He was an old man in a child's body--well, not an old man, a middle-aged man but the principle was the same. He didn't belong there. He wanted out. There was a lot of things a ten-year-old couldn't do. He couldn't belly up to a bar and order a cold one, he couldn't drive a Zephyr Eight at breakneck speed along Boiling Run; he couldn't unsnap Miss Carbuncle's bra in a hot and hasty tumble in a haystack--not that the preteen version of Bernard Piffy hadn'thad a lot of hot and hasty tumbles with the ladies but it wasn't as much fun on the deck of a flop-flop-slopping helicopter or in a room at Dr. Frankenstein's with the ladies armed with weapons that would have terrified a Caped Crusader. No, he would not miss being ten years old. The problem was how to get to where he would no longer be ten years old. A jail cell in Egypt was the not the best place to start. But he was a kid and he had a cruise ship to catch. He could handle anything--the Egyptian secret police, terrorists, dead Jihadists, axe murderers, sharks and snippity UN helicopter pilots like Rochelle Hinds who hated his guts and was converting to Islam. He was boy--hear him roar

When Bernard Piffy arrived in Gaza City carrying a dog in a birdcage he didn't think he would be there long. All he had to do was find Yasser Arafat's Fuhrerbunker, steal a monitor from the Keepers of the Fleas and bring it back to Asma bint Marwan. It was a half day's work at the most. Then he could take a dip in the Mediterranean and fly back to England--or better yet to the States for a few beers with the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and Gun Club. Then he could start afresh on the trail of Yaser Abdel Said, the Dallas cabdriver who had murdered his daughters, Sarah and Amina Said, in a fit of Islamic rage. No one would ever mistake Piffy for Mike Hammer or Shell Scott but he was as tough as a ten-penny-nail soaked in Kickapoo Joy Juice and run through Dante's Inferno. He had been a three-time Junior Calf-Roping Champion and a close-combat instructor in the Marine Corps. He had won hundreds of skeet-shooting championships. He had went over the falls in a barrel; he had survived on goat pee and lichens while lost in the Sierra Madre. But he wasn't prepared for what he encountered in Gaza City--the land of Yasser Arafat, of car bombings, honor killings and nasty old men filled with 1,400 years of hatred. Che Guevara was there and so was Jimmy Carter. Guevara had been hired by the Keepers to take care of some loose ends--one of them being Bernard Piffy. And Aisha was there--lovely little Aisha who had saved the ten-year-old version of Bernard Piffy from getting beat up in an alley behind the Ahmad Madrassa in London, England. Her father had sent her to Gaza to study at the Osama bin Laden Madrassa for Girls. Gaza was also the haunt of Sheikh Rahman al-Kabibble, the noted Islamic scholar and theologian. The Sheikh had just issued a fatwa legalizing marriage to girls as young as nine years old. According to the studies he had made, nine-year-old girls provided more sexual satisfaction than grown women. He would stake his life on this. He would find the ten-year-old calf-roping version of Bernard Piffy so exciting, so delighting Unfortunately he was old enough to be the ten-year-olds great-grandfather. Some of Piffy enemies--and they were legion--had followed him to Gaza. The Protectors of Virtue and the Preventors of Vice were there ready to do the bidding of Prince Chauncey sixth cousin twice-removed of the mightiest oil potentate in the world. Death lurked around every corner and beneath every prayer rug. But Piffy had his dog in a birdcage and if things got really rough, he could always call on his guardian angel, the inimitable St. Anthony. And there was Wheatley W. Wheatley, Abu Afaq's Gaza agent with her one-hundred percent Mujahideen pizzle whip. And the great Stockton Bonds would be along on the trail of Piffy and the Fleas. America's last great private eye would have his hands full...

Bernard Piffy, private detective, was hired by the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and Gun Club to track down the notorious Dallas cabdriver, Yaser Abdel Said, who had murdered his daughers, Sarah and Amina Said, in a fit of Islamic rage and had then fled the country for parts unknown. Piffy was not a hard-boiled private eye; no one would mistake him for Mike Hammer or Shell Scott but he had been a three-time Junior Calf-Roping Champion, had won dozens of Skeet-Shooting Championships before he was twelve years old and had been a close-combat instructor in the Marine Corps. He had wrestled alligators and had once beat Mike Hammer in arm-wrestling. He went to Dallas and on a dark and stormy night he met Ka'b bin al-Ashraf who told Piffy he could take him to the soul of Yaser Abdel Said. It was the beginning of an incredible adventure. Ka'b had been dead for 1,400 years, murdered by Mohammad bin Muslama on orders from the Prophet (Bukhari 5-369). The trail would lead to England--to the Birmingham Central Mosque; to Abu Hamza al-Masri; to Archbishop Rowan Williams; to Inspector Jean-Jacques Rousseau; to assorted jinns, Jihadists, monsters and leprechauns and to a ten-year-old Muslim girl that would become the apple of a ten-year-old Junior Calf-Roping Champion's eye.

When Abraham Lincoln ran for President in 1860 he was opposed to the extension of slavery into the territories. William H. Seward had warned of an 'irrepressible conflict.' A house divided against itself cannot stand," said Lincoln. "I believe the government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved; I do not expect the house to fall; but I expect it will cease to be divided." The threat today is the same--the extension of slavery into the territories with the United States one of the territories to be exploited. Islam is on the march . The world cannot exist half Muslim and half free. It will become one or the other. This is the Last Crusade. It is the one that must be won

Bernard Piffy was going home in a rowboat--a failure. He hadn't done any of the things he had set out to do. He had not brought Yaser Abdel Said, the Dallas cabdriver that had murdered his daughters, Sarah and Amina Siad in a fit of Islamic rage, to justice like he had promised the boys at Joe's Bar and Grille and Gun Club, he had not rescued Aisha, he had lost puppy dog and Fatima was dead. He had been arrested as an adult in Egypt by the Muslim Brotherhood. Asma bint Marwan had helped him escape by turning him into a ten-year-old boy. She got him on a cruise ship and one thing led to another. He ended up on a life raft in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and was picked up by an Iranian submarine. Mistaken for a girl because of the burqa he was wearing to protect him from the sun, he decided to continue with the disguise. His old enemy Che Guevara was on board; it would be safer. The sub was hijacked by Jihadists. The sub's name was changed to the Yellow Unterseeboot. One thing led to another and the sub blew up in the entrace to the Ionian Sea with heavy loss of life. The child disappeared and the retriever brought the adult back to America where Asma bint Marwan had work for him. The Keepers of the Fleas had inserted a number of the blood-sucking insects from the Prophet's beard into the headscarf Nancy Pelosi had worn when she made her obeisance to Bashar al-Assad in 2007. Bernard Piffy was expected to find the headscarf and any of the fleas that might still be alive. He would have his work cut out for him. Bint Marwan, in the guise of a ten-year-old girl, would greet him and get him pointed in the right direction.

It was a daydream come to life--adrift in the Atlantic Ocean on a life raft with a pulchritudinous helicopter pilot of the opposite sex. Any fifth grader struggling through Miss Wormwood's classes at PS Six-and-seven-eights would have switched places with Bernard Piffy without so much as a thought. A hot bod to ogle and the ocean blue Dolphins and flying fish But Bernard Piffy wasn't a fifth grader; he only looked like one. He was a private detective scrunched into the body of a ten-year-old boy. He had an adult's brain, a kid's slim physique. He had saved Captain Rochelle Hinds' life and now he was paying for it. They were about to be rescued. An Iranian submarine had been sent to pick up Captain Hinds. It would take her to Iran where she was to become the bride of the notorious Mohammad Atta, one of the 9/11 Jihadists that had brought down the World Trade Center. Atta was the immortal enemy of the adult version of Bernard Piffy. Aboard the sub was Che Guevara--Berkeley's Patron Saint--another enemy of Mayberry County's favorite private eye. And Mrs. Gadaffi, the great-grand-mother of the late Maummar Gaddafi, was planning to sneak a torpedo aboard the Iranian submarine, loaded with only Allah knew what, to launch at an unknow target. Mohammad Atta, Che Guevara, Maummar Gaddifi's great-grand-mother Bernard Piffy would have his work cut out for him. An adult's brain, a child's body. An Iranian submarine Surrounded by enemies Could it have been worse? Yes, he could have been dressed as a girl--and Allah was oft-forgiving.

It was tough being a middle-aged private detective trapped in the body of a ten-year-old boy. It had never happened to Mike Hammer or Shell Scott--or to Jessica Fletcher for that matter. But Bernard Piffy had had no other choice. If he wanted to get into the Osama bin Laden Madrassas for Girls to rescue his darling little Aisha from a fate worse than death he would have to turn himself into a ten-year-old boy. So he went to Ka'b bin al-Ashraf. The old poet was reluctant. But Piffy was adamant and Ka'b performed the transition. It would be as easy as pie insisted Piffy--he would penetrate the Madrassas disguised as a ten-year-old, he would locate Aisha and sneak her out of the dang place stuffed in a jar of cooking oil on the back of a donkey. It should have worked. But then his guardian angel puppy dog killed the Madrassas janitor There was an uproar. To escape detection and possible death Piffy, with the help of Aisha, disguised himself as a girl. He was only ten years old. Who would know? And then Sheikh Rahman al-Kabibble, the noted Islamic scholar and theologian showed up at the Madrassas to claim his child bride. (The Sheikh had recently issued a fatwa legalizing marriage to girls as young as nine years old) The Sheikh's bride to be, Hanadi, was almost eleven going on thirteen. No problem? There shouldn't have been--but then the Sheikh got a load of Aisha's ten-year-old friend. It was lust at first sight. He threw over Hanadi. And away they went in the Sheikh's brand new Midnight Rider. With Stockton Bonds chasing after Piffy and the Keepers of the Fleas chasing after Bonds there was never a dull moment. And then the Sheikh tried to have his way with the ten-year-old. Adrift in a sea of Viagra, the old fool was shorn of his 'immensity' and Piffy remained a virgin. The Midnight Rider was soon commandeered by a band of thugs out to dispossess Stockton Bonds of the Sufi Flea. There was a shoot-out and the Midnight Rider crashed into a ditch. When Hamas came upon the scene Piffy was still ten years old and dressed as a girl. He was dragged from the burning Midnight Rider. Dr. Haribert ul-Heim, Islam's version of Dr. Joseph Mengele, gave the 'girl child' a shot of homemade sodium pentathol to get to the truth. The last thing Piffy said before he went under was, "I want my puppy dog." No, nothing like this had ever happened to Mike Hammer or Shell Scott and Piffy had a whole new bunch of friends to meet--Dr. Haribert ul-Heim, Diabolica Tungsten, Colonel al-Thi'b, the usual mad Imam, Captain Flip Corker and the three Drs. Mohammad--and the only person who could change him back into an adult male, Ka'b bin al-Ashraf, had washed his hands of the whole mess and was visiting with friends in the Twilight Zone. It would not be easy pretending to be a little girl in the land God forgot and the Devil remembered but Piffy would try.