by Noah Waters
Although happy for Isaac, Noah’s mind could only see mass confusion.
“Is there anything I need to bring?”
“Noah, just be on time.”
“No problem, Chief.”
Noah slowly hung up the phone glancing over at her seabag that remained in the corner of the room. While realizing she had taken the day off to unpack, she decided to wait. “I think,” Noah stated as she stared at her seabag, “you’ll be the last thing I’ll do today.”
With that thought, the telephone rang again and Noah’s mother was on the other end.
“Are you ready for the storm?” her mom asked.
“We’re getting there. It looks like it is going to be a doozy.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come up this way?”
Noah’s mother lived a good 60 miles inland off the coastline and she always considered it safer than the waterfront.
“No, I’ll be on duty, Mom, but will have my cell phone in case you need anything.” Noah’s mother was reluctant as she always was to have Noah work on such occasions. “Mom, is Miranda there?”
Miranda lived with Noah’s mom during the most trying time of Noah’s life. Noah had allowed her pace to slow down—an extreme police academy, an ugly divorce, three jobs to make ends meet, and two bachelor’s degrees—to give life to her only child. Noah loved Miranda more than anything in the world but knew that she needed stability, a safe haven, and comfort. If anyone had these comforts to offer it was Noah’s mother.
“She’s out shopping, but she’s excited you’re back home.”
Miranda loved designer items and shopping for them was her favorite pastime. She would spend hours window-shopping at the local mall. There was no doubt that a cop’s salary could never provide her the things she wanted. Noah had to continue her education to do better for both of them.
“Just have her call me later on tonight or tomorrow. I plan to pick her up this weekend so we can catch a movie.”
“I’m sure she has lots of things to tell you, although you have only been gone a couple of weeks. A lot happens in a teenager’s life in that time frame.” Noah’s mother laughed.
“At least I know she’s safe from the storm. I won’t have to worry about her. If she were with me, I would only be able to concentrate on her safety.”
“She’s fine,” Noah’s mother reassured her as she always did. Noah’s instincts told her that Miranda was in the right place although her heart ached from not having her daughter with her on a constant basis.
The rest of the afternoon went by at a speedy rate. Grocery shopping, dry cleaning, and firearms practice—another day had come to an end. The last hanger was placed into the closet as Noah proceeded to turn out the closet lights. In the right-hand corner of the room, her seabag once again caught her eye. “Dog-gone it,” Noah found herself talking directly to the seabag. “I was going to tackle you today as well, but let’s hope that there is always tomorrow.”
Chapter IV
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! NOAH TOOK A DEEP BREATH IN AS SHE STRETCHED on the large bed, ignoring the alarm clock all together.
Mmm, fresh coffee, she thought.
No matter how much she loved fresh coffee in the morning, she often had to struggle to wake up before she could even reach the coffee pot.
The sunshine sparkled in through a small windowpane. The white walls inside the apartment glistened as if it were high noon.
Wow, I must have slept late this morning, Noah thought.
In reality, it was not yet 7:30 A.M. Noah had never seen a day start so beautiful so early in the morning. It was as if the storm had disappeared altogether. This is really strange given how clear yesterday was, Noah thought to herself.
“Ouch!” as a piping hot drop of coffee dribbled down on to her hand. It was obvious she was still not awake. Scanning the coffee table for the remote, she plopped down on the oversized lounge chair as Good Morning America continued their morning show. Cannon hopped up into the chair as if he too would have liked to catch a few more winks before moving on to address the rest of the day.
Fashion, food and Hurricane Gabrielle were all topics of the morning. Suddenly, Noah noted a change in the anchor’s voice. It was obvious that he was receiving information through his earpiece that seemed to cause him concern. Noah worked with people all her life and she was skilled at reading facial expressions and picking up the change in people’s tones.
“We’re getting word that there is smoke coming out of one of the twin towers in New York City. We will be going there live in just a few moments if we can—we will bring it to you.” Noah knew the twin towers well as she had been there several times. They were remarkable structures that stood tall and strong and represented capitalism at its finest. If there was a fire in the towers—that could be big trouble, she thought to herself. It is a long way down from the top and, at best, the fire trucks could only reach so far. Noah’s thoughts were quickly interrupted as a flash on the screen showed the towers live and indeed large billows of smoke puffed upward.
“We are getting word that some sort of plane has possibly struck the North Tower. We do not know at this time if the plane lost control or if indeed this is what happened at all.”
As the satellite imagery attempted to focus on the exact location, two large windows looked like they had been penetrated. A second plane suddenly appeared on the screen. Noah rose from her chair. “Oh my God, it’s a kamikaze,” she blurted out loud.
Within what seemed like seconds, the South Tower had been struck. The anchor, although steady in his voice, had been taken by surprise.
“Some sort of second plane has just struck the other tower. We are unsure of exactly what has happened. The immediate concern is for the lives of the individuals within these towers. We are also getting word that a fire has broken out at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. We will attempt to cover simultaneously the New York City scene and as soon as we can get images from Washington, we will have those to you.”
Noah’s heart was racing. “My God, we’re under attack.” Immediately questions began to flow through her mind. Have the Japanese decided to take a second run at us or was it China? Have the Russians decided to retest their skills? Her head was spinning.
The scene flashed to the western side of the Pentagon where once again a plane hit the side of the wall and erupted with a bright yellow, white, and blue flash against a crystal blue sky. The anchor interrupted the scene. “We are unsure of what has happened at the Pentagon at this time as well. The Pentagon and the towers are being evacuated.”
Every fire engine in New York City had responded. Hundreds of police officers had arrived on the scene and the city was in chaos. Once again, Noah saw the anchorman’s face change expression. He placed his trembling right finger to the earpiece as if he could barely hear transmission from the other room.
“We are now getting word that there are flames from a small field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. What, or if, that has anything to do with the prior two incidents is inconclusive at this time.”
The satellite image changed to reveal the twin towers burning. Hundreds of people ran in all directions through the streets. Mass panic was occurring. The anchorman declared that the president of the United States was leaving Florida and was being taken to an undisclosed location. It was clear someone had declared war on America.
The towers, in all their majesty, held up as long as they could. The intense heat from the flames mixed with jet fuel melted the great steel beams as if they were in a smelting center. The courageous firemen ran upward as hundreds of sudden heroes tried to grasp some sort of control of the situation.
“We have now confirmed that a plane has struck the Pentagon.” The FAA was now announcing that all flights were to be grounded—chaos had spread throughout the sky. Thousands of flights from all over the world were being sent to the closest airports. Canada was opening up her airspace to hundreds of inbound flights on the eastern seaboard. The North Tower suddenly b
egan to sway; it had stood as long as it could. As if to embrace her fellow citizens of New York, it slowly began to implode. Collapsing with it were the hearts and a way of life of a nation. Not since Pearl Harbor had such a devastating blow occurred on U.S. soil.
Noah, limp and unbelieving, sat catatonic as the last floor of the North Tower slowly proceeded to disappear into the earth. The anchorman stopped talking. Silence seemed to be all that remained. Facial expressions provided no answers at this time. The anchor could not believe what had just happened; he shuffled the papers in front of him as if he had lost something—to regain some continuity of thought.
“The North tower has just collapsed. We do not know at this time if any survivors remain. We are currently getting word that the Pentagon has been evacuated and the president has landed somewhere in the U.S.”
The South Tower began to shift and there was no doubt in Noah’s mind that the South Tower would soon meet the same fate. She would join her twin and those who remained trapped in the building would meet their destiny. Thousands attempted to escape their destined date with death, fleeing the molten hot, twisted stairwell. The South Tower began to groan and lean, the bottom floors shifted, and like its predecessor it crumbled to the ground with the hopes, dreams, and lives of thousands.
The world, for the first time in Noah’s lifetime, had come to a complete stop. Nothing else could be heard or even felt. She was numb. She had just witnessed the death of thousands of Americans trying to save others. It was an image she knew her nation would never forget.
Chapter V
THE CHAOS WAS NOT LIMITED TO NOAH’S VIEW. THE COMMAND CENTER at D-11 on the California coast line was in chaos. The gold Rolex watch that lay near the red phone belonged to Bill Percy, the current Admiral of D-11, also known as Pack Area. Admiral Percy had a history of running military operations as smooth as his watch ran. Percy leaned forward on his large oak desk with his eyes focused on the 160” screen located dead center of the Command Center watch floor.
“Oh, my God, we are under attack.”
Coast Guard analysts, Coast Guard Investigative Service personnel, and boarding officers were all mesmerized by the view that lay before them on the-larger-than-life television screen. For the first time ever, a pin could be heard on the watch floor.
“How many ships do we have headed toward the California coast at this time?”
A quick, deceptive sharp-toned response came from the Command Center floor below.
“Twelve, sir—last count—0600.”
“Get me Washington on the phone.”
Admiral Percy had been assigned to D-11 for the past 4 years. His career had taken him all over the world. He had seen many places but had fallen in love with California and its easy-going ways. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny days, and fresh salty air were all things that made him determined to call California home after leaving his beloved Coast Guard. Not only was California beautiful, it was a growing industrial business area for maritime operations.
The California coast was no doubt the heart of maritime international transportation. China, Russia, the Philippines, and European businesses traded with the United States daily. The vessels, for the most part, had come from countries that enjoyed trade relationship with the United States. For many years, hundreds of vessels transported thousands of containers that carried everything from toys from China to exotic cars from Italy to be distributed to the American public. Percy had never considered until this very second that a threat of catastrophic proportions could be carried on board any of these vessels. The thought was overwhelming. Container vessels could carry anywhere from 500-to-3,000 containers per ship. Each container could be shipped from anywhere inland—from any country. The number of hands that could touch one container could range from 1-to-100 before the container was even loaded aboard the vessel. Most, if not all, were unsecured. To the best of his knowledge there were no custom checks prior to departure from the country of origin. The weight of his entire body could now be felt, increasing the pressure on his palms as he leaned forward even further.
“How many PSUs do we have ready to go?” PSU stood for Port Security Units. These were units that were usually used for protection of American assets overseas. Each unit usually consisted of 12-to-35 personnel who could be quickly assimilated from reserve positions and usually had training in maritime law enforcement procedures. Once again, from the floor below, an answer echoed upward.
“Working on it now, sir.”
The admiral knew that he would not be the only one scrambling to protect American critical infrastructure on short notice. He also knew the number of PSU personnel would be grabbed up quickly by other coastal command centers or U.S. assets calling for support under fear of threat.
While California was a large import-export territory, it was by no means the only one. Container ships were on the top of the admiral’s list, yet he knew there were countless other assets that were totally exposed. Cargo vessels were nothing more than large containers that could carry enormous amounts of liquid flammable fuels just like jets. On a daily basis, each type of vessel would transfer to and from inland docking stations and fueling stations as well as travel to inland ports through waterway channels that would land them right outside of California’s capital door.
Vital infrastructure lined the cargo vessels’ daily routes such as the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate. The engineering feat of 1937 made the Golden Gate Bridge the longest suspension bridge of its kind for a number of years. It connected the bay to San Francisco. Thousands of area residents commuted to and from work every day. Suddenly, the vision became a nightmare.
“Sir, sir,” the admiral’s focus was interrupted by a soft-toned petty officer. “Washington is on the line.”
“This is Admiral Percy.”
“Admiral, the United States is under attack. Use all means necessary to secure the ports of California. I am currently attempting to get total statistics on resource capability.”
Percy was not sure at this point exactly how Washington wanted him to proceed. His basic instinct was to provide as much security as possible, but as he had no idea from which direction the threat was coming. It was like throwing a grain of salt onto the beach and hoping it would be enough to absorb the incoming tide.
“We have not heard from the president at this point. He is being repositioned. No one really knows where he is. Do the best you can, look out for anything and everything.”
The 3-star Admiral Taylor seemed to have very few answers.
“Yes, sir” Admiral Percy stated in militaristic tone as he placed the hot line back onto its cradle.
D-11 was packed with captains, commanders, lieutenant commanders, and lieutenants. There would be no problem pulling together a team that could quickly assess all the possible angles that any enemy might take. This would not be a problem. Percy knew that his time would be limited. He needed accurate information, good intelligence, and the ability to issue direct orders on a large scale—quickly.
The Command Center floor was abuzz with phones ringing from every direction. Information from all corners of the globe poured in. Businesses that were receiving goods from maritime transportation had thousands of questions. Ports, themselves, needed immediate assistance. In general, ports had never considered high-security measures as a primary obligation. The pay for security was poor and the officers were usually untrained. Facilities had never been designated for site intrusion nor did they work hand-in-hand with the government on any type of large-scale security enforcement exercises. The thought that private security might be thrust into the limelight to protect the nation’s greatest assets had never occurred to anyone.
Reality would be brutal. The exposure of security inadequacies across the United States stood out like a raw nerve in an open flesh wound. The enemy could easily reach down and grab hold of an exposed nerve to inflict pain at will.
“Sir, the team you have asked to assemble has now gathered in the briefing room.”
“Thank you, Petty Officer.” The admiral straightened his tense posture, took a deep breath, and remembered that it would be he who would have to remain calm to keep his team from losing their concentration on the mighty task laid before them. Proceeding down the catwalk, ascending the spiral stairs, the command watch floor staff was always aware when the admiral was afoot.
The master chief standing watch quickly turned to the admiral to provide a sufficient nod to acknowledge his presence—also providing reassurance that for a moment all was well. With an acknowledging nod, the admiral proceeded down the hallway and into a large, oak-paneled briefing room. The chatter was rampant.
“Good morning.”
Silence fell as everyone stood up and the admiral took his seat.
“At this moment, we are under attack which I think everyone here is well aware of by now. We do not know from whom or what instruments of attack they will use. All bases are on highest alert. I have been provided the information from Washington that the Pentagon has been hit by a plane. To the best of my knowledge, this is the third infiltration into an American structure. We must assume that all American critical infrastructure is in harm’s way. Should one of our maritime channels be shut down due to devastating attacks, it would cripple commerce and the economy would crumble. A forcible tone from the corner could be heard stating, “God forbid.”
“My sentiments exactly.” The admiral never lost focus. “I need statistics on personnel available with any kind of law enforcement background from any of your divisions ASAP. How quickly they can be deployed. What type of condensed training would be needed to enable us to use every resource we can lay our hands on.”
