A little background on Bojinka is in order. This is a WAashington 
Post Article on Bojinka by none other than Zbig's nephewL

 
 
Bust and Boom 
Six years before the September 11 attacks, Philippine police took 
down an al Qaeda cell that had been plotting, among other things, to 
fly explosives-laden planes into the Pentagon 
     In 1995, Aida Fariscal, a senior inspector for the Philippine 
police, took down an al Qaeda cell that had been plotting to fly 
explosives-laden planes into the Pentagon -- and possibly some 
skyscrapers. (Photo Illustration by Amy Guip) 
 



 
 
 
 
By Matthew Brzezinski
Sunday, December 30, 2001; Page W09 


It was already evening, here on the other side of the international 
date line, when the first plane struck the North Tower of the World 
Trade Center. Aida Fariscal had gone to bed early on September 11, 
only to be awakened by a frantic colleague. "Quick," he 
instructed, "turn on your television."

The footage of the hijacked airliner bursting into flame made 
Fariscal bolt upright. "Oh my God," she gasped. "Bojinka."

For the retired Philippine policewoman, that word and the nightmare 
scenario it evoked had receded into distant memory these past six 
years. Sometimes weeks went by without her even thinking about the 
terrorist plot she had foiled so long ago. But there it was, after 
all this time, unfolding live on her small-screen television. "I 
thought, at first," she tells me, "that I was having a bad dream, or 
that I was watching a movie." But as the burning towers came 
crashing down under their own weight, disbelief turned to anger. "I 
still don't understand," she says over a club sandwich, "how it 
could have been allowed to happen."

We are having lunch at a chicken rotisserie in a busy Manila 
shopping center, not far from the Dona Josefa Apartments, where it 
all started, where she -- and the CIA and the FBI -- first heard the 
words "Operation Bojinka." Fariscal has insisted on a corner table, 
so she can keep an eye on the other patrons and the shoppers beyond 
the restaurant's greasy glass partition. Old habits, she explains, 
die hard, and, after a life of fighting crime, she always takes 
security precautions, especially now that she is off the force, a 
widowed grandmother living off a police pension in a small one-
bedroom apartment. Her brother, in fact, is supposed to swing by the 
rotisserie -- just to make sure I am who I say I am.

As we speak, she seems bitter, and surprisingly fragile in her hoop 
earrings and bright pink lipstick. She is bitter that the generals 
in the Philippine high command hogged all the credit for Bojinka, 
while all she received was $700 and a free trip to Taiwan. She is 
bitter that the Americans apparently didn't take the foiled plot 
seriously enough. But most of all, she is angry that, in the end, 
her hunch didn't save thousands of lives after all. "I can't get 
those images," she says of the World Trade Center wreckage, "out of 
my mind."

The call came in shortly after 11 on a Friday night back in January 
1995: a routine fire alarm, some smoke spotted on the top floor of a 
six-story building just down the street from Manila Police Station 
No. 9. Fariscal, the watch commander, peered out of the precinct 
house window, but couldn't see any sign of a blaze on Quirino 
Avenue. Still, she dispatched Patrolman Ariel Fernandez to check it 
out. "Nothing to worry about," he reported when he returned a few 
minutes later. "Just some Pakistanis playing with firecrackers."

Fariscal wasn't so sure. She hadn't earned her senior inspector 
stripes by sitting down on the job, and had risen in the male-
dominated ranks of the Manila police force by trusting her "female 
intuition." And her instinct that night told her something was wrong.

"The pope was coming to the Philippines, we were worried about 
security, and on top of that we had just had a big typhoon," she 
recalls. The senior inspector decided to walk the 500 yards to the 
Dona Josefa Apartments to see for herself. She barely had time to 
change out of her civilian clothes, a flower-patterned dress and 
sandals, and she didn't think she needed her gun. But just in case, 
she ordered Patrolman Fernandez and another officer to tag along as 
backup while she picked her way past the uprooted trunks of palm 
trees.

The Dona Josefa apartment building was a well-kept but not luxurious 
residence, with an open lobby and an airy feel. It was often used 
for short-term rentals by Middle Eastern tourists, who came to 
Manila's neon-lit Malate nightclub district to get away from the 
strict mores back home. It was also a block away from the papal 
nunciature, where John Paul II would be staying.

"What's happening here, boss?" Fariscal asked the Dona Josefa 
doorman in Tagalog, a native tongue of the Philippines. Two men, he 
said, had fled their sixth-floor apartment, pulling on their pants 
as they ran in the smoky corridor. "They told me everything was 
under control, just some fireworks that accidentally went off."

Fariscal faced a quandary. She couldn't legally enter the apartment 
without a search warrant, now that there was no longer an imminent 
danger of fire. But she couldn't simply walk away, either. She was 
stubborn that way. It was one reason why in 1977, after 17 years as 
a homemaker raising four children, she had decided to enroll in the 
police academy. "Open it up," she instructed.

Suite 603 was a cluttered one-bedroom bachelor pad. The first thing 
Fariscal noticed was four hot plates, still in their packing crates. 
Bundles of cotton lay scattered around the room, soaked in some sort 
of pungent beige solution, next to clear plastic containers of 
various sizes and shapes bearing the stamp of German and Pakistani 
chemical manufacturers. And loops of electrical wiring: green, 
yellow, blue and red.

Just then, the phone rang, causing Fariscal to jump with 
fright. "I'd just seen a movie with Sylvester Stallone where the 
telephone was booby-trapped," she recalls now. "Everybody out," she 
ordered. They scrambled back downstairs, where the doorman appeared 
to be in a high state of agitation. "That's one of them," he 
whispered. "He's coming back."

Patrolman Fernandez grabbed the suspect. He was young, in his mid-to-
late twenties, Fariscal guessed, and handsome in a rakish sort of 
way. He said his name was Ahmed Saeed, that he was a commercial 
pilot, and that he was just on his way to the precinct house to 
explain any misunderstanding over the firecracker smoke.

"There's the other one," interrupted the doorman, pointing to a 
thin, bearded individual standing outside. Fariscal set off in his 
direction. He was calmly talking on his cell phone, smoking a pipe 
and watching her. For a brief instant their eyes met. Fariscal had 
no idea she was looking at Ramzi Yousef, the man who had tried to 
bring down the World Trade Center in 1993.

The sound of gunfire froze Fariscal in her tracks. She had been 
wounded a few years back when a bullet ripped through her left arm 
and torso to lodge four centimeters from her spine, and the memory 
left her skittish. But she whirled around just in time to see 
Patrolman Fernandez aiming his service revolver at Saeed's fleeing 
back. As the cops gave chase, the fugitive suddenly lurched forward, 
sprawling on the pavement; he had tripped over the exposed roots of 
a tree toppled by the typhoon. Saeed was back in custody. But his 
accomplice had taken advantage of the confusion to melt into the 
gathering crowd of street peddlers and gawkers.

Neither Fariscal nor the two officers with her had any handcuffs, so 
they improvised with rope from a clothesline and hauled Saeed to his 
feet. "I'll give you $2,000 to let me go," he pleaded. Most Manila 
police officers don't make that in a year. But Fariscal refused. 
Concerned that the suspect would try to bolt again, she radioed the 
precinct for a squad car. As usual, none was available. One of the 
cops tried to hail down a passing "jeepney," the converted World War 
II-vintage U.S. Army Jeeps pressed into service as cheap -- if not 
always reliable -- public transportation in Manila. Finally, 
Fariscal commandeered a minivan taxi and conscripted two burly 
pedestrians to help watch Saeed during the short ride to the 
precinct station.

By now, the senior inspector had an inkling that she had stumbled 
onto something big. She couldn't know, however, just how big her 
discovery would turn out to be; that amid the clutter of the 
chemicals and cotton at the Dona Josefa apartment, investigators 
would unearth a plan that, with the benefit of hindsight, career CIA 
officers today admit looks alarmingly like an early blueprint for 
the September 11 attack on America.

All Fariscal knew for the moment was that she had just nabbed some 
sort of a terrorist -- and, in the Philippines, that could mean 
anything.

At the precinct Saeed signed a handwritten statement, in which -- 
according to police records -- he again proclaimed his innocence and 
claimed to be a simple tourist visiting a friend in the chemicals 
import-export business. But, perhaps sensing that the game was up, 
he complained to Fariscal that there are "two Satans that must be 
destroyed: the pope and America."

The senior inspector had already surmised that Pope John Paul II was 
a target of assassination, a suspicion that was borne out when she 
returned with the bomb squad to Suite 603 at 2:30 a.m. and found a 
photograph of the pontiff tucked into the corner of a bedside 
mirror, near a new crucifix, rosary and Bible. There were street 
maps of Manila, plotting the papal motorcade's route; two remote-
control brass pipe bombs; and a phone message from a tailor saying 
that the cassock Saeed had ordered was ready for a final fitting.

By 4 in the morning the situation was deemed serious enough that the 
first generals had started showing up on the scene, and a judge was 
soon rousted out of bed to sign a belated search warrant.

"It was obvious they had planned to dress someone up as a priest, 
and smuggle the bomb past the Holy Father's security detail," 
Fariscal recalls. But the sheer magnitude of the chemical arsenal 
Fariscal found in Suite 603 also made it clear that the conspirators 
had other, possibly even more ambitious, targets. The four new hot 
plates needed to cook the concoctions made it clear the extremists 
were gearing up for mass production.

It took days for the bomb squad to draw up a complete inventory of 
the apartment's contents, which included a cornucopia of explosive 
ingredients -- sulfuric, picric and nitric acid, pure glycerin, 
acetone, sodium trichlorate, nitrobenzoyl, ammonia, silver nitrates, 
methanamine and ANFO binary explosive, among others. Funnels, 
thermometers, graduated cylinders and beakers, mortars and pestles, 
various electronic fusing systems, timers, circuit breakers, 
batteries and a box of Rough Rider lubricated condoms rounded out 
the home laboratory, which included chemistry reference manuals and 
a recipe written in Arabic on how to build powerful liquid bombs.

The formula, part of more than 200 pages of classified Philippine 
and U.S. intelligence documents obtained by The Washington Post 
Magazine, was chilling in its simplicity. Step One: "Put 0.5g of 
sodium hydroxide with 30 ml of warm water. Add to them 3g of picric 
acid . . ." Step Six: "By using an eye dropper, very slowly add 
sulfuric acid to the liquid until its color is changed to orange, 
then to brown . . ." Step Eleven: "Leave the mixture for 12 to 14 
hours to allow the acetone peroxide to precipitate, then wash on 
filter paper until PH level=7 . . ." Final Step: "Put them in a dark 
place to dry."

That dark place turned out to be the cupboard under the apartment's 
kitchen sink, where technicians found a foot-long finished bomb with 
a Casio wristwatch timer.

"The guys in the bomb squad had never seen an explosive like this 
before," says Fariscal. Neither had many U.S. investigators. "The 
particularly evil genius of this device was that it was virtually 
undetectable by airport security measures," says Vincent 
Cannistraro, the former head of the CIA's counterterrorism center.

But what were the targets? And who were the conspirators? A clue to 
the identity of the suspects emerged when Fariscal found dozens of 
passports in different names hidden in a wall divider. Saeed, 
apparently, had many aliases, including Abdul Hakim, student, age 
26, Pakistani passport No. C665334, issued in Kuwait. His real name, 
investigators would eventually discover, was Abdul Hakim Murad. 
According to transcripts from his interrogation, he was the 
Pakistani-born son of a crane operator for a Kuwait petroleum 
company. He had graduated from high school in Al-Jery, Kuwait, 
before attending the Emirates Flying School in Dubai and moving on 
to flight schools in Texas, Upstate New York and North Carolina, 
where after completing the required 275 hours of flight time, he 
received a commercial pilot's license from Coastal Aviation Inc. on 
June 8, 1992.

Philippine investigators called in their American counterparts for 
help. This was standard operating procedure. According to U.S. and 
Philippine officials interviewed for this article, both the CIA 
Manila station chief and the resident FBI legal attache were 
notified. A team of intelligence agents flew in from Washington.

Murad, as Senior Inspector Fariscal now thought of Saeed, was a 
suspect in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. So, it turned out, 
was his accomplice at the Dona Josefa Apartments, the thin, bearded 
man who had given Fariscal the slip. He had registered under the 
name Najy Awaita Haddad, purporting to be a Moroccan national. But 
the United States already had a thick file on him, and that was just 
one of his 21 known aliases. Sometimes he passed himself off as Paul 
Vijay, or Adam Sali or even Dr. Richard Smith. He was in fact Ramzi 
Ahmed Yousef, mastermind of the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, a 
fugitive with a $2 million bounty placed on his head by the U.S. 
government.

Fingerprints lifted at the apartment helped give Yousef away; a life 
spent assembling bombs had left his fingers burnt and distinctively 
deformed from mishaps mixing tricky chemical concoctions. He had 
learned his deadly skills, Philippine officials said, in 
Afghanistan, at a training camp for Osama bin Laden's followers, and 
in turn had taught Murad the art of bomb making in Lahore, Pakistan.

Apparently Murad had not learned his lessons well, for it was his 
mistake that set off the fire in the kitchen sink that alerted 
Manila police. In his haste to flee Suite 603, Yousef had left 
behind many clues. Some, like contact lens solution and a receipt 
from a pharmacy, seemed innocuous. But others would give the FBI and 
the CIA a chilling preview of what the terrorists had in store for 
the United States.

The most damning information was gleaned from Yousef's notebook 
computer, and four accompanying diskettes. The data were encrypted 
and in Arabic, but Philippine technicians eventually deciphered the 
code and translated the texts. One of Yousef's translated documents -
- stamped SECRET by Philippine intelligence -- spells out the 
terrorist cell's broad objectives. "All people who support the U.S. 
government are our targets in our future plans and that is because 
all those people are responsible for their government's actions and 
they support the U.S. foreign policy and are satisfied with it," it 
declared.

"We will hit all U.S. nuclear targets," the manifesto continued. "If 
the U.S. government keeps supporting Israel, then we will continue 
to carry out operations inside and outside the United States to 
include -- " Here the text terminates ominously.

Already, intelligence officials had gleaned an almost unparalleled 
treasure-trove of information on the inner workings of bin Laden's 
international terrorist network. Cell members did not appear to even 
know one another's real names. Duties were divided and 
compartmentalized, and none of the conspirators stayed in the same 
place for any length of time. But there were still more frightening 
revelations to come.

Another file found on Yousef's computer consisted of a printout of 
U.S. airline schedules, which initially baffled investigators. The 
file, named Bojinka, listed the travel itineraries of 11 long-haul 
flights between Asia and the United States, mostly on United and 
American airlines. All the flights had several legs, and were 
grouped under five headings bearing code names of accomplices such 
as Zyed, Majbos or Obaid. Each accomplice would leave the bombs on 
the first leg of the flight, and then eventually return to locations 
like Lahore, Pakistan. Obaid, for instance, would fly from Singapore 
to Hong Kong on United Flight 80, which continued as United Flight 
806 to San Francisco. Under the flight plan, Yousef had 
written: "SETTING: 9:30 PM to 10:30 PM. TIMER: 23HR. BOJINKA: 20:30-
21:30 NRT Date 5."

Zyed, on the other hand, would take Northwest Airlines Flight 30 
from Manila to Seoul, with continued service to Los 
Angeles. "SETTING: 8:30-9:00. TIMER: 10HR. BOJINKA: 19:30-20:00 NRT 
Date 4," the accompanying instruction read.

The repeated use of the word "TIMER" concerned investigators, who by 
then had made the connection between the dozens of Casio 
wristwatches found in Suite 603 and one discovered a few weeks 
earlier on a Philippine Airlines flight from the Philippine town of 
Cebu to Tokyo's Narita International Airport. The watch had served 
to detonate a blast that ripped through the Boeing 747, killing a 
Japanese passenger and forcing the plane to make an emergency 
landing.

Philippine intelligence put the screws to Murad. In Camp Crame, a 
military installation on the outskirts of Manila, he was subjected 
for 67 days to what Philippine intelligence reports delicately refer 
to as TI, or tactical interrogation. By the time he was handed over 
to the Americans, interrogators had extracted everything they 
thought they needed to know.

Yousef, Murad confessed, had indeed been responsible for the blast 
aboard the Philippine airliner, which was actually a dry run to test 
the terrorists' new generation of nitroglycerin explosive, known as 
a "Mark II" bomb. Yousef had deposited his device -- lethal liquid 
concealed in a contact lens solution bottle with cotton-ball 
stabilizing agents and a harmless-looking wristwatch wrapped around 
it -- under seat 27F on the Manila-to-Cebu leg of the flight to 
Tokyo. He had gotten off in Cebu after setting the watch's timer for 
four hours later. The same plan, code-named Operation Bojinka (which 
is pronounced Bo-GIN-ka and means "loud bang" in Serbo-Croatian), 
was to be repeated on the 11 American commercial jetliners, with the 
timing devices synchronized to go off as the planes reached mid-
ocean. U.S. federal prosecutors later estimated that 4,000 
passengers would have died had the plot been successful. The 
enormity of Bojinka also frightened U.S. officials. "We had never 
seen anything that complicated or ambitious before. It was 
unparalleled," recalls Vincent Cannistraro, the former CIA 
counterterrorism head.

But, Philippine and U.S intelligence officials said, the Bojinka 
operation called for a second, perhaps even more ambitious phase, as 
interrogators discovered when they pressed Murad about his pilot's 
license. All those years in flight school, he confessed, had been in 
preparation for a suicide mission. He was to buy, rent, or steal -- 
that part of the plan had not yet been worked out -- a small plane, 
preferably a Cessna, fill it with explosives and crash it into CIA 
headquarters.

There were secondary targets the terrorist cell wanted hit: 
Congress, the White House, the Pentagon and possibly some 
skyscrapers. The only problem, Murad complained, was that they 
needed more trained pilots to carry out the plot.

"It's so chilling," says Fariscal, as our meal at the chicken 
rotisserie winds down. "Those kamikaze pilots trained in America, 
just like Murad." We have talked for four hours and the food has 
long grown cold. As she speaks, Fariscal often grows emotional, and 
at times when her frustration reaches a fever pitch she lapses into 
Tagalog, and I ask her to slow down and translate.

"The FBI knew all about Yousef's plans," she says. "They'd seen the 
files, been inside 603. The CIA had access to everything, too. 
Look," she adds, fishing in a plastic shopping bag for one of her 
most prized possessions, a laminated certificate of merit bearing 
the seal of the Central Intelligence Agency. "Awarded to Senior 
Inspector Aida D. Fariscal," it reads. "In recognition of your 
personal outstanding efforts and cooperation."

"This should have never, ever been allowed to happen," she repeats 
angrily. "All those poor people dead."

In her outrage at the biggest U.S. intelligence failure since Pearl 
Harbor, Fariscal is not alone in the Manila law enforcement 
community. Gen. Avelino "Sonny" Razon, one of the lead investigators 
in the Bojinka case, was so shocked at what he saw on September 11 
that he jumped on a plane in Cebu, where he was now police chief, 
and flew to Manila to convene a hasty press conference. "We told the 
Americans about the plans to turn planes into flying bombs as far 
back as 1995," he complained to reporters. "Why didn't they pay 
attention?"

U.S. officials counter that they did pay attention. FBI spokesman 
John E. Collingwood denies that the bureau had advance knowledge of 
a plot to turn airliners into flying bombs. "The FBI had no warnings 
about any hijack plots. There was a widely publicized 1995 
conspiracy in Manila to remotely blow up 11 U.S. airliners over the 
Pacific," Collingwood said in a letter to the editor to The Post in 
October, "but that was disrupted. And, as is the practice, what was 
learned in that investigation was widely disseminated, even 
internationally, and thoroughly analyzed by multiple agencies. It 
does not connect to the current case."

Not everyone in the American intelligence community, however, is of 
the same mind. "There certainly were enough precursors that should 
have led analysts to suspect that the U.S could come under domestic 
attack," says Cannistraro, the 27-year intelligence veteran who ran 
the CIA's counterterrorism division until 1990. "There's no question 
about it. We knew about the pilots and suicide plots. Just didn't 
put two and two together."

That failure to connect the dots -- or at the very least, monitor 
Middle Eastern students at U.S. flight schools -- lies at the heart 
of the intelligence breakdown, says Cannistraro. (One indication of 
just how politically sensitive this issue has become occurred the 
day after Gen. Razon's impromptu Manila press conference. His candid 
remarks earned him an official rebuke from President Gloria 
Macapagal Arroyo, who has been anxious not to embarrass Washington, 
the Philippines' staunchest ally and patron. "I'm sorry," Razon 
says, when I call him in Cebu. "I would like to talk to you, and 
there is much to say. But the president has forbidden me to speak 
publicly on the subject of Bojinka.")

To be fair, it's a big leap from stealing a Cessna to commandeering 
a Boeing 767. "It's the imagination that failed us," says a former 
senior CIA agent, "not the system." He dismissed the connection to 
Bojinka as a "hindsight is cheap" theory.

Yet it is precisely the responsibility of the agency's thousands of 
planners and analysts to dream up what may appear as crazy scenarios 
in order to find ways to thwart them. And it is unclear what became 
of the information gleaned from Operation Bojinka.

"We didn't file it and forget about it," a CIA spokeswoman assures 
me. Indeed, shortly after Yousef's liquid bombs were discovered, the 
Federal Aviation Administration did begin installing "sniffer" 
devices, which can detect explosive chemicals, at major airports 
throughout America. But beyond that, there is no evidence of any 
other clear response by the intelligence community to the 
information gleaned from the foiled plot in the Philippines.

The terrorists, on the other hand, appear to have drawn a number of 
invaluable conclusions from their 1995 setback. "Under interrogation 
Murad told us several things that should have been of interest to 
analysts on the deterrence side," recalls retired Gen. Renato De 
Villa, who served as Philippines defense minister at the time of the 
raid on Suite 603. First, the extremists saw the 1993 World Trade 
Center bombing as a failure and still considered the twin towers a 
viable target. And more importantly, the cell seemed to be growing 
frustrated with explosives. They were too expensive, unstable and 
could give them away.

Though nothing in Murad's confession gave investigators any warning 
of hijackings, somewhere along the line, his brothers at arms in al 
Qaeda did make the intellectual leap from explosives to jet fuel and 
box cutters.

One reason U.S counterterrorism officials may not have been able to 
outwit the terrorists, critics charged, is because the entire 
intelligence community has become too reliant on technology rather 
than human resources. "Where the system breaks down," says a former 
staff member of President Clinton's National Security Council who 
regularly attended briefings on bin Laden at Langley, "is not at the 
hunting and gathering stage" -- the ability to electronically 
intercept information. "We are probably tapped into every hotel room 
in Pakistan. We can listen in to just about every phone call in 
Afghanistan," explains the former NSC staffer. "Where the rubber 
hits the pavement is with the analysts. They are a bunch of 24-year-
old recent grads from Middlebury or Dartmouth who have never been to 
Pakistan or Afghanistan, don't speak any of the relevant languages, 
and seem more knowledgeable about the bar scene in Georgetown. They 
just don't compare to the Soviet specialists we used to have. I'm 
not surprised they missed it."

With the benefit of hindsight, Murad's confession today sounds 
almost prophetic, and as U.S investigators backtrack, piecing 
together bits of the puzzle left behind by the hijackers, the 
specter of Bojinka looms large. As in the case of the September 11 
attacks, authorities in Manila following Suite 603's money trail 
found that the deeper they dug, the closer they came to Osama bin 
Laden. The critical clue was in Ramzi Yousef's notebook computer. A 
list of cell phone numbers on its hard drive led authorities to 
stake out another apartment in Manila, this one on Singalong Street. 
There they apprehended a third conspirator in Yousef's terrorist 
cell, a stocky Afghan by the name of Wali Khan Amin Shah.

Like Yousef, Shah carried many passports under various aliases -- 
Norwegian, Saudi, Afghan and four Pakistani, all filled with travel 
visas and entry stamps from Europe, the Middle East and Asia. Shah 
also had mangled hands, and was missing two fingers. Both his legs 
were heavily scarred with shrapnel, and he had a large surgical scar 
on his stomach.

Shah turned out to be Bojinka's unlikely finance officer. To launder 
incoming funds, Shah used bank accounts belonging to his live-in 
Filipino girlfriend and a number of other Manila women, one of whom 
was an employee at a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet, and others who 
were described as bar hostesses. Most of the transfers were 
surprisingly small -- $500 or $1,000 handed over at a Wendy's or a 
karaoke bar late at night. Under "tactical interrogation" at Camp 
Crame, Shah admitted that most of the funds were channeled to Adam 
Sali, an alias used by Ramzi Yousef, through a Philippine bank 
account belonging to Omar Abu Omar, a Syrian-born man working at a 
local Islamic organization known as the International Relations and 
Information Center -- run by one Mohammed Jalal Khalifa, Osama bin 
Laden's brother-in-law.

Shah's and Murad's confessions led to Yousef's arrest in Pakistan, 
and the three suspects were extradited to New York to stand trial. 
All three were sentenced to life in prison at a maximum-security 
facility in Colorado, and Bojinka was filed in the "win" column, 
even as Mohamed Atta and fellow September 11 hijackers were hatching 
plans to enroll in flight schools around the country.

That no one seemed to notice the connection, says Cannistraro, is 
the great failure.

In 1998, on the eve of the fifth anniversary of the first World 
Trade Center bombing, Dale Watson, the FBI's top expert on 
international terror, reported to a Senate Judiciary subcommittee 
that "although we should not allow ourselves to be lulled into a 
false sense of security . . . I believe it is important to note that 
in the five years since the Trade Center bombing, no significant act 
of foreign-directed terrorism has occurred on American soil."

Three years later, September 11, 2001, the suicide attacks coincided 
almost to the day, with another fifth anniversary: the 1996 
conviction, in a Manhattan court, of Bojinka's original plotters.

Matthew Brzezinski is the author of Casino Moscow. He will be 
fielding questions and comments about this article at 1 p.m. 
Wednesday on www.washingtonpost.com/liveonline. 


© 2001 The Washington Post Company








considering that Bojinka material was --- In cia-
[EMAIL PROTECTED], "Jim Rarey" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/14/politics/14terror.html?
th=&emc=th&pagewanted=print
> 
> They still will not admit they knew the full Bojinka plan 
including the intended targets. Sandy Berger risked going to prison 
to destroy the evidence that President Clinton, others and himself 
had knowledge of the plan well before 9/11. JR 
>  
> 
> -------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------
> 
> September 14, 2005
> F.A.A. Alerted on Qaeda in '98, 9/11 Panel Said
> By ERIC LICHTBLAU
> WASHINGTON, Sept. 13 - American aviation officials were warned as 
early as 1998 that Al Qaeda could "seek to hijack a commercial jet 
and slam it into a U.S. landmark," according to previously secret 
portions of a report prepared last year by the Sept. 11 commission. 
The officials also realized months before the Sept. 11 attacks that 
two of the three airports used in the hijackings had suffered 
repeated security lapses.
> 
> Federal Aviation Administration officials were also warned in 2001 
in a report prepared for the agency that airport screeners' ability 
to detect possible weapons had "declined significantly" in recent 
years, but little was done to remedy the problem, the Sept. 11 
commission found. 
> 
> The White House and many members of the commission, which has 
completed its official work, have been battling for more than a year 
over the release of the commission's report on aviation failures, 
which was completed in August 2004.
> 
> A heavily redacted version was released by the Bush administration 
in January, but commission members complained that the deleted 
material contained information critical to the public's 
understanding of what went wrong on Sept. 11. In response, the 
administration prepared a new public version of the report, which 
was posted Tuesday on the National Archives Web site.
> 
> While the new version still blacks out numerous references to 
particular shortcomings in aviation security, it restores dozens of 
other portions of the report that the administration had considered 
too sensitive for public release. 
> 
> The newly disclosed material follows the basic outline of what was 
already known about aviation failings, namely that the F.A.A. had 
ample reason to suspect that Al Qaeda might try to hijack a plane 
yet did little to deter it. But it also adds significant details 
about the nature and specificity of aviation warnings over the 
years, security lapses by the government and the airlines, and turf 
battles between federal agencies.
> 
> Some of the details were in confidential bulletins circulated by 
the agency to airports and airlines, and some were in its internal 
reports.
> 
> "While we still believe that the entire document could be made 
available to the public without damaging national security, we 
welcome this step forward," the former leaders of the commission, 
Thomas H. Kean and Lee H. Hamilton, said in a joint statement. "The 
additional detail provided in this version of the monograph will 
make a further contribution to the public record of the facts and 
circumstances of the 9/11 attacks established by the final report of 
the 9/11 commission."
> 
> Bush administration officials said they had worked at the 
commission's request to restore much of the material that had been 
blacked out in the original report. "Out of an abundance of caution, 
there are a variety of reasons why the U.S. government would not 
want to disclose certain security measures and not make them 
available in the public domain for terrorists to exploit," said Russ 
Knocke, spokesman for the Department of Homeland Security.
> 
> Commission officials said they were perplexed by the 
administration's original attempts to black out material they said 
struck them as trivial or mundane.
> 
> One previously deleted section showed, for instance, that flights 
carrying the author Salman Rushdie were subjected to heightened 
security in the summer of 2001 because of a fatwa of violence 
against him, while a previously deleted footnote showed that "sewing 
scissors" would be allowed in the hands of a woman with sewing 
equipment, but prohibited "in the possession of a man who possessed 
no other sewing equipment."
> 
> Other deletions, however, highlighted more serious security 
concerns. A footnote that was originally deleted from the report 
showed that a quarter of the security screeners used in 2001 by 
Argenbright Security for United Airlines flights at Dulles Airport 
had not completed required criminal background checks, the 
commission report said. Another previously deleted footnote, related 
to the lack of security for cockpit doors, criticized American 
Airlines for security lapses. 
> 
> Much of the material now restored in the public version of the 
commission's report centered on the warnings the F.A.A. received 
about the threat of hijackings, including 52 intelligence documents 
in the months before the Sept. 11 attacks that mentioned Al Qaeda or 
Osama bin Laden.
> 
> A 1995 National Intelligence Estimate, a report prepared by 
intelligence officials, "highlighted the growing domestic threat of 
terrorist attack, including a risk to civil aviation," the 
commission found in a blacked-out portion of the report.
> 
> And in 1998 and 1999, the commission report said, the F.A.A.'s 
intelligence unit produced reports about the hijacking threat posed 
by Al Qaeda, "including the possibility that the terrorist group 
might try to hijack a commercial jet and slam it into a U.S. 
landmark." 
> 
> The unit considered this prospect "unlikely" and a "last resort," 
with a greater threat of a hijacking overseas, the commission found.
> 
> Still, in 2000, the commission said, the F.A.A. warned carriers 
and airports that while political conditions in the 1990's had made 
a terrorist seizure of an airliner less likely, "we believe that the 
situation has changed."
> 
> "We assess that the prospect for terrorist hijacking has increased 
and that U.S. airliners could be targeted in an attempt to obtain 
the release of indicted or convicted terrorists imprisoned in the 
United States." 
> 
> It concluded, however, that such a hijacking was more likely 
outside the United States.
> 
> By September 2001 the F.A.A. was receiving some 200 pieces a day 
of intelligence from other agencies about possible threats, and it 
had opened more than 1,200 files to track possible threats, the 
commission found. 
> 
> The commission found that F.A.A. officials were repeatedly warned 
about security lapses before Sept. 11 and, despite their increased 
concerns about a hijacking, allowed screening performance to decline 
significantly. 
> 
> While box cutters like those used by the hijackers were not 
necessarily a banned item before Sept. 11, some security experts 
have said that tougher screening and security could have detected 
the threat the hijackers posed. But screening measures at two of the 
three airports used by the hijackers - Logan in Boston and Dulles 
near Washington - were known to be inadequate, the commission found. 
Reviews at Newark airport also found some security violations, but 
it was the only one of the three airports used on Sept. 11 that met 
or exceeded national norms.
> 
> Richard Ben-Veniste, a former member of the Sept. 11 commission, 
said the release of the material more than a year after it was 
completed underscored the over-classification of federal 
material. "It's outrageous that it has taken the administration a 
year since this monograph was submitted for it to be released," he 
said. "There's no reason it could not have been released earlier."
> 
> 
> 
>   a.. Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company





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