Questions about the Boston Marathon Bombing?

Who were the private military operatives hired to 'work' the Boston marathon with black backpacks, radiation detectors, and tactical gear and why were they there?

They say the truth is stranger than fiction. Back in 2013 at the time of the Boston Bombing I posted an article by Natural News. However, recently I have since found out was tampered with so that it could no longer be read. I have been able to recuperate the article although the original article domain by Natural News is no longer available. Here is the original article again as it was published by Natural News in 2013. Why someone would get on my site and make this article unable to be read, I cannot understand. Unless there is some truth to the original author’s questions, which the powers that be do not want the general public to investigate further. Why the author has eliminated the article from his own site also causes suspicions. Was he pressured by the powers to be to do so? Remember, the powers that be that assassinated JFK, RFK, Martin Luther King Jr. etc, are the same people who are ruling our country from behind the scenes. Below is the original article as best as I could recuperate it. I did lose a phrase which was just under a picture. Dennis Edwards

Natural News has now confirmed that at least five private military contractors were operating on scene at the Boston marathon, and that they all carried black backpacks which look very similar to the backpack carrying the pressure cooker bomb (see pictures below). 

The mainstream media is completely censoring any mention of these "Craft" operatives, pretending they don't even exist. Only the alternative media is conducting real investigative journalism on these bombings. The mainstream media isn't interested in the truth; they only want to spin the attack into a new way to somehow blame conservative Americans for something they had no part in.

Thanks to the help of researchers posting on 4Chan, plus a bit of our own analysis, we've been able to bring new research to light as you'll see in the photos below.

Who is this guy and what is he holding in his hand?

The following photo was snapped mere moments after the first bomb detonation. Many people are asking, "Who is this guy?" and why is he dressed in combat boots and military BDUs (pants)? More importantly, what is he carrying in his hand?

We were able to get a close-up of the object in his hand:
With a bit of research, we were able to confirm this object is an "Inspector Radiation Alert" device that detects the kind of radiation which would be produced in a dirty bomb attack or a nuclear attack:

This immediately brings up all sorts of questions, such as: Who hired this guy? Whose side is he on?

Why would he anticipate the need for a nuclear radiation detector? What kind of private military operative routinely carries such expensive gadgets?

Four more operatives with the exact same uniforms

As we browsed through the photos, we located four more private military operatives with the exact same dress: Tan combat boots, tan BDUs, black jackets, black backpacks and tactical communications gear.

Here's a picture of three of these men reacting to the explosion. The one in the middle is the same guy in the radiation detector photo, above: There are several things worth noting in this image:

1) All three of the men look surprised, even shocked by the events. This might argue against their prior knowledge of the bombings.

2) The object in the right hand of the man in the middle may resemble a small handgun, but I'm sure it isn't. Why? Because no highly trained private military operative would carry a handgun with a "pincer" grip as appears in the photo. A proper grip on a handgun is far deeper into the palm. This object is most likely the same radiation detector shown above, just captured from a weird angle with a flapping leather case of some sort.

3) The man on the left, an older gentleman, appears to be holding an object in his right hand which seems capable of being actuated with his thumb.

4) The man on the right reveals "The Craft" skull logo on his shirt because his jacket just happened to open up for this photo (see below).

Here's a photo comparison of "The Craft" logo on his shirt:
Here are two more operatives on the scene, wearing the exact same uniform:If you look at the hat for one of these men, you can clearly see "the Craft" skull logo on his hat:

Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle was also a member of The Craft. He was murdered by one of his close friends a few months ago. The appearance of The Craft operatives at the Boston marathon bombing raises new questions about Chris Kyle's death:

Here's Chris Kyle on national TV wearing the "Craft" hat:

 

ere's the Craft motto, which says "Violence does solve problems."

Here's the Craft motto, which says "Violence does solve problems."

still

The Craft website where all these images, logos and uniforms are instantly confirmed.

Bomb bag resembles the black backpacks worn by The Craft operatives

Here's where all this gets incredibly spooky: The backpack that carried the pressure cooker bomb looks very similar to the black backpacks worn by The Craft operatives:

Here's another view of the "Craft" skull logo on a training shirt, taken from their own website:

This photo shows The Craft operatives at a trade show. Everybody is wearing the trade-mark tan combat boots and tan BDUs:

 

What does it all mean?

First off, let's get the attacks of the moron trolls out of the way -- people who will say these photos are a "conspiracy theory."

How are photos of actual people at the event a conspiracy theory?

They aren't. In real police work, they're called "evidence," and the people in these photos should be persons of interest.

But they aren't. The entire mainstream media and law enforcement apparatus is now pretending these men don't exist. (Now that's their conspiracy theory!)

We all know, however, that The Craft operatives don't work for free. They aren't a band of volunteers. And that means somebody paid them to be at the event.

Who paid The Craft to be there? And what was their mission?

Why is their existence at the Boston marathon being memory-holed? Why are they not "persons of interest" in the investigation?

Why do they carry radiation detectors? What's in their backpacks? (A ham sandwich?)

The fact that the media refuses to even acknowledge the existence of these private military operatives is quite telling all by itself.

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Proof - Dzhokhar Tsarnaev's Back-Pack was photo-shopped out

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Before Bombs, a Battered American Dream

By Deborah Sontag, David M. Herszenhorn and Serge F. Kovaleski, NY Times, April 27, 2013
BOSTON—It was a blow the immigrant boxer could not withstand: After capturing his second consecutive title as the Golden Gloves heavyweight champion of New England in 2010, Tamerlan Anzorovich Tsarnaev, 23, was barred from the national Tournament of Champions because he was not a United States citizen.

The cocksure fighter, a flamboyant dresser partial to white fur and snakeskin, had been looking forward to redeeming the loss he suffered the previous year in the first round, when the judges awarded his opponent the decision, drawing boos from spectators who considered Mr. Tsarnaev dominant.

From one year to the next, though, the tournament rules had changed, disqualifying legal permanent residents—not only Mr. Tsarnaev, who was Soviet-born, but several other New England contenders, too. His aspirations frustrated, he dropped out of boxing competition entirely, and his life took a completely different direction.

Mr. Tsarnaev portrayed his quitting as a reflection of the sport’s incompatibility with his growing devotion to Islam. But as dozens of interviews with friends, acquaintances and relatives from Cambridge to Dagestan showed, that devotion, and the suspected radicalization that accompanied it, was a path he followed most avidly only after his more secular dreams were dashed in 2010 and he was left adrift.

His trajectory eventually led the frustrated athlete and his loyal younger brother, Dzhokhar, to bomb one of the most famous athletic events in this country, killing three and wounding over 200 at the Boston Marathon, the authorities say. They say it led Mr. Tsarnaev, his application for citizenship stalled for eight months, and his brother, a new citizen and a seemingly well-adjusted college student, to attack their American hometown on Patriots’ Day, April 15.

Mr. Tsarnaev now lies in the state medical examiner’s office, his body riddled with bullets after a confrontation with the police four days after the bombings. He left behind an American-born wife who had converted to Islam, a 3-year-old daughter with curly hair, a 19-year-old brother charged with using a weapon of mass destruction, and a puzzle: Why did these two young men seemingly turn on the country that granted them asylum?

Combing their lives for clues, the authorities have focused on Mr. Tsarnaev’s six-month trip to Dagestan, Russia, last year. But in Cambridge, sitting on the front steps of the ramshackle, brown-shingled house where the Tsarnaev family lived for a decade, their 79-year-old landlady urged a longer lens.

“He certainly wasn’t radicalized in Dagestan,” the landlady, Joanna Herlihy, said.

Ms. Herlihy, who speaks Russian and took the family under wing shortly after it resettled in the area, declined to elaborate. But she said that over the last few years, Mr. Tsarnaev had identified more fiercely than previously with his religious and ethnic roots, seeming to abandon his once avid pursuit of the American dream.

He dropped out of community college and lost interest not just in boxing but also in music; he used to play piano and violin, classical music and rap, and his e-mail address was a clue to how he once saw himself: The_Professor@real-hiphop.com. He worked only sporadically, sometimes as a pizza deliverer, and he grew first a close-cropped beard and then a flowing one.

He seemed isolated, too. For the last year, he, his wife and his child were the only Tsarnaevs living full time in the three-bedroom apartment on Ms. Herlihy’s third floor.

Mr. Tsarnaev’s two younger sisters had married and moved out; his parents, now separated, had returned to Dagestan; and his brother had left for the University of Massachusetts at Dartmouth, returning home only on the occasional weekend, as he did recently after damaging his 1999 green Honda Civic by texting while driving.

“When Dzhokhar used to come home on Friday night from the dormitory, Tamerlan used to hug him and kiss him—hold him, like, because he was a big, big boy, Tamerlan,” their mother, Zubeidat, 45, said last week, adding that her older son had been “handsome like Hercules.”

Not long after he gave up his boxing career, Mr. Tsarnaev married Katherine Russell of Rhode Island in a brief Islamic ceremony at a Dorchester mosque in June 2010. She has declined to speak publicly since the attacks.

His wife primarily supported the family through her job as a home health aide, scraping together about $1,200 a month to pay the rent. While she worked, Mr. Tsarnaev looked after their daughter, Zahira, who was learning to ride the tricycle still parked beside the house, neighbors said. The family’s income was supplemented by public assistance and food stamps from September 2011 to November 2012, state officials said.

It was probably not the life that Anzor Tsarnaev had imagined for his oldest child, who, even as a boy, before he developed the broad-shouldered physique that his mother described as “a masterpiece,” dreamed of becoming a famous boxer.

But then the father’s life had not gone as planned, either. Once a government official in the prosecutor’s office in Kyrgyzstan, he had been reduced to working as an unlicensed mechanic in the back lot of a rug store in Cambridge.

“He was out there in the snow and cold, freezing his hands to do this work on people’s cars,” said Chris Walter, owner of the store, Yayla Tribal Rug, “I did not charge him for the space because he was a poor, struggling guy with a good heart.”

Tamerlan Tsarnaev was born on Oct. 21, 1986, five years before the dissolution of the Soviet Union, in Kalmykia, a barren stretch of Russian territory by the Caspian Sea.

A photograph of Mr. Tsarnaev as a baby shows a cherubic child wearing a knit cap with a pom-pom, perched on the lap of his unsmiling mother, who has spiky black bangs and an artful pile of hair. Strikingly, she did not cover her head then, as she does now; she began wearing a hijab only a few years ago, in the United States, prodded by her son just as she was prodding him, too, to deepen his faith.

When he was still little, his parents moved from Kalmykia to Kyrgyzstan, a former Soviet republic, where their other three children were born. They left during the economic crisis of the late 1990s, and spent a few brief months in Chechnya, then fled before the full-scale Russian military invasion in 1999. They sought shelter next in his mother’s native Dagestan.

In an interview there, Patimat Suleimanova, her sister-in-law, said the family had repeatedly been on the run from war and hardship in those days: “In search of peace, they kept moving,” she said.

Finally, Anzor Tsarnaev sought political asylum in the United States. He arrived first, with his younger son, in the spring of 2002. His older son, a young man of 16, followed with the rest of the family in July 2003.

Their neighborhood in Cambridge was run-down then, with car repair lots where condominiums have since arisen. But the city has long been especially welcoming to immigrants and refugees; its high school has students from 75 countries.

The school superintendent, Jeffrey Young, described Cambridge as “beyond tolerant.”

“How is it that someone could grow up in a place like this and end up in a place like that?” he said of the Tsarnaevs.

Unlike his brother, who was well integrated into the community by the time he started high school, Mr. Tsarnaev was a genuine newcomer when he entered the Cambridge Rindge and Latin School, from which he graduated in 2006. Enrolled in the large English as a Second Language program, he made friends mostly with other international students, and his demeanor was reserved, one former classmate, Luis Vasquez, said.

“The view on him was that he was a boxer and you would not want to mess with him,” Mr. Vasquez, now 25 and a candidate for the Cambridge City Council, said. “He told me that he wanted to represent the U.S. in boxing. He wanted to do the Olympics and then turn pro.”

Shortly after his arrival in the United States, while at registration for the Golden Gloves in Lowell, he awed about two dozen people around him when he started playing classical music on a piano in a nearby room. The impromptu performance lasted about 20 minutes and ended to a burst of applause from surprised onlookers.

“He just walked over from the line and started playing like he was in the Boston Pops,” his trainer at the time, Gene McCarthy, 77, recalled. He added that even “the person signing people up stopped what he was doing to walk over and listen.”

Having trained in Dagestan, where sport fighting is the national pastime, Mr. Tsarnaev boxed straight-legged like a European and not crouched, American-style. He also incorporated showy gymnastics into his training and fighting, walking on his hands, falling into splits, tumbling into corners. So as he started working out in Boston-area clubs—and winning novice tournament fights just six months after immigrating—he made an impression, although not an entirely positive one.

“For a big man, he was very agile,” said Tom Lee, president of the South Boston Boxing Club. “He moved like a gazelle and was strong like a horse. He was a big puncher. But he was an underachiever because he did not dedicate himself to the proper training regimen.”

In 2009, Mr. Tsarnaev won the New England Golden Gloves championship in the 201-pound division, which qualified him for the national tournament in Salt Lake City in May. Introducing what would become his signature style, he showed up overdressed, wearing a white silk scarf, black leather pants and mirrored sunglasses.

Stepping into the ring, as The Lowell Sun described it, Mr. Tsarnaev floored Lamar Fenner of Chicago with an explosive punch that required an eight-count from the referee, and then he seemed to control the rest of the fight.

Bob Russo, then the coach of the New England team, said: “We thought he won. The crowd thought he won. But he didn’t.”

Mr. Fenner’s mother, Marsha, said her son had called her the night of his “bout with the bomber,” thrilled to have defeated an opponent he described as unnervingly strong. Her son, who died of heart problems last year at 29, ended up coming in second in the tournament and turning professional, she said.

Mr. Tsarnaev remained an amateur. But if he was chastened by the defeat, it did not temper his behavior. During a preliminary round of the New England Golden Gloves in 2010, in a breach of boxing etiquette, he entered the locker room to taunt not only the fighter he was about to face but also the fighter’s trainer. Wearing a cowboy hat and alligator-skin cowboy boots, he gave the two men a disdainful once-over and said: “You’re nothing. I’m taking you down.”

The trainer, Hector Torres, was furious and subsequently filed a complaint, arguing that Mr. Tsarnaev should not be allowed to participate in the competition because he was not a citizen.

As it happened, Golden Gloves of America was just then changing its policy. It used to permit legal immigrants to compete in its national tournament three out of every four years, barring them only during Olympic qualifying years, James Beasley, the executive director, said. But it decided in 2010 that the policy was confusing and moved to end all participation by noncitizens in the Tournament of Champions.

So Mr. Tsarnaev, New England heavyweight champion for the second year in a row, found himself stymied. The immigrant champions in three other weight classes in New England were blocked from advancing, too, Mr. Russo said.

But Mr. Tsarnaev was devastated. He was not getting any younger. And at that point, he was more than a year away from being even eligible to apply for American citizenship, and there appeared to be a potential obstacle in his path.

The previous summer, Mr. Tsarnaev had been arrested after a report of domestic violence.

His girlfriend at the time had called 911, “hysterically crying,” to say he had beaten her up, according to the Cambridge police report. Mr. Tsarnaev told the officers that he had slapped her face because she had been yelling at him about “another girl.”

Eventually, charges against him would be dismissed, the records show, so the episode would not have endangered his eventual citizenship application.

But his life was changing. He married. He had a child. And he largely withdrew from Cambridge social life, and from many of the friendships he had enjoyed. “He had liked to party,” said Elmirza Khozhugov, 26, his former brother-in-law, who lost touch with him in 2010. “But there was always the sense that he felt a little guilty that he was having too much fun, maybe.”

In 2011, the Russian security service cautioned the F.B.I., and later the C.I.A., that “since 2010” Mr. Tsarnaev had “changed drastically,” becoming “a follower of radical Islam.” The Russians said he was planning a trip to his former homeland to connect with underground militant groups. An F.B.I. investigation turned up no ties to extremists, the bureau has said.

In early 2012, Mr. Tsarnaev left his wife and child for a six-month visit to Russia. His parents, speaking in Dagestan, portrayed it as an innocuous visit to reconnect with family and to replace his nearly expired passport from the Republic of Kyrgyzstan with a Russian one. His father said he had kept his son close by his side as they visited relatives, including in Chechnya, and renovated a storefront to turn it into a perfume shop.

But American officials say Mr. Tsarnaev arrived in Russia months before his father returned to Dagestan and so did not have the tight supervision, as portrayed by his father, for a good chunk of time.

Also, Mr. Tsarnaev, with no apparent sense of urgency about his travel documents, waited months to apply for a Russian passport, and it was not ready for him when he returned to the United States.

After his return, Mr. Tsarnaev applied for American citizenship. But the F.B.I. investigation, though closed, had caused his application to be stalled. Underscoring how detached he had become, he no longer had any valid passport and was, in a way, stateless.

He grew a five-inch beard, which he shaved off before the bombings, and he engaged neighbors in affable conversations about skiing one week and heated ones about American imperialism the next. At a neighborhood pizzeria, he explained to Albrecht Ammon, 18, that “the Koran is great and flawless, and the Bible is ripped off from the Koran.”

“I asked him about radical Muslims that blow themselves up and say, ‘It’s for Allah,’” Mr. Ammon said. “And he said he wasn’t one of those Muslims.”

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Boston Marathon Bombing- What is the truth?

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Like a Tarantino movie: carjacking victim tells of 90 harrowing minutes spent with Tsarnaev brothers

Eric Moskowitz, The Boston Globe, April 26, 2013
The 26-year-old entrepreneur had just pulled his new Mercedes to the curb on Brighton Avenue to answer a text when an old sedan swerved behind him, slamming to a stop. A man in dark clothes got out and approached the passenger window. It was nearly 11pm.

The man rapped on the glass, speaking quickly. Danny, unable to hear him, lowered the window—and the man reached an arm through, unlocked the door, and climbed in, brandishing a silver handgun.

“Don’t be stupid,” he told Danny. He asked if he had followed the news about the previous Monday’s Boston Marathon bombings. Danny had, down to the release of the grainy photos of suspects less than six hours earlier.

“I did that,” said the man, who would later be identified as Tamerlan Tsarnaev. “And I just killed a policeman in Cambridge.”

He ordered Danny to drive—right on Fordham Road, right again on Commonwealth Avenue—the beginning of an achingly slow odyssey in which Danny felt the possibility of death pressing on him like a vice.

Now, Danny—the victim of the Tsarnaev brothers’ much-discussed but previously little-understood carjacking—filled in some of the last missing pieces in the timeline between the murder of MIT police officer Sean Collier, just before 10.30 p.m. on April 18, and the Watertown shoot-out that ended just before 1am. Danny asked that he be identified only by his American nickname.

The story of that night unfolds like a Tarantino movie, bursts of harrowing action laced with dark humor and dialogue absurd for its ordinariness, reminders of just how young the men in the car were. Girls, credit limits for students, the marvels of the Mercedes-Benz ML 350 and the iPhone­ 5, whether anyone still listens to CDs—all were discussed by the two 26-year-olds and the 19-year-old driving around on a Thursday night.

Danny described 90 harrowing minutes, first with the younger brother following in a second car, then with both brothers in the Mercedes, where they openly discussed driving to New York, though Danny could not make out if they were planning another attack. Throughout the ordeal, he did as they asked while silently analysing every threatened command, every overheard snatch of dialogue for clues about where and when they might kill him.

“Death is so close to me,” Danny recalled thinking. His life had until that moment seemed ascendant, from a province in Central China to graduate school at Northeastern University to a Kendall Square start-up.

“I don’t want to die,” he thought. “I have a lot of dreams that haven’t come true yet.”

After a zigzagging trek through Brighton, Watertown, and back to Cambridge, Danny would seize his chance for escape at the Shell Station on Memorial Drive, his break turning on two words—“cash only”—that had rarely seemed so welcome.

When the younger brother, Dzhokhar, was forced to go inside the Shell Food Mart to pay, older brother Tamerlan put his gun in the door pocket to fiddle with a navigation device—letting his guard down briefly after a night on the run. Danny then did what he had been rehearsing in his head. In a flash, he unbuckled his seat belt, opened the door, stepped through, slammed it behind, and sprinted off at an angle that would be a hard shot for any marksman.

“F—-!” he heard Tamerlan say, feeling the rush of a near-miss grab at his back, but the man did not follow. Danny reached the haven of a Mobil station across the street, seeking cover in the supply room, shouting for the clerk to call 911.

His quick-thinking escape, authorities say, allowed police to swiftly track down the Mercedes, abating a possible attack by the brothers on New York City and precipitating a wild shootout in Watertown that would seriously wound one officer, kill Tamerlan, and leave a severely injured Dzhokhar hiding in the neighborhood. He was caught the following night, ending a harrowing week across Greater Boston.

Danny spoke softly but steadily in a 2 ½-hour interview at his Cambridge apartment.

Danny, who offered his account only on the condition that his Chinese name not be revealed, said he does not want attention. But he suspects his full name may come out if and when he testifies against Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.

“I don’t want to be a famous person talking on the TV,” Danny said, kneading his hands, uncomfortable with the praise he has received from the few friends he has shared the story with, some of whom encouraged him to go public. “I don’t feel like a hero… I was trying to save myself.”

Danny, trained as an engineer, made scrupulous mental notes of street signs and passing details, even as he abided the older Tsarnaev’s command not to study his face.

“Don’t look at me!” Tamerlan shouted at one point. “Do you remember my face?”

“No, no, I don’t remember anything,” he said.

Tamerlan laughed. “It’s like white guys, they look at black guys and think all black guys look the same,” he said. “And maybe you think all white guys look the same.”

“Exactly,” Danny said, though he thought nothing of the sort. It was one of many moments in their mental chess match, Danny playing up his outsider status in America and playing down his wealth—he claimed the car was older than it was, and he understated his lease payments—in a desperate hope of extending his life.

Danny had come to the United States in 2009 for a master’s degree, graduated in January 2012, and returned to China to await a work visa. He came back two months ago, leasing a Mercedes and moving into a high-rise with two Chinese friends while diving into a startup. But he told Tamerlan he was still a student and that he had been here barely a year. It seemed to help that Tamerlan had trouble understanding even Danny’s pronunciation of the word “China.”

“Oh, that’s why your English is not very good,” the brother replied, finally figuring it out. “OK, you’re Chinese … I’m a Muslim.”

“Chinese are very friendly to Muslims!” Danny said. “We are so friendly to Muslims.”

When the ordeal had started, Danny prayed it would be a quick robbery. Tamerlan demanded money, but Danny had just $45 in cash—kept in the armrest—and a wallet full of plastic. Evidently disappointed to get so little out of holding up a $50,000 car, he told Danny to drive. The old sedan followed.

“Relax,” Tamerlan said, when Danny’s nerves made it hard for him to stay in the lane. Danny, recalling the moment, said, “My heart is pounding so fast.”

They lapped Brighton and crossed the Charles River into Watertown, following Arsenal Street. Looking through Danny’s wallet, Tamerlan asked for his ATM code—a friend’s birthdate.

Directed to a quiet neighborhood in East Watertown, Danny pulled up as instructed on an unfamiliar side street. The sedan stopped behind him. A man approached—the skinnier, floppy-haired “Suspect No. 2” in the photos and videos released by investigators earlier that evening—and Tamerlan got out, ordering Danny into the passenger seat, making it clear that if he tried anything he would shoot him. For several minutes, the brothers transferred heavy objects from the smaller car into Danny’s SUV. “Luggage,” Danny thought.

With Tamerlan driving now, Danny in the passenger seat, and Dzhokhar behind Danny, they stopped in Watertown Center so Dzhokhar could withdraw money from the Bank of America ATM using Danny’s card. Danny, shivering from fear but claiming to be cold, asked for his jacket. Guarded by just one brother, Danny wondered if this was his chance, but he saw around him only locked storefronts. A police car drove by, lights off.

Tamerlan agreed to retrieve Danny’s jacket from the back seat. Danny unbuckled, put on the jacket, then tried to buckle the seat belt behind him to make an escape easier. “Don’t do that,” Tamerlan said, studying him. “Don’t be stupid.”

Danny thought about his burgeoning start-up and about a girl he secretly liked in New York. “I think, ‘Oh my god, I have no chance to meet you again,’ ” he recalled.

Dzhokhar was back now. “We both have guns,” Tamerlan said, though Danny had not seen a second weapon. He overheard them speak in a foreign language—“Manhattan” the only intelligible word to him—and then ask in English if Danny’s car could be driven out of state. “What do you mean?” Danny said, confused. “Like New York,” one brother said.

They continued west on Route 20, in the direction of Waltham and Interstate 95, passing a police station. Danny tried to send telepathic messages to the officers inside, imagined dropping and rolling from the moving car.

Tamerlan asked him to turn on and demonstrate the radio. The older brother then quickly flipped through stations, seemingly avoiding the news. He asked if Danny had any CDs. No, he replied, he listens to music on his phone. The tank nearly empty, they stopped at a gas station, but the pumps were closed.

Doubling back, they returned to the Watertown neighbourhood—“Fairfield Street,” Danny saw on the sign—and grabbed a few more things from the parked car, but nothing from the trunk. They put on an instrumental CD that sounded to Danny like a call to prayer.

Suddenly, Danny’s iPhone buzzed. A text from his roommate, wondering in Chinese where he was. Barking at Danny for instructions, Tamerlan used an English-to-Chinese app to text a clunky reply. “I am sick. I am sleeping in a friend’s place tonight.” In a moment, another text, then a call. No one answered. Seconds later, the phone rang again.

“If you say a single word in Chinese, I will kill you right now,” Tamerlan said. Danny understood. His roommate’s boyfriend was on the other end, speaking Mandarin. “I’m sleeping in my friend’s home tonight,” Danny replied in English. “I have to go.”

“Good boy,” Tamerlan said. “Good job.”

The SUV headed for the lights of Soldiers Field Road, banking across River Street to the two open gas stations. Dzhokhar went to fill up using Danny’s credit card, but quickly knocked on the window. “Cash only,” he said, at least at that hour. Tamerlan peeled off $50.

Danny watched Dzhokhar head to the store, struggling to decide if this was his moment—until he stopped thinking about it, and let reflexes kick in.

“I was thinking I must do two things: unfasten my seat belt and open the door and jump out as quick as I can. If I didn’t make it, he would kill me right out, he would kill me right away,” Danny said. “I just did it. I did it very fast, using my left hand and right hand simultaneously to open the door, unfasten my seat belt, jump out … and go.” Danny sprinted between the passenger side of the Mercedes and the pumps and darted into the street, not looking back, drawn to the Mobil station’s lights. “I didn’t know if it was open or not,” he said. “In that moment, I prayed.”

The brothers took off. The clerk, after brief confusion, dialed 911 on a portable phone, bringing it to Danny in the storeroom. The dispatcher told him to take a deep breath. The officers, arriving in minutes, took his story, with Danny noting the car could be tracked by his iPhone and by a Mercedes satellite system, mbrace.

After an hour or more—as the shoot-out and manhunt erupted in Watertown—police brought Danny to Watertown for a “drive-by lineup,” studying faces of detained suspects in the street from the safety of a cruiser. He recognized none of them. He spent the night talking to police and the FBI, appreciating the kindness of a state trooper who gave him a bagel and coffee. At 3 the next afternoon, they dropped Danny back in Cambridge.

“I think, Tamerlan is dead, I feel good, obviously safer. But the younger brother—I don’t know,” Danny recalled thinking, wondering if Dzhokhar would come looking for him. But the police knew the wallet and registration were still in the bullet-riddled Mercedes, and that a wounded Dzhokhar had probably not gotten far. That night, they found him in a boat.

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The "Facts" Keep Changing About the Boston Bombings--And It's Fueling a Conspiracy Theory Industry

(DID THE GOVERNMENT HAVE PRIOR INFORMATION THAT A BOMB WAS PLANTED AT THE MARATHON BUT DECIDED NOT TO POSTPONE THE EVENT?) Dennis

By Alex Seitz-Wald, Salon, April 25, 2013

In the aftermath of massive, complicated crimes it’s not uncommon for a bit of crucial information to be immediately put forward by police, only to be contradicted later on. While it’s understandable that initial leads and assertions might end up being wrong in a dynamic situation like the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombing, wholesale contradictions can encourage skepticism of the motives of those releasing inaccuracies—as with initial, false reports that Osama bin Laden hid behind his wife when U.S. forces shot him. Another effect of changing details can be to encourage conspiracy theorists who latch onto inconsistencies, and to undermine trust in authorities. (IF AUTHORITIES WANT TRUST THEY NEED TO BE TRUTHFUL)


Now, almost a week after the Tsarnaev brothers fought a rolling street battle with dozens of heavily armed police officers, we learned Wednesday night that they had only a single handgun, according to sources who spoke with ABC News and the AP, something that directly contradicts what officials had previously said.


Here are some of the biggest changes to facts released in this investigation:


•Suspects’ arms—After the manhunt, Boston Police Commissioner Ed Davis said the brothers were “heavily armed” and numerous reports detailed a fairly extensive arsenal. According to a New York Times report from April 21 citing a law enforcement official, “The authorities found an M-4 carbine rifle … two handguns and a BB gun.” Now unnamed sources say there was only a single 9mm pistol between the two brothers. Indeed, photos of the shootout suggest only one brother had a weapon. (MAYBE THE POLICE STARTED SHOOTING AT THEM!)


•Boat gunfight?—Police initially reported that Dzhokhar Tsarnaev fired on police when they found him hiding in a boat Friday night. “It was back and forth … yes—he was firing,” Watertown Police Chief Ed Deveau told CNN Saturday (though the FBI cautioned at the time that only federal authorities had official information). The Washington Post reported that the suspect inside the boat “was shooting back.” But later, the Washington Post and the AP reported yesterday that Tsarnaev was unarmed when police found him after what was described as a gunfight. As it turns out, police may have been spooked by an errant shot, and fired into the boat, but apparently zero shots came out. (THE MAN THAT FOUND HIM SAID HE SEEMED TO BE BADLY INJURED AND UNCONSCIOUS)


•7 -Eleven and the MIT officer—Initial reports suggested the brothers tried to hold up a 7-Eleven, and then killed an MIT officer who either responded to the robbery or just happened to be in the area. But days later, authorities revealed that the holdup was committed by different suspects and the confusion was caused by the close proximity of the two events. It’s still unknown exactly why the brothers killed the police officer. (DO WE KNOW IT WAS THEM?)


•Carjacking—Some reports indicate that the person whom the brothers carjacked escaped while they inexplicably went into a store to buy snacks, while others say the brothers let the victim go because he wasn’t American. It’s also still unclear which brother stole the black SUV, and which drove the Honda that followed.


•Trip to NYC—What the suspects did after the bombing remains a mystery, but one detail that emerged was that they were planning to head to New York City—to party. That’s what New York Police Commissioner Ray Kelly said yesterday. But today, NBC News reports the brothers discussed trying to detonate a bomb in Times Square, but that the plan was not well developed and “aspirational at most.” (WILL WE EVER KNOW THE TRUTH?)(IT STARTS SOUNDING LIKE DALLAS 1963 ALL OVER AGAIN)

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Photographer's loss offers hope for Boston wounded

By Emilio Morenatti, AP, Apr 23, 2013
BARCELONA, Spain (AP)—In the first horrific moments after the Boston bombing, with smoke still billowing around the wounded, I know what is going through the minds of the maimed victims.

They are at once conscious and unconscious. They want to scream, but they cannot scream. They want to wake up from a nightmare, but they are awake.

I lost my leg in a bomb blast. I know the violent shock of a day that begins well and ends with an amputation, the fog of drugs and surgery, the months of painful rehabilitation.

I know the suffering that lies ahead for these people in Boston. And I know the possibilities, too.

For those who lost a limb or more in the Boston Marathon, Monday, April 15, 2013, was the day their world changed forever.

Mine changed on Tuesday, Aug. 11, 2009. I had been embedded with the U.S. military for two weeks in southern Afghanistan as a photographer for The Associated Press, and this was to have been my last patrol before going home. It had been a long day in the open desert of Kandahar province and I was whipped, barely awake, in fact, when our eight-wheel armored Stryker vehicle hit a roadside bomb and flipped over, knocking me unconscious.

When I came to, I tried to get up but couldn’t; my left foot was hanging by a few tendons. I felt brutal pain, like an electric shock, that began in my leg and swept through the rest of my body. Lying inside the vehicle, I thought of my wife, and willed myself to stay alive.

Eventually, a soldier found me and tied on a tourniquet.

In my years as a photojournalist, I’d taken many pictures of wounded soldiers and victims of suicide bombers. I had covered medical evacuations from Afghanistan, Pakistan and the Palestinian territories, and found it odd to suddenly be among those pulled from an inferno and carried on a stretcher—along with two other soldiers and AP Television News videographer Andi Jatmiko.

They loaded me onto a helicopter next to a soldier who had lost both of his legs and we locked hands as the chopper took off for the provincial capital of Kandahar. The solidarity in that moment is the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital tent to find my left leg had been amputated below the knee. There was no option to save it, doctors told me. Bone and tissue were destroyed by shrapnel. But fortunately my knee was intact, and that would make a substantial difference in my future mobility, they explained.

That offered little comfort as I lay alone and exhausted in a hospital bed in Afghanistan. I had so many questions about life with just one leg but I preferred sleep to thinking about my uncertain future.

The difference between those who lost limbs in Boston and me is that I knew I was taking a risk in a war zone and assumed it willingly, while they had merely gone out to cheer friends and relatives at a family sporting event.

I was a photographer documenting soldiers at war and everyday life for civilians under fire. But before violence grabs you, does anyone really believe he will become one of the dead or wounded? No. Nothing had happened to me on dozens of previous patrols with the military through hostile lands. And while I suspected I was playing a kind of Russian roulette, I also told myself that car accidents happen every day and most people don’t stop driving because of that.

For months after the explosion I was tortured by so many “what ifs.” What if I had stayed back to pack rather than going on patrol that day? What if I had sat a little bit to the right, would the shrapnel have missed my leg? Or if I had sat to the left, would I have lost both legs like the soldier next to me?

I imagine those in Boston whose bodies were torn up by nails or the blasts have similar thoughts: Why didn’t I stand at mile 25, go for water, leave earlier, stay home? I would like to tell them that these questions fade as one begins to accept the reality of losing a limb.

The morphine they gave me to dim the pain of my amputation sapped my energy. I wanted off it so I could start my recuperation with all my strength and walk as soon as possible. I am a Spanish citizen, not American, and was lucky that the AP was able to work bureaucratic miracles to get me admitted to the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, one of the world’s best rehab hospitals.

I was 40 years old, agile and in good shape from exercise and work as a photographer in rough terrain. I even used to jog in the Afghan capital of Kabul when I lived there. So just a month after the explosion, I threw myself into rehab. Although my wounds were still fresh, I put on my first prosthesis and took my first steps. I was determined.

And I was completely unprepared for the difficulty.

It took tremendous strength to learn to walk again. I needed practice, but practice rubbed my wounds raw. Exercise was essential and exercise produced blisters where the prosthesis was joined to my leg—more hot pain.

I was frustrated and felt useless on the days I couldn’t exercise, waiting for the blisters to drain and heal. Then I would put the prosthesis back on and push myself to my limit until the skin broke again.

In those first days, I could only take a few steps. In the first weeks, it took me an hour to walk a mile. I worked out on a bicycle, on a treadmill and with weights. And month by month, I increased my speed so that finally I could walk the 2 1/2 miles from my rented home to the hospital in 25 minutes.

If those maimed in Boston were to ask me what was harder, the physical or psychological recovery, I would say the two go hand-in-hand.

At first I thought it was enough to recover physically, and that learning to walk and work again would naturally produce a psychological recovery.

I was wrong.

The strength of the wounded soldiers at Walter Reed helped me a great deal. Even though many of their injuries were so much worse than mine, I never heard them complain about pain or withdraw in self-pity.

I lost only the lower half of my left leg and came to understand that important distinction alongside soldiers who had lost a leg up to the hip, both legs, or legs and arms. We shared our daily experiences and hardships, often with humor. When a soldier who had lost both arms and legs teasingly called me “Paper Cut” for my lesser wounds, I called him “Trunk” and we laughed.

The soldiers, and some of my Spanish friends with amputations, also taught me the difference between losing a leg and missing a leg. The missing leg can be replaced with a prosthetic, but a loss is permanent. If you don’t confront the feelings of loss—the fact that your world has changed—you never fully recover from the amputation.

The support of my family and friends was crucial. My relationship with my wife after the accident changed to a deeper love. I could see that the patients who didn’t have as many visitors, as much love and reassurance around them, did not respond to physical therapy as quickly.

And then there was my camera. The very instrument that had gotten me into this mess, if you will, became my inspiration and part of my salvation. I carried it with me all the time to photograph the recovery of my hospital mates and to test my own. It took a lot of practice to be able to look through the lens and maintain my balance while walking, as I had done before the amputation.

With a prosthetic, you have to watch for bumps and dips in your path because you have no feeling in your false foot. If you take a wrong step, it is easy to fall, and I fell many times before learning to compensate. Running is much harder, as the body struggles to adjust to a prosthetic leg. When I was 15, I ran a marathon. Now, I am running three miles once a week and I am exhausted. My goal is to run again and recapture the runner’s high, the feeling of strength that I used to experience.

The new amputees in Boston will discover, as I did, that there is a whole world of prosthetics to choose from. Who would know if you didn’t need one? There are feet made for running, walking, climbing, cycling, even for swimming and golfing. But it turns out there’s no such thing as an all-terrain prosthesis, so in the end, I accumulated several.

I normally wear a versatile, durable foot, but I also carry a couple of extras in a backpack, one spare foot and a special one for running. I even have one for roller skating, which, after multiple clashes with trees, parked cars and the pavement, is now one of my favorite sports.

In the same way I have always tended to my cameras, I now must care for my prosthetics, making sure they are always in perfect working condition.

Like the amputees in Boston today, 3 1/2 years ago I joined a community to which no one wishes to belong. I have changed over the years, as they will.

For better or worse, I am more vulnerable now. If I were to offer advice, it would be that it’s possible to accept help without feeling dependent. I would tell them what I tell myself, “Emilio, you’re missing a foot so don’t be too hard on yourself, and when someone offers you a seat on the bus, take it.”

I would tell them the greatest truth I have learned is that I am a man who had a leg amputated, not an amputee. I am still a whole person.

I have returned to work as a photojournalist with the AP. I have tried to become a better person, sharing my small successes with all the people who have helped me in critical times. I appreciate that I live in a nice house in Barcelona with my wife, who is pregnant. I am looking forward to becoming a father for the first time.

I know they cannot imagine this in Boston now, but I want them to know that while certainly I miss my leg, I feel very fortunate.

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Heroes of the Boston Marathon

Kristin Wright, ReligionToday, April 17, 2013
Just 25 yards away from finishing the 117th annual Boston Marathon, Dr. Vivek Shah heard the first explosion on his left. He later said he “wasn’t sure whether it was the fireworks gone bad or something that was supposed to happen.” But with the second explosion, everything suddenly became clear.

“We knew something was wrong because all of the spectators and fans started running away from us,” he said.

But Shah’s entire family had been standing where the explosions went off, the doctor later told reporters.

“So I started running towards where the bombs had gone off to check on my family and see if there was anything I could do to help.”

What he saw he later compared to a combat zone. Victims were missing limbs, blood was covering the streets. “Just, basically piles of victims. Everything I saw was a traumatic amputation, basically.”

Amid the carnage of missing limbs and blood-spattered sidewalks, numerous heroes like Dr. Shah emerged, bandaging the wounded, comforting the traumatized, bringing hope into a situation of abject horror.

Shah helped victim after victim as the crucial minutes ticked by—minutes that often mean the difference between life and death for trauma victims.

Another hero rushing to help victims on Tuesday afternoon was Carlos Arredondo, a peace activist with a tragic past.

In 2004, Arredondo thought the Marines arriving at his home were bringing his son to surprise him for his 44th birthday. Instead, they brought news that he had been killed in Iraq.

Grief stricken, Arredondo locked himself in a van with five gallons of gasoline and set it on fire. He survived his suicide attempt and miraculously recovered from his burns—only to see his younger son take his own life after a years-long battle with depression and addiction.

Arredondo was at the Boston Marathon on Tuesday supporting another father running in honor of his fallen soldier son. He was passing out American flags in honor of fallen soldiers when the two bombs exploded seconds apart, tearing limbs off of runners and spectators, and spattering blood on the streets.

Arredondo was overwhelmed by the carnage.

“There were so many people who lay next to me begging me for help, begging me for help, but I only can help one at a time,” he said.

He focused his efforts on one young man, tearing part of his clothing to make a tourniquet that would slow the blood loss from the victim’s severed artery.

“I just concentrated on that young man and tied him up, his legs, and talked to him,” he said in a video later posted on YouTube. In the video, Arredondo’s shaking hands still grasp an American flag that he was about to pass out to a bystander when the explosions went off. It is covered in blood.

“He was conscious,” Arredondo said of the young victim he helped. “I let him know the ambulance is on the way, that it’s OK.”

Video footage over the next several hours found Arredondo helping in any way he could, from pushing down a fence to allow first responders access to the site of the bombing to rushing victims to ambulances.

In the hours that followed the explosions, stories of heroes who rushed to help in the midst of the terror were numerous. Offers to donate blood were so plentiful that the Red Cross eventually had to turn people away.

Former New England Patriots offensive lineman Joe Andruzzi was at the finish line when the explosions occurred. He scooped up a woman harmed in the bombings, running her to safety and treatment. Dr. Allen Panter was still waiting for his wife to cross the finish line when the explosions went off. He worked feverishly to save one of the victim’s lives.

Carlos Arredondo says that in the midst of the carnage, he simply did what first came to mind. “My instinct was to run across by the flags and start picking up people and bringing them to the emergency room,” he said.

   

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Private military operatives hired to 'work' the Boston marathon with black backpacks, radiation detectors, tactical gear

This post has been re-designated and can be found at the link The original article below has been tampered with and is difficult to follow as some of the words have been lost. I have recuperated the article and posted it at the above link.  Dennis Edwards http://fightforyourfaith.blogspot.pt/2016/06/questions-about-boston-marathon-bombing.html.

Natural News has now confirmed that at least five private military contractors were operating on scene at the Boston marathon, and that they all carried black backpacks which look very similar to the backpack carrying the pressure cooker bomb (see pictures below).

The mainstream media is completely censoring any mention of these "Craft" operatives, pretending they don't even exist. Only the alternative media is conducting real investigative journalism on these bombings. The mainstream media isn't interested in the truth; they only want to spin the attack into a new way to somehow blame conservative Americans for something they had no part in.

Thanks to the help of researchers posting on 4Chan, plus a bit of our own analysis, we've been able to bring new research to light as you'll see in the photos below.

Who is this guy and what is he holding in his hand?

The following photo was snapped mere moments after the first bomb detonation. Many people are asking, "Who is this guy?" and why is he dressed in combat boots and military BDUs (pants)? More importantly, what is he carrying in his hand?

We were able to get a close-up of the object in his hand: With a bit of research, we were able to confirm this object is an "Inspector Radiation Alert" device that detects the kind of radiation which would be produced in a dirty bomb attack or a nuclear attack: This immediately brings up all sorts of questions, such as: Who hired this guy? Whose side is he on? Why would he anticipate the need for a nuclear radiation detector? What kind of private military operative routinely carries such expensive gadgets? Four more operatives with the exact same uniforms As we browsed through the photos, we located four more private military operatives with the exact same dress: Tan combat boots, tan BDUs, black jackets, black backpacks and tactical communications gear. Here's a picture of three of these men reacting to the explosion. The one in the middle is the same guy in the radiation detector photo, above: There are several things worth noting in this image: 1) All three of the men look surprised, even shocked by the events. This might argue against their prior knowledge of the bombings. 2) The object in the right hand of the man in the middle may resemble a small handgun, but I'm sure it isn't. Why? Because no highly trained private military operative would carry a handgun with a "pincer" grip as appears in the photo. A proper grip on a handgun is far deeper into the palm. This object is most likely the same radiation detector shown above, just captured from a weird angle with a flapping leather case of some sort. 3) The man on the left, an older gentleman, appears to be holding an object in his right hand which seems capable of being actuated with his thumb. 4) The man on the right reveal "The Craft" skull logo on his shirt because his jacket just happened to open up for this photo (see below). Here's a photo comparison of "The Craft" logo on his shirt: Here are two more operatives on the scene, wearing the exact same uniform: If you look at the hat for one of these men, you can clearly see "the Craft" skull logo on his hat: Navy SEAL sniper Chris Kyle was also a member of The Craft. He was murdered by one of his close friends a few months ago. The appearance of The Craft operatives at the Boston marathon bombing raises new questions about Chris Kyle's death: Here's Chris Kyle on national TV wearing the "Craft" hat: Here's the Craft motto, which says "Violence does solve problems." If you still doubt these are "Craft" operatives, check out

The Craft website where all these images, logos and uniforms are instantly confirmed.

Bomb bag resembles the black backpacks worn by The Craft operatives

Here's where all this gets incredibly spooky: The backpack that carried the pressure cooker bomb looks very similar to the black backpacks worn by The Craft operatives:


Here's another view of the "Craft" skull logo on a training shirt, taken from their own website:



This photo shows The Craft operatives at a trade show. Everybody is wearing the trademark tan combat boots and tan BDUs:



What does it all mean?

First off, let's get the attacks of the moron trolls out of the way -- people who will say these photos are a "conspiracy theory."

How are photos of actual people at the event a conspiracy theory?

They aren't. In real police work, they're called "evidence," and the people in these photos should bepersons of interest.

But they aren't. The entire mainstream media and law enforcement apparatus is now pretending these men don't exist. (Now that's their conspiracy theory!)

We all know, however, that The Craft operatives don't work for free. They aren't a band of volunteers. And that means somebody paid them to be at the event.

Who paid The Craft to be there? And what was their mission?

Why is their existence at the Boston marathon being memory-holed? Why are they not "persons of interest" in the investigation?

Why do they carry radiation detectors? What's in their backpacks? (A ham sandwich?)

The fact that the media refuses to even acknowledge the existence of these private military operatives is quite telling all by itself.

Learn more: http://www.naturalnews.com/039977_The_Craft_Boston_marathon_private_military_contractors.html#ixzz2Qx0zI0e9

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