The 95th Floor

by N R Brooks

  Chapter 29

  Lately, I prided myself on how patient of a person I had become. When I was younger, I had almost none. That was evident with many of the petty spats Alexis and I had. But now, it almost seemed if my patience was limitless. In the week following my call to Ziad where I finally told him that I had genuine knowledge of the future, which included his imminent demise, and informed him that I would call him at an undisclosed date at 12:05 in the morning, he had called me back multiple times from more than one phone number. I knew this because only a handful of people had my number and their names showed on my phone’s caller ID. One of the numbers that called was not, and Ziad was the only person that would have called me from an unknown number.

  I refused to answer every single time. He never left me a message, but I had a feeling that what I said to him finally lit a fire under his ass. I would find out on the 9th of September in the wee hours of the morning.

  Meanwhile, I had continued watching the paper and the news for any reports of arrests relating to my repeated letters to the FBI. After my sudden move back to Manhattan following the initial confrontation with Ziad, I had slacked off on my letter sending. With the preparations of the baby and helping Pops get back on his feet, and then the second confrontation with Ziad, it had just slipped my mind.

  Now, as the 11th was only mere weeks away, I began to get nervous. Sure, I may succeed with stopping Ziad and his hijacking, but that alone won’t save the twin towers or the Pentagon and all of the lives that would be extinguished. I couldn’t just sit down, satisfied with only saving Flight 93. I had to think of something. I struggled to remember if any significant event took place at the beginning of September that I could use to my advantage. Then I remembered something, only I didn’t know if it was too late to do anything.

  One man had been arrested less than a month before September 11th by the name of Zacarias Moussaoui. He would be—as of the date I was pulled back in time—the only person given a trial relating to the attack. He was a real piece of work. Apparently, he screwed himself over by throwing a fit and demanding to be taught how to fly a commercial airliner without even getting his mandatory private pilot’s license on single engine aircraft. This obviously threw up a huge red flag, and he was called into the FBI as a potential hijacker. Not exactly a smart fellow.

  This ‘genius’ would have loads of incriminating information in his luggage as well as electronic documents and emails on his laptop. Only the FBI would never give local agents in Minnesota where they arrested him permission to search those items until after September 11th. Maybe, just maybe, I could give them the push they need to view those documents sooner rather than later.

  I quickly rushed to put some gloves on—I was still paranoid about leaving any evidence that would lead back to me—got a fresh pen and paper, wrote what I knew about Mr. Moussaoui and the evidence he held, and mailed the letter out to the FBI address I had memorized all those months ago. It was the beginning of September already, so I was worried I was too late in sending it off. Luckily I still had my original plans that I was intent on carrying out.

  I had already notified Pops that I would need September 10th and 11th off for personal reasons. I demanded that Keiko call out sick on the 11th although I couldn’t think of a good reason why. I told her it was a surprise and she was apparently satisfied with that. I would have to remember to plan something to surprise her with on that day.

  Now all I had left was to wait for the day to come. In my free time when I wasn’t working or doing other things, I jogged up and down West Broadway to the twin towers to clear my mind and also to keep in shape. I didn’t know if everything was going to play out as smoothly as I hoped but I wanted to be prepared for the worst. Atta was not a large man, but sometimes the little ones are the most difficult to take out. I didn’t want to take any chances. For now, I kept to my regimen and patiently waited.

  Saturday night, the 8th of September, 11:58pm. Keiko is sound asleep on the bed, exhausted from keeping herself as well as the other biological entity growing inside of her healthy. I am sitting in my car, parked in my usual reserved space at the pizzeria across the street. I am staring at the little monochrome display on my antique—compared to what I was used to—Nokia cell phone, watching the clock. I am reciting in my head all of the facts I remember from books I read years ago in my house in Idaho.

  I get distracted and wonder what is going on in my house in 2018 when I left. Did time stand still? Did it keep going? What year was it now? I shake my head trying to focus again. I look at my phone, and it is 12:01am. Only four more minutes.

  I worried that Keiko would wake up and begin looking for me. She can see my car from the window of our apartment. I would probably be visible from her vantage point, just sitting here nearly motionless, just staring at my cell phone. Dammit! Focus! Shit, it is 12:04am now.

  My heartbeat begins increasing in exponential intervals. The moment was almost here. I am staring at my cell phone waiting for the last digit to change to a five. I stare at it for what seems like much longer than a minute. Why hasn’t it changed yet? The clocks on cell phones are all synchronized with a central server through the cell phone network. Is my phone messing up? What the—12:05am.

  I push the tiny buttons to flip through the tiny list of contacts I had saved in my phone. Obviously, Ziad was the last one. I press the dial button.

  It rings once…

  Twice…

  I hear background noise, but nobody speaks. I can hear Ziad take a deep breath and sigh.

  “Hello, Ziad.”

  “It is 12:05 just like you said.”

  “Yep. And right now you are on the side of the road on I-95 in Maryland getting pulled over for doing 90 in a 65 zone. Am I close?” I asked him calmly.

  “You could easily have been driving by me when I was pulled over.”

  “If so, then how would I have known you would be pulled over at exactly 12:05 a month ago when I last spoke with you and told you that I would call at this exact moment?”

  I waited a moment for him to say something. He was sounding calm and not agitated like any of the previous times I had spoken with him.

  “Hold on.”

  I heard him put the phone down in the seat and could almost make out what was said in the exchange between Ziad and the officer who pulled him over. After another moment, I heard the shuffling sound of Ziad picking the phone back up and putting it to his ear.

  “Okay Stan, just tell me. How do I fail? What is going to happen to me?”

  “Sorry Ziad, it doesn’t work that way. If I tell you what happens, how do I know you won’t use that knowledge to make sure you succeed?”

  “Stan, just who are you?”

  “I am me, the same person I have always been. The same person you trusted. The question is: who are you, Ziad? Are you Ziad Jarrah, the husband of Aysel, the son of loving parents back in Lebanon who worry endlessly about their only son who has dreamt of flying planes since he was a kid but wouldn’t let him because they were afraid he would crash and die? Or are you the religious zealot who was brainwashed by people he thought were his friends and is bent on killing innocent people who are just trying to go to work to pay their bills and feed their kids? Seriously, which one are you, Ziad?”

  Another moment of silence before a deep breath and the wet sound of his lips parting as he begun to speak again.

  “What should I do then?”

  “You know what you should do. Get on a plane right now and go back to Germany and be the person you were before you jumped into this idiotic jihad bullshit. Go keep all the lofty promises you made to Aysel before you decided to make an international disgrace of yourself and your family. Oh, and go to your cousin’s wedding that you told your parents you were going to before you left in your car this evening. I know all about that too.”

  He must have finally realized I was telling the truth. I could hear the smile on his face after I mentioned the wedding. “Fine. I’ll leave.”


  “Yes, please do. Leave your friends to me. And Ziad…never step foot in America again.”

  “Goodbye, my friend”

  “So long, Ziad.”

  And that was the last time I ever heard from Ziad again. I was glad. I don’t know if he still considered me a friend after that call, I didn’t really care. He was not my friend. But I spared his life anyways, and all of those he was planning to take. Though, I wasn’t through yet. That was only the easy part.

  I stepped out of my car and carefully walked back into the apartment. The clock said it was only 12:15am. It had felt like I was on the phone with Ziad for a half an hour at the very least. It was barely ten minutes.

  Keiko was still sound asleep on the bed, the very same position she was in when I initially left. Tomorrow I would leave for Portland, Maine for my encounter with Atta and his new sidekick, Abdulaziz al-Omari. This one would require much more precision and planning.

  I stripped down to my briefs and a t-shirt and sat back down in the chair and replayed my conversation to Ziad that took place only moments earlier. Did I say everything I wanted to say? I didn’t say any cheesy one-liners, did I? Why haven’t I heard anything about any arrests or anything about the evidence that was confiscated from Moussaoui in Minnesota? Did my letter even get through to them?

  My mind was racing so much I had to do something to get it to stop. Normally I would go jogging to clear my mind, but jogging alone at night in New York City is just asking for trouble. I think I had more than enough trouble to look forward to in the next couple of days. Instead, I ended up playing Snake on my phone for the next few hours.

  Chapter 30

  I didn’t know how long Keiko had been up before I finally crawled out of bed like a zombie in a cemetery. I was exhausted, and I didn’t know why. My guess was all the racing thoughts in my head and the constant surges of adrenaline every time I thought about what lay ahead had just over-worked my brain to the point that a full night of sleep just wasn’t enough. A nice hot shower with Keiko was more than enough to finally snap me out of it.

  “So babe, I am going to have to be out of town for a couple days. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Keiko stopped what she was doing and looked at me with a mild look of bewilderment. “Out of town? What for?”

  “Well, it has to do with the surprise I have planned for you on Tuesday.”

  This put a smile on her face. “Oh, I see. I am still a bit confused as to what this surprise is for. What is so special about September 11th?”

  Even after being in the past for this long, that question still made me want to raise my eyebrow and ask: Seriously?.

  “Oh, you will find out on Tuesday.”

  “Alright, it better not be anything silly. And nothing really expensive or anything like that. We are saving money for the baby, remember?”

  I walked over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek from behind. “Yes, I remember. I’m going to head out here in a little bit, okay?”

  “Where exactly are you going, anyway? Can you at least tell me that?” She was asking for hints like a kid on Christmas Eve.

  “Tsk Tsk. No hints. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I gave you one. It is only two days away, I think you can wait that long.”

  “Pfft…fine.” She played out a fake tantrum.

  “You know you are cute when you are angry.”

  “And how would you know? I don’t think you have seen me angry. Well…I guess you were there when I smashed that guy’s crotch.” She said as she gave me the side-eye and a slight smile.

  “You’re right. On second thought, you are scary when you are angry.”

  I just hoped she never got that angry with me…ever.

  I grabbed my bag and packed a few days’ worth of clothes as well as a few extra just in case I needed them. I wasn’t planning on killing anybody, but that didn’t rule out a little bit of blood. Best to have a few spares. Everything else I would need for this trip was already in my car, hidden away.

  When I had everything I needed, I kissed Keiko goodbye and stopped to see Pops before I left to let him know I would be back sometime on Tuesday.

  From that point, it was a straight five to six hour drive from New York to Portland. This was plenty of time to prepare myself for the worst.

  I arrived in Portland in the early evening. Luckily it was still summer, almost fall, so I had another hour or two of sunlight left. I located the airport and searched for the Comfort Inn that I would need to stay at in order to meet up with Atta and Omari.

  The hotel was conveniently located just down the road from the airport on Maine Mall Rd. I went inside and reserved a room on the bottom floor. I had no idea what room those guys would be staying in, but I crossed my fingers that it was on the bottom floor. It would be much easier to carry an unconscious body from there rather than from the second floor. The risks of being seen were much greater.

  I was assigned room one thirty-three on the far end of the building and thanked the concierge and proceeded to locate my room to stow my belongings. Once I put my things in my room, my next task was to stake out the area and find the best location to hide when the time comes to finally confront Atta. I didn’t give two shits about Omari. He was not an instrumental part of my plan, just an obstacle.

  As I walked around the parking lot, I couldn’t have been happier to see that the layout of this area was almost perfect for anyone wanting to get a surprise jump on somebody. Directly south-east, in the direction the hotel pointed, was a row of commercial buildings surrounded by a large parking lot which would more than likely be empty at night. Directly to the south of the hotel was a small creek that flowed through and had a small copse which would be perfect for me to hide in.

  In my car was my air rifle, a pack of hypodermic darts, and the small vial of Ketamine that David was gracious enough to sell to me in Florida. Unfortunately, drugging a person with a tranquilizer dart doesn’t exactly work like the movies portray it. If I am able to successfully sink a dart into the flesh of both men, I could take my time, putting everything away, and slowly stroll to their room where they should either be fully incapacitated or intoxicated enough by the drug that I should have no problem getting Atta out with minimal effort.

  I now had a plan, an easy one. I only had to wait until the next day for the men to show up and the rest should hopefully be cake.

  September 10th arrived at what felt like an excruciatingly slow pace. Not only was my mind pacing with various scenarios of what would be happening in less than twenty-four hours, but I also found myself wondering what Ziad was up to. I was tempted to call his phone, but decided not. It is difficult to admit, but part of me wanted to talk to him like we did that night we drank together in the suite in Miami. I quickly brushed away any feelings of friendship I had for him. In the end, he finally accepted what I told him, but I was still not his friend.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about feelings or attachment when it came to Atta. The only emotion inspired by the mention of his name was hatred. He was lower than shit. I couldn’t wait to knock his cocky ass down a few notches.

  I had no idea when they would arrive, so my day was spent wandering the parking lot waiting for a car that was carrying two Middle Eastern looking men. I initially tried watching for any cars with Massachusetts plates, but I quickly realized that a good portion of the cars driving around this area had them. I had to fall back on my next plan of looking for two Middle Eastern guys. Or as my friend I missed dearly would say two Ay-rab lookin’ fellas.

  As much as I wanted to distract myself from the immense boredom I had to endure waiting for those guys, I couldn’t do it. I just knew if I decided to play a game of Snake on my phone, they would show up and walk in while I wasn’t looking. I just had to persevere.

  Lady Luck would finally grace me at close to 6pm when a blue Nissan Altima with Massachusetts plates drove into the parking lot. I was sitting in my car which I had backed into the parking space so I had a full view of the lot.
They drove past me and I immediately recognized the face of Atta behind the wheel. They had finally arrived.

  I waited for them to drive out of my view and got out of my car, pacing to the lobby of the hotel. I sat on one of the chairs and grabbed a newspaper to hide my face. It had been a while since Atta and I had met each other, but I didn’t know if he would recognize me or not. I took no chances and hid my face behind the paper.

  Finally, Atta and Omari walked in and stood at the front desk to get their room.

  “Room for two, please,” Atta said in an emotionless Middle Eastern accent.

  “Okay, sir. Would you like smoking or non-smoking?” asked the concierge.

  “No smoking.”

  “Alright, it looks like we have a room open on the second floor. Room two thirty-three.”

  Of course. Their room just had to be on the second floor. Ironically it is the room directly above mine. Not that that gave me any benefit. At least I knew where the room was located.

  Atta paid for the room with cash and grabbed the card key to his room without uttering another word. No “thank you” or anything.

  Once they left to go into their room, I put my paper down and headed to my room. Once there, I looked out my window to see if I had a view of their vehicle. To my surprise, they had parked in a space that I could just barely see from my window. I would be able to see when they left. It was well documented that the two of them ate at a Pizza Hut some time on this evening and probably made some other stops. The details weren’t important, just the fact that they would arrive sometime after dark which is when I would strike.

  Until then I sat in my room and watched some boring TV and periodically checked to see when their car was gone.

  For three hours I stared at the TV, not really paying attention to what was playing, and repeatedly got up to peek out the window only to see their car still parked there. I had the TV muted since they were in the room directly above me. I heard no footsteps or doors closing. Either they hadn’t been moving about much, or the sound insulation in this hotel was of high quality.