December 31, 2001

# 001

MY NAME IS ALI KILABAH and I am a journalist from a Middle East country. Ok, it is not my real name, but I had to adopt it for safety reasons. I don't expect you to believe in what you are going to read. It is hard for me to believe in the events and the things I've been studying during the last days. I know many will not think this could be true -- my story, the manuscripts, its words or my opinion and conclusions on them. Anyway, I am publishing this story on the Internet, hoping it can be of help to some.

However, while reading, you will have to suffer my English, which is not my first language. It happened to be written in the book of my destiny that I should be a journalist among a group of foreign journalists that were in Afghanistan just after the war. We were taken to an area were the US planes had dropped tons of bombs in an effort to destroy the caves where Taleban soldiers could be hidden.

That was an effort done by the US Army to show they had nothing to hidden from Middle East journalists like me. Of course the caves they took us to look at had no interest at all. I should had thought it would be like that when the invitation arrived. Even so, it was a long and dangerous trip from Jalalabad in a convoy that could be attacked by Taleban forces or hit by one of those intelligent bombs Americans are so proud of, but that have killed their own soldiers. Besides me, there were journalists from different nations: two American, one from China, three from France, one from Germany and ten others from Middle East countries. In the last moment the journalist from Iraq had his permission denied to come with us. Should I take that as a sign of future attacks against Iraq? I don't know.

After the usual bombing, the US decided to use laser-guided bombs, which they call "thermobaric" weapons or the bunker-busting bomb. It is a high-temperature, high-pressure explosive that uses a new class of fuel-rich explosive in its warhead. The explosive releases energy over a longer period of time than conventional explosives and creates more destruction via higher temperatures. In another words, the bomb kills without collapsing the tunnels and caves. They thought this would be a way to find out if Osama Bin Laden's and other Taleban leaders' bodies were there or not. It would be easier to find out who is who if they could avoid playing Lego with parts of bodies.

Well, but this is not the subject of my story. You can read all that stuff in the news if you like. What is important now is to tell you that while we were there, my group walked away from me. Even the soldiers who were escorting us did not notice I had to look for shelter behind a big rock to do my physiologic needs. Yes, even foreign correspondents do that, and sometimes use newspapers to have it well done. I had barely finished my duty in that dusty restroom when I noticed a hole on the side of the mountain. Soon I found it was a little old cave, closed for centuries. One of the many bombs that so heavily changed that landscape must have opened it, and my destiny was to be the first person to find it after centuries. At least I think so.

Notwithstanding, now this little adventure of mine is putting my job as a journalist under risk, because I am dealing with information that even I can't check its veracity. You bet I will not publish it in a regular paper and expose my name to the ridiculous. To do this could mean to ruin my credibility as a professional. The newspaper I work for would fire me. On the other hand, there are religious implications, considering all this is in direct opposition to all I've learnt from my father, my grandfather and the leaders of my religion. Sometimes I believe everything is true. But, if true, I am talking about the very future of this planet and the key to events many would have given all their treasures to discover.

Now you understand why I am using a pseudonym. While I write this, I feel like if someone else is looking over my shoulders, ready to tell it all to the leaders of my religion. Then, not only my profession would be under risk, but my life as well. Back to the cave, it had this narrow entrance and I got into it by crawling, while holding my flashlight in my mouth. Inside, it was large enough for me to stand and it was about the size of a small room. Like the size of the hotel room in Islamabad, Pakistan, where I am writing this before I leave to Cairo. The cave was so dark that even with a flashlight, I had to wait for a while to get my eyes used to the darkness. Then I saw. And what I saw amazed me and has been the means of a great change in my life.