"Chief, your men are holding important evidence. We need to see it," I said, not raising my voice at the sixtyish, potbellied man but making sure he got the point. "This is a federal investigation now. I'm here representing both the FBI and Homeland Security. We've lost valuable time because of your men."

To his credit, the police chief himself was exasperated. He began yelling at his officers. "Bring the evidence over here, you morons. What the hell are you two trying to pull? What were you thinking? Do you think? Bring the evidence."

His men came running, and the taller of the two, who I later learned was the chief's son-in-law, handed over the camera. It was a Canon PowerShot and I knew how to get at the pictures.

So what do we have here? The first shots were well-composed nature photos. No people in any of them. Close-ups and wide-angle shots.

Then came pictures of the actual evacuation. Unbelievable.

Then I finally got my first look at the man who had filmed the explosion.

His back was to the camera. At first he was standing, but in the next few shots he was down on one knee. Probably to get a better angle.

I don't know what had prompted the rock climber to take the initial few shots, but his instincts were pretty good. The mystery man was videotaping the deserted town-then suddenly it went up in flames that rose several hundred feet high. It seemed pretty clear that he had known about the attack before it happened.

The next photograph showed the man turning in the direction of the climbers. He actually began to walk toward them, or so it appeared on film. I wondered if he'd spotted one of them taking his picture. He seemed to be looking their way.

That was when I saw his face, and I couldn't believe what I was looking at. I recognized him. And why not? I'd been chasing him for years. He was wanted for more than a dozen murders here and in Europe. He was a vicious psychopath, one of the worst of his kind still on the loose anywhere in the world.