Arnesto Modesto

by Darren Johnson

  He took a few deep breaths as he read the email one last time. Why was he hesitating? Did he subconsciously remember one more detail he could add? He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but nothing new came to mind. In fact, he hadn’t remembered anything new about this particular incident in eight years. It was for the best. At this point, he was risking planting some fake memory in his head. Memories are fickle that way.

  He opened his eyes, took one more deep breath, and clicked, “Send.”

  ***

  Security Officer Ray Carroll was already getting ready for work when the call came.

  “Are you coming into work now?” It was the chief.

  “Yeah, I was just getting ready,” Ray said.

  “I figured. Do what you gotta do, but get here as soon as you’re able. See you soon.”

  “Roger that.” Ray hung up the phone then saw his wife Erin looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

  “Trouble at work?” she asked.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “No. Well... I don’t think so. Why would you jump to that conclusion?”

  “I’m sorry!” she chuckled. “But be safe today, okay?” He smiled as he walked over to her, placing her arms around his waist then laying his hands on her shoulders.

  “Only today?” he asked with a wry grin.

  “Go,” she said as she gently pushed him away and walked back into the kitchen.

  After a long commute through the insufferable Boston morning traffic — Will they ever finish the Big Dig? — Ray arrived at his workplace in the security offices of Logan International. The chief spotted him right away.

  “Ray! Here, I need you to read this.” The chief shoved a chair at Ray while handing him a printout. The chief’s tone made Ray uncomfortable, but his discomfort was about to get much worse. He looked down at the printout and read:

  Subject: IMMINENT THREAT - 9/11/01 ~0800 AM - MULT. HIJACKINGS

  Body:

  Two days from now, on September 11, 2001, no fewer than 19 terrorists will attempt to hijack four passenger aircraft from Logan International and other airports in the northeast shortly after takeoff. Their aim is to fly these aircraft into major targets along the east coast.

  The terrorists are members of al-Qaida working under Osama bin Laden. They are all Middle Eastern men in their twenties and thirties. They are well-trained and well-armed, and intend to carry knives, box cutters, and mace past security. Shortly after takeoff, a signal will be given. The terrorists will get up from their seats in first-class and rush the cockpit, gaining entrance by any means necessary. Once inside the cockpit, their intent is to kill the pilot and copilot and then blockade themselves inside. They will then alter course toward their target, using the aircraft as a weapon of mass destruction. They will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way.

  Partial Intel:

  Tuesday, 9/11/01 between 0800 and 0900, Eastern Daylight Time

  American Airlines flight 11 out of Logan International Airport

  United Airlines flight 93 out of Newark International Airport

  19 hijackers divided among four aircraft

  Islamic extremists, members of al-Qaeda led by Osama bin Laden

  Seated in first-class

  May be wearing explosive devices (may be decoys)

  Armed with box cutters, mace, knives

  May don red headbands at start of attack

  Target #1: World Trade Center, North Tower

  Target #2: World Trade Center, South Tower

  Target #3: Pentagon

  Target #4: Washington, D.C., possibly the White House

  Sincerely,

  Anonymous

  “You shittin’ me, Chief? This a prank?” Ray asked as he reread the bullet points, though he felt pretty sure he already knew the answer. He felt even more sure when he looked up at the chief.

  “Not a prank. FBI and NTSB are already here. Word is they’ve got the names of seventeen of them and should have the rest confirmed by early afternoon. A couple of them were already on the FBI's terrorist-alert list,” the chief said.

  An FBI agent walked into the room. “Gentlemen, briefing in the situation room in five minutes,” he said, displaying the number five with his hand.

  “Be right there,” the chief said. “Ray, this is all need-to-know, top personnel only. Baggage handlers, screeners, even the pilots are being kept in the dark. The plan is to let these assholes board, then surprise them from behind. We’ll talk about the specifics in the meeting. Ray, two of the flights are out of Logan. I’m going to recommend you take point on one of the task forces. C’mon, they’re waiting for us.”

  ***

  “All first-class passengers may now board at this time,” said the cheery woman at the check-in counter. She had no idea what was about to happen. All she knew was that she had been told to delay boarding the rest of the passengers until she was given the all-clear.

  Terrorists, undercover agents, and unsuspecting passengers alike took their seats and settled in. Then, as had happened innumerable times in practice over the past thirty-six hours, the task force took action and the yelling began.

  “FBI!”

  “HANDS IN THE AIR!”

  “DON’T MOVE!”

  “GET DOWN!”

  Agents and security officers poured in from behind the coach section while more ran in from the boarding area. Some threw themselves on top of passengers to try to protect them from any would-be blast. A couple of agents directed the flight attendants, shoving them into the kitchen area. One agent ordered the pilots to lock themselves in the cockpit before taking position outside.

  The would-be hijackers were yanked from their seats and tackled to the ground. One managed to yell, “Allahu akbar!” just before a taser was shoved into his neck.

  Ray maintained control of the left arm of one of the terrorists as he, the terrorist, two agents, and another security officer went down in a heap on the cabin floor. The terrorist’s right arm, however, was still not restrained and as Ray landed on top of the hijacker, there was nothing he could do to keep the hijacker’s box cutter from piercing his carotid artery.

  The agent on top of Ray had no way of knowing that Ray’s life was slipping away. Precious seconds were lost as the task force focused on pulling the terrorist out from under Ray and subduing him.

  The situation contained at last, the terrorists were taken off the plane and down the stairs to the apron where they were placed in custody away from the main airport. Agents tried to control Ray’s bleeding, assisted quickly by paramedics who had been waiting below. Ray was rushed to a medevac helicopter, where he was airlifted to Massachusetts General Hospital, but it was all for naught. He had already lost too much blood.

  ***

  Arnesto stared at the television through eyes red and puffy with large bags underneath. He kept switching channels between the main news networks, waiting for the horrific news that would never come. Every now and then, one of the programs showed the New York City skyline, causing Arnesto’s heart to skip a beat, but there was never any news behind it. It was shown purely as a backdrop.

  One of the channels mentioned flight attendants, which caught Arnesto’s attention. However, instead of talking about how they were murdered in a hijacking, the piece was about whether stewards working for Delta were going to unionize.

  Nothing else came close. Mariah Carey released her soundtrack to the movie Glitter. Michael Jordan was possibly (definitely) coming out of retirement again. Outfielder Paul O'Neill was placed on the Yankees’ disabled list.

  Arnesto’s apartment grew brighter. Sunrise. He smiled. He probably would have heard something by now, but it was still too early to be sure. A couple more commercial breaks and it was the top of the hour. Seven o’clock in the morning for him, ten o’clock for Manhattan.

  And still no mention of any terrorist attack.

  Had he actually been successful in warning them or wa
s the news just slow? He knew what he needed. He went to the window and looked up at the sky, but that didn’t work. So he went outside and made the short walk up the hill a couple streets behind his house until he had a nice view of downtown. As he looked out over the city, way off in the distance, he spied what he was looking for.

  Contrails.

  He followed them to the source, and while he couldn’t see the airplane, he knew it was there. Such a beautiful sight on such a perfect morning. He remembered all the people who had been stranded after all air traffic in the United States had been grounded for the first time in history. But that was 9/11. Today wasn’t 9/11; today was plain ol’ boring September 11, 2001, and aircraft were still flying overhead. Thanks to him.

  Arnesto looked around to see if anyone was watching, then did a little victory dance.

  Soon he made it into work, where everything seemed brighter. His coworkers smiled and walked about the place with a sense of purpose. Arnesto walked by the main conference room, but instead of it being full of people glued to the television, it was empty and the television was off. And as the day progressed, there never came an email from management offering to match employee donations in honor of the victims.

  That Tuesday, Arnesto had a regular, boring, wonderful day at work.

  Barge Right In

  Arkansas River

  Outside Webber Falls, Oklahoma

  Monday, May 26, 2002

  7:35 a.m.

  “Do these things always happen so early in the morning? Over.” Pete sounded tense over the walkie-talkie.

  “A lot of them do. I’m not a big fan of it either, but it does provide more daylight for subsequent rescue operations. Over.” Arnesto realized he wasn’t helping to ease the tension and added, “Not that they’ll need one today.”

  Pete’s shaky voice came back on. “Roger. What was that rattling noise I heard? Over.”

  Arnesto looked at the cup in his hand. “That’s my McSalad Shaker. Too bad these things get discontinued. I guess if it doesn’t cause heart disease, Americans won’t eat it. Over.”

  So far, it was a cool morning in Oklahoma, though Arnesto felt the humidity was hurting the taste of his salad. He turned his eyes to the maritime scanner.

  “Love is coming,” Pete said, watching his own scanner. They both saw the towboat Robert Y. Love approaching from the south.

  “Too soon. Stand by.” Arnesto understood Pete’s eagerness. He felt the same way. But like he explained the night before, being too early wouldn’t help. It would only arouse suspicion and raise unanswerable questions. Too many of those and it could be all over. For everyone.

  “Still sounds like a question to me,” Pete said. “Robert Y. Love. Like, ‘Robert, why love?'"

  “That’s exactly how I remembered it. Alright, cut the chatter, Blocker Two. I am rolling. Stand by, over.” Arnesto started up the RV he had rented.

  “Roger.” Pete started his rented moving truck but sat tight. He wanted to puke.

  Arnesto drove up the onramp to I-40 East. Traffic was increasing, but it wasn’t an issue, and he merged onto the highway without difficulty.

  Pete looked at his walkie-talkie. Shouldn’t he have heard something by now? He looked at the scanner but wished he hadn’t. The Love was closing in a hurry.

  As Arnesto drove under the small overpass by mile marker number 289, he gave the command. “Blocker Two, you are go, over.”

  Pete dropped the walkie-talkie and scrambled to pick it up. “I don’t — I don’t know if I can do this.” He was practically hyperventilating.

  “Pete, all you have to do is park the truck. If you don’t, people are going to die. Go. Now!”

  Pete switched the vehicle into drive and inched forward. “Roger, on the move.” He pressed the accelerator and found himself getting up to highway speed as he merged onto I-40 West.

  “I’m about there,” Arnesto said. “You must be, too. Remember, just like we practiced. Get to your spot, put on your hazards and block ‘em.” He made it sound easy. The physical part was easy. It was the mental part that was difficult. In reality, Arnesto was only slightly less nervous than Pete, despite being far more experienced. But he had to sound calm for Pete’s sake. Heh, “for Pete’s sake.” I’ll have to tell him that afterward. Surely, he’s heard it before though? What am I doing, focus!

  Hazards flashing, Arnesto weaved back and forth a little for effect before coming to a stop at an angle before the median. He got out and looked east as he ran to the right side of the road. After a quick check to make sure nobody could pass the RV on the right and run him over, he looked out at the water and saw the Robert Y. Love and the two barges it was pushing upstream.

  Pete likewise parked his moving truck at an angle. He looked out the driver’s side window and saw traffic approaching from the rear, which didn’t help his nerves any. At least they appeared to be slowing down. He waited for the angry honking to start, but it never happened. Arnesto was right; people show odd restraint in unusual situations like this. He was grateful Arnesto had given him the “easy” side. He had a closer on-ramp as well as a smaller shoulder, making it easier to block traffic. “I’m in position,” he said.

  “Excellent. Thirty seconds to impact. Stand by.”

  Pete was impressed. The last car heading eastbound over the bridge had just passed. “Which side’s getting the collision, can you tell?”

  “Actually, when a ship collides with a stationary object, it’s called an allision.”

  “Really?! You’re doing this now?!” Pete thought his head was thumping, but then he realized it was the bass coming from a car stereo blasting music at full volume. He looked out and saw a dark Camaro stopped behind him.

  “It’s my side, he’s hitting the west side,” Arnesto said. Among the few details he remembered, the exact location of the accident was not one of them. They were both relieved to learn the allision was going to happen closer to Arnesto. “Oh shit, here we go, stand by!”

  CRUNCH!

  The barges slammed into one of the piers supporting the bridge. The impact was enough to cause a 503-foot section of the bridge to fall partly onto the barges and partly into the Arkansas River below.

  “Holy shit, dude! That was awesome.” Arnesto surveyed the scene for a few seconds. “It’s over. Now we go dark, turn off and hide the walkie-talkies, and do not move until the authorities tell us it’s okay. Over,” Arnesto said.

  Pete let out a sigh of relief. He held up the walkie-talkie to his mouth, but then the Camaro’s bass sounded different like it was lowering in pitch. He looked out the window and saw the car accelerating toward the bridge.

  “Arnesto, one got by! There’s a car heading your way on the bridge, over!”

  Arnesto jumped out of the RV and ran in the direction of the approaching vehicle. He didn’t have far to run as all four lanes of the bridge disappeared at a sharp angle into the river. He got to the edge and waved his arm at the approaching car. “Get out and wave your hands,” he said to Pete over the walkie-talkie. “Maybe he’ll see you in the rearview mirror!”

  Pete did just that, but it had no effect.

  Arnesto waved frantically at the car from his side, but the driver couldn’t see the gap until it was too late. He hit the brakes hard, but the car went flying off the bridge head-first into the water. A couple fishing boats involved in a nearby fishing tournament sped toward the car but were unable to rescue the driver in time.

  “I don’t know how he got by!” Pete said.

  “Return to the truck and back it up. Make sure nobody else can squeeze through.”

  “I can’t see. What happened, did he stop?”

  “Yeah. He stopped,” Arnesto said. It was technically true. “Close that gap and go dark.”

  Pete looked at the gap in disbelief as he got back in the truck. He still didn’t know how the Camaro squeezed through. He backed up until not even a motorcycle could fit. This left more room on the left side, but he would block that with his body if
he had to. He turned off and hid the walkie-talkie, then got out and waited.

  ***

  Hours later, they were eating take-out pizza in a couple lawn chairs outside the RV Arnesto had rented.

  “He died?! You told me he stopped!” Pete said in shock at the news.

  “I’m sorry I deceived you, but it was for the good of the mission. I needed you to focus. You kind of scared me when you hesitated at the beginning.”

  “Oh my god, if I hadn’t hesitated, he might still be alive.”

  “No. That’s not true. You only hesitated a few seconds. He would have wound up behind you anyway,” Arnesto said.

  “I still fucking killed him. ‘All you have to do is park the truck.’ That’s what you said. ‘All you have to do is park.’ And I couldn’t even do that right.”

  “Pete, listen to me. This is not your fault. You didn’t build that bridge or choose not to put pier protection cells in front of all the piers. You didn’t cause the accident. You sure as hell didn’t tell the driver of that car to squeeze past you. What you did was save around a dozen lives, maybe more. You’re a hero.”

  “So why do I feel like absolute shit?”

  “Because someone still died. That’s one thing I’ve finally learned. You can’t save everyone. Trust me, I know.”

  Pete thought for a moment. “Jacqueline. That girl from the hospital.”

  “And others.”

  “That was more than ten years ago. And you couldn’t have done anything else. She wasn’t a great driver and she didn’t wear her seatbelt. Jesus, you still think about her? It’s a completely different situation.”

  “Is it?” Arnesto asked.

  “Yes, what could you have done, follow her around everywhere? Wait, that wouldn’t have worked. You would have had to drive ahead of her — no, that wouldn’t work either. There was nothing you could have done. But today, we could have — I don’t know — put up roadblocks or signs saying, ‘Bridge Out Ahead!’ or something.”