thecommunityconnections.com 845-371-2222 | January 8, ‘25 26 contacted me first,” he said coldly. “I know the United States wishes to stop the Soviet invasion and Communist threat.” His eyes narrowed. “Do not make me beg for favors. We are doing your work for you. We are the ones bleeding and dying. All we ask for is the weaponry that will enable our success.” Fire Dragon nodded. Bin Laden was right, of course, but it didn’t hurt to stress the favor that the Afghans owed the United States. “Jeff Redstone,” bin Laden said suddenly. The color drained from Fire Dragon’s face. Bin Laden had just stated his real name, and that was considered highly classified information. There had been a serious security leak. He knew he had to leave Kuwait immediately. Bin Laden ignored Redstone’s reaction. “I can assure you that the missiles will benefit the Americans no less than it will benefit the rebels.” Redstone had a hard time focusing on bin Laden’s words. How had the rebel leader discovered his real name? Bin Laden enjoyed watching the American agent’s discomfort. He knew the man was trapped. “Don’t worry,” bin Laden reassured him, accurately guessing his train of thought. “I am not planning to harm you. We are brothers in arms. As long as you supply us with the material, I will make sure that you are safe.” Redstone nodded mutely. The message was clear. He was safe—as long as he kept supplying bin Laden with the missiles. “Okay, the deal’s closed,” the CIA agent muttered. “We’ll meet in Paris in two weeks, and I’ll give you the details then.” “Leaving Kuwait so soon?” bin Laden asked, with a malicious smile. Bin Laden watched in satisfaction as the American flushed angrily, then turned and walked hastily toward the door. He remained seated, ordering a glass of fresh orange juice. “With Allah’s help,” he whispered, “one day I shall succeed in fulfilling my life’s dream, for which I was sentto this world.” His eyes shone with a strange, otherworldly glow. The next time the two met it was in a nightclub in Paris. Located in a Parisian slum known for its high crime rate, the place served as the perfect location for shady business dealings and confidential meetings. Jeff Redstone hesitated for a moment before entering the dim hall. His eyes searched through the thick screen of cigarette smoke, but it was impossible to make out anything more than a few feet away. With a sigh, he made his way toward the bar in the center of the room. He hoped bin Laden wouldn’t keep him waiting long. “I see that you arrived at the right place,” he heard a familiar voice speaking behind him. Redstone turned around at the sound of bin Laden’s voice. But while the man standing behind him was tall, he was also clean-shaven. “Don’t you recognize me?” the stranger asked. Redstone was shocked. “You shaved your beard?” he gasped. Bin Laden shook his head. “Let’s go outside for some fresh air.” Redstone gladly accepted, pleased to get free of the stuffy air in the club. “Why did you shave your beard?” he asked again. “You don’t believe in the Koran anymore?” “Not at all. Come, I’ll show you.” Bin Laden opened the back door of a green Mercedes waiting at the curb and sat down. Redstone saw that there was a chauffeur sitting in the front seat. The car sped away the moment Redstone closed the door behind him. Bin Laden took out a pair of scissors and started cutting away the mask that was covering his face. It was so closely fitted that it had fooled even Redstone. “This wouldn’t fool you during the day,” bin Laden explained, as he pulled away the mask, “but in the dark, and especially in that smoky club, this mask fits tightly enough to hide my beard. (To be continued)
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