Terrorist University - Part 1 (Serialized exclusively for Steemit!)

nicholasblack60 (41)in #steemit • 8 years ago (edited)

Terrorist University

My True Story

By Nicholas Black ("Terrorist University" is a true story. Author's note: I have chosen to slightly alter some names, but for the most part, the people you read about really exist. Alive or dead, they’re real people. Real soldiers and terrorists and arms dealers and mercenaries. )

HUCK'S WAR
PREFACE
ONE: Especially Bad
TWO: Empire Building
THREE: Welcome to Ibiza

Also, Even though nobody called me Huck until I entered the legion, you’ll sometimes see it appear earlier to keep things easier to understand. All this name swapping has me confused sometimes, so I can only imagine a reader trying to figure it out.

HUCK'S'WAR
American intelligence had advance knowledge of planned al Qaeda terrorist attacks, including the Madrid Train bombing on 3/11/2004, and did nothing to stop them. How do I know this? Because I was a fellow prisoner and close friend of several high ranking al Qaeda operatives inside the high security wing of Valdemoro Prison in Spain. This prison has a nickname. They call it, “Terrorist(University.” I was asked, and agreed, to participate in an intelligence gathering operation that produced this and other information. My nom de guerre from the French Foreign Legion was Jayden Roy Huck, and this is my story.

PREFACE
WHAT you will read in the following pages may bother you.
It is meant to tell the true account of a poorly run undercover operation that took place between October 2002 and June of 2003. I have kept the true names of the different individuals. However, when dealing with certain individuals who are still at-large, I chose to use only first names.

This is neither an indictment nor an accusation about U.S. governmental and foreign policies when dealing with international terrorism, yet it is critical when appropriate. As the writer, I do not claim to be able to create a literary work that will be appreciated for its eloquent prose. Hey, I carried a pistol before I ever picked up a pen. You might be offended by what you read. Fair enough. It is a true story, and life is often times an offensive string of circumstances.

Every conversation is as accurate as my memory will allow.

Every account is verifiable through evidence in my possession. Yes, I made copies. No, I won't tell you who has them.

Before this all started, when I was still liked by my country, there was a prayer that I stumbled across that I felt best summed up my morality.

SAVIOR
Give me, God, what you still have,
Give me what no one asks for;
I do not ask for wealth
nor for success,
nor even health—
People ask you so often, God, for all that
That you cannot have any left.
Give me, God what you still have;
Give me what people refuse to accept from you.
I want insecurity and disquietude,
I want turmoil and brawl,
And if you should give them to me, my God, once and for all.
Let me be sure to have them always,
for I will not always have the courage
To ask you for them.

(Zirnheld)

ONE: Especially Bad

I'm not asking for forgiveness . . . that's something between God and me. And lately, He's been pretty quiet.

There's something you should know about me: I'm not one of the good guys. Often I'm quick tempered. My moral compass spins in every direction. I like the attractive girls first, and if they end up with a personality . . . so be it. I like to fight. Most times I'm no more than three feet away from a pistol. As far as my personality, well, I don't really have one.

I'm a kind of messed-up mixture of every character I've ever seen on film, television, cartoons, or comic books. I lack any real identity, and I blame nobody. That's what made me a good spy.

I remember, back in the early nineties, watching television one time and seeing them break from the regular programming with coverage of some accident that had occurred at the World Trade Center. I remember sketchy images of thick pitch-black smoke pouring out of the side of the parking garage like a volcano had erupted. It looked like a bad Hollywood effect.

They weren't sure what specifically had happened, but it was not 'natural.' That kind of carnage rarely is. Religious violence is one of those neat things that we humans gave to the world.

A couple of days later, information started leaking out that perhaps this was not an 'accident' as it was first reported. No . . . this was something foreign to us. Something different.

This was the first successful act of terrorism against the United States of America inside the invisible barriers of our country that we all think are there. Everybody started saying that America was lucky that it had taken this long. That seemed a rather odd assertion of luck. The talking heads preached about how we had pushed the envelope for so long with our foreign policy, and so far with our imperialistic mentality, that it was just a matter of 'when' and not 'if.'

I was just out of high school at the time, and I didn't really consider it all that much. Terrorism was something that Arab people do because they hate their jobs and the weather is too hot in the Middle East. I didn't really care much about politics. The most American spirit I had was when I watched the Olympics for about fifteen minutes every couple of years to see if an American was going to win anything . . . and mostly I was disappointed with that too.

Youth and wisdom are usually more like sparring partners than lovers walking hand-in-hand. I pretty much just did my own thing, and like most Americans, didn't pay much attention to those 'extremists.'

To most of us, terrorism was not an issue, but just a bunch of immature adolescents vying for attention. It was best just to treat them like an annoying child who is running around at a birthday party with his pants down. Ignore it. Surely 'they' would fade off into the distance soon enough. Then our lives could just go back to the comfortable average we are all so used to.

The unfortunate thing about my rather negligent attitude towards terrorism is that I wasn't the only one who had this mentality. Apparently the FBI, CIA, local and state authorities, and all of the other people that are charged with keeping us safe shared it. Those other people with the same level of disregard and apathy who, maybe, shouldn't have been so indifferent to the very clear threats that were knocking on our door.

I distinctly remember, during one of my long talks with a high-ranking member of al Qaeda, that this apathy and arrogance were among the reasons it was so easy to attack America. America was a 'me, me, me society.' "You let us do this," he said.

You let us do this.

A rather ominous statement coming from a man wanted by ten different countries for acts of terrorism, arms trafficking, bomb making, and the list goes on and on. A man whose last roommate was Illich Ramirez Sanchez, otherwise known as 'Carlos the Jackal.' You might wonder how I ever got involved with one of al Qaeda' s top men. It's an interesting story that will probably leave you a little angry, a bit paranoid, but most of all . . . disappointed. I'm not political. I'm not trying to make a statement. I'm not a harbinger of bad news or twisted philosophy. Maybe I'll be dead by the time anyone ever reads this. And if I'm not dead, I'll be a nobody. Just another number in the machine.

I'm not special in any way. I'm just a bad guy who infiltrated al Qaeda deeper than any other American had. Regardless of what you've heard about the education of a spook . . . it takes a bad guy like me to do what I did.

Maybe I am special.

Especially bad.