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A call to call girls, or The art of intelligence penetration

Without Arab customers, brothels from Bangkok and Bombay, and of course maisons de passe of every kind in Europe,, and the high-end call-girl trade (hotel calls only), on several continents, could collapse.

You can sit right on the water, at a restaurant or café, in Porto Banus, just outside Marbella, and watch the Arab yachts. They come right up to shore, and they are as large as ferries, and like ferries, the cars -- a stream of Mercedeses -- come off, one by one, carrying away for a half-day or the entire evening, or for the evening and a night in a hotel on land, the many wives and many children and their many guards. A half-hour later (it's fun to watch, and I hope the CIA has been clicking away) other cars arrive, but from them emerge girl after girl after girl, and they then are not driven onto the various yachts, but simply walk on, one after the other,while the Arab males on board are waiting for them.

Whatever fantasies you can dream up, whatever kinds of things would promptly get you arrested on five continents, if you were not a rich and immune Arab, is already being lived, quite casually, in the daily lives of a very large number of very rich Arabs, sometimes behind high-walled palaces in Dar al-Islam, where the religious police do not inquire (and since the women or children involved are Infidels, what does it matter?).

One doesn't know if the secret services of the Western world have been taking appropriate advantage of this situation. After all, certain kinds of photographs could further inflame local members of Al Qaeda and other groups at the decadence of princes and princelings. Some of those princes and princelings might be prepared to be a little more cooperative if they were more often made offers they can't refuse. Many clever people, on both sides during the Cold War, would have known the kinds of things to do. Where is Marcus Wolff when you need him? Where is Leopold Trepper and the "Red Orchestra"?

Those willing to engage in acts of derring-do and duplicity could help, and should, defend the West. Return to us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear, avec l'enlevement du General Miller, and Reilly and the "Trest," and Moe Berg, and Oleg Penkovsky. Yes, you, an officer in the service of France, alarmed at the Muslim takeover of your country, disgusted by Le Pen, remembering a different France, and that Ecole Jules Ferry that you attended (who did not?), and the gentle instituteur, and your little cartable, and that cahier, and now, you learn, that school has been burned down by Muslim rioters, and everything vandalized, stolen, destroyed. And you are wondering about those now in the army -- not yet in the officer corps, but coming alone. What will happen in France? And what will happen to that force de frappe?

Or you are a German, a member of the "European" Parliament, and have seen with your own eyes the antisemitism (in its supposedly socially acceptable form, that of viciousness toward, based on deliberate miscomprehension of, Israel), and the anti-Americanism that are encouraged by a kind of Islamintern International, and while your father served in the Wehrmacht, as he had to, you have yourself been trying, in your own life, every since, to make amends, and you know that Europe and America must not be sundered, and your daughter worked as a volunteer on a kibbutz, and you too would like to do something to save Europe, America, Israel.

Or you are a Russian, and you have studied at the Institute for Eastern Languages, and you have personal familiarity with Islam, for you worked in Beirut, and then in Baghdad, in the bad old days of Primakov, who as a matter fact is still around, still making trouble. And you have friends in Tiflis, where you used to go, for those riotous never-ending toasts led or assigned by the tamada, and now you hear stories about the Muslim pressures on Christian Georgia, and about atrocities unreported outside Georgia. And your daughter has married an Armenian, and they live near you, and you have suddenly taken a great interest in Armenian history, and the Turks, and the Kurds, and you recognize the Muslim origin of the Armenian massacres; they taught you well -- no nonsense -- at that Institute. And you know why the Serbs went mad out of fear -- you actually read what Izetbegovic wrote. And for some reason, you keep thinking about long ago, about General Yermolov, and how Griboyedov died, and you imagine Vronsky going off to fight in the Bulgarian Wars. And for some reason Vronsky, on Frou-Frou, has the face of a bogatyr in an illustration by Bilibin, in an old children's book your grandmother read you again and again, and you realize that if you don't do something, all by yourself -- you can't trust the government -- you and others, Russia itself could be lost. You don't talk about it, but you walk the streets of Moscow, and look around, and you get reports from the south from your friends. It is the entire Caucasus, it is Russia itself that is threatened. Who,in a hundred years, will be left to read Pushkin? And you realize that no government in the Western world quite knows what to do, but you will pick the one that still looks most solid and sensible --the one in Washington -- and whatever else the faults and innocences of the Americans, they must be kept informed, must be helped.

And there are many others who might be having the same thoughts, and wish to help, all over Europe. Now is your chance.