43*: When Gore Beat Bush--A Political Fable by Greenfield Jeff

Author:Greenfield, Jeff [Greenfield, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781614520467
Publisher: Byliner Inc.
Published: 2012-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

September 11, 2001

“I can’t believe it!” First Officer LeRoy Homer said to Jason Dahl, the pilot of the Boeing 757. “Wheels up at 8:10? At Newark? When was the last time we didn’t sit on the tarmac for an hour?”

“Weather’s perfect, for a change,” Captain Dahl said, noting the bright-blue sky, no storms anywhere, and a lot more room for commercial jets to fly, thanks to President Gore’s opening of those military air corridors. Moreover, the FAA was paying special attention to the travels of the president this day; extra air-traffic controllers had been quietly assigned to the nation’s busiest airports, to lessen the risk of embarrassing delays on the morning the president was to celebrate easing the pain of air travelers.

So United Flight 93, bound for San Francisco out of Newark International Airport, took off just when it was supposed to; as did American Flight 11 out of Boston’s Logan Airport, headed for Los Angeles; United 175, also headed from Boston to L.A.; and American Flight 77, leaving Washington’s Dulles International for Los Angeles. With only thirty-seven passengers on board United 93, it promised to be an easy day’s work for the seven-person flight crew. For flight attendant CeeCee Lyles, it was a particular contrast to her previous work; for six years she had worked as a police office and detective in Fort Pierce, Florida, before leaving in 2000 to take up the work she had wanted since childhood. Lyles would often recall how some in her family thought a flight attendant’s work was more dangerous than police work. Sure, if you’re threatened by a passenger who wants one more drink.

It was just after the plane had reached cruising altitude—8:40 a.m.—when three men suddenly stood up, wrapped red bandanas around their heads, and forced their way into the cockpit. A moment later, a voice came over the loudspeaker system:

“Ladies and gentlemen: Here the captain. Please sit down and keep remaining sitting. We have a bomb on board. So, sit.”

Within minutes, several of the passengers had gotten on their cell phones or the onboard Airfones to call home and report what was happening. But as far as the plane’s passengers and those at home knew, this was a hijacking no different from the ones that had plagued the world decades earlier; presumably, the hijackers would fly the plane to Cuba or some other foreign destination, release their demands, and eventually, the passengers would be set free. Indeed, a moment later, the plane made a sharp turn and began heading southeast, destination unknown.

It was not until CeeCee Lyles reached her sister at 9 a.m. that anyone on board had a sense of what was happening.

“I’m watching the TV,” her sister said, “and they’re saying that a small plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. An accident, they’re saying.”

“I’ve got to go,” Lyles said. She ran to the back of the plane, where most of the passengers and crew had been herded, and told them what had just happened at the World Trade Center.

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