The Towers Still Stand

by Daniel Rosenberg

  “Two Planes Apparently Collide North Of New York City – Sources”

  He stared, wide-eyed, at the screen. The time on the headline was 8:46 – seven minutes ago. The phone must have been out of range for a few minutes after all. He sat back, but no change of expression showed on his face. He still stared straight ahead, his dark eyes now betraying no emotion. There could be no coincidence, he knew. Something terrible had happened to at least one of the other planes. He had no idea how such a thing could have occurred, but there was no time to think of that now. He was on his own, and he had to decide the course. There was still a chance that one of the other planes would fulfill its mission, if it were still flying. He studied his phone, the fingers of his other hand tapping on the armrest, trying to will the headlines to update.

  Another headline appeared and he leaned forward to read it.

  “Update: New York Plane Collision: Authorities Say Planes Took Off From Boston’s Logan Airport, Bound for Los Angeles”

  Immediately after, a third:

  “Update: New York Plane Collision: Authorities Say Flight Control Lost Communications with Airliner Prior to Collision”

  It was 8:55.

  Jarrah re-read the headlines with mounting confusion and frustration. Could both of the other planes be down? Was it possible, then, that the brothers on Flight 11 and Flight 175 had flown their planes into one another? How could that be? Had the mission to destroy the World Trade towers failed? And if so, what should he do?

  There was a nudge at his arm, and he looked up. It was one of the “muscle” brothers who’d been sitting behind him in business class.

  “Sit down,” Jarrah said to him in English and pointed to the empty seat next to him.

  The muscle brother’s dark face was twitching anxiously. He combed his fingers through his black hair.

  “What’s wrong?” the brother asked in Arabic. “We’re ready to go. You haven’t given the signal.”

  Jarrah was the commander of this plane, and this brother and the others were there to serve simply as muscle – to help kill the flight crew and then subdue the infidels in back. These men hadn’t been part of the planning, and some had only recently arrived in the United States, adding to their anxiety.

  Jarrah didn’t answer right away, and his cohort stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for a reply. Thoughts rushed through Jarrah’s mind. He realized he and the other brothers might never get as good an opportunity again as this one. Even if the brothers on Flight 11 and Flight 175 had failed to hit the towers, there was still a chance for him hit the White House or the Capitol, as they’d planned. And there was Flight 77, also up in the air now. It was supposed to target the Pentagon. Certainly Jarrah and Hani Hanjour, lead brother on that plane, could still accomplish their missions.

  Then again, this wasn’t about him. This was a much greater thing. The plan was to have all four planes hit the key targets – business and government. To finish the job begun in 1993 when the World Trade Center was bombed. To hit New York and Washington simultaneously – the two centers of American evil.

  His phone vibrated and he jerked it up. A message, marked urgent. It was from the familiar email address – a generic-looking Yahoo account.

  “I’m very sorry to inform you that today’s meeting has been cancelled,” the message read in Arabic. “We can discuss re-scheduling when you land in San Francisco.”

  Jarrah read the words with relief; the decision was out of his hands. The Director must have been monitoring things from Pakistan. He must have seen the same headlines and relayed his order across the Atlantic. The operation would be put off for another day.

  “Let the other brothers know that today’s meeting is cancelled,” Jarrah told the brother next to him. “We’ll try to re-schedule.”

  The brother nodded, didn’t say anything and got up and went back to his seat, where he spoke quietly to the other brother. Then he rose again and walked into the coach section to tell the other two team members.

  Jarrah’s face stayed calm, displaying no outward change. Inside, he likewise remained calm. The fight against the infidels, he knew, would take hundreds of years. If his mission had to be delayed, it didn’t make a difference. Justice would one day come for the Americans. At the same time, a feeling welled up from deep in his heart. A feeling of relief. He had thought he never would see Alev again. Now, maybe he would.

  “OK, folks, this is your captain speaking,” came a voice over the intercom, momentarily interrupting Jarrah’s thoughts. “Glad to have you aboard today on our flight to San Francisco. I know we got out of the gate on time, but it looks like we’ll be fighting a headwind all the way to the West Coast, so we might be getting in about half an hour later than we thought. We’ll give you an update on our ETA just a little later on. But for now, please sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.”

  The overweight man with the laptop cursed under his breath. “Of all the lousy luck,” he muttered.

  CHAPTER 6

  American Flight 77: 8:58 a.m.

  A dark-haired, pony-tailed female passenger with sharp, pale features on the flight from Newark to Los Angeles glanced to the side when the clean-cut young man sitting beside her leaned back. The man, who looked Arabic, was dressed in business casual clothing. He had thick, prominent eyebrows. His lips moved a little, and she gave him a closer look. Was the young man praying? He’d been so quiet ever since he got on. She wondered where he was from and why he was headed to Los Angeles. For business? Which reminded her of the report she was working on. She was already behind and there would only be a few hours on the flight to get caught up. She bent back over her laptop.

  The message Hani Hanjour had just received came as a shock. The other brothers had failed. The plan would be put off for another time. The towers still stood. He glanced at the American woman sitting beside him, tapping at her keyboard.

  Her day would come, Hanjour thought. He had no doubts that one day, they would succeed, Allahu Akbar. It was a pillar in his mind – a simple, unquestionable fact of life. Dying for Islam was sanctioned by the Koran itself, and by the Prophet.

  CHAPTER 7

  The White House: 9 a.m.

  Virgil Walker’s forehead wrinkled as he glanced at the television set mounted from the wall opposite his desk. It was tuned to CNN, but muted. Something on the screen had caught his eye. He grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume.

  Just minutes ago, CNN said, there’d been a strange mid-air collision about 50 miles north of Manhattan. First reports were that a United 767 and an American 767, both bound for Los Angeles, had collided about half an hour after taking off from Logan. There were also disturbing reports from the Federal Aviation Administration that at least one of the planes had been hijacked. Bodies and airline parts were raining from the sky over the town of Peekskill, and a neighborhood was on fire.

  “It’s too early to say for certain, but we’re being told the chance of any survivors is very low,” the CNN correspondent said. “Both planes were fully loaded with fuel for their cross-country flights, and witnesses say the explosion was extremely bright and loud. We’re told there were 90 passengers and crew on the American plane and 64 on the United. If all have indeed perished, this would be the worst mid-air collision in terms of lives lost in U.S. history.”

  “Do you have any word yet on what may have caused the planes to collide?” the anchor asked the correspondent. “Could this have been some sort of pilot error?”

  “Well, Frank, it’s only been about 25 minutes since this happened, and the people we’re talking to say they can’t discuss possible causes yet,” the correspondent replied. “But air traffic control has very sophisticated systems in place to prevent this sort of incident, and that’s why it’s so rare. It’s been more than 15 years since we had a major airliner involved in a collision, and that was with a small plane near Los Angeles. To have two major jet planes colliding – well – we saw it happen five years ago in India, but I don’t believe we’ve ever
seen such an incident here in the U.S.”

  “Thanks, Phil,” the anchor said. “We’re now looking into reports that say at least one of the airplanes may have been hijacked before the collision. If that’s the case, it would be the first plane to be hijacked on U.S. soil since the 1970s…”

  Virgil was listening to the broadcast but gazing intently at his computer screen. The information he was getting over his secure channels was that the transponders on both planes had been turned off shortly after takeoff, and that both planes appeared to have turned south from their approved flight paths. There’d been a strange transmission to controllers from one of the aircraft, something along the lines of, “We have some planes.”

  His phone rang and he picked it up. “Yes,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’m on my way.” He put down the phone quickly, grabbed his briefcase and headed upstairs.

  A few minutes later, an out-of-breath Virgil, wearing black socks with the toe still sticking out, stepped into Vice President Dick Cheney’s office. Inside the expansive room, decorated with a blue carpet and gold curtains, Cheney, wearing his trademark large glasses, sat at his heavy wooden desk talking to National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice. They both glanced at Virgil when he came in, and Cheney motioned with his hand for Virgil to sit next to Rice.

  “What do you think?” Cheney asked him as he sat down.

  Virgil looked back at the Vice President, folded his hands in his lap, and said, “Can I be blunt?”

  “When are you not?” Cheney replied with a slight smile. Virgil had known Cheney casually for years, but this new administration was their first time working closely together. He didn’t doubt why others referred to the man as “Darth Vader.” When he stared at you with those gimlet eyes, you could almost feel lasers piercing your heart, and the small smile he offered now didn’t help one bit.

  “OK, you asked for it,” Virgil said. “I think we need the military on high alert so we can be ready to take action if any other aircraft are hijacked. I’m convinced this is just the first wave.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rice interjected. “Other planes being hijacked? Who said anything about that?”

  “There was a strange transmission,” Virgil replied. “The FAA said it sounded like someone saying, ‘We have some planes.’ I advise shutting down all air traffic right away and forcing all planes in the air to land. It’s like I’ve been telling you – Al-Qaeda has threatened to attack us, and it looks like it’s happening. We knew they might use hijacking as a tactic; that’s been clear for years.”

  “OK now,” Rice responded. “We have no evidence that this is Al-Qaeda, and we don’t know of any other hijacked planes. You want us to force every plane to land? That’s never been done in history. Have you stopped to think of how we’d look if forced thousands of planes to land and inconvenienced millions of people, and there wasn’t any real danger? The implications would be enormous. I agree we need to keep planes on the ground just in case until we can be sure there’s no more danger, Dick, but I think Virgil’s idea is far too dramatic.”

  Virgil admired Rice for her expertise on foreign policy. At the same time, he didn’t feel she took the threat of domestic terrorism seriously enough. She was a Russia expert, not a Middle East expert. The regular meetings to discuss Bin Laden had been cancelled. Virgil could no longer make his reports directly to the President – instead, he had to send them through a committee she had set up, which rarely met. At one meeting, she’d looked at him from across the table and asked him point blank how he could be so sure Bin Laden was targeting the U.S. homeland. “We know Bin Laden is a serious threat in the Middle East, but what solid evidence is there that he’s targeting us here?” she’d said. A fair enough question, he supposed, but one that revealed a lack of understanding about the depth of Bin Laden’s organization and its reach. He’d responded with a bromide citing various reports, but obviously didn’t get through to her. Now, with the facts flying in her face, she didn’t see “any real danger,” and still worried about “inconveniencing” citizens.

  At that moment the phone on Cheney’s desk rang and the VP pushed the button on the conference line.

  “Hi there, everyone,” the President’s Texas drawl came over the speaker. “I heard we had some very bad piloting up in New York State this morning. Tell me what’s going on. Do we have a security situation, or is this just your typical airplane accident?”

  “Mr. President,” Cheney said. “We’re convinced there’s more to it than a simple airplane crash. We’re pretty sure at least one of those planes was hijacked, and the word is that Middle Eastern men stormed the cockpit and took control of the plane before the collision.”

  “OK,” Bush said. “Sounds like a very serious situation. Tell me more.”

  “Mr. President, this is Virgil Walker speaking,” Virgil spoke up. “This looks to me like Al-Qaeda. We knew back in 1998 that Bin Laden might use hijacking as a strategy. I think there’s more to come.”

  The President hesitated just a moment. “I knew you’d have some sunny forecasts for me today, Virgil old boy,” he finally said. “Well, let me know what the worst-case scenario is. I always can count on you for that.”

  “Mr. President, it’s my job to think of the worst case scenario,” Virgil said, trying to hold his temper. “But since you asked, let me remind you of that memo you saw last month. It notified us that Al-Qaeda was determined to attack U.S. targets. And we know that hijacking is one of their game plans. Almost three years ago, President Clinton received a memo titled, ‘Bin Laden preparing to Hijack U.S. Aircraft and Other Attacks.’ I have it right here.” He pulled open his old briefcase and started to comb through papers in a folder, getting increasingly tense as he tried to find the pertinent document. “Damn it, I know it’s somewhere in here.”

  “Virgil, I’m aware of that memo,” the President said in a clipped voice. “But we need more than a three-year-old warning to be sure Al-Qaeda is involved.”

  “We’re not talking three years, Mr. President -- ” Virgil started to reply, but Rice broke in.

  “Mr. President, Virgil here says we need to shut down all the airports in the country and order all planes to land immediately. I appreciate his expertise, but I’m not convinced that’s the right thing to do. I propose that warnings be sent to all planes in flight to keep cockpit doors locked and be on the lookout for possible cockpit incursions, and that all takeoffs be postponed until we can be sure we’re on top of the situation. No need for everyone to land immediately. That would cause absolute chaos.” Virgil thought he could see Rice and Cheney exchange a knowing glance as she finished.

  It was quiet for a moment. Over the speakerphone, they actually could hear the muffled sound of the President’s car accelerating as the motorcade pulled out of the parking lot at the elementary school in Florida where he’d been reading to youngsters when news of the collision broke. They heard the cheers of spectators, and Virgil visually imagined the President waving to the crowd as the motorcade left.

  “All right,” the President said, and then paused for a moment. “Look, I know some people say Virgil over-reacts sometimes, and I realize we have to think about the safety of everyone flying today. Virgil, I respect your advice, and I’m going to go along with your idea to cancel all takeoffs. I’m also going to agree with Condi’s suggestion to warn all cockpits, but no forced landings. Can the FAA and the airlines carry out an order like that?”

  “I’ll coordinate the agencies, Mr. President,” Rice said. “Can I get started on that now?”

  “Yep – please go ahead,” the President said. Rice got up and hurried out through the office door.

  Before Cheney could say anything, Virgil spoke up. He stood by the VP’s desk, and had been chewing nervously on a toothpick as the President talked. Now he took the toothpick out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. He faced the phone directly, as if the President could somehow be seen through it.

  “Mr. President, with all due respect, si
r, do you think it’s OK to let those planes keep flying to their destinations in this situation?” Virgil asked. “Some may have just taken off, and could have destinations hours away. We’re taking the chance that more hijackers could be out there. And we have to consider what exactly these hijackers had in mind. I think it’s very concerning that both planes turned south, toward New York. We know Al-Qaeda has talked about using planes to target buildings. If there are other hijackers up there, other buildings might be targeted. Maybe even this one.” He looked out the window nervously, as if he’d just realized the danger they might be in.

  “What do you think, Cheney?” the President asked.

  “If something were going to happen, we’d have heard about it by now,” Cheney said, giving Virgil an annoyed glare as he spoke. “I talked to the NSA and to the FBI a few minutes ago and they’re monitoring the situation closely. We also have the military on alert and planes ready to scramble if any airliners make unauthorized moves. I think we’re pretty well covered.”

  “OK, Cheney,” Bush responded. “Virgil – I want you to find out everything you can about this. If it turns out this is Al-Qaeda, that’s a very serious situation. I didn’t think they had the power to reach right into our country and manufacture something like this. If Bin Laden was involved, he’s going to hear from me. So get me that info ASAP.”

  “Yes sir,” Virgil said, still limping around the VP’s office, chewing his toothpick.

  “I also want us to consider right away who else might be behind this,” Cheney said, leaning back in his chair. “We can’t discount the possibility that Saddam Hussein might have sent operatives into our country to hijack planes. We have people on the ground in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, and they have contacts in Iraq. I expect we’ll have some evidence very soon and I’m recommending we pursue this angle very closely, Mr. President.”