WTC gate the unofficial story

By Claus Bork

The Bush administration has just moved into office in The White House. United States is on the brink of economical collapse. Through an american agent from Homeland Security, with Arabic background, they plant an idea to the people behind Al-Qaeda. An idea that shall bring America back in its role as the worlds leading superpower. The novel follows the planning and execution of the terrorist attack against World Trade Center on september 11th 2001. The novel is fiction, based upon the real events that took place on september 11th 2001.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Dec 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9788771708820

Claus Bork

Claus Bork - former singer, composer and guitarist in the Danish rockband Clockwork Orange - had 35 years of managing building sites as a building engineer. He is the proud father of 4 adult children. He is now retired at the age of 72, living in a small country town in the beautiful forests of southern Sweden. His authorship count 19 novels, many of them fantasy for both youngsters and adults. Published English translations are: ' 'The Adventurous Karaganda' - adult fantasy and 'WTC-Gate' - adult crime about 9/11

Book preview

2015

THE WHITE HOUSE

THE OVAL OFFICE

1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVE NW

WASHINGTON

DC 20500

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

DATE: JANUARY 22ND 2001

TIME: 15.56

GEORGE W. RUSH, PRESIDENT

RONALD DUMBSFELD, SECRETARY OF DEFENCE

RON BIDGE, SECRETARY OF HOMELAND SECURITY

ANDREW KART, WHITE HOUSE CHIEF OF STAFF

PAUL O'KEILL, SECRETARY OF THE TREASURE

They sat comfortably on the sofas around the low oval table. Excitement hung in the air, just like the kind of excitement small boys feel just before climbing over a garden fence to steal apples…

President George W. Rush, who just two days ago had taken up office as the 43rd President of the United States of America, sat in an armchair at the end of the table chewing gum, arms hanging nonchalantly down both sides of the chair. He nodded towards Andrew Kart and said, Make sure that none of this is recorded Andrew. I need to talk to the boys in private, things that don’t concern the general public…

Andrew nodded, gulped down the rest of his coffee in one go and stood up. I will make sure of it Mr President. And once again, congratulations on the position. He smiled to the rest of the group and left the oval office.

George W. Rush took over. You have something to present, he said, inviting Paul O'Keill to speak.

O'Keill cleared his throat, leant back against the back of the sofa and began: It’s looking bad Mr President. I am sorry to have to start off your time here like this but it is a fact. We are on the brink of pure economic collapse.

He was a mild-looking man with white hair and thick, strong glasses.

George W. Rush looked searchingly at the group of men. Everyone looked serious, realising that something had to happen. Something drastic…

What do you suggest we do? the President asked.

Paul O'Keill shook his head. We’re about to be overtaken on the inside by a changing world and it will take far too long for us to adapt to these changes. We might as well try stopping an out-of-control supertanker. We have gone way past the point where we can consider adapting in time to make it before it all comes crashing down. He looked around at the group through his thick lenses. Then he turned his palms upwards in a gesture loaded with meaning. That’s it…

Okay, George Rush responded. You are lucky to have a large family. Go home to them and enjoy the evening together. We can start to turn things round first thing in the morning. We still have a few things we need to discuss here…

Paul O'Keill got up. He took his thin leather folder that was leaning against the sofa just under the table edge, mumbled a farewell to the men around the table and left the room.

They sat in silence for a while. Only the hard core remained.

The President leant forward, pressed a button on the intercom and spoke: Are you sure that all the recorders are switched off?

Yes Sir Mr President, everything is switched off. Andrew Karts’ voice came through the speakers.

Thank you Andrew, George Rush said and let go of the little green button.

Looking at the men around the table he let his gaze rest on each of them for a moment before speaking

What exactly do we need? he asked, any ideas?

We need another Pearl Harbour. Ronald Dumbsfeld broke in. Something that is so very extreme that no-one would ever dream that we set it up.

Ron Bidge replied, Everything can be fixed Mr President. We have everything you could possibly need at Homeland Security, and it is all at your disposal.

George Rush was prodding his upper lip with his forefinger thoughtfully. You are a good man Ron. That is why Ronald asked you to come here today. You need to be aware that we have big plans involving Homeland Security – and you.

Thank you Mr President…

Ronald Dumbsfeld took over. There are a lot of arrangements to be made and there will be a lot of people involved who will need to keep their mouths shut afterwards. We have to be very, very careful…

All those present nodded.

I have some loyal contacts in the FBI, CIA and at NSA.

Dumbsfeld looked directly at Ron Bidge But those are old organisations with their own traditions and codes of conduct. It would be too difficult to convince them to take part directly. So we are staking everything on Homeland Security.

He jabbed a finger directly at Ron Bidge, and you need to know that you will be well-rewarded. You will get your own organisation on a par with those I just mentioned.

That all sounds very promising. Ron Bidge’s smile was catlike.

Dumbsfeld turned to George Rush.

George, you will not be directly involved in all this. I will take it further with Ron and your people back home in Texas. I will run it for you and keep you informed…

But I would like to know what it is that we are starting Ronald… the President said.

Ronald Dumbsfeld laid a calming hand on his arm. Take it easy George. Just keep on doing what you are so good at: being the President. He looked at Ron Bidge with a broad smile, then the rest of us can get our hands dirty…

All three laughed at this and the atmosphere lightened slightly.

The President nodded, then he turned towards the intercom and asked for Barney to be brought in. He turned back with a boyish smile on his face and said: How about seeing the new trick I’ve taught Barney?

Nodding, the two men tried to look enthusiastic.

The door opened and Barney, the President’s Scottish Terrier, entered. Taking a biscuit from the plate on the table, George Rush turned towards the dog. Roll over! he ordered.

The dog tumbled around on the floor in something that resembled rolling over. George turned to the two others, a big smile on his lips. Did you see that? he asked. Isn’t that fun? He laughed loudly.

Very entertaining Mr President, Ron Bidge answered Ronald Dumbsfeld made do with a nod. Good George, that’s very good…

PORT AUTHORITY OF NEW YORK & NEW JERSEY

225 PARK AVENUE SOUTH

NEW YORK

NY 10003

UNITED STATES

DATE: JANUARY 24TH 2001

TIME: 16.30

LEWIS M. EISENBERG, CHAIRMAN,

THE PORT AUTHORITY OF NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY

MICHAEL DONOVAN,

NYC DEP. OF HOUSING PRESERVATION AND DEV.

Lewis M. Eisenberg was sitting at his large, polished mahogany desk scrutinising the documents in front of him.

He ignored the ringing telephone and every now and then he grunted as he read through the papers.

Sitting in an armchair in front of the desk, studying the toes of his shoes, Michael Donovan was clearly uncomfortable.

Does this mean that I’ve got fortyeight hours to answer this? Eisenberg threw his hands out.

Michael Donovan nodded. Company policy, he answered.

We’re tired of our applications being endlessly dragged out. In your case it’s just a case of some form of declaration of intent to act.

Mmhm, mumbled Lewis M. Eisenberg The entire World Trade Centre has to be cleared of asbestos and all you want is a statement that I truly intend on doing so.

He looked up from the papers, do you have any idea of the costs involved in removing all asbestos in the entire World Trade centre?

Michael Donovan chose to remain as passive as he could. He shook his head.

Eisenberg leaned over the desk and looked Donovan straight in the eye. He was angry and continued in a hard tone, Now listen here Mr Donovan, I am going to tell you one thing. When we built the World Trade Centre towers the local authorities demanded that we used asbestos to insulate the whole pile of shit against fire. There is asbestos everywhere: in the ceilings, in the flooring – it was even sprayed on the steel girders that are bearing all the floors. Eisenberg raised a warning finger, they started to change the regulations even before we had finished building and banned the use of asbestos. And there we were with the largest office block in the world – out-dated because of all your wheeling and dealing. He held his hand flat against his chest, We haven’t done anything wrong! he exclaimed. We followed the rules that you set out for us, and now you come here demanding that we remove the lot? His voice trembled with anger. Do you have the faintest idea about what you are asking? We might as well just raze the place to the ground and start from scratch again. The cost would be the same as sanitising it.

Michael Donovan shrank in the chair in front of him. It’s not really my area, he said softly, but in that case you need to remember to send in a building application.

Eisenberg looked hard at him over the top of his glasses. Be careful, he said. I have powerful friends…

The other man rose, thanked for the coffee and left Eisenberg’s lavish office.

CAFÉ LAZEEZ

NO. 15 BHITTAI ROAD F-7. ISLAMABAD 9TH AVENUE

ISLAMABAD

ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN

DATE: FEBRUARY 03RD 2001

TIME: 12.36

BILAL KHEL, PAKISTANI, RELATED TO AL-QAEDA

KALEEM DURRANI, AGENT, HOMELAND SECURITY

Kaleem looked enquiringly at Bilal. And you’re sure that noone saw you coming here?

There was a nod from the other. No-one we need to worry about, he answered. But why did you ask me to come?

Kaleem cast a quick look round the room and thought for a moment before answering. I have had an idea. I know how we can hit the Americans harder than they have ever been hit before.

Tell me more, Bilal Khel whispered. He looked around but nobody seemed to be paying them any attention.

Kaleem stretched his hand out condescendingly. Take it easy, no-one here knows us, this is the best place to hide – amongst millions of people at a café in Islamabad…

There was a light sigh as the other man relaxed.

Tell me about it, Bilal said after a moment of silence. But first tell me why you’re getting yourself mixed up in it? I’ve been asking around and nobody I know knows anything about you. What’s your interest in this?

Kaleem leaned forward Al-Qaeda has many cells. They don’t all know each other. Let’s just say that I know some people who like my ideas. Is that a good enough answer?

Bilal nodded. If your idea is good then you are serving a great cause Kaleem.

Kaleem explained that he had been living in the USA and was fortunate to have found work as a cleaner at an intelligence agency where he had been able to listen to and study American habits and the American way of thinking. Here he had learnt that if you want to get at Americans then you have to think both big and extreme. He had seen how, despite their paranoia, Americans believe that they are undefeatable. This arrogance, he explained, is their worst enemy.

The other man listened patiently, his face deadpan.

I got the idea for this from an American film and I believe that it can work

Bilal studied him but remained silent.

You could send a team over to the US where they could take their pilot’s license and then hijack some planes. They could then fly these into the World Trade Centre buildings. Kaleem threw a punch up into the air. Hit what they hold most holy – the finance centre of Manhattan. That will teach them to respect us…

The World Trade Centre – those two tall buildings where there was a bombing in the cellar a few years back?

Kaleem nodded eagerly. Yes. Those bombs in the car just weren’t wild enough and the buildings didn’t really suffer any major damage. They have been repaired and they will never let the same thing happen again. The cellar is now guarded as wasps guard their nest. But a plane, that could make a good weapon and just after take-off it is still loaded with fuel, it is a flying bomb. Try to imagine it happening…

Open-mouthed, Bilal stared at him. By Allah that’s a wild plan. But how to smuggle people in and get them their pilots licences?

That’s where I come in, Kaleem answered. I can go back, take up my old job again and help you with all the practical things from there.

Bilal’s thoughts were flowing fast and furious. He was mumbling to himself as he went approvingly through the plan in his head. Do you think this can really work? he burst out.

Of course Kaleem responded. This plan is way beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and no-one will ever imagine that we came up with it. The first they will know about it is when the planes crash into the buildings, and the whole of Manhattan is overshadowed by fireballs.

Bilal nodded. I’ll put this to my cell and see what they say to it. How can we reach you?

Kaleem threw a calculating quick glance round the room and leant in over the table. In the coming days I will go back to New York. You can reach me here. He pushed a business card over the table, hidden under the flat of his palm. You will contact me through an encrypted network, the address is here and I have written the password in pen.

Bilal took the card and, without looking at it, placed it in his pocket. I don’t understand any of that stuff with encryption and networks but the people I am going to give this to do. I will put it forward already this evening. He nodded goodbye, stood up and left the café. He didn’t look back but disappeared in the crush of people and the noise of the traffic on Bhittai Road.

Kaleem remained seated until the other man was lost from sight. Then, taking his Nokia Communicator mobile out, wrote a text message with the words the seed has been sown.

He sent it and left the café.

PORT AUTHORITY OF NEW YORK & NEW JERSEY

225 PARK AVENUE SOUTH

NEW YORK

NY 10003

UNITED STATES

DATE: FEBRUARY 04TH 2001

TIME: 08.50

LEWIS M. EISENBERG, CHAIRMAN,

THE PORT AUTHORITY OF NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY

JOHN ASHLEY, LEGAL ASSISTANT,

THE PORT AUTHORITY OF NEW YORK AND NEW JERSEY

Can you tell me why nothing more has happened about all this? Lewis M. Eisenberg looked at his co-worker with a very dissatisfied air. It was already decided back in 1998 that the WTC-complex had to go from being owned by us to being leased out to a private entrepreneur on a 99-year lease.

He drummed irritably with one finger on his desk. Now something really needs to fucking happen. I’m not messing with all this asbestos shit…

John Ashley looked up from the papers on his desk. We… we are almost ready with the terms and conditions of the tender, Mr Eisenberg, he stammered, clearly affected by his boss’ ill-tempered tone. But we have already sent the preliminary terms and conditions and the bidders are evaluating them.

So get them sent out, that way you’ll know who’s in the game. It shouldn’t be so fucking difficult. There can’t be many who have the capacity to raise the kind of capital needed to rent the WTC-complex for 99 years…

Shaking his head Ashley rose halfway out of his chair.

Eisenberg laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down into the chair again. Then get it done John. Get this shit out and let’s get it over with.

Yes, Mr Eisenberg.

SOMEWHERE IN EAST AFGHANISTAN

DATE: FEBRUARY 05TH 2001

TIME: 17.45

AYMAN AL-ZAWAHIRI, JIHADI EMIR OF AL-QAEDA

BILAL KHEL, PAKISTANI, RELATED TO AL-QAEDA

The scent of sheep dung hung heavily, even when they were inside the hut. But it was still warm.

Dark, threatening clouds filled the sky. It was evening in the village in Afghanistan, only a few miles from the Pakistani border. The elder man sat in a large armchair facing the door. He was reading the news on his IBM ThinkPad. Ayman Al-Zawahiri, known as the Jihadi Emir of AL-Qaeda; one of the heavy-weights of the organisation housing the most orthodox and reactionary Muslims in the world.

He looked up from the screen as a woman entered the room almost without a sound. He regarded her critically, eyes seeking even the tiniest point to criticise. By now, however, she had learnt to know her place in the world under his control and he was unable to find anything about her appearance that he could point his finger at.

She was dressed in a long, loose flowing robe that hung down to the clay floor ensuring that her feet were hidden from view. She wore a niqab on her head that allowed him to see only her eyes. Everything else was covered with cloth. Nervously she moved closer, the teacups clinking momentarily on the tray held out in front of her.

He nodded and she set the tray with the teapot and three cups on the table.

Without uttering a word she withdrew, backing quickly out of the room shutting the door after her.

He sat regarding the clay walls with expressionless eyes. Then, letting his gaze fall down to the screen of his ThinkPad he looked at photos of rooms at