Double agent jihadi...MI5 spy... "Agent Storm"-Dailymail

[Me]

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Date: Sat, 21 Jun 2014 20:31:39 -0600
From: Larry James Fillo <yws...@funj.pn>
Subject: "Double agent jihadi...MI5 spy... "Agent Storm"-Dailymail

In war, just as there are citizen cops, citizen soldiers. There are
citizen spies committing acts of valour, too.

This excerpt from a book about one, a Dane ... "Agent Storm" .
I can hardly wait for the movie :)


http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2664141/Double-agent-jihadi-To-extremist-brothers-Muslim-convert-hungering-commit-atrocities-Britain-In-truth-spy-MI5-In-new-book-blows-cover-terrifying-double-life.html

Double agent jihadi: To his extremist 'brothers' he was a Muslim convert
hungering to commit atrocities in Britain. In truth, he was a spy for
MI5. In a new book he blows the cover on his terrifying double life...

By Morten Storm

Published: 23:01 GMT, 20 June 2014 | Updated: 14:11 GMT, 21 June 2014


Dressing the part: Morten Storm, who posed as a military jihadist for
five years while working undercover, pictured after he converted to
Islam

As we raced through the desert in a cloud of dust, I knew I was on my
way into the lion’s den, about to put my head in its jaws. I was
in the lawless, fly-blown state of Yemen on the Arabian Peninsula, and,
Kalashnikov in hand, being driven to meet one of Al Qaeda’s top
figures, a man tipped as the successor of Bin Laden.

To the fighters I was with, I was Murad al-Danmarki, a brother jihadist.

Later that night in January 2012, after being greeted as a trusted
friend, I was asked to go one step further in my commitment to the cause
and take an oath of allegiance to the Al Qaeda leader Nasir al-Wuhayshi.
With no choice, I intoned: ‘I will be true to Leader of the
Faithful, and will fight Allah’s cause.’

It was done. This ginger-haired, white-skinned Westerner — a
one-time juvenile delinquent, biker gang member and jailbird, now a
convert to Islam — was a signed-up member of Al Qaeda, dedicated
to the destruction of kuffars [infidels], particularly in the U.S. and
Britain.

Except I wasn’t. For five long years I had kept up this pose as
a militant jihadist. In reality I was a spy, working undercover for
Western intelligence agencies.

I’d seen enough videos of brutal executions by Al Qaeda to know
my fate if discovered — a savage and slow beheading or
crucifixion, my body left hanging for days.

Avoiding such a grisly end depended on keeping sharp. In London, Luton
and Birmingham, where I operated, there were so many radicals on the
streets I could not let the mask drop for a moment. Even my wife,
Fadia, had no idea who I really was, nor my children.

I moved constantly back and forth between two worlds and two identities
— when one misplaced sentence or an overheard phone conversation
could cost me my life. I switched identity in airport departure and
arrival halls, flipping between atheism and hardline Islam, English and
Arabic, T-shirts and robes.

And it worked. Information I supplied had helped foil bomb plots. I
planted the equipment that directed American drone missiles against some
of the most dangerous men on the planet.

It was a ruthless game. An MI5 psychologist checking on my suitability
as a spy once asked me: ‘What would you do if you were with
Al  Qaeda and ordered to execute a prisoner?’
Before I could reply, he told me what I knew was the only answer:
‘You’d kill him to avoid attracting any suspicion or
doubt.’


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bloody chaos
For years I had been fuelled by the need to stop the next attack, by the
adrenaline rush and camaraderie with my handlers. But this lifestyle had
brought me to the verge of a breakdown. It was time to opt out before it
was too late.

My real name is Morten Storm and I was born in Denmark in 1976, a
working-class boy with a drunk for a father and a violent stepfather who
beat both me and my mother. I was 13 when I attempted my first armed
robbery, holding up a shop with a hand gun.

It was the start of a downward spiral into crime, violence and prison. I
smuggled, consumed ridiculous amounts of drugs and delighted in street
brawls. Hailed at the age of 20 as ‘Denmark’s youngest
psychopath’, I joined a biker gang known as the Bandidos,
deadly rivals of the Hell’s Angels, whom they fought with guns
and knives at every opportunity.

Scroll down for video


+7
Covert: The Danish national lived in fear, knowing if his true identity
was discovered, he would be brutally executed

But I began to worry that the constant fixes of violence and drugs would
eventually kill me. After one fight in which I hit a man with a
baseball bat, I couldn’t get the sound of his knees and arms
cracking out of my head. Perhaps I really was turning into a
psychopath, and that made me start questioning the purpose of my life.

Then one day, I went into a library and, though I had never been
religious, I picked up a life of the Prophet Muhammad.

I knew about Islam through immigrants I met on the streets, and had
always envied the strength of their families and the bonds that united
them while facing poverty and discrimination.

...For years I had been fuelled by the need to stop the next attack, by
the adrenaline rush and camaraderie with my handlers

Now I was utterly absorbed as I read about the Prophet’s dignity
and simplicity and the way he had fought for what he believed in. His
words set out a system of belief that was both merciful and
compassionate, offered absolution for sins and a pathway to a more
fulfilling life. Islam could help me rein in my instincts and gain some
self-discipline. I was converted.

I joined a mosque, where an imam welcomed me, and I declared my
new-found faith — ‘There is no God but God, and
Muhammad is his messenger.’ He replied: ‘You are now a
Muslim. Your sins are forgiven and you are my brother.’

A Muslim friend told me with a grin that I ought to be circumcised,
‘but it’s not compulsory. It’s more important
that you now take a Muslim name’.

‘You should be “Murad�,’ he said. ‘
It means “goal� or “achievement�.’
It seemed appropriate.

After that I prayed five times a day and wore an Islamic cap as I
zealously soaked up the prescriptions of Islam. I felt a sense of
stability I had never had before.

As part of this new life, I decided to move to England. At the
Regent’s Park Mosque in London I was welcomed as a convert and
encouraged to continue my studies in a Muslim country. A ticket to Yemen
was offered, and I went. There, I was drawn deeper than ever into the
intricacies of my new religion.

After the best part of a year, I returned to London. In Brixton,
Hounslow, Shepherd’s Bush and Finchley, I came across mosques
energised by a new militancy. Angry young men were looking to inflict
revenge on the West for what they saw as its persecution of Muslims in
many parts of the world.

Some began wearing combat fatigues to the mosque, among them a
Jamaican-Englishman called Richard Reid, who years later would be jailed
as the ‘shoe bomber’ for trying to blow up a plane with
explosive powder hidden in his footwear.

Soon London — and especially the mosque at Finsbury Park —
was the clearing-house for dozens of militants intent on acts of
terrorism. They often had similar backgrounds: difficult or violent
childhoods, little education and few prospects, no job and a lot of
resentments. Just like me, in fact.


+7
Demonstration: The converted Muslim formed part of protests against the
U.S's involvement in Iraq outside their embassy in London in 2005.

I, too, was increasingly radicalised. When I first became a Muslim, my
view had been that jihad was a defensive duty rather than offensive
warfare against other faiths. But now I was shifting towards support for
taking up arms to defend the faith, crossing the line from talk to
action.

I was back in Yemen with plans to travel to Osama Bin Laden’s
camps in Afghanistan when the Twin Towers in New York were attacked. I
had to make a decision. Whose side was I on? With important Islamic
clerics pronouncing that it was now permissible to kill civilians in
pursuit of jihad and President Bush declaring, ‘You are either
with us or with the terrorists’, I had no option. I could not
side with the kuffar.

...Bin Laden became my hero. When my son was born in May 2002 I named
him Osama. The following year, the Bush-Blair invasion of Iraq seemed
like another declaration of war against Muslims and another reason to
embrace jihad

Bin Laden became my hero. When my son was born in May 2002 I named him
Osama. The following year, the Bush-Blair invasion of Iraq seemed like
another declaration of war against Muslims and another reason to embrace
jihad.

My commitment to the cause went beyond words. Back in Denmark I joined
other would-be jihadists for training at paintball sites where we
practised suicide-style attacks. Although I did not know it at the time,
my activities and my militant messages online were being monitored by
Danish intelligence.

In 2003, I returned to England and set up home in Luton, where the U.S.
occupation of Iraq was fuelling more radicalism.


+7
Talk of jihad was common, and after so much time in the Arab world among
its militant leaders, I soon built up a following.

No level of violence or brutality seemed excessive as justifiable
retribution for the invasion of Muslim lands. We took satisfaction from
watching the video of kidnapped American civilian Nick Berg having his
head sawn off in Iraq. I even managed to find a religious justification
for the 2005 London Tube and bus bombings in which 52 people died and
many hundreds were injured.

Yet deep down I was having nagging doubts about this targeting of
civilians. To my mind, non-Muslims were fellow human beings, albeit
misguided ones. I didn’t see the need to kill them.

I was lost for words when an Englishman I was working with as a
nightclub bouncer asked me: ‘Why does Allah want people to kill
other people? Don’t you think He would prefer you to teach them
to read?’

His question troubled me. I realised that, since becoming a Muslim, I
had learned to see enemies everywhere. I was defining myself by what I
loathed, to distract myself from the anger and frustration that had been
part of me since childhood. Wasn’t it better to reconcile than
to hate?

But I put these thoughts aside as my network of extremist contacts round
the world continued to grow. There were many youngsters in the West
desperate to get to places like Somalia and Yemen to take up arms for
the cause. I was desperate to become one of them myself.

I made plans to go to Somalia and was within days of departing when I
was warned by Islamists there that it was too dangerous. I was
devastated. Why was Allah, the all-knowing, making it so hard for me to
serve Him by giving my life?


+7
Difficult upbringing: At the age of 20, following a childhood filled
with crime, he was labelled 'Denmark's youngest psychopath' before he
'found the prophet Muhammad'

And from that, other questions began to run though my head. Had I got
Islam wrong? Was the true faith being distorted by militant preachers?
One of its precepts is predestination — that Allah has decided
everything, past, present and future. In which case, where was the
capacity to make a difference if we were just helpless puppets?

Into my laptop I typed ‘Contradictions in the Koran’.
And up came more than a million hits. Suddenly my faith was a house of
cards that just came tumbling down.

I could no longer see any justification for jihadist attacks such as the
Twin Towers and London 7/7. If they were in Allah’s preordained
plan, then I no longer wanted any part of it. But I felt I couldn’
t just walk away.

...I realised that, since becoming a Muslim, I had learned to see
enemies everywhere. I was defining myself by what I loathed, to distract
myself from the anger and frustration that had been part of me since
childhood

I knew so much about my militant ‘brothers’ and their
plans to wreak more terror. I needed to stop them from taking the lives
of more innocents.

Not so long before, I had been quietly approached by PET, the Danish
security and intelligence service. Like its counterparts, MI5, MI6 and
the CIA, it was finding it difficult to penetrate rapidly growing
terrorism networks. Inside information was hard to come by.

When they had first contacted me, I had sent them away with a flea in
their ear. But what should I do now, after turning my back on Islam and
jihad? If I called them and offered my services, there would be no
turning back for me, no middle ground. I would have to lead a double
life, one in which a single mistake could cost me my life.

But the alternative seemed worse. How could I stand by as people I knew
brought carnage to Europe? So I made contact.

At my first meeting with two agents, I turned down the offer of coffee
or water and ordered a bacon sandwich and a beer, both forbidden in
Islam. It was my way of saying: ‘I’m on your side.’
I felt like a weight had been lifted from me.

‘I’ve decided I’m no longer a Muslim,’ I
told them. ‘The religion that became my life has lost its
meaning. I am ready to help you in the fight against terrorism.’


The task they set me was to go about my normal life among these people,
keep my eyes and ears open, and report back on any potential threat. My
initial arrangement was with the Danes, but soon it was agreed I should
also report to MI5 in England, who set me up in the Alum Rock area of
Birmingham, which had become a hotspot for Islamist radicals.

I needed a cover story to allay any suspicions about the cash I was
receiving, so I was set up as a taxi driver. MI5 even bought me a
Mercedes, with leather-trimmed seats. But taxi-driving wasn’t my
cup of tea and I gave it up.


Anwar al-Awlaki who Morten Storm claimed to help bring down


+7
Developing extremism: After travelling to a militant madrassa in Yemen,
Osama Bin Laden became his hero. He even named his son after him

With my wife Fadia, I lived in a rundown council house on a street
littered with discarded needles and rubbish. She was far from happy, but
for her sake, and mine, I couldn’t explain why. It was the price
of my living a lie.

I had some preliminary training. Later, MI5 taught me
counter-surveillance in Edinburgh and MI6 took me to a secret facility
near Portsmouth harbour for role-playing games. It turned out I was a
natural problem-solver.

I was let loose on the streets, where I used my connections and my
credentials as an outspoken militant of many years’ standing to
immerse myself in the extremist scene.

...At my first meeting with two agents, I turned down the offer of
coffee or water and ordered a bacon sandwich and a beer, both forbidden
in Islam. It was my way of saying: ‘I’m on your
side.’ I felt like a weight had been lifted from me

My lifeline was the mobile phone with which I communicated with my
handlers several times each day, running through information and ideas
but always being careful with our language in case anyone was listening
in.

Getting my ‘fellow’ extremists to open up was not
difficult. Most loved nothing better than to chat. Soon my knowledge of
the militant scene in the UK and my Rolodex of jihadists was generating
results.

Hassan Tabbakh was a Syrian in his mid-30s, who confided to me that he
had been learning how to build bombs and showed me sketches of targets
in London, including Oxford Street and the area around Parliament.

‘Brother, what do you think? Will it work?’ he asked,
inviting me to join the plot. He was a physics graduate, and I had
little doubt he would be able to build the bombs. The question was
when.

I alerted MI5 and discovered Tabbakh had not even been on their radar.
He was the archetypal ‘lone-wolf terrorist’, the sort
that are most difficult to detect. ‘We need you to stick very
close to him,’ I was told, and I did.

As part of the operation to gain his trust, MI5 even staged the
detaining of me at Gatwick airport — which further burnished my
credentials among the militants in Birmingham.

Wary of blowing my cover, MI5 took elaborate steps to mask my role by
shifting suspicion on to another of his associates. Tabbakh was arrested
in December 2007 and later convicted of making bombs to launch a
terrorist attack.

One killer was off the streets, thanks to me. There would be many
others.

But my role was taking a personal toll. The espionage business was
all-consuming, and even when things were slow, I found it difficult to
switch off. Occasionally, I took long drives into the countryside for a
pint in a pub and a chat with ordinary people. For a few precious
minutes I just needed to drop the mask or I’d have gone mad.


+7
Change: After he no could longer find any justification for attacks such
as 9/11, he decided to help Western intelligence agencies when they
contacted him

Many of the Islamic extremists I moved among turned out to be
blowhards, talking big but thankfully doing nothing.

An exception was a British-Pakistani I knew only as Saheer. I discovered
he was in his late 20s and already had a conviction for armed robbery.
Like a growing number of young Muslims, he had been radicalised while in
prison.

‘Brother, we need to fight back against the kuffar,’ he
said, as we shared a yogurt cake in a Moroccan cafe. ‘Murad,
I’d like to do a martyrdom operation. I want to die in an
attack. I want to be killed “fee sabeel Allah� [for the
sake of Allah].’

His chosen target was the office of a Danish newspaper that had run a
controversial cartoon of the Prophet Muhammad, which is why he was
talking to me. As I listened to him outline plans, I told myself be
neither dismissive nor overly eager to help. I had to go slowly and let
this play out.

...The espionage business was all-consuming, and even when things were
slow, I found it difficult to switch off. Occasionally, I took long
drives into the countryside for a pint in a pub and a chat with ordinary
people

Later, I called ‘Sunshine’, a vivacious woman in her
early 30s who was one of my MI5 handlers. She met me in a Sainsbury’
s car park near Birmingham and drove me to a large warehouse, one of
MI5’s secret operations centres.

Andy, my chief handler, was waiting for me. I told him about Saheer.
‘He’s really dangerous, a total psycho. What the hell am
I supposed to do?’ Andy replied: ‘You need to keep
talking to him.’

Saheer was MI5’s worst nightmare — a savvy career
criminal who was morphing into a jihadi with a death wish. And he was
very security conscious. He only spoke to me when we were alone and
outdoors, and each time he patted me down for any devices.

‘Just a precaution, brother,’ he’d say. But he
was sharing his plans only with me. If he was arrested, not only would
my cover be blown, but we would not get a conviction. It was all
hearsay and I might be accused of entrapment.

I changed tack. I told him that a respected imam I’d met in
Yemen had declared it permissible to sell drugs to raise money for
jihad. And to find the cash for the weapons he needed, he did just that.

He asked me to join him on the Denmark attack, saying: ‘This is
the best, Murad. We get to be shuhada [martyrs].’

‘I’m with you, brother. We are mujahideen and this is
what we fight for. This is paradise,’ I replied, summoning up
all the conviction I could manage. In my head I was thinking, how am I
going to get out of this?

The day of our departure for Denmark loomed, but my MI5 handlers still
kept me in the dark about what they were planning. I couldn’t
sleep for worry as I contemplated what might happen.

A week before we were due to leave, British police arrested Saheer as he
sold drugs on the streets of Birmingham. I breathed a huge sigh of
relief. He later received a lengthy prison sentence.

For me, though, there were much bigger fish to fry. My principal target
in all my years under cover was a highly dangerous radical on the run in
the Yemen. The CIA were desperate to get him — and, as I will
explain on Monday, they saw me as the one person who could hook him.

• This edited extract is from Agent Storm by Morten
Storm with Paul Cruickshank and Tim Lister, published by Viking on July
3 at £16.99 © Morten Storm, Paul Cruickshank and Tim Lister.
To buy a copy for £14.99 (incl p&p), call 0844 472 4157.

Read more:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2664141/Double-agent-jihadi-To-extremist-brothers-Muslim-convert-hungering-commit-atrocities-Britain-In-truth-spy-MI5-In-new-book-blows-cover-terrifying-double-life.html#ixzz35Ka4wUkh
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--
A gun is like a parachute. If you don't
have one when you need it, you will likely
never need one again.
http://www.vcn.bc.ca/~vorlon/htmlconc.html