The American Truth (The American Truth - September 11th Attacks)

by Nick Shelton

  “ASAP. We’ll need you working 24/7 to get this information

  out. Directive is to structure all reports to awaken patriotic zeal

  -make every American so proud that they’d be willing to give their life for this country.”

  Nathan looked at the mug shots of the men who had committed this atrocity. “Done.”

  Nathan thumbed through the list of 19 hijackers. How do we already know who did this? As he was writing his first report, Nathan felt some of the details regarding the Pentagon attack were not accurate. But he brushed his doubts aside, figuring his emotional state on that day had prevented him from perceiving the events accurately.

  One report after another, Nathan handled the Pentagon’s media relations regarding the attacks. Meeting deadlines was so demanding that his life was overtaken by his career--he barely had enough time to sleep, let alone to grieve.

  Chapter 4

  The Pentagon – Office of Special Plans (OSP) September 8, 2006

  11:7 a.m.

  Lt. Col. Webber walked into Nathan’s private office with a handful of files and papers. “Nathan, I need you to start working on this assignment. The fifth anniversary of 9/11 is Monday, and the media needs an update.”

  Nathan’s face showed his confusion. He was in the Office of Special Plans now. His days of handling media relations were over.

  Six months after 9/11, Nathan had asked to be relocated. Writing the reports about the tragedy had simply become too painful. Upper management accepted his request and transferred him to the OSP, a position where he wouldn’t have to keep reliving that day over and over.

  Webber picked up on Nathan’s unspoken question. “You’re being assigned to this because we need this report sent out to the media by tomorrow. You wrote most of the official reports after 9/11, so we figured you’d be able to complete this quicker than anyone else in the Communications Division.”

  “I could probably write it quicker than others, but by tomorrow? Normally an assignment like this takes days.”

  “Come on, Nathan. You’re a Yale grad with a journalism degree--this type of stuff should be easy for you. Make this work for me.”

  “Maybe if I work nonstop until midnight…” Nathan reluctantly replied.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” said Webber, walking away before Nathan could say anything else.

  Nathan let out a long sigh and looked into his computer screen. On his desktop was a family picture taken five years ago. He looked at his teenage daughter Claire. Over the years, she had turned into a beautiful young lady just like her mother had been. Even though she was a mature sixteen-year-old, she’d always be daddy’s little girl in his heart. She had recently made her high school’s homecoming court and was going to be in her school’s football halftime show that night.

  He turned his attention to his son, Nick. He could not be prouder of him. He was following in his footsteps by studying at Yale. Nathan wished he could have spent more time with Nick before he left for college, but it seemed that every time they were together it always ended in an argument. Ever since his senior year in high school, Nick insisted there was more to the 9/11 story than Nathan reported. Even though Nathan knew Nick was searching for some kind of tangible justification for losing his mother, he had no patience for conspiracy theories. He also knew believing in such bogus assumptions would cut Nick’s chances of going into politics like he wanted his son to do.

  His eyes fixated on Cindy. Not a day went by when he did not think of her.

  Nathan checked the time: 12:00. He regretted not bringing a lunch. There was no time for a break, but his growling stomach wouldn’t leave him in peace until he got something in it.

  “That look will put gray hairs on a man’s head,” said Robert, as he sat down next to Nathan. Even though they no longer worked together in the communications department, Nathan and Robert had remained close friends after 9/11. They usually played tennis together every weekend. Nathan had even made Robert and his wife the godparents of Nick and Claire.

  “I’m in a bind. I promised Claire I’d be at her homecoming ceremony tonight, but my boss just gave me a rush assignment that’s due tomorrow.” Nathan ran his hand through his short brown hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You could use a break,” Robert quickly added. “I think you work yourself too hard.”

  “It has nothing to do working too much. I can—”

  Robert interrupted. “Nathan, remember the way you used to work in the Communications Department. You used to kill yourself trying to get all your reports done as soon as possible. Taking some time off once in a while could really help you. That’s what I did a few years back--bought a brand new red convertible, maxed-out my vacation time learning how to surf…my wife called it my mid-life crisis. But it was what I needed.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I don’t want material things or a vacation. I just want my life to have more purpose than writing military reports. I’d like to do something that makes an impact on others. I want to wake up in the morning and look forward to life,” Nathan paused, then continued with a slight tremble in his voice. “Like I did when Cindy was around.”

  Nathan returned to his desk and faced the hours of work ahead of him. He looked at Claire’s picture on his desktop. She hasn’t had a mother there for her these last five years. I should at least be there for her tonight.

  Nathan was reminded of Robert’s suggestion of taking a break. After giving it a quick thought, he opened several documents he had written a few years earlier. He changed the dates and sent them to the media.

  Nathan slid out of the office without telling anyone he was leaving. He knew he was asking for trouble, but he wasn’t about to let his daughter down.

  Chapter 5

  Al Tiramisu September 9, 2006 8:00 p.m.

  Nathan had a great weekend. He had stood beside his daughter during her high school’s homecoming parade, sharing the special moment with her. All his regrets for taking a shortcut on his reports vanished when she squeezed his hand and thanked him for being there with her.

  He had also had a great phone conversation with Nick, despite the fact that Nick had announced he was dropping political science as his major. Nathan had pressured his son to study political science because he wanted him to become a hot-shot politician in Washington--a dream obviously not shared by Nick. The talk reminded him of his own situation 25 years ago when he had to tell his dad that he wanted to study at Yale before joining the Navy. Besides, how could he complain that Nick had decided to follow in his footsteps to become a journalist?

  And now he was sitting at one of the finest Italian restaurants in D.C., with his daughter, her friend, and her friend’s single mother, Tara. He had easily seen through Claire’s transparent efforts to set him up. He’d gone along because it would give him a chance to spend an evening with his daughter and dine at one of his favorite places.

  When the girls excused themselves to use the ladies room, Tara slid her chair over so she was directly facing Nathan. “Exactly what is the Office of Special Plans responsible for?”

  “We do a little bit of everything, but mainly work with intelligence to plan confidential military affairs.”

  “Wow. Top secret stuff--sounds interesting.”

  “My duties aren’t as interesting as they sound. I mainly do research and write reports. I also handle a lot of the Pentagon’s public relations.”

  Tara paused briefly to study his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Charlie Sheen?”

  Nathan smiled. “Yeah, I’ve gotten that several times before.” He looked over Tara, trying to think of a complimentary line he could say about her in exchange. He examined her blue eyes, but when he did, he saw Cindy’s eyes staring back at him. His smile quickly faded.

  Tara noticed his obvious reaction, but she tried keeping the conversation going. “You said you were married to someone in the military?”

  “I met Cindy right after college. She was already
at the Pentagon when I enlisted in the Navy.” Nathan kept his response brief; he always felt uncomfortable talking about Cindy. “My daughter says you were at the Pentagon during the attack. I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Tara moved back noticeably. “I’m sorry.”

  Nathan slowed his speech, having a hard time getting out something to say. “Yesterday, I had to write a report of what happened five years ago.” He sighed. “Anniversaries--they’re tough. Once in a while, just for one day, I’d like to forget about it.”

  Tara leaned forward. “This is probably a stupid question, but have you ever talked to anyone about it? Professionally, I mean.” She handed him a business card. “This is a colleague of mine. He specializes in post traumatic syndrome. Many of his clients are military veterans like you.”

  Nathan studied the card. “So you’re a psychologist?”

  She laughed lightly. “Guilty as charged. Try as I might, I find myself always studying others’ emotions. Forgive me.”

  “No need to apologize. I appreciate you wanting to help.”

  From across the room, Nathan saw his daughter weaving her way between tables back to them. She looked so much like his wife. He then looked at his date across the table.

  Tara reached out and rested her hand lightly on his. “Are you all right?”

  He couldn’t do this. He quickly got up from the table, “Please excuse me.”

  He went directly to the gentlemen’s room. He looked in the mirror. Here he was--a military veteran--almost to the point of tears. Tara was right; it was time to stop carrying the past with him.

  Chapter 6

  Hendricks Counseling Center

  September 10, 2006

  2:0 p.m.

  Nathan lay outstretched on the comfortable leather sofa. “It’s perfectly normal that you still feel grief,” said the psychologist, sitting across from Nathan. “Tragically losing a loved one can scar a person for life. In order to overcome your pain, you’re going to have to release your emotions--a complete catharsis that sends these negative feelings to the outside. Are you comfortable going back to that day?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Good. Go on.”

  “I was typing a report, and that’s when it happened.”

  “Don’t tell me ‘it happened,’” Dr. Lou said. “Describe the situation in detail--describe how the room felt; describe the smell of the air; tell me about the roar of the plane before it crashed into the building.”

  Nathan thought for a second, then interjected. “But it wasn’t a roar--it didn’t sound like the thunderous noise that planes make when flying overhead. It was more like a whistle--it was a whistling noise.”

  “Good, tell me more.”

  “After the plane crashed, I found myself on the floor. No, wait…I was already on the floor when I heard that whistling noise.” Nathan paused briefly, his mind trying to make sense of the events he was describing. “But this doesn’t seem right.”

  “No, keep going,” said Dr. Lou. “We sometimes hide things in our subconscious that don’t seem right.”

  Nathan continued to explain his escape, including the confusion that went on. “When I turned and saw the fires, my heart stood still. I had to get to Cindy. But I couldn’t go back. The security official wouldn’t let me.” Nathan stopped for a moment to think. “But how were officials already in place?” he wondered out loud. “It had only been a minute or two after the plane hit.”

  Before his hour-long session expired, Nathan had gone over the events of the entire day. However, he left the counseling center more confused than ever.

  He couldn’t get the whistling noise out of his mind. The more he thought about it, the more the sound reminded him of a missile. He had been in the military long enough to know the difference between the sounds of a missile and an airplane. There were several other loose ends that didn’t add up. He’d searched everywhere for Cindy. Why hadn’t he seen any plane parts? And why were the security guards so adamant about not letting anyone get close the action. He had a lot of questions that needed answers.

  As soon as he got home, he got on his computer and did some Googling. He wanted to see if others had heard the same whistling noise he had heard.

  He typed “Witnesses at the Pentagon on 9/11” into the search engine. He found pages and pages of links to websites devoted to the subject. Almost every website he visited included testimonies of eyewitnesses who described hearing a “whistling noise.” Many of the websites highlighted other discrepancies that occurred at the Pentagon on 9/11--many going to the extent of proposing government conspiracy theories.

  Nathan had heard about these crazy “conspiracy theories” before--mainly from his son. He assumed the theories were made up by people who believed in UFOs and still lived in their parents’ basements. To his surprise, most of the sites he visited were very professional, providing evidence that they had been prepared by experienced journalists and researchers.

  Nathan had spent countless hours writing reports covering what had happened on that day. Reading these new accounts that challenged his prior knowledge of 9/11 was like reading heresy. After some time, however, there was something in him that sided with some of these theories. His brain sided with the Pentagon’s official 9/11 report, but his gut insisted that there was more to 9/11 than what he had been told.

  What really intrigued Nathan about these stories was the fact that there was nothing on the Internet--no Web site, no personal Web page, no news footage--that showed any clear airplane parts from the Pentagon’s wreckage. Some websites showed pieces of debris and claimed that they were aircraft parts, but these pieces were so obscure that they could have been anything.

  He thought back five years ago, trying to remember seeing an airplane. But he couldn’t. There was fire, and lots of smoke; but he never saw any parts of a plane. He was right on top of the action when the security guard prevented him from going inside. Yet he did not recollect seeing any skid marks or airplane wreckage.

  He surfed the Internet for another four hours that night, riding the “9/11 Conspiracy” wave for hours. It was amazing how much evidence people had compiled that supported these conspiracy theories.

  The last website he visited begged the question that ran through every site: was September 11th an inside job?

  Nathan tossed and turned in his bed, tormented by thoughts that wouldn’t let him rest: is there more to 9/11 than I’ve been told? Have all my reports been based on partial truths? Certainly all his sources were undeniable facts--they had all came from the top military and government officials. Why would anyone in our own government want to lie about this?

  16 Nick Shelton Before he fell asleep, he convinced himself that the 9/11 Conspiracy Theories were just that-theories. There were rational explanations that could counter every theory he had read. There was no reason that these websites should conflict with the information that was coming from the most powerful institution in the world.

  Chapter 7

  The Pentagon

  September 11, 2006

  6: a.m.

  Walking into work, Nathan passed protestors holding signs and shouting grievances. He’d gotten used to it. Every day a new group met outside the Pentagon to protest the Iraq war or U.S. military actions. He had learned the best way to deal with it was to walk fast without making eye contact.

  As he neared the entrance to the Pentagon, something made him stop. One of the protestor’s signs read, “9/11 was an INSIDE JOB.”

  Behind the shouting protestors was a table the group had set up to distribute information. Out of curiosity, Nathan approached the gray-haired man tending the table.

  “What’s all this about?” Nathan asked.

  “We’re handing out information that tells people the truth about 9/11. This being the fifth anniversary of the attacks, we figured it would be an appropriate time to educate people on wha
t really happened.”

  Nathan picked up one of the pamphlets. “There seems to be a lot of people that believe these alternate stories.”

  “Yes. Millions around the world are a part of the Truth Movement.”

  “Truth Movement?”

  “That’s what we call ourselves--those of us who believe that the ‘official’ 9/11 story isn’t completely true. But there’s a wide range of beliefs in the Movement.” The man pointed to the young protestors to his left as he continued. “Some of us, like those college students, believe in theories that say the government orchestrated the attacks. They obviously use their youthful energy to voice their opinion. I, on the other hand, believe the government had prior knowledge of al-Qaeda’s attacks, and they let them happen so they could lead this country to war.”

  “How did you come to this conviction?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m a history professor at Georgetown. My colleagues at the university showed me scientific research and solid evidence that proved 9/11 goes beyond what the media has reported.” The professor nodded toward Nathan’s hand. “That pamphlet you’re holding has a list of websites that opened up my eyes.” He reached for a book under the table and handed it to Nathan. “Here, why don’t you take this? It’s a great book on the subject.”

  Nathan read the title: The New Pearl Harbor. He glanced at his watch. “I need to get to work, but thank you for the material.”

  “You work at the Pentagon?”

  “Hopefully. I left Friday on a bad note. With any luck, I’ll still have a job.”

  Nathan entered his office and signed onto his computer. As expected, he had an email from a superior who greatly disapproved of his tactic of changing the dates and distributing an old report. Nathan could feel the anger emitting from the screen. He immediately replied with an email back, committing to working 12 hours a day to get the reports completed properly.