of his fortune. With the civil war in Lebanon, business was not what it should be and, even though the CIA made sure he had enough clients to keep him very comfortable, it was still not enough.
One of Abbas’s objectives had been to establish a relationship with the pastry shop owner that his father had worked for. The old man had passed on and one of his sons, Khaled, was now in charge of Phoenicia Patisserie. He was glad of the connection he had made for two reasons. One, they made the best pastries the world had ever tasted and second, he was able to keep an eye on the man and continue building on his hatred. His son was even close to the man’s kids.
Abbas was becoming restless with the lack of progress and needed more money, much more money. What he wanted to do needed more money than he knew he would ever have. His plans were not going exactly how he had intended.
The car bombing of the World Trade Center, in February 1993, gave Abbas an idea. He was not sure it would work, but it was worth a try and just as he did before, he had to make a deal with two different parties.
Abbas had to establish contact and gain the confidence of Osama bin Laden while at the same time he had to reassure Hamilton and the CIA. He had first to devise a plan, then put it in motion.
The incident at the World Trade Center had frustrated the CIA. They had no clue it was going to happen. With the budget cuts the administration had introduced, they were forced to eliminate a great number of their operatives on the ground. They had to rely mostly on technology and, though they had the best, most modern and sophisticated equipment in the world, it was not like having someone there, on the spot. When Abbas came to them with his plan, they jumped at it.
“Here is what I propose”, said Abbas addressing Hamilton. “I will travel to Pakistan and from there on to Afghanistan and try to establish contact with Osama bin Laden.”
“They might kill you before you have the chance.”
“I am willing to take the chance”, replied Abbas. “Just promise you take care of my family if anything happens to me.”
“I can promise that much. But how do you propose to set up the meeting?”
“I shall tell the truth.”
“What do you mean, how?” asked Hamilton incredulously.
“I shall tell them that I work for the CIA and, knowing Arabs and Moslems, they definitely would want to kill me, but before they do that, their curiosity will get the better of them and they will want to ask a few questions. That’s how.”
“You’ll be taking a great risk.”
“I know I will but, like I said before, I am willing to take that risk. I’m tired of a few assholes ruining the reputation of all Moslems,” he lied. “Those people are not only dangerous to the West; they are dangerous to the rest of the Moslem world. Trust me Brad, I know them. I have dealt with their likes all my life.”
“I wish you luck, Abbas.” Hamilton was impressed with this man’s courage. “You sure have balls, man.”
Abbas’s heart was pounding at an incredible rate when Hamilton left. This was it. For his whole adult life he had been planning this and it was finally coming to fruition.
From all his experience, Abbas came to the realization that the only thing that works is the truth and, even though you don’t tell anyone what your final objective is, you always tell the truth or at least a version of it. That way you never slip and get caught in your lies. Whatever happens, you always tell the truth.
Abbas never really cared for Arabs or Moslems and other than his wife and son, even Americans. He had a plan and he was willing to do anything to accomplish it. But his plan required a lot of money and neither the CIA nor his business was going to supply him with the amount he needed. One man could, however, and that man was none other than Osama bin Laden. He didn’t even like him. Matter of fact he downright despised him, but he was willing to use him. He knew that if he played his cards right, he could accomplish his objective, if he didn’t get killed in the process, a chance he was willing to take.
CHAPTER 8 – COCAINE
Ricardo Sanchez grew up in the hills around Bogota, Colombia. Since the age of eleven, he had worked the fields with his father, growing roses. By the time he was twenty, he was already tired from all the work and the lack of life’s necessities. Though his father owned the land, it never produced enough to keep them enjoying life in the style he thought they should.
All the hard work took its toll on his father and before Ricardo celebrated his 21st birthday, his father had passed away.
When he was 24 years old, Ricardo was taking a stroll, inspecting his fields and noticed a plant he was not familiar with. He called one of his farmers and was surprised to find out it was a coca plant.
“How did it get here?” he asked.
“They grow wild here,” came the response. “But your father forbad anyone from harvesting them and had them destroyed.”
“Are you telling me this shit grows everywhere here? “
“Yes senor.”
“Would anyone buy it?” he inquired.
“Sure they would, senor. And it would bring in a lot more money than the flowers.”
“Who would buy it?” he asked.
“I know a few people that would love to get their hands on it. They were trying to convince your father for years.”
“How much of this stuff do we have on this land?”
“Not enough right now. But if we take care of the plants, we could have a good harvest by next year.”
“What do you mean by a good harvest?”
“Perhaps a quarter of a million American dollars.”
Ricardo was astounded by what he was hearing. He couldn’t understand why his father would work so hard for so little when he knew he could have been making a fortune.
“I want you to start cultivating the plant and find us a buyer,” Ricardo instructed his farmer. “Do keep it quiet though, and for that I will make you foreman and pay you a lot more money.”
“Thank you Senor Sanchez. I will take care of it.”
Years had passed and Ricardo Sanchez was accumulating a great deal of money. He managed to purchase more land around his farm and tripled his production.
He stayed away from the processing of the plants but, when he was 35, he became greedy and decided to try his luck on that side as well.
The drug cartels tried to persuade him to stay away from competing with them, but finally gave in when they realized they could use his father’s reputation and smuggle the drugs more easily into the United States.
For the next few years they would compound the drugs in the shape of thin paper and use it for wrapping the flowers and when it reached the States, they would dissolve the paper in water and then evaporate it into one of the purest forms of cocaine.
When Ricardo
