The radio didn't work, the green light
went dark and seemingly taking forever, the guy that got shot was as dead as
the radio.
Before the police arrived I struggled
to find my pistol that I had lost in the fist fight. The C.I.A. told me just to shout out on the
radio and they would come running.
In the crowded gallery the Al-Qaeda gangster
flashed his gun and then flashed his
fist faster than most.
It all happened so fast that my
revolver was lost when I turned sideways to duck the next blow. My pistol was gone and along the way I
dropped the radio and now it laid around in pieces.
The C.I.A. gave me the radio to keep
in touch if anything went wrong with the meet tonight.
The C.I.A. guy told me that Al-Qaeda Taliban was buying thousands of rifles, pistols and machine guns and they were the main supplier. The Iran and Iraq scandal was nothing compared to this, he turned away and told me to turn on my radio
I demonstrated my fighting skills by
staying out of the way but the guy started shooting next and the poor slob just
trying to light a cigarette was dead.
I heard the police motorcycles siren screaming and
it was getting closer by the second. I
was in downtown Manhattan and I felt toppled by the Al-Qaeda terrorist.
It was a meet and I was to act like a seller of
machine guns from the American underworld, the government.
The C.I.A. even gave me samples, high-powered
rifles, side-arms, grenades, riot guns and even a couple of automatic
pistols. My job was to sell them to
Al-Qaeda which would move them to Syria and then to Iraq and Iran. The C.I.A. would trace their movements, using
the tiny micro chip transmitters that could be picked up by satellites.
The Al-Qaeda guy stole the samples and was gone
leaving me anxious and worried.
The C.I.A. guys told me the terrorist was from
Detroit, I thought they made cars up there, a strange world we live in today.
G.M. is alive and the smoker is dead but not by smoking his cigarette.
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