by Klaus Marre
“I hope you have a good time despite this tragedy, Mr. Afsani,” the woman said, reading the name from the boarding pass before handing it to Hassan. “You're all set to go. Your gate is B-19 and boarding should begin any minute now. Thank you for flying Delta.”
After getting off the bus, Hassan al-Zaid had quickly made his way to Dulles International. On this morning, the airport did not only feature its normal activity, with travelers racing to make their planes, families waiting for loved ones, cab drivers trying to pick up fares. The terminal was also abuzz with news of the attack and speculation of what it would mean to those who had to fly. Rumors were swirling around Dulles that planes were being diverted or flights had been canceled. The fact that none of them were true didn't slow down the speed with which they circulated, and anybody wearing a uniform showing that they worked at Dulles or for one of the airlines was inundated with questions from anxious passengers.
Hassan wanted to leave the country as quickly as possible, but had left himself a little time to spare, and now used it to observe the atmosphere. It was an odd experience to know that he was responsible for the chaos in the airport — indeed, around the country. He pushed his way toward the departure gate and went over his escape again. He was on time and everything was going according to plan, apart from running into Stacey. Since the encounter had apparently not led to a speedier identification, no harm was done. He would be airborne within the hour and in Nassau by early afternoon. He anticipated that the entire world would start looking for Hassan al-Zaid while he was en route to Nassau, but it would take much longer for anybody to make the connection between himself and Canadian citizen Ibrahim Afsani. With any luck, by the time that happened, he would have ditched that identity already and left the Bahamas en route to Colombia.
Hassan glanced around. Everybody was either rushing to make their planes or huddled around the television screens, trying to get the latest news of the bombing. There was no indication he had been identified yet. With great satisfaction, he handed his boarding pass to the flight attendant at the gate. Within a few minutes, he would be airborne.
***
Before noon, all the news networks had managed to get their hands on retired generals, admirals, colonels and various national security experts, both from previous administrations and the private sector, to weigh in on the situation.
To visually enhance their coverage and to give viewers the assurance that the networks felt America's pain, all of them had taken less than an hour to come up with somber titles, such as “Terror at the Pentagon,” and even more solemn melodies and video montages that were used to connect different coverage segments in lieu of commercials.
The ever-present news tickers at the bottom of the feeds compiled the few known facts about the attack, such as when and where it happened, that nobody on the bus had survived and that early estimates put the death toll at “dozens.” And, of course, even the networks that normally did not show an American flag flying somewhere on the screen quickly changed that. This was a time for the country to come together, and the news channels would try to outdo each other in terms of patriotic display.
All the analysts agreed that the strike was likely the work of Islamic radicals and resembled other attacks carried out by as-Sirat. Since the group was the predominant global terrorist network, it was a pretty safe bet to begin looking for blame there. As-Sirat, or “The Path,” had been responsible for strikes across the globe. In recent years, the group had staged some high-profile attacks in England and mainland Europe, but had primarily focused its activities on Muslim countries, especially those in turmoil, such as Afghanistan and Pakistan. In addition, an offshoot of the group, as-Sirat in Iraq, had wreaked havoc in the war-torn country, claiming many military and civilian lives there.
The analysts also agreed that, if as-Sirat were discovered to be responsible for the strike, it could be the start of a new phase in the fight between Islamic terrorists and the Western world.
“For years, our aim has been to take the fight to them, to battle in their backyard in order to keep our own homes safe,” remarked one of the analysts CBS had brought in, a retired Special Forces colonel and counterterrorism expert. “If this is an as-Sirat attack, it shows that they are trying to do the same. In some ways, I almost hope that this is the work of some domestic wacko instead of Islamic terrorists. If it turns out to be as-Sirat, America can probably expect more of the same soon.”
Other security experts expressed similar views, forecasting an escalation of the fight between the United States and the terrorists.
With CNN and Fox News carried in most countries around the world, people on all continents watched the events unfold in real time, some with worries about loved ones in Washington, most with sympathy for the United States and the victims, and others with glee that the only remaining global superpower had been struck. There was an outpouring of support at most U.S. embassies around the world, with people placing candles or flowers at the fences, along with cards wishing the country well in the midst of its freshest tragedy. Terror had become a part of life in many places around the globe, and people there understood what those in Washington and elsewhere in the United States were going through.
Of course, there were other parts of the world where people were dancing in the streets after hearing of the attack. There, people burned the Stars and Stripes as well as pictures of President Sweeney and shouted slogans like “Death to America!” In those countries, the only thing placed at the embassy was additional Marines — a show of force meant to keep anti-American attitudes from morphing into all-out violence.
***
After passing out, Alan had been taken to the emergency room at George Washington University Hospital and treated for shock. He was then brought to a private room to recover. A couple FBI agents were already waiting for him and took down his statement. Unfortunately for them, it appeared as though Alan hadn't seen much that would be relevant to an investigation. After the FBI agents left, a nurse turned on the TV. Alan now saw through the lens of the televised coverage what he had experienced firsthand.
Being so closely brushed by history was overwhelming. As a copy editor, Alan proofread countless articles about war, death and terrorist attacks elsewhere in the world. But this was different, having come so close, personally, to being a footnote in one of those stories.
What eventually helped to calm Alan down was the realization he was in a unique position. He had flipped through the news channels and listened to experts talk about homemade explosives, as-Sirat and the history of terrorist attacks in the U.S. Alan realized that the media were lacking real information and that he was one of the few people who could provide an account of what happened. It also dawned on him that, if he played his cards right, he would likely get his 15 minutes of fame as a survivor. Being somewhat familiar with how the media worked, Alan could already see himself appearing on the morning talk shows or sitting next to Oprah to discuss what it was like to be so close to an exploding bus. He pushed those thoughts aside for now and instead called his employer.
***
As the paper of record in Washington, the Post had a particular obligation to cover the attacks better than its competitors. With so much confusion in the immediate aftermath of the strike and so little information available, this was a tough task for the editors. They mobilized all available reporters to cover the story from every angle. Local reporters were mining their sources with Washington Metro as well as first responders; political reporters captured the reaction to the attack from Capitol Hill and the White House. In addition, the international desk was covering how the news of the strike had been received around the world, and even sports reporters were working on the terrorism angle, writing about game cancellations and prepared memorials at events yet to take place. For the Post, as well as for most of the other news outlets in the U.S. and in Europe, there was no other news that mattered.
So far, the paper's coverage had not been distinguishably different
from that of its rivals, but Alan's phone call changed that quickly. Now the Post had something nobody else could present — an exclusive eyewitness who was on the scene, who’d had a front-row seat for the blast.
Alan's call was quickly routed to Emily Strauss, the paper's new managing editor, who told him that one of the guys from the national desk would write up his story. Within seconds, Alan was speaking to Arthur Kempner, a Pulitzer Prize winner and arguably the Post's top reporter, who asked him about what he had witnessed. Alan told him everything he could recall. It wasn't much, but more than the competitors had at the time. He told Kempner how near he had been to the bus and how fortunate he considered himself to be. Kempner asked whether Alan had been delayed in his morning routine, explaining that people would probably like to hear it if Alan had forgotten something in his house and went back, or had chosen not to push it through a yellow light during his commute, either of which decisions could have saved his life. Much to Kempner's regret, Alan could not provide an anecdote, but the reporter said he was happy with what he learned and that the story would be up on the paper's website shortly.
“Better get ready for Oprah,” the veteran reporter told Alan.
“You know, I was just thinking the same thing,” Alan said, straightening up. “You really think that's gonna happen?”
“Lemme put it this way,” Kempner replied. “You may turn out to be lucky in different ways. First, you're alive, and I doubt that there were a whole lot of eyewitnesses, and you and those military guys might just have been the closest to the scene.”
“Yeah, but they didn't faint,” Alan said. “So maybe they got a better story to tell.”
“Don't forget that those guys were military,” Kempner responded. “I don't know what the rules are for them with regard to talking to the media, but I imagine they won't be allowed to. That makes you the person closest to the attack who is alive to tell about it. I see no reason why you shouldn't capitalize on that. I'm sure a bunch of TV people will try to get ahold of you through me when they see your name in my story. Do you want me to pass along your information?”
“I suppose,” Alan said, smiling to himself when he thought of the possibilities. “You seem to have more experience with this, you got any advice?”
“Sure,” the veteran reporter said. “Milk it for all it's worth.
“Oh, and whatever you do, don't speak to the Times,” Kempner added with a chuckle. Then he gave Alan his cell number in case he remembered anything else from the attack.
***
“My fellow Americans. As you know, our country was struck this morning by a cowardly attack. I am sorry to confirm that there were no survivors on the bus. My prayers are with those who died, as well as with their families.”
President Jack Sweeney paused and looked into the camera that was set up in the Oval Office. Though the address to the nation had been put together quickly, protocols were in place for such events that also dictated how a commander-in-chief had to look in situations like this. The president's wardrobe was meant to portray strength; he was also supposed to display a somber and serious demeanor without showing any fear. He didn't understand why a simple blue tie and a certain white shirt were deemed more suitable for the occasion than a striped blue tie and a slightly different white shirt, but he didn't question the choices. He had more important things on his mind.
The president's job was to assure the public that everything would be okay and that the government, which many citizens cursed on a daily basis, was on the case.
“Investigators are hard at work, looking for clues as to who is responsible for this reprehensible attack on civilian American lives.”
The president, who despised using a teleprompter, again looked up from his notes and straight into the camera.
“Here and now, I want to assure all Americans that my administration and I will not rest until the perpetrator of this heinous crime has been brought to justice. Attacks such as this are meant to terrorize this proud nation and are aimed at assaulting the liberty that we enjoy and others detest. But whoever is behind this will soon find out that a strike within our borders does nothing to deter us from doing the right thing and only strengthens America's resolve to stamp out terrorism and stand as a beacon for all those seeking freedom. God bless you all, and may God continue to bless the United States of America.”
As the lights and camera shut off, President Sweeney turned to his chief of staff, Jared Watkins, who was hovering in the background as always.
“When’s the FBI briefing?” Sweeney asked.
“Director Stevenson should be briefing reporters right now,” Watkins replied. “He just wanted to wait for your remarks and begin right afterward.”
Fiddling with a pen, Watkins looked at his boss. Not for the first time, the president's chief of staff thought about how tough it must be to lead the United States. There were so many problems — and whenever you finished addressing one, a whole crop of new ones were certain to be waiting. Watkins had seen Jack Sweeney steer the country through a recession, avert a major crisis with Russia and command American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. He admired his boss for many reasons, but possibly most of all because he was a calm and steady leader in a storm. Now, with the country under attack, President Sweeney again did not seem rattled, especially in his address to the country. But when the lights were off, the chief of staff detected an unusual weariness in his boss. Watkins knew Sweeney's name would forever be linked to the attack, even if the president couldn’t have done anything to prevent the bombing. Today, American lives were lost under his watch, and the commander-in-chief would have to shoulder at least part of the blame. On the other hand, the public would never know some of the things the Sweeney administration had done to protect the country, or at least not until documents would be declassified in a couple of generations.
In the chief of staff's book, being president of the United States was a lousy job.
“Are you okay, Mr. President?” he asked.
The question seemed to reel the commander-in-chief back from somewhere deep in his thoughts.
“Yeah, Jared, I'm fine,” the president said, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. “Let's get to work.”
The answer did as little to give Watkins reassurance as the weak smile that Sweeney offered his chief of staff.
***
Following the presidential address, the networks switched over to a live feed from the J. Edgar Hoover Building, an ugly slab of concrete not far from the White House, where FBI Director Chris Stevenson was beginning his press conference. As with all high-profile cases, his job was to inform the public without revealing everything the FBI had already learned, in order not to corrupt the investigation.
While briefing rooms often look spacious and nice to the television audience, which only sees podiums with fancy seals flanked by American flags, they are often miserable and small. Away from the cameras, there were no nice drapes in the Hoover building. Instead, journalists who were lucky enough to find a seat sat crammed together, juggling recording devices, their notebooks and coffee mugs. The many lights necessary for the television cameras, along with the large number of people — enough to give any fire marshal fits — inevitably led to the temperature in the briefing room rising to an uncomfortable level. Director Stevenson felt sweat run down his back within seconds of beginning his statement.
“As you are all aware, terrorists struck our country at approximately 10:25 a.m. EST. A powerful device was detonated on Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority Bus 1202,” started Stevenson, standing behind a podium bearing the FBI logo. He glanced at the notes he had hastily scribbled on a legal pad, wanting to make sure he had the details right. “I understand that the bus was used this morning as a shuttle to take passengers from Crystal City Metro station to Rosslyn. The attack took place on Washington Boulevard near the Pentagon. Sadly, no one on the bus survived the attack. In one piece of good news, it appears that nobody else was seriously injured, th
ough at least one eyewitness is being treated for shock. The explosion was quite powerful, and it may take a while to determine the exact number of victims. In any case, we will not release their names until the next of kin have been notified.
“Nobody has claimed responsibility for the attack as of yet. We also don't know if the attacker or attackers were on board when the device detonated. As I'm talking to you, the tapes of the onboard cameras are being reviewed. As you may know, Washington Metro has outfitted all of its buses with three cameras each. We believe they will give us a good idea about who is responsible for this attack, as well as the number of victims.
“I wanted to get out here as quickly as possible and let you guys know where we stand, but I won't be taking questions at this time,” Stevenson said. “I hope to be back within the hour to let you know anything I can about what we have found on the tapes. Thank you all.”
With that, the FBI director disappeared into a hallway behind the podium of the briefing room, ignoring the questions reporters shouted after him.
***
The one witness who could have already shed some light on the attack had missed the president's address to the nation and the first FBI press conference.
Stacey Harper had been on the way home with her father, who had picked her up from Georgetown after confirming that I-395 remained open to traffic. With many commuters leaving Washington early, the highway was packed and it took three times longer than usual to get to Woodbridge. When they finally pulled into their driveway, Amanda Harper was outside waiting for her husband and daughter and she put Stacey in a bear hug when she got out of the car.
“I was so worried about you,” she said, trying to fight back another flood of tears as she rehashed the agony of the morning. Stacey knew better than to interrupt her mom as she went on about how she had felt when she heard about the attack and could not reach her daughter. Instead, she simply held on to her mother.
