Rumsfeld didn’t respond. “Hello?” Cheney said.
“Yes, I understand,” Rumsfeld replied. “Who did you give that direction to?”
“It was passed from here to the center at the White House, from the PEOC.”
Apparently, orders were going out to military fighters without Rumsfeld’s knowledge. “Okay, let me ask a question here,” he said. “Has the directive been transmitted to the aircraft?”
“Yes, it has,” Cheney answered.
“So we have a couple of aircraft up there that have those instructions at this present time?”
“That is correct. And it’s my understanding that they’ve already taken a couple of aircraft out.”
A couple? “We can’t confirm that,” Rumsfeld said. “We’re told that one aircraft is down, but we do not have a pilot report that we did it.”
• • •
While Bush had ordered the military to shoot down a passenger plane that posed a threat, no one had yet asked the question: Was it legal, whatever the reason, for a president to authorize the killing of innocent citizens?
Tim Flanigan, the deputy White House counsel, had heard about Bush’s decision while still in the Situation Room. The reasons for the directive were clear, but no one had determined what law gave a president such power.
Flanigan approached John Bellinger III, the legal advisor to the National Security Council, who was standing near some television monitors. He mentioned the shoot-down order.
“Do we have the legal authority nailed down for this?”
Bellinger was holding a copy of a transcription from a short conversation between Bush and Cheney, and tossed it to Flanigan. “Here’s the authority,” he said.
The president had given the order. He was commander in chief. It was a time of national emergency. That was that.
As Flanigan read the half-page transcript, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. What if we shoot down a Lufthansa airliner? Could the German government construe that as an act of war? Was there a domestic and international legal basis for that?
This was a military question, and Flanigan knew the right person to ask about it. He walked over to a young officer manning the communications equipment and told him to track down Jim Haynes, the Pentagon general counsel. In no time, Haynes was on the phone.
Flanigan explained what he had just read in the transcript; Haynes already knew about the shoot-down order.
“Jim, we need the best possible rational legal basis for this,” Flanigan said. “We’ve got commander-in-chief authority. But what else have we got?”
“I’ll look into it,” Haynes replied.
• • •
There wasn’t much time to think; events were unfolding too fast. Rumsfeld and Haynes had already discussed the legal issues surrounding an order to fire on a commercial airliner. They had checked the standing rules of engagement—the standards on self-defense would probably apply.
Haynes knew that whatever legal conclusion he came up with would be tantamount to a rationalization: The president had given the order; someone had to say why he had the authority.
The most obvious issue was constitutional. Under the Fourteenth Amendment, the passengers on those planes could not be deprived of their rights to life, liberty, and property without due process of law. Certainly shooting them out of the sky didn’t meet that standard. Then there was the Fourth Amendment prohibition against unreasonable search and seizure; this would be quite a dramatic seizure of those citizens.
Still, the preamble of the Constitution spoke of providing for a common defense and promoting the general welfare. Under Article 2, the president was the commander in chief of the military.
This was a matter of self-defense, of protecting the citizenry, balanced against the rights of the passengers. An order could be lawfully issued, Haynes concluded, but only by the president.
• • •
Word came into the Situation Room confirming that another plane was headed toward Washington. This time, it was a Northwest Airlines flight from Portugal to Philadelphia. It was squawking a hijack code and not responding to radio calls. Clarke barked some orders for someone to come up with more information. Where was the plane? What was its fuel capacity? What assets did the military have available to intercept it at the coast?
No one had a clue, but the assembled group was doing its best to find out. Officials scrambled to reach Northwest as the FAA riffled through its own data in search of information about the flight.
Standing by a wall, Flanigan watched as the participants in the videoconference grew ever more anxious. No orders about the mysterious Northwest flight could be issued until someone dug up some details.
A brainstorm. Without a word, Flanigan walked out of the conference room and found an unsecure computer. Calling up travel sites, he scanned the records for details of the Portugal flight. Perplexed, he searched again on the Northwest Airlines Web site.
Nothing.
Flanigan grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and scribbled down whatever he could learn about every Northwest flight from Europe. Then he headed back to the conference room, where Clarke was still struggling to find out more about the plane, and took a seat at the conference table.
“Dick,” Flanigan said. “I’ve checked, and there’s no such flight.”
Clarke turned away from the microphone in front of him, muting it as he stared at Flanigan with a stunned expression.
“How did you check?” he asked.
“I looked on their Web site.”
A pause. Clarke clicked the audio back on.
“I have information that there is no such flight,” he said calmly. “Check that again.”
• • •
Computers. The analysts at the CIA were being impeded in their work by a shortage of computers.
The frequent budgetary shortfalls at the Counterterrorist Center had left the unit without all of the technology it needed to deal with the attacks that morning. Congress and the White House had consistently financed the CTC with an on-again, off-again approach—after a terrorist strike, the money came flooding in. Then, when the strike faded from memory, cash dried up. Managers at the center had been forced to cut back on equipment and operations in order to stay afloat. On this horrific morning, no one in the unit doubted that a new and huge injection of funds would soon be on the way. But that prospect was no help in navigating the crisis now.
Then a supervisor had an idea. Almost all of CIA headquarters had been evacuated; the CTC was the only unit that remained fully staffed, despite concerns that those who stayed might be killed in a subsequent attack. There were computers everywhere in the building—some packed for delivery, others on people’s desks. There was a way to close the equipment gap after all.
The CTC could start stealing.
Staffers were sent out to track down whatever equipment they could find at other CIA divisions. Over the next twenty minutes, they returned carrying tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of computers.
• • •
At the Justice Department command center, a young lawyer named John Yoo sat at a tacky wood-laminated table, fielding questions from officials all over Washington.
Two months before, Yoo had joined the Office of Legal Counsel, a little-known unit of the department that provides legal advice to the executive branch, a responsibility that earned it the nickname “the president’s law firm.” To take the post, Yoo had gone on leave from his job as a professor at the University of California’s Berkeley School of Law, where he had gained a reputation as an expert on international law, American foreign policy, and separation of powers under the Constitution. For years, he had written articles for law reviews about the scope of presidential authority, arguing that in a time of war, the executive had a sweeping claim to act independently from the other branches of government.
His first months at Justice had been quiet and his assignments pedestrian, like analyzing a treaty about polar bears. But now, in the aftermath
of the terrorist attacks, Yoo’s legal expertise was suddenly a gold mine.
The questions were momentous. Are we at war? Had the terrorists just fired the first shot? Can we use force in response? What level of force? If we know that the terrorist group behind this is in Afghanistan, can we attack there?
Calmly, Yoo recited the same answers over and over. “We’ve been attacked,” he said. “We’re in a state of war and can use force in response.”
But, he added, there were conventions governing the tactics. Any action would have to be proportionate, and anyone targeted must be a combatant.
There were also rules, he said, that applied to how to treat captured enemies. “You can’t use force just to interrogate.”
• • •
Air Force One leveled off at forty-five thousand feet, far higher than most commercial jets could fly. Inside, television monitors were turned to a local Fox news broadcast; the signal stayed strong because the aircraft was circling over the Sarasota area, its pilots unsure where to go and fearful that the president’s plane might be attacked.
That concern was sparked by an anonymous phone call that morning to the Secret Service claiming that Air Force One was the terrorists’ next target. Officials who heard about the threat considered it credible because, they were told, the caller had used the code word for the president’s plane—Angel. But that proved to be false; the reporting agent, in relaying the message about the call to his superiors, had spoken the code word. The caller hadn’t.
In response, a group of F-16 fighters were scrambled, under orders to escort Air Force One. The first of the military jets reached the 757 just before 11:30. Air traffic control radioed the president’s pilot, Colonel Mark Tillman, to let him know.
“You’ve got two F-16s at about your—say, your ten o’clock position,” the controller said.
Tillman looked to his left and saw one of the jets. Back in the cabins, passengers gathered at the windows, watching in amazement as the F-16s appeared, flying so close off Air Force One’s wings that they could see the pilots’ heads. Bush walked out of his private office and peered through the window. He caught the eyes of one pilot and snapped a salute.
Bush told his staff that he wanted to land so that he could make a public statement and speak with his top lieutenants in Washington. The security team chose Barksdale Air Force Base near Shreveport as the first stop.
At 11:45, Air Force One was seconds from touching down when a report from CBS appeared on one of the televisions in the main cabin—the number of casualties in New York was in the thousands. The reporters and White House staff members fell silent.
On the tarmac, air force personnel in full combat gear and carrying drawn M-16 rifles surrounded the plane. In the flurry of activity, one airman ran to the wrong spot, angering a nearby officer.
“Hey, hey!” the officer barked. “Get to that wingtip! Move to that wingtip now!”
Instantly, the younger man dashed under the right wing, holding a rifle across his chest.
The internal stairs on the lower portion of the plane opened, and White House staffers and reporters piled out. The sky was cloudless, the temperature roasting. A dark blue Dodge Caravan drove across the tarmac, coming to a stop beside the stairs. Seconds later, it pulled back to be inspected by dogs.
When the Dodge returned, Bush bounded off the plane, saluting an air force officer before climbing into the van. A small motorcade drove to the General Dougherty Conference Center; Bush got out and headed inside to call his national security team.
• • •
Shortly after 12:30, Bush strode into the Center’s main conference room, where the White House press corps waited. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face was grim as he stepped behind a podium. Sketches of sixteen Medal of Honor winners from the Eighth Air Force were on the wall behind him. The red light on a television camera blinked on.
“Freedom, itself, was attacked this morning by a faceless coward,” he said. “And freedom will be defended.”
• • •
The 443-foot-tall London Eye Ferris wheel stood motionless on the bank of the Thames, shut down out of fear that terrorists might soon strike the popular tourist attraction. Across the river, a convoy of police vehicles and black vans raced down Parliament Street. Inside a sedan, Prime Minister Tony Blair sat with one of his chief aides, Alastair Campbell; both men had just returned from Brighton, where news of the attacks on the Twin Towers had aborted Blair’s plan to deliver a speech to the Trades Union Congress.
The motorcade arrived in front of the tall black gates at the entrance to Downing Street, a barrier erected during the premiership of Margaret Thatcher to protect prime ministers from terrorists. Blair’s car stopped in front of Number 10; he and Campbell stepped out and hurried into the residence.
Some of Britain’s top intelligence officials were waiting to brief them on what they had learned about the events in America. First, the precautions in London—the Department for Transport had closed the airspace over the city, special security details had been placed around the stock exchange and Canary Wharf, and the general security alert had been raised.
As for the attacks that morning, the intelligence agencies were already certain of the culprit’s identity. “Bin Laden and his people are the only ones with the capability to do this,” said John Scarlett, chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee for the British Cabinet Office.
Moreover, he and his al-Qaeda terrorists had probably acted alone, Scarlett said, without the connivance of a sovereign state. Agreed, said Stephen Lander, the director general of Security Service, known better as MI5. Bin Laden just didn’t work with governments in his operations—he was too much of an egomaniac to place himself as subordinate to anyone.
“We need a command paper immediately on who al-Qaeda is, why they exist, what they do, and how they do it,” Blair said.
Britain, Blair said, was going to have to move deftly to influence the Bush administration’s response to the attacks in hopes of preventing the president from doing anything rash. It would be a delicate diplomatic challenge.
“The U.S. is going to feel beleaguered and angry because there is so much anti-Americanism around,” he said.
“The pressure on the Americans to respond quickly, even immediately, is going to be enormous,” Lander added.
Afghanistan, which had harbored al-Qaeda for years, would most likely be the immediate object of America’s wrath. But the Blair government couldn’t exclude the possibility that the United States might turn its guns on hostile nations like Iraq, Libya, and Iran if it uncovered evidence that they were complicit in the attacks—however unlikely that might be.
There was a general agreement on two points: The Bush administration should demand that the Taliban government in Afghanistan serve up bin Laden, and Britain should aid in appealing to the international community to support the United States in its inevitable quest to take down al-Qaeda.
It was also important not to overstate the terrorists’ capability to inflict further damage on the West, at least based on that morning’s attack. “This was less about technology than it was about skill and nerve,” Scarlett said.
Lander jumped in. “It’s the next logical step up from a car bomb,” he said. “Turning a plane into a bomb and destroying a symbol of America takes some doing, but it could be done by al-Qaeda because there are so many terrorists willing to kill themselves.”
All that was beside the point for now. The critical issue, Blair repeated, was how Bush would react to these events. He had been president for less than a year and was largely untested. He might flail out against America’s enemies in ways that could be unpredictable, or even counterproductive.
“He could be under enormous pressure to do something irresponsible,” Blair said—especially if the international community didn’t unite behind the United States.
“If America hears that the world view is that this happened because Bush is more isolationist,” Blair said, “there is g
oing to be a reaction.”
• • •
Massoud. Scooter Libby tossed the name over in his mind. Islamists posing as news reporters had just assassinated the Northern Alliance leader. The strongest fighting force battling al-Qaeda and the Taliban had lost its most important leader. Then, in less than forty-eight hours, America was attacked. The United States had been deprived of an ally who could have been counted on to join in any military operation against bin Laden and his cohort. An unlikely coincidence, or perhaps more proof that bin Laden’s hand was behind the hijackings.
Libby reached for a pen and wrote a note.
Did Massoud’s assassination pave the way for the attack in the United States?
He slipped the piece of paper to Cheney. The vice president skimmed it, turned to Libby, and nodded.
• • •
At 3:00 P.M. in Toronto, a truck driver named Ahmad El-Maati unlocked the door to his apartment, went inside, and greeted his mother.
El-Maati looked exhausted; it had been a day of enormous strain. Early that morning, he had quit the long-haul trucking business, returning his rig’s keys to his employer, Highland Transport. He had enjoyed the work until a month before, when he was stopped at the American border and searched. On that day, he had been driving a loaner because his truck was in the shop, and the inspection turned up a few items that weren’t his, including a map. It was a black-and-white photocopy, only slightly better than hand-drawn, and it depicted Tunney’s Pasture, an area in Ottawa developed exclusively for federal government buildings. A few of the facilities were labeled with names like H&W VIRUS LABS, ELDORADO NUCLEAR LTD, and ATOMIC ENERGY OF CANADA. The agents had interrogated El-Maati extensively about the map, demanding to know why he was carrying it. He could only reply that the paper wasn’t his.
The border confrontation had left El-Maati jittery for weeks, despite the efforts of his supervisors at Highland to assure him of their support. The company had investigated and concluded that one of the truck’s previous drivers had picked up the map while on a delivery in Ottawa. Ann Armstrong, a manager at Highland, had given El-Maati a letter stating that he had reported the incident to his superiors and that he should be commended for his professionalism in dealing with the matter. But he still felt too frightened to keep crossing the border. Better, El-Maati decided, to give up transporting items thousands of miles and drive shorter—if less profitable—routes in Canada.
500 Days: Secrets and Lies in the Terror Wars Page 6
