Jarrah dropped a $10 bill on the table and got up to leave. No one paid attention to him. He was as alone as ever. He walked over to his rental car and drove off to the Best Western where he was staying. The others were at hotels nearby. The final stretch was here, and there was no turning back. He ignored the voice in his head that urged him to call Alev.
CHAPTER 24
FAA Warning
FAA Memo posted to flight crews and other flight personnel by the U.S. government:
Dec. 27, 2006
From: FAA Security
To: All U.S. airlines, pilots, ground crews and other flight personnel
Please post this message where accessible to your employees, and email to all flight staff.
Recently, the FAA became aware of a security breach at O’Hare Airport. All airlines, flight crews and ground personnel must be on guard for any attempts by criminal elements to penetrate airplane security and load illegal materials of any sort onto aircraft.
We aren’t aware of any other location in which similar criminal activities have occurred. However, any breach of security – no matter how minor – must be immediately reported to FAA security.
Thank you for your cooperation.
CHAPTER 25
Facing a Tough Decision
On New Year’s Day, Virgil sat in the local Starbucks, sipping his Venti Caramel Macchiatto (he’d recently moved up from a Grande) and reading news coverage of the FAA memo that he’d reviewed for the Defense Department. The President and Vice President had agreed to issue the memo to airlines and release it to the public after Harry had briefed them on the possible connection between the breach at O’Hare and the faces of the men who’d been on airplanes five years earlier, the day of the collision. There was a national FBI manhunt underway for Jarrah and Hanjour, and every airport was getting extra security. Virgil, with some pride, felt that at last his work had paid off. Having Harry as a friend certainly helped him get stuff done.
Today was the first day any of this had appeared in the media, and Virgil shook his head as he read it. The same old stuff as back in 2001 – with the public being told only half the story so no one would “panic.” The whole country, he thought, had spent too many years since 2001 growing more and more sanguine about airplane safety. It scared the shit out of Virgil to think how easy it would be for determined terrorists to sneak arms aboard a plane and hijack it, but there was this crazy idea that all the danger was behind, and that the measures taken since 2001 had solved the problem. So untrue. So untrue.
The administration had given the media a vague account of what had happened in Chicago, and the coverage reflected as much. The Washington Post editorial he was reading complained about the scant information shared by the government, saying people had the right to know exactly what had happened so they could assess the threat. But the government didn’t want to share too much information, fearing it could inspire copycats. For now, the only information reporters had was word of an airport ground worker arrested in Chicago for attempting to sneak unauthorized material onto planes.
He supposed some enterprising reporter would soon file a Freedom of Information Act request to get the full story, but for now, it wasn’t going to be available, and this time, he wasn’t going to the media. He’d already thrown himself on his sword once, and look where it had gotten him. Now that he was back, he’d try to do what he could from within the government both to catch the bad guys and to make sure the right people had the information they needed. Throwing up all over the newspapers wasn’t the most targeted way to get out a message, he’d learned. So he was working on a couple of fronts to protect the country if his bosses wouldn’t.
Virgil still felt the government wasn’t going far enough to warn of the true threat. The warning to airlines and pilots hadn’t specifically mentioned possible hijackings or the possibility of hijackers flying planes into skyscrapers. Virgil was certain the cryptic “two towers” utterance from Nancy as she lost consciousness was a reference to the World Trade Center, and he’d made his point in meetings with the FBI. Nancy herself remained in a coma and couldn’t be questioned. Partly through Harry and Virgil’s efforts, additional bomb detection squads were assigned to the grounds of the WTC, and extra security personnel were posted in the lobby, but none of that would do much good, Virgil thought, if someone aimed a plane at the buildings. That possibility still seemed too far out for most of the people he talked to.
But he was determined to make sure the right people in government knew about the danger to the buildings, and luckily, he had Harry’s ear, and Harry had the ears of many Generals and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. As of yesterday, the Air Force had received orders to keep a special eye on any planes in unauthorized air space around New York City. Extra patrols were on duty, and fighter planes would be ready to take to the sky at short notice if necessary. Virgil and his team had done some research, and discovered that back in 2001, when the collision had occurred, the Air Force had been in no position to do anything to quickly protect New York buildings. If the terrorists had the WTC in mind then, they would have easily hit it, with no interference from the military. This time, it would be different.
But that didn’t mean it would be easy, Harry had told Virgil. They’d been in Harry’s large office last week, sitting in armchairs, sipping coffee, and talking about the measures underway. The President and Vice President had agreed to the extra patrols and special alert, but neither one, Harry said, felt much concern about the threat.
“They just don’t see it happenin’, and sometimes, I have trouble too,” Harry said. “I mean, it does seem pretty far-fetched, Virge. Based on some criminals in Chicago that we can’t track who were supposedly engaged in some shenanigans out there, and what your reporter friend said in Iraq, with nothin’ to back it up, it’s not much to go on. Believe me, gettin’ Cheney to buy into this hasn’t been easy. I have to say, I’ve used up some of my credits with him on this. And the worst thing is, we’ll probably have no way of knowin’ if the threat is real. I mean, even if these fellas stand down because of what we’re doing, how will we ever know they did?”
“I appreciate that you’ve staked your reputation to go along with this,” Virgil had said, putting his cup of coffee on the table, an antique wooden piece of furniture that went with the big wooden desk and wooden bookshelves in the rest of the office. “But just keep in mind that we’ve identified the people behind the Chicago plot as the same people who were on planes that day in 2001. And we’ve traced the names back to training camps in Afghanistan. I really think we’ve uncovered a sleeper terrorist cell, and it’s very likely that the guys who captured Nancy also were in on it. How else can you explain the coincidence of her coming up with those last words. The two towers. Damn. I just can’t keep it out of my mind. I’ve even dreamed of them the last few nights. If we did nothing, and then those bastards flew planes into them, how would we ever sleep again?”
“I know that, and you know that,” Harry said. “I swore to protect this country and that’s what I aim to do. Now have you uncovered any more information?” He checked his watch. “I’ve got five minutes till my next meeting, and tomorrow I’m flying out to Iraq, so make it quick.”
Virgil explained to Harry what he and his staff had uncovered. The man who’d kidnapped Nancy was Ramzi bin al-Shibh, according to documents found on his body. There hadn’t been many other pieces of identification in the hut, which the terrorists had burned when the military approached, perhaps to destroy evidence. Al-Shibh was a Yemeni citizen who’d lived in many Middle Eastern countries. He had links to Mohamed Atta – the lead hijacker on American Flight 11 – and to Khalid Sheikh Mohammed.
“This is very important evidence connecting Ramzi to the attackers of September 2001,” Virgil explained to Harry, who nodded. “To me, this is the smoking gun, and proves that Nancy’s reference to the two towers has relevance. The thing we’re still trying to determine is whether the two who seem to be in America – Jarrah and Hanjou
r – also had relations to Atta. We know Atta was a chief lieutenant of Osama bin Laden’s. If we find out that Jarrah and Hanjour knew Atta, then we have the missing piece of the puzzle. It would mean they were part of a plot in 2001 that was bigger than we realized – a plot to hijack two other jet liners that day.”
“And why didn’t they, if you don’t mind me asking?” Harry asked.
Virgil shook his head. “I just don’t know, Harry. Maybe they decided not to after they heard that the first two planes had collided. But it just makes me sick with worry to think those two are still out there, somewhere, here in this country, and they rang an alarm bell at O’Hare last month. It’s just by the grace of God that we know anything at all about this. So the evidence you called “far-fetched” just continues to build, and none of it looks good.”
“OK, Virge,” Harry replied. “Whenever I talk to you, I leave feelin’ worse than when I started, but I guess you’re just doin’ your job.”
Virgil smiled grimly.
“All right,” Harry said, getting up. “I appreciate your help and I’m glad you’re still on the team, no matter what my bosses might say about you.”
“Do I want to know?” Virgil said, smiling.
“Oh, they think I have a Virgil Walker fetish, I reckon. I’ll tell you, I sure hope you’re wrong about this, but it makes me feel better knowin’ we’ve taken some measures. But just tell me one thing. Let’s say we see a 737 flying straight at the towers one morning. Now pretend you’re me. How would you feel about recommending to the President that the military shoot down a passenger jet full of American men, women and children?”
Virgil stared at him, mouth half open. Now that Harry had put it like that, it really came home to him. He’d never actually thought of it in that sense. His whole focus had been on uncovering the plot before it took flight. He found he couldn’t answer Harry’s question.
“So you’d feel the same way I do, I guess,” Harry said after a silent moment, shaking his head. “I sure as hell hope it doesn’t come to that, because I just don’t know what I’d do.”
“If it does come to that, I’ll be right here with you,” Virgil said, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. Harry looked right back and nodded silently. They both sat there for a minute, considering what they might have to face, but comforted to have each other’s support.
CHAPTER 26
Alev in Germany
On the same day, in Germany, Alev returned very early in the morning from the New Year’s party she’d attended, carrying a bottle of extra Champagne someone had given her. There’d been bottles left over, so she’d agreed to take one home. She entered her empty apartment and sighed. Another New Year’s Day in which she ended up alone. She also didn’t know why she’d taken the Champagne bottle, since she never drank the stuff. Where should she put it? Not the fridge – it would just take up space. Her eyes glanced around the room and landed on her desk drawer. Sure, there’d be room in there. She crossed the room, opened the drawer and looked inside. Lying there was the cheap phone she’d used to call the FBI. She’d meant to throw it away, but it had slipped her mind. Of course the battery was depleted, but she had a charger.
She picked up the phone and looked at it, wondering why she suddenly felt like she should charge it up. Maybe she should try calling the FBI again? She didn’t want to call from her own home phone, not wanting to give up her privacy. She still felt ashamed of her cowardice the last time, when she’d hung up without giving her name. No – not now. She’d charge the phone and then decide later. She was too tired to make a decision now. She put the phone in the charger and fell into bed to catch up on the sleep she’d lost by staying out so late. When she woke up, she’d forgotten about the phone, and it remained in its charger.
Part Three – Terror Strike
CHAPTER 1
BWI Airport
Hardaway walked into his office at BWI smoking a cigarette and carrying a gray duffle bag instead of his usual blue backpack. He joshed with some of the guys, made a bet on the Wizards game, and laughed at a new Polish joke told by his friend Pete. He felt good, partly because he’d used the $10,000 payment from “Julio” to pay off nearly half of what he owed in child support, and had promised his ex-wife the rest later this week. The bag drop-off from Julio had gone well, and he had what he needed to do the job, including access to today’s 9:11 flight to Boston.
He donned his uniform, put on a thick black jacket to ward off the January cold, ran his security card through the machine and pushed open the heavy metal door to the tarmac, his breath smoking in the chill. The high-pitched noise of jet engines warming up pierced the air, and the sky was still gray and dark, with sunrise some time away. The lights of the terminals blinked red and green, and already, despite the early hour, dozens of jets waited at the gates. A United Airlines 737 taxied toward the runway, where ground lights would guide it through the darkness.
There’d been some interesting developments in the last week that he guessed might be related to today’s operation. First, some of the big bosses had gathered him and his crew for a meeting to go over security operations. This wasn’t too uncommon, but this time there was a twist. Any personnel with fewer than five years on the job would undergo full background security checks, they were told, over the next few weeks. Veteran employees would also be subject to these checks in the longer term. Of course, they’d all been checked when hired, but this sounded like an even more thorough investigation.
Also, a memo from the FAA was posted all over their offices and around the tarmac warning workers to be on guard for “criminal elements” who might try to load illegal materials onto planes. This was highly unusual, and the first time Hardaway had seen such a thing in his 20 years on the job. Obviously, everyone who worked there was charged at all times with doing just that – keeping illegal materials off of planes – but to have it posted in a special notice like that was disconcerting.
“What the hell do you think is going on?” Pete had asked Hardaway when the signs had gone up the other day.
“Damned if I know,” Hardaway had said, stubbing out his cigarette on the tarmac with his booted foot. “Seems like they’re trying to tell us we ain’t doing our jobs the right way. What the hell. The bosses sit around their offices drinking coffee and worrying about all sorts of crap. Guys like us do the real work. But you can bet if something goes wrong, it’s us who’ll hear about it.”
“Damned straight,” Pete had replied. “Always think they can do our fuckin’ jobs better than we can.”
Hardaway felt a bit cocky, knowing that he had the inside scoop on this unusual warning. But his gut tightened each time his eyes landed on one of those notices. Were the authorities on to this specific operation he’d become part of? And if so, did they have their eyes on him?
And more alarming was the thought that perhaps he’d gotten involved with something a lot more dangerous than a drug deal. He almost began to have some second thoughts, but he decided it was too late. He’d already accepted the cash and had paid Cindy’s lawyer. He couldn’t very well go back now, and if he did, who knew what Julio and his friends might do. The guy hadn’t looked like someone to mess around with.
Now, a few days after the first notices were posted, the fear had faded. No one had approached him, and the other workers now passed the signs without a glance. Hardaway felt strongly that he could do the job without any regrets. He had the weapons in his bag, and he knew the plane to Boston would be at gate D-22 by around 7. It was a Southwest 737 flight, and it wasn’t coming from somewhere else – this was the start of its day. Once it arrived at the gate, it would be easy enough for Hardaway to climb aboard and place the bag in the overheard compartment where Julio had asked him to stow it. There was no metal detector to go through on the plane, and one of his jobs was to inspect the cabin for security prior to takeoff, so no one would be surprised to see him. He figured he’d have at least a few minutes alone on the aircraft prior to the crew boarding, which would
allow him time to stow the bag without being seen.
Hardaway lit another cigarette, pulled on a pair of ear-protectors and a glow-in-the-dark vest and began his security patrol.
CHAPTER 2
Final Words
In the Marriott at the BWI Airport, Jarrah, Hanjour and the Director ordered room service in the Director’s suite. The Director, who’d gained a lot of weight since he arrived in the U.S., put away a cheese omelet, three cups of coffee and a cinnamon roll, eating noisily and belching when he finished. Jarrah managed to keep a look of disgust off his face.
“Ahh,” the Director grunted, with a burst of ugly laughter. “That feels better.” He was still dressed in an old pair of blue pajamas, while the other two were already wearing slacks and oxford shirts.
Hanjour and Jarrah ate little of their breakfasts. Neither had slept much the night before. They’d spent the night going through their purification processes, including a ritual shaving and several cycles of prayer. Hanjour had thrown himself into the process enthusiastically, but Jarrah was only going through the motions – religion just wasn’t too important to him now. He’d come to terms with what he was doing, and was ready to die. The attacks would be appropriate revenge, he felt, for the horrible deeds the United States and Israel had done in the Middle East with finances that originated in the two towers, and he knew he’d be a hero to millions of suffering Muslims for his actions. He’d won the fight within himself, and he was going to do what he’d set out to do so many years ago. But even through his resolve in the quiet moments between rituals and prayers, a small part of him resisted. It seemed to talk to him in Alev’s voice, a voice he forced himself to tune out.
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