Page 65 of The Story of Danny Rose

September 11, 2001

“Well, it’s too late now, innit? He’s already made up his mind.” I signed the last form and handed it over to Paul. We were almost at the cafeteria, and I was in need of coffee and breakfast. Danny and I had overslept, so we’d missed out on my stellar oatmeal creation. “But between you and me, he should’ve opted for the second location in Jordan. Now we gotta cross into Turkey in order to?—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I heard Danny and Reese yell at the same time.

I lifted my brows and exchanged a quick look with Paul. He was as confused as I was, so we hurried into the cafeteria and were met by the strangest sight. Maybe fifteen or so people stood around—no one was sitting—and watched the TVs that were set up here and there.

“Em!” Danny saw me and was seemingly rooted in place. There was something in his eyes that put me on edge. Something waswrong. Something was really fucking wrong.

I strode over to him and saw a similar look on other guys’ faces too. Shock, resignation, jaws clenched in anger?—

“Why the fuck are they talking about small propeller planes?” someone blurted out. “You fucking see the second passenger plane right there!”

Danny grabbed my hand tightly, very tightly, and I followed his gaze to the nearest TV mere feet away.

“…another eyewitness report saying there was, in fact, a second plane—and we’re going to… Yes, there we have the other angle. Both towers have suffered explosions, and as Tony said, it seems to be around the eightieth floor…”

I swallowed dryly and tightened my hold on Danny’s hand.

“And here we see—this was just moments ago—how the second plane hits the World Trade Center…”

I scrubbed a hand over my mouth and jaw, and only two words existed in my brain, and they went on a loop.

It’s begun.

I watched once more as a plane flew right into the second tower, at the same time as someone behind us muttered that there was no way this was an accident.

“How many people work in those towers?” someone else asked.

“Thousands—and at this hour? People are already at work,” Reese replied quietly. “You think we have jets scrambling yet?”

I saw James from the corner of my eye. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to respond, but Sid came into the cafeteria, and judging by the look on his face, he was up-to-date with what was going on.

“Just talked to my guy at the White House,” he said. “The president’s canceled whatever he had planned for the day. I suspect he’ll be in the air soon.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I released a breath and was momentarily distracted by the low murmur of questions and guesses from the men around me.

River was one of them. “What would put any pilot in that area? Which airport is the closest?”

“Nopilot belongs in down-fucking-town Manhattan,” James replied grimly. “When you fly into LaGuardia, you get maybe two or three miles out, but…” He shook his head.

“Let’s not pretend we don’t know what this is,” Danny said abruptly. “They’ve fucking warned us for years, and it ain’t the first time the Trade Center was targeted.”

The FBI was mentioned in the breaking news coverage, and everyone piped down again.

“…we don’t know for sure, of course, but the FBI is investigating a possible hijacking of two commercial jets…”

“Ahh,” Danny exhaled and flinched.

Oh fuck. I instantly released his hand. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He shook his head and stepped closer, and his gaze never left the TV.

Frustration and impatience built up rapidly over the next several minutes as the eyewitness reports rained in, while the anchors had absolutely nothing solid to go on. Everyone was speculating, and it was happening on live television. New Yorkers who phoned in spoke of pandemonium and chaos, thousands of people running away from the Towers, and smoke and debris everywhere.

Danny checked his watch, and I saw it was 9:27?—

“…with US officials now talking about this as an act of terrorism.”

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