Contains strong language not suited for minors|
Hawk of Pandora Part I; The Missing Link
“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Edmund Burke
September 11, 2001, at approx. 11 am, I got a call from a friend “hey man, turn on the TV! Any channel! Two planes just struck the twin towers in New York.” I immediately turned on the TV and saw a recording of one plane hitting the tower and then the next. News reporters were speechless as they witnessed the mayhem occurring in New York City. I was stunned but not surprised! I said, “Holy shit, it actually happened. They ignored the obvious signs and reports and this is what happens with indifference.” I could almost say that I understood President Bush’s reaction when he was notified that day in the classroom among children. The same awed, but dumbfounded reaction while reflecting back to the warnings that were obvious that an attack was looming.
Warnings purported by FBI field offices Phoenix and Minnesota were prevalent to warrant immediate investigations.
Warnings from many other agencies both foreign and domestic demonstrated just how top level officials lose insight beyond their own career visions. As they say “ignorance is bliss”, but the ignorance and arrogance of those who chose to ignore warnings from so many credible sources and obstructed communication and thorough analysis, gave the terrorists freeway to operate as they pleased without interference from the authorities. This cost the lives of almost 3000 Americans and international citizens from different countries.
Almost immediately after the call from my friend, I got a call from work asking me to show up to work early. The public safety group I worked with was expected to coordinate safety efforts with law enforcement in a state of crisis.
Showing up at the office, I asked my chief “What if the suspects in my report were involved?”
He got furious and almost clinched my shirt and said, “There was no way! Forget about it and don’t you ever mention it again”.
He must have been really nervous! It was within eleven months, October 20, 2000, prior to that day September 11, 2001 that I showed him a report I wrote regarding the observance with several witness testimonies of a suspect wanted by Interpol. Not only did we observe the Interpol suspect walking the streets in Atlanta, but my other partner and I spoke to the suspect at a 24 hour nightclub while doing research without really knowing who he was at that particular time. I would soon find out.
Report: Positive ID’s On Suspects Wanted By Interpol
Friday, October 20, 2000
To: Federal Bureau of Investigations
On Oct. 14, 2000 my partner and I were on the corner of Cane and Karma Street observing the parking lots and pedestrian traffic when a bearded man with sunglasses walked towards and passed us on Karma. We automatically noticed the man because of the sunglasses. It was getting dark out. We also noticed him observing us as well.
On Oct. 15, 2000 Paul and I were at a nightclub.
As I, Tom, went to order two beverages, I noticed a peculiar man wearing sunglasses standing next to me observing my presence. I looked at the man and noticed that he had East European features. This was the same exact man my partner and I observed on Karma Street. The man wore the same dark sweatshirt, jeans and the same tainted sunglasses. I asked him if he spoke Russian (“Vi gavareetye pa-rooskie?”) in Russian. He responded that he didn’t understand and that he was from Mexico. He then spoke to me in Russian (as if to test me!) which I did not understand and he repeated his sentence twice. Once I was served with the beverages I left the bar.
See Paul’s report on disturbing and threatening statements made by this man.
Report on Suspect in Nightclub (dance club/bar) Atlanta, Georgia
On 10/15/00, Sunday morning, around 2:30 a.m. Tom and I were in’ Nightclub’. Tom had talked to a man at the bar. The man told him he was Mexican. His features didn’t seem Mexican to me. After an hour of checking the place out I went back to the bar and he was still alone in the same place. I approached the empty space next to him at the bar. I turned towards him and said, “Que onda, way?” [What’s happening, man?”]
The man responded, “Nada nada. Hablo un poquito Espanol. Eres Mexicano?” [Nothing nothing. I speak a little Spanish. Are you Mexican?”]
He was a thin man in a black sweatshirt and jeans. He was wearing large, gradient-tinted sunglasses. His accent and features seemed Eastern European to me. He had a moderate tan. His beard was neatly trimmed. His nose was long and thin, bulging a little on the tip. He had brown eyes and thick semi-wavy black hair, his hair-line dipping down into his forehead. He seemed to be in his late 30’s.
He seemed to be slightly inebriated. He was barely fluent in English. He said he was from Europe. Moments later he said he was from Africa. He repeated the word “Africa” several times and said he was Muslim. He said he was from Ethiopia. I said, “Ethiopian women are very beautiful. In Atlanta there are many Ethiopians.”
He said, “panocha. Panocha Buena.”[cunt/pussy. Good cunt/pussy] (At this point I speculated that he had spent some time in Mexico the way he handled and spoke Spanish.)
We began talking about women and happiness. I said, “Happiness for me is finding a wife and having a family.”
He scoffed, subtly shook his head and said, “Women are for sell.”
I said “You don’t want to settle down?”
He said, “One hundred dollar tonight I fuck woman, tomorrow she go. One hundred dollar.” He smacked his hands together swinging one arm outward.
I said, “Yeah…but you never want a wife and kids?” He got a little agitated. He spent several minutes trying to convince me never to get married and that women were, “shit”. He said, ”You die; for forty days your wife wear (he made the motion of tying a scarf over his head). Day forty-one she (he grabbed his crotch and inhaled through his teeth making a hissing noise). Friend die for you. Women girl fuck…fuck. One hundred dollar no problem.”
He gestured toward the throngs of people at the bar in sweeping motions. He said, “They no happy. You no happy. I no happy.” The conversation continued. Eventually he said, “Everything in America cost money, twenty dollar, fifty dollar.” He made a noise with his lips. He said “I have all the money I no happy. I have all America, I no happy.” He continued talking in this vein and at one point abruptly stood up taking a step towards me. Slightly startled I rose as well. He said, “Tomorrow you dead. You, nothing. Nothing. Me, nothing. Nothing. (he made a gesture denoting the people at the bar) Nothing. My family in Bosnia-dead. My wife-dead. One hundred people my family-dead. My friend-dead.” He picked up my pack of Camel cigarettes with his left hand and with his right he pointed to it and said, “my family” he then swiped it out of his left hand with his right making a sound effect with his mouth, “fffshhh”. He raised the pack of cigarettes again this time pointing to the camel saying, “me, me” He pointed to the word “Turkish” on the pack and said, “Turk…” He swiped it out of his own hand again and said, “fffsh, gone.” He threw the pack onto the bar. With two fingers he tapped the side of my neck for several seconds. I slightly squinted my eyes conveying my misapprehension of the meaning of his gesture. He said, “Tomorrow dead. Tomorrow you dead.” He lowered his sunglasses a little and searched each of my eyes back and forth. His pupils seemed to be minutely dilating bigger and smaller. He tapped the side of his own neck and said, “Tomorrow dead. Tomorrow dead.”
I said, “Yeah, but every day we say we dead but tomorrow always come.” He said “No, no. Understand! You give head for me (he tapped the side of my neck). I give head for you (he tapped the side of his own neck).”
We sat down. He joined his thumbs together and said, “you me brothers…brothers”. He patted his right hand over his heart and said, “thank you, thank you” as he touched my shoulder. He began speaking again. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. By his tone and hand gestures I gathered he was talking negatively about something. At times he would gesture towards me, himself and the people around us. He kept asking, “You understand?” I nodded and at times would lean closer squinting my eyes to show non-recognition. After several minutes of this I got the feeling I should leave him alone. I rose and he nodded saying “thank you, thank you”. He patted his heart again. I walked away. Throughout the whole half-hour conversation he rarely touched his drink (possibly rum or brandy) -which was full.
I am 85% positive the suspect described above is the same man posted on Interpol as Basaev Shamil (1999/14843).
Added case documents related to Chechen teerorist ties to 9/11 hijackers! See all defense exhibits from U.S vs Zacarias Moussaoui on page Case Study.
129 FBI EC, dated 7/10/2001 “Zakaria Mustapha Soubra” (Phoenix Memo)
(reference to Shamil Basaev Islamic Army of the Caucasus)
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Copyright © 2011 Thomas “Hawk” Hellstrom
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