young people are being corrupted, Mr.  Hastings, sent overseas to live
immorally among strangers, away from their families.

   They are lured there by the promise of gold, but I don't think they are
finding gold, only depravity."

   "What are you trying to tell me, Timoti?  Is there some kind of flesh
trading going on?"

   "Flesh trading?  A good term, Mr.  Hastings, trading in the bodies of
our youngsters."

   "Who's behind it?"

   "I cannot say, sir.  As I have said before, I'm an honourable man."

   "The Princess Vai?" Warren asked.

   "I'm an honourable man," he repeated.

   `Like Brutus,' Warren thought to himself.

   "Have you heard of a Gray Treadwell?" the detective asked.

   The Minister nodded.

   "Mosese A'oka's friend.  He came here about 10 years ago, lived for a
while with the A'okas.  Julius A'oka is Matai of the island.  He asked
Treadwell to leave, he was not a moral man, Mr.  Hastings."

   "What happened?"

   "It was a family matter.  Your man went to live in Samoa, I believe."

   "Was Treadwell involved in flesh trading?" Warren asked.

   "I do not know.  The families... they do not talk openly about such
things... it's shameful for them, you see."

   "Yes... are there any families that might be willing to talk to me about
it?"

   "I will see... now its getting dark, I must return to the village."

   Warren thanked the old man and returned down the road towards the
capital.

   `This whole case is becoming too weird for words,' he thought.



   "FLESH TRADING!" exclaimed Sperle, later, on the phone, "are you
serious?"

   "That's what the Chief Minister said," replied Hastings.

   "Jesus!  What's next?  Oh, by the way, you must have stirred up
something.  Our Treadwell's done a runner."

   "He has?  Where's he gone?"

   "Last heard of in Sydney, cashed in his ticket.  Apparently he was
flying to Noumea via Aussie, then changed his mind."

   "Trying to put us off the scent?"

   "Probably!  I'm trying to track him through the departure lists.  I'm
also checking visa applications through the embassies, but it's a big job."

   "Sir, just curious, have you heard of `Red Ray'?"

   "Red Ray?  Haven't heard that name for a while.  It was Treadwell's
`AKA' when he was in the `game'.  That's his real name, you know, Raymond
Graham Treadwell.  He dropped the `Ray' because it was his father's name,
too confusing.  Where did you hear that?"

   "Mamoe Red Ray Investments is one of their joint ventures I think."

   "Worth checking out, Warren.  Where's the Company registered?"

   "Cayman Islands."

   "Figures!  I'll check through Interpol, must be something, somewhere."

   The information wasn't long in coming.  In front of Sperle was the
report from Interpol, hot off the fax.

   `Mamoe Red Ray... holding company... owns 75% Pacific Islands
Communications... which leases Telecommunications rights for several
Pacific island groups... owns Nuku'alofa's only nightclub, `The Palm'...
owns `Tonga Air Transport' ... Savaii Tourist Resort in Samoa... blah blah
blah...'

   Sperle scanned down the page.

   `Company Directors... Raymond Graham Treadwell, HRH Princess Vai'eleva
Tupoua Vaga'... `

   "What a handle!" Sperle said trying to cope with the Princess's full
titles.

   `James Rufus, Accountant, Wellington.'

   "Ah, a local," Sperle said, reaching for the phone.

   After lunch, Jess received a request to see Sperle in an interview room.
She had a pretty good idea what the subject of discussion was going to be,
especially when she met Chris outside the door.

   "You too?" was all she managed to say to her before they were shuffled
into the room by an impatient Sperle, carrying a file.

   "Dayshe, where's your boyfriend?" Sperle said, hurriedly.

   "My what?"

   "Treadwell, where's he gone?  Don't muck me around, I'm too busy."

   "Home... I think."

   "When did you last see him?"

   "Um... this morning..." Jess caught Chris eye, who was smiling.

   Sperle sighed.  He slapped a photocopied sheet in front of her, showing
copies of airline tickets.

   "Wellington, 9.35am to Sydney... on to Noumea but he cashes in his
ticket and catches a flight to... Frankfurt... there!" he said, pointing.

   "He's booked on a flight to Moscow tomorrow afternoon, our time... then
where, Dayshe?"

   The colour drained from Jess's face.  She swallowed a couple of times
before answering.

   "I... I... don't know... um... he never said... are you sure?"

   "Yes I'm sure... Where would he have gone, Constable?"

   "Russia?  I don't... sir, what is the date?"

   "The 8th... why?"

   "The 8th of April?  I think I might know, sir."

   "Yes?"

   "Irkutsk, Lake Baykal... or somewhere out in the tundra..."

   "I want him back, Dayshe.  I need him to answer a few questions about
Tonga."

   "Sir, can't you leave him alone," Chris interjected, "He and Jerry were
set up.  It's obvious, they don't know anything about that drug shipment."

   "Its gone beyond drugs... now we're into flesh trading of young Tongan
girls..."

   Jess sucked in her breath.

   "You didn't know?" Sperle rounded on her, "your boyfriend didn't tell
you he's been transporting young women and girls overseas to become
prostitutes?"

   "He wouldn't do..."

   "Well then, get him back and he can prove his innocence."

   "How?"

   "You tell me.  How close are you?"

   "We... we... I'm very fond of him, sir."

   Sperle chuckled.

   "Fond, eh?  Well perhaps you can persuade him to come back voluntarily.
Preferably before his business partners shred every record.  Like I said,
if he is innocent, then he won't have a problem, eh?"

   "Yes sir!  I've no way of reaching him, though sir... where he is,
there's no phone."

   "Got any savings?  I can organise some annual leave for you if you can
find the airfare.  Get Treadwell to reimburse you."

   "You want me to go to Russia?"

   "That's the idea."

   Jess was miserable as she and Chris left the meeting.  They decided to
go for afternoon tea to calm down.

   "Chris, where am I going to get the money... I suppose I could borrow it
from somebody."

   She looked at her friend expectantly.  Chris always seemed resourceful,
she looked up in thought for a moment then said,

   "I'll get it off Jerry, he wouldn't mind.  He gives all his money
away... or would, if I didn't stop him."

   "I couldn't ask..."

   "Crap, course you would.  It's an emergency."

   "But Russia!  What will I wear?  I mean its cold there this time of
year, isn't it?  And it's a big place, how do I find someone in the middle
of Siberia?"

   "You want to be a detective, don't you?  This is a worthwhile place to
start.  I just hope he wants to come back... I mean... Jerry thinks...
well... that he might be involved in something shady..."

   "And Jerry's not?  Running an illegal garage?  Face it Chris... we must
have a thing for criminals."

   "Ah!  Well it might not be illegal much longer.  Jerry's going to night
school to get his Trade Cert.  I'm doing his accounts too, Y'know his tax
and his bills?  He never writes receipts for anything, twit!  He gets paid
in cash, that is when he gets paid... He has no idea how to run a
business."

   "My goodness!" exclaimed Jess, "he's going back to school?  How did you
achieve that?"

   "I told him I'm not marrying him unless he's inside the law, in EVERY
way.  I think he really wants to go straight anyhow.  He's tired of hiding
all the time.  He told me he wants to be able to pass a policeman without
looking at the ground.

   For the first time in his life, he's got something to be proud of and he
told me he doesn't want it taken away from him."

   "That's nice, Chris.  I just hope that Gray feels the same way.  If he
has to go to prison I'll..."

   "You'll cut him loose, Jess," Chris interrupted, "you don't want to
throw away your career and... and I'm sure he wouldn't want you to."

   "I'm not sure I'm that tough..."

   "You've got to be, Jess... you've got to be."

   The Antonov AN 22 Antei (Antheus) is a big old Soviet-era transport
plane.  It brought Russian paratroopers and their equipment into Kabul
during the intervention in Afghanistan.

   Now it was carrying oil pipes, a front-end loader, machinery, 12 Russian
oil workers and Gray Treadwell to Irkutsk, gateway to Siberia.

   Gray squinted out of the tiny porthole and observed the wings.  They
were black-stained from the engine exhausts, at least he hoped that was the
reason.

   A big furry Russian stopped at his seat.  Breathing enough garlic over
Gray to ward off a thousand evils, he asked,

   "Germanskiy'i?"



   After trying out several variations of `New Zealand' in what he thought
was Russian, Gray settled on,

   "Engliski."

   The man staggered away as the plane rolled in the crosswinds, the light
of recognition in his eyes.

   It was cold in the cabin.  The hot air blowing from overhead didn't make
much difference inside the cavernous aircraft, which lacked insulation of
any kind.

   As the plane touched down at Irkutsk, a man near him yelled,

   "Ourah pobieda!" over the noise.

   The victory cheer for a successful landing did not give Gray much
confidence in `Aerotransport Sibersk.'

   The passengers stepped off into an insulated bus, whose heating had been
cranked up to maximum.  To Gray it felt like he had stepped into an oven.
The `Ursinius" coach lived up to its namesake and growled like a Russian
bear as it ploughed its way towards the terminal building through the snow.

   The terminal felt like a furnace, compared to the outside, and the
passengers began shedding some of their winter attire.

   Gray checked his bookings with the beautifully spoken desk clerk at
`Aerotransport' and went outside to look for a taxi.

   It would be a couple of days before the dacha would be ready, so Gray
headed for the hotel to wait.

   Meanwhile, Jess learned it would take three weeks at least before she
could get her visa, passport and flight tickets arranged, three agonising
weeks of waiting.

   She had never traveled further than Australia in her whole life, a
culture not too different from her own.  Would language be a problem? 
Would she need to tip?  And if so how much?

   She wondered what her reception was going to be like.  Would she be able
to find him, anyhow?  Above all, did he really love her, as he said, or was
Jerry correct, and he cared for nobody but himself?

   Jess needed the answers but she wasn't sure whether she was prepared for
them.

   Part 12 follows

   Katzmarek (C)