Here is an interesting article I came around. Of course, it does not provide undisputable proof, but rather states a very logical theory. It is pretty
close to my opinion on the subject (I believe the same scheme for 9/11) and is well written. Btw, the overall opinion in the Netherlands (in the news
as well), is that it was an inside job...The article is rather long, but is worth reading:
Former MI6 operative: The mainstream media
ignores vital evidence of an inside job.
By Michael James in Frankfurt, Germany
Rested after a good night's sleep in the Gleneagles Hotel, Tony Blair glanced nervously at his watch and wondered if the bombing of the London
transport system would take place on schedule. London's Chief of Police, Sir Ian Blair, and MI5 boss, Eliza Manningham-Buller, had promised to keep
him firmly in the loop; and Jack Straw had advised him that the Israelis had been placated.
Blair caught a glimpse of himself in the dresser and checked his profile. Carole, his personal image advisor, had told him to soften the pronounced
jaw when seated next to Bush. "You're overdoing the Winston thing," she had said pointedly. "Killing people was yesterday; starving Africans and
rainforests is now the thing." She was wrong about the killing, of course. The good Miz Caplin would never understand his rites of passage, at least
not in the Brethren's sense of the term. And yet something was still bothering him.
The intelligence services had been caught off balance by Mossad's unwelcome intrusion into matters they considered a strictly British affair. Having
the headline "Israel Warned Blair Two Days Before Attack" splashed across the front pages of an otherwise complicit print media was something to be
avoided at all costs. Binyamin Netanyahu would go ahead with preparations for his press conference and allow himself to be "advised" by Scotland
Yard shortly after the first blast. If MI5 were to dally in their attacks on commuters, he would have no choice but to claim that Scotland Yard had
warned him prior to the event, and the Blair government would have to hope that the British people would not notice the obvious irregularity.
Back in London, Netanyahu dropped security protocol and looked cautiously out of his hotel _ Reflecting on his long years of experience in
helping to finance and organise terror attacks on Israeli citizens to provoke world outrage against the rightful inhabitants of his stolen country, he
knew that errors would be made and officials would let their tongues slip when the heat was on. Press reports would have to be altered at short notice
and the volume turned up loud until all the world would hear nothing but "al Qaeda, alQaeda, al Qaeda". It had worked before and it would work
again. The Goyim, whether American or British, would once more be led by the nose to believe the official version of events. Binyamin snickered
inwardly at Eliza Manningham-Buller's chosen title for the fictitious terror group. The nonsensical "Secret Group of the al Qaeda Organisation in
Europe" suggested to him that Manningham-Buller had probably spent her childhood reading nothing other than Enid Blyton's "Famous Five" and
"Secret Seven" adventure books. Yes, that was it, the Secret Seven on the seventh of July. How apt. How very Qabalah.
Whatever, the British had insisted on bombing close to the venue at which he had been billed to deliver an important seminar, if only to give the
attacks, in the words of an MI6 liason officer, "a real whiff of al Qaeda". The Liverpool Street bombing would even lift the hotel in which former
New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani was staying. The Prime Minister of Ontario, Dalton McGuinty, was also close to the epicentre. The British government
and their Freemason paymasters in the City of London were sure sending a message to the Americans and Canadians: "We're back in control of the
terror game now. This time, the British Crown is playing for keeps."
But the clock was ticking, and still no word. "Hashem," Netanyahu growled softly, "deliver us from the ignorant Goyim and their slow-witted
At 8.40 am, "Mad Dog" Spencer stepped into the third carriage of a subway train bound for Aldgate and Liverpool Street Stations. He knew he would
have very little time to leave the package behind in a shabby plastic bag and put sufficient distance between himself and the ten pounds of high
explosives strapped to a timer. The latex treatment, which had given him the facial appearance of a down-and-out, was beginning to itch. Such
inconveniences would have meant nothing to him back in the days when working in Kabul with his old MI6 friend, Clive Newell. It was Newell who had
introduced him to the legendary CIA asset, Osama bin Laden, then known by his American codename "Tim Osman". Those were the days: fighting the
Soviets back-to-back with artificial Islamic terror groups financed out of London, courtesy of the Bank of Credit and Commerce International.
Spencer remembered Clive fawning over Osama as "our baby", and his raging against the CIA's unwarranted incursions on the British Crown's right to
use the fledgling al Qaeda gang as it saw fit. After all, the British had established the occultic Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt during the 1920s for
the express purpose of destroying pro-American Arab nationalism as a counterforce to continued British imperial rule and as a means to defame the
world's fastest growing religion. America had paid for her obstinacy on September 11, 2001, although the Bush administration had deliberately left
the gate wide open to all comers, including Mossad and the mercenary wing of the British SAS. Bush got what he wanted. Now it's our turn.
Had "J-boy" been telepathic, he would doubtless have been sharing Spencer's thoughts. They were old pals and had been through much the same thing.
J-boy scanned the faces of his fellow commuters on the southbound Piccadilly Line train. They will all be dead in less than three minutes, he thought.
Still, it all works to the good of Queen and country, and Tony will get his shiny new National Identity Cards. A shame it had to be a "wet job", but
his many years of experience in helping the IRA to carry out terrorist atrocities in Northern Ireland and on the British mainland had shown him that
only the proactive approach toward bringing things to a head delivered the political goods.
The 1974 Birmingham pub bombings. Yes, sir, that was us; and six innocent Paddies went to prison. It didn't stop there. The good times for J-boy only
started in earnest when working for the maverick Gordon Kerr. As an operative for the DET 14th Intelligence squad, J-boy had killed both Republicans
and Loyalists, changing sides as frequently as was required by both MI5 and the SAS. The slaying of pensioner Francisco Notarantonio was J-boy's
finest moment because, in contrast to bombings with a high civilian body count, it required a level of deception unmatched in any previous MI5
assassinations in Ireland and Britain. Sir John Stevens finally ended the fun, despite MI5's efforts to kill him too. But still, Her Majesty's
Government saved the day by forbidding the press from revealing any further names. Not that the press requires censorship these days - the mainstream
boys do it themselves. It's a cakewalk.
J-boy allowed the package to slip neatly between his feet, and he gently sidled it into the corner of the standing room in front of the double doors
to the carriage. When the train pulled into the station, J-boy was gone. He would disappear into the crowd and make an expeditious exit before the
explosion would claim the lives of twenty-one "useless eaters", and leave at least one hundred survivors without vital body parts for the rest of
As J-boy vanished into the back seat of an Astra Cabrio before being driven to an MI5 safe house, Tony Blair entered the foyer of the Gleneagles Hotel
with a smile on his face. He knew that the first three bombs had been detonated just split seconds apart. Mentally, he quickly ran through the lines
he had prepared the night before. He would say something Churchillian with an allusion to the wartime blitz and the unfailing courage of Londoners. It
would be a bravely defiant speech. Nobody would suspect that the bombings were his own handiwork. Still, until such time he would have to play dumb
and wait for Jonathan Powell or Ian Gleeson to brief him officially. Powell, he knew, had not been informed, but would know soon enough once John
Scarlett had apprised him of the matter.
Sir Ian Blair, London's Chief of Police, tried to sound surprised when informed of the bombings. The transport police had, as agreed in prior
exercises, already briefed the press about an unexplained power surge. The rationale for such an explanation would be based on the alleged need to
minimise panic and, as a helpful corollary, to maximise any potential casualties at sites where bombs had yet to be detonated. MI5 had quite
deliberately misbriefed Sir Ian on the number of detonations they had planned, just to keep him sharp. This was the first time that such a hugely
complex operation was known to senior figures within the British executive, Scotland Yard and the intelligence services. In fact, considering the
potential for accidental disclosure, it was unprecedented in its scope and daring.
Sir Ian was nervous, and rightfully so. He had wanted to suspend all cell phone network services, but had been overruled by both Eliza
Manningham-Buller and Tony Blair, the latter saying that "commuters should be given the chance to digitally record the full horror of the attacks".
Yet Sir Ian knew that journalists would be curious as to why services were allowed to continue, given the widely known fact that the Madrid bombings
had been detonated by mobile devices. It would be a tough call. He wouldn't, of course, be able to say that he knew well in advance that timers had
triggered the explosives. He would just have to HOPE THAT JOURNALISTS WOULD IGNORE THIS SMOKING GUN and fall for the mantra their editors would insist
on repeating: "al Qaeda, al Qaeda, al Qaeda."