The Director leaned back, glowering, his beady eyes half closed, and Jarrah could almost feel the little man’s anger coming in waves through his body as he drove. Normally, he wasn’t frightened of the Director, but he hadn’t often been the target of one of his tirades. He clenched the wheel more tightly in his hands and pulled into the left lane to get around a truck. This whole thing was spinning out of control. The fire that had burned so hot in his gut back in 2000 and 2001 seemed to have died down to little more than red embers. Why had he let Alev go back alone? What was he doing here?
Finally, the Director spoke again. To Jarrah’s surprise, the little man’s voice was both calm and quiet.
“What is done is done,” the Director said. “It’s too late to change what happened already. The spy should have been killed, not just threatened. The enforcer should have been more careful and not gotten arrested. All of that is behind us now. What matters is what we do next.”
“What do we do?” Hanjour asked. “Do we abandon the plan for now? Should we go back home?”
“Eskoot!” the Director yelled, eyes flashing again at Hanjour, who raised his hands as if to fend off a blow. “Let me think!”
After five years of working quietly and carefully, their cover was blown. The whole thing seemed a bit unworkable in the first place, Jarrah thought – trying to hijack two planes with just two pilots and several Muslim militants from the Detroit area who they would train as muscle men but wouldn’t know the full extent of the plot. Neither Hanjour nor Jarrah had dared to take any flying lessons under their assumed names, so neither had been behind the wheel of a plane since 2001, unless one counted simulator time. They were bound to be rusty. The very idea of being able to hijack the planes depended on sneaking weapons aboard, and now that idea seemed to be out of the question.
The Director had been impatient for some time now, even before this disaster. He’d never wanted to wait so long before moving against the towers again, but Hanjour and Jarrah had done everything they could to convince him it was best to stay under cover for a while to let Americans get lax. The thing that finally had won the Director over was the idea of doing the deed on the 60th anniversary of the founding of Israel. If there was anything that could sway the Director, it was mention of the Jewish state. Just saying the word “Israel” could launch him into near hysterics.
“No more waiting,” the Director said now, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “We move fast. How soon can we launch the operation?”
“What? When the FBI has its eyes on us?” Jarrah responded, incredulous.
“My friend, I said we should have made our move some time ago, but you talked me out of it, and now look at the trouble we’re in,” the Director said. “Haven’t you made enough poor decisions already? If I say we’re moving now, we’re moving now. You will listen to me, and do what I say.”
Jarrah exited the highway at Armitage Avenue, and now he turned west and drove beneath the huge underpass, lined on both sides with the cardboard shacks and shopping carts of the homeless who lived like trolls underneath. Jarrah’s cab emerged from the darkness and stopped at the traffic light.
As they sat waiting to move, Jarrah turned around and faced the Director, whose hair had retreated a great deal these last few years. It had been difficult for a man like the Director to lie low for so long, Jarrah reflected. The Director was a man of action. Waiting wasn’t in his makeup.
“OK,” Jarrah replied. “What next?”
“I have many thoughts, my friend,” the Director responded. The car behind them honked as the light changed, and Jarrah quickly turned around in his seat and pressed on the accelerator. “Despite this series of events,” the Director continued, “I believe you two will be able to carry things forward, but you will need my active help in every aspect of the operation. Here’s what we will do. First, you need to take care of this, this…what do you call him – enforcer?”
“But it’s too late – he probably already talked,” Jarrah protested.
“Eskoot!” the Director yelled again. “How long have they had him? Two nights? The Americans don’t torture their own people. They haven’t gotten anything out of him yet, I assure you. Remember the Massaoui operation? I need that done again. Use one of your American friends.”
“But won’t that call even more attention to us?” Hanjour chipped in. “Maybe we should just let him talk. He’ll only say it’s a drug deal – that’s all he knows.”
“Hmmph, we can’t take that chance,” the Director replied. “Let’s cut the tongue out before it starts to dance. Got it?”
“Yes,” Hanjour said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Now, Jarrah, the next step is – ahh! Watch out!”
A car had turned in front of Jarrah and he slammed on the brakes to avoid it.
“Pull over!” the Director ordered. “How can I think when we’re driving around? I could drive better than this.”
Jarrah found a space on the side of the street and backed the car in. This was a relatively quiet part of town, and traffic flowed sporadically. No one would notice the cab parked here with the three men inside. Jarrah turned in the driver’s seat to look directly at the Director.
“Next, we need to accelerate the date of our operation,” the Director said, his voice sounding louder now that the engine was off. “Today is Dec. 6. We move against the Americans on Jan. 9. Another Tuesday, just like last time. It’s a symbolic date – the date our Palestinian brothers launched an attack against the Jews and crusaders in 1948. It’s also the date that Jewish developer wants to open his condos in the buildings. We’re going to give him an opening to remember. Got it?”
“Wait a minute, now,” Jarrah stammered, for the moment losing all pretense of trying to please the Director. “We can’t move in just a month. We don’t have all the men in place, and we haven’t had flight training. And how are we to be sure we can make the operation work at O’Hare now that our cover is blown? What if we can’t get materials on the flights?”
“No,” the Director said firmly, raising his hand to silence Jarrah. “You don’t understand. Not flights – flight.”
“Huh?” Hanjour asked.
“One plane, one tower,” the Director said quietly. “We move fast, and we streamline the operation. We do it in the next month. That’s about how much time we need to get it together. No Detroit helpers. Just the three of us.”
Jarrah couldn’t contain his shock. “Three of us?” he sputtered. “You?” This added a whole new dimension, and Jarrah couldn’t think it through with the Director smiling his icy grin at him.
“Yes, Ziad,” the Director said, still grinning smugly. “You didn’t think I had it in me to sacrifice my life, did you? Well, I’m more complex than you give me credit for. I’m taking over. We’re going to do this right.”
The Director explained his plan to the two men. The streamlined operation would only hit one of the towers (“The one with the condominiums,” the Director said with a grin). With their cover blown, it was essential to make sure things went right, and hijacking two planes at once – always something of a challenge – was too onerous to contemplate any further. They’d hijack one plane, and the Director and Jarrah would serve as muscle men while Hanjour – the best pilot among them – handled the controls. There’d be no need to import “muscle men” from Detroit, as they had planned, and they’d switch operations to another airport closer to New York – either Baltimore or Philadelphia, the Director decided. He had contacts in both towns who could make necessary weapons arrangements with ground crews where the heat wouldn’t be so strong.
“I’m not worried about the FBI,” the Director said, spitting contemptuously onto the cab’s floor as he said the word “FBI.” Jarrah flinched as the Director defiled his squeaky clean car, but held his tongue. “Those fuckers are even less competent than you two. If you’re telling the truth that you only told the enforcer this was a drug deal, they won’t suspect what we’re doing. A
nd even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to coordinate among themselves and the airport authorities to get anything done quickly enough to stop us. I’m convinced our plan will work at the airports.”
“What about the Sheik?” Jarrah finally asked. “He’s expecting this on the day of Israel’s independence.”
“The Zionist entity, please,” the Director corrected him in a condescending tone. “There is no state of Israel! The Zionists and crusaders stole the land from the Palestinians, and the evil Americans propped it up with their weapons.” The Director’s eyes had taken on a zealous glint, his voice rising with each statement. “Our attacks will tell the entire world that the Jews are illegitimate pigs, and responsible for any American deaths! That much, I assure you, we will accomplish!”
“Shh,” Jarrah said. “Someone outside might hear you.” He’d grown tired of hearing the Director lecture about the sins of the “Zionist entity.”
“Ah, you’re worried about being overheard. Isn’t that amusing, coming from the majdoube who let the FBI in on our plans,” the Director said, lips curling.
Jarrah’s teeth clenched at the accusation. “That wasn’t intentional,” he said, looking the Director right in the eyes.
The Director stared at him, half-lidded eyes gleaming. “So you say,” he said quietly. “So you say.”
Jarrah felt a glimmer of fear inside, and he swallowed quickly.
“Can I really trust either of you?” the Director said, almost as if to himself. “Can I trust anyone?”
“Are you going to tell the Sheik about the change in plans?” Hanjour interrupted.
“Eskoot!” the Director barked again. “I can take care of the Sheik. That’s not a problem. I have couriers who will bring him the message. I don’t know where he is now, but they do. He approved our plan many years ago, and I have full approval from him to move as I see fit.”
The two men nodded. Now that Jarrah thought through it a bit more, he could see the sense in streamlining the operation. Less logistical trouble and less chance of getting caught, even if the results wouldn’t be quite as explosive. Jarrah believed that the three of them, with the right weapons, could easily subdue a plane full of passengers. And Hanjour was definitely the better pilot. Hanjour was the only Sept. 11 hijacker with a commercial pilot certificate, and he’d spent some time on computer simulators the last few months, enough to keep him familiar with what the controls looked like and how they functioned. He’d be rusty, but maybe he could do it.
Still, after dropping off Hanjour and the Director and heading home to his quiet apartment, which felt emptier than ever with Alev gone, Jarrah’s doubts crept back in. What would this mean, having the Director go with them? Part of him wondered if the Director even meant what he said. He was a shifty fellow. But if he were serious, that had major implications for the entire operation. Now Jarrah’s job also included babysitting the Director to make sure he didn’t go off half-cocked and mess things up in the middle with his volatile temper. And if the Director was serious about this, what might his attitude be like in the weeks before the attack? He might get more zealous and controlling than ever. Just thinking about the Director being on the plane with them made Jarrah’s stomach roll.
Now he regretted inviting Alev. It was weakness, and it was yielding to temptation. What had he been thinking? He must steel himself to avoid emotion and put her out of his mind once and for all. He must prove his worthiness, now that the Director doubted it. The thought flashed in his mind that he had only one month to live if all went as planned, but he pushed the fear away quickly. He lay on his bed awake late into the night, staring into the dark.
CHAPTER 19
Virgil and Harry at the Capitol
Virgil struggled to keep pace with Harry as they walked through the subterranean labyrinth of tunnels underneath the Capitol. Two young aides accompanied them, carrying bulky packages of briefing books, and even they had trouble keeping pace with the energetic Secretary of Defense. The only thing that slowed the group down now and then were various congressmen and senators who kept approaching to talk to Harry.
It was Monday, Dec. 11, and Congress would soon break for its holiday recess. But now, in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the scene was chaotic, with last-minute deal-making as the lame-duck Republican-led Congress tried to get bills passed before leaving town and handing control over to the victorious Democrats the following month. Harry had just finished testifying at a hearing of the Senate Armed Services Committee and was on his way to the Russell Senate Office Building, where he had individual meetings scheduled with several senators. The Iraq war was going badly, and Harry faced some tough questions.
He’d asked Virgil to come with him, hoping they’d have time in between meetings to duck into an office where Virgil could brief him on the “Chicago affair,” as they’d come to call the strange breach of security at O’Hare. But they were running late for a meeting with Sen. McCain, and Virgil wasn’t sure when he’d have even a few minutes to update the secretary. They’d just boarded the subway, a special line that ran beneath the Capitol to connect various buildings where congressmen had their offices, when one of the aides’ phones rang. It was a quick call, and when it was over the aide said something quietly to Harry, who towered over her at 6’5 and had to bend down to hear.
“Thanks, Susie,” he boomed. Then he turned to Virgil as the subway car began moving.
“Well Virge, it’s your lucky day,” the secretary said, not out of breath at all after the 15-minute walk, though Virgil was sweating. “Looks like McCain is running behind and wants to have me come by 15 minutes later than we scheduled. So we have a few minutes here. Susie, can you find us a quiet place to talk? Thanks.”
Susie studied her phone intently for a minute, and then dialed again. Meanwhile, Harry had started a conversation with a congressman who shared the subway car with them, and was slapping him on the back and laughing loudly when Susie approached him again.
“Looks like there’s a room available on the first floor of Rayburn. I’ll take you there.”
“That’s great, great,” Harry said. He turned to the congressman and finished his salutations as the train arrived at the Rayburn station.
“I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you again at appropriations time!” Harry said with a laugh as the congressman stepped out of the car.
“You know me too well, Harry,” the congressman said with a laugh, and rushed off in another direction.
“Congressmen and senators,” Harry said to Virgil reflectively as they followed their aides upstairs. “They say they’re all for cutting pork, but don’t believe it a minute. It’s all about gettin’ jobs for their district. If there’s a chance to get $1 billion for a weapons factory in their district, all of a sudden it’s tax and spend time. I don’t care which party they are. Sometimes the Republicans are worse than the Democrats.”
“No need to tell me,” said Virgil, who was breathing hard from the quick climb up the stairs behind the secretary. His leg was really starting to bother him, and he was wondering if following Harry over to the Capitol today had been a good idea. He hadn’t realized how much walking it would involve. “Never believe any politician who calls himself a fiscal conservative. Remember that old joke – ‘What’s the definition of a tax-and-spend liberal? A conservative congressman whose district has high unemployment.’ ”
Harry laughed his hearty laugh. “Don’t I know it,” he boomed.
“Here we are,” Susie called from ahead of them. She pointed to an open wooden door and escorted them into a small room with blue curtains covering the windows. A table and a few chairs were scattered around. It looked as if there’d been a meeting there that had been interrupted, forcing everyone to leave quickly.
Harry dipped his long, broad frame into one of the small chairs, and motioned Virgil to sit across from him. “We’ll just be a few minutes, Susie and Adam,” he told the aides. “Just wait out in the hallway.”
“
Yes, sir,” Adam said. He was young, like Susie, probably in his 20s. Harry believed in hiring young people and molding them. He said he liked new ideas and perspectives.
“So what’s the latest, Virge?” Harry asked when the aides had left. Someone was vacuuming in the next office and the noise came through the walls, distracting Virgil slightly. Harry’s cell phone rang and he looked at the number, shook his head, and clicked the off button. “Unless it’s Cheney or Bush, I’m not getting it,” he said.
“Harry, the FBI is finished interviewing the Chicago suspect, and he only knows there was some sort of drug deal going on,” Virgil said. “He said they were loading combo locks on the planes, trying to see if they could get away with it before the drugs came through. If the lock plan worked, they’d know they could get the drugs on, eventually.”
“No talk of weapons, then?” Harry asked.
“Well, the guy denied it, but are you going to believe him?” Virgil replied. “Why use combo locks, or anything metal, if drugs were the goal? I suspect if they could get the locks on, they could get weapons on, too. The ground crews don’t have to go through metal detectors to get onto the planes. I assume someone could find a meeting place somewhere, slip a weapon to one of them, and they sneak it on and give it to a passenger. It’s a huge hole in the system, Harry. A big flaw.”
Harry nodded, and his forehead showed some worry wrinkles. “I don’t see how we could still have this issue five years after they hijacked those planes,” Harry said. “I guess the urgency just isn’t there.”
“There’s more,” Virgil said.
Harry leaned forward. “Yeah? What?”
“I had the FBI interrogators show this fellow some photos of the Middle Eastern men we’d found in the passenger manifests on the day of the collision,” Virgil said. He reached into his worn leather briefcase and fished through some papers. “Crap, I thought I had them here. Give me a minute – sorry.”
The Towers Still Stand Page 20
