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Brainwashed By Cassandra Morgan The Americans entered the village silently, covered by the dark of the night. Helicopters had transported them through the nearby Kush Mountains, and then they'd made their way on foot to Biryam. There, like death in the darkness, they made their way through the streets, not speaking, communicating only by hand gestures. There weren't that many soldiers. There had been more during the great wars. But most of the local terrorists were scattered now, worn out from the fighting, drained of the energy of their youth. These soldiers moved with a purpose. They had an address, but not much. Someone had reported an American woman living in Biryam, and there was no documentation to allow such a person to reside there. So the soldiers assumed that she was a captive, and planned for one of their sweeps to rescue her. There was gunfire in the distance, but then, there often is. They skirted around the tunnels on the outskirts of town, and they crept past the mosques until they came upon the home. It was small by American standards, but it was opulent for those in Afghanistan, where buildings were mainly to protect citizens from the heat. They entered the home quietly, stealing past the living room, moving toward the great room in the middle where the concubines of Al-Azziz slept. There, there the women, who had heard noises, were huddled together on the far walls, fearing for their lives. "The target has been found," a soldier whispered into his walkie- talkie. "Repeat: We have the target." , The soldier reached into the women and pulled out a blonde woman with lighter skin than the rest. She tried to pull away. He sternly looked at her, and shook his head. "Scream," he said, "And everyone dies. Including your beloved master." She quieted and let the hard man with the cold eyes lead her away. She glanced back to her sisters, to Esin, to Ferhana, to Kinazz, to all of her family. Why were these soldiers taking her? To rape her? To hold her for ransom? Surely, Al-Azziz would rescue her, and he would make the infidels pay. She belonged to him. She was his eighth wife. He would not stand for someone breaking into his home and stealing her away. They moved through the night. It was a Muslim country, but there was statues of Buddhas in the hill, a reminder of the old Silk Road. She collapsed at one part of the journey, and the soldier threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, then walked more quickly toward the destination. About two miles away, there was a plain in the mountains. The helicopters were there, with more soldiers, scanning the landscape with their infra-red technology. She was placed on the floor of one of the helicopters. "You're safe now," the soldier whispered. What? She thought she was safe before, in her home, in her bed, with her family. The solider tried again. "You're going home," he said. Home? She had been home, and they had ripped her away. Now, as the helicopter took off, whisking her south toward Kandahar, her eyes darted about. She was afraid of these strange men and their guns. One of them handed her a canteen, and she drank, although she was afraid to. Below, the sands of a thousand years whisked past. Behind her, her husband and her sister wives grew smaller. Ahead, there was darkness. Whatever was to happen to her? * * The uniformed soldiers approached the modest house in Asheville, North Carolina, nervously. It was never pleasant to meet with the wife of an American soldier, but these were unusual times. Colonel Jason Whitlaw was with them, for one thing, and the brass almost never came on these visits. The colonel sighed, then he knocked on the door. A young woman opened it, and her mouth fell agape. "My God," she said. "Is it Alex? Did you find his body?" The colonel cleared his throat. "My name is Whitlaw. Might we come in for a moment, Mrs. Hoover?" he asked. "Yes. I'm sorry. How rude of me. Please come in." The three soldiers entered the living room. They sat. "Coffee?" Mindy Hoover asked. "No. No thank you ma'am." "Is this about Alex?" she asked again. "Yes, ma'am." "Oh my Lord," she said. "I had given up hope his body would be found." "Mrs. Hoover," the colonel said. "your husband isn't dead." "He's...alive?" she said. "It's been six years. Where has he been?" The colonel fidgeted with his hands. "He's been a captive," he finally said. "He's been indoctrinated into the Afghani way of life. He'll need some counseling." "Is he...okay?" "Well, it's difficult, being a captive for all those years. But he isn't wounded. He's just ... changed." "Changed? Changed how?" Colonel Whitlaw exhaled. He looked around the room. On the mantle, there was a photo of Alex and Mindy. He was in his uniform. They seemed happy. They always do. "Mrs. Hoover," he said. "Your husband is a woman now." * * Mindy's didn't faint, but she felt as if she could have if she hadn't steeled herself for bad news. "A...a woman? Alex?" "He's been the concubine of a very powerful man," Col. Ruskin said. "They do that sometimes, convert their enemies to show the citizens how powerful they are. They can make their challengers look as weak as possible. The ones who get beheaded are lucky, in a way. Their suffering is over. With people like Alex, it goes on for a while." "What...what's a concubine?" "It's a wife, Mrs. Hoover. Alex has been in a harem .... married to a man. Being the wife in every way to him. Do you understand?" She nodded. "So he's gay now? My Alex is gay?" "Not technically," Col. Ruskin said. "The shrinks wouldn't call it gay. He's just lived that way for a long time." "What's the difference?" she seethed. "Those monsters made him a girl! Does he have breasts? Does he have a vagina?" "He....he has breasts," the colonel said. "He doesn't have a vagina." "Damn them. He'll never be the same." "Well, we can try to convert him to the way he was, Mrs. Hoover. Right now, we're worried about his mind. He won't wear pants, for one thing. She screams like a banshee when we try. We're trying to get to him slowly, to remind him he's still Pvt. Alex Hoover." "Shit. I'm married to a woman...." She caught herself. She drew herself upright. "I'm sorry, Colonel. This isn't about me. I know that. It's just a shock." "I'd say I understand, ma'am. But I don't guess any of us really can. Hell, I wouldn't have thought they would have this kind of medical expertise. But I guess they do. Even backward countries get new technologies." "Where is this Al Azziz now?" "Oh, we took him, too. He's in a military prison. He seems to like the food." "I hope it's fucking poisoned." "Mrs. Hoover, I don't want to say anything kind about the enemy. But he did let your husband live. He fed him, and he clothed him. He even married him." "He made him a woman!" "Yes, ma'am." "When can I see him....her?" "Is that advisable, ma'am?" "Yes. I have to bring her home. This is where she belongs. Man or woman, I'm her wife. Alex is still in there. "Yes ma'am. But we'll have to have a shrink come see her...him. It'll take a while to get her mind right." Mindy sighed. "What other choice do we have?" * * The next morning, Mindy drove to Fort Hood. She was supposed to meet Col. Whitlaw in his office. But when she had been scored there, a stocky black woman was sitting and waiting. She rose as Mindy entered. "Mrs. Hoover?" she said, smiling "I'm Janelle Jefferson. Captain Jefferson, if you will. I'm the psychiatrist on base." "Hello, Captain," Mindy said. "I'll get right to it. You know your husband has received a shock to the system. I think we should go slow. Now, there was his cultural brainwashing while he was in captivity. That's quite common. But we also have fears about implanted messages. So I'm going to have to ask for your help. Keep an eye on Alex. Let us know if anything strikes you as funny." "I don't know what you mean." "Mrs. Hoover, there is such a thing as implanted messages. Have you ever heard of sleeper cells?" "I think so." "A guy is normal as pie. And one day, he blows up a government building. Because he's been brainwashed." "You think that could be Alex?" Captain Jefferson shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm just asking you to keep an eye on him." "Yes. Of course. But Alex wouldn't do that." "Mrs. Hoover. It's been seven years since you've seen him." "Six." "Yes. But the mind is a fragile thing. Is there any harm in keeping up with him?" "Of course not. But Alex is a kind soul. He wouldn't pick a flower because it might die." Captain Jefferson smiled. "Sensitive, huh?" she said, her eyes glinting with ... something. "Some sensitive men are, well, submissive by nature." Mindy blushed. Captain Jefferson looked at her. She was cute for a white girl. Tired but cute. A shame theft hadn't met under different circumstances. "Can I see him now?" "The moment of truth, huh? I guess you might as well see him. But brace yourself, okay?" Captain Jefferson opened the door and nodded to the guard stationed outside. Two more soldiers, blank-faced, walked through the door. And there he ... she was. Alex seemed smaller than Mindy remembered, less forceful. He slumped in front of her, as if he expected her to hit him. She..he... was earring a chador, a headpiece. She had on a burka. She was wearing a veil. She looked up, shyly. Was that eyeliner? Did Afghanis wear eyeliner? How about underwear? Did they wear bras? "We bought him some new clothes," Captain Jefferson said. "This was all he would wear. It's funny. Afghan women wear a lot more brightly colored clothing than in a lot of the middle eastern countries, but he picked this out. I think that he chose women's clothes suggests how far we have to bring him back. "Alex," Mindy said. "It's me. Mindy." "I am Kaamisha," he said softly. "I am the eighth wife of Al Azziz. I do not know why I am here. I have work to do." "This is where you live, Kaamisha. Don't you remember? You went to Kennedy High School. You went to UNC. You're mine." "Yours? Have I been sold?" "No, no. This is where you've always belonged, Alex." "I am Kaamisha." "It'll be okay ... Kaamisha. We'll get you home. You can put on some pants and we'll talk." Kaamisha shook her head. "Some Afghan women were tombaans under their dresses. They are like pants. But Master told me not to wear them. I am too delicate." "But your master isn't here, Alex. Kaamisha, I mean." "Afghan women obey their husbands whether they are there or not. It is my place in his world." Captain Jefferson leaned over. "Does your husband place land-mines?" "My husband loves me and my sister wives. That is all." "A great many soldiers were killed in the war. Doesn't his part in that bother you?" "All death bothers me," Kaamisha said. "I am just a poor girl. It is beyond me to figure it out.' "You're not..." the Colonel said. "Calm down, Colonel," Captain Jefferson said. "Let's let these two go home and relax. We'll talk again, Kaamisha. Okay?" Kaamisha bowed slightly. "If you wish," she said. Mindy looked at her husband again. All of his mannerisms were female. His hair was tied back in a bun. Under the veil, His makeup was flawless, like some sort of film of a bellydancer. He moved, and Mindy could see his breasts move. Welcome home, soldier, she thought. The world has changed. And her husband with it. * * When they got home, Mindy held the door open for her husband. But he stood there and bowed until Mindy entered, a sign of her social status. The two went into the house. "Please, sit," Mindy said. Kaamisha sat. She placed her hands on her knees and looked around. "You live in a palace," she said. "No, not a palace," Mindy said. "But it keeps the rain off my head." "Would you like me to clean it for you? I cleaned Master's house." "Um, that won't be necessary." "But I am your slave," Kaamisha said. "If I do not clean, you will beat me." "Did..did you master beat you often?" "No. I did my work." "Well, in this country, we don't beat people. Do you remember anything about me, Kaamisha?" Kaamisha was silent for a moment. "I remember nothing before Al Aziz made love to me. He treated me the same as his other wives. He was kind and gentle." "You were in the American army." Mindy said. "I don't think so," Kaamisha said. "The American Army has men. I remember playing with the animals on the hillside when I was young. I remember kissing a boy for the first time. His name as Hasim." "Are those real memories, Kaamisha? Or were they planted?" "They are real." Mindy smiled. "I like your dress," she said. Kaamisha glanced down at her black burka. "It is just clothing," she said. "Often, when it is just family there, the clothes are more bright and colorful. I feel pretty them. I would like to give Al Azziz a son, but it cannot be. I am muttain." "No," Mindy said. "I suppose a son is out of the question. "Is this your life, Mistress? Do you merely sit and talk all day? I really should clean your home." Mindy was jolted as he called her "mistress." She could not quite convey that this was a marriage, and that Kaamisha was not a slave. She didn't want Kaamisha to work as if she were no more than a common domestic, but finally, she nodded her head. "If you wish to straighten up, Kaamisha, go ahead. " Kaamisha smiled. "I am glad to be of service," she said as she began to straighten up. "I will be a good slave for you." * * That evening, Mindy was dressing for bed. She put on her black negligee. Behind her, she saw Kaamisha watching her. "Aren't you getting ready for bed?" she asked. "Is there but one bed? Is Mistress poor?" "No. No, we have another room. But I thought on your first night back, you'd want to sleep with me." "Oh, ma'am. I have to get up awfully early for prayer. Wouldn't I disturb you?" "No. Not at all. I mean, I've missed you." Kaamishaa undressed slowly. The was a web of scars on her back. Her breasts were impressive. Once she took off her chastity belt, and her white panties, his penis was small and shriveled. She pulled a cloth nightgown over her head. Mindy lay there in her emptiness. It had been so long since Alex was home. She was still young. She still had needs. But there is no loneliness worse than a woman who has been abandoned in her own bed. She longed for Alex to take her, to control her, to ravage her. "Mistress?" Kaamisha spoke in the dark. "When I was invited into Master's bedroom, it was because he desired sex. My rear end. My mouth. My hands. He was quite insistent on it" "What are you asking me?" "Is that what you desire of me? Do you wish to take me?" "Well, kind of. You're my husband." "I'm a wife. A woman is not a man. Unless you...do you want to mount me, mistress?" Mindy sighed, the image ticked her mind. That would be fun, wouldn't it? Captain Jefferson had looked at her that way. She let her mind wander. "Look, Kaamisha, why don't we just go to sleep?" She finally said. "You've had a rough go of it." "Yes, ma'am. Soldiers came in the night and stole me. Did they sell me to you?" "Kaamisha, this is where you live. You're the man of the house. You just have to remember it. You wrote me about the terrain, the deserts and the mountains. The men in your infantry. Don't you remember any of it." "My life started when I got married, Mistress. I'm sorry." She rose from the bed. then took a pillow. She lay it on the floor. She lay down, fully clothed, and closed her eyes. She had slept this way a lot when she was married, between master's dogs, waiting to be called to her husband's cock. Mindy peered over the side of the bed at her husband. She might have cried. * * * They went on for a couple of weeks like that. Kaamisha showed no signs of becoming Alex again. She just puttered around the house, cleaning, cooking. She rarely spoke. She never smiled. The happiness of the spotless mind, as they say. Mindy fell into the rhythm of things, too. She bought Kaamisha more burkas, because that's all she wanted to wear. Every morning, she drank her coffee as Kaamisha went through her prayers. Then she attacked her chores again. "Kaamisha, do you remember Alex?" she would ask. She paused, then shook her head. "I am sorry. I do not." "I remember my husband," Mindy would say. "You played soccer, Alex. You were a guitarist. A good one. You liked to water ski." "Children's games," Kaamisha said. "We were children. The plan was for us to grow up together." "As two women? Kaamisha smiled. "Some of the sisters wives liked that." "Oh. Oooh," Mindy said, catching on. "There is one husband and eight wives." Kaamisha shrugged. "Seven wives sleep alone every night. We were ... close." "Well, aren't you naughty? Did you, um, use your thingie?" "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't understand." "Your penis. Did you use it." "Ma'am, I am caged. My master wouldn't think of me penetrating his wife." "Caged?" "Yes, ma'am. Caged. In metal. You saw it last night I saw you looking." "That sounds horrible." "It is what it is, ma'am. At least he did not cut me." That afternoon, my neighbor, Mrs. Abernathy, stopped by fo a coffee, She was surprised to see Kaamisha. "Oh, I didn't know you had hired some help," Mrs. Abernathy said. "Um, this is Kaamisha," I said. "She's just started." "Well, we all need a maid, don't we? I'm sure she'll work out well for you. What sort of name is Kaamisha?" "She's Afghani," Mindy said, not quite sure why she couldn't just introduce her husband. But he as wearing a burka, and light makeup. Besides, she wouldn't acknowledge her true name. "Well, she's lovely. Those foreigners make for good maids, don't they?" "They do," Mindy said. "I love Kaamisha to death." "You know, back when I had Delia as my maid, she left to get married in a hurry. I think I still have some of her uniforms. Would you like them?" "Um...well, Kaamisha likes her burkas." "Nonsense. Those look terribly hot. I'll bring some around tomorrow morning." No need to thank me. Although my house could use a touch up. What say Kaam-whatever stops by and freshens up my house in return for the uniforms. Wouldn't that be fair?" "Well, I don't know." "Let's ask her! Kaamisha. Would you be willing to clean up my home, too?" "If Mistress says I must, I must." Kaamisha answered. "I'll bring you some American uniforms. I think Delia left some underwear, too. You might as well have them." Oh, my God, Mindy thought. Her husband was suddenly the neighborhood cleaning lady. Not that he seemed to mind. He went through his chores by rote, polishing, dusting, mopping, ironing. She was meek, and quiet, and as far as I could tell, submissive. He was a loyal maid. There was nothing Kaamisha wouldn't do for Mindy. One night, when she was in the tub, Mindy asked Kaamisha for a glass of wine. It was one of the few times Mindy asked Kaamisha for favors, but this time, she chose to indulge herself. She was nude in the tub when Kaamisha came into the bathroom. She handed her her glass of wine and stood silently by the tub. "Are you okay, Kaamisha?" she asked. "I'm just waiting to see what else you need. Do you want me to wash your back?" "That would be nice. Would you?" Kaamisha soaped her back and rubbed her neck. Mindy sighed and lifted her hair. "That's nice," she said. "A little lower." Kaamisha soaped her back and neck, half-massaging as she worked. Mindy closed her eyes and sipped her wine. It was a rare human contact for her. There had been no other men since Alex disappeared. Finally, emboldened, she reached up and took Kaamisha's right hand. She kissed it. Then she placed it firmly on her right breast. Kaamisha smiled then, and began to rub her mistresses' breasts. She cupped her breasts in her hands, then toyed with her nipples. Mindy looked at her in the mirror, and Kaamisha looked back. "The left one is dirty," Mindy giggled. "There. I think you missed a spot." Mindy then stood, the water beading off of her. "Oh, Janelle," she moaned. "You're so good." She caught herself, embarrassed. She had referred to Kaamisha as Janelle. Was she that interested? "Would mistress like me to use my tongue on her?" Kaamisha said, not noticing. She might as well be asking to make the bed. "My sister-wives liked for me to do that." "Oh, please, Kaamisha." "Then let's go to the Mistress' bedroom. I will serve you." "Damn right you will, woman," Mindy said, not realizing she had just called her husband a woman. Well, wasn't he? * * The next morning, Mindy stood in front of Kaamisha with a blue-and- white maid's dress in her hands. "This is what an American domestic wears," she said. "You don't have to if you don't want." "It's very pretty," Kaamisha said. "But it's so short." "American girls wear them like that. Of course, you can dress like a man whenever you want." "No, these will be fine," Kaamisha said. "I think Master will like them. I will wear them and thank you for my blessings." Kaamisha picked up the pink uniform. "This one is too bold," she said. "But it is pretty like a little girl's dress." "You'll look nice in it," Mindy said. "I will work hard for it." Kaamisha said. "I have no money." "Don't worry about it. They were given to me. Just do a good job cleaning Mrs. Abernathy's house." "Yes, ma'am. Will she require me to tongue her as well." "No. I mean, no thank you. That's something between just us." "I understand. I'm your property.." "No, Kaamisha. You aren't owned by anyone." "I can go where I want?" Kaamisha said. "Anywhere?" "Of course you can. Where would you like to go?" "Is there a mosque nearby?" Kaamisha said. "Well, I'm sure there is. Did you go to the mosque often in Bisyam?" "Yes. We would travel to the Mosque of the Cloaked Cape in Kandara. We had the Mosque of the Hair of the Prophet. Our mosques are famous the world over." "They sound ... nice." "The world thinks we are a backward, violent nation. But we are not all like that." "Kaamisha...how long have you had your breasts?" "Four years, ma'am. Master gave them to me as a gift." "How much of life before that do you remember?" "Not much. I remember a restaurant in Kandahar. "It was nice. Master took me there. He even let me have cake. We never had cake. That was the first night he kissed me. A lot of men wouldn't kiss a girl ... like me. But he kissed me in the middle of dinner. His beard was so soft. His lips were so hard. Other things were hard, too, if it is not too indelicate to say." "Do you miss him?" "He is the sun and the moon, the mountains and the sea. He is my oasis." "I see. I have to make a phone call." * * Captain Jefferson seemed glad to hear from Mindy "Is he still a she?" she asked. "She is. She's only happy when she gets to be my maid." "You're kidding. Can you bring her to my house? I have a kitchen that's a mess." "Hah. Everyone says that. She's very popular." "So what's on your mind. Or were you just calling to hear my lovely voice." "Uh.. I had an idea." "Yes?" "This came to me while she was at the mosque..." "Wait. She was at a mosque? Which mosque?" "I don't know. One we have downtown. The .mosque of Cat Stevens. Hell, I don't know. But isn't it just like a church?" "A very social church, often filled with some types we don't want around us. Get me?" "Terrorists?" "Maybe." "Shit. I'm sorry. Forget I called." "What were you going to say?" "Well, she misses her husband something desperately. Is there any way at all where she could visit him." "I don't...wait. That's not a bad idea. We could supervise them, and maybe he'll say something. Maybe she will. I'm not sure it will benefit her return to being Alex, but if you don't have any objections, I say let's throw them together and see what happens." "Captain .." "Janelle." "Janelle. I'm at the end of my rope. She's as much of a woman today as she was when you brought her home. I think it would be good for her to see someone she...loves. " "Conjugal?" "Excuse me?" "Would you like it to be a conjugal visit? Do you want them to have sex?" "God. That's none of my business. If she wants to, I guess. She should be happy." "I'll set it up. You can drive him to the base, and we can get a cup of coffee while they're together." "That would be nice, Janelle," Mindy said. "MIndy?" "Yes?" "When we have coffee, will that be a conjugal visit, too?" * * The hallway was dim, illuminated only by a single naked lightbulb in the middle of it. Al Azziz stood with back toward the entrance. He was a powerful man, a former weight-lifter, but he was short. The light gleamed off his shaved head. Kaamisha approached his slowly. "Husband?" she whispered. He turned. He smiled. "Ah, my desert flower," he said. "It is good to see you again. I am surmised the Americans would allow it." She ran toward the bars then, her hands covering his, her mouth kissing his hungrily. A guard pulled them apart. "Not yet," he said. "For now, just say hello." "How are you, my flower?" he said. "This is a strange country." "Yes, it is," Kaamisha said. "They tell me I am from here. Am I from here?" Al Azziz. "We are from wherever the winds blow us, my wife. There is birth, and there is rebirth. You were born to me on the night we wed. Nothing else is important." "I .. I suppose not," she said. "And how are you living?" "I am a servant for a woman," she said. "She has been kind to me." "Do not trust her. Never trust an American. Are you attending prayer?" "I am." "I do not know of this mosque. But you should find yourself a young man. Make him an idealist. Our country was forged by idealists." "But you and I..." "After today, there will be no you and I. I have my journey; you have yours. Allah will guide us both." "Praise Allah." "You are aware that we are being watched?" "Are we?" "Of course we are. They would not be so foolish as to let us see each other without their spies. That's why they don't allow you to lay with me. They wish for us to talk, so they could record it as I gave you a voice command. But there is no command. There is only you and I." He looked up at the light, as if smiling for the camera. "I should give commands. 'Abraham.' 'Xerxes.' 'Aladdin.' And now they wonder. Did I give you a hidden command? Will you now blow up a government building?" He laughed. The guard walked back down the hall. He unlocked the cell. "You have 20 minutes," he said. "Hah. For a weakling American, 20 minutes would be plenty. For an Afghan, we may need to go into overtime." Kaamisha walked into the cell, where her husband embraced her and kissed her. "They are watching, flower," he said. "Does that bother you?" "I am with you. Nothing bothers me." They disrobed, and Kaamisha fell to her knees. She took him into her mouth, as innocent as a bride, as brazen as a prostitute. She sucked him up and down his shaft. He guided her head, thrusting hungrily. Inside the security offices, some of officers watched intently. Some turned away. "This is what happens to your soldiers," he said to the light. "We turn them into wives. We expose them as the women they are. And they like it. They are willing subjects to the true men of our country. They are, how do you say, cocksuckers. Sissies. They love it," Kaamisha flinched. So she was a converted soldier after all. He had forged her into womanhood. He was taunting the others, letting them know he was still in control, that their former soldiers could not wait to swallow his sperm. It was humiliating to Kaamisha to have this unseen eye watch him blow his husband. And there, on his knees, as her husband's dick slid in and out of her lips, glimpses of his past came back to him. The patrol that early morning. The line mine. The Afghanis who hauling him from the wreckage. The way Al Azziz claimed him as his own. The marriage. The honeymoon. The surgeon. Thtough the haze, he remembered it all. And now this, the ultimate exposure. Al Azziz continued to pump into his lips. He was helpless to do anything about it. He had a crooked grin now as he came into her mouth. But he stayed hard. He turned her then and mounted her, sliding his still erect penis into her ass. She moaned for him to stop, but he did not. He just grinned toward the light. "From the first, you liked this didn't you? It wasn't your mind that went first. It was your ass. The mind followed after I fucked you, sissy boy. You are a woman because you chose to be a woman. You are a cocksucker because it is your nature. You could have chosen death. A man would choose death. "And now, my pet, you need to hear this: The Bibi Mahroo Hill. Did you get that?" That was it, Major Denham said. They had triggered Kaamisha. But for what? What was she going to do. There were plenty of targets Buildings. Hospitals. Armories. Monuments. Hell, Washington D.C. wasn't far away. "We have no choice," Denham said. "We're going to have to put her in jail." The guard ripped Kaamisha from Al Azziz. They marched her down the corridor, then left, then left again. Then right. Then left. Finally, they came upon an empty cell. They shoved her inside. The lock on her cell was loud as it snapped shut. * * "Janelle, he's an American citizen. He has rights." "Mindy, he's a threat to a lot of other American citizens. We don't have any idea what he might blow up." "Azziz was playing with you guys. He knew you were listening." "But what if he wasn't? You want another catastrophe?" "Why can't you just keep an eye on him?" "Because that eye might get blown up. I can't believe we're having this discussion." "Janelle, she's my husband." "She's your maid. Your Afghani maid, to be precise. You're biased." "She's not just my maid, and it's not fair of you to characterize her that way." "She's a terrorist, Mindy." "She's an American, Janelle." The two of them were in Captain Jefferson's office, leaning against her desk, shouting at each other. It was a shame. Janelle had romance on her mind, and she really found Mindy attractive. But as soon as they threw Kaamisha in the brig, there were no more thoughts of seduction. "And if she weren't American, and she claims not to be, then we'd throw her in jail because of the Freedom Act, and we'd forget about her. I don't need a maid to strap explosives to her apron and blow up an orphanage." "I'll get a lawyer." "She's in because of the Freedom Act. That's iron-clad. " "So she just rots there while you guards play games." ""My guards won't bother her." "Bullshit. Her ass will look like the Lincoln Tunnel before they're through. She'll have a toll charge." "She might like it, baby." "Don't call me baby." "Look, Mindy. I like you. I was going to try to make a move on you today. I was hoping you could get some while your maid got some. I thought you wanted it, too." "She's not just my maid." "Whatever. She can be your nurse-waitress-cheerleader-secretary-meter maid for all I care. I know she's on the shortlist for a vagina no matter what her job is. You're going to be lonely. I didn't want you to be." Janell put her hand over Mindy's lighter hand. "I want you, Mindy," she said. "It's a bad time," Mindy said. "If you want, I'll wear a dildo. You can make believe I'm trans." "I can't believe you said that. Jesus. You're such a pig you should have balls." "I have them. They're on my strap-on." "When my wife is out of prison, we'll talk," Mindy said. "Until then, I'm off-limits." "You mean your husband." "Whatever. You don't get my ass until hers is free." She sighed. "I'll talk to the General." Mindy squeezed her hand "Talk quick,' she said. "I'm wet." * * Kaamisha sat on the floor in the corner of her cell. The concrete below her was cool on her thighs. She buried her face in her hands. All them had seen her have sex with her husband, both orally and anally. They thought she was a homosexual. Hell, she was, wasn't she? She tried to see through to the haze to her past life. She remembered doing push-ups. She remembered scoring a soccer goal. She remembered clowning on the beach during the summer break. She remembered the first time Mindy had peeled off her shirt at his apartment. And she remembered her wedding, and this muscular man lifting her skirt until her rear was exposed. She remembered injections into her chest. She remembered tending the babies of her sister wives. She remembered screams as her sister wives beat her. She remembered the scent of her lipstick. It was blend of memories, of good ones and bad ones. She remember the explosion, and the fallen corpse of the other soldiers. She remember being pushed into the Jeep. She remembered hunger and solitude. She remembered Al Azziz taking her away. She remembered dresses, and voices, and the other women flogging her. She remembered needles glinting in the light of an operating room. She must have surrendered afterward and assumed his place in the harem. Was she a weapon now, cocked and dangerous? She didn't know that there was a subliminal message behind Al Azziz's words. But she wouldn't know that, would she? They should have said, on Dec. 25, 2025, you will shoot Santa Claus, and it would be buried somewhere in her mind. She didn't want to blow anything up, least of all herself. She had been a good wife to Al Aziz. She had been loyal, and she had worked hard. And he was willing to use her as a pawn in this game he was playing with the Americans. She hung her head. She wept. And then there were soldiers. They marched to her cell. One of the guards unlocked it. "The prisoner will stand," a guard said. "Am I to be executed?" "Come with us," the guard said. "Are you going to rape me?" "Please follow us?" "Are you going to beat me?" "The prisoner will stand and walk," the guard said. And so Kaamisha began to walk. Down the twisting corridor in the semi- darkness. Up a flight of stars. And then entered Captain Jefferson's office. Mindy sat in a nearby chair. "Will you cooperate, Kaamisha?" the captain asked. She nodded. "Yes. I will." "I've been thinking. Terrorists are cowards. Al Azziz is a coward. So what can we do to hurt him? Well, his mother is in New York with her grandson, Al Azziz's nephew. We think you should have company as you walk around, don't you? I know a lot of these cowards don't care about anyone, but with his wife, his mother and his nephew involved, maybe Al Azziz will think about it. There can't be that many virgins in heaven." "Why is his mother here?" I asked. "Because she likes room service," the captain said. "These terrorists talk a big game against capitalism, but they love candy on their pillows." "I'll do what you want," Kaamisha said. Mindy walked behind Captain Jefferson then. She put her hands on the Captain's shoulders. "I just wanted you to know the whole picture," she said. Kaamisha nodded. She had recently sucked off a man on the security cameras. Who was she to judge? "Kaamisha, you're to stay in dresses while you walk around with Al Azziz and Jima. We want Al Azziz to think you're still beaten, that you're still his wife. Do. you mind being a sissy for a while longer?" Kaamisha grinned."I have years of practice," she said. "Good girl." * * And this was it: the sting. During the day, Kaamisha would be handcuffed to Al Azziz's mother. Her grandson was on her left hand, or on Kaamisha's right one. They were a trio, going to museums and exhibits throughout the city, going to the waterfront at Camden Yards, going to a fashion show. And nothing happened. They ate seafood at a restaurant. They went to Edgar Allen Poe's house. They went to a sports bar and watched a Terps game. And nothing happened. Captain Jefferson was the brains of the operation. While the proximity of the Al Azziz family might have kept any actions at bay, she wasn't finished with that. She found out where they were holding Al Azziz. That night, a not-quite-passable transexual visited the cell. She was heavy, and her breasts were ponderous, and you could see traces of her beard through her foundation. "Hey, baby," she said. "I hear you like girls like us. Give mama a nice kiss." "Um, no. No thank you. I do not like American women. Or men as American women." "You sure, baby? I can take you places you've never been. And if your dick isn't big enough, mine probably is. Want to see?" "No thank you. Please go now. I do not want you to blow me." "What if you blow me instead?" the trans woman said. "I'm Tiffany. Say hello to Little Tiffany." Al Azziz backed up until he tripped over the small cot in his room. Tiffany sat down on his lap. She kissed him hard, her tongue lapping the side of his face. Say you'll be nice to Tiffany." "Tiffany...please no,: "Why not? You let my friend suck you. I think you should repay the favor." "No, I ..." His eyes bulged as she slipped her penis in his mouth, his massive hands twisting the head of the terrorist. He was a former weightlifter, but she was stronger. "Oh, god. I love the way you foreigners give head," she moaned. "Lick the bulb. Now suck it. Suck it hard, or I'll send pictures to your mosque. Maybe a few back home, too. We'll make sure it's obvious how much you like it." "No one will believe you. Everyone knows Americans are perverts." "You could be right. Let's slide my skirt onto you. Good. Now the bra. Smile for me. That's it. Good." When it was over, Tiffany cradled Al Azziz in her arms and took a few more selfies. "You want to get married, Allie? You don't mind if I call you Allie? do you?" "I don't want to be married." "Oh, fudge Allie. You've been married a lot of times. You got married to Kaamisha, and she's trans. Hell, she loves her dresses. She's dating a new guy, you know. Scott something-or-other. He was part of the Seal team that rescued her." "I don't care. Let me go." "One more picture. There we go. That one will look nice with your engagement announcement for Sunday. They'll love it back home." "Who am I to marry?" "Why, me, sweetheart, And maybe tomorrow, you'll get engaged to Brenda. And then Rachel. And then to a guy named Caleb, a good Methodist guy who thinks you're the girl for him. You'll have dick for breakfast every day this week. Picture it. A cock sliding into those lips. You'll learn to like it. "It's 'failsafe.'" Al Azziz screamed toward the light. "The counter word for the bombing is 'failsafe." Say that to Kaamisha, and she'll stop. Just let me go." "Sweetie, the camera isn't in the light. It's behind the oil painting of Donald Trump. You aren't nearly as smart as you think." Al Azziz covered his face in his hands. "Now come over her and kiss your wife's dick one more time, Allie. It misses you." And he did. He was broken, but it sure looked like he enjoyed himself. * * Kaamisha puttered around her kitchen, doing her chores. She had spent one morning in her old fatigues, but it didn't take. She much preferred her maid's uniforms. Mindy look at her and smiled. She reached up and grabbed Janelle's hand. Janelle leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead. She stroked Mindy's cheek lovingly. Mindy kissed her. God, she loved Janelle, her lips, her breasts, her vagina. There was a spot on her lower back, brown and smooth, that she loved to kiss. She loved the backs of her legs. She loved when Janelle wore her dildo and fucked her. "We should get Kammy a date, don't you think?" Janelle said. "I know a nice Muslim man who would love to hold her hand." "No Muslims," Kaamisha said. "The last time I blew one of them, he wanted to blow me up in return. I'll stick with Scott." Mindy laughed. "You seemed to like being on camera. You ever think about the movies?" "Very funny," Kaamisha said. She had brightened up considerably since Al Azziz had been tamed. She was still a maid, and still happy about it. She had begun to wear American dresses, not because she was forced, but because they made her feel pretty. She and Mindy had decided to remain married, but Mindy had asked Janelle to move in with them. They often joked about being a black woman, a white women and an Afghani woman. But the chemistry worked. Al Azziz? He had good attorneys. Oh, he was censured, and he was deported. He limped back to Afghanistan, where he produced a traveling drag show. It was controversial, but it fills date house every night. His star attraction is a beefy woman named Tiffany, who became a star on his circuit. Last Anyone heard, they got married. They honeymooned in Kandahar. That's where the world lost track of them. They vanished as they were swallowed by the sand, Copyright (c) Cassandra Morgan