Cars were dispatched—and the signal became louder as they approached the deserted warehouse. There was a night watchman—and for once, he was alert and careful. Yes, he had logged in a delivery of a shipping container about two hours before. It was scheduled to be transported to Mexico City on an early morning freighter. According to the manifest, it contained computers and other electronic equipment, destined for LyF. It had arrived in an unmarked truck. The driver had unloaded, got a signature on the manifest and left. The guard assumed that he was the only person at the warehouse.
He invited the officers onto the site, cautioning that he had no authority to give them access to any freight. Portable GPS detectors quickly identified the container, and after telephoning a magistrate for permission to search, it was opened. They found an un-labeled large cardboard box inside. It was really obvious. It alone was large enough to hold a human. They cut it open and found Miguel, naked, bound and gagged, in the coffin-like box. The restraints seemed like overkill as Miguel was sleeping and obviously drugged. No doubt, as freight, he would never have survived the trip to Mexico. There was no provision for oxygen.
He was taken by ambulance to the nearest ER where a sharp young doc detected the needle mark and was able to identify the drug from a swab of the spot—whoever had injected had been pretty sloppy, and the doc had seen it all in Miami’s busiest ER. He produced an antidote that would save his life, but it might take days for the drug effects to wear off completely. Miguel had also been roughed up and maybe he had been raped. Miguel was going to be a very unhappy and very sick young man for a few days. But he’d live.
Carlos, Jeff and Sean heard some of the details—but by no means all of them—very early the next morning. And all immediately appeared at the hospital. Miguel was still in ICU; so of course, not being family, they were denied reports of condition and visitation. They all moved to the waiting room where Miguel’s Dad was already holding vigil.
He recognized the teammates and pulled them all into a group hug. He was very emotional, obviously loving his son and worrying about his future. He sobbed, “He’s going to be alright. They will likely move him out of ICU later today and release him tomorrow or the next day. I think it’s probably best if he returns to Williamsburg—but the Feds are going to enhance his security. He may not be too happy about it. But, he’s going to lose even more of his precious privacy. What have I done to my family? I can’t tell you how much Miguel talks about you all. You have become his family. And he loves you all. I am so grateful that you are in his life He’s going to need you all more than ever now.”
******
Several months later, winter was hanging on in Williamsburg. It was a mild winter, but still cold and rainy enough that the three-times per week soccer practices continued—but indoors. The school had celebrated their team’s victory—in January after Miguel had returned to campus and was well-enough to enjoy the party. Fortunately although he had roughed up, there were no breaks or strains and no permanent damage from the high dose sedative the kidnappers had administered. But his three apartment buddies had become fiercely protective. He never went anywhere without one of them; and except for class, all of them. And more than once he spotted the typical dark sedan—surveillance—across from the Wythe Street house or on campus.
Dr. Allende’s testimony had been given, and his family asylum petition had been officially finalized. He and his family (except Miguel) had been moved from San Diego to another undisclosed location. His medical license had been assured, and the family’s last name had been changed. All the properties in San Diego had been sold. He had joined a small medical practice and began again to build his reputation. So there was virtually no connection with the past—except of course for Miguel. And any communication between them was through a Fed intermediary. Miguel had even agreed that he wouldn’t visit until the Feds agreed it was safe to do so.
Miguel was in therapy from the trauma. His natural ebullience was muted, but he took out his frustrations with soccer practice—and, once in a while, on Carlos’ ass. He saw a psychologist every week. And he was enveloped in Carlos’ spoony cocoon every night, often with Carlos’ softening cock still buried inside. Guess which therapy he enjoyed more? And which one did the most good? Carlos was his new Daddy and boyfriend, all rolled into one. He thought maybe he was ready to settle down.
As the last semester of their junior year began, counselors began to schedule group and one-on-one meetings with all students. Where are you on your career path? Graduate school? A job? The theme was consistent: you’ve really only got a few months before critical life decisions will need to be made. Do you need a few more courses in your major to do well on the GREs? Or the LSATs? Or the Med Boards? Do you want to sign up for job interviews?
The Wythe Street Gang was of course involved. Of the three, only Miguel had expected to play professional athletics after W&M—and now he wasn’t so sure. He just didn’t see how he could avoid serious risk—his Dad had brought down two prominent cartel leaders, but the cartels were still very much in business. And professional soccer would necessarily involve notoriety which even a name change couldn’t hide. It would require a great deal of travel in Latin and South America where US official protection would be difficult. He would always be in danger—and thus he was also a risk to his family. He was a bright student, really exceptional and pre-med “just in case.” So slowly he was coming to the conclusion that he would go to med school and follow in his Dad’s footsteps— maybe specialize in sports medicine. Soccer would become an avocation.
Carlos and Miguel had started as an experiment—to spice up their sex lives. But, they had fallen hard for each other. Both were certain that they wanted to try for a long term relationship. For months now, they had been glued together (often by spunk), and they were getting along really well. Their shared backgrounds may have been a help.
Carlos still harbored a desire to enter politics. He was toying with a Masters in policy from a place like Georgetown or possibly another junior position in a Washington political office—and so Miguel began plans to apply to Georgetown Med. The Feds were going to help since DC had so many Latinos, and Miguel could fade into the general population more easily. They felt that they could watch him more effectively in Washington than almost anywhere else.
They were going to make a try at making the long term work—but both knew that they still have another year plus to prepare. After a talk, they committed to exclusivity, and decided they would cum out after the next soccer season. They celebrated the decision with a fantastic night.