The 9/11 Machine

by Greg Enslen

  Ellis had been watching the early returns come in from the East Coast—the 2000 election was well under way. None of the networks had made any predictions yet on who might win, but polling had Gore well ahead of Bush coming out of the debates, and he’d never looked back. Ellis smiled—it was odd how he was now an accepted, de facto member of the White House staff. He had a badge and everything. He half expected them to offer a reserved parking space soon.

  Of course, Clinton and Gore owed him.

  Clinton would now go down in the record books as the U.S. president who finally made peace in the Middle East a reality, working out tensions between Israel and every other country in the region, save Iran. His presidential legacy now was a historic peace plan, instead of a stained blue dress, five more years of jokes, and being blamed for 9/11.

  And Gore—well, Gore would have been famous anyway, but more for his work on climate change. Now, he would be President Gore and potentially lead the country during one of its most challenging episodes. That was assuming they couldn’t stop 9/11.

  After what happened last time, Ellis wasn’t 100 percent sure it could be prevented.

  “Good, Mr. President,” Ellis said, nodding at the TVs. “Gore’s looking good. I’m sure things will go well.”

  Clinton smiled. “Go well? You saved my presidency, friend.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ellis smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help out.”

  Clinton smiled and looked at Ellis. “Modest, as usual. You fixed everything. I can’t…I don’t even want to imagine what might have happened.”

  “I don’t have to imagine,” Ellis said, his eyes on the TV. “This has all happened for me before.”

  Clinton nodded, looking at the returns. They stood quietly together for a long moment before Clinton spoke again.

  “It disturbed me, greatly, hearing how I would die,” the president said quietly.

  Ellis looked at him and nodded slowly. Obviously the president had been reading through some of the materials Ellis had given him.

  “The biographer was wrong. You were just the target of all that frustration, all that loss. Many people blamed you for not targeting bin Laden more in Afghanistan, but the experts at the time said…”

  “Screw the experts,” Clinton said. “I wanted a legacy, not to go down in history as the most incompetent fool ever to hold the office.”

  Ellis turned back to the TV. “And this time you have. You ended things with Lewinsky and made sure that those last two incidents never happened, the ones that really would have cooked your goose. And you got Lewinsky and Linda Tripp nice assignments on opposite ends of the country, where they could never meet and conspire to bring down a presidency.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ellis saw the president nod.

  “Excellent ideas, all of those,” Clinton said. “You have a knack for this sort of thing, don’t you? You should be a politician.”

  Ellis shook his head. “No, that’s the difference. A scientist admits that he doesn’t understand, then seeks to understand. A politician is categorically incapable of admitting that he doesn’t know something—he would rather B.S. an answer than admit he doesn’t know.”

  Clinton didn’t say anything.

  “Present company exempted, of course,” Ellis added.

  “So, you’re saying we’re all actors? Politicians are just faking it?” Clinton asked.

  “In a way,” Ellis said. “A scientist must admit not knowing, so that he is free to seek the answer. How can one look for the truth, when he’s convinced himself he already knows it?”

  Clinton nodded soberly and said nothing.

  On the screen, the CNN announcer mentioned that recent exit polling out of Arkansas put Gore ahead by six points.

  “Didn’t he lose Arkansas last time?” Clinton asked with a mischievous little smile.

  “You know he did,” Ellis said. “I just hope things continue to go our way. And I hope we can prevent al Qaeda from acting. Gore should be able to shut them down, when they start to put the plan into action.”

  “He looked great coming out of the debates,” the president said again.

  Ellis nodded. “Well, he had the entire transcripts of the previous versions to study. I would hope he did great, considering he cheated,” Ellis said, raising his glass.

  Several hours later, NBC called the state of Florida for Gore, and the election was over.

  3.10

  A New President

  Ellis spent the first few months of the Gore presidency slowly extricating himself from the White House. He’d passed along all the information he had, and now it was up them to implement it. Some of the staffers came to him with questions about the future, but not nearly as many as had during the Clinton presidency. Gore’s White House had a different feel than the Clinton regime, much more sober and directed. President Gore threw himself into his new position, so he didn’t really notice Ellis backing off from the daily meetings and strategy sessions that had become the norm under Clinton.

  Besides, Ellis had things to do. He was working more closely with his counterparts in Red Hook, working with the younger Ellis to perfect the machine. But Dr. Ellis had a good feeling about Gore—the man seemed to take all of the 9/11 information very seriously, considering the track record that Ellis had spent years building for the Clinton White House. Every quake and other natural disaster, predicted weeks ahead of time.

  But Gore was more cautious, more reserved. Where Clinton had frightened Ellis by sending FBI agents to watch the 9/11 suspects, Gore was considering sending covert members of the military. Ellis liked the plan, but he had learned from the last timeline—if anything went wrong, he’d be the first to get blamed.

  Several weeks into the new presidency, Gore called him in for a meeting. Ellis had been making excuses, explaining that he was traveling a lot, when in fact he had been at the warehouse, working with the other Ellis and his team on finishing the machine.

  Ellis was waiting in his office when Gore came in and sat down.

  This president was more formal than Clinton, yet he preferred to hold meetings outside of the Oval Office. Gore explained that he had become so disheartened by what he’d learned that had taken place in there, he had disliked the Oval Office ever since. Now, few meetings were held there.

  “Dr. Ellis,” Gore said, sitting down.

  “Mr. President. Sorry about the meeting delays—I’ve been traveling.”

  He nodded. “You’ve been traveling a lot.”

  “Yes, I’m still trying to research more about al Qaeda’s activities,” Ellis lied. “I know how they operated in the original timeline, but I went to Munich to verify their activities.”

  Gore nodded. “So we know their plans, and we know their timetable,” the president said. “When should we move forward?”

  Ellis pointed at the files in front of them.

  “Last time, President Bush started with standard surveillance, working from the playbook. The hijackers realized they were being watched.”

  Gore shook his head. “That sounds strange, now, hearing you say ‘President Bush.’”

  “Well, he was the president, and everything went to hell. You have to promise me that you’ll keep things quiet this time.”

  “Because once we deviate from the plan, we won’t know what’s coming.”

  “Exactly.”

  Gore nodded. “We’ve done the hard work already. I have the military in charge this time, and they’re using covert ops to observe the targets. So far, none of them have deviated from the plan.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes, that’s very good,” Gore agreed. He handed Ellis a timetable that showed where all of the 9/11 actors were located, with a grayed-out area of the table showing when they were scheduled to move into action.

  “We’ve suspended posse comitatus,” the president continued. “We’re operating with three teams on the ground, tracking the terrorists. We’ve also put into place as many precautions as we can: su
ccession plans for Congress and staff, surface-to-air missile emplacements on top of the Capitol building, Pentagon, and White House, and beefed up aerial security around Fort Knox. We’re working to reduce occupancy in the World Trade Center buildings. And the Mall of America is undergoing an extensive ‘renovation’ and is closed to the public for the foreseeable future.”

  Ellis nodded, looking at the printout. Atta and the others were still in Florida, and three of the pilots were finishing their flight training, one in Florida and the other two in Pennsylvania. Nothing appeared to be deviating from the original timeline.

  “This is excellent news, sir,” Ellis answered, handing the sheet back.

  Gore nodded. “So, why do you still look so concerned?” he asked as he put the sheet back in the folder and set it on Ellis’ desk.

  Ellis glanced up at the calendar—it read May 2001. “It’s just—so many things can go wrong, and it all can fall apart so quickly. And it takes almost nothing—an overzealous cop, or a flat tire, or a mislabeled file. Last time, it was a couple of FBI agents and a Washington Post reporter. I’ve seen how this happens—one minute, things are under control, and everyone is confident. In the next minute, the towers have fallen, and we’re all in a conference room somewhere screaming at each other.”

  “It’s OK,” Gore said. “I know what you mean. I’m keeping this project very close to the vest. Most of the new White House staffers don’t know anything about it, or who you are, or why you have an office in the Old Executive Building.”

  “Good,” Ellis said, looking around. “Actually, I knew this office before I ever came in here—it was to be John Marburger’s, President Bush’s Science Advisor. I bought him coffee once, at that Starbucks on K and 16th. I introduced myself and gave him a little insight as to what was coming, and we came back here. I spent a lot of time in this office, long before you and I ever met, sir.”

  Gore looked around at the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “But that would have been about now, right? May 2001? So where is he now?”

  “No idea. He was good, though, and helped us get through some tough times,” Ellis said, remembering back. It seemed like years ago—in fact, it was years ago, before 11/24 and the Mall of America and the Hajj. It seemed like an elaborate story instead of real life. He remembered the mob attacking the warehouse and the suicide bomber hitting the U.N.

  “Yes,” Ellis said, after a quiet moment. “It was bad there for a while. But now we have a chance to do it right. Just keep those military guys under control and don’t wait too long. Believe me, stopping them is more important than catching them in the act.”

  3.11

  Tea

  In Fort Lauderdale, Florida, on the evening of July 6, three men were seated around a small table in a dining room. Middle Eastern music played quietly in the background. They were eating flatbread and hummus and sipping hot tea and discussing a series of plane trips they had recently taken—each had been able to successfully conceal a small, metal box cutter on them and had made it onto their flights with no difficulty.

  The three men had been taking intensive flight training over the past six months and were talking about the relative difficulties of flying large passenger jets when a phone on the wall in the kitchen rang.

  One man stood, answering the phone.

  “This is Atta,” he said in Arabic.

  After a long pause, he replied back into the phone.

  “God is Great. This is excellent. Thank you. Praise be to Allah.”

  Atta walked back over to the table and sat down, regarding the others. They remained silent for a long moment, before one of them, Marwan al Shehhi, spoke up.

  “Is that the news we’ve been waiting for?”

  Atta nodded. “Yes, my brothers.”

  The third man, Ziad Jarrah, nodded and smiled.

  “The other teams have passed through Canadian customs without incident. God is Great. We are now in the final stages.”

  Groups of other Saudi Arabians were entering the country—each pilot had a team of people under him. “Are we to help get them settled?” Shehhi asked.

  Atta nodded. “I’ll be traveling in a few days to Madrid, so you’ll need to get them settled. Get them new IDs, and the younger men seem to enjoy going to the gym. Don’t let them get too settled into American life.”

  Shehhi nodded. “Madrid?”

  “Yes, to meet Binalshibh. I’m sure he’ll pass along the final instructions.”

  Jarrah spoke up. “I agree with you—I think the Capitol would be a better target. Why does bin Laden want to strike the White House?”

  Atta shook his head and ate. “I’m not sure. He prefers it, so it shall be.”

  “Will you mention Indian Point?” In their familiarization flights over the New York area, Atta had mentioned the nuclear power plant as a potential target, but the other pilots were leery—the airspace over nuclear plants was more heavily restricted, so they were unable to do reconnaissance flights. The chances of getting shot down during the actual attacks would be increased.

  “Yes, I’ll mention it. But I think he will not approve.” Atta looked at them. “Soon, the target list will be set, and we’ll move into the final phase.”

  He raised his glass of tea to the others and smiled, drinking deeply.

  3.12

  Another September 11

  On the morning of September 11, 2001, the elder Dr. Don Ellis arose early from his bed. His well-appointed apartment at the warehouse was built in the high rafters. He’d had it constructed as high up as he could, and it had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on Manhattan. On this early morning, he stood and watched at the window. He hoped that nothing would happen on that day, but he couldn’t be sure.

  That was the problem with the past—it was all laid out in front of him, but once anything was changed, it became a Rubik’s Cube, difficult to solve and unpredictable. Every change in the timeline spawned another dozen permutations. Any changes created layers upon layers of unseen variables.

  Just a few days ago, he’d received a message: President Gore had lost track of the hijackers.

  Even after all the warnings, all the reminders from Ellis about secrecy, the military had still been seen. The hijackers had disappeared and so far hadn’t followed any of their former plans. There was no way to know if they had simply picked new planes and new airports. Maybe they were out there right now, looking out of the windows of passenger jets sitting on runways in Ohio and Texas and Maryland, waiting for the planes to taxi out and take to the skies.

  Ellis didn’t know what to do anymore.

  Gore and he had met several more times over the summer of 2001, and Ellis had made suggestions about tightening up airline security, placing phone taps on suspected terrorists, shutting down the flight training schools. But the suggestions had fallen on deaf ears—Gore was more than happy to pursue the known hijackers, but he was leery about impinging on Americans’ rights. The president had increased airport security but had chosen to not implement all of the suggested changes, fixes that might have stopped the attacks.

  “But I don’t want to treat the American public like criminals,” the president had argued. Ellis had brought in a stripped-down version of President Bush’s “Patriot Act” which, in this timeline, would probably never be needed. But many of the provisions contained therein were workable and useful, and Ellis had expected the suggestions to be quickly adopted.

  Instead, Gore had balked at almost all of them.

  “And what about these wiretaps?” the president had said at the time, indicating that portion of Ellis’ proposal. “The FBI and the Justice Department would be allowed to have continuous wiretaps on suspects’ phone and Internet conversations with almost no judicial oversight beyond an initial approval. Doesn’t that seem like it could invite misuse?”

  Ellis shook his head—he didn’t want to argue civil rights with the sitting president.

  “Mr. Gore, I’m saying that these methods were us
ed successfully to prevent further attacks after 9/11. Presidents Bush and Cheney both, in different timelines, used the scope of the three Patriot Acts to ensure that no more attacks took place. These rules and regulations work, Mr. President.”

  Gore nodded, but Ellis could see that further discussion was futile. The new president was concerned about things that Ellis could afford to ignore. Gore hadn’t seen the towers fall. This man sitting across the desk from Ellis had not seen the TV coverage of the radioactive wasteland that had been Houston, Texas, or watched the U.N. building explode.

  Gore had an objectivity that Ellis had lost long ago. And, in the long run, it didn’t really matter what Ellis thought—Gore was in charge, setting the tone.

  He also had his own agenda—just weeks after entering office, he had moved forward with a “Green Initiative,” made up of several different pieces of legislation that would increase domestic oil production and nuclear power, while decreasing American dependence on foreign oil. Ellis had to credit the man—it was a bold plan. The president had pored over all the information Ellis had provided from the two other futures and reached one conclusion: the United States had to wean itself off of foreign oil to secure its economic independence and remove the giant anvil that hung over the country’s head—oil prices.

  The initiative included building forty new nuclear power plants over the next ten years, funded by a carbon cap-and-trade system of taxes on industry. The power plants were already in the design phase, and ground would soon be broken to add a third reactor at a power station outside of Atlanta.

  Manufacturers and industry leaders had, of course, balked at the cap-and-trade system, calling it a “Gore-ing” of American industrial might, but Gore had provided an interesting provision in the legislation to encourage widespread adoption: the traded “carbon” credits could be cashed in at a later date for free power from the nuclear plants, once they came online.