October 28th, 2002

Политковская

Все сообщения о том, что террористы начнут убивать заложников в шесть утра (или в семь, не помню), ссылались на Политковскую. Мол, террористы ей специально передали - сообщи, это наши условия.

Но вот статья самой Политковской - http://2002.novayagazeta.ru/nomer/2002/80n/n80n-s01.shtml - и там об этом ничего нет. Единственное, что там есть - это как спускающийся по лестнице заложник шепнул ей, что ему сказали, что в десять вечера начнут расстреливать.

Так делала Политковская заявление о начале расстрелов в шесть утра или нет?

На всякий случай сохраню статью
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Рассказ Васильева в изложении "Гардиан"

Спасибо vasja_iz_aa за линк. Не знаю, есть ли эта история по-русски.

Судя по этому рассказу, спецназ сам по себе действовал очень продуманно.

Правда, в статье виденное лично Васильевым смешано с тем, что он сам видеть и знать в то время не мог, а источник этих сведений не дается (точнее сказать, у читателя создается впечатление, что это все Васильев рассказывает).

То есть проблема погибших - упирается в логистику, подготовку, принятие решений и т.д.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/russia/article/0,2763,820546,00.html

How assault on theatre ended in grim climax
Gunmen caught out as they watched themselves on video


Nick Paton Walsh in Moscow
Monday October 28, 2002
The Guardian

The first testimonies from hostages released from hospital about the brutal siege both contradict the version of events offered by Russian authorities, and portray a band of callous gunmen, undone by their own vanity and cruelty.

Giorgi Vasiliev, the author of the musical Nord Ost who was used by the Chechens to relay messages to Russian security officials, told the Guardian yesterday that the release of gas into the auditorium had not, as Russian officials maintained, been triggered by the execution of hostages.

Instead, Mr Vasiliev said the Russian special forces had seized an opportunity to gas the gunmen as they moved away from the bombs rigged in the hall, and gathered in a side room to watch a video of themselves storming the stage two nights previously.
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Причудливая жизнь снайпера Мухаммада

Оказывается, на него стучали в ФБР как минимум дважды - в октябре 2001 и в июне 2002. ФБР не обращала внимания...

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A24546-2002Oct26.html

Suspects Left a Troubled Trail
Before Attacks, Muhammad Showed Bravado, Talked of Violence


By Scott Higham, April Witt and Peter Whoriskey
Washington Post Staff Writers
Sunday, October 27, 2002; Page A01

John Muhammad and his teenage protege, John Lee Malvo, were sitting in the Community Food Co-op in Bellingham, Wash., sipping herbal tea, when the older man pulled a greasy metal rod from his backpack -- along with detailed instructions to make a silencer. He shielded the piece of paper from the other patrons and spoke quietly as they huddled over the table.

Muhammad was hatching a terrible plan: He and the boy wanted to shoot a gas tanker and explode it on a busy highway, or maybe kill a police officer and then blow up the mourners at the funeral home.
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Честная жизнь и неожиданная смерть последней жертвы снайпера

Как и молодой снайпер Мальво, он тоже родом с Ямайки...

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A24360-2002Oct26.html

Bus Driver Is Mourned By Family, Colleagues

By Lyndsey Layton and Hamil R. Harris
Washington Post Staff Writers
Sunday, October 27, 2002; Page C01

They buried the last victim of the serial sniper yesterday, a bus driver whose slaying reverberated so widely that his three-hour funeral drew the overflow crowds and lengthy tributes more often reserved for dignitaries.

Conrad E. Johnson, a 35-year-old son of Jamaican immigrants and an Oxon Hill resident, was remembered as a working man who prided himself on his pot roast and curried chicken, loved to challenge his two young sons on the basketball court and romanced his wife from the moment they met in high school 17 years ago.

Nearly 2,000 people came to Glendale Baptist Church for the funeral yesterday. Johnson's death touched a chord in the working community -- the people who take the early bus, who wear uniforms, whose jobs seldom inspire envy.
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Hundreds of bus drivers in ironed blue uniforms packed the church and stood three deep in the aisles. Those who couldn't fit inside the main sanctuary or the overflow room below milled around in the parking lot.

The day began with a slow, sad cortege of 30 buses representing 14 bus systems. They traveled 17 miles from the Silver Spring Metro station to the church in Landover. Every type of bus claimed a place in line -- shuttles for the elderly, minibuses, 40-foot transit vehicles, plush commuter coaches, diesel workhorses, brand-new natural gas buses. Black streamers dangled from side mirrors.

As the line of buses rolled along Colesville Road toward the Capital Beltway, people on the sidewalk stood at attention and waved small American flags.

"It could have been any of us," said C.B. Carter, a Metrobus supervisor who carried an envelope stuffed with $135 in cash -- donations for Johnson's family made by passengers. "When you're driving a bus, it's no different here than in Indiana or Florida or California."

Seven employees from the tiny South Bend, Ind., bus system drove 12 hours for 611 miles to reach the funeral. "He was a brother union man," said Alfonza Ward, one of the South Bend drivers, explaining why he made the trip.

Ride On operated a limited schedule yesterday to allow employees to attend the funeral. Rides were free all day in honor of Johnson. At noon, Ride On operators who were working pulled their buses to the side of the road to observe a minute of silence.
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