by Richard Todd
There was only one problem with the Milner hit: one man was missing. Satam al Suqami, one of the American 11 hijackers, wasn’t in the room. As long as he could take down his remaining four targets in Boston and South Portland, Kyle ’01 knew the mission would still succeed. Al Suqami was “muscle” on the American 11 hijack team and could not pilot a plane. Moreover, when his cohorts failed to show up, it was unlikely he would try anything on his own.
Kyle ’01 checked his weapon and stuffed it back into the bag. He got out of the car and walked across the dark parking lot to a stairwell entrance. He climbed the three stair flights to the fourth floor and walked to room 433. He retrieved his weapon from his backpack, and then pulled his mask over his face. He took a breath, exhaled slowly, and slid the keycard. The latch chirped open and he blew into the room, turning on the lights and leveling his weapon at the closest bed.
It was empty. Both beds were neatly made. Kyle ’01 searched the room. The room was vacant and had been cleaned. Was he in the wrong room?
Kyle ’01 flipped open his mobile phone and called the front desk.
“Good evening, Park Inn,” a woman answered.
“Hello, do you have a Mr. al Shehri staying at your hotel?” Kyle ’01 asked. “That’s “A-L-S-H-E-H-R-I.”
“Let me check,” replied the desk attendant. “No, I’m sorry, Mr. al Shehri checked out this evening.”
Kyle ’01 thanked the attendant and hung up.
I’m fucked, he thought.
All five of the American 11 flight hijackers were still at large. Kyle ’01 did not know where they were or what they looked like. He could go to South Portland and hope that some of the hijackers had joined up with Mohamed Atta and Abdul Aziz al Omari, but those odds were very long. He didn’t know whether the hijackers had been tipped off and fled, or had simply found a different place to stay.
A chill shot up Kyle ’01’s spine with the realization that there was now only one possible way he could complete his mission and take out the remaining hijackers. In a few hours, he was going to be on American flight 11.
Boston Logan International Airport
Boston, MA
September 11, 2001
06:45 hours
A gigantic eagle, over twenty feet high, blazed in blue-white neon light from its perch over Boston Logan Airport’s Terminal B hallway. The classic 1945 American Airlines mascot was bookended by oversized capital “A” letters, glowing in neon red. The eagle was beautiful and fierce, crafted at the end of World War II, when America left the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific in triumphant and noble victory. American wars had never been the same since.
From his seat near gate B33, Kyle ’01 peered over the top of a Boston Globe newspaper, taking intermittent sips from a paper cup of black coffee balanced on his armrest. From his vantage, he had a clear view down the hallway corridor of approaching passengers who passed beneath the neon eagle’s aerie. He sat in the spacious hallway terminus, where the low ceiling of a comparatively confined corridor vaulted 30 feet, bordered by a half moon of glass walls. Gray vinyl seats with black armrests were bolted onto burgundy carpeted floors. Kyle wore jeans and a white dress shirt, with sleeves rolled to the elbow. He appeared relaxed, enjoying his morning paper and coffee.
Dawn had broken through the windows at Kyle ’01’s back some 20 minutes earlier, flooding the terminus with brilliant golden light. Passengers approaching the gate winced and shielded their eyes. Kyle ’01 was a dark silhouette against the morning sun.
Kyle ’01 had arrived early for the flight to Los Angeles, scheduled to depart at 07:45 hours. Not knowing what the hijackers looked like, he wanted to try to ID possible candidates prior to boarding. Kyle had breezed through the security checkpoint at B5 without incident—this despite the fact that he carried a Leatherman utility knife in his pocket. Two burgundy-vested women employees of Global Aviation Services, the private contractor hired by American Airlines to perform passenger screening, gossiped and joked with each other, scarcely glancing at their monitor as luggage rolled through the X-Ray conveyor.
Kyle ’01 shook his head at the impotent security procedure, I should have packed my gun, he thought.
In 2001, airlines were charged with the responsibility of making sure passengers didn’t bring weapons onto planes. Airline carriers, conscious of cost, outsourced security to companies like Global Aviation Services, who often hired relatively unskilled minimum wage workers to ensure that the nation’s skies were safe. Though advocates for greater air travel security repeatedly warned the industry and members of congress that lax procedures would result in disaster, they were generally dismissed. The rationale was that, because a disaster hadn’t happened, the current process must be good enough. The airline carriers’ calculus was that catastrophes were less expensive than the cost of adequate security.
Security holes were not restricted to contract security workers—the system was riddled with vulnerabilities. Magnetometers were calibrated to detect the metal in a small gun—they would not reveal small knives or non-metallic weapons. Passengers were permitted to carry certain kinds of small knives onto planes. An early-generation Computer-Assisted Passenger Prescreening (CAPPS) System, identified high-risk individuals for additional screening, though that screening was limited to the passengers’ luggage—no wanding or pat-downs were conducted on the travelers themselves. It was not unusual for security staff to ignore CAPPS altogether and skip additional luggage inspection.
Kyle ’01 watched the sunlit passengers as they entered the gate area. While he knew he was looking for young Middle-Eastern men, he didn’t know much else. He had repeatedly tried to call Kyle ’08 to get more intel, but got voice mail instead. The Kyles had agreed not to call unless something went seriously wrong with the mission. Though this situation qualified as ‘seriously wrong,’ Kyle ’08’s phone was probably switched off—they kept their phones off during hits to avoid a ring or buzz while they were in stealth mode. Kyle ’08 was either working his targets or had forgotten to turn his phone back on. Kyle ’01 knew that the hijackers were seated in the first and business class compartments. Kyle ’01 had purchased one of the 11 remaining business class seats toward the rear of the compartment. That position would enable him to approach from the rear and surprise one or two of the hijackers, improving his current five-to-one odds.
In addition to his Leatherman knife, Kyle was armed with one useful piece of intel—Mohamed Atta’s mobile phone number. Though Kyle ’08 couldn’t envision a reason why ’01 would need the number, he opted to share it “just in case.” Kyle ’01 would put it to good use now.
Passengers of American 11 and other flights began to arrive in the gate area. Kyle ’01’s perfect vantage down the corridor gave him opportunity to observe them from hundreds of feet away. Men and women approached, most casually dressed, some in suits, many holding coffee cups. Kyle ’01 ’scanned each one carefully. No candidates.
Kyle ’01’s eyes locked onto two young men, walking together. They were Middle Eastern in appearance, clean-shaven with short black hair. One was wearing a blue dress shirt with black pants and caring a black shoulder bag. The other was wearing a short-sleeved cream dress shirt and khaki pants. Unlike most of the other passengers, Kyle ’01 noticed that these two were wide-awake. Undistracted by their surroundings, they had focused, purposeful forward stares. They were on a mission. Kyle ’01 slipped his phone out of his pocket and keyed a speed dial code for phone number 305 496 2443.
Kyle ’01 watched the two men as they continued to approach, now 100 feet away. Kyle ’01 saw the man in the blue shirt reach into his pocket and pull out a mobile phone.
“Allo,” Kyle ’01 heard Mohamed Atta’s voice.
“¿Cómo estás?,” Kyle asked in Spanish, holding the phone behind his paper.
Kyle ’01 saw Atta hang up, annoyed.
Gotcha, Kyle thought.
In late 1999, as Osama Bin Laden was about to shelve the brazen “Planes Operation” for lack of c
onvincing western-educated Muslim operators, four young men from Hamburg arrived on his doorstep in Kandahar, Afghanistan. Mohamed Atta and three other members of the so-called “Hamburg Cell” joined with three Saudis to become the nucleus of the plot to destroy the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the nation’s capitol building.
Born on September 1, 1968 in Kafr el-Sheikh, Egypt, Atta was the son of a lawyer, trained in both secular and Sharia law. His mother, also educated, was from a wealthy family. From an early age, Atta’s father isolated his family, restricting Mohamed’s socialization with other kids. Unable to play with the children outdoors, Mohamed focused on his homework, excelling at school. Upon graduating from the University of Cairo with a degree in architecture in 1990, Atta moved to Germany, where he studied urban planning at the Technical University of Hamburg. His university-housing roommates described Atta’s personality as “complete, almost aggressive insularity.” Atta was aloof around westerners and refused to shake hands with women, even university professors.
While in Hamburg, Atta attended the Al-Quds Mosque, where his smoldering conservative Muslim perspective ignited into radicalization. In 1998, Atta rented an apartment in Wilhelmsburg, which became the central hive of the Hamburg Cell, frequented by fellow 9/11 hijackers and co-conspirators, as well as 9/11 mastermind Khalid Sheikh Mohamed.
In late 1999, during their visit to Afghanistan, Atta and three other members of the Hamburg Cell pledged themselves to Osama Bin Laden. The “Planes Operation” was green-lighted. Atta trained in Afghanistan in early 2000. In July 2000, Atta began his flight training in the U.S. By September 2000, he earned his private pilot license. Only three months later, Atta earned his commercial pilot’s license from the FAA. His training was complete. The boy who was prohibited from playing with other children had been weaponized into an agent of mass destruction.
As Atta and his companion approached, Kyle ’01 was able to make out more detail. Atta was petite in stature, short and slight, with thin, tight lips and menacing eyes. Unbeknownst to Kyle ’01, his companion was Abdul Aziz al Omari. Al Omari had a boyish face and was slightly taller than Atta. As the two men entered the gate area, they scouted out an unpopulated row of seats in which to sit. The two sat side by side and didn’t speak.
Minutes later, Kyle ’01 noticed three more young men approaching that fit the profile. Two of the men walked ahead of the third. Kyle ’01 continued to look at his newspaper as he monitored the mens’ approach. All three men were small—Kyle ’01 estimated their height at only five and a half feet. All were clean-shaven with short black hair. They all wore jeans. The two in front wore dress shirts—one blue, one white. The third man bringing up the rear wore a beige polo shirt with a gold chain around his neck.
The two men in front were Wail and Waleed al Shehri, the brothers who failed to appear as scheduled for assassination at Boston’s Park Inn a few hours earlier. The brothers were born in Saudi Arabia’s impoverished Asir province in the southwestern part of the country. The Sheri family practiced the Wahabi school of Islam, which rejected many aspects of modern culture, like television and the Internet. Wail failed as an elementary school teacher, taking leave because of mental health issues. Instead of pursuing therapy or medical treatment, he sought a cure in his religion, taking regular doses of the Qur’an for his affliction.
The brothers eventually ended up in al Qaeda training camps in Afghanistan in 2000, and were selected for the 9/11 mission, possibly because of the relative ease with which Saudi nationals could obtain visas to the United States.
The man with the gold chain was Satam al-Suqami, a former Saudi student of law at the King Saud University.
Kyle watched to see where the trio would sit. They saw Atta and al Omari and sat on the row of seats facing them. They did not speak to each other, but Kyle ’01 noticed Atta nod his head slightly, acknowledging his fellow hijackers. This was the team—five young men, convinced that the lives of thousands of innocent men and women would buy them tickets to paradise, where 72 virgins would service each and every one of them for all eternity.
At 07:25, the gate attendant called for first class passengers to board the plane. The al Shehri brothers glanced at each other and then rose to follow a handful of other passengers onto the plane.
Several minutes later, the gate attendant called for business class passengers to board the plane. Atta and al Omari nodded at each other and got in the boarding line. Al Suqami followed them in line.
Though Kyle ’01 held a business class boarding pass, he waited to board until the gate attendant called for coach passengers. He wanted the hijackers settled in their seats so he could scope the landscape as he entered the plane. Kyle ’01 stood in a line with the rest of the passengers in the narrow metal jet bridge corridor to the Boeing 767 plane. As he entered the cabin, he was directed to his seat, 10D, in business class. The business class interior was standard white plastic walls and overhead compartments, with wide blue leather seats. There were three columns of two-seat rows, with blue-carpeted aisles on the left and right dividing them.
Kyle ’01’s seat, 10D was in the center column of seats in the next-to-last row. The seat to his right, 10G, was vacant. To his left, across the aisle, Satam al Suqami sat in 10B. 10B was slightly to the rear of Kyle ’01’s seat, requiring him to peer to his left shoulder to see al Suqami.
Not great, Kyle ’01 thought, but al Suqami would be moving forward toward the cockpit, enabling him to get a drop on the hijacker from behind.
Kyle ’01 got up from his seat and walked to the forward lavatory in first class, located off the left aisle. Flight attendants were busy hanging suit coats and offering beverages to first and business class passengers while the remaining coach passengers boarded and settled.
After a minute, Kyle ’01 exited the lavatory. The al Shehri brothers were directly in front of him on the first row of first class. They stared directly ahead, avoiding eye contact with Kyle ’01 as he walked past them on their right.
As Kyle ’01 reentered the business class section, he spotted Mohamed Atta and al Omari in the second center row, seats 8D and 8G. Atta was next to the left aisle, al Omari on the right. Kyle ’01 returned to his seat and buckled in.
The flight attendants provided the requisite safety demonstrations, including operation of seatbelts, oxygen masks, and life vests. Kyle ’01’s heart was pounding. He focused on his breathing, while he began to visualize his plan.
The al Shehri brothers’ primary task was likely to overpower the flight attendants and gain access to the cockpit, allowing Atta and al Omari access. Al Suqami was likely positioned as a rear guard in case of trouble. Kyle ’01 would need to take out al Suqami first, then Atta. By terminating their pilot and leader, his odds of success greatly increased. The others could cause trouble in the cockpit, but they couldn’t fly the plane. Taking out the last three hijackers would be the challenge. There were too many variables to sketch out a precise plan. He would be forced to improvise.
Though outnumbered five-to-one, Kyle ’01 had two things going for him. The first was that the narrow aisles largely negated the hijackers’ superior numbers advantage. They could only engage Kyle ’01 one-at-a-time. The second thing in Kyle ’01’s favor was that he was one of the most elite commandos on the planet.
At 07:46, the plane pushed back from the gate and began to taxi toward the runway. He slipped his Leatherman out of his right pocket and unfolded the blade, setting it on the seat next to his right thigh under his newspaper. Kyle ’01 didn’t plan to use the knife—it would likely get in the way during the engagement. The knife was a contingency.
At 07:59, the 767 throttled up and accelerated down the runway for takeoff, gently lifting into the air moments later.
As the plane climbed into the clear blue sky, Kyle ’01 focused on his breathing and visualizing the coming scenario. Though he hated the anticipation before the fight, he forced himself to shove the feelings out of his mind. He was a professional soldier. He was on a
mission. He needed to be present.
At 08:14, the plane began to level to a more subtle climb angle. In the foreword galley, the flight attendants began to prepare for the beverage service. Kyle ’01 unbuckled his seatbelt.
Moments later, Kyle ’01 saw the al Shehri brothers rise from their seats in first class. Atta and al Omari leapt from their seats and moved forward in the left aisle. There was yelling and screaming in first class. A large man, dressed in a black dress shirt and jeans in left aisle of business class, one row ahead of Kyle ’01’s, got out of his seat and started to move forward to assist. Al Suqami sprang from his seat with a box cutter in his right hand. He reached for the black-shirted man’s throat with his knife.
Kyle ’01 leapt from his seat and side kicked al Suqami with the blade of his foot in the back of his right knee, simultaneously grabbing his right wrist. Al Suqami screamed in pain and surprise as his leg buckled and Kyle ’01 knocked him to the floor. With a single punch to al Suqami’s throat, Kyle ’01 crushed his windpipe.