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 re-
imburse 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 ©





                                                                                            
