BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 49. Osama bin Laden removes the threat of opposition, then takes down the Twin Towers, along with Building #7.

https://softpanorama.org/Skeptics/Political_skeptic/Corporatism/National_security_state/Intelligence_services/False_flag_operations/mistery_of_building7_collapse.shtml

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

SEPTEMBER 9, 2001

As the heat from the high desert continued to rise, Ahmad Shah Massoud sent word he would finally the meet the journalists. Perhaps that interaction, speaking with fairness about his adversary Osama bin Laden, would be an opportunity to demonstrate his leadership in the region, by imploring his extremist brothers to return to the paths of righteousness. How, after the victory over the Soviets, could they be at each other’s throats? It was the sadness that always brought him back to reading a little bit of Rumi each day. So he continued as the desert winds buffeted against the dirt walls of his compound, shifting the thick woolen rugs enough to play a light show on the rough surfaces behind him. Massoud particularly reacted to the verse about the lion, more so after he was named ‘The Lion of Panjshir’ for his exploits against the Russians. If he was indeed a lion then this passage was about him.

I am God’s Lion, not the lion of passion . . . I have no longing
Except for the One.
When a wind of personal reaction comes, I do not go along with it. There are many winds full of anger,
and lust and greed. They move the rubbish around,
but the solid mountain of our true nature stays where it’s always been.

Yes, it was about him. His country full of anger and hatred, against its very soul. He had tried to explain the atrocities on his side, the civilian deaths, rapes and pillage by some of his armies, tried to tell people who would listen that in the flurry of actual war there can be revenge lurking in the uneducated brain. He would certainly take responsibility for every life, every tear. But in the next life, would they not all stand, kneel, prostrate themselves before Allah, receive their judgements of shame and glory as equals? Then all would be understood.

Anyway, soon the hot tea would be touching his weathered lips, wetting his tongue to shake off the dust of the day, soothing and nourishing him before the full heat of afternoon. He looked again at the clock. Almost 3pm. The journalists had been waiting for three days to see him, and he felt that patience should be rewarded. Only spiritual men could be so patient. He would enjoy letting the Arab world know his thoughts. What a wonderful opportunity to win a war without guns but with words instead. Maybe Rumi’s spirit would grant him the poetry to be fleet in his logic, to save a few lives with thoughts instead of the dark deeds. Time for one more verse, one that had comforted him numerous nights after he had found himself still as a mortal, still on the earth as a mortal man.

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?

Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels blest; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish. When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e’er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence Proclaims in organ tones, To Him we shall return.

Ahmad Shah Massoud walked the uneven path from his single room dwelling and soon arrived at the meeting hut. A pattern in the sky caught his attention, its inky swirls intersecting with the outline of the surrounding mountains. After reading poetry he saw all life as a creation of the highest order, and gave a thought of praise to Allah and the beauty the day was creating.

Although the kerosene lamps were not lit in the visitors’ mud house, he could still detect the odor as he entered. The journalists were already busy setting up their video camera, but stopped momentarily, nodding slightly to acknowledge his arrival. Massoud felt a highly charged energy coming from them, but dismissed it as nervousness at their first big interview of this sort. After all, whatever he said would certainly be broadcast around the Arab world. And they were young for such an important job.

As the man in the grey shirt adjusted the tripod and aimed the camera in his direction, the second man started calling out questions about Osama bin Laden. To Massoud it was clear the camera was not ready yet, because the man with it did not have his face to the eyepiece. ‘Have you met Osama bin Laden lately? Do you know any of his family members? Will you bring your army to the south to find him, or will you wait for his attack? Will there be peace between you?’

As the questions rattled on it was as if Massoud’s brain refused to hear. He had the poems of Rumi still there, the lovely phrases acting as barriers to the onslaught of such direct language. Must he listen longer? The young man was so impatient that Massoud barely found the time to order tea. Perhaps they had had some already. That was it. They had been served by some over-eager associate of his, to help ensure a good interview.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak there was a tremendous explosion. Massoud felt the impact and a sudden burning pain in his face and upper body as the video camera fragments sliced into his skin, throwing him against the back wall. Barely alive from the blast, and seeing nothing with his blinded eyes, he lay bent against the wall, bleeding into the dirt floor as screams of panic began to be heard in the distance. In and out of consciousness, he had no sensation of being carried to the Land Cruiser. Although his brain was shattered with the rest of his body, it made an effort to understand that life wasn’t life. Fifteen minutes into this useless last journey to Tajikistan and medical care, Ahmad Shah Massoud’s death became an indication that Osama bin Laden was being favored by Allah.

At the base camp of Osama bin Laden, two hundred miles to the south of Massoud’s Northern Alliance, there was no word of Massoud’s death, but the following day a notice regarding an attempt on his life was reported. Bin Laden could not determine the truth, but hoped he would not be faced with Massoud’s opposition on his flanks. He switched his mind back to the final stages of his American plan, which would announce through terror that the infidels would not be allowed to go unpunished.

SEPTEMBER 11, 2001

With the knob dialed to Al Jazeera TV, bin Laden waited for a report about the twin towers. If his men were even partly successful, the world news agencies would be presenting the World Trade Center images soon. In Afghanistan it was fifteen hours ahead of New York, and the light from his candles shifted slightly with each crisp puff of desert air. If the hijacked airplanes found their marks and the buildings were hit, the flag would be raised for the start of a holy jihad. At the same time, he would be aiding his brother Shafig and all the family’s interests by simultaneously destroying incriminating Wall Street records of the Carlyle Group, currently being investigated in WTC Building Seven. It certainly was a strained logic for Building Seven to fall without a direct hit from a plane, but with so many well-placed and well-connected businessmen desiring the termination of certain documents, it could be successfully masked from the gullible American public just as a magician hides an ace up his sleeve without being detected.

The demolition charges had been readied in Building Seven for several days. The fifty-five-gallon plastic garbage cans filled with C-4 had been wired with remote detonators and rolled onto each floor by ‘maintenance men.’ With two charges placed in opposition on each central structural column, floor after floor would come crashing down without much blowback out into the streets. And from all reports, the locked lids had not caused any undue attention. In a facility that housed several intelligence services, including the FBI, CIA, US Secret Service, IRS Regional Council, and the Securities & Exchange Commission, not to mention the Mayor’s Office of Emergency Management, who would suspect anyone with such a plan could get access to any part of the building? Locked receptacles would be regarded as business as usual: secure. Of course, without a major diversion – like airplanes smashing into the Twin Towers across the way – the demolition of Building Seven would have to be postponed. Soon bin Laden would know if the opinion of him as black sheep in his family would be revised. With the new dawn, all the bin Ladens would be affected by Osama’s endeavors.

Various people had been warned that something big was about to transpire. Shafig said he had received confirmation that all the bin Ladens would be flown out of the country if New York was hit. President Bush knew enough to be unsurprised as he sat listening to children’s stories in a Florida classroom. He wasn’t shocked at the news of a plane hitting the South Tower of the World Trade Center, and he wasn’t any more surprised when the second plane hit the North Tower. What he wondered was, would Building Seven topple as well? His father, a long-time consultant at Carlyle, had secretly briefed him on that possibility.

By the time bin Laden’s candle had melted away, he would know who Allah favored. If Allah wanted planes to hit buildings in New York and DC, then they would do so. If Allah wanted his brother’s investigations ended, business records of questionable stock transactions completely destroyed, then it would be so. If Allah demanded the death of infidels in the tall buildings and elsewhere, then who was to say these deeds were evil?

Before Osama bin Laden fell asleep, he watched as the glow of electrons on his TV reported the collapse of the three American skyscrapers, all dropping gracefully into dust.

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