Duty Recall

by Scott A Meehan

  “Yes, likewise. It has been a while.”

  David set the phone down easily, held it a few seconds and then dialed the number to his quarters to call Sherry.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey honey, I won't be home for lunch today. Got to do something official.”

  “Alright. We will eat without you. The kids will just have to miss their PT.”

  “I'll cover that when I get home after work.”

  “Okay, sounds good. I love you.”

  “Love you too, babe.”

  Since moving from Fort Bragg to Fort Huachuca and then to Fort Polk, all in a 6-month period, Sherry decided to homeschool Robby and Jenny. Their Physical Education was accomplished during the lunch hours when David came home and gave them some physical training, the military terminology for exercising.

  David spotted Bill sitting at a small table in the far end of the room with his back to the wall and facing the door. He wore a white buttoned dress shirt and navy trousers. The white-haired man was in his mid-sixties and he sported a well-groomed moustache.

  Bill slid his chair smoothly behind him and stood waiting as David approached his table. At six foot, two inches, Bill was slim and in good condition. David thought back at the time Bill drove home a lesson in tennis 8 years before. It was ugly, the score being 6-0, 6-0. All David remembered was chasing after tennis balls all day in the hot Tampa sun without having a chance to hit the ball back.

  “Great to see you again.” Bill extended his hand and David was prepared for his firm grip.

  “Good seeing you, sir. David countered.

  “Since when did you start calling me sir?”

  “I don't know. Sorry, Bill.”

  “That's better. Let's get something to eat, just like old times. Then, I'd like to discuss something with you.”

  “Sounds good. I can pick up the tab this time,” David volunteered, “unlike the past.”

  Bill chuckled. “That won't be necessary. I arranged the meeting. But, I appreciate the offer.”

  David could only surmise that the meeting had to do with his knowledge about the Oklahoma City bombing. David ordered his favorite dish of the large plate of crawfish while Bill settled for the Crawfish et'tufe. Small talk ensued while they devoured their meal.

  “So that was the last time you ever saw the Russian? That does not surprise me. They left in a hurry after the wall fell.”

  “The Army guys tried to re-establish contact for a few more years but then called it off for good, about two years ago.”

  The blond waitress with the Cajun drawl, looking like she was in her late teens or early twenties stopped at their table. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”

  “No, we're fine for now,” Bill answered quickly.

  David was surprised that Bill understood her Cajun accent. They waited for her to leave before Bill began. “David, the reason I wanted to meet with you and have this talk is because of the Oklahoma City incident.”

  “I thought that it might be.”

  “You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?”

  “What makes you think that I would…?”

  “Don't worry. I do not for a minute believe that you had anything to do with this. But, you knew this was going to happen, right?”

  David was speechless.

  “Alright, I'll get to the point. David, I went to Walter Reed and was able to get into your medical record.”

  “How did…?” David was interrupted for the second time.

  “Not that it matters right now, but I read Dr. Meyers report and his assessment about you.”

  “I don't know what his assessment was, actually, other than he told me that I would be okay and that I should stay up to date with my check-ups.”

  Bill looked at him. “Did you tell Dr. Meyers a story about being in a place called Balad, Iraq in 2003 as a Major? That you helped in the capture of Saddam Hussein?”

  David felt edgy, and his heart thumped increasingly through his chest. “God, I forgot about that! I don't recall. Was that in the report?”

  Bill took a sip from his red plastic glass, and then set it down. “I can help you David, but this is not the time to play games or to have memory lapse.”

  David knew that his 'gig' was up. If there was anybody he could trust, outside of Sherry, it was Bill. “Okay. I wasn't sure if I had been dreaming at first but after I started picking winners in sporting events and certain world events materialized as I remembered them, I knew it couldn't be a dream. It isn't is it?”

  “I came across your account also, David. I'm not too concerned about that right now.”

  “What are you concerned about?”

  “Do the guys you worked with from the 902nd know about your theory with the American militia and Oklahoma City?”

  “No, I did not contact them.”

  “Good. Who else did you tell?”

  “I mentioned something about the American militias to LTC Richardson, but I put it in an IntSum so that I would not draw attention to myself.

  “You probably have his attention more so now.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did call me to his office after the bombing.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just that this whole thing was unbelievable and that maybe he should have listened to me about pursuing my findings.”

  “Let's hope that's all he's thinking and hasn't moved up the chain with your predictive analysis.”

  “Why?” David was curious now.

  “David, I think highly of you and your family. Have you ever read the book, Repeat, by Ken Grimwood?”

  “No, I can't say that I have. Never even heard of him.”

  “I brought you a copy. It was written in 1988, about the time we were meeting in Florida. I want you to pay particular attention to chapters sixteen and seventeen. Here, look.” Bill reached down to his leather portfolio case and pulled out a red and white book with a picture of a man's face divided into several sections.

  “Why, what's this all about?”

  “Just read it. It has to do with the phenomenon that you are going through right now. I'll stay in touch. I am somewhat in the neighborhood for a few days, New Orleans, actually. Do you think you could get away for a couple of days and come down to New Orleans? You could even bring Sherry and the kids. I will put you up in a nice place. Of course, she cannot know anything about this either.”

  “Of course! The trip sounds like fun though. What do I tell her?”

  Just tell her that you need to talk with me for a couple of days about the Russian business. Tell her that I'm writing a memoir and I wanted to get some firsthand information from you and that as an incentive, I arranged a weekend for the whole family.”

  “I believe that would work! I'll talk with her tonight!”

  “Just remember to keep tight lipped about this other business.”

  “No problem there.”

  “Meanwhile, read the book. Pay close attention to those chapters, will you? I do not want you to end up in the same predicament.

  “Now you really have my curiosity.”

  “We'll talk in New Orleans. You have some fast reading to do. I cannot move forward until we discuss your feelings about what you read.”

  “Okay, Bill. Thanks for this. What's next?”

  “Just read the book. We will talk. It's imperative that when we meet the next time, you will have this completed.”

  * * *

  Loud clinking swirled through David's head as if he was trapped inside an ice blender. Then it abruptly stopped. Rolling over to his side in slow motion, he caught sight of the grotesque figure of a soldier lying in the darkness beside him. The soldier was motionless but his glaring, yet empty, eyes stared back at him in a haunting manner. The soldier's mouth was open, a dark violet liquid draining from within and flowing towards David.

  “Phil! Phil!” David screamed. A loud explosion woke him up from a deep, but disturbing sleep. The paperback given him by Bill went fly
ing across the motel room as he shot up with a gasp.

  Dear God, what am I going to do? I have to stop this madness from ever happening, no matter what!

  11. Historic day in America

  Tampa, Florida; August 2001

  Bill Fielder sat in his office in Tampa reviewing a number of CIA documents that needed to be correlated and processed for release to the local FBI. A data cruncher sitting somewhere in the dark reading unrelated documents had highlighted a name on a report. He was convinced after his meeting in New Orleans with David that something catastrophic would happen.

  David told him that horrific terrorists' events would take place in the year 2001. Although the full details were a bit sketchy at the time, David would call and provide a little more information, little by little, as he recalled them. Bill was satisfied now but time was running out.

  Although it had been six years since he talked with David in New Orleans, Bill immediately began piecing together a portfolio on a foreigner named, Osama Bin Laden.

  David had advanced in his career to a Major in the Acquisition Corps after a successful command at McGregor Range, just north of Fort Bliss, Texas in El Paso. He guarded the information that David gave him with the utmost secrecy, filing it away under, Top Secret.

  The name, Mohamed Atta as-Sayyid, caught Bill's attention as he sifted through David's notes because although he lived in the US on a tourist/business visa, he had his driver's license revoked in absentia after he failed to show up in traffic court. Normally, this would not have caught anybody's attention. However, something about the name bothered Bill. He heard it before somewhere, but could not remember where? It was familiar.

  Then it came to him. The Israeli Mossad had passed on some information that included Atta along with 18 others in a report on Middle Eastern operatives. All were known to have been involved with the Hamburg Islamic Jihad Cell in one manner or another. The question was how to get this information into the hands of the right people to take appropriate action without revealing the source and without scaring off the terrorist.

  Technically the CIA had no authority to operate in the USA as they were empowered to gather intelligence outside the US. It was the FBI's job to handle domestic terror. This could be one of those typical inter-agency fiascos, Bill thought to himself. The better idea was to take charge within the FBI department and keep it within the agency. This would require careful planning.

  Protocol required him to write up a report and pass it up to his Station Chief who would make a determination. More paperwork. It could also jeopardize David's position, if not his life and that of his family's. Bill would submit a generic report on domestic terrorism and would make sure that the Mossad report was included. He would bring up the names David remembered about Middle Eastern terrorists planning an attack for September 11, 2001.

  * * *

  Seattle, Washington: September 10, 2001

  David's jet winged its way westward towards Ft. Lewis in the state of Washington. David was on his way to conduct meetings with some of the commanders and operations officers about the newly fielded Stryker vehicles, which would soon make their way to Ft. Polk and take part in high profile exercises. It was one of David's responsibilities to ensure that the new instrumentation system being installed at the JRTC would be sufficient to communicate with the Stryker vehicles conducting their upcoming training exercises.

  The vehicles were to be fitted with the EPLARS (Enhanced Precision Locating and Reporting System) and FBCB2 (Force XXI Battle Command, Brigade-and-Below), which provided the situational awareness and command and control to the lowest tactical echelons, or quite simply, the troops who are on the ground. David had to ensure that the project transitioned through a seamless facilitation between the flow of battle on the ground to interoperate with the main Instrumentation systems at the JRTC.

  He was looking forward to the trip because he had never been to the Pacific Northwest before and he recently discovered that one of his old Special Forces buddies, Steve Jorgensen, just retired from the Army and was working at the Army hospital there. “I'm going to make a point of seeing him.” He told Sherry.

  His flight was uneventful and David thought how spectacular Mount Rainer looked in the clear blue sky as he watched it pass on the left side of the aircraft.

  Portland, Maine: September 11, 2001

  Atta did not sleep much the night before. He was not sure if it was the late night pizza he and Abdulaziz al-Omari had eaten or the excitement of the execution of their operation and immortal wedding to follow. He had bathed and purified himself and then had meticulously dressed. His dark slacks and powder blue shirt were pressed. A leather bag containing a few items was packed. Into the bag, he slipped his will and a message written in Arabic the night before:

  “Make an oath to die and renew your intentions. You should feel complete tranquility, because the time between you and your marriage in heaven is very short. Check your weapon before you leave and long before you leave. You must make your knife sharp and you must not discomfort your animal during the slaughter.”

  Atta, the ringleader of the attacks, and a fellow hijacker, al-Omari, arrived at the Portland Maine airport at 05:41 Eastern Daylight Time. Then they boarded Colgan Air Flight 5930 and flew to Boston, arriving at Logan at 06:45. Both men had first class tickets with a connecting flight to Los Angeles. Three other men arrived to Logan around the same time in a rental car. Their names were Waleed al-Shehri, Wail al-Shehri, and Satam al-Suqami.

  At 06:52, Marwan al-Shehhi, another person of interest made a call from a pay phone in Logan Airport to Atta's cell phone. “Yes?” Atta asked answering the phone.

  “It is a wonderful day to get married, is it not?” Marwan asked wanting to confirm that the operation was indeed on.

  “A wonderful day indeed. I will see you at the wedding where we will rejoice together!” Atta replied.

  “I will see you there, my brother.” Marwan confirmed as the phone hung up.

  Suqami, Wail al-Shehri, and Waleed al-Shehri checked in for the flight in Boston. By 07:10, all five men were waiting at Gate B32 to board flight 11.

  The flight attendant behind the desk nervously picked up the microphone and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, due to some minor maintenance issues, the aircraft will be delayed by 30 minutes. We apologize for any inconvenience but we should be able to board very soon.”

  The five men exchanged glances but said nothing. Al-Shehhi got up to pace around the floor with Atta's eyes on him but no words were exchanged. There were a few groans from other passengers but most resumed their current position except for a couple who went to the desk to get further details.

  Not long afterwards, the aircraft, a Boeing 767-223ER, slowly rolled up to the terminal. Most of the passengers gathered their belongings and started to make their way towards the door leading to the aircraft.

  The flight attendant lifted the microphone and once again seemed a little more nervous than usual. Two males, each wearing a white button shirt with an American Airline logo above their pockets, flanked her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay but we are now ready to board first class passengers and only first class at this time.”

  There were a few more complaints as those who had first class tickets moved to the front of the line. Then, as the two American Airline officials took their positions to take the tickets, the passengers inched their way forward.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Angelokas, could I ask you two to step over here for a brief moment?”

  The couple looked confused and irritated. “What's this all about?” Mr. Angelokas asked.

  “No problems, just routine random checks.”

  Seeing that there were two men immediately behind them looking perturbed, they reluctantly followed a third operative in a security uniform who led them behind a partition.

  The next men move forward. The agent took their tickets and said, “Have a nice flight Mr. Atta. Have a nice flight Mr. Omari.”

&
nbsp; Neither of them responded.

  About five others were also selected to move behind the partition, including a man named Dan Levin while Suqami, Waleed and Wail were let through to the plane. Once the five of them had entered the aircraft, the ticket agent shut the door to the confused indignation of the rest of the passengers.

  “What is going on?” one of the passenger's yelled.

  The American airline agents were joined with four others and a small security team of three men. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, please. Can we have you be seated for just a moment?”

  As the officials and security team helped dissolve any potential confrontation, the passengers began to take seats, all appearing to be on edge. On another side of Logan airport in the United Airlines section, a similar scenario was taking place. Meanwhile, Mohamed Atta sat in business class seat 8D with Abdulaziz al-Omari in 8G and Suqami in 10B. Waleed al-Shehri and Wail al-Shehri sat in first class seats 2B and 2A. After realizing that no more passengers were boarding the aircraft, Atta became alarmed. “Where are the other passengers? Where are the attendants?” Atta yelled in Arabic.

  Before anyone could answer, a group of black-clad soldiers erupted from the coach section, which had been curtained off, and two more burst upon the scene, one from the cockpit and the other from the front lavatory.

  “Allah Akbar!” Al-Omari screamed as he leaped from his seat welding a knife. He was promptly shot twice, once in the heart and the other on the forehead.

  The other four men were motionless, shocked expressions on their faces. The lead soldier from the front yelled for everybody to lift their hands high where they could be seen. Another soldier repeated his command in Arabic.

  Atta reached down towards his belt and was swiftly struck on the head with an assault rifle butt, knocking him cold. The other three men were handled sternly and cuffed by other soldiers. Within minutes, one terrorist lay dead, another wounded, and three subdued with handcuffs and a hood placed over their heads.

  The plane slowly began moving away from the terminal, out of sight into a nearby hangar. Ten minutes later, a United Airline, Flight 175, another Los Angeles–bound Boeing 767, entered the same hangar. Inside the aircraft, five other men were ushered out of the plane, all in handcuffs and wearing a hood over their heads. Together, eight men were led into a waiting oversized van with no back windows or markings of any kind. Another, Atta, was wheeled into a waiting ambulance, also without markings, and Omari, who was zipped into a body bag was placed onto a stretcher next to him.