While striding through the airport talking to Tim, Moose and I spotted a USO office. We rushed inside, hoping someone there might be able to help us. A naval officer offered to drive us to Norfolk Naval Station, where we would be safe and where the military might have more options.
“Thank you,” I said. “Let’s go right now.”
The officer maneuvered us through the traffic to the base, which by now was transitioning to a state of high alert. All military leaves had been canceled. Military personnel had already erected barricades at base entrances, and armed sentries were posted in strategic locations. The officer explained our dilemma to the guards and we were escorted to the base headquarters, where we showed our credentials to senior officers and asked for help.
Undoubtedly, getting Moose and me back to Washington was not their top priority. Our nation was under attack, and they were trying to secure their base. The last thing they needed was a couple of guys in suits whining about getting back to Washington. The room was tense. The South Tower of the World Trade Center had just collapsed at 9:59 a.m. No one said a word as we watched the television coverage showing repeated images of the crumbling structure, along with hundreds of ghostly, dust-covered people stumbling through the streets trying to get away from the horror.
I understood the officers’ uncertainty. After discussing various options, the navy officers suggested the possibility of flying Moose and me back to DC in a navy helicopter if—and it was a big if—they could get flight clearance.
Just then, the television screen filled with more pictures too gruesome to imagine as the North Tower crumbled to the ground at 10:28 a.m. The profound truth did not need words. We all knew that anyone in or around that huge structure moments earlier was now dead. The exponentially magnifying crisis prompted an even greater sense of urgency in me. I had to get back to my post—now.
Several navy officers pursued flight options. “Okay, we think we can get you back by helicopter. Where do you want us to take you in DC?” a senior officer asked me.
“Take us as close to the White House as possible,” I replied.
“How about landing on the South Lawn of the White House?” he suggested.
Despite the pressure-packed circumstances, I managed to maintain a modicum of common sense. “No,” I said instinctively. “Nobody but the president lands on the South Lawn.” I also rejected a suggestion to land near the Washington Monument. I wasn’t being humble. There was no need to land there when there were other alternatives. More importantly, I realized that any aircraft other than Marine One detected approaching the White House might well be shot down. “Take us to Andrews Air Force Base,” I said.
Moose and I waited and waited. Shortly after noon, the navy received clearance to fly us to Andrews Air Force Base. Several enlisted men hustled us to a nearby hangar near the aircraft and issued helmets and life vests to us, quickly giving us the required safety instructions in case of emergencies, all of which seemed ironic on this day dominated by emergencies. Nevertheless, Moose and I nodded in understanding and appreciation.
We boarded a helicopter and a young soldier strapped me in securely. The pilot cranked the engine, but then we sat on the hot tarmac for what seemed like a long time. I was hot and sweaty, and my suit was a rumpled mess. Worried thoughts streaked through my mind. Are there new reports of hijackings? Is Andrews itself targeted? Are there second thoughts about allowing us to fly into the capital?
I breathed a sigh of relief when the helicopter’s wheels lifted off the ground and we rose into the sky.
On a normal day, a commercial flight from Norfolk to Washington takes less than an hour, but it is a long flight by chopper, especially when you are worried you might be shot down at any moment. Through a headset, I could hear the pilots communicating with someone on the ground, but nobody on board spoke an unnecessary word. Everyone seemed lost in thought. I wondered what I would find when I got back to the White House. Was my family safe? I was irritated with myself for not calling Becky to reassure her. I missed my wife and sons and couldn’t wait to get back to them, although at this point I had no idea when that might happen. I knew, now, that my staff of lawyers had been evacuated to a commercial office building in Washington, but I wondered if I had colleagues among the dead.
I thought about President Bush. Where was he? When would he be returning to Washington? Was it even safe for him to return? What was he thinking? What was he feeling? I had come to know George W. Bush well over the years. I suspected that along with a mixture of other emotions, he would also be fighting mad.
From the helicopter, we could see the smoke rising from the Pentagon, and I wondered if my friends and colleagues who worked there were still alive. We landed at Andrews and hurried into a government van for the twenty-five-minute ride to the White House. Along the way, I reached Tim Flanigan and learned that the president had not yet returned, but after making a brief statement from a military location in Louisiana, had been diverted to a more secure location somewhere in the Southwest. All sorts of threat reports were coming in—including, I later learned from Jim Haynes, the general counsel for the Defense Department, concerns about two unidentified planes heading toward the United States, one from Madrid and another from Korea. The Madrid flight was “squawking” hijack.1 Both planes eventually landed in unanticipated locations outside the United States, and neither plane proved dangerous. But tension levels remained high.
The scene I saw as the van sped through the streets of the capital was surreal. Barricades blocked the entrance to streets close to the Capitol, and capitol police and armed soldiers dressed in black, weapons at the ready, stood on many corners. Apart from the guards, there were hardly any people on the sidewalks, no one strolling the National Mall, virtually no vehicular traffic, and few signs of life. The city looked nearly deserted.
When we arrived at the White House perimeter gates, we were met by Secret Service agents brandishing machine guns—the enhanced security was understandable, but it nonetheless caught my attention. This was in Washington, DC, capital of the land of the free, on the grounds of our own White House. I was also struck by how empty the grounds appeared. Usually, a constant parade of people flowed in and out of the White House compound, with a perpetual buzz of activity, but today it was eerily silent—except for somber-looking agents with their hands near the triggers of their automatic weapons.
We were stopped at gunpoint at several more barricades and asked to produce identification and White House credentials before finally getting to my usual basement door entrance. The West Wing basement seemed ominously quiet. Agents quickly escorted me to a secure underground bunker, the PEOC (Presidential Emergency Operations Center) in the basement of the East Wing, where I found Vice President Cheney and numerous other senior administration officials. I had been to the bunker several times previously for small, private, classified briefings, but today the room was bursting at the seams, crowded with people. The mood in the room seemed heavy, but surprisingly calm. Some officials were on the phone; others were in quiet side conversations around the large conference table that took up the center of the room. The vice president sat at the table, and the activity and attention focused on him.
Glancing around the room, I noticed Transportation Secretary Norm Mineta was on the phone with a serious expression on his face. It was Secretary Mineta’s job to make sure air traffic was grounded and all 4,500 planes that had been in the sky earlier that day were accounted for; it was a Herculean task.
I saw David Addington, Vice President Cheney’s counsel, and went to him immediately for an update. In quiet but firm tones, David confirmed that the situation at present was stable, and that congressional leaders and cabinet secretaries in the line of presidential succession were accounted for and had been moved to secure locations. Most of the White House staff had been sent home, with essential personnel moved earlier to downtown office buildings. Some of them were already returning to their posts.
I called Tim to let him know
I was back and to receive a report on legal issues and an update on the whereabouts of our staff. We still did not know what we might be dealing with from a legal standpoint, so despite the chaos and calamity, we needed as many people as possible ready to work.
Somewhat assured that the counsel’s office was functioning as best we could, I stepped away from the crowd. I called home to check on Becky and the boys, and became emotional when she picked up. We talked briefly, and she was relieved to know that I was back and relatively safe, barring an attack on the White House. Neither of us mentioned that possibility.
“I love you, Becky,” I said. The words never meant more. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Becky understood that the chance of me getting home soon was really wishful thinking.
Nobody seemed unduly frightened or worried that we were in personal danger. In retrospect, I think we all felt that we had a job to do, and it was incumbent upon us to maintain a sense of professionalism and self-control. I was still working in the bunker later that afternoon when the president convened a teleconference with the vice president and other officials to assess the situation and discuss options for the president’s return to Washington. The president was at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska. I watched and listened carefully to the president on the secure television monitor in the PEOC. It was reassuring just to see his face. President Bush appeared calm, but I could sense the frustration in his voice. Clearly, he wanted to be back at the White House. He listened carefully to his advisors, weighing the possible risks, and then said simply, “Get ready for me. I’m coming home.”
Case closed. No more discussion. The president had emphatically stated during his teleconference that we were at war against terrorism, and ignoring the Secret Service’s advice to the contrary, he wanted to direct America’s response from the White House.
Despite the Secret Service’s concerns about being upstairs in the White House and in the line of fire of another possible attack, I spent much of that afternoon going back and forth between the East Wing underground bunker, the Situation Room, and my West Wing office on the second floor, making sure all the president’s legal options were covered. I knew it would be crucial that we consider presidential powers to respond to the threat, as well as to take care of the victims, and to take whatever steps might be necessary to keep the country safe. What do we need? was the major question.
Close to 7:00 p.m., I learned the president had arrived at Andrews and was aboard Marine One, on his way to the White House, only minutes away. I immediately headed toward the Oval Office. I met Karen Hughes, the White House communications director, in the second-floor hallway, also on her way to the president’s office, and we walked down together. She was carrying a batch of papers, a draft of a speech she and presidential speechwriter Mike Gerson had been working on for the president’s address to the nation later that evening. I carried with me, as I always did, my pocket edition of the United States Constitution and various briefing papers on possible legal authorities the president might need to exercise in responding to the terrorist attacks.
Dusk was falling over Washington as Karen and I stood quietly, alone on the Oval Office portico, our eyes fixed on the sky, watching for the president. Both of us were immersed in our own thoughts and because we were good friends, conversation seemed unnecessary.
A Marine One arrival on the South Lawn of the White House is a spectacular event. Watching that huge green-and-white helicopter with the American flag emblem and the words United States of America on the fuselage come into view above the trees against the backdrop of the Washington Monument, one can’t help but be overwhelmed with patriotism.
On a normal day, I could hear the sound of the helicopter from my West Wing office. The noise is nearly deafening; the force of the wind from the chopper’s giant blades buffets the surrounding trees and always seems to startle visitors. Usually, a roped-off area is provided for families and friends of White House staff, cabinet officials, or members of Congress to greet the president. And there was always a bank of cameras and reporters’ microphones to record another moment in history. I’d stood there numerous times myself with family and friends, and I never tired of seeing a presidential departure or arrival in person.
On this night, however, there were no members of the media, no flag-waving well-wishers on the South Lawn. I saw only a single White House cameraman and a cadre of agents—part of the emergency response team—with weapons drawn, forming a protective perimeter around the landing area—and Karen and me.
We stood motionless, a mere fifty yards away, as three huge, identical helicopters appeared in the sky above the South Lawn. For security reasons, two decoy choppers always accompany the president, and not even most of us in the White House are ever certain which helicopter is transporting the commander in chief. At the last moment two choppers peeled away, and the helicopter carrying President Bush swooped in toward the ground, lower and faster than usual, landing perfectly.
Karen and I watched as President Bush hurried down the airstairs, smartly saluted the uniformed marine, and strode across the South Lawn toward us, the anger and resolve evident in his face. This is why George Bush was elected president, I thought. This is his time, his moment to lead our country.
Karen and I greeted the president somberly and welcomed him home. He acknowledged us with a nod and walked straight into the Oval Office, with Karen and me following him. Inside, there were already large cloth sheets covering the Oval Office floor as movers rearranged furniture in preparation for the televised speech to the nation later that evening. The president, Karen, and I walked through the office and into the private dining room just off the Oval Office.
The dining room is a relatively small square room with, at that time, royal blue carpeting. A three-drawer credenza sits against the east wall, and the south wall has a large window surrounded by floor-to-ceiling white flowered draperies. An ornate wooden table sits in the center, surrounded by six upholstered chairs with royal blue leather seats. On the table sat an arrangement of roses.
The president sat down at the table with his back to the window. Soon Chief of Staff Andy Card arrived, along with Ari Fleischer, the president’s press secretary, and National Security Advisor Condi Rice. Andy stood to the president’s right, and Ari and Karen sat nearby; Condi remained standing, and I did, too, directly across the table, facing the president.
Each of us reported on what we were doing, answered questions from the president, and spoke briefly about our experiences and impressions from that day. The president stated bluntly that we were at war. He had no hesitation in his voice and no concern about being politically correct; he called it for what it was.
Amidst the myriad issues he faced, the president’s immediate concern was for the victims of the attacks and their families. We talked about what he planned to say during his address to the nation to help ease their pain. He seemed to know instinctively that the country needed his courage and his leadership, and in his first nationally televised appearance from the White House since the nightmare began, he wanted to convey a message of reassurance.
When the red light on the television camera came on, it was obvious that the president was in complete control of his emotions and appreciated the gravity of the situation. He spoke slowly and firmly. “Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist attacks,” he said. At that moment, we still did not know how many people had died; it would be weeks before we settled on the number—2,973 souls indiscriminately annihilated that morning. So President Bush spoke more broadly. “The victims were in airplanes, or in their offices; secretaries, businessmen and -women, military and federal workers; moms and dads, friends and neighbors. Thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts of terror.”
The president promised America that we would find the terrorists and bring them to justice. And then in one of the most significant statements ever spoken by an American president, P
resident George W. Bush said, “We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them.” That line would have incredible significance and would come to be known as the Bush Doctrine, a cornerstone in the many complex and controversial issues we would confront in the years ahead. Some of those issues had not been encountered by our country since World War II. Many others had never before confronted Americans.
Sometime around midnight, things began to wind down, so Tim Flanigan and I decided to go home and try to get some rest. Because I had parked in the same Dulles Airport lot in which authorities believed the hijackers of American Airlines flight 77—the plane that had hit the Pentagon—had also parked, my car had been impounded pending further investigation. Tim offered to give me a ride home.
We were both drained, and as Tim drove through the empty streets, it felt as though months had passed since my early-morning flight. I had taken off at 7:20 a.m., just fifty minutes before American Airlines flight 77 was flown into the Pentagon, killing 125 people inside, as well as the plane’s crew of six, and fifty-eight passengers, including our friend Barbara Olson, wife of Solicitor General Ted Olson, one of our colleagues in the Bush administration. I couldn’t help wondering if I had crossed paths with the hijackers that morning, or perhaps even some of the passengers, whose bodies were still being extricated from the rubble at the Pentagon. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and tried to dismiss the images from my mind.
Becky was still waiting up for me when Tim dropped me off. I was glad to be home. I stepped inside the door of our home and hugged my wife; we held on to each other for a long time. Neither of us wanted to let go. The boys were in bed so Becky and I talked about all that had happened that day, and what it might mean for our nation. Tears streamed down Becky’s face, and I tried to reassure her that everything would work out—as my father often told me, it had to work out.
True Faith and Allegiance Page 2