Chapter 2 – Chapter 2
"A toothache."
"You have a toothache? Then I guess you don't want to—"
"Yes, of course I want to." And the look Carlos gave Angus when he climbed on board Angus' sailboat made that quite clear. Angus was in the skimpy red Speedo again. "I don't really have a toothache. That's what I told the bodyguards I had and that I was going to the dentist. Neither one wants even to talk about teeth, so they let me go on my own."
"Cast off, then, and let's do this," Angus said, as he started separating the rope from the pier.
They were still motoring out beyond the headlands and into the Gulf of Honduras when they both got naked and began kissing and fondling each other. Angus stood at the wheel and Carlos was kneeling between him and the wheel base and sucking the big man's cock.
The boat was still moving, using its motor, when Angus lashed the wheel to sail a steady line straight out from land, pulled Carlos up from below him, laid him down on the small of his back on the roof of the cabin, crouched between his thighs, and began feeding his cock into Carlos' channel. Carlos moaned, arched his back, and lifted his heels to the hollow of Angus' shoulders. Angus crouched over him, trapping the young man's eyes with his and thrust hard and deep, again and again. Carlos began to writhe under him, but Angus continued relentlessly thrusting, fast and hard and deep, until Carlos collapsed under him and whimpered and moaned his surrender.
When Carlos was able to sit up and look out over the stern of the boat, no land was visible. There was another yacht off the starboard side of the sailboat, paralleling their progress, but there was no other life to be seen other than the seagulls reeling and cawing overhead.
"How far out are we? How far are we going?" Carlos asked.
"Into international waters. We're almost there. Anything goes in international waters. Come below now."
This time Angus used a regular plow belt—four feet of thick black leather strap, ten inches wide, with handles on the end. As they were kissing, facing each other, at the end of the berth, Angus whipped the belt over Carlos' head, down to under the young man's buttocks, and tilted Carlos' buttocks up to present his already-opened channel entrance to the giant mushroom cap of Angus' dick. As the cock moved up in Carlos' channel, Angus moved the belt up so the strap was at Carlos' waist. He tipped the young man back, and Carlos' raised one leg up Angus' chest and wrapped the other one around his waist, as his torso arched back and his shoulder blades rested on the end of the berth.
Angus fucked him hard and deep again. Angus let the belt fall, with Carlos holding position with his legs and pulled a pair handcuffs from under the side of the berth mattress. He cuffed Carlos' wrists over his head without resistance. All of Carlos' attention seemed focused on the cock working inside him. He did, though, look up in surprise when Angus stuffed the bikini briefs in Carlos' mouth.
And he did hear the crunch of wood slamming into wood out on deck, as the other yacht tied up to the side of the sailboat.
Suddenly, the cabin was filled with other men. Men who were roughly manhandling Carlos out from underneath Angus. Men in camouflage uniforms. Very serious-looking men. More Marine types.
Carlos gave a panicked look at Angus, but Angus, standing back to let the interlopers bundle the young Guatemalan up, didn't seem a bit perturbed.
"You will be going with these men, Carlos," he said. "They will be holding you but will return you to your father in good shape if he agrees to the exchange."
Carlos' panicked look took on a deeper questioning aspect. The question of "What exchange" was clearly conveyed by his expression.
"Felipe Molina, Carlos. We want Molina back. He's a drug dealer, but he's also an asset of a force much larger than your father. So, whatever he is, he's ours. If your father exchanges Molina for you nicely and does no further harm to him, you will go back to him in good shape too. If not, perhaps you'll go back in pieces. No hard feelings. You were a great fuck. Tell your father what I have said about Molina if you see him again. He'll let Molina go and consider him an untouchable. If not, we'll be back—for your father."
After the other yacht had cast off, carrying a trussed-up Carlos with them, the CIA spy, Silas Collins, no longer needing to be Angus MacLoid, brought a metal pan out onto the deck of his sailboat. He also was carrying the passport and other identification documents for MacLoid and a box of matches. After he'd burned them to a crisp in the pan, he returned to the cabin, pulled on his red Speedo, and rummaged around in the secret compartment under the decking for his next set of documents—as well as the files that would refresh who he was to be when his sailboat arrived in Belize City.
Not Silas Collins. He rarely had the luxury of being Silas Collins in these days of unrest across the world.