by Greg Enslen
“Yup,” Ellis answered. “Dr. Ellis brought several back with him. He said the wireless connection had to be modified to use our speeds, which are about 1/20th of those the device was built for.”
She nodded and continued tapping. Music started playing.
“Ellis said that in the future, Apple pretty much owns the music business—they have the iPod now, but in ten years they’ll have this and a phone and five more generations of iPods. You can buy and download almost any song you want wirelessly.”
Sarah smiled. “Cool.”
He walked over and tapped at the device, and a song began to play.
“Recognize this?” he asked, setting the device down on the bed. He took her hands and started slowly dancing around the messy hotel room. She listened to the song and slowly smiled.
“Willie Nelson.”
“Yup, it’s ‘Darkness on the Face of the Earth,’” he said.
“Our song, at our wedding.”
He nodded, even though they were dancing. “Don’t worry about today. Hopefully, it will be just like any other day. That’s why they’re working so hard to make sure nothing happens today, but with the terrorists disappearing, they’re not sure—”
“Disappearing?” she asked, looking up at him sharply. “I thought they were under surveillance?”
“They were,” Ellis agreed. “But then they found out they were being watched. They’ve all disappeared.”
She looked at him, suddenly scared. The music continued.
“So, it could happen. It could happen today,” she said, looking up at him.
He nodded slowly, holding her tighter. “Yes, it could. But I think they’ll delay for a few weeks. They’re scattered, and in hiding. Even with every law enforcement agency in the nation looking for them, they still haven’t been found. I just have to hope that the FBI catches them before they can strike. Until then, we just have to stay safe and stay out of New York and Washington, okay?”
She nodded and began to sob quietly into his shoulder.
2.18
A Non-Event
A few hours later, Dr. Ellis was riding in a white van across the dusty expanse of Lawrence Livermore National Labs, a large group of identical buildings that stretched into the California desert. Established in 1952 as an offshoot of the University of California, it had quickly grown to encompass much of the nation’s most advanced nuclear and security research. Some of the most advanced experiments in the nation were carried out on the one-square-mile site, as well as at Site 300, a 7,000-acre sister site fifteen miles southeast of the main lab site.
The van approached a large central building and slowed, stopping at a large door. Armed guards motioned a white van inside the massive building. Inside, the van moved across the cement flooring and stopped. Two armed guards pulled the doors open, and Ellis and Marburger climbed down out of the van. They moved across the building’s expansive floor and approached a brightly lit area where dozens of people were working on a large machine. It vaguely resembled the original machine that the “deceased” Dr. Ellis had built in his Long Island building.
“Well, it was to be expected,” Dr. Marburger said. “We dodged a bullet.”
Ellis nodded. “I know. Still, to have nothing happen at all on this 9/11...I’m just worried. Having nothing happen seems even more ominous.”
“I just wish the other Ellis had lived,” Marburger said, nodding. “Maybe he would have more insight into alternate targets, or the hijacker’s new timeline. Assuming they still go through with it,” Marburger said.
“The FBI will find them,” Ellis replied, avoiding the subject. They walked into the computer lab. Ellis turned on the TV in the room and switched it to the news, but it was remarkably ordinary. There was coverage of Hurricane Erin, which was threatening to hit Bermuda. The top story was Britney Spears’ performance at the 2001 MTV Video Music Awards show that had taken place a week before—evidently, dancing on a stage with a giant yellow snake could get a performer coverage on the nightly news, even a full week later.
Or maybe it was just an excuse to show the same tacky burlesque photos of a sultry Britney Spears dancing, over and over, with a large yellow python.
Ellis shook his head and walked out onto the main floor, eager to get back to work on the machine.
2.19
Testing Phase
Three weeks after the uneventful 9/11, the elder Dr. Ellis was standing in front of the big screen TV in the computer lab, watching the news, when Terry came in. Ellis had been watching the news relentlessly, waiting for something to happen.
“Dr. Raines?” Terry asked tentatively.
“What?” Ellis snapped.
“We’re…we’re starting the test now.”
Ellis nodded, walking out of the lab, his eyes darting at the machine. He’d been in a good mood on 9/11, but as each day passed, Ellis grew more apprehensive. Several of the other technicians noticed his nervousness as they went through the testing process. The machine wasn’t done yet, but they were making progress.
Terry tapped at a keyboard, sending signals to the machine to conduct another test. One of the other techs, a young woman named Trish, stood behind Terry, pointing at the screen and suggesting a change. She had been recruited from a local school and had turned out to be a natural leader and a gifted mathematician, despite her age—she was only 19. In fact, she’d picked up things so quickly that she was directing today’s test, working the machine’s controls with a practiced hand. “Are you OK, Dr. Raines?” she asked.
“Oh,” he’d said, surprised. “I’m fine. It’s just a big day.”
She’d nodded. “The test is going well. I think the machine will be finished soon,” she’d said as he stood over the control panel. She had an easy demeanor. Last week, she’d found him standing at the loading dock doors, staring out at the World Trade Center, but hadn’t seemed surprised.
A year was enough time to finish construction of the machine, especially with a complete set of final blueprints and endless amounts of money. He’d already done all the hard work in the first timeline, and here, all he had to do was build it again. But the schedule had slipped as he’d been forced to use 2001 technology on parts of the machine. Now it was October, and they were just starting to run the field calibration tests. He wished the machine was finished.
Trish completed the power-up and calibration tests, showing him the results on the screen. Ellis nodded—they were getting closer, but they weren’t there yet. By his estimation, they were still weeks away from being operational.
Ellis left the machine room and walked into the computer lab, getting a Red Bull from the small fridge on the counter. Stevens was seated on the black couch, watching the TV.
“Any news yet?” Ellis asked.
Stevens shook his head.
“What are we watching for?” Terry asked, walking in the room behind Ellis. Since 9/11, Ellis had asked Stevens to increase external and internal facility security. He’d also asked some of the senior staffers, like Terry and Stevens, to help him keep an eye on the news.
“You’ll know it when you see it,” Ellis said.
2.20
Exposé
Two months ago, The Washington Post had run a short series of articles on a high-level committee studying a potential terrorist threat.
In the months since that series of four articles had run, Cassie O’Neil had not let the story go. In fact, she’d continued looking, taking the fragments of a story and piecing them together.
The writer had clearly done her research. Now, she was naming names.
What ran in the October 30, 2001, edition of The Washington Post was a powerful piece of journalism based on months of research and independent sourcing—and more than a few confidential sources. The article was about a horrific, predicted terrorist attack thwarted in early September. Evidently, members of the Executive Branch, along with members of Congress and multiple police departments around the nation, had been working together to prev
ent this supposed attack.
The most intriguing part of the article described a detailed set of evidence that had been created and distributed to convey the seriousness of the supposed attack. The evidence of the future attack included mocked-up newspaper articles, lengthy “reports” on the event, and computer-generated photos and videos of the supposed attack, which was supposed to take place on September 11. Some agency of the government had evidently spent enormous sums of time and money and manpower to create the body of “evidence.” It was all produced from the “after” point of view, as if the event had already happened.
Through several contacts, Cassie had managed to review some of the evidence, and she included in her article several pieces. The front page story included a very disturbing photograph of what appeared to be one of the buildings of the World Trade Center crumbling into dust. She went on to describe in her article other evidence that she had seen, including casualty lists, mock-ups of the front pages of actual newspapers, and a hefty book titled The Congressional Report on the 9/11 Attacks. She had even seen a hauntingly realistic video of what looked like a passenger plane crashing into one of the Twin Towers. The cost of that video alone had to be north of $400,000, Cassie speculated—the special effects used to produce it were frighteningly realistic. If one didn’t know that the event hadn’t occurred, it would be difficult to distinguish the video from real life.
After detailing the evidence, Cassie had gone on to summarize the reasons such a body of evidence would be created.
“Why go to all the time and expense to create such believable ‘evidence,’ unless it was to release to the American people as justification for ramping up security in the name of safety,” the article concluded. “Yet the ‘evidence’ has not been released, and this reporter has learned that members of the Executive Branch and others are still investigating the supposed ‘threat,’ taking it very seriously.”
She ended the Post article with a sobering thought. “The only other option to explain the existence of this ‘evidence’ and its incredible level of detail is unthinkable—that someone knew ahead of time that these attacks were to happen and, through incompetence, allowed the perpetrators to escape arrest and prosecution.”
2.21
Trick or Treat
Dr. Ellis drove through the streets of Red Hook on Halloween as the sun began to set, watching out for trick-or-treaters. He drove slowly—he’d made the mistake of driving through the residential part of town on his way to the warehouse, and now he was going to be late.
Not that it really mattered anymore—ever since September 11, the meetings with the president and his team had been happening less and less frequently. Bush was convinced that they had somehow managed to scare off the terrorists, but Ellis wasn’t convinced. He hoped that the FBI and Bush and Marburger were right—they thought the teams of hijackers had fled the country, especially after last week’s piece in The Washington Post. In response, Fleischer had used a little of the information from Ellis’ files to construct an approximate timeline for the planned attack and released it to the public, causing consternation but no real fear in the hearts of the American people—to them, it was just another terrorist attack stopped, another crisis averted.
Ellis was worried that it was a crisis delayed.
The security guard waved him through the barbed wire fence. Dr. Ellis drove around the side of the warehouse, parking. For a moment, after he climbed from his car, he regarded the Twin Towers as they dominated the skyline—he understood completely why the elder Dr. Ellis had chosen this location for his project. What better empirical proof could one have as to the efficacy of their tampering with the timeline? Go look out a window. If the World Trade Center was there, then you’d succeeded.
He heard a heavy door open and turned to see the other Dr. Ellis. The man raised his hand and waved, walking out to greet him in the lot.
“Well, it’s still there,” the younger Ellis said, nodding at the World Trade Center. “At least nothing happened on 9/11.”
“Yes,” the elder Ellis smiled. “They have you to thank for that, I think. Either Bush scared them off, or those newspaper articles did. Either way, now we have more time to prepare, or intervene, if something happens.”
The younger Ellis nodded as they turned and headed inside.
2.22
Photos
The reporter lowered her high-powered camera, her eyes wide.
Cassie was two hundred yards away, in a nearby parking lot. She’d been keeping an eye on the warehouse for several days now.
Her research had revealed the name of Dr. Donald Ellis—it had continued to pop up in the ‘evidence’ she had seen. The man was a professor at the University of New York, specializing in quantum mechanics. Lately, he’d been spending a lot of time in Washington, D.C., meeting with government officials.
She had spent time with her sources, discussing the evidence of the future attack. The sources hadn’t understood the evidence, but they knew that it came from the White House: the president, Andrew Card, John Marburger, and others. One of the others was the mysterious Dr. Ellis, who appeared to have had nothing to do with the White House up until a few months ago.
Mike Foreman, her editor, had put her on the right track with his FBI contact, but it had been her confidential sources at the Pentagon that had really broken the story. The Pentagon employees, all mid- or low-level civilians working in the massive building, had seen or heard about an impending terrorist attack that the government was attempting to prevent. Members of the U.S. government received warnings of terrorist attacks all the time, and working in real time to prevent them was just another day at the office for the Pentagon brass and other bureaucracies. What made this threat different was the supposed evidence that was being distributed. It was meant to bring home just how genuine the threat was and what kind of affect it could have on the nation.
After learning Dr. Ellis lived in Jericho, New York, Cassie made a few phone calls and hired a local private detective to trail Dr. Ellis. In the two weeks since he was hired, the private detective followed him, learning that Dr. Ellis split his time between the Jericho house and a dilapidated-looking warehouse in Brooklyn.
Last week, she’d come up to Brooklyn and settled into a small rented apartment on Columbia Street, above a Thai restaurant, scouting locations related to Dr. Ellis and the warehouse during the day and writing copy at night.
She was in her car—she’d found a great spot up the street to observe the warehouse. So far, she’d been able to discover little about the warehouse. The private detective had reported that large shipments had been arriving at the facility regularly, but since she’d started tailing Ellis personally, he’d only been to the warehouse once or twice.
The reporter looked at her camera—she’d never really taken photos to accompany her stories, happy to stick with writing the words and let professional photogs dress up the article. But she’d borrowed one of the new Nikon D1s, hoping to follow Ellis and catch him meeting with members of the Bush administration. This digital camera stored pictures on a little hard drive and had one of those new LCD screens on the back that allowed for review of the photos. She pushed the buttons, flipping back through the pictures she had just taken.
She squinted at the last few pictures. It had not been a trick of the light, or her imagination, or too much grappa last night.
Dr. Ellis was talking to another person who looked exactly like him.
The other man looked older, and a little more muscled, and the hair was shorter, but they were otherwise identical. Did Ellis have a twin or an older brother? Cassie didn’t think so, but she’d have to double-check. Any other explanation was, plainly, impossible.
2.23
Portland, Maine
On the morning of November 23, 2001, a United Airlines plane landed at the tiny airport located just north of Portland, Maine. The out-of-the-way airport sported several restaurants, ample parking, and the most lax security screening program of any air
port on the eastern seaboard. The plane taxied to the terminal and parked. After a few moments, the passengers began unloading down a ramp onto the tarmac—the airport didn’t have passenger ramps that connected to the airport building, so the passengers bundled up for the cold walk through the blustery wind.
Mohammed Atta appeared in the doorway of the plane and glanced around, looking at the airport tarmac and buildings beyond. Early snow covered part of the runway, but flights were still going in and out.
That had been one thing he had not counted on—the weather. He was from Egypt and had grown up in the warmth of Cairo. He’d visited other countries in the winter before, but he’d not realized just how cold it could get or how that cold could affect the airports. After the weather dropped below zero, airlines instituted a strict policy of de-icing their planes before takeoff, a procedure that could easily delay takeoff by a half hour or more.
The success of their plan was contingent on the planes being in the air at the same time—all of them needed to hit their respective targets within a one-hour period to achieve the maximum psychological effect.
Bin Laden had said, on several occasions, that the ultimate goal of the operation was not the taking of lives, but rather the effect their actions would have on the American psyche. Atta had argued that spreading out the hijackings and crashes would heighten the tension, but bin Laden had cautioned them that the U.S. authorities would step up airport security after a first incident. Getting his men through security all at once, and carrying out the attacks simultaneously, was the better solution.
It would terrorize Americans—and infuriate the American government—if several attacks happened at the same time. The nation would be paralyzed, unable to act, bin Laden had argued. They would feel “helpless and small,” in bin Laden’s words. And Atta was responsible for making those words come true.
