911 Of the 1

911 Of The 1.

A tale of what was, what is, and what could have been.

Dedicated to all victims of terrorism, Past and future.

"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will surely be fought with sticks and stones." -- Albert Einstein

PREFACE

The terrible events of 9/11/01 and their aftermath had affected all of us in the most basic and profound way. We all felt disgusted and appalled by the cruelty and disregard for human life displayed by the terrorists. Many of us felt extremely insecure, and weary of what the future would hold.As for myself, during the few weeks after September 11, I became totally immersed in the news, and in what surrounded them. Living just miles from downtown Manhattan, I could see the towers smoking in the distance before they have collapsed, and continued to see the black, and later on the white smoke for days after the event.
During the first days after September 11, all I could think of was this event and the victims. Nothing else. I couldn’t think about business nor pleasure. And even if one wanted to 'change the channel', there were no channels, and all TV stations that where still broadcasting, were focused on the terrorism event.
And so it happened that I became so sympathetic to the victims, that I started imagining myself as one of them. "For heaven's sake" - I told myself - "How terrible could the feeling be… sitting on an airliner, looking at the towers just seconds before you die? Or looking out of the office window on a beautiful day and seeing an airliner approaching the window, head on... hoping somehow that this is just a dream, and wanting to wake up."
During those extremely troubling days, I have thought about these unfortunate witnesses so many times, that in my mind, I had almost become one with them.
And at the same time, the feeling of urgency, the feeling that this event is a "wake up call", have brought the pain of the victims closer to me, and have given it a new dimension – one of a personal reality.
Feeling the emergency... Making it MY emergency, and feeling for the victims is what caused me to forfeit sleep attempts on the early morning of September 14 and prompted me to start writing this story.
And hence it is named 911 of the 1, Symbolizing the feeling of emergency for one - myself, and the date 9/11/01.

CHAPTER TWO

September 11, 2001 9:01AM. New York City:
Mark Heldis, very much like all the passengers on flight 175, was terrified. Being a frequent flier, he had sometimes contemplated the concept of being on a hijacked airliner. This one though, wasn't a hijacking like he may have seen on any of the news programs. First, there were at least 4 or 5 of them on board, as opposed to a single hijacker. Secondly, they didn't carry any 'real' weapons. Instead, their weapons of choice were just knives and box cutters. But despite the simple and primitive nature of the weapons, they managed to do one hell of a damage. They'd already cut some of the passengers and killed a flight attendant. It looked very much like they had now taken over the plane's cockpit and were now controlling the plane, and the passengers’ fate.At the moment though, the plane cabin was relatively quiet. All the passengers were gathered at the back of the plane, and although some of them were crying, no one was screaming anymore. Close to the cockpit, he clearly noticed two men in blood stained uniforms lying on the floor, apparently the pilot and co-pilot.
Being a business strategist, Mark began analyzing the situation at hand. What were they trying to achieve? What were the different ways he himself and the passengers could react? What tools on board the airliner could they use as weapons? It seemed to him that the best avenue of action would be to simply wait for the plane to land, and let the authorities handle the situation. It shouldn't be too difficult for one of those elite anti-terrorism teams to handle a bunch of hooligans armed with knives.
But then, he saw the plume of smoke… what was extraordinary about it was that it did not start from the ground. It looked like the skies were burning. He realized that they were flying at a very low altitude, very close to lower Manhattan. It didn't take long for him to realize what was happening. Why they killed the pilot and the co-pilot. Why they needed just knives and box cutters. And why no elite anti-terrorism task force would be able to take over this plane. Then, he heard everyone scream one last time and in the split of a second just before everything went black, in the horrible mix of fire and chaos, he thought he saw something that was totally out of place. He could swear he saw… a computer screen.

THREE

September 11, 2001 9:39AM, Washington DC:
Lt. Colonel Heidi Crawel pushed herself away from her workstation at the Pentagon as if she was struck by lightning. Was she day dreaming? Last night she was at a friend's bachelor party. She didn't stay that late though, and she only had a few drinks. She had never fallen asleep on the job before, and she felt very uneasy doing so now. Heidi finished her coffee in front of the computer station, and while looking at the screen, she began to sense a terrible feeling materializing in her mind. It was some sort of a vision. She had never felt like this before.
"My God...” she exclaimed. "What was that? The weirdest thing…". Slowly, she took her eyes off the computer workstation, and got up. Taking one deep breath, she decided to walk to the window for some fresh air. She opened the plaid glass window and took a few more deep breaths, enjoying every bit of the fresh morning air. The weather outside was clear and beautiful. She was about to get back to her workstation when someone burst into the room: It was Sgt O’Reily from the adjacent office. He had a troubling look on his face, and his voice was even more disturbing.
"You won't believe what's on the news Heidi!"  he said, almost screaming. There was a very unusual sense of urgency to his voice. "Turn on the TV!"Heidi quickly stepped towards the TV, which was positioned at the corner of the room, opposite the window. She didn't bother to use the remote control unit, and instead she just pushed the power button on the TV set. While the display was coming on, she picked up the remote control unit from the pocket on the side of the TV set. Pointing the remote control to the TV, she brought the volume all the way up, so that the sounds from the set were filling the room. Looking at the set, she felt the adrenaline rushing into her bloodstream. What she saw on the screen was the so familiar view of the New York City skyline, except, the twin world trade center towers, now looked more like huge power plant chimneys. "Apparently a terrorist attack,” said Sgt O’Reily. "They used commercial airliners as weapons to slam into the buildings!""Yes, they did!" said Heidi. A voice inside her screamed: "I KNOW they did…"
They were still looking at the horrific view on the TV screen when Heidi noticed how Sgt O’Reily's hand began to rise, and slowly he pointed at the window. "What's that?"
"Looks too low… Oh my god! It's going to hit the light poles! It’s coming straight for us!"
And the only thing they both could manage to think, or utter was "OH MY G.." when the Boeing 757 crashed into the Pentagon through the window in front of them.

FOUR

September 11, 2001 9:39 AM, Washington DC:

"Mr. President!  Apparently they have used commercial airliners to attack the World Trade Center towers. American Airlines reports two of their flights missing. Logan Airport reports two kidnapped airliners. Newark reports two more missing!"The president of the United States of America turned away from the window overlooking the south lawn. He felt the words of his National Security Adviser yanking him away from his thoughts. He turned around, facing the people in the Oval Office. The shocking and rushing events of the last minutes had put him and all his staff in a new high state of alert. A sudden confusion - almost dizziness just crept into his mind and took him off balance. He extended his hand, gripping the top of his chair to reclaim his balance.
"Which one hit the Pentagon?" said the president.
"The Pentagon, Sir?" everyone facing him replied, almost in harmony.
He looked at them. They all had a confused look on their faces, as if asking "Did we miss something here?".
He was about to say "Yes, the Pentagon!" when he realized how the looks on the faces of his staff was changing from mere confusion to plain horror. They all looked at him, frozen, and the only thing he could see in their eyes was fear.
It took a split of a second for the president to realize that the horror in their eyes is not focused TOWARDS himself, but somehow THROUGH him. Slowly, with a strange feeling of an absolute knowledge of what is about to happen, the president turned to face the window. In the background he heard a far away thundering roar that somehow was rapidly getting closer. When his eyes finally met the window, what he saw was almost nothing else but the huge fuselage of a passenger airliner, close enough to cover most of his view of the south lawn. While staring at the window, everyone in the room screamed “OH NO!”. That is, everyone except the president. He, for reasons he himself could not begin to understand, heard himself saying: "No - Not again!".
And then, United Airlines flight 93 slammed into the section just on top of the oval office.

FIVE

[April 24th 1993] Kandahar, Afghanistan: "Osama? Are you well?"
Ayman Al Zawahiri looked at the person in front of him. Although he knew this man better than anyone else, he felt a sudden disgust towards him. Yes, he knew him well. Osama Bin Muhammad Bin Laden. His comrade in arms. His friend in his own eyes and in the eyes of many Muslims. The next Sallah-A-Din, the one that would free the sacred Muslim lands from the presence of the infidels.
But now, somehow his feelings were also very different. Although he knew the man, and he knew how they shared the same past, the same future and the same goals, he FELT like the man in front of him was the devil himself.
“Osama? What is the matter?” said the man on his right.
Ayman Al Zawahiri looked to his right. There, sitting on the floor beside him he saw Muhammad Attef.
“I know this man well,l” he thought. “Muhammad Attef, also known as Abu Hafs. He is the military chief of the Al Qaeda terrorist (Terrorist?!? What am I thinking!) organization, and again my friend and comrade in arms.”
Ayman had never felt like this. He felt welcome and trusted. He felt right at home. But at the same time he wanted to burn this home to the ground.
“I am well, Abu Hafs,” said Bin Ladin. “Allah had drifted my thoughts to far away places.”
“Our Shahids are awaiting my orders,” said Abu Hafs. “All is ready, and everything is going according to our plans. We are ready to hit the Americans. You can now burn them with your voice. It is time. All we need is for you to give the order!”
Bin laden lowered his head. He thought a while, seemingly too long for someone who was so driven to what he's about to do. Then he raised his head, and said “Allah U Akbar”.
Abu Hafs, and Ayman Al Zawahiri both stood up, and muttered “Allah U Akbar”. Then, they both turned to the exit from the cave. Abu Hafs started walking out when he heard Bin Laden behind him call, almost screaming: ”Ayman! In the name of Allah! What are you doing?” It took him just a moment to turn around, knife in his hand. A second too late though. With a deafening sound of a gun-shot in the cave, he saw Osama Bin Mohammad Bin Ladin being shot in the head by his friend, Ayman Al Zawahiri, and fall dead to the ground.
Al Zawahiri on his part, stood in front of the body, staring at it. Until this moment he couldn't understand why he removed his gun from the holster. Until now he didn't know why he had raised his hand and shot his friend, and comrade. Until now. But now he knew. He knew it all. With a smile growing on his face, he knew why he shot his friend Osama. He did it to save more than 3000 lives. He did it to prevent airliners from crashing into the Pentagon and into the white house.  He did it to save two huge towers, half a world away in distance, and more than eight years away in time. What he still couldn't understand was why would he want to save these people, and why he would think of  himself and his friends around him as terrorists, when his entire life he had  thought their cause to be a pure and a sacred one.And then he felt Abu Hafs' knife sliding across his neck, slitting his throat.

SIX

Jan 1st 2015, 6:00 AM, Novorossyisk, Russia:
Vladimir Kushenko woke up in his hotel on the north shore Black Sea city of Novorossyisk. Today was his last day at the Black Sea resort reserved for Russian 'elite'. He was sent by his company for a week long vacation to thank him for the last year of service. He was the head project manager to construct a new high rise in Moscow, and he managed the project better than anyone could have imagineed. In fact, it was one of the only construction projects in recent Russian history to conclude on time and on budget.
Vladimir, a 6'1 athletic man in his late 40s was in the habit of getting up early. Today though, he woke up with a strange feeling in his guts. Feeling dizzy, he stepped into the beautiful, marble-walled bathroom, and opened the gold-plated faucet in the Jacuzzi. He then stepped back to the suite's living room and turned on the TV. The news anchorman was reporting live from New York City. In the background Vladimir saw the famous Times Square, crawling with people celebrating the New Year. Although usually a beautiful sight, all these New Years celebrations always looked quite boring  to him. The year after year repeat of the same partying people waiting for midnight and kissing each other. He turned back and stepped into the hot Jacuzzi. The water's heat massaged his body even before he turned on the jets. "Oh," he whispered… "This is so good.”He closed his eyes, and let himself enjoy the massaging jets, when he felt a hand caressing his shoulder.
"Is there room for one more?" asked Katia.  Katia was a beauty he had met two days ago at the beach. It had taken him a while to gather the courage to approach her then. Now he was so happy he had, because since they had met, his stay at the hotel had been so much more pleasurable - in many ways. Not only was Katia one of the sexiest women he had ever met, but she also was a smart conversation partner, and last but certainly not least - an amazing lover."Don't you think the water is hot enough?" he smiled at her. His smile not a full one. He was still feeling strange somehow, although the water was fast melting his tension away.
"Well, let’s see exactly how much heat you can tolerate,” said Katia with a temptingly. Dropping softly her see-through nightgown to the side of the Jacuzzi, Katia stepped into the water, and sat in front of him.
After a slight "Hmmm" from her soft lips, she bent forward in a remarkable flexibility and kissed him. Vladimir felt himself relaxing further, feeling her lips on his. He enjoyed the thought of what was about to happen, and surrendered himself to Katia’s soft touch. Everything was so wonderful now. Yet, something was bothering him in the back of his mind. Something was wrong and out of place. Something strange, but he couldn't quite put his fingers on it. He only felt that the strange knot in his stomach had something to do with it.
The strange feeling stayed with him for the remainder of the day. When they went swimming, and when later they went to the center of the city for some shopping. When he and Katia finally left the shopping mall at the town center, they saw a man crossing the street in front of them and walking past them towards the shopping mall. The man looked out of place to Vladimir. Again, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he had this very peculiar feeling that something is wrong. The man, in his early 20s, passed them to go  into the crowd that was exiting the mall. Just as the man walked past them, Vladimir heard a horrific scream. Turning around instinctively Vladimir saw the man throwing his shoulder bag into the air and at the same time screaming again: "Allah U Akbar!". Before Vladimir could understand what was happening, the bag exploded inmid air with a loud 'bang'. White dust filled the air and slowly settled and covered everyone in the area, with most of it still drifting in the air. Strangely, the explosion was relatively a small one. No one got really hurt. Some men stormed the perpetrator and had him under control. The police arrived minutes later and arrested the man. For everyone it was a feeling of an averted disaster. A day saved. With the help of the police, most of the people gathered their belongings and dispersed from the scene. A policeman approached Vladimir and Katia. "Please leave the premises," ordered the policeman. Katia held Vladimir's hand, and gently pulled him away from the scene. When they where finally a few blocks away, she stopped him.
"Thank god no one got hurt! Areyou OK though? You don't look good…" she said.
"Yes…" he said. But the strange feeling which had been creeping on him all day long was now out in the open. He knew what had just happened. It was crystal clear now.  He knew that he himself, Katia and many others would be dead in a matter of days. He knew how terrible and painful of a death awaited  them. He knew what the white powder that covered them and drifted in the air was - it was weapons grade anthrax - a deadly bacteria used as a biological weapon. And he knew they have just been exposed to one of history's worst terrorist acts.But what was bothering him the most wasn't the certainty of death, or the pain that so many were about to endure. Those were certainties; he couldn't do a thing to change them. Instead, he found himself thinking about only one thing. One image. One phrase… He had seen and heard them this morning on the TV in his room. Now suddenly he knew what was wrong.
"Happy New Year"  - he remembered the voice on the TV in his hotel room. He also remembered the fireworks, and the boring kisses at Times Square…But the thing he now remembered and focused on the most was something in the background. Something very ordinary to the average spectator. But to him, a terribly confusing paradox.
"They are not supposed to be there!" he muttered loudly to himself.
"What honey? " said Katia, looking at him worriedly,  "What's not supposed to be there?"Vladimir looked at her, and in a shaky voice he told her what he knew no one but him would understand:
"The Twin Towers… The World Trade Center… They're not supposed to be there!"
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