Against All Enemies by Richard A. Clarke Read Free Book Online Page A

They’re al Qaeda.” I was stunned, not that the attack was al Qaeda but that there were al Qaeda operatives on board aircraft using names that FBI knew were al Qaeda.
    â€œHow the fuck did they get on board then?” I demanded.
    â€œHey, don’t shoot the messenger, friend. CIA forgot to tell us about them.” Dale Watson was one of the good guys at FBI. He had been trying hard to get the Bureau to go after al Qaeda in the United States with limited success. “Dick, we need to make sure none of this gang escapes out of the country, like they did in ’93.” In 1993 many of the World Trade Center bombers had quickly flown abroad just before and after the attack.
    â€œOkay, I’ve got that.” As we talked, we both saw on the monitors that WTC 2 was collapsing in a cloud of dust. “Oh dear God,” Dale whispered over the line.
    â€œDale, find out how many people were still inside.” I had often been in the World Trade Center and the number that popped into my head was 10,000. This was going from catastrophe to complete and total calamity.
    â€œI’ll try, but you know one of them. John just called the New York Office from there.” John was John O’Neill, my closest friend in the Bureau and a man determined to destroy al Qaeda until the Bureau had driven him out because he was too obsessed with al Qaeda and didn’t mind breaking crockery in his drive to get Usama bin Laden. O’Neill did not fit the narrow little mold that Director Louis Freeh wanted for his agents. He was too aggressive, thought outside the box. O’Neill’s struggle with Freeh was a case study in why the FBI could not do the homeland protection mission. So, O’Neill retired from the FBI and had just become director of security for the World Trade Center complex the week before.
    We were silent for a moment. “Dale, get the word out to evacuate the landmarks and all federal buildings across the country.”
    â€œYou got it…and Dick…hang in there, we need you.”
    I walked over to the communications desk where one of the longest-serving Situation Room staff was still there. Gary Breshnahan had come to the White House as an Army sergeant during the Reagan administration. To insure communications back to the Situation Room, Gary had accompanied National Security Advisor Bud McFarlane on the secret mission to Tehran that became the central act of the Iran-Contra fiasco. Later Gary had videotaped Bill Clinton’s deposition during the impeachment process. He was a single father of three.
    â€œYou shouldn’t still be here, Gare,” I tried.
    â€œYou want this fuckin’ video to work, don’t you?”
    â€œOkay, well if you’re staying…can you pull up Coast Guard and Treasury?”
    â€œCoast Guard, no problem. But I’ll bet the mortgage nobody is home at Treasury.”
    When I walked back to the Video Conferencing Center, Cressey told me what had happened to one of the aircraft we thought was headed toward us. “United 93 is down, crashed outside of Pittsburgh. It’s odd. Appears not to have hit anything much on the ground.”
    A new site was appearing on a wall monitor, a row of men in light blue, Coast Guard Commandant Jim Loy in the middle of them. He was one of the most competent people in federal service, quiet and effective. (Loy would later run the new Transportation Security Administration and then be promoted to run the new Department of Homeland Security as its Deputy Secretary.)
    â€œDick,” the commandant informed me, “we have a dozen cutters steaming at flank speed to New York. What more can we do to help?”
    â€œJim, you have a Captain of the Port in every harbor, right?” He nodded. “Can they close the harbors? I don’t want anything leaving till we know what’s on them. And I don’t want anything coming in and blowing up, like the LNG in Boston.” After