Rally Preview

Rally Round The Fag

Victor J. Banis

GLB Publishers San Francisco

Chapter l

"Ha, Ha, Ha!"
Jackie Holmes held his sides in an effort to control the peals of laughter that were
wracking his body, but to no avail.
"I just want to know what's so damned funny?" his companion demanded angrily,
his voice rising.
Jackie was laughing so hard now that his eyes were filled with tears as he stared
at the handsome young man sitting beside him on the bed. A few minutes earlier he
had been in a wild state of sexual arousal; they both had been. But that, of course, was
before the laughter had started. The only thing rising now was the young man's temper,
and Jackie's frustration.
"Hee, hee, hee," Jackie wailed in answer, no longer able to speak. All he could think
of was his first reaction when he had spotted this lovely young thing earlier in the bar.
"Wow!" was the only word that had come to mind.
It had taken him several rounds of drinks, all of his charm and some fast maneuvering to
whisk the young man away with him from under the noses of numerous other admirers, but
it had given every indication of being worth the trouble. Sans clothing, in the privacy of Jackie's
apartment, his companion had been even more attractive, promising a night of one thousand
and one delights.
Regrettably, they had barely gotten started on the first one when the laughter had started,
beginning with a slight giggle and advancing rapidly to this veritable fit of hysteria.
"Ho, ho, ho." Jackie knew what it was, of course, but even if he could control himself long
enough to speak, he certainly could not explain it to this stranger. After all, the organization for
which he worked was a secret one and they wouldn't care to have their tools made known—
even if the tools didn't work as they were supposed to.
It had seemed like a simple enough gadget when it had been proposed: a tiny little signal device,
planted under the skin near Jackie's ribs. When the organization wanted to signal Jackie, as they had
explained it, they would transmit an electronic signal that would be picked up by the receiver under
Jackie's skin. It was supposed to cause only a slight tingling sensation. Obviously, the setting was awry.
He was being literally tickled silly by the vibrations racing through his rib cage, and they would
continue until he contacted his office, which he couldn't do in the company of a stranger, even a
handsome young stranger. In fact, Jackie was thinking in agony, as long as this laughter continued,
he might never be able to explain to the office and ask them to turn off the signal. It was all he could
do to talk.
"I've never been so insulted in my life," his companion informed him, standing up from the bed.
"It may interest you to know that most people think I have a beautiful body. You're the first one who
ever laughed at it."
Jackie struggled valiantly to make some sort of explanation. "I think it's beautiful," he managed
to gasp, but the statement was followed by another wild burst of uproarious laughter that negated
any good his statement might have done.
"Go to hell." The young man began dressing rapidly. Jackie watched in despair as he saw the object
of his desires hastily preparing to leave, but there was just no way he could prevent it. He fell back
on the bed and gave himself up to his frenzied antics.
"You know what I think," his visitor said, glowering angrily down at him. "I think you're some kind of nut."
With that he turned on his heels and made a dramatic exit. Jackie heard the door slam after him
and wanted to cry—except all he could do was to continue to laugh helplessly.
Still holding his sides, he got up from the bed and stumbled toward the phone. He could barely
manage to dial the number. When the familiar bass voice answered on the other end of the line,
Jackie replied with a loud guffaw.
"Jackie, is that you?" the voice asked anxiously.
Jackie fought to bring the words out. "Turn…ha, ha…turn off the…oh, hee, hee…the signal!"
With that he sank to the floor, letting the phone receiver slip from his hand and bang against the table.
This was all just too funny for words.
It was a long while after the signal finally did stop before he could bring the laughter under control.
His sides felt as though an elephant had walked on him and he was literally gasping for breath,
but at last he was able to resume the phone conversation.
"Sorry," his partner Rich apologized from the other end when Jackie explained what had happened.
"I guess it needs more testing."
"I think so," Jackie agreed wearily. "What's up, anyway?"
"Something big, apparently. High Camp gave it a top priority. Lou Upton's on his way and you are to
drop everything and meet him here as fast as you can."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Jackie informed him, becoming immediately more businesslike.
He did not wait for a reply but hung up and began at once to dress.
Naked, Jackie was a strikingly good-looking young man himself. Although he was small and slender,
his body was as hard as a rock, and beneath the soft looking skin rippled muscles that could perform
virtually unbelievable feats of strength.
As he donned his clothes, however, he also put on with them an entirely different manner. He became
effeminate and rather affected, the sort who could rather easily be identified as a homosexual. It was a
deliberate guise; he had found an appearance of helplessness useful to his work, although in fact
he was anything but helpless.
The organization to which he belonged was a vast underground operation known only by the code letters,
C.A.M.P. C.A.M.P. was dedicated to the cause of the homosexual, to the advancement and the protection
of homosexuals throughout the world. Few people knew of the organization or its work, although it daily
affected the lives of millions.
The activities of C.A.M.P. were many. Special branches devoted themselves to the reform of laws
prejudicial to homosexuals. Others, the world's finest psychiatrists and psychologists, sought to assist
the homosexual with his mental and emotional issues, while doctors labored to improve the physical lot
of homosexuals. Still others worked in the arts and in virtually every field of human activity.
Jackie worked in the police branch of C.A.M.P., as a special agent. His job was to defend homosexuals
against crime and against the unscrupulous individuals who too often preyed upon them.
The homosexual, as Jackie knew full well, was too often vulnerable to men of violence, to blackmailers,
swindlers, even murderers. Living actually outside the law, the homosexual had no means of defending
himself, nor anyone to whom to turn for aid—except for C.A.M.P., and the untiring efforts of agents like Jackie.
Five minutes after he had completed the telephone call, Jackie was dressed and leaving his apartment.
A private elevator carried him down to his garage where long rows of stalls contained the cars of his
private collection, many of them exceedingly rare.
This time Jackie did not choose one of the rarer classics. Much as he loved the Bugattis and the old
Alfas, they were often temperamental. The phone call had indicated that speed was urgent, and he chose
a more dependable XKE Jaguar.
The electronically operated doors of the garage opened automatically as the red roadster shot toward
them and Jackie turned onto the street with a squeal of tires.
A short time later he brought the car to a halt outside of a bar. The Round Up was not a particularly
stylish looking place nor was its interior any improvement over the faded exterior. The dim lights left
the long, narrow room in near darkness but they were unable to lend any sort of charm to the battered
counter or the stools with torn plastic hanging loose.
It was a homosexual hangout but not the sort that would appeal to most homosexuals. The few
customers seated about could have been described as human debris, near derelicts who sought
to hide from the world in the dim light and drink away their problems.
No one paid any particular attention to Jackie when he entered and made his way to the rear.
Most of them knew him by sight and they often saw him come in and out of the bar, although he
appeared the sort who would be more at home elsewhere in one of the city's more elegant gay
watering holes. By now, however, they were accustomed to him and scarcely seemed to notice
when he entered or left. Life had ceased to be a mystery for these men.
Jackie glanced at his watch as he walked directly toward the rear. It was exactly fifteen minutes
since his telephone conversation. He passed through a curtained doorway, into a small hall.
From there a door opened into the men's restroom.
Jackie entered the restroom, passing by the unoccupied wall fixtures. At the rear of the room
one of the two stalls was marked with an OUT OF ORDER sign. Ignoring the sign, Jackie stepped
inside. He lifted the tank top and plunged his hand into the water, feeling for the switch that was
concealed there. He found it and with a click a section of the wall opened long enough for him
to pass through, and quickly closed behind him.
The transition was a startling one. Leaving behind him the ill-cared-for restroom of a dingy bar,
Jackie stepped into a luxurious and spacious apartment. Waterford crystal chandeliers glittered
brightly overhead, candles cast flickering shadows on velvet-covered walls and a fire burned low
in the huge fireplace, flanked by twin sofas.
This was the office for C.A.M.P.; not the top office, the whereabouts of which were unknown
even to Jackie, but the local office out of which he worked.
The three men in the room turned as Jackie entered. One of them was the one with whom Jackie
had spoken earlier. Rich was his anchorman for his investigations, and Jackie's contact with
High Camp, their headquarters. From this office Rich sent Jackie on his assignments, provided
Jackie with all of the considerable assistance that the resources of C.A.M.P. could provide,
and in general aided Jackie in any way he could.
Unlike Jackie, Rich was not the sort that a stranger would easily recognize as a homosexual.
A bull of a man who stood six foot five inches of solid muscle, Rich looked more like an athlete
or an advertisement for a heavy duty muscle club. He was handsome in a ruggedly brutish way,
a valuable member of the team. He was also a frightening enemy, as many a miscreant had
learned to his dismay.
Jackie knew the second man in the room also; he had met and worked with Lou Upton on
more than one occasion. Upton looked more like a college professor than the top agent that he
was for Interpol, the international police organization. Although he was only slightly over forty,
Upton was already balding and showed a tendency to collect fat around the waist. He had never
been a perfect specimen of manhood but he had not been without a certain owlish appeal when
he was younger, and Jackie knew well that behind his quick gray eyes, exaggerated by thick
glasses, Upton possessed the mind of a top-notch policeman.
The third man was a stranger to Jackie, a rather nondescript type, thin and sallow, and also
wearing glasses. Jackie was disappointed; usually when Upton called on him he had more
attractive men with him.
Jackie greeted Rich and Upton and was introduced to the stranger, whom Upton introduced
as Adams. Rich poured drinks while the others shook hands and seated themselves by the fireplace.
"That's the biggest man I've ever seen," Adams commented as he seated himself beside Jackie.
"Are those muscles real?"
"Who, Rich?" Jackie asked, amused. "Want a demonstration?" Without waiting for a reply he
leaned toward the fireplace and picked up one of the heavy andirons there. "Rich, catch," he called,
tossing the heavy object easily in Rich's direction.
Despite his size, Rich moved with an easy lightness and speed that was so natural it was
scarcely apparent. He turned from the bar without hesitation and caught the andiron in one hand.
"Mr. Adams wondered if your muscles were real," Jackie explained.
Rich grinned rather bashfully but he did not question Jackie's actions. He took the heavy andiron
in both hands. The muscles bulged along his arms and shoulders as he bent it inward, but otherwise
he showed no sign of effort. The thick iron was no match for his brute strength; it yielded, twisting
as easily as if it were made of thin wire, until it was bent double. Without comment, Rich laid it aside
and returned to mixing the drinks. Adams was agog at the demonstration.
"Very entertaining," Upton commented, unimpressed. Demonstrations of Rich's strength were
old hat to him. "But it's not what we're here for."
"Just what is this one all about?" Jackie asked as Rich joined them again with the drinks on a tray.
"From the message High Camp sent us it sounded like it was awfully important."
Upton fixed his cold gray eyes on Jackie's briefly. Usually his eyes were filled with humor, but
looking into them now, Jackie saw that the humor was absent; he looked grimly serious.
"Would you say World War Three was important enough?" Upton asked quietly.
The smile vanished from Jackie's face. Even Rich, who ordinarily displayed little emotion,
was noticeably shaken by the question.
"It's really Mr. Adams' story," Upton explained. "He came to me with his problem thinking I might
be able to help him out. You'll understand later why I brought him here."
"Unfortunately," Adams said, picking up his cue, "it's not much of a story yet. That is, it's quite
a story, but we don't yet know any more than a few sketchy details of it, not the whole story."
He paused to sip his drink and light a cigarette. "It started with a girl named Leslie Stevens.
She's one of those small-time espionage groupies, if you know the type. She mingles on the
fringes of important events and important people and passes on the information she picks up
to various enemies of ours—mind you, it's never particularly important information. At least,
not until now."
"You've known about this, but never picked her up?" Jackie asked, puzzled.
Adams nodded. "As I said, the information was never very important. We've known about
Miss Stevens and her activities for a long time. In a case like hers it can sometimes be
advantageous to let things alone. Sometimes it gives us a means to pass on misleading
information, and other times a small time operator can manage to lead us to something bigger.
That, in fact, is exactly what happened in Leslie's case."
Adams paused again briefly. Jackie had the impression that the man was enjoying his
moment in the spotlight. No doubt, Jackie reasoned, Adams was one of those background
men whose work was usually less flashy and often more important than the more dramatic
doings. He waited patiently for Adams to continue.
"We suspected a few weeks ago that something bigger was looming on Leslie's horizons.
In the past she had been friendly with another woman, a woman named Magda. We have known
for a long time that Magda was involved in bigger things but we have been unable to learn much
about her or her activities. She has been living in Vienna for the last few years, with frequent trips
elsewhere—Russia, for one, and recently she made a trip to Red China.
"Then, about a month ago, she paid a visit to this country and, not too surprisingly, spent
a few days in Washington with Leslie. We don't know what the visit was about. At first, we
assumed it was just a case of an old friendship. Except that Leslie missed a rather big
Washington party, the sort of thing she always thrives on.
"That made us suspicious, and our suspicions grew after Magda departed. Leslie was
obviously a disturbed woman. She remained practically in isolation and she looked haggard,
even frightened, when she did go out. Something plainly was bothering her."
Thus far, Jackie found himself thinking it did not sound like a particularly big case.
Espionage, of course, was always important, but this was the sort of matter that could
as well be handled by the government's own agents. He couldn't see what part C.A.M.P.
was intended to play. C.A.M.P.'s interest was in homosexual cases, and so far he had
heard of no homosexual angle to this one.
"About a week ago," Adams continued, "Leslie contacted us through one of our agents,
saying she wanted to talk to someone important in the State Department. A meeting was
arranged, very hush hush, as she had requested. She did not tell us much, but what she did
say was enough to create a big stir."
There was a moment of silence before Adams went on. "In short, she informed us that she
had been approached about taking part in a plan to set World War III in motion."
"But why, for Pete's sake?" Rich asked. "Why would the Russians want to do anything that foolish?"
"We don't know that it was the Russians," Adams answered him. "In fact we're rather convinced
that it was not. She declined to provide any details at that time. As she pointed out, by informing
to us she was placing herself in grave danger. She wanted to know what sort of protection we
could provide her if she gave us the story.
"Frankly, the impression was that she simply could not make up her mind what to do but she
was plainly scared. On one hand, she was frightened of becoming involved in anything so big
and so drastic. On the other hand, she was well aware that she could be killed for informing.
In any event, her fright was obviously genuine, and that, as much as anything else, convinced
us that there was something going on. Another meeting was arranged. Leslie didn't show up for it."
"Was she…?" Jackie began.
"No, she wasn't murdered. Our guess is that she simply changed her mind again. Her passport
was renewed and she made a reservation to fly to Stockholm tomorrow. That was easily enough
explained: Magda arrived in Stockholm yesterday. Apparently whatever Magda had planned
with her was to be happen there."
"But as long as you know that Leslie's involved in it," Jackie said, "And that she's meeting
Magda in Stockholm, it should be easy enough to keep tabs on her."
"Exactly what we thought," Adams agreed. "And why we did not take any action. But as it
turned out, Leslie won't be able to keep that appointment in Stockholm either. Yesterday Leslie
was on her way home from a small dinner party in Washington, driving alone, when she was
killed in an automobile accident." He read the thought that Jackie was about to express.
"No, it was really an accident. Our men were at the scene, in fact. They were following her,
of course."
"Her death might make a change in the plans, whatever they are," Jackie suggested.
"That would give you time to investigate further."
"Possibly. If, that is, her fellow conspirators, whoever they are, knew she was dead.
Our men, you see, took charge at the accident. So far as the news items are concerned,
the accident victim was just an unimportant little secretary—and so far as anyone but us
and a handful of others know, Leslie Stevens is still alive and leaving for Stockholm tomorrow."
"I see," Jackie said. "But what I don't see is how all this involves us. It's very important,
of course, but you have your own men who can handle this kind of job."
"Men, yes. What we don't have," Adams explained, "is someone to take Leslie's place.
You see, if we could send one of our own agents to Stockholm as Leslie, we could uncover
the plot from the inside. Unfortunately, while we have many women agents, none of them
come close to looking like Leslie—too tall, or too short, or too young, or too old—everything
but a double. Probably, given enough time, we could find someone. Unfortunately, our time is limited."
"That's where you come into the picture," Upton spoke directly to Jackie. "Adams called on me
with his problem to see if I could recommend anyone. As soon as I saw the picture of Leslie Stevens,
I knew who he wanted."
As he spoke, Upton had removed an envelope from the pocket of his jacket. He took some
pictures from the envelope and handed them to Jackie.
The explanation was obvious at a glance. The young woman in the pictures was an attractive
blonde, with a neatly chiseled face. Her hair fell down about her shoulder in lazy waves but Jackie
did not need a mirror to tell him that, aside from the length of her hair, Leslie was his double,
an uncanny look-alike.
Rich, looking over Jackie's shoulder at the pictures, could not conceal his astonishment.
"You're right," he agreed. "It could be Jackie in drag. Gosh, if I didn't know better I'd be willing
to swear in court that it was Jackie."
"Everything fits," Upton went on. "There's only a quarter of an inch difference in height,
not enough that anyone would ever detect it. Of course her bust was a little larger,
but I understand that can be faked."
"It's a dangerous situation, of course," Adams said. "It's asking a lot of any male to take
the place of a woman—oh, I know that there are professional impersonators, many of whom
look like the real thing. But this isn't just an appearance on stage, it will be day to day, for
maybe weeks, and even the slightest slip-up would be disastrous. But Upton assures me
you're as fine as any agent in the business. And that you can be utterly convincing as a woman."
"Thanks for the compliments," Jackie said with a faint grin. "But even if Leslie and I were
the same sex, it would still be pretty tough. For this sort of thing an agent needs months of
preparation. He has to learn everything about the person he's going to impersonate. He has
to learn to walk like that person, talk like that person, even, as much as possible, to think
like that person. I'd be meeting people like Magda, who may have known Leslie for years."
"It's touchy, true," Adams agreed. "But it's our opinion that Magda is the only one of the
conspirators who knew Leslie, and except for the three days she spent visiting Leslie last
month, they haven't see each other in four years. Leslie might have changed a lot in that time,
changes that Magda could have overlooked during her visit."
Jackie lifted his eyebrows as he reached the last picture in the group. This one was
certainly not a picture of Leslie.
"Oh, I must have accidentally put that picture with the others," Upton said, his expression
a study in innocence.
"That's Sven, our man in Stockholm," Adams added, blushing slightly. "He would be
working with you—or, that is, with whomever we send." His blush deepened. "Many
Swedes are fond of nudism."
Jackie did not need Adams' blush to tell him that the picture had been deliberately included.
Lou Upton knew quite well what would interest Jackie in taking on such a dangerous assignment.
Jackie studied the photograph for a moment.
The naked man captured by the camera was just about as enticing a reward as Jackie
had ever seen. Sven was every bit as Swedish as his name; he might have been one of the
Viking gods descended again to earth. It was evident in the photograph that he was tall,
with rippling muscles that just wouldn't quit. His blue eyes were large and clear, and his
smile bewitching. His hair might have been spun from pure gold.
And his other attributes, too, lived up to the Swedish reputation for large doses of beauty.
"High Camp felt that the decision should be yours," Rich informed Jackie. He too had seen
the photograph, and he had also seen the telltale gleam in Jackie's eyes.
"It sounds like a very interesting assignment," Jackie said without taking his eyes from
the photograph of Sven. "When do I start?"

When the others had gone, though, Rich expressed his concern to Jackie. "It's not just that
it's a particularly tricky assignment," he said, "But the worst of it is, you will be where I cannot
help you if things go bad."
"I'm sure Adams will see that I am well protected," Jackie assured him.
"Not the way I can protect you," Rich said, and was embarrassed by the affection that was
obvious in his concern. They both knew how deeply he cared for Jackie.
Jackie went to where he was standing by the fireplace and stretched on tiptoe
to give him a loving kiss.
"You big silly," he said. "You know how much it means to me to know that you care,
and are always looking out for me. And you will always have your own special place in
my heart. But we both also know that it would never work for us as lovers. Look how you
worry about me now; and imagine what it would be like as lovers, not in these jobs. And
neither one of us could ever leave C.A.M.P. now."
"You're right, of course," Rich said gloomily, looking just at the moment less like a
hard-core espionage agent and more like a frustrated little boy.
"Of course, that doesn't mean we shouldn't have our fun when we can," Jackie said,
smiling up at him.
"Like, maybe right now?" Rich said, grinning broadly.
"There's no time like the present," Jackie said. He took Rich's massive hand in his and
led the way into a spacious bedroom next door. They both undressed hurriedly, aware of
how brief this time together might be, and how long it might be before they had another opportunity.
Jackie was the first in the bed. He watched with hungry eyes as Rich finished shedding
his clothes. Rich was a giant of a man and his muscular body was even more impressive
naked. His sexual endowments were awesome, even frightening to some. Jackie was aware
that his enormous size had sometimes caused Rich embarrassment, even unhappiness,
as there had been many potential partners who were unwilling or unable to accommodate
him, but to Jackie his endowments inspired no fear, but only consciousness of the pleasure
they could provide.
Rich eagerly joined him on the bed, and they embraced passionately, Jackie's small body
all but smothered in Rich's massive arms. They kissed, and Jackie reached downward to
take Rich in his hand, and Rich shuddered in delighted anticipation—and they both froze
as they heard a soft, tinkling music from elsewhere in the apartment, a sound not unlike the
wind chimes of the Orient, only there was no breeze in the apartment to rustle wind chimes.
"High Camp," Jackie said with a disappointed sigh. The chimes were the signal from their
headquarters, summoning Rich to his communications center in another room.
"I'm going to just ignore that," Rich said firmly. He reached for Jackie's rock hard erection.
Jackie gave him a playful slap on one magnificently sculpted buttock. "No, you've got to
answer it," he said sadly. "And I have work to do anyway, a lot of work if I am going to turn
myself into Leslie Stevens in the next few days." He climbed out of bed and reached for the
clothing he had so recently discarded.
With an angry scowl, Rich got up, too, and started to leave the room.
"I think you're forgetting the telescreen," Jackie said. "I somehow doubt that High Camp
would want to see you in that state."
Rich grinned sheepishly and came back to put his clothes on while Jackie watched wistfully.
When he had dressed and gone out, Jackie finished dressed also. He was just as
disappointed as Rich that their lovemaking session had been interrupted; he knew from
long experience how pleasurable such times with Rich could be.
Unfortunately, it was the sort of thing that happened often for them, and to which he
had long ago gotten accustomed.
Working as an agent for C.A.M..P. was far more than just a job for the two of them:
it was a way of life.
(Continued)

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