Chapter 13

I had the butterflies in my tummy again as we few those final miles into my former hometown of Islamabad with the garbage strewn streets and the messy rooftops.

I all honesty, I was overjoyed at still being alive and breathing, knowing it was the will of Allah to keep me alive for his devoted duty.

All those years in England wining and dining in the lap of luxury had totally ruined me as dedicated “True Believer” and I was corrupted with the Western ways that I professed to hate with every fiber of my Jihadist soul.

I secretly promised Allah that I would mend my ways and eventually serve him in the way of a devoted Jihadist henceforward. I thanked him most sincerely for his protection from the Western Intelligence Agencies and the leaders of the Fanatical Islamic organizations that had financed my adventures in the Western world.

My recent sojourn in Canada was bitter on my tongue and I lamented my thoughtless acceptance of being used by their anti-terrorist units to inform on my former conspirators. Fortunately, Mr. A. Patel was assumed to have been removed from the chessboard in the sweep by British Intelligence of my cell and several other cells operating in London some six years ago. I was now known as a solid Canadian citizen by the name of Al Brown Jr. It was a dull name, but it served to place me in the middle of the head where I felt much safer than with the real name of my decimated clan in Pakistan.

I was the associate translator and advisor to the low-level Canadian Intelligence agent who had convinced me that I needed to go with her to my native land to track down some dubious Taliban sources and their connections to the Pakistan Intelligence services. We had changed several of my features with facial surgery and hair transplants. I also managed to drop almost twenty kilos of unwanted flesh putting me back at my fighting weight of my earlier years right after University.

There was no way that I could contact my former bosses, or even my own mother and father to inform them that I was back home like a dutiful son. I knew that any attempt to do so would ensure my immediate demise because I would be instantaneously suspect as a betrayer of the cause of Islamic justice. Sure, my skin was a trifle dark, but I could easily pass as a Canadian citizen and my British accent was not in the least bit suspicious with my academic record.

I must confess there were many secrets I had not given up to the Canadian authorities. Not the least of which was that we had already penetrated both the American and the Canadian Embassies in London. I knew they had rolled up my cell and the other connected cell near Oxford, but I never let on that there was a full dozen more cells all working covertly in the greater London area.

My handler had come down with a quarantine issue at the last moment and she had been replaced by a younger but less attractive female from the agency. Her name was Nancy and I seriously suspected her of non-traditional sexual urgings from her attitudes towards her female subordinates and other nubile girls in her close proximity. She did not pull back from the touch of my hardness on her thigh on the small commercial airplane, but I could sense her distaste for my maleness and the scent of my desire.

Of course, I was literally in bed with my former handler. She had been carefully groomed by me from the very beginning and had reached that plateau of sexual satisfaction that untrained Western women seldom achieve. This worldwide virus had caused many changes in our long-range program for total world domination and we survivors had learned to adapt accordingly.

I knew that my true identity was not to be revealed under any circumstance due to my failures in the missions assigned to me in London. At one time, I suspected their plot to lure me back to Pakistan on the pretext of my mother’s illness was simply a ploy to scoop me up, shake my secrets from my core and eliminate me from future association with our intelligence services. Needless to say, I had avoided that silly trap and ignored repeated requests for proven results. I can assure you that it was not me that had informed on my own cell and my sincerity in responding to headquarters obviously fell on deaf ears poisoned against my easy acceptance of Western vices and lack of enthusiasm for bloody results or suicidal actions.

My defection to Canada was more accidental than planned and it was the randomness of it that made it a complete success.

I was safely placed in an agency safe house and given my Al Brown Jr. documents by a delightful female contact with orders to “Keep Him Happy”. Thankfully, she was a girl that took orders seriously and never hesitated to get down on her knees or bend over for me with a snap of my fingers and she showed her submissive nature with her multi-orgasms under my training methods.

I was quite surprised that we made several trips into the neighboring Big Satan to set up Canadian spy cells in Washington, D.C. and New York City. I managed to dip my wick into a few young “Sparrows” that collected data from both male and female government workers in various jobs in both cities. Those pretty young things were to a large extent hedonistic to a large degree and showed no hesitation at even the most degrading requests for performance.