Front Burner Read Free Page B

decided my work at the Joint Staff could wait. John first took me to see satellite images of some of the al Qaeda terrorist training camps in Afghanistan and elsewhere that were under observation for any sign of preparation for more attacks.
    It was about 0850, as we were walking through another office, that a news bulletin flashing across one of the television monitors caught our attention. The north tower of the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan had a gaping hole near the top, with dense black smoke and flames pouring out of it. The anchor reporting the story said there were now doubts about earlier reports that a private plane, a sightseeing plane perhaps, had gone off course and hit the building. I just shook my head. It was clear that only a large plane could cause so much damage.
    The date was September 11, 2001.
    Â 
    JOHN AND I CONTINUED making our way along, he introducing me as the former commanding officer of USS Cole and I thanking everyone for what they were doing to keep our nation safe and accepting condolences on behalf of my crew and their families. We came to the office of Cofer Black, head of the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center, the CTC. Waiting while he finished a telephone call, we continued to watch the unfolding scene in New York. Then, at 0903, with gut-wrenching horror, we watched as the second plane came into view on the television screen, banked to the left, and drove straight into the south tower.
    In that instant, it was clear to everyone present that the United States was under attack. The office became a ferocious beehive of activity, with people running in and out of Black’s office. We slipped in, were quickly introduced, and just as quickly slipped back out.

    As we turned to leave, Black’s office assistant took a phone down from her ear and yelled out, “John, is that Lippold with you? Mr. Allen wants to see both of you up in his office, now!”
    When we arrived at Allen’s sixth-floor office, I was in a state of shock as he motioned us in and came around from behind his cluttered desk. He walked straight up to me, put his arm around my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, “Kirk, I can’t believe you said what you did this morning.” As calmly as I could, I looked back at him and replied, “Well sir, I guess this is something I have suspected for eleven months—and the country is finding out about it the hard way this morning.” Adding that I knew all of us were going to have a busy day and that I needed to get on the road back to the Pentagon, I left. Passing once more by the walls of remembrance in the lobby, I realized that our nation was now at war. And Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda were the enemy.
    As I got back onto the George Washington Parkway, I called Nicole Segura, the person closest to me, on my cell phone. Hearing her answer, my emotions cracked. My voice tightened; I felt tears of anger and frustration roll down my face. I felt that I had failed my nation again. People were dying because of my inaction. I had chosen a path in life that should have enabled me to defend my country to the utmost of my ability. But as commanding officer of USS Cole , I had not been able to prevent those fifty-four crew members from being killed or injured on my watch, and I had remained publicly silent about the entire event. Now, as the Twin Towers burned in New York, I called myself to task for my silence. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s my fault,” I told Nicole on the phone. “I have kept my mouth shut for eleven months and tried to get my career back on track, and now look at what it has cost my country. I should have done something, anything to forewarn the Navy and the nation about this son of a bitch. Oh, God, why is this happening to me again?” It was my sworn duty to protect my country, and I had failed yet again.
    As I got closer to the Pentagon, Nicole suddenly broke off the conversation.