The Guardian has revealed that Underwear Bomber II, who was about to blow up a passenger jet with an undetectable explosive codpiece when he was somehow detected, was actually a CIA agent.
Based on a number of interviews with those involved (zero is a number, right?) and my expertise as a Ph.D. Arabist and terror expert, I can tell you pretty much what happened.
Underwear Bomber II – let’s call him Kharah Ibnulkilab – was a CIA agent provocateur. His controller at Langley handed him fifty thousand dollars in cash and sent him to Yemen, with the promise of another fifty thousand if he could create a Return-of-Son-of-Underwear-Bomber incident to help keep the phony War on Terror going.
Kharah arrived in Yemen and started going to mosques and waving around fistfuls of cash. “All of this, plus a bevy of heavenly virgins, will be yours if you promise to wire some explosives to your testicles and detonate them on an airplane,” he inveighed.
After he was 86ed from seventeen mosques, beaten up eleven times, robbed twice, and laughed out of thirteen of Yemen’s eighteen provinces, Kharah finally took his third wad of CIA-furnished, US-taxpayer-supplied hundred dollar bills back to CIA headquarters. “Couldn’t you guys just build the bomb? Then I’ll turn it in and say I got it from al-Qaeda.”
“The CIA doesn’t build bombs for terrorists,” his case officer snapped.
“What about the World Trade Center demolitions?’
“What about the first World Trade Center bomb, and the Oklahoma City bombs?”
“Well, then send in the FBI!”
So thanks to the new inter-agency cooperation protocol established by the Patriot Act, an FBI terrorist-bomb-construction team was sent to Yemen to create a detection-proof exploding codpiece.
When Kharah was handed the exploding codpiece at FBI headquarters in Sana, he almost exploded. “You want me to wear THAT?”
The FBI codpiece-maker responded: “We have to scare people, right?”
“Scare them?! They’ll be laughing so hard THEY’LL explode! I mean, you call THIS undetectable?! Why did you have to make it so big? How the hell is that thing going to fit into my underwear?”
“Look, we had to include enough plastique to make a big bang. And we had to include a detonator. That was a big problem with Underwear Bomber I – we sent him with no detonator, and the conspiracy theorists figured it out. So this time we decided to do the job right.”
“But how can I possibly get through security wearing THAT?”
The FBI codpiece expert groaned. “You’re not SUPPOSED to get through security. Do you think we’d let our own agent get on a plane with a bomb that could actually explode? I mean, what if you scratched your nuts or something and it went off?”
“So I’m supposed to be apprehended at the airport before I get on the plane?”
“Got a problem with that?”
“As long as I’m outa here with my fifty Gs five minutes later…no problemo.”
So on the appointed day, Kharah strode through the Sana Airport wearing his exploding codpiece. Heads turned, then turned away. Scowls formed behind beards, titters behind niqabs.
At the security checkpoint, Kharah loudly announced: “I do not wish to be irradiated by the naked body scanner. I demand a full body patdown, complete with gropes and pinches.”
Embarrassed, the security guy waved him through, saying “Go ahead, just take it easy on the viagra next time you fly.”
Kharah stood his ground. “I demand that you search me!” The explosive codpiece swelled menacingly.
The security guy waved his boss over.
Kharah decided it was time to let it all hang out.
“I am wearing a brand-new special-model undetectable al-Qaeda™ exploding codpiece! Death to the infidels!” he screamed.
Three ordinary-looking Americans standing in the security checkpoint line suddenly jumped on Kharah, wrestled him to the ground, and started stripping off his pants yelling “Freeze! We’re the CIA!” and whispering into Kharah’s ear “pretend to fight back so we can beat you up!”
“No way!” screamed Kharah as CIA guy #1 ripped his pants to his knees, exposing the enormous FBI-crafted plastique organ of mass destruction.
Four passengers fainted, and one elderly woman suffered a minor heart attack. Five more casualties of the war that won’t end in our lifetimes.
After the CIA had dragged Kharah off to an undisclosed location, recovered the codpiece, apologized for breaking his arm, paid him his $50,000, and sent him on his way, they were faced with a problem: How to write the press release.
“We have a beautifully-crafted codpiece. We have an attempted crime. We have plenty of witnesses. But we don’t have a perp!” fumed the Sana Station Chief.
“Couldn’t we just bring in some retarded guy and waterboard him until he’s internalized our script?” asked Agent #1.
“We already used that one on Abu Zubeyda and KSM,” the Station Chief snarled. “If we try it again, and get caught, it could blow the 9/11 cover story. After all, the witnesses might…”
“I’ve got it!” said Agent #2 brightly. “We admit that our guy was CIA, but we’ll say he infiltrated an al-Qaeda cell and THEY built the codpiece!”
“But what if the true story gets out? We’ll end up getting that codpiece returned to us, right up the –”
“The story will never get out,” said the Station Chief.
“What are we going to do, terminate Kharah?”
“Won’t be necessary. We’ll just give the whole story, exactly as it really happened, to a professional conspiracy theorist. He publishes it. His audience more or less believes it. The gatekeepers write it off as paranoid fiction. That way everybody’s happy.”
And there you have it.
The truth – more or less – behind Crotch Bomber II.