Free A Pretext for War by James Bamford Page A

a bomb aboard.” Startled, the Cleveland controller called back. “Say again slowly,” he said. But silence returned to Flight 93.
     
     
    Despite having just seen the twin attacks on the Trade Center on television, Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle decided to go ahead with his weekly leadership team meeting in Room 219 of the Capitol Building. But at about 9:45, Senator Patty Murray glanced out the conference room’s windows and let out a yell. “Look,” she hollered. “There’s smoke!”
    “With that we all rushed to the window,” recalled Daschle. “None of us could believe what we were seeing. There, beyond the Washington Monument, just across the Potomac, thick plumes of black smoke were billowing up from the spot where the Pentagon stands. I know it’s a cliché, but I really could not believe my eyes.” Daschle and the other senators raced back to their offices in utter confusion. “It’s hard to fathom,” Daschle later candidly admitted, “that our leaders in the upper levels of government in Washington, the people we turn to for confidence and security in times of crises, might, at just such a time, be as utterly clueless as everyone else.”
     
     
    Within Washington, evacuation of federal and congressional officials—something that should have been well planned after nearly half a century of Cold War tensions—instead became more like an episode of
Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
Congress, like the rest of government, knew far less about what was going on than someone watching CNN from their bed.
    “A plane is heading for the Capitol!” said a reporter excitedly. Suddenly senators, members of Congress, staff, and visitors all began charging down hallways, pushing through doors, crowding onto elevators, and running down stairwells in a mad effort to escape the building. “Get off the sidewalks,” yelled a Capitol police officer. “Moving everybody back. Moving everybody back.”
    “The scene was total chaos,” said Daschle. At the same time, because no alarm system was ever activated, other people remained in their offices oblivious to what was going on around them. It was the first time in history that the entire United States Capitol had been evacuated. “There was starting to be a sense of panic,” said one congressional official with detailed knowledge of the security measures.
    After wandering around aimlessly outside of the Capitol Building for about half an hour, many senators and members of Congress were directed to the Capitol Police offices, located about a block and a half away on the top of a decrepit brick building. The worried officials feared that they were the next targets and, lacking any better ideas, quickly yanked down the shades. “People were just as fearful as I’ve seen,” said Daschle. “I saw looks in senators’ faces, looks in staff faces that I’ve never seen before.”
     
     
    In New York, the situation in Tower Two had grown even more critical and the calls to fire rescue more desperate. At 9:36, a woman called from an elevator saying she and others were trapped inside. “They are dying,” said the report. Eighty-three elevator mechanics from ACE Elevator had left the two buildings following the crash into Tower Two. Dozens of people were left trapped inside the elevators—ninety-nine in each tower—at the time. One elevator mechanic from another company charged into the burning buildings from the street but died trying to rescue people.
    Another call was from a woman named Melissa. The floor was very hot, she said. There were no available doors. She was going to die, she said, but first wanted to call her mother. Still another call had no voice, only the sound of people crying.
    Back on the 105th floor, Sean Rooney again called his wife, Beverly Eckert. She could hear her husband was having tremendous difficulty breathing. “I can’t get the door open,” he said. “I pounded and the smoke is very thick. I passed out.” Eckert asked him how