Chapter 2

“Inshallah!”

Fate was something that us true believers had as a consolation prize whenever things went wrong.

Here I was, a true believer, as I was certain I was, sitting next to another true believer, unfortunately female, all dolled up like one of the American prostitutes that roamed the streets of Las Vegas throwing off the scent of sex and with her cloying feminine perfume that distracted me from my unspoken prayers at the same time.

I used the name of Mustafa Hassam although it was not my real name. My real name is not important. What is important is that I am here in Sin City as a prophet of doom. I bring my fate of death with me like an invisible shield around me protecting me from the cunning ways of the infidel blasphemers against the word of the one true God.

A voice inside me shouts out, “Death to all non-believers! Death to the country of Little Satan and their wicked ways. Death to the Big Satan and all the addicted to drugs, booze and perverted sex Americans in their den of evil ... The U.S.A.

I know the beautiful agent next to me known only as “Nine” is as a harlot but she disgusts me with her scent and her willful look and shameful bare skin and hair far more than I can relate because my revulsion is part of my character and I am unable to shed it despite the fact I know it is not fair.

She inadvertently rubs her bare knee on my leg and I shudder inside realizing my erection has already started forcing me to pray harder deep inside where God knows my true feeling actually reside.

My little white truck is loaded with all the ingredients of a lethal dirty bomb and the words on the side proclaiming it to be a “Moving Truck” are a falsehood to hide the contents. I have California plates on it from Sacramento, California and they were stolen from a used car lot that keeps sloppy records. I even have a forged registration for it prepared by a Mexican that usually does documents for the many illegals living in that wide-open sanctuary State with millions of poor illegals that barely speak English. I think for a moment of the mongrel country with so many non-citizens and wonder how they ever became as powerful a force on the surface of the planet with the stupidity of their politics and their politicians not enforcing a border that protected nobody and allowed the drugs to enter their country without proper punishment for offenders. In my native country, we would remove their heads without hesitation for allowing such poison to ruin the lives of our precious children.

Nine turned to me and asks, “Please to stop at next petrol station for me to urinate. I drank too much coffee to start the day.”

Such a filthy girl she is to speak of her need to urinate. It makes me think of her wicked slit and hairy pussy down there waiting for the cocks she uses to make her money and allows her entrance to those places we need to finish our assignment. I have an urge to stop the truck and put her over my knee and punish her flanks with my thick leather belt to teach her proper respect for a man of God. My erection grows more inflamed with each passing moment as I think of her heart-shaped bottom squirming on my lap waiting for the fall of my punishing belt on her pale white skin.

All I do is nod my head and pull in at the next station and get out to pump some gas into the tank as I watch her cursed backside sway left and right as she walks away from me and into the store with her long flowing hair blowing in the desert breeze like snakes set free to bite innocent people when they least expect it.

May Allah protect us and give us strength to defeat the accursed non-believers on their own territory. Soon they will feel the wrath of the brotherhood on their proud necks and cry tears of survivors burying their dead in mass graves of despair.

I pull out my credit card purchased from a street vendor in Los Angeles. It was one of many I had for my expenses, all stolen from citizens with far too many sources of income to consider or even know about their loss for several more days. I pictured Nine pulling down her shorts and panties and placing her perfumed bottom on the throne in the tiny bathroom. I took pleasure in the certainty that it probably reeked of dirt and sloppy travelers with little thought about cleansing it properly and certainly not worthy of the touch of her sensitive cheeks on it for even a single split second.

That female needed the wrath of my hand on her bottom to correct her obnoxious attitude and make her a true believer of the word of God in the sacred book of Koran. These young girls these days were a mystery with their I-phones and their lipsticks showing their painted lips to any male with an erection.

I knew Nine was a well-trained agent and she was a dangerous person, but I felt the need to instruct her in the wearing of proper clothing and a submissive attitude at all times even if it meant the use of force.

I had my truck-bomb pointed in the direction of the Las Vegas Strip and I wanted to get there at just the right time for maximum kill effect with enough bodies to keep the media happy with the bloody headlines. Nine was necessary because she was humping the security guard at the Casino garage entrance and would distract him while I placed my present in the most advantageous place underground.

I looked at her fixing her lips in the handheld mirror making sure her lines were perfect and she looked like the perfect little tramp that she was deep inside.

Her knee was hitting my leg again and I was certain this time she was enjoying her little game of touching my lower parts for her own personal pleasure. I reached down with my non-driving hand and placed it on the inside of her bare leg watching her blank stare that confirmed my suspicion that she was primed for sexual contact.