The 9/11 Machine Page 11

  The president stopped, looking around the room. His eyes stopped on Fleischer.

  “What is this crap?” Bush barked. “Who is leaking this?”

  Fleischer shook his head. “I have no clue, sir. The Committee isn’t meeting anymore. Our staff has been monitoring Dr. Ellis’ data, matching it against daily events, but so far I don’t think we’ve raised any flags.”

  The president’s eyes widened, and Card slowly shook his head. Ari should have known not to wave a red flag in front of a bull.

  The president shook the paper at Fleischer. “This is a flag! A pretty goddamn big one!”

  “I’ll look into it, sir,” Card spoke up. “I don’t know this Cassie O’Neil, but we’ll put someone on her, track down her sources, if we can.” There was no reason to let this get out of hand.

  The president nodded. “OK, about the timeline and Ellis. What have we learned?”

  “Well, unfortunately,” Andrew said, looking down at the report in front of him, “we’ve learned that it could happen next month—in fact, looking at the signs, I’d have to say that it’s likely. All the hijackers are in place, and we’ve found nothing that contradicts the timeline.”

  Bush shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re on the terrorists and elements of their plot, obviously. But we’ve also been comparing current events with the historical timeline provided, and so far, everything is on track. We’ve got several months’ worth of political, environmental, and entertainment news to track, and it’s been dead on. Earthquakes, celebrity weddings, everything.”

  Bush nodded.

  “We’ve had to restrict access to the pop culture and sports information—it’s too accurate. I don’t want it being misused.”

  “What about the terrorists?” Fleischer asked.

  Card shot him a look and continued. “Two are in San Diego, where they finished flight training classes about two weeks ago. The rest are congregated in an area in Florida. We’ve confirmed that they’ve all purchased tickets under their own names for the flights in question on September 11.”

  President Bush slowly shook his head. “Jesus Christ. So, when will we move?”

  Card looked at the president and the others around the table.

  “Well, that’s your call, sir. The closer we get to the actual events, the more accurate our information is—and as soon as we prevent something from happening, the information in our possession becomes useless.”

  Fleischer nodded. “But we prevent the loss of 21,000 lives.”

  “Right,” Card answered. “I would suggest we move on September 9, seizing the men and their equipment, and then announce that we’ve stopped a major terrorist operation, one designed to destroy the Capitol and the World Trade Center. We could even use some of the pictures from Ellis to illustrate our point, though we’d have to call them ‘artistic renderings’ or something.”

  Bush pondered this for a long moment and then nodded.

  “That’s good. Move everything into place, then on the ninth, arrest them. Get all the information ready to go. And start the ball rolling on rounding up any other al Qaeda here in the United States.”

  The president smiled and turned to Fleisher. “Now, what do we do about bin Laden and the Taliban?”

  Fleisher smiled. “I’ve got some ideas about that, sir.”

  2.12

  A Change in Plans

  A large group of men were crowded into the small living room in Florida. The leader Atta stood, speaking in Arabic.

  “God is Great,” Mohammed Atta said, beginning the meeting with the opening phrase preferred by practitioners of the Koran. “We are about to embark on a heroic quest, my friends. We will be making a statement to the entire world, and that statement will be that the Zionist infidels will not survive Allah’s wrath on the world. Their ways may be tempting and full of earthly pleasures, but their way is corrupt.”

  The men around the table nodded, listening. It appeared they had heard this before, many times. Atta continued, both for the people in the room and for Allah above to hear.

  “God is Great. We will take their planes, and we will kidnap hundreds of their citizens, bringing their economy to a standstill. The ransoms will fund a thousand mosques. Hundreds of their politicians and leaders will demand justice, but others will demand that payment be made. And we will demand an end to all funding to the Zionist state.”

  He paused, and one of the other men, a younger man, tentatively raised his hand.

  “God is Great. We will break the infidels, brother Atta,” the young man said, pausing. “Mohammed, will we execute the hostages?”

  Some of the others hissed at the young man.

  Atta nodded. “God is Great. Yes, we will make our demands known and then begin executing the hostages until our demands are met. We will take the hostages with us after the Zionists refuel the planes. We will fly to Europe and, from there, back to Saudi Arabia. There, the hostages will be bartered for more money. It is the only thing that the Zionists understand.”

  Atta looked around, but there were no more questions. He ended the meeting with a prayer, then watched as most of the men walked out into the sticky Florida night. Four of the nineteen men remained behind. Atta looked at the others.

  “We are ready, I see. Can we delay, as I mentioned?”

  Another one of the four men spoke up, respectfully. “God is Great,” Hani Hanjour, the fourth pilot, answered. “Yes, the training is over. We are ready. And the delay will allow us more time. Have we discovered the reason for the increased security?”

  Atta shook his head, looking at the others.

  “No, simply that they are running some kind of exercise or doing some additional training during the first weeks of September. I don’t think we have been discovered.”

  “What about the newspaper article?” They had all read and discussed the Post article and how it seemed to mirror their own plan.

  “We ignore it,” Atta said quietly, “and delay the date of our action. Will that give the other two teams time to be in place?”

  “Each team is already prepared and trained,” Hanjour said. It is simply a matter of setting them in motion. They already know their targets.”

  Atta nodded thoughtfully. “Have the other teams been mentioned in any of the reports back to Kandahar?”

  “No, Mohammed,” Hanjour said. “The Zionists apparently have information about some of our activities—how they found out, we have no idea. One of our men may have been compromised, or some of our communications with Hamburg may have been intercepted. There were many pilgrims in and around the mosque in Hamburg—one of them may have been a plant. I thought it wise to not include any of the changes to the schedule. We should suspend activities and move the teams again, then strike.”

  Mohammed Atta nodded, a small smile on his face. “We will delay to the secondary date we previously discussed,” Atta said. He did not want to say the exact date out loud—it was always prudent to act as if they were under surveillance and in case the home might contain listening devices. He looked around at the others.

  “I will contact each of you with further instructions. If I don’t, or can’t, move forward with the plan. Can we do this, my friends?”

  The others glanced at each other, nodding. The others had been recruited and informed that the planes would be hijacked and landed and that the passengers would be held for ransom. Only the four men in the room understood the true nature of their mission.

  Marwan al Shehhi spoke up. “Yes, we can. The others must not know, though. They will balk at the sacrifice—some are too young and others too simple. Their cowardice may rear its head at the moment of victory.”

  “Then kill them, if you must,” Atta said. “This plan will succeed, even if we have to recruit local replacements. There is no shortage of citizens disillusioned by this nation’s Zionist policies. And its decadence. But we will succeed—six planes, six targets, six simultaneous statements about the frailty
of this nation.”

  The others looked at him for a moment, and it was easy for them to understand why bin Laden had personally chosen Mohammed Atta to lead this assault—he was a dynamic man, an engaging speaker, with a deep understanding of the Koran and what it meant, both figuratively and literally.

  After a long moment, the others began to file out the door into the humid Florida night. Atta said goodbye to each in the traditional Muslim way, with quiet words exchanged and heads bowed. As he closed the door, the cell phone in his pocket rang.

  “Yes?”

  A voice on the phone—it was Zahmid, one of the other team leaders. “God is Great. We are being watched.”

  “As are we,” Atta answered. “We have updated the schedule and are moving to our alternate locations. You will be contacted,” he said curtly, hanging up the phone.

  He looked around the sparsely decorated kitchen of the Florida rental home and then went into the bedroom and began packing.

  2.13

  Car Wash

  Dr. Don Ellis was in his driveway, washing his car, the grey Volvo. Sarah and Tina emerged from the house, smiling and laughing. Sarah was fiddling in her purse, clearly surprised to see him in the driveway.

  “Oh,” she said, stopping. “I thought you left. We’re heading out—I left you a note.”

  Ellis stopped and turned, nodding. “Just washing the car.”

  Sarah smiled. “Aren’t you late for class?” At her feet, Tina was digging through her Powerpuff Girls backpack.

  “No class today. It got cancelled—a bunch of students are in the city, working on the primary.” It was Tuesday, September 11, and the City of New York was holding a primary to choose, among others, a candidate for Mayor. As was often the case, students from the university would help out at various election and polling locations in the city.

  “Oh. Tina and I are heading into the city.”

  Ellis nodded. “Your lunch with Elaine?”

  “Yup. She’s got that new job and wants to show off her new office. We’ll toodle around for a while downtown and then meet her for lunch. Back around 2.”

  “Cool. Have fun,” he said, kissing her before going back to washing the car.

  Tina jumped up, and he pretended to spray her with the hose.

  “We’re going into town!” she said. “The big buildings!”

  Ellis looked at Sarah, and they shared a smile—for years, Tina had been begging them to take her up in the Empire State Building and the World Trade Center and any other tall building they saw. Ellis was convinced that she would be a pilot when she got older, or an architect.

  “Have fun, honey,” he said, hugging her to his leg before she scampered off and climbed into Sarah’s Passat. He waved as the car drove away.

  When the car was clean, Don went inside. He made himself breakfast, toast and eggs, and saw that Sarah had left out a few dishes, including the pan. He hated it when she left without tidying up after herself.

  He flipped on the TV while he had breakfast.

  On the screen, the North Tower burned. People were jumping to their deaths, and from the side of the screen, a second plane appeared, low and fast, like a missile, and it hit the South Tower with a massive crash, a fireball boiling out the opposite side. Impact debris and what looked like part of the plane showered down onto the streets of New York below…

  “Dr. Raines?”

  Don glanced up.

  Stevens was standing in the doorway.

  Don looked down—he was sitting in his office in the warehouse. He had been looking over some schematics, looking for improvements. What had made him start thinking about that day?

  “Dr. Raines?”

  Ellis shook his head. “Yes?”

  “Oh, nothing, sir,” Stevens said. He looked embarrassed. “It’s just…you looked like you were asleep, but your eyes were open. And you looked upset.”

  Ellis shook his head again and looked down—his fists were clenched, the fingers white. He breathed out, slowly, and unclenched his fists, resting them on the desk on either side of the computer keyboard.

  “Nope,” Ellis said, smiling. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking.”

  Stevens nodded, the concern obvious on his face, and then disappeared, moving down the hallway.

  Don looked up at the skylights that looked down on the warehouse—it was a bright, sunny day outside, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were wrong. It felt like something had changed, something in the air, and Ellis had no idea what it was.

  2.14

  Dumpster

  Carter and Fields, two FBI agents, sat in a late-model sedan on the morning of August 14. They were parked on a tree-lined street across from a small two-story apartment building in Fort Lauderdale. Palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze.

  Carter sipped at a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee as they watched cars come and go.

  “So, how was your trip?” he asked the man next to him.

  Fields, a black man with very short hair, nodded.

  “Great, great. Went up to Charleston for a few days.”

  Carter nodded, sipping his coffee. His partner waited for a moment for a follow-up question but none came. He reached and took a red folder off the dashboard and began flipping through it.

  “So,” he asked, “Are we supposed to do anything here?” The information in the folder was very sparse—just a name and address and a notation to “locate and observe.”

  Carter shook his head. “Nope. Just observing. I love this kind of assignment—I’m getting paid to sit in a car and drink coffee. Is this a great country or what?”

  Fields rolled his eyes—this was not a great duty for him. He’d rather be out in the field, chasing down—

  Suddenly, he climbed from the car and started across the street.

  “Hey!” Carter said, grabbing his keys and locking the door before running across the street to catch up with Fields. “What are you doing? We’re supposed to stay back—”

  Fields walked up to a dumpster behind the apartment building and stopped, pointing.

  “OK,” the black agent said. “What if I observe that there is no one in that apartment up there?”

  “What?” Carter panted.

  “Look—the trash bin. It’s full of furniture. That means they’re gone.”

  2.15

  Situation Room

  “They’re all gone?” the president asked, incredulous.

  The room was completely quiet. It was the morning of August 16.

  Andrew Card nodded solemnly. “Not a sign of the hijackers in any of the three locations. They must’ve gotten word, somehow. Mohammad Atta and two of the other pilots, Hazmi and Hanjour, flew to Las Vegas on August 13. They were supposed to stay one day and return to Florida, but they’re gone, along with all of their crews.”

  “Christ, this is a mess,” Fleischer said.

  Card continued. “Between the newspaper articles and the fact that they were being watched…obviously they have changed their plans. It is doubtful they will strike on 9/11. We have people looking for them, but—”

  “It doesn’t matter, now,” Bush said angrily. “Our information is out of date. And without that, we have no idea when they’ll strike. Get Dr. Ellis in here.”

  Two Secret Service agents escorted Ellis and Marburger into the Situation Room.

  “Shit.” the president said. “Now what do we do?”

  Ellis looked confused.

  “I’m not sure I understand—” Ellis began to ask.

  “They’ve moved,” Card said quietly. “The hijackers—they’re all gone.”

  Ellis and Marburger looked at each other.

  “Well,” Ellis said, looking at the table. “That is bad. Very bad. Did our information get out?”

  “It doesn’t matter what happened,” the president said angrily. “It appears that our FBI agents in Florida and Newark were a little too careless. They were seen by Atta and his people, who went to ground. Now, we’re looking for them.�
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  “They didn’t know what was at stake. No one does,” Ellis said quietly.

  “Well, they’re gone now,” Card said. “We have people looking for them, but we can’t be sure we’ll find them.”

  “What should we do?” Marburger asked.

  “We need to find them, immediately,” Ellis said. “You guys know their plans as well as I do—you’ve read the reports. They will carry out the plan as instructed, just on a different date—they are not in contact with al Qaeda now. They’ve moved into the part of the plan where they’re autonomous—they already have a list of approved targets from bin Laden, but they can adjust the dates and locations as they see fit. Now that they’ve gone to ground, I expect they will hit the same targets, or try to, within weeks of the original date. We must increase airport security at Newark, Boston, and Dulles, and plaster their pictures all over the news.”

  The rest of the room was looking at him—his foreknowledge was not only uncanny but also more than a little disturbing. Bush stared at Card and the others, tapping on the table in front of him.

  “Well,” the president began, leaning backwards. “I always said that it’s better to have two plans than no plans. We are almost finished with the machine, correct?

  Marburger and Ellis nodded. Silence in the room.

  “Good. Move forward with increased security at the airports and try to stop them, should they decide to attack. I’m hoping, for one, that they got spooked. Marburger and Ellis, you need to finish the machine; that would give us the opportunity to use the machine to warn ourselves if necessary. We may have missed our opportunity here, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We’ll complete our machine and begin testing it. If something happens, we’ll go back and fix it. Until then, let’s find these bastards.”

  2.16

  Armed

  Dr. Donald Ellis was in a happier mood then he’d been in months. Lately, he’d been anxious as the date approached, but things were looking up.