At A SIDEWALK TABLE in Washington, DC, across the street from FBI Headquarters, I sipped a cappuccino and soaked in the perfect September weather. It had been only a month since I had completed a tour as a CIA Chief of Station in South America, and I was still adjusting to life back in the States. Beautiful mornings like this certainly helped. I checked my watch and glanced at the side entrance to the FBI building where I would soon meet with Special Agent Frank Ortiz and the Latin American delegation he was escorting.
I was looking forward to seeing Frank again. He had been an integral part of my station, and we had worked together closely on international terrorism issues. An important part of that work included educating host government officials on the terrorist threat, hence the delegation’s visit to receive FBI and CIA briefings in Washington. Frank, who was still serving at the station, had organized the trip.
Although I was still on leave status, I was happy to accept Frank’s invitation to join him and the delegation. I was slated to begin working at the FBI in a couple months as a CIA liaison officer, so this would give me a sneak preview of the place. It would also give me a chance to catch up with Frank. In the previous two years, we had become close. Working counterterrorism (CT) operations overseas has a way of doing that to people, no matter which agencies pay their salaries. In the CT business the hours are long with much of the work taking place at night after already putting in a full day. It is the rare weekend that doesn’t include working overtime. With the exception of a frustrated spouse here and there, no one complains. Not only is the CT mission vitally important, work against this complex and lethal threat is unparalleled in terms of personal challenge and excitement. In Frank’s and my case, not only did the intensity of the CT work bind us together, but other events had forged our close relationship. In one instance, the country where we were serving had experienced an attempted coup. Although the attempt failed, the tension and uncertainty that it generated was nonetheless a memory maker for both of us.
Other dramatic experiences included the emergency medical evacuation of a station colleague who suffered a life-threatening medical event, and the tragic death of Frank’s father who collapsed and died during a family visit. I was at the emergency room as the doctors tried unsuccessfully to revive his beloved father as Frank looked on. The strength and steadfast demeanor showed by Frank during that personal ordeal was extraordinary but not surprising given his strong personal character and his intense religious faith. On this cloudless September morning in Washington, I would never have believed that within minutes Frank and I would yet again share an experience neither of us would ever forget.
At about 8:30 a.m. I tossed the empty cappuccino cup in the waste can and crossed the street to the side entrance of FBI Headquarters. Within a few minutes a van pulled up; Frank and the delegation members climbed out.
Frank was the first to emerge, and he gave me a warm embrace. “Hey brother, I’m glad you came.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“¿Jefe, como anda?” called out Ernesto Perez, one of the security officials in the delegation. I knew Ernesto well and was glad to see that he was part of the group.
“Bien, Ernesto. ¡Qué bueno verte de nuevo!”
Since my return from South America I had not spoken any Spanish, and the warm greetings that this particularly gregarious bunch began to pour at me in rapid-fire fashion put me through my Spanish-language paces.
We were scheduled to begin the tour at 9:00 a.m., and Frank ushered us into the building around 8:50. At the visitor control point we received guest badges and then took the elevator to the Operations Center, the FBI’s focal point for monitoring activities and important developments across the globe. Oddly, the person who was scheduled to brief us could not be found, and soon it became apparent that something out of the ordinary was going on. The Ops Center was in high gear with people moving about quickly and multiple phones ringing. To our surprise, FBI Director Robert Mueller entered the room and briskly strode past us, a look of consternation on his face.
Before long, an FBI official came and informed Frank and I that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers, and he asked us to escort the foreign delegation out of the Ops Center. There would be no briefing or tour that morning. Receiving no other details about the incident, we assumed it was probably a small private plane that had hit the building. We decided to take the delegation downstairs to the FBI cafeteria until we could sort out what to do about the abrupt change in schedule.
A handful of FBI employees with coffee cups in hand were standing in the cafeteria watching a television mounted on a wall tuned to the unfolding news story in New York. We were shocked to see the images of flames and smoke billowing out of the North Tower. The scenes instantly disproved our previous assumption that it was a small plane and explained the high state of alert upstairs.
Just as we began to understand the enormity of the disaster that was taking place at the North Tower, we saw that the South Tower had just been struck as well, making the fact that the U.S. was under attack plainly clear.
I knew at that instant that al-Qa’ida was behind what was happening. It was exactly the kind of attack for which al-Qa’ida strove—spectacular, simultaneous strikes resulting in mass casualties of innocent people. Watching the screen, it was painfully obvious the terrorist group had succeeded in its goal.
There was little talking among the group of people now gathered in the cafeteria, except for the occasional murmur of “Oh, my God” or some similar expression of shock and disbelief. When the North Tower crumbled there was an audible reaction of horror. Later, when the second tower collapsed, the reaction was more muted. We were too stunned to say anything.
I have just witnessed the death of thousands of people, I thought to myself. It was like a nightmare. I knew, however, that no matter how much I wished otherwise, this was not a dream, and I said a silent prayer for all those souls that had been taken so violently from this life. It was a prayer I would say many times in the days ahead.
Standing in the cafeteria watching the news reports with my stunned friends, I began to comprehend the implications of this outrageous act. I believed it would mean war, and I was certain I knew who the enemy was. Al-Qa’ida had declared itself the enemy of the United States long before this day—September 11, 2001—and had proven it with deadly attacks against the U.S.S. Cole and two U.S. embassies in Africa. I had visited one of those embassies only a month before it was bombed. In fact, I had stood in the exact spot where the bomb-laden truck would later detonate. Ironically, I had been standing there having a conversation with an embassy official about my concerns regarding the security vulnerabilities of the facility. His response: “Yeah, we know. The Ambassador has tried to get State Department approvals to move the embassy to a more secure location but with no success. Nothing will be done until this embassy is blown down.”
Where the Africa embassy bombings and that of the Cole had apparently failed in making clear al-Qa’ida’s sincerity in its declaration of war, I was certain the attacks I had just witnessed in New York would succeed in convincing any remaining doubters that inaction was no longer an option.
Through the swirl of my emotions, I knew one other thing as well: I had to be part of my country’s response. This thought was not motivated by any professional ambition, but by an urgent, all-consuming desire to do something to avenge the outrageous, murderous act I had just witnessed, and to stop it from ever happening again.
In that moment, in some deeply personal almost spiritual way, I understood that this horrific crime and my own destiny were now linked. I felt that fate had ordained that I join the CIA many years before, and that my career, and indeed perhaps my entire life, had been a preparation for this moment and for what I knew must lie ahead.