The Looming Tower - Lawrence Wright [202]
BIN LADEN AND ZAWAHIRI and a small group of the inner corps of al-Qaeda fled into the mountains above Khost, near the Lion’s Den, where bin Laden’s Afghan adventure had begun. He told his men that something great was going to happen, and soon Muslims from around the world would join them in Afghanistan to defeat the superpower. The men carried a satellite dish and a television set.
Before 9/11, bin Laden and his followers had been beset by vivid dreams. Normally, after the dawn prayers, if a member of al-Qaeda had a dream during the night, he would recount it, and bin Laden would divine its meaning. People who knew nothing of the plot reported dreams of a plane hitting a tall building. “We were playing a soccer match. Our team against the Americans,” one man told bin Laden. “But the strange thing is, I was wondering why Osama made our entire team up of pilots. Was this a soccer match or an airplane?” The al-Qaeda spokesman, Suleiman Abu Ghaith, dreamed he was watching television with bin Laden, which showed an Egyptian family at the dinner table and the eldest son dancing an Egyptian folk dance. A legend scrolled across the bottom of the screen: “To avenge the children of al-Aqsa [the mosque in Jerusalem], Osama bin Laden carries out attacks against the Americans.” When he described this to bin Laden in front of fifty other men, bin Laden simply said, “Okay, I will tell you later.” But then he abruptly banned all talk of dreams, especially those that envisioned airplanes flying into buildings, for fear that they would give the plan away. He personally dreamed of America in ashes, believing it was a prophecy.
Steve Bongardt was at his cubicle in the I-49 squad reading intelligence on his computer. There was a report that the al-Qaeda camps in Tora Bora were being revitalized. “That can’t be good,” he thought. Barry Mawn was in his office when he heard an earsplitting roar. He looked out his window too late to see the plane passing, nearly at eye level, but he heard the explosion. He thought a jet hurtling down the Hudson River had broken the sound barrier. An instant later his secretary screamed, and Mawn ran to look out her window at the burning hole in the ninety-second floor of the north tower of the Trade Center, blocks away. Mawn immediately gathered his employees. He told the SWAT and evidence recovery teams that they needed to go assist the New York police and fire departments. As an afterthought, he also dispatched the terrorism task force.
John P. O’Neill, Jr., a computer expert for MBNA in Delaware, was on his way to New York to install some equipment in his father’s new office. From the window of the train, O’Neill’s son saw smoke coming from the Trade Center. He called his father on his cell phone. O’Neill told him he was okay. He said he was headed outside to assess the damage.
The plane, carrying about nine thousand gallons of jet fuel, had crashed fifty-eight floors above O’Neill’s office. He made it to the concourse level. People weren’t panicked, they were confused. Was there a bomb? an earthquake? Nothing made sense. Water poured out of the ceiling, puddling on the marble floor. The two-story cathedral windows were shattered, and a disconcerting breeze stirred the lobby. By now, the first jumpers had broken through the windows of the north tower above the burning jet fuel. Their flailing bodies landed like grenades. The plaza outside was set up for a noon concert, and pieces of bodies were draped over the chairs. Dozens of shoes were scattered across the tiles. There was a day-care center in the building, and O’Neill helped usher the children outside to safety.
In Afghanistan, members of al-Qaeda were having