The Other Half of My Soul (27 page)

Recounting his time in Syria, Rami described, at great length, the visit to his family home. Rayna brought him into the tranquility of her arms. “We have each other. We always will.”

thirty-one

And the dust returns to the ground as it was, and the lifebreath returns to God who bestowed it.

—Ecclesiastes 12:7

At age twenty-three, Rami and Rayna were less than a year away from completing their graduate work at Columbia University. Rayna stood by her agreement with Simon, writing a monthly column for the magazine in exchange for the corporate apartment in Manhattan. Circulation numbers at
InterContinental Weekly
continued to climb, and the growing demand for Rayna’s column brought her increased recognition, awards, and honors.

She wrote about deaths and mutilations from the abundance of land mines still lingering along the landscapes in countries like Colombia and Cambodia. Her commentaries revealing the global infiltration by the Russian Mafia exposed Rayna to threats and intimidation by mobsters. Pointing to the powerful lobbyists in Washington, Rayna disclosed the omnipotent influence over Congress by the oil and drug companies, and by the health care, insurance, and financial industries. She also delved into the serious threat of water depletion and water contamination that would gravely affect the world’s population in the years ahead.

After an assignment to Bhopal, India, Rayna reported on the plight of its citizens, who continue to be exposed to poisonous leaks from a defunct chemical plant. She wrote, in detail, about the noxious fumes still seeping into the air, water, and soil, sickening and killing thousands in that poverty-stricken region of India.

Rayna expounded on the world’s global-warming problem and took issue with President George W. Bush for pulling America out of its commitment to the Kyoto Agreement. She mapped out the hazards of the earth’s growing population, from two billion in 1945 to six billion in 2001, and offered practical solutions that went unheeded by world leaders. On another issue, she sized up the dangers yet to come from the growing acts of terrorism in the world, suggesting that no country was immune from Islamic fundamentalists, including America.

Because of Rayna’s many informative, well-researched, and controversial articles, she was both loved and hated, adulated and reproached. The list of supporters and enemies seemed to change daily. Much was written about her. Tabloids speculated on Rayna’s private life. The rich and famous added her to their guest lists. Requests for speaking engagements and interviews poured in. The paparazzi snapped their cameras at every opportunity, making Rayna a much-photographed personality. The public had a fascination with her, and the media were determined to satisfy their audiences.

Celebrity status became a double-edged sword. Writing about the injustices on the planet had become a passion. The infringements on her privacy had brought greater disturbances to her already unrestful life. More and more, Rayna and Rami explored alternative measures to protect their space.

* * *

Basketball became Rami’s diversion. He, Eli, and Kamil played at least two evenings a week and sometimes on Sunday mornings. The men were indeed the Three Musketeers, just as Rayna had labeled them. High levels of trust, dependence, and comfort safeguarded the trio’s strong bond.

Moreover, an extraordinary relationship blossomed between Rayna and Alexis. The two women shared confidences, relied on one another, and talked with or saw each other daily. Their connection was further strengthened when Eli and Alexis purchased an apartment in the same high-rise, one floor below Rami and Rayna. The four were consistently sensitive to always include Kamil in their tightly-knit family. The group of five were as close as kindred spirits could be.

However, there was one issue that separated Rami and Kamil from the rest. It was their obsessive preoccupation with assas-sinating Yousef. Although their goals were the same, their approaches differed. Kamil believed that it was essential to procure Omar’s help in order to be successful. Rami did not trust Omar.

* * *

Awakened from a deep sleep in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, Rami lifted the receiver. “Yes . . . hello?” He was perturbed by the initial silence from the other end. “Who
is
this?”

“Rami.” The voice was muffled.

“Yes? Who is this?” Annoyed, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

“It is Omar.”

“Omar! It is four in the morning. Are you all right?”

“Just listen. If anyone knows I have contacted you, I will be a dead man.”

Rami was instantly alert.

“A few hours from now, there will be major attacks on New York and Washington. Keep Rayna out of the World Trade Center. I know she works there.”

“Omar?” Rami jerked upright. “Omar? Omar!” Omar was no longer on the line. Rami broke into a cold sweat. He looked at the tiny screen on the telephone for a caller ID number, but the reading displayed an unknown communication. He dialed star-six-nine for a call-back, but the recording indicated an unrecognizable inter-national call.

Half awake, Rayna touched Rami’s unclad back, feeling the dampness of his skin. “What is it?”

“Today, you will not go into the office, and we will not go to school. That was Omar. I do not know where he called from. I only know what he said. In a few hours, there will be major attacks on New York and Washington. Omar warned me to keep you out of the World Trade Center.”

“What are you talking about? Do you believe him?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

The lighted dial on the digital clock showed 4:05 AM. Rami kissed Rayna’s forehead, then picked up his cell phone and dialed Kamil.

* * *

“If you’re smart, you and Rayna will tell no one of Omar’s call,” Kamil warned. “Remember, Rami, you’re a Muslim from Syria. If America is attacked, it will be by Islamic radicals. The American government will look for scapegoats. Be careful you’re not one of them. If this is a hoax, you’ll be accused of incitement and held suspect. Either way, you lose. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I beg of you, Rami, keep your mouth shut. Don’t bring attention to yourself, or to Rayna. Let me handle this. I’ll call Simon right now.”

“But . . .”

“Try not to use your cell phone. And definitely do not use your house line.”

“But . . .”

“Puhleeze Rami, listen to me! America has a big intelligence network. There are at least fourteen government intelligence agencies. Someone must know something. If they’re not already on top of this, then the security of America is in big trouble.”

* * *

Not knowing if this were a hoax or something real, Simon chose to err on the side of the latter. He instructed Kamil to contact Marianne, the receptionist. “She keeps an employee list at home, in case of emergencies. Have her call everyone. She’s to be quick and to the point. If anyone begins to question, tell her to cut them short. No one is to come to work today. No one! These are my orders. Anyone disobeying will be fired on the spot. Simple as that. And Kamil, don’t reveal the reason for the calls. Just tell her to do it.”

“I’ll get on it immediately.”

“Kamil . . .”

“Yes, Simon.”

“Anyone and everyone you know who will listen and has the clout to do something, call them.”

After ending the call with Kamil, Simon then proceeded to call the mayor’s office, the governor’s office, the FBI, and the CIA. He even called the White House. With each call, he either got a recording or someone took a message. Even the direct lines he dialed were met with, “Call back later in the morning during business hours.” Simon knew he was not well liked.
InterContinental Weekly’s
critical reporting on the new Bush administration and how they came into power by a decision of the Supreme Court angered many in Washington circles. Orders had been given not to speak with anyone from
InterContinental Weekly
. Frustrated, Simon turned to a trusted reporter from the
Washington Post
who promised to get word to the White House.

In those early morning hours, Kamil also made several calls. No one would attach any urgency to his report. Outraged, Kamil prayed that this was all a bad dream.

* * *

Turning on the radio and television, Rami and Rayna hoped for some early morning news about the threat of an attack. Nothing. Not even a hint of it was reported. They showered, dressed, forced down a bowl of cereal, and waited, not sure of what to do next.

At seven-thirty, Rayna called her brother. She got the answering machine and left a message. She tried his cell phone and got another recording. Aware of Eli’s routine, Rayna knew that he rarely woke before eight. And since his marriage, Eli had begun each day by meeting Alexis for breakfast at Mount Sinai Medical Center, where she was doing her residency. So Rayna dialed her sister-in-law. “Good morning, Alexis.”

“Hi, Rayna. I’m so exhausted. I haven’t had a break since eleven last night. These twelve-hour shifts are wearing me thin, and the ER has been unusually busy this morning. I can’t wait to get back to the apartment and sleep all afternoon.”

“You and Eli come for dinner tonight. One less thing to worry about.”

“Rayna, thanks. You’re the best. Can we eat around eight-thirty? Then Eli can drive me straight to the hospital.”

“Eight-thirty is good. The Three Musketeers are playing basketball at six . . . Alexis, where’s Eli? I’ve been trying to call him.”

“When I spoke with him an hour ago, he had just gotten out of the shower and was on his way to a meeting at the World Trade Center. Last night, your Dad called. He wants Eli to close some big real-estate deal this morning. Rayna, I’ve got to go. Try Eli again later. He’s probably tied up in that meeting and has his cell turned off.”

Rayna tried several more times to reach Eli. She continued to get his voice recording. “Rami, I want to walk over to the World Trade Center.”

“Absolutely not. Given what we know, you are not going near the place.”

“I won’t go inside the building.”

“No.”

Rayna coaxed, pestered, and cajoled until Rami unwillingly agreed. “We will go together, but you are not to be out of my sight, not for a second. Do we agree?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Outside the apartment building, the morning air was already muggy. Remnants of clouds drifted out toward the Hudson River. The couple walked south on Central Park West into Midtown, cut over to the West Side Highway, and reached the World Trade Center site at 8:35. Rami and Rayna looked up at the two magnificent towers, then watched as thousands of people scurried to work, scampering through the entranceways. Staring at each other, they wanted to scream at the top of their lungs and warn everyone to go back home. Rami placed his arm firmly around Rayna’s waist, restraining her from getting too near the building.

“I’m worried about Eli. I don’t know where he is. I want to warn him.” She reached into her tote, searching for her cell phone. “I’ll call my father . . .” Suddenly, a loud noise rumbled from over-head. A low-flying jet was aimed straight toward the north tower. “Oh my God,” Rayna uttered, as if in desperate prayer. “Please, God. No.”

At 8:46, the plane plunged into the skyscraper at the ninety-sixth floor, igniting more than twenty thousand gallons of fuel. Flames spewed forth from the upper levels. Rami and Rayna could hardly comprehend what they were seeing. Fire trucks stormed in. Police rushed to the scene. People in the streets fled incoherently in all directions. Rami pulled Rayna away from the melee. At 8:59, the ringing of her cell phone startled them. Rayna reached into her tote and brought the phone to her ear. “Eli!”

“What’s all that noise? Where are you, Rayna?”

“Where are you?” she howled.

“Dad sent me to close some big real-estate deal. I had to disappear for an hour to give the clients and their lawyers a chance to digest my proposal. Right now, I’m standing in front of your office on the ninety-first floor, but the doors are locked. Why is your office closed today? I thought we could get some breakfast and . . .”

“Eli, get out of the building! Get out now! The other tower is up in flames. A plane flew right into it. Get out of the building!” she yelled frantically. “Oh, God, Eli, get out of the building! I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s happening . . .” Rayna heard a click and then silence. “Eli!” she screeched. “Eli! Eli!”

Another low-flying aircraft swiftly approached. There was no mistake of its target. At 9:03, the jet crashed into the south tower at the eightieth floor. Blasting a hole through the adjacent side of the building, the plane wiped out many of the supporting columns and engulfed the structure in a rapidly expanding inferno.

In horror, Rami and Rayna watched the remaining columns of the south tower buckle and the top portion slump. Rami’s limbs went weak. “Please, Allah. Do not take Eli . . .”

Rayna clutched at her throat and wailed, “Eli! Eli! Eli!” Crazed, she pounded her fists into her chest, “Take me, God! Take me! Please, God, not Eli. Oh, God, let Eli live.” Rayna sank to the ground sobbing.

Rami lifted her up. Running, he carried Rayna away from the sight. Desperately, she clung to him. Fifty-six minutes after it was hit, the structure crumbled, floor by floor, in ten seconds.

From a distance, they witnessed more devastation. At 10:28, the floors of the north tower pancaked, progressively collapsing the edifice from within. In eight seconds, the north tower was no more.

Incinerated bodies lay in smoldering heaps. Indistinguishable mounds of debris blanketed the carnage. Black clouds of smoke billowed overhead, choking oxygen from the air. Policemen fought back the frenzied masses. Firefighters worked fearlessly to save lives and extinguish the mighty flames. The site looked like a war zone, a place in perdition. Twenty-eight hundred people were dead. Three hundred were firefighters.

Mangled by grief and confusion, Rami and Rayna roamed mindlessly through the surrounding streets. Then, precipitously, they pushed their way through the hordes of people and raced toward Mount Sinai Medical Center.

* * *

Out of breath, they jolted through the doors of the emergency wing, stressing an urgency to see Doctor Mishan.