The 9/11 Machine

by Greg Enslen

  Stevens continued as they walked the perimeter of the warehouse floor, circling the growing machine. “I told ConEd we were testing some large centrifuges for separating DNA. They didn’t have a clue what questions to ask after that, so they just approved it, especially when they saw your $10,000 deposit and the indemnification paperwork.”

  They walked in silence for a moment, passing the machine and walking back into the suite of offices that Ellis had had constructed again within the warehouse.

  “And our new ‘friends?’” Don asked.

  Stevens smiled.

  “Reaching out to the locals was a great idea. They control this part of the waterfront anyway, but bringing them on cemented the relationship. The Italians are going to be great for external security—they’re tied in to the local police, and they’re not scared of anything. Your generous donation impressed them, as did that tidbit about the police sting that was planned for last week. I’m not sure how you knew about that, but they really appreciated it. As you asked, their organization has been put on a weekly ‘retainer’ and will be providing security for the exterior of the building, including the lot.”

  Ellis nodded. “Perfect.”

  Stevens nodded. “I did a little digging before approaching them—apparently, they have some family connections to the Luciano and passed along an interesting story. Did you know the U.S. Navy got help from the mob in World War II to protect shipyards here in New York?”

  Don shook his head. “They have a lot of history here—guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Apparently they helped out with the invasion of Sicily as well, supposedly in exchange for a lighter sentence for Lucky Luciano,” Steven said, smiling. “The things you learn. Anyway, our new friends are on board. They also offered to have a group of men regularly walk a four-block perimeter out from the facility, just in case. They’re also rotating personnel in and out so no one gets too curious about what’s going on here. So they’re watching the outside, and the private security group will handle internal security as well as emergency procedures.”

  Ellis nodded. “Good. How did Brinks take it?” he asked, referring to the security agency.

  Stevens smiled. “They’re not sure what to think. I can tell they’re not used to working with a ‘questionable’ element. But splitting up the workload will help out. And they’re all on the same frequency, so we’ll know if anything is happening.”

  “Excellent. Things will really start to ramp up once we can start testing, so I’m glad to see that this is all in place now. Thanks, Stevens.”

  The man nodded and took the opportunity to make his exit.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll go check on things. See you tomorrow.”

  Ellis nodded and watched for a few long minutes as the interns and construction workers climbed over the exterior of the machine—it was quite a bit smaller this time around, with the improvements in the schematics and less of the trial-and-error approach that had defined the look of the first machine. As Ellis watched, Terry welded another support under the particle accelerator. This time, they were adding even more anti-vibration support to reduce that 0.11 field variance that the first machine had experienced. More calculations after the test showed that more structural supports for the accelerator could further reduce the vibrations he had felt during the last time incursion.

  Soon, they could begin testing.

  The younger Ellis was anxious about the machine and wanted to visit when they started testing. Don thought it was probably because his younger self had never seen a machine in action—maybe on some level, the younger man didn’t think it would work. When they’d chatted at his house three weeks ago, the younger Ellis had wanted to oversee the machine’s construction, but Don had kept that job—he was the only person in the world to have ever built a time machine, as far as he knew. But Don was worried that the younger Ellis wouldn’t be able to convince the government to avert the disaster.

  But he hadn’t been there. The younger Ellis hadn’t seen the bodies falling from the towers on that day, people jumping to certain death to avoid asphyxiation at the top of the burning towers. He knew the story, but he hadn’t sat in a darkened room, listening to the television reporters speaking in hushed tones as they watched the smoke rising over the smoldering remains of the collapsed U.S. Capitol.

  Ellis hoped that the younger version of himself could convince the people in this world—lately, he’d begun to think of this timeline as another world, and he as just a visitor—to intervene, before it was too late.

  2.6

  Willard Hotel

  The Willard Hotel was the crown jewel of the ornate, 18th century hotels that still existed along Pennsylvania Avenue. Built in 1850, the renaissance hotel had hosted a gaggle of presidents, Hollywood starlets, politicians, and Washington luminaries over its storied years. It stood next to the Treasury Department building, a stone’s throw from the White House. In recent years, it had become a hangout for the Washington elite and members of the Press Club.

  Dr. Don Ellis’ hotel room was amazing—large and lavishly appointed, with antique furniture and a breathtaking view.

  But Don wasn’t enjoying the accommodations. He was sitting in one of the soft green chairs next to the window that looked out over the White House, only a block away, and wondering when the Bush administration would begin to take him seriously. It had been four days since his meeting at Starbucks with Marburger, and Ellis had talked to him on the phone and in the hotel’s opulent lobby on several occasions since. So far, no one at the administration seemed to want any more information other than the machine schematics and the CD of photos and video clips from 9/11.

  It was still hard to believe what was supposed to happen in just a few months—the Capitol destroyed, the World Trade Center gone. Last week, Ellis had visited the Red Hook warehouse to see the construction of the new machine, and he had tried to look at the skyline and imagine those two massive, towering buildings gone. It was difficult to do, even after the other Dr. Ellis had shown him the pictures and videos over and over again.

  It was the videos of the towers collapsing that bothered him the most.

  Of course, the destruction of the Capitol dome and the loss of half of the sitting Congress had been the real blow to the nation—he knew this intellectually. It would lead to months of governmental floundering and an administration with no checks against its aggressive response to the 9/11 attacks. And, of course, it led to geopolitical instability around the world.

  But it was the towers falling that affected Don the most. He knew that his wife and daughter were trapped inside. Not his wife and daughter—some alternate version of them, doppelgangers, exact duplicates, but not his wife and daughter. It was crazy, thinking about different versions of his loved ones existing.

  Don remembered last week, when the older Dr. Ellis had taken his wallet out and slowly, carefully removed a small, wrinkled piece of paper. He’d laminated it somewhere along the line. It was at least eight years old, but Don had recognized his wife’s handwriting immediately:

  Gone into the city to visit Elaine at the Trade Center. Be back for lunch. Tina was excited, so I took her too.

  Love you,

  Sarah

  The older Ellis had treated the scrap of paper as a treasured relic. He’d put it back in his wallet, turning away, but not before Don saw the tears.

  In this timeline, Don’s wife and daughter would be safe. Don had seen to it. They would have no reason to visit the towers on September 11. Without any warning, Elaine, the woman they had been visiting, had received a surprising (and very lucrative) job offer at the University of New York, working for a colleague of Don’s.

  So there would be no need for his family to visit the Trade Center on that fateful day, even if he was unable to convince the Bush administration to change anything.

  Even if they packed him away to a mental institution, Sarah and Tina would still be safe.

  He sipped at his coffee and tapped on hi
s iPad—the elder Ellis had loaned it to him for his meetings with the government. Don hoped they wouldn’t confiscate it—he’d grown used to accessing the Internet on the amazing device. The Willard didn’t have wi-fi available for guests, so Ellis had set up his own hotspot in the room using the latest 802.11b technology.

  When he’d told the other Ellis, the older man had laughed at the “ancient” wi-fi setting. The elder Ellis had altered the device’s operating system and wireless connection enough to spoof any curious Internet servers about the device and its operating system. Every computer that accessed the Internet identified itself through a series of codes, but the codes for the iPad, or the Apple iPhone that the older Ellis had also described, did not exist yet. The wireless speed also operated at the non-existent “N” setting, but the older Ellis had changed that to the much slower “B” setting. There were no routers or modems in existence that could yet accommodate the “G” speed, which was just being discussed by regulators to become the new standard in 2003. The “N” speed, the iPad’s default wireless speed, wouldn’t be widely available until 2009.

  There was a quiet knock at the door. Ellis glanced at his watch—6 p.m., just as Marburger had promised. Well, we’ll see about that.

  Ellis stood and straightened his tie, crossing to the door and opening it.

  “Dr. Ellis?” the man asked. Don thought he looked like he might be chiseled from solid granite—all of these Secret Service types looked the same.

  He nodded.

  The Secret Service agent nodded at Don’s coat hanging on a hook by the door. “You might want to grab that.”

  Don looked at the coat and slipped it on. He put the iPad and two books into a small bag and followed the agent, closing the door behind him.

  The agent spoke into his wrist radio as they walked to the elevators.

  “Okay, we’re coming up.”

  Ellis was surprised. “Up?”

  The agent smiled as they stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button labeled “Terrace Restaurant.”

  After a moment, the doors opened onto the rooftop of the Willard, revealing a large open area with tables and chairs. The restaurant was in full swing, with scores of people enjoying the unique experience.

  The view was stunning—in every direction, Ellis could see monuments and famous sites, glowing in the setting sun. To the west was the White House, the crenellated roofline of the Old Executive Office Building, and beyond, the Kennedy Center. To the south, he could see the Washington Monument and, closer to the low river, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials.

  The agent directed him to a pair of tables near the rooftop railing. John Marburger sat at a table with two other gentlemen who rose to shake Don’s hand as he approached.

  “Hi, Dr. Ellis. I’m Andrew Card, the president’s chief of staff,” the man said, smiling. He was tall, taller than Don, with an open demeanor and gray hair that edged down over his ears.

  “Hi, Mr. Card,” Don answered, shaking his hand.

  Card’s grip was firm, and for a moment, the man looked at Ellis, sizing him up, before continuing.

  Card pointed at the seated man. “That’s Ari Fleisher—he’s rude. He’s also the Press Secretary.”

  Fleisher dabbed at his face with a napkin and offered his hand, shaking it as Don sat down in an open seat next to Marburger, who nodded at Don.

  Don shook Marburger’s hand. “Congratulations on the nomination today.”

  Marburger smiled. “No surprise there.”

  “Sorry about this,” Card said, indicating the food. “We were having a working dinner and discussing the topic with John, and we decided to cut to the chase and chat with you. We ordered you a steak—oh, here it is.”

  A waiter’s arm appeared over Don’s shoulder, lowering a massive plate in front of him. It looked like the world’s largest porterhouse. He wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  John looked at him and laughed.

  “Don’t worry, go ahead,” John said. “This is an informal meeting.”

  Fleischer leaned forward. “That’s right. We’re trying to figure out if you’re crazy,” he said, not smiling.

  Card shook his head. “Just ignore him,” he said and held up the red CD that Don had given Marburger four days earlier. “So, this is all true?” Card asked, and the others quieted.

  Don looked at them. “I think I should discuss this with the president.”

  Fleischer shook his head. “He’s not available, Dr. Ellis. You’ll have to talk to us.”

  Don nodded.

  “That’s fine—I’m sure he’s busy getting ready to go to the ranch,” Don said, smiling. “Tomorrow is a big day for him. He’s got that speech in Birmingham to finish writing. Plus, he’ll release the Comprehensive Trade Package for Poland, announce those three ambassadors, and finish that Tax Relief speech for the presidential dinner next week. I’m sure he’s far too busy to meet with me about such a trivial matter.”

  Card and Fleischer looked at each other for a moment, and then Fleischer leaned forward, curious.

  “What ambassadors?”

  Don smiled, taking a bite of his steak before answering. This was fun. “It will be Gnehm for Jordan, Napper for Kazakhstan, and Huddle for Tajikistan, I think. Of course, maybe I got that off the Internet. I’m sure it’s widely available info—”

  “No,” Fleischer said. “It’s not. The names of the potential ambassadors are public knowledge, but there are ten names in the running for each, and you just picked the winners. That’s a 1 in 1,000 chance you could get them all correct, without even mentioning the Birmingham and Tax Relief speeches.”

  “And he knew I’d be nominated today,” Marburger added.

  Don nodded. “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is true. The question is, are you going to do something about it?”

  Andrew Card leaned forward. “We don’t know yet. Ari and I want to hear you out. We’ve been through all the evidence you gave John, but we’re curious about you, Dr. Ellis.”

  Don shook his head.

  “You don’t need to hear me out—you’ve got the proof in the information I gave Dr. Marburger. I can’t give you any more than that. This event will occur—it’s up to you to figure out what, if anything, to do about it.

  Marburger leaned forward. “Couldn’t we just release it to the press?” he asked Andrew Card.

  Card shook his head. “Release what? Sources inside the White House are saying they have knowledge of the future? They’ve got a feeling that something bad will happen in three months and are trying to determine what to do about it?”

  “It’s the truth,” Ellis said quietly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Fleischer added. “It’s preposterous. No one will take us seriously again. Dr. Ellis, there are worse things that can come from this information.”

  “Like what?” Don asked.

  Fleischer sat taller, not used to being challenged. “Like we act on it and nothing happens. Have you thought about that? Maybe this is all fiction.”

  Card shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. If your information is genuine—”

  “It can’t be. It’s impossible,” Fleischer interrupted. “The Clintonites wouldn’t have missed something this big. How can al Qaeda possibly pull off something like what you’ve claimed?”

  “Can I get something out of my bag?” Don asked.

  The Secret Service agent, who had been standing nearby but supposedly not listening to their conversation, immediately stepped over to Don, glowering.

  Card waved him off. “It’s OK, Fletcher. I trust the man.”

  Don reached in and took out the iPad and a book, one with a red, white, and blue cover. It read 9/11 Commission Report. He handed the thick book to Card.

  Andrew Card took the sizeable volume and began flipping through it, reading passages and flipping back and forth between sections, reading the congressional summary of what happened on that morning and the years leading up to it.

  �
�I’m sure you’ve been through all the information I gave to Dr. Marburger,” Don began, nodding to John. “That is a copy of the official congressional report that will be published in 2007, after years of investigations and committee hearings. I only have the one copy, so please take care of it. It outlines everything leading up to the attack on the Capitol and the Trade Center, including extensive information about the al Qaeda network in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  Don turned to Fleischer, handing him the iPad. “You might find this interesting,” he said. “Apple will develop a phone in 2007 that uses a touch-screen control interface. Two years afterward, they will release this tablet computer, called an iPad. It puts today’s laptops to shame, doesn’t it?”

  Fleischer took the iPad and, after wiping his hands, began tapping at the screen.

  “What’s a ‘Facebook’?” Fleischer asked.

  Don shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “This says that the attacks were planned as early at 1999,” Andrew Card asked, looking from Fleischer to Don and back. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, they’ve been receiving flight training,” Don said quietly. “The hijackers are in Germany now, but will return to the U.S. in early August to begin the operation.”

  “Jesus.” Marburger was sitting next to him.

  Fleischer grumbled under his breath and looked up at Card.

  “And this is all true?” Card asked, handing the book back. “This is all really going to happen?”

  Don felt his face growing hotter. “Yes, it’s going to happen,” he said, his voice rising. “The question isn’t if this is going to happen—the question is, what are you going to do about it? You and the president need to be taking this seriously—” he started to say when Card put up his hand to stop him.