The International Islamic Front for Jihad against the US and Israel has, by the grace of God, issued a crystal clear fatwah calling on the Islamic nation to carry on jihad …. The nation of Mohammad has responded to this appeal.
– Osama bin Laden, quoted in TIME magazine, December 23, 1998
Prologue
Woodhaven is a small, idyllic town nestled in the low valleys of New Hampshire. Although the region’s primary industry is dairy farming, people had started moving in from the big East Coast cities, buying up land and creating picturesque hobby estates. The newcomers often spoke about how Woodhaven felt calm and safe compared to the bustle they had left. You could forget about troubles in the rest of the world, they said with a touch of pride. Cottage industries developed, and more modest homes began to dot the countryside, with Woodhaven becoming the cultural and commercial focus for the new rural sprawl.
Jeremy Thorpe, an assistant bank manager at the local branch of New England Trust, was just finishing his meal with his wife, Selma, and their five-year-old daughter, Chloe. Coming home every day for lunch was a delight, with just a short drive through the beautiful town to the office. He loved the opportunity for the personal touch that his job now offered. Jeremy knew how lucky he was. Two years ago, after Jeremy had completed eight exhausting years toiling at a large national bank in Manhattan, Selma and he had decided to quit the hubbub of big city life. They chose Woodhaven, a small town where they could raise Chloe away from urban temptations. The sale of their New York condo provided the capital they needed to relocate and Selma was able to give up her job as a dental hygienist to devote herself to Chloe full time. Their house was only minutes from the center of town, yet right beside the network of wooded pathways that they enjoyed almost daily. They knew that they had settled into a wonderful life in a beautiful part of New England.
“Honey, can you pick up some big garbage bags so I can rake the leaves this weekend?” Jeremy asked Selma, and glanced at his watch. “I gotta go—don’t want to be late for a one o’clock meeting.”
Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up in tears. “Don’t go, Daddy! You promised you’d take me to the park.”
“My darling, tomorrow is Saturday.” He smiled at Selma. “Maybe a picnic? The weather looks great and we could enjoy the fall leaves at their very best. Chloe, I promise I’ll swing you as high as you can go.”
He leaned over, kissed his wife, then gave his daughter a pat on her curly head before bounding out the door. Jeremy jumped into their cherry red Ford Taurus station wagon—the color was the closest thing to a flashy red sports car that he could afford at this point in his life. There were no regrets about their mid life career choice, he thought and said out loud, “I’m a very lucky man.”
He backed down their privet-lined driveway, giving a wave to Chloe watching from the living room window. It was 12:50 on a gorgeous Friday afternoon with Indian Summer in full swing.
–
Beth Simmons had worked at the New England hydroelectric dam since construction on the massive structure was completed in 1979. At the time, it was the largest infrastructure project in the northeastern United States, its huge reservoir providing a recreation area extending for eighty miles above the dam. The power plant’s massive dynamos fed electricity to the eastern seaboard and formed an important part of the integrated grid that covered the continent.
Beth had settled into the comfort of a well-paid union job, with little stress and a steady daily routine. She especially liked the fact that she could sit for most of her shift in a reclining chair. At 224 pounds, Beth Simmons weighed exactly twice the recommended ideal body weight for a 5-foot tall, 47-year-old woman.
Pipes and wires, all regimentally aligned, crisscrossed one long wall leading into the operations control room, before running somewhere deep into the structure. As she walked by them every day, the neatly ordered lines were a constant and favorable comparison with her previous life—haphazard, unstructured, without real purpose. She remembered well this opportunity of a new job in what to her was a new world, and she’d seized it. Like Jeremy and his family, she was content with her quiet life in the tranquil village.
Beth had just completed her regular 1:00 p.m. call to the main power distribution center to confirm that all the circuits were up and running.
From across the control room, her partner yelled, “Hey, Beth, we got an earthquake or something going on here?”
She had heard the low rumble and scanned the control panel stretched across one wall of the operations room. The slight vibration felt the same as when the gates on the big dam opened, but the panel told her nothing was happening—no red lights, no amber lights. Everything looked okay. Then Beth did a double take. Something wasn’t right here—nothing moved. All the gauges that normally oscillated and jumped were locked, frozen between the green lines on the dials.
“It doesn’t feel like an earthquake, but I can’t figure out what’s happening.” Beth swiveled in her chair to face the open window that framed the normally placid lake above the dam. The air was still. She could hear gulls squawking as they soared above a sailboat. The lake which had been placid just moments ago was roiling. The choppy waves came out of nowhere, not a breath of wind. Beth could not take her eyes off what was going on. Now the lake came to a fast boil, the swirl of a whirlpool starting to form. Beads of sweat poured down Beth’s forehead as she realized that the sailboat was in trouble, for now the whole lake was moving, the waves creating a vortex centered where the boat was starting to lean precariously. She could faintly hear the screams of fear from the children on board. The surface of the lake churned as other boats also became caught up in the circular current. Beth knew these people were going to die.
Hoisting herself out of the recliner, she moved as quickly as she could across the control room. Pulling the main power switch to OFF, Beth thought about the notice that she had read three days before: “In the event of unexplained anomalies, immediately turn off all power to the equipment.” She had thought at the time, “Oh sure, who’s going to be the jackass that shuts down power to New England? And who’s going to answer for the humongous cost of restarting the system? How likely is that?” Now, with her hand still on the switch, she thought, “Well, I guess I’m the jackass. Boy, I sure hope whoever wrote that order is there to back me up on this.”
Reaching for the emergency phone she knew her efforts were too late for the small boats, capsizing and disappearing, one after another.
–
Far away, hands began pulling the main power switches at control stations across the continent. It was already too late in Woodhaven. The wall of water, now fifty feet high, thundered down the valley tearing through the first village below the dam, carrying away everything in its path. Jeremy’s cherry red Ford Taurus station wagon had just turned left onto the bridge that separated East Woodhaven from the downtown core. The covered bridge across the lazy Woodhaven River that had served the community for over a century became instant kindling as the wave caught it. Houses, cars, people, Jeremy, his cherry red wagon, everything tumbled down the river valley, and little Chloe never did swing in the park with her dad.
–
In the wilds of Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden placed his hand on Kazim’s shoulder and said quietly, “Bada’a”—it has begun.
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