My leg was still bleeding, but in my excitement I had forgotten all about it. I just kept driving that forklift till I hit a T-junction. I had to decide whether to go left or right. I chose right, and just five minutes later ran into an army picket. Fifty Pakistani soldiers swarmed all over the forklift, cocked their rifles at me and told me to get down.

'Whoa, hold your horses, fellas, I surrender.' I put up my hands, stepped down from the hi-lo and fainted on the road.

I learnt later that I was taken to a town called Muzaffarabad and put in a military hospital. It took me a week to recover. In the meantime Mom called and blabbered something about the President having called her up, though she was more excited about being able to wear all the shoes she wanted for free coz she had just got married to Mr Hinson who owns the Fabulous Shoe Store in downtown Waco.

An officer called John Smith from the American Embassy over in Islamabad came to meet me, wearing a dark suit and dark shades. 'We know all about you, Mr Page,' he said. 'We've been trying to track you down for the past two months.'

'Well, here I am,' I said. 'What you gonna do? Put me in jail?'

'No, Sir, we are going to send you to New Delhi in a USAF plane. Your case officer is Miss Elizabeth Brookner. She will de-brief you.'

'Holy cow! You mean she'll take off my underwear?' I cried.

'No, Sir, that's just company slang for extracting humint,' John Smith said, making me even more confused.

Two days later, on 22 March, I was back at New Delhi airport.

It was a chilly morning, but Mizz Brookner was waiting for me, together with a stretch limo, right on the tarmac.

'It's an honour to welcome you back to New Delhi, Mr Page,' she said. 'You look different.' She was damned right. I had lost sixty pounds of fat since she last saw me. I looked leaner, trimmer and fitter.

'You sound different, too,' I replied.

'I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?'

'I've had enough of bad news. Out with the good first.'

'Well, in recognition of your sterling role in the elimination of three dangerous terrorists, including one on our most-wanted list, on the recommendation of the Secretary of State and the Attorney General, you have been awarded fifteen million dollars under the Rewards for Justice programme. The cash is waiting for you at the Embassy. And it's all tax-free. Congratulations!'

It took me a minute to digest this info. 'Fifteen million dollars!' I couldn't believe my mouth. That jerk Abu Khaled wasn't boasting. 'Then what's the bad news?'

'An inter-agency process has determined that there may be continuing danger to your life from Al Qaeda and other terrorist elements. You are therefore required to accept our Witness Protection Programme and agree to relocation.'

'You mean just like in that flick Eraser?'

'Kind of. You will have to assume a new identity, a new name – even a new face, if you so wish.'

'I got no problem with that. To be honest, I never liked my name all that much. Can I look like Arnie Schwarzenegger?'

She smiled. 'That might take some doing. But do you have any ideas with regard to a new career? This is your chance to do what you've always wanted. With fifteen million, you can even retire on a ranch in Texas if you want.'

'Tell you what, I've always been fascinated by the Fibi guys.'

'Fibi? Oh, you mean FBI?'

'Yeah. I was there outside Mount Carmel in '93, when the Fibi guys were doing their siege of the loonies at the ranch.'

'Oh, the Branch Davidians? What were you doing there?'

'Mom thought my pa may have joined that Koresh dude, but he wasn't there.'

'So you want to be an FBI agent?'

'Yeah.'

'I'm sorry, Mr Page, but that's out of the question. To become an FBI agent you need a bachelor's degree and at least three years of related full-time work experience.'

'Do I also need a degree to become a Hollywood producer?'

'A Hollywood producer?'

'Yeah. Those guys who make movies.'

'I don't think so.'

'Then can I become one?'

Lizzie thought about it. 'That should be possible, I reckon. We could probably set you up within a week.'

'That would be just great. Then I can meet Arnie Schwarzenegger and Harrison Ford and-'

Lizzie cut me short. 'We'll talk about that when you come in for your de-brief. I've scheduled it for 15:00 hours at the Grinder.'

'Grinder? What's that?'

'That's company jargon for a secure room. Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility. Now get into the limo.'

Later that day I went to the Embassy and received my fifteen million dollars in a spanking new Samsonite suitcase, together with a thank-you letter from the President. I thought he lived in Washington, but he actually lived in a place called White House.

'Your wish has been granted, Larry,' Lizzie told me. 'Under the Witness Protection Programme, you will be relocated to Los Angeles, California. A production company called Sizzling Films has been registered in your name. A bucket squad of two undercover FBI agents will provide you round-the-clock surveillance and protection.'

'Well I'll be dipped! So when do I start meeting Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts?'

'Actually you won't.'

'I won't? Why?'

'Because Julia Roberts and Brad Pitt charge twenty million dollars per movie. So with fifteen million dollars you can forget about producing Hollywood blockbusters. We are therefore setting you up as a producer of, er… adult films.'

'You mean films with only adult actors?'

'No, it's a polite word for porn.'

'Oh no! What if my mom finds out?'

'She won't. We are giving you a completely new identity. Now tell me, how familiar are you with the adult film industry?'

'I don't know a thing. Mom would have killed me if she caught me watching that filth.'

'I thought so. That's why I got you their latest directory. It's the most comprehensive database of all actors and actresses working in the US porn industry. Study it, or you'll blow your cover.' Lizzie handed me a thick red book.

I flipped through the first few pages and suddenly stopped. Sandwiched between Busty Dusty and Honey Bunny was a handsome man wearing nothing but a cowboy hat. 'Oh my God!' I said.

Lizzie peered at the photo. 'It says he is called Big Dick Harry and he has been in the business since 1989. Do you know him?'

'Yeah,' I said, squirming like a worm in hot ashes. 'That's my pa!'

'Are you certain?'

'Well, he sure looks like my pa, only slightly older.'

'I'll put Langley on the job right away. We'll have positive ID within forty-eight hours. And here's your new passport.' Lizzie handed me an envelope.

I opened it and discovered that the passport belonged to a gentleman by the name of Mr Rick Myers. 'Hey, you got me the wrong passport,' I cried.

'No. That's your new name, Rick Myers,' said Lizzie. 'A private jet is standing by to fly you to the States. Is there anything you want to do before you leave India?'

'Well, there was one other thing…' I hesitated.

'Just tell me, and it will be done, Mr Myers.'

'I was wondering if I could meet the actress Shabnam Saxena just once before I go back.'

'That can be arranged.'

'She lives in Mumbai.'

'Well, tomorrow she'll be in Delhi.'

'How do you know that?'

'You are forgetting, Mr Myers, you're talking to the CIA Station Chief. It's my job to know. But the honest answer is that I've just been invited by an industrialist friend, Vicky Rai, to a party at his farmhouse in Mehrauli tomorrow night, and I am told this actress will be there. I have no interest in Bollywood and I was not planning on attending the party, but I can arrange for you to go.'

'Wow, that'll be great.'

'Good. But I want you to be very careful. Al Qaeda also has India in its sights. And as long as you're in India, you are my responsibility. I don't want to lose my jock-strap medals just because you fail to CYA – that's company code for Cover Your Ass. So here, take this gun.' She opened a drawer and drew out something long and mean. 'It's a Glock 23 with an Abraxas titanium suppressor. Standard supply to all FBI officers. A real hush puppy. Keep it with you at all times, even when you are sleeping.' She passed it to me, butt first. 'I presume, being from Texas, you know how to handle guns?'