Last War (27 page)

     Robert Finnegan was sitting at his seat staring into the radar, like any other day. But, it wasn’t any other day. War games were scheduled, and no one knew the time nor did they know the place.

The war games were designed by the brilliance of Jason Upton.
The room was teaming with operators tracking their regions. Pick-ups, drop-offs, altitudes, and ETAs. All of those things were being meticulously recorded.

     He wasn’t sure if Upton and the guys
would try to hit him early in the morning—right off the bat—or if they were set on essentially lulling him into sleep in order to hit him late. The thought of a strike somewhere in between scared the death out of him; it made the imminent drill seem overwhelming. But, he had studied for this moment, and he had survived a drill earlier that year.

    
After a few minutes of intently studying the radar, his phone rang. Robert sprang into motion.

    
He logged the time of the call into the system electronically, and manually in the book he had spread out in front of him. He usually kept the book in the drawer under the desk, but on drill days, he had it sprawled out ready to go on the desk surface.

                “H
ow can I help you.” Robert asked.

    
A woman, definitely a great actress, spoke calmly, yet urgently into the phone. “Hi, my name is Betsy Ngyun. I don’t know what’s happening on my flight, but I think there are people in the cockpit. I can’t tell. The other flight attendants aren’t with me. Not 1 or 2. I’m 3. I know one of them are definitely dead. I saw her dead in first class. I can’t get into first class because someone sprayed a lot of mace. I don’t know if we’re hijacked, but there’s definitely a major conflict going on.”

    
They really threw one at Robert this time. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to how this needed to be deviated from when it came to protocol. He knew they wanted him to follow protocol, but they tested for intelligence, competence, and intuition, as well.

        
“OK, ma’am. What flight are you on?” Robert asked.

                   
“Flight 11.”

                  
“And you said your name is Betty?”

                 
“Betsy. Betsy Ngyen.”

                
“OK, where are you sitting, Betsy?”

    
“I’m sitting in the jumpseat at the back of the plane.”

    
Just then he heard over his speaker a voice with a heavy accent.

    
“We have the planes. Everybody remain calm, and no one will be hurt. Don’t try anything stupid, and you’ll be OK.”

    
Robert then knew that this felt more real than any other drill he had been in, so he continued as such. “OK. And did you see if they have weapons? Or do you know if the plane has changed direction?”

    
“I don’t know if they have weapons, I just know one of us, at least, are dead. And it doesn’t feel like they’ve changed any direction.”

    
Robert looked up Flight 11 in the system. He saw that they were still on course. Slightly off -- more off than normal, but nothing alarming.

    
His hands began to quiver. Not only was he unsure if he were going to do the right thing, but he wasn’t sure if this were a drill or not. It was so random. It was so real. 

   
“OK, ma’am, I’m going to connect with NEADS    and see if we can’t get you some help. Please hold.”

    
Robert immediately clicked the connection to the North Eastern Air Defense command, and got the operator there.

    
“Hey, we’ve got a possible hijacking of American Airlines Flight 11. Flight Attendant says there are people in the cockpit, and one dead Attendant.”

                
“Ok, uh, is this real world? Or exercise?”

                
“This is real world, sir.”

                
“Connect us, please.”

    
Robert immediately tied the two departments in with Betsy.

    
“So, ma’am, you’re on what flight?” the NEADS operator asked.

    
“Flight 11.” Betsy responded. “My name is Betsy Ngyun, and they have killed an attendant and are in the cockpit now. I feel the plane changing motion. And we’re dropping altitude rapidly.”

    
“OK, Betsy, did you get a good look at their face?” The NEADS operator asked.

    
“Yes, they were brown-skinned and looked Indian, or some sort of middle-eastern.”

    
“Ok, please hold while we send some help. Stay as calm as you have, Betsy. You’re doing well. We’ll be there in no time. I’m going to keep you on with the FAA, and another NEADS receptionist. Hang in there, OK.”

    
The line clicked over as a female came on to the line.

    
“NEADS, hi, fill me in on the situation. Who are we speaking to, and what’s the Flight number?”

    
Robert, now flustered, responded, “The flight is Flight 12 and we’re dealing with a hijacking.” 

    
“Flight 11.” Betsy corrected. “And my name is Betsy Nygun.

    
Robert listened to the conversation with Betsy for the third time with the third person.

    
“Oh, my god.” Betsy blurted out. “We’re too low.”

                 
“Where are you?” Robert asked.

    
“New York City. We’re too low. We’re way, way, too low, oh my god.”

    
“Stay with her NEADS, I’ve gotta connect with command again.” Robert ordered.

    
He hit the extension to get to the command station, and there was no answer.

                
He tried again. Nothing.

    
A called buzzed in on another line. He clicked over. “This is NEADS, Carlita, I’ve lost Betsy.”

               
“What do you mean, you’ve lost her?”

    
“We lost connection, and I haven’t been able to get back in touch with her.”

                
“OK. Keep trying.”



     “But we just couldn’t get a hold of her anymore.” Robert told the commission.

    
A man on the commission board left of the chairman asked, “Well, NEADS, speak up. Why were they not able to get in touch with you again?”

    
“I-I don’t know.“ The NEADS representative responded. “I think we had limited staff that day. Training purposes for the War Games.”

    
“So, where were you?”

    
“I wasn’t on base, sir.”

    
“You mean you weren’t anywhere near by?”

    
“No sir.”

    
“What about the military?” The commission representative asked looking towards the commander there from the Pentagon.

    
“We didn’t hear anything about Flight 11 until a minute or two after 9:00, sir.”

    
“That’s a whole 14, 15 minutes after the first tower was hit, and three minutes before the second was hit, fellas.”

    
Robert spoke up again.

    
“I had received word that another flight was hijacked and became confused thinking we had Flight 11. When I heard one of the towers were hit, I realized that maybe we missed a flight. I called NEADS up again, and expressed my view that I felt we had a rare occasion on our hands. It was a flustery day, sir. We had never handled anything like this before. We were low on staff, low on fighters, and expecting drills.”

    
“So, between these three defense oriented government agencies, we had exactly how many people who knew what to do in a situation like this?”

    
There was silence before the more senior of the five members on the board spoke up. It was the general from the Pentagon. “Well, sir, truth is, I can’t imagine we were diligent enough in preparing for a case where two, three, or four of our United States planes would be hijacked within minutes of each other, and all have different simultaneous targets. I mean, with all due respect, that sounds like something out of a flamboyant, extravagant, Hollywood flick.”

    
“Did you know there was any terrorist threat on America for any day? Or any possibility?”

    
Each official looked at each other before one spoke up. “No. I mean,
I
didn’t know anything.”

     The others
chimed in sharing the same sentiment.

    
“You’ve never heard from the Secretary of Defense, C.I.A., F.B.I., or anyone? No intelligence at all?”

    
“No sir.” The F.A.A. chief said looking to each side of himself, again. The group of five sitting before the commission resembled a political version of Larry, Moe, and Curly. Every question they were asked as a group followed with swiveling heads and blank stares. Jason thought maybe it was the generality of the commission’s questions.

     After a few more testimonies from officials who were on duty that day, the opening hearings of the 9/11 commission
were closed until the next day.

     As Jason and Czyra stood up, a man in a suit approached Jason.

     “We need to see you, sir. And the kid, too.”

     “
Where are we headed?” Jason asked.

     “Someone wants to speak with you.”

     “Who? I really can’t. We’ve got someplace to be right now.”

     “I’m afraid those plans are cancelled. You don’t have a choice in the matter. We’ve got armed guards by every exit. We’ve also located your vehicle. You and the kid are coming with me.”

     Jason nodded towards Czyra.

    
Jason and Czyra followed the suited agent down the empty hallway to a secluded lobby. At each entrance of the lobby, there were two armed guards. “Are we in trouble?” Czyra asked.

     “I’d say so
.”

    
“We need to get out of here, then.”  

    
“Just bear with me, son. Right now, there’s no way out. We’ve got to let this play out a bit more.”

     “Why are those men dressed like they’re going to war, and it’s only a court building?”

     “With this many government officials in one building – and at an event like this -- it’s necessary. Trust me.”

     The back lobby area was mostly empty, with only a few busts of men Jason didn’t know. The floors
were polished clean; the walls, white painted cinderblock. Every noise in the building echoed.

     Jason heard a conversation echo from someplace down the hallway.

     “Yeah. We don’t have to put that in there.” A man said. “At all costs, let’s avoid it. If they know that we demolished building seven, then we’d have to answer for one and two.”

     “You
hear that?” Czyra whispered banging the back of his hand against Jason’s arm.

     “Shh. Listen.”

     “It doesn’t matter what happened to the other two buildings.” The man continued. “If one went that way, then they’ll suspect they all did. It only makes sense to give them some bull crap from some money hungry contractor and let the conspiracy theorist continue to bury themselves with their fanaticism. That’s what I see as logic.”

    
“Oh, OK. If you think we should. We can’t keep—“ An armed guard by the lobby entrance turned down the hall and shushed the men.

     “We have guests.” He said in a lower tone.

     “Who are they?” Czyra whispered.

    
“I don’t know. Shh.” Jason responded.

    
“Why, ‘shh?’ What they said was amazing, Jason. I’ve been right the whole time.”

    
“Yeah, well, don’t be so sure. We’ve still got a lot to learn—as soon as we get out of here.”

    
“If I didn’t get us in this predicament,” Cyzra said still whispering, “Then we would have never heard—“

     “Say, what?”

     “Hey!” A man shouted from behind. “What are you two yapping about?”

    
It was the chairman of the 9/11 committee.

    
“We were wondering why you folks made the bathrooms so difficult to find in here, sir?”

    
The chairman stood still. “There’s one right around the corner, and then another one at the opposite end. You also passed one on your way here, and you’ll pass one coming into my office. Follow me.”

     The men followed him. “Let me do all the talking.” Jason
whispered to Czyra.