The Road Back: Season Three

by xxmagex

The events started in The Road to Hell continue. The world changes as the Scoobies and others realize they are part of a bigger world.

10. Chapter 10

Part Fifty a

Author's note of explanation: each scene will have two times attached to it. The first time will be the time at the location of the events of the scene. The second time will be time of the Atlantic seaboard of the United States, as the events of 9/11 hinge around events there.

An additional note for those of you interested. When I was originally writing this part, the song "Gortoz a Ran J'Attends" by Lisa Gerrard and Denez Prigent, from the Blackhawk Down soundtrack was running through my mind. I think it fits the overall tone of this section and if you want, please consider it the soundtrack for this particular section.

Cleveland, Ohio. September 10, 2001. 3:00 AM local time, 3:00 AM EDT

At about the same time as Buffy Summers picked up the phone to call her Watcher in Sunnydale California, another Watcher was hearing from his own Slayer. In Cleveland, the clock read three hours later, but fortunately the Jamaican man was quite used to working late at nights.

"SAM!" The female shout rang throughout the warehouse.

Sam Zabuto looked up from the desk where he was finishing up the notes in his diary from tonight's debriefing of his Slayer. "Kennedy?" he called back.

Sam opened the door, and in stumbled his charge. "What is the cause of your distress?" the Watcher asked calmly.

"Slayer dream. My first one," Kennedy explained, somehow looking both freaked and excited at the same time.

Zabuto nodded. "Of course, I imagine it was quite an experience."

"Tell me about it! That other Slayer, what's-her-name Summers, she was in it. She seemed to know the people in it, much more than I did. Called several of them by name," Kennedy responded frantically. "But funny thing is, she was really there! I wasn't just dreaming about her, I'm sure of it. It was her Slayer dream as much as mine!"

Zabuto raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it was actually Miss Summers, and not just an image of her?"

Kennedy nodded her head. "Yeah, yeah, definitely. That crazy vampire, Drusilla, she was there and she was just something we dreamed up, but Summers was the real deal."

Sam ignored the emotional pang arising from the memory of his lost charge, Kendra. "Two Slayers sharing the same dream? This is most rare, in fact I have only heard of it just once before," Zabuto said worriedly, recalling Wesley's diary entry of when Buffy and Faith had simultaneously dreamed of both Xander Harris and the vampire called Angel, just before the Mayor's ascension back in 1999. "Obviously, I must record this." He waved at the chair opposite his desk. "Please, sit down and tell me everything that you and Buffy Summers experienced."

Kennedy hesitated for a second. "We should call this Buffy girl first, don't ya think? I got the feeling there was more to the dream for her than me."

Zabuto nodded. "Of course, but it's just midnight in that part of the country. I'll contact Rupert if something urgent is revealed by the dream, otherwise I'll wait until at a decent hour, after you tell me all about your part of the experience."

Mexico City, Mexico. 3:00 AM local time, 4:00 AM EDT

"Oy, bartender. Another one!" Spike shouted as he slammed down an empty shot glass. Drusilla leaned her head on his shoulder. The other patrons of the crowded demon bar gave the vampire duo plenty of room, not wanting to risk their wrath.

"Be right there," the bartender replied as he hurried to pour another shot.

These two vampires had been travelling quite a bit since their time in Chicago and Marseilles, more often than not being hunted by someone. Those hunters were determined and numerous. Spike was sure that it was more than just one group as well. There had been far too many close calls.

Spike thought they had lost the hunters, at least for now. Of course, they'd had to make several quick exits from different cities in the attempt to lose them.

"Spike-y," Drusilla spoke in a pouting voice.

"Yeah, Dru?" Spike responded.

"The day is coming."

Spike shook his head. "Dru, luv, we've still got plenty of time before that big old nasty sun shows its face..."

Dru nuzzled Spike's neck, causing him to trail off in a haze of pleasure. She may have been a psychotic mass murderer, but here and now she truly did love her boyfriend. "No, the day, the day the prunes in old uniforms'll talk about for years to come. We won't be there."

Spike frowned at that. Dru had clearly seen something, vision-wise. "Right then, princess, share with Daddy. What did you see?"

However, Drusilla didn't get a chance to answer.

"Spike. William the Bloody."

Spike looked up in response to his name being called. There were seven vampires facing him and Drusilla in a semi-circle. And they had their game faces on.

"You're going to make us rich," the leader of the group said, a cocky look on his demonic features.

"Hey, you can try to take my dosh, mate, but all you'll get fer the trouble is ending up dust 'n ashes," Spike growled back.

The vampires chuckled at that. "Please, you can keep whatever money you've got. You think any of us are interested in small change? We're after the big prize. And you've got one hell of a bounty on your head."

Spike raised an eyebrow at that. "Of course I do, I'm William the Bloody. I'm a bloody legend!" he bragged.

"You're five million dollars worth of money, that's all I care about."

Spike smiled at that. "Five million, eh? Nice to know someone values my arse properly."

One of the vampires nodded at Drusilla. "She's worth ten million."

"What?!" Spike felt momentarily torn. His ego was bruised while at the same time, he was proud of Drusilla's worth and reputation. His pride quickly won out, oddly enough. "Oh, hell, doesn't matter. We're a team, like Abbott and Costello, Martin and Lewis."

"Bonnie and Clyde," one of the other vampires supplied.

"Yeah, damn right!" Spike shouted happily. "We're the bloody Dream Team, we are, that'll be together forever!"

"Fine, you'll both go out as a team when we give your ashes over to the people with the money. Then, it's pure luxury for all the rest of us."

Spike glared at the vampire who was doing the talking. "Problem with that though, you little pissant."

"And what would that be?"

"Silly boy. Dust can't spend money," Drusilla answered for Spike. The peroxide-blonde vampire took the opportunity to lash out with his left hand, and a stake was suddenly in the talkative vampire's chest. He blinked his eyes in surprise as he exploded into dust.

"Right then, six more of you to go," Spike said with an evil grin.

"Probably more than that," the barman said from behind the counter.

"What?" Spike asked in surprise, but not deviating his gaze from his opponents, who were now all growling like animals.

"People hear things in this bar all the time." He nodded at the other patrons, who clearly had heard about the bounty as well. They were also beginning to form up around Spike and Drusilla.

"Bollocks," was the last thing William the Bloody said, before all the screaming started.

Twenty minutes later, a bloodied Spike and Drusilla staggered out of the bar. "Well, I appreciate a spot of violence as much as the next bloke, but bloody hell, luv. That last wanker was almost too much for me," Spike announced, wiping the blood from his face.

"The pack, the packs cry for us," Dru commented dreamily.

"Don't you mean cry because of us, poodle?" Spike asked.

"No," Drusilla said, suddenly in a lucid mood. "Someone wants us, dear heart, bad enough to spend millions of dollars. The child in America. His pack wants us. They're powerful, they are."

Spike raised an eyebrow at that. "Not the first time the bigwigs have wanted our heads, ducks," he observed.

"But never an Uncle before," Dru commented, her lucidity clearly of limited duration. "The big bad Uncle has many friends 'n bank accounts."

Spike nodded at that, as he started to lead his paramour down the street. "Well yeah, the reward money *does* seem to be flowing a mite too freely for my taste." The blonde-haired Brit had no way of knowing that Cleburne had, in a moment of irony, taken some of the money captured from the destruction of the Order of Taraka and dedicated it to the price on Spike's head.

"The stars say we need to be strong, stronger than ever before," Dru announced as she danced a little bit.

Spike followed along. "I know, honey bunny, and that sounds great to me. But how?"

"The gem," was all that Dru said, a look of madness in her eyes as she thought of their new goal and prize.

Headquarters of the Indian Navy, New Delhi, India. 3:00 PM local time, 5:00 AM EDT

The lieutenant commander wiped his hands on his uniform slacks, as he entered the office. He was nervous; but then, naval officers of his standing were always nervous when in the presence of one of the service's highest admirals. He advanced to the desk in the middle of the office and saluted crisply.

"Reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant Commander Manekshaw. I understand you've noticed something that you think I need to know about?" the admiral said.

"Yes, sir. Reports over the last week or so have indicated increased activity in the waters near our shores," Manekshaw said.

The admiral nodded. "Go on."

"It's clear that the Americans have deployed five carrier battle groups in the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf. This is well beyond their normal allotment of two groups."

"Perhaps it's just that some of the groups have come to relieve the others, and the old ones haven't deployed back to America yet?" was the older sailor's response.

"I considered that sir, however three of the battle groups have made emergency deployments in last six weeks. Also the two on station already, they have not been in the area long enough to be relieved. And there is something else."

"Go on."

"The aircraft carrier named Kitty Hawk has a large number of helicopters based on it. Army helicopters from what we can gather, and U.S. Special Forces units are said to be on board. Also, its aircraft have been spread out among the other carriers," Manekshaw explained.

The admiral leaned back behind his desk. "Didn't the Americans do something similar when they sent troops into Haiti in 1994?"

"Yes, sir. The fact that they're doing it now, suggests they expect to send troops into combat very soon. You wouldn't want to leave such troops at sea very long if you could avoid it."

"Indeed. All right, what else do you have?"

Manekshaw opened a folder he had been carrying. "Increased deployments to Diego Garcia. The Oman government canceled some exercises with the British because the Americans are deploying planes to their airfields. There are also rumors of American officers in the Central Asian countries."

"So they're going to attack someone? Who?" the admiral asked.

"They have many enemies in this part of the world, sir. They attacked Afghanistan three years ago. Iran is always of concern to the Americans, and of course..." the lieutenant commander let his voice trail off.

"Iraq," the admiral finished for him. "The new President may view its president as unfinished business. Also, they may want to seem strong after the incident they had with the Chinese earlier this year." Nodding, he picked up the phone on his desk.

"Yes, call and make an appointment for me to meet with the Minister of Defense. Today if at all possible."

Number 10 Downing Street, London, England. 12:00 AM local time, 7:00 AM EDT

Alec Cummings stared at the map being pointed to by the American naval officer.

From what he'd heard, the Yanks were planning something very ambitious. He was surprised now by just how ambitious it was. Of course, he'd had a lot of surprises over the last year or so. Cummings had been sure that his career was over after the Watcher fiasco last year, regarding that ill-planned and ill-fated kidnapping of Xander Harris during the spring of 2000. At the time, he was sure the influence of the Watchers in Whitehall would reach out to MI-6 and hang him out to dry.

However, Cummings had forgotten that this 'New Labour' government seemed less receptive to old school pressure than previous governments.

Then he had heard of some kind of shake-up within the Council, and shortly afterwards he'd been transferred to become the new Deputy Director of Operations.

Earlier tonight had come this summons to Downing Street. Cummings had been there before, but always as part of a delegation. This summons though had been just for him and the Director. It seemed that the Americans had a briefing in store. Actually, they had a proposal. Well, to be brutally honest, they were telling Blair what they were going to do during the next few days, followed by the why he needed to play ball as the colonial saying went.

It was quite a change from what they had come to expect from the Americans over the past few years. There was no doubt they could do it, the problem that present company had right now was why.

The Prime Minister spoke up, "This is all very ambitious, but still, how do you know al-Qaeda is going to do what you say it will? You've presented many different things that bear exploring, but you've tied them all up into this conclusion. Sir Richard's people" Blair said, nodding at Alec's superior who was sitting next to him. "have heard nothing about this. And they *are* pretty well informed about such events."

The American naval officer nodded. Cummings noted he wore two stars. But before he could answer, a bald, bull-headed civilian answered for him.

"We have a source of information that started us looking at all the separate pieces of information. Once we did, everything fit."

"Secretary Armitage, you know of course that a faulty assumption right at the start of an investigation taints the entire chain of process," Sir Richard Dearlove said.

"We have the utmost confidence in this source," Richard L. Armitage replied simply.

"Indeed? Then I'd like to personally meet this man for myself," Dearlove declared, his eyes narrowing.

"You can't. But Cummings here has already met him," Armitage replied, nodding his head towards the spy.

Alec blinked in surprise. "I have?"

Armitage nodded. "April of last year, at the Army-Navy Club in Washington. Colonel Cleburne said that you'll no doubt remember this particular individual."

Cummings' eyes widened as he made the connection. Cleburne had been right, that day stuck out in the British spy's mind. He quickly realized just who the source was that the Deputy Secretary of State was referring to.

"Oh, bloody hell. HE was the one who told you about all this?" Alec managed to ask.

The Americans just silently nodded their heads.

Cummings' superior looked at him. "You know who he's referring to?" Dearlove asked mildly, but Alec knew better to be fooled by his calm expression.

Cummings nodded. "Er, yes sir. You may remember how I briefed you about it last year, the difficulties with the Watchers and all."

The Director of the SIS frowned. "You're serious? That's who their source is?"

"Sir Richard?" Blair asked in confusion.

Armitage spoke up, "He also tipped us off about the Cole attack last December, and a number of other items that have been confirmed."

"I see. So, there's effectively no doubt then." the MI-6 Director sighed.

"Would someone care to explain to me who the devil it is that you're all talking about?" Blair demanded sharply.

Dearlove nodded to Cummings. Alec took a deep breath and said, "Yes, Prime Minister. But I'm afraid this will take some explaining."

White House basement, Washington D.C. 7:30 AM local time, 7:30 AM EDT

"I don't want him here," Brian L. Stafford, the Director of the U.S. Secret Service, said firmly. "1600's a helluva big white target. Can't miss it when you fly over Washington. I want him at Mount Weather, or Offutt."

The room was full of governmental officials. Several cups of coffee lined the table around which they all sat. The room smelled of impatience and frustration too, the way it almost always did during this type of meeting.

"We've had this conversation before," Andrew Card, the White House chief of staff, said wearily. "And like I said to you then, the Man's already made up his mind not to go to either of those places."

"How about Looking Glass? We can put him on it late tonight. The Air Force can provide escorts," the Secret Service chief said stubbornly. "Hell, we can pretend he's still going to Sarasota."

Card shook his head. "No, we've already cancelled the trip to Florida because of a cold. What do we tell the media, that he had a miraculous recovery?"

"You have to admit, his presence does complicate matters," the FBI representative said.

"How?" That was the Air Force officer in the room. "No matter where he goes, we've got to defend him. We're already putting a CAP over Washington. He'll be here in the basement, and it's been rated to withstand even a direct nuclear hit."

"But an airliner crashing into the building-" Stafford started to say angrily.

"Still packs less punch than a nuke. He'd survive it," the Air Force officer interrupted simply.

The chief of staff spoke up again, "Look gentlemen, the issue is decided. He's not budging. Besides, POTUS wants to spend today working on his speech to Congress, not flying around the country."

That was met with nods around the table. Card continued on, "However, there are others we need to be sure are protected. The First Lady and other members of the First Family come to mind."

"All the daughters are taken care of. They'll be taken to secure locations tomorrow, by 6 am Eastern Standard Time at the latest. Mrs. Bush, I had hoped to remove her from Washington with the President," Stafford sighed.

"Well, that's not going to happen. Still, I suspect it might be best if the First Lady was somewhere other than the White House tomorrow. Perhaps we could fly her to Camp David?" Card suggested.

"Flying her out might lead to unwelcome questions. We can't land a helicopter on the lawn without the media noticing," the CIA representative warned. "I know it's only a slight chance, but there's still a possibility it might affect the plans of the tangos in question."

"Fine, then we motorcade her to another site and have the helicopter waiting for her there. If we do it quietly enough and at the right time, it should go unnoticed," Stafford said.

"Good, then that's settled," the chief of staff said. "All right, let's move on - I have to meet with the President shortly. I know he'll ask about the arrangements we've made for continuity of government. Have the arrangements been made yet for the Vice-President?"

Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, Richmond, Virginia. 8:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT

Colonel Cleburne made his way from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand. He could hear the television playing in the living room. He was surprised though to hear a Japanese voice shouting about the whirling chains of death.

He walked to the living room where the big screen TV was showing an Asian man navigating his way through a really strange obstacle course. Watching the show was Xander Harris, with a look of half-amusement and half-amazement on his face.

"Hey kid, I see you found my videotapes," Cleburne said.

"What am I watching, exactly?" Xander said over the voice of the Japanese announcer. By this time his recent...experience...with Monica Carter, the Buffy lookalike, was no longer featuring in his thoughts.

"Sakuke," Cleburne answered the question. Xander stared at him with a blank look. "Ninja Warrior."

Cleburne laughed at the other man's expression. "You gotta expand your horizons, kid. It's a Japanese TV show about a competition to complete a series of obstacle courses. The course isn't exactly a normal one, as you can see. It's an event over there that everyone looks forward to."

"How did you find out about it?" Xander asked.

"A couple of years ago, I was in Japan when it aired. I got hooked. I have a friend at the embassy in Tokyo record it for me, and he sends me the tapes."

"You're a strange man, Cleburne," Xander commented.

"Yeah, well, you're one to talk," Cleburne shot back. "I thought you would sleep in. Last chance before the big show and all."

"Couldn't sleep. What are you doing up? You were up late watching HBO," Xander observed. "How was that movie?"

"Band of Brothers? It was good. Looking forward to the next part next Sunday," Cleburne replied as he sat down on a chair facing the TV. "Yeah, that's going to leave a mark," he said as one of the contestants fell off a rolling log onto a cushioned cover landing.

"You're about to start World War 3 tomorrow, and you're looking forward to a movie next week. You're pretty ho-hum about the whole thing," Xander said as the contestant who had fallen was interviewed by the host of the show.

"Well, I've done just about all I can. Last thing to do is the final briefing. That'll be this afternoon at Andrews. I've got a chopper lined up to fly us there later this morning. From there, we'll go on to Boston to catch our plane."

On the TV screen another contestant started the course as Xander turned his attention back to it. "Is your life really like this? War is something that you're completely blasé about?"

"Not the first one I've been involved in, kid. Only difference is this one will be a lot more public than I'm used to. Besides, how many end of the world situations have you faced?"

Xander nodded. "Point taken. So who are the contestants?" Harris pointed at the screen.

"Average Joes, mostly. Students, office workers, gas station attendants. The only fella who finished all the stages is a fisherman," Cleburne answered.

"Only one of 'em finished all the stages?" Xander asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just how hard is the course after this one?"

"Just watch, you'll see."

The two of them watched the show for a little bit. Xander suddenly spoke up. "Hey, so how do you go about becoming a contestant on this show anyway?"

"Kid, please." Cleburne rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on.

Rome, Italy. 3:20 PM local time, 9:20 AM EDT

The Immortal took a sip from the cappuccino his servant had recently brought to him. Outside his apartment window, he could hear the afternoon sounds of the Eternal City.

For his kind, it was early. Most demons and vampires weren't comfortable when so many humans were out and about, what with the numbers stacked against them. It made it harder for them to hide and blend in. However for the Immortal, being as he looked completely human, this was a time when he could get quite a bit accomplished instead. He looked at the laptop computer on the antique table in front of him.

"This is most distressing," he muttered to himself. The man then looked up and called for his assistant of the moment.

The man in question hurried in. "Sir, you summoned me?"

The Immortal nodded at the laptop. "What's all this about Milan?"

The lackey paled, then went ahead and answered anyway. "The smuggling ring that had been set up has been destroyed, sir. The vampire Lucien has been eliminated."

"How? I can't believe that the carabinieri have become competent enough to deal with my organization."

"They should not be able to, sir, at least not by themselves. However, I'm informed they had assistance from the Catholic Church on this one," the assistant explained, feeling his life expectancy shortening by degrees.

The Immortal grunted. "This is getting tiresome. In the past, it was expected that every once in a while the humans would get lucky. It couldn't be helped, you know, and it also served to cull the lesser members of our kind. The complacent and weak were expunged from the ranks, and good riddance to them. But Lucien was neither."

The Immortal was silent for several moments, and the assistant knew better than to speak. "We have a source in the Milan police?" the Immortal finally asked.

"Yes sir, quite a few as a matter of fact," was the quick answer.

"Kill roughly half of them."

"Sir?" The assistant was clearly surprised by the way the order was given so nonchalantly.

"You heard me. Do it in a gruesome way, and make sure the bodies are found quickly. I want the others to know what's happened, and more importantly why." The Immortal looked up at the assistant. "Is there a reason why you're still here?"

"I was just waiting to see if you had any further instructions for me, sir," the man stammered out.

"I don't. Now go see to my orders."

Without a further word, the assistant hurried out of the room.

"Now, what to do about the Church?" the Immortal muttered to himself.

Chicago, Illinois. 9:40 AM local time, 10:40 AM EDT

"Now Garrett, I know this is your first day and all, so if you don't understand anything just let me know," Officer Ted Ball of the Chicago Police Department said.

"No problem. And call me Trish," his new partner replied as they walked down the halls of the police station.

Officer Ball nodded. "Okay, Trish, then it's Ted. Now look, this beat isn't too bad. Downtown and all isn't nearly as bad as some of the projects. We don't get that many domestic calls, mostly lots of drunk and disorderlies. Those traders and suits like to cut loose when they get out of the office. 'Course, you might have an easier time dealing with them than I do."

Garrett nodded. "I can handle myself, Ted, I had seven brothers growing up on the farm."

Ball glanced at the rookie. "The farmer's daughter, huh? I should have guessed. Tell me this isn't your first day in the big city?"

Trish shook her head in amusement. "Heck, no. I went to college here and attended the academy."

"You're from where again, Iowa? So why Chicago?" Ted asked. They got to the door that led outside.

"Just seemed right. I wanted something new. I wanted to help out and make my own mark in the world, not always be known as Gill Garrett's daughter," she said as they walked towards the police cruiser they would use today.

Officer Trish Garrett had no idea that quite shortly, her hopes would come true in a very dramatic fashion.

Vatican City, Italy. 5:15 PM local time, 11:15 AM EDT

Monsignor Bentallo peered at the computer screen to make sure he'd spelled the words he had just typed correctly. Sometimes, typing reports in several different languages could be difficult. On occasion, he had caught himself typing the report into a language the recipient couldn't understand. He had not done it on purpose; well, other than that one time as a joke...

He glanced back to the notes he had taken during the conversation with the priest in Milan. The Catholic official started typing again.

[The authorities on the scene confirmed that the vampires had an extensive smuggling operation in place, extending into Africa and the Balkans. However, based on the records recovered, it also appears that the organization was just a small part of a much larger one.]

Bentallo stopped for a second and leaned back. He looked up at the clock.

{I should call the Siberians after dinner, it'd be early afternoon for them over there. I wonder if they've heard anything that might tie into this smuggling operation we've just dealt with?}

Bentallo nodded to himself and picked up the phone. "Yes, would you be kind enough to let the switchboard know that I'll need to make some phone calls to the United States soon? Good, thank you."

Georgetown, Washington D.C. 11:30 AM local time, 11:30 AM EDT

Esther Marcum cradled the phone between her head and neck. "Yes, I've talked to the White House. They say everything's ready on their end. Don't worry about it. They know what they're doing."

She sighed, Cleburne sometimes had a lot of trouble delegating things, and she was getting that a lot today.

"Look, I know you're nervous, we all are, but you can't interfere in other people's areas of expertise. Stick to your own," Marcum said to Cleburne in a way that only someone who had known him for years could. "Tell you what, if you want I can hook you up with Rumsfeld. You two can talk, he's already called me five times to ask if you've got everything ready. Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."

A secretary came in and laid a note on Esther's desk. Esther nodded her head in thanks. "Everyone's on edge, Cleburne, everyone wants the show to go right. It's perfectly understandable. So that said, see to your teams. They're the main concern right now. Mr. Howard's with you? Good, keep an eye on him personally."

Esther looked down at the piece of paper. "Call me when the briefing's done, I need to talk to Monsignor Bentallo. Apparently he's got something he wants us to look at."

Cleveland, Ohio. 11:45 AM local time, 11:45 AM EDT

Sam Zabuto took a deep gulp from the cup of tea he had been imbibing try to shake the sleep from his eyes. It had been a long night, listening to Kennedy as she described her Slayer dream in great detail to him. He'd then had to write it up and enter it into his Watcher diary. This was followed by calling London, contacting the headquarters of the Watchers Council and verbally forwarding the report to them.

This in turn had been followed by a phone conference with a conclave of his colleagues as the experts talked about the ramifications of the dream. There were as many interpretations as there were experts though, unfortunately. That of course had led to extended debates. None of which had helped Zabuto with his lack of sleep. He wasn't as young as he once was, after all.

The conference had finally ended, only to be followed by an extended conversation with Roger Wyndham-Pryce on how Kennedy was doing. That didn't take too terribly long though. Zabuto was able to get some sleep afterwards; however, he didn't want to hit the sack yet as he had one more thing to do.

The other Chosen One Buffy Summers had figured prominently in Kennedy's dream. To Zabuto, it was almost certain that his Slayer and Miss Summers had been dreaming in tandem. He was curious what the California Slayer had come away with from the dream.

Also, he was worried that the Watchers Council would not bother to tell Rupert Giles and his charge about what he'd shared with them. There had been a decided bias against communicating with them recently.

Zabuto knew he was not to contact Giles, but he decided to do so anyway. He glanced at the clock. It was still early in California, but not that early. He put down the cup of tea and reached for the phone.

A few seconds later, he heard the phone ringing on the other end. "Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."

"Rupert, Samuel Zabuto here. Did your girl have a Slayer dream last night?"

"She did, as I believe yours did as well," Giles replied. "I was just about to contact the Council to learn more."

"I doubt that they would have been very forthcoming with you, my friend. The reasons of course do not bear repeating at this time," Zabuto commented. "However, I thought I should call you to compare notes Watcher to Watcher."

"Thank you, old chap. I'm very gratified to hear that," Giles replied. "Look, Buffy called me late last night to tell me of her dream. I have the broad outline of it, and she's due to come give me the full details later on today."

"Of course. To save ourselves some time, perhaps it would be best if I tell you what Kennedy has told me," Sam Zabuto said. He then proceeded to describe Kennedy's dream to Giles.

"Are you sure about that name Kennedy heard Buffy mention?" Giles asked in surprise, after the dream description was completed.

"Yes, Sander," Zabuto replied.

"No, Xander. Xander Harris," Giles automatically corrected Zabuto, and the Englishman heard the other Watcher's indrawn breath. "Yes, the very same and as you've no doubt heard, he died nearly 2 1/2 years ago. His appearance is puzzling to me, my friend. I'll call you later on after I've had a chance to talk to Buffy at length."

Press Briefing Room, White House, Washington D.C. 12:15 PM local time, 12:15 PM EDT

Ari Fleischer leaned onto the podium. "Everyone, I know you're all disappointed you didn't get to go Florida today and tomorrow. However, the President really didn't want to give his cold to the children in Sarasota."

"Ari, are there plans to reschedule the visit?" a female reporter asked.

"No definite plans at this time. However, I'm sure we'll be visiting there sometime in the near future. President Bush is fond of Florida, after all," the White House press secretary replied to the laughter of the press corps.

"Have there been any events scheduled for tomorrow?" another reporter asked.

The press secretary shook his head. "No, my understanding is the day is being kept open right now, depending on anything interesting that takes place."

"Will Mrs. Bush cancel her schedule tomorrow?"

"You'll have to ask her press secretary about that. I know she's supposed to testify on the Hill in the morning," was the response.

"Will the President's cold affect Australian Prime Minister John Howard's state visit?" was the next question.

"No, I don't believe Prime Minister Howard's visit will be affected by the President's state of health," was the reply. "Moving on, National Security Adviser Rice will be arriving back in Washington later today from her visit to Moscow."

USS Theodore Roosevelt, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. 9:45 PM local time, 12:45 PM EDT

The crew chief looked the clipboard he was holding, as he walked down the line on the hangar deck. "Okay, this section looks good," he said to the seaman-first walking along beside him. "Have the crew been doing okay on the drills?"

"Yeah, chief, record times as a matter of fact. They're pumped up," was the response.

"Excellent," the crew chief said as he made a check on the clipboard.

"We going to see action, boss?"

The noncom looked at the enlisted man. "Something's going on. Beyond that, I'm not even hazarding a guess. The main thing is, I want the crew ready for whatever the captain orders. Now let's check on the next batch of ordinance."

Northern Afghanistan. 10:00 PM local time, 1:30 PM EDT

Captain Ronald Archer of the United States Army Special Forces shifted himself in the saddle, as the horse he was riding made its way along the mountain trail. In front and behind him were several horses, also with riders. Some of the riders were also U.S. army officers, some of them were CIA field operatives, and the others were members of the Northern Alliance.

"Careful," he said to the man on the horse in front of him as the horse stumbled. "This equipment is why we're here. Without it, we're just out here to do an imitation of Custer's last stand."

"Don't worry, we'll get the satellite transmitter where it needs to go. We've been hoping for this too long to let a malfunction get in the way now," the CIA man in front of Archer said. "Besides, my little bag is just as important."

Archer laughed. "Maybe for a weekend in Vegas."

The agent patted the bags on his horse. "Laugh if you like, but here in Afghanistan warlords don't come free or even cheap. All these Ben Franklins are our passports. Even in the 21st century, sometimes we gotta do things the old fashioned way."

The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 11:15 AM local time, 2:15 PM EDT

"Giles!" Buffy shouted out as she closed the door to the Magic Box, the door chime ringing.

"Back here, Buffy!" Giles called out from the training room. The Summers woman thus made her way through the store. She noticed Anya Jenkins behind the register, counting the money.

"Morning, Anya," the Slayer said. "How was your weekend?"

Anya smiled. "Morning Buffy, and we had a very profitable weekend thank you. Giles has been waiting for you."

Buffy nodded and went into the training room. Giles was sitting at the desk up against the wall. "Buffy, good morning, please have a seat. Now then, tell me all about this Slayer dream." Buffy did as her Watcher asked.

As Buffy described in detail the dream, Giles made notes on the notebook he had. "So both Faith and Xander were in the dream?" he asked.

Buffy nodded her head. "Yeah, they were both in it, just not together."

"Faith said, and I quote, they better treat him right?"

"Yeah, and she said I should treat him right too, or she'll come back and kick my butt," Buffy replied. "Kinda wigsome, actually."

"Any idea of who she meant by 'they'?" Giles was taking notes feverishly.

"I'm not sure, maybe the Powers That Be? Cordelia's mentioned them a few times while talking with Willow. And apparently, that's who Angel's working for, right?" Buffy asked.

"Indeed," Giles noted.

"But on the other hand, why would those guys be interested in Xander? And the military thing, at least I assume it was the military since I was at the Pentagon and all. Maybe Faith meant *they* had better treat him right. But how, he's dead." Buffy frowned.

"It's clearly a symbol of some kind, Buffy. Maybe it represents the government getting interested in fighting demons. And Xander is meant to be the personification of humanity?" Giles speculated. "Faith is the Slayer spirit saying the government had better treat humanity well."

"Maybe," Buffy said, looking unconvinced. "But I dunno, I got the feeling it was more personal than that. And then there's what Xander said in the dream, about when I meet the real him."

Giles sighed. "Yes, well, that part of it doesn't make any sense at all. Do you think Drusilla's presence relates to Xander and Faith?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, or at least I didn't sense a connection."

Giles leaned back in his chair. "The presence of those three in your dream must be of some significance - but for the life of me, I can't tell you what it is. I talked to Sam Zabuto earlier about Kennedy's dream, and he didn't have any more insight than we do."

"Maybe if we had the others help out," Buffy said. "They might find some sorta angle we haven't thought of yet."

"I suppose so," Giles responded. "All right, I'll call everyone and set up a meeting."

Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. 11:50 AM local time, 2:50 PM EDT

"So, how did it go last night?"

Lilah Morgan looked up in response to the question from the junior attorney. She was related to someone high up the food chain at this branch of the firm, even if right now Lilah couldn't remember who it was. Therefore, the woman was a little more willing to take risks than the average Wolfram & Hart associate.

She had decided to fix Lilah up on a blind date. Ms. Morgan hadn't told her to go take a flying leap; you never knew when you might need a friend in high places around here. Also, she did say the man was cute.

And he had been, but that wasn't the problem.

"The food was good," Lilah commented, hoping to forestall further inquiry.

No such luck. "What about Jason? He's a hottie, did you hit it off with him?" Angela, for that was the junior attorney's name, asked.

"He knew how to choose a great restaurant," Lilah replied, staring at the laptop which detailed the southern California investments of Elizabeth Bathory, a long-time client of the firm.

Angela wasn't dumb and clearly understood that Lilah had been less than overwhelmed with her date last night. "So what's wrong with him? He's a rising star in his investment firm. He'll be a senior vice-president for sure within a couple more years. He'll even do it before he's thirty-five, something that's never been done before."

Lilah didn't look up from the computer screen as she answered, "I know, the problem is he knows it too. He was a bit too self-involved for my taste." Lilah subsequently noticed the look on her protégé's face. "Look, I'm not saying that the man isn't attractive or someone who isn't going to go places in life, it's just that I don't think he would think of others first."

Angela cocked her head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, for example, I don't think he would drive a tank into the building in order to retrieve my soul," Lilah shrugged.

"What?" Angela asked in complete confusion, being that new around here.

"Never mind, I'll explain later," Lilah said hurriedly. "Look, I need for you to make sure this information packet gets sent to the New York office today. Baron Roja has an appointment with them tomorrow tonight, and they'll need the information for him."

MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida. 3:15 PM local time, 3:15 PM EDT

The young Army lieutenant hurried after General Tommy Franks and another Army general as they carried out a conversation.

"I don't like it, the operation seems way too rushed for my taste," Franks said straight out.

The other general, wearing a patch from the Rangers, responded, "I know, but the whole thing with them was sudden. They only got arrested last month. Their trial started a few days ago and the Afghans said they could face hanging. Imagine what'll happen to them tomorrow when the bombs start falling!"

"People die in war," Franks observed.

"Yes, but we can keep it to a minimum. Look, my boys are on the Wasp, ready to go. They can be in Kabul in a couple of hours. We can get them out before the big show," the Ranger general declared.

"I'm sure the exact same thing was said back in 1980 with Eagle Claw," Franks commented.

"Hey, like you said people die in war, besides - I think kicking the Taliban in the teeth is a pretty good way to start this little shindig."

Franks nodded. "Okay, then, you have a go. I just don't want the first images of the war to be of our boys getting slaughtered on the streets of Kabul."

United States Naval Base, Diego Garcia, Chagos Archipelago. 2:00 AM local time, 4:00 PM EDT

The Air Force General rubbed his eyes, and went back to looking over the maps in front of him.

He had started flying B-52s during the last days of the Vietnam war, when he was just a green lieutenant fresh out of the academy. He was coming to the end of his career now, and should have been behind a desk in his final months.

However, he was planning to end it the same way he had started it. After all, RHIP - rank hath its privileges.

UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. 2:10 PM local time, 5:10 PM EDT

Professor Gamber looked over his Media Relations class, sitting around the table that formed a square in the middle of the classroom. They seemed an intelligent lot, even if appearances might be deceiving. {Probably too much weekend partying, it always makes it hell for them during the following Monday.}

"Now, one might think that in a technological civilization such as the one we live in today, unlike the dim dark ages of the past current events will always be viewed objectively. However, events these days can be defined by the media coverage of them, and thus can and will be viewed subjectively. How one person might view a news event could be quite different to how the person standing right next to them will perceive it. Why is that? Ms. Rosenberg?" Gamber said in response to redhead's upraised hand.

"Personal involvement," Willow said, her inner geek in full-on mode.

"In what way?" Gamber asked.

"Uh, well, let's say you see a story about a plane crash in Idaho. You vaguely think about how sad it is, after all to you, it's just a story. However, if you subsequently find out that your mother was a passenger on the plane, you suddenly look at what's happened in a brand new light!"

Gamber nodded, a little impressed. "Exactly, you have a personal stake in the event, so you view it differently. How else could the impression of an event be different?" The Swedish exchange student named Sven raised his hand. "Go ahead, Mr. Larsson."

"The importance given to the event by the media. If an event is emphasized and reported often enough, it assumes an importance beyond what it may have if viewed in isolation."

"Interesting. What's an example of that?" Gamber asked.

He thought for a second. "That intern who disappeared in Washington. It is a tragedy. However, in any country you have people disappearing on a regular basis. But the national media has discussed it so much lately, that it has become a nation-wide story."

Across the table from him, Willow nodded. {And you have no idea how true that is in Sunnydale.} Then she stared at Sven, wondering yet again why he looked vaguely familiar. It never occurred to her that the newly commissioned Fänrik or "Ensign" was the same blonde Swede who had lived with Cordelia Chase and her family for two weeks back in her junior year of high school; it was simply too long ago, and too much had happened ever since then.

"Why would that be such a sensation?" Gamber asked.

A petite Asian co-ed spoke up. "She's young, pretty and white." She smiled at Larsson. Willow didn't snicker, she had seen Sven and Gwen having lunch last week so she knew that the co-ed was a day late and a dollar short as the old saying went.

"True, that's probably why the media picked up on the story, but would it have been such a hot news item if they had only reported it once or twice?" Gamber asked.

"No. For an idea to take hold in the public's consciousness, it has to be reinforced regularly," Larsson insisted. "The media kept talking about it, so people concluded it had to be a major issue."

"Go on," Gamber urged.

"It became a common topic of conversation in work places. It was something that everyone knew about, and something in common for them to talk about. The more they talked about it, the more important it became to them. At some point, reinforcement must come from sources other than the media before something else gets its 15 minutes in America," Sven said promptly.

Gamber nodded. "Very good, and I can see you've already picked up quite a bit of American slang in the short time you've been here in California, Mr. Larsson." He looked at his watch. "We're just about out of time. All right, your assignment for next week - pick a news event that takes place during the next few days, and prepare an essay describing how public perception of it is influenced by the media coverage."

Richmond, Virginia. 5:35 PM local time, 5:35 PM EDT

Oz sat on the couch, idly strumming the guitar he was holding. Fred stood in the archway leading to the dining room, watching him. The werewolf knew what she was doing and said simply, "Question?"

"Are you always this calm?" Winifred asked, looking at her roommate.

Oz looked up, but kept on strumming the guitar. "Any reason why I shouldn't be?"

Fred came in and sat down on the couch. "Well, I just mean - everything that's about to take place, Xander and the others have gone off to start a war. And we're just sitting here, waiting to see what's going to happen. I mean, a-a world changing event is about to happen, and the most important thing we need to do is figure out what to have for dinner."

"I was thinking Mexican," Oz commented sagely.

That got a laugh from Fred. "Mexican wouldn't be bad, I guess." She paused for a second. "You're used to this, huh?"

"Well, actually, it's better than some of the things I went through in high school. No one's talking about the end of the world taking place tomorrow," Oz responded, as he finally put the guitar down.

"How many apocalypses have you been through?" Fred asked.

Oz thought for a second. "Three, maybe four."

"So then, the end of the world - it's old hat to you and Xander," Fred observed.

"Hmmm. Xander's take on that might be kinda different to mine, since this is his second time around and all, not sure how many apocalypses he's been through, actually, guy still won't talk about some of the things he remembers from that other world. Still, I'm sure he's more used to end of the world scenarios than I am," Daniel replied, making a special effort to have a deep and meaningful with his female companion. He liked Fred, and was glad to be her friend.

"Tell me about him, before he..." Fred trailed off, not sure how to phrase it properly.

"Before he became who he is today?" Oz asked.

"Well, uh, yeah," Fred responded. "before he became this mystical time warrior thing."

"Knew Xander for about a year before everything changed," Oz explained. "He and my ex Willow Rosenberg, they were tight. Almost right from the cradle."

"Willow, uh, yeah, I've heard about her," Fred looked a little embarrassed. The female physicist had managed to gather bits and pieces where she wasn't really supposed to. Also, she'd been able to do some Internet searches, and had been surprised to find Xander's obit online on the website for the Sunnydale Press. It had listed some of his friends.

"I know," Oz replied with his ultimate poker face. "Anyway, it was Xander and Willow and this girl Buffy Summers for about two years, they were inseparable. Buffy was the vampire Slayer in Sunnydale, in case no one's told you."

Ms. Burkle nodded. "The one before Faith, right?"

"No, that was Kendra. Jamaican girl. Only met her a few times," Oz shrugged. "After she died, Faith was called."

"Right," Fred readjusted both her knowledge base and her position on the couch slightly. "But getting back to Xander...I've heard there was another girl he was close to, what was her name? Christina? Claudia?"

"Cordelia. Cordelia Chase," Oz supplied smoothly, even though he was smiling on the inside. "Now, that girl was really something else. She and Xander were about as mismatched a couple as you could ever find, but I think she actually fell in love with him after dating just about every eligible guy in Sunnydale."

"But, but didn't Xander and Faith?" Fred suddenly looked confused.

"That was after those two broke up," Oz explained. "After everyone found out about how Xander lied about Angel's soul and what Willow was planning to do, it was over between him and Cordy for good. I thought it was kind of a pity, after I heard about it. Xander brought out the best in her when they were together. Lot more than Devon ever did, anyway."

"I'm sorry, Devon is?" Fred was now more confused than ever.

"My best friend at the time, lead singer of 'Dingoes Ate My Baby', name of our high school band," Daniel explained rapidly after seeing the expression on the woman's face. "He and Cordelia dated for a while, before Xander came into the picture. Devon and Cordy never had a chance of working out though. Hate to admit it, but they were both far too vain and self-centered back then."

{Are we talking about people from real life, or some kind of soap opera?} Fred wondered. "Um, getting back to Xander?"

"Right. Well, I heard from Willow he loved Buffy more than anything during sophomore year, but she never felt the same way about him. Still, Xander brought her back from the dead with CPR after Buffy drowned on Prom Night." Oz went on to discuss some other things he'd heard about from those days, including the Harvest, the Anointed One, the episode with Sid the dummy, and Marcie Ross the invisible girl.

Fred looked amazed. "Is that all?"

"No, that's just the stuff Xander was involved in during sophomore year, junior year was more intense," the werewolf said slowly. He then went on to speak of many things, including the Master's attempted resurrection by the Anointed One, Cordelia almost becoming a zombie girl or dead in a fire if Xander hadn't saved her, Parent-Teacher Night when Spike had first shown up, Career Week when the Order of Taraka had come to town, the Bezoars when Lyle and Tector Gorch had put in an appearance, his becoming a werewolf, Buffy boffing Angel and unleashing Angelus, the death of Jenny Calendar, and quite a few other matters up until the Acathla incident and Xander's encounter with Lenny the vampire.

After hearing all that Fred looked completely sick to her stomach, to put it bluntly. "Are you*that's* what Xander's life was really like back then?"

"Up until senior year, yeah. But then he quit the Slayage thing after that night outside the Bronze, like I said. Had a normal life dating Faith, 'til the guy ended up in that hell dimension," Oz said a bit too calmly. "Still, Xander helped out against the Mayor, when we had to blow up the high school on Graduation Day."

Fred shook her head. "Yeah, that...every high school kid's fondest dream, huh?"

Oz shook his head. "Mine was always reaching E-flat, diminished ninth."

Winifred Burkle honestly wasn't sure what that meant, or given everything she'd heard lately, whether she even wanted to find out.

Selina's Kitty Club, Boston, Massachusetts. 6:27 PM local time, 6:27 PM EDT

The stripper known as Melania sighed, as she looked herself in the mirror. A woman on her own needing to make a fast buck these days had few options other than doing this, or performing on her back. And at least as a stripper, the social stigma wasn't quite as bad as being called a common whore.

She could feel the pulse of the music from the dance floor. It was almost time for her performance. Soon enough, the curtain leading to the stage parted and another girl walked in.

The other stripper walked over to Melania, grabbing a towel and wiping her face as she did so. "Girl, this has got to be the busiest Monday night in a long time! It's not even seven yet, and I swear - have we got some big spenders out there!"

Melania nodded, happily anticipating extra-large bills in her g-string tonight. "What's the deal, anyway?"

"Don't know," Roxy said in her South Boston accent. "Bunch of Arabs, students or something. Said something about leaving tomorrow."

"Students?" Melania said, losing the smile. "I don't like them. They never have enough money, and they almost always get out of hand."

"Girl, these guys are spending money like there is no tomorrow. I say, just shut up and dance!"

A nearby hotel room. The same time

Three men knelt on the mats on the floor. They faced east and bowed down several times. They prayed loudly as they did so.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for them.

Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, New York City, New York. 7:10 PM local time, 7:10 PM EDT

"No, Sam, I had a decent meal for dinner," Riley smiled at his wife's worry over his eating habits. "I mean, they had the food brought in. It was pretty good too, steak and baked potatoes. All of the team enjoyed it."

"You didn't overeat, did you?" Sam asked over the phone line.

Riley shook his head. "No dear, the main event's tomorrow after all. If I ate too much, I might be sluggish during the big game."

A sigh. "Everything ready for your trip?"

"Yeah, all our papers are in order. Everyone's ready to go and already packed. We're probably going to play cards for a while, then turn in nice and early. In the morning we'll catch our flight over in Newark," Riley explained.

"Why Newark, I don't see why they didn't choose a flight out of JFK?"

"It's where the flight is leaving from," Riley answered, speaking in code just in case. "We didn't make the original bookings."

"Yeah, I know. Have you talked to Graham?"

Riley smiled at Sam's concern over their mutual friend. "I talked to him about a half hour ago. I'll probably talk to him again once more before I turn in, but I think he's good."

"Then just my opinion, but you might want to forget about calling him later on. After all - you saw him at Andrews during the briefing, and you've talked to him once already. If you keep hovering around him like that, he'll start wondering if you actually have confidence in him."

Riley nodded. "Good point, honey. It's my job to worry, but you're right as usual."

"Of course dear, after all - I'm always right." Riley could almost hear Samantha's smile through the phone line. "How's everyone else?"

"They're good. Mother Hen's in Boston, practically climbing the walls like you'd expect."

Samantha chuckled at that. "I'm headed over to his building later on. Thought I might check up on Osbourne and Burkle. They're all alone with everyone else getting ready for the big day."

"Good idea, they're probably feeling a little out of sorts what with Hall - sorry, Howard - part of the home team like the rest of us. I saw him at the briefing, you know. Must be an awful life, having it tied up so much in work like that."

"Says the man who married someone he met on the job and works with?" Samantha joked.

"Good point. You know, when we get the chance we might want to have him and his exiles over for dinner or something. I think it'd do them some good to see someone outside of Colonel Cleburne's orbit," Riley suggested.

Sam thought about it, and figured that once the deadline for Xander's headaches around her had passed in a few months it would be a great idea. "I like that, I could cook that lasagna you like so much. So about what time do you think you'll be home?" Mrs. Finn asked, already making plans for dinner.

Siberian Trip Wire safehouse outside Washington, D.C. 8:11 PM local time, 8:11 PM EDT

Gwen Raiden was not in a good mood.

Things in LA had been rather hectic recently. Less than a week ago, she'd had a vision about some students in trouble from a couple of vampires; and the damned vision things were really starting to hurt, the hangovers lasting longer and longer despite the meds Raiden was taking. Anyway, Angel had gone out to do his big hero act, and he'd ended up staking one of the undead. To his surprise though, the female vampire he'd dusted had been someone he'd known named Elisabeth, the paramour of a male vampire named James.

The earliest offspring of Angelus and Darla, James and Elisabeth had in fact been the original prototypes for Spike and Drusilla back in the 18th century, and had had just as an intense relationship over the last 240 years as the two British vampires in question. Thus, James had lost it completely after learning the bad news, and had eventually ended up dust himself after trying to stake the pregnant Darla in retaliation. Angel, Gunn and Gwen herself had seen to it personally.

But killing a loser bloodsucker wasn't why the seer was in a foul temper. No, the reason for that was that just last night, Gwen and Charles had had a 'moment' so to speak, and if the circumstances had been different the reformed thief did not doubt that Gunn would have started kissing the hell out of her. But since she was the freak whose lips would have killed the black man with a lethal electric shock, nothing had happened and the two had just parted company in acute frustration.

"So, why am I here again?" Gwen Raiden asked, finally focusing away from the past.

"Because the colonel says you're special," the Navy SEAL nicknamed Red answered. "Not to mention he thinks there's a place for you on my team. And who am I to question his instincts?"

"And I'm not supposed to steal anything? I just sit in the cockpit, right?" Gwen continued her questioning.

"I already told you, your role is to be the last line of defense. Any terrorist who gets past the rest of us, you take care of them before they try to kill the pilot and take over the plane," Red explained.

"Using my dazzling good looks, I suppose?" Gwen said sarcastically.

"Not that you aren't a beautiful woman," Red shrugged with an honest compliment. "However, we both know your real talent lies elsewhere. And such a talent is probably a lot safer to use on an airplane instead of a firearm." Around them in the house, the members of Red's team played cards or loafed around. A few of them sent appreciative glances over at Raiden, irking the hell out of her.

"Okay, I can see how that makes sense, but why this plane, and not one of the others?" Gwen continued on, noting Red's compliment.

Red hesitated. "Well, this plane will leave us the least amount of time to react, if something goes wrong."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, react?"

Red again hesitated. "Can't put all our eggs in one basket. If the terrorists get by those of us on the planes themselves, there is a fallback position."

"Fallback position?" Gwen asked darkly.

"The Air Force is taking care of that part of it," Red noted.

Gwen was silent for several seconds as the implications of that one sunk into her brain. "You people are really messed up. Why am I even involved with you, anyway?"

"The colonel said to remind you about that thing with the IRS," Red deadpanned.

Gwen sighed. "All of you are seriously in need of getting a life."

"You have no idea," Red replied, smiling.

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:06 PM local time, 9:06 PM EDT

"Buffy, dinner's ready!" Joyce shouted up from the kitchen.

The middle-aged woman leaned on her cane as she moved into the dining room, holding a bowl of green beans in the other hand. Behind her, Dawn carried in a dish with meatloaf in her hands.

Joyce heard the noise of Buffy coming down the stairs. A few seconds later, her eldest daughter turned the corner from the hallway into the dining room. "I'm hungry, what's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," Joyce replied. "I know it's nothing fancy, but I just didn't feel like cooking anything special tonight."

"Hey, I'm not complaining Mom," Buffy said perkily. She sat down at the table and was quickly joined by the other Summers women. They quickly put food on their plates and started eating.

Joyce started up the conversation. "So Buffy, how was your day? Did Rupert help you out any?" Joyce knew some of the details of Buffy's dream.

"Well, he took a lot of notes, cleaned his glasses a lot and made the usual 'oh dear' noises you would expect. Didn't really find anything out, but he has theories," Buffy explained.

"Did he have any theories that might actually be on the money?" Joyce asked her daughter.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope, he's going to try and get some help from the Council, but they apparently believe watching does not equal helping."

"You miss Xander."

"Excuse me?" Buffy asked, as both she and her mother looked at Dawn who had taken a bite of meatloaf before making that pronouncement.

Dawn looked back. "Oh, come on. Think about it, Buffy! Faith telling you to treat Xander right. Xander showing up in your dream afterwards mentioning what you should say to him. It's pretty clear to me that you're missing him. I mean, I dream about him every once in a while. But you should dream about him more, since you knew him longer!"

Dawn saw Buffy was having trouble accepting what she had said. "Okay, pop quiz. What have you been moping about for the past few months? Your lack of a boyfriend. You want a normal guy who can accept the fact that you're the Slayer. Someone who won't get scared off, and likes you in spite of the freakiness factor. Someone who you don't have to pretend with, and is totally nuts for you. Face it, you're looking for Xander! Or version 2.0 anyway, since you threw away all your chances with the original model."

Buffy looked at Joyce. The eldest Summers woman shrugged her shoulders. "Don't look at me, dear. Dawn's science class at school is focused on teen psychology right now."

Buffy turned and looked at her little sister. "I am not your science project, Dawn," she said firmly.

Dawn grinned at the Slayer. "Of course not, I'm saving that for when I get to college."

"Mom!" Buffy pleaded for assistance from Joyce.

"Dawn, quit tormenting your sister. After all - it was a Slayer dream, not a normal dream," Joyce came to Buffy's assistance.

"My point exactly! The Slayer dreams always signify something important. So clearly, you think Xander is important," Dawn retorted, not giving up the offensive against her big sister.

"And how do Arabs and Drusilla relate to Xander?" Buffy asked in a huffy tone.

Dawn scrunched her face for a second. "Well, Drusilla did make Willow do that spell that sent Xander to that hell dimension. The Arabs, uh, well..."

"Girls, I think that's enough," Joyce declared, deciding things were getting a little too out of hand. "And I mean it, Dawn, or we'll start talking about your boyfriends."

"Ooooh. Dawn has boyfriends?" Buffy said in a cheery voice, seeing a chance of payback as Dawn glared at her.

"No more than you did at her age," Joyce commented. "Ah, to be young again." she sighed.

"How were things at the gallery today?" Buffy asked, glad to change the subject.

"Pretty good, I spent the morning and part of the afternoon there. Business is doing well. I was thinking Buffy, if you want I could make arrangements for you to work more often there so that you can be more involved with the business."

Buffy blinked. "More workage? Mom, I like spending time with you and all, but come on - longer hours at the gallery?"

Joyce nodded as she put down the glass of iced tea she had just taken a sip from. "Yes, it might not be a bad idea, after all - you can't exactly earn a living by being the Slayer, can you? Charging people for saving their lives isn't something that sounds terribly convenient, anyway. Maybe you can even take over the gallery completely one day, after you finish college? We can discuss it later if you want." Joyce turned to her younger daughter. "Dawn dear, I seem to recall you had a paper due about psychology in your science class, how did that go?"

Dawn hastily swallowed down the green beans she had been chewing before she answered.

USS Essex, off the Horn of Africa. 5:17 AM local time, 10:17 PM EDT

The Marine major watched as the crews worked on the various helicopters throughout the hangar deck. His intelligence officer walked behind him. "Yes?"

"Latest recon photos are in from the target. The only change I can see is one of the trucks they use broke down."

"How can you tell?" the major asked.

"All the tires are off. They're using them on the other trucks," the intelligence officer replied.

The major rolled his eyes. "I can't believe we're fighting someone who thinks a Toyota truck is a military necessity."

"Well, our fathers fought an enemy in Vietnam that marched on sandals," was the reply from the subordinate. "Sir, any word yet on when we'll go?"

The major shook his head. "Not yet, we're still waiting for the operations order from Washington."

The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 8:13 PM local time, 11:13 PM EDT

Angel leaned back in his chair. "Okay, anything major we need to take care of tonight?" he asked the group that comprised Angel Investigations.

Wesley shook his head. "No, things are quiet. There was a nest over near USC, but Gunn's people took care of them." The ex-Watcher nodded at the bald black man.

"Yeah, the boys said there wasn't too much of a problem dealing with 'em, although the police started asking some questions afterwards," Gunn said.

Angel raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm sure we can find someone who can resolve any difficulties there." The ensouled vampire was trying to not directly refer to the U.S. government, as not all of his people were in the know about that. Well, Cordelia wasn't anyway, and to explain the government connection would lead to having to explain to her about how Xander was still alive, and no sane male who wanted his nuts to remain intact would ever go *there* voluntarily.

Gunn shook his head. "No need, it wasn't anything beyond what we expect when we're out after dark in some neighborhoods. For some reason, a whole bunch of brothers walkin' through the suburbs carrying weapons unnerves some people."

The whole group laughed at that comment. Angel turned to the seer in the group. "Cordy, any visions?"

The former queen bee of Sunnydale High shook her head. "No, no mind-splitting migraine headaches. Been pretty quiet on that front recently." She looked around. "Where is Gwen anyway? She gets the visions more than I do nowadays."

Gunn spoke up. "She's, uh, off on a job. Left this morning and should be back in a few days."

"Anything we should be concerned about?" Angel asked.

"Nah, man, she said everything was good. Just that a job had come up out of town that she needed to take care of. She'll call if she needs help," Gunn explained.

"Okay then," Angel said. He then winced as the guy heard Darla start yelling for him from upstairs, which had become a regular occurrence as her pregnancy had progressed. "I'll be right back. And if it's nothing urgent, I want us to have another look at the Powell case. Tonight might be a good time to see if those demons show up outside his bar in order to shake down his customers again."

Northern Afghanistan. 8:35 AM local time, September 11, 2001 12:05 AM EDT

"I think this is a bad idea. It isn't safe," the CIA agent said in a pleading tone.

"Life is risk," Ahmad Shah Massoud said. "You simply accept it and put your faith in Allah."

"Of course, however sometimes Allah's a very busy person - and his servants should not overtax him," the CIA agent replied, having been in this part of the world long enough to know how to reason with the locals.

"Allah is all-powerful, mere humans can not overtax his strength," was the reply from the mujahideen leader. "Besides, the Taliban cannot be allowed to believe they got away with their perfidious plan."

"Trust me. They won't," the American said.

"Yes, but they must be made to know that now. Otherwise they will seem to appear strong. I must show them the error of their ways." Massoud picked up an AK-47 and walked out the door. The CIA agent reluctantly followed him.

They made their way down a hallway and up some stairs to the roof of the building. In the field next to the building, a large number of warriors stood. Massoud faced the gathering and raised the AK-47.

"I live, the Taliban infidels failed. The loathsome dogs missed. Allahu Akbar!"

The warriors raised their arms and started shouting. More than a few of them fired off some shots from the Kalashnikovs.

{No wonder this meat grinder spit out the Russians. I just hope it doesn't do the same to us.} the CIA agent thought wearily.

Southern Afghanistan. 8:41 AM local time, September 11, 2001 12:10 AM EDT

The tall and bearded man made his way out of the house. All around him, there was a great deal of bustle and activity. Armed guards ringed the area. In the middle of the compound, there was a long line of pickup trucks.

"Sir, please hurry, we must get to the new location right now," the guard behind the man said.

The tall man nodded. "Have my wives and children been taken care of?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, they are all in the trucks and ready to go. But we must get you to a safe location."

"Very well, later on today we shall have news. Once my family is safe, we shall go to the hills to wait." He got into the truck second from the lead.

United States District Courthouse, Manhattan, New York City. 1:35 AM local time, 1:35 AM EDT

The clerk sorted out the papers. Each search warrant had to go to the right officer, matched up to the locale to be searched.

He rubbed his eyes. He would much prefer to finish this in the morning, but his superior had been quite clear on the matter; everything was to be finished well before tomorrow morning. As a matter of fact, the time of 3 am was specifically mentioned as the latest the job was to be done.

The clerk shook his head. He figured he should get it all done with about an hour to spare, and then he was going straight home to bed.

UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. September 10, 2001 11:15 PM local time, September 11, 2001 2:15 AM EDT

Willow Rosenberg looked up as her girlfriend Tara came into their dorm room. "Hey sweetie," the redhead said lovingly.

"Hey Willow," Tara responded in kind.

"I was expecting you back a while ago. So how'd it go at the library?" Willow asked.

"Not too bad. I think it hasn't really sunk into most people's heads yet the fact that classes are back in session for this semester. I saw more people hanging out on campus than in the library."

Willow put down the book she had been reading on the desk in front of her. "See anything besides students?"

Tara placed her book bag on her bed. "No, the summer break for the usual Hellmouth stuff hasn't really ended yet. Not a vampire or demon in sight, well - not if you don't count Clem. I think he was looking for kittens in the alley behind the library or something."

"How is he, anyway?" Willow asked curiously.

"Talkative and nice, he said the demon community isn't too active right now." Tara put the sweater she had been wearing into the closet. "Any luck figuring out Buffy's Slayer dream?"

Willow shook her head. "Nope, Giles had been doing the research thing, cleaning his glasses and going 'dear me' a lot, but he hasn't been able to figure out what it all means either. Just like the last few Slayer dreams Buff's had. He's going to call the Watchers Council tomorrow to see if he can convince them to help out."

Tara sat down on the bed near the desk where Willow was sitting. "What were they like?"

Willow frowned. "Well, Buffy and Giles are concerned, I mean anytime a Slayer dream happens they're always concerned. Like Buffy wants to know what it means, a-a-and Giles hates not knowing the answer to any question he has."

Tara shook her head. "No, not Buffy and Giles, I meant Xander and Faith. Because I never met either of them, although from what I've heard Xander knew me; something he wrote about in his third letter, Giles was pretty vague on the details..." The lesbian witch shook her head. "Anyway, you've talked to me about Xander before, but you've never really talked about Faith. What was she like?"

"A cleavage-y slut bomb?" Willow commented, surprising both herself and Tara with the snarkiness. "Whoa, where did that just come from?" Willow asked mostly herself in confusion.

"Um, I take it you had issues with Faith?" Tara asked delicately.

Willow leaned back. "Well yeah, kinda. I guess. She came to town, and almost straightaway she...well, she and Xander ended up together, they started having sex all the time. Back in senior year, she basically stole Xander from me and Buffy."

Willow instantly looked uncomfortable. "No, no, actually that's not true, at all. Xander had already left 'us' by then, Faith just swooped in and claimed him for herself after Buffy, Cordelia and I made that humongous boneheaded mistake months earlier," she said very sadly.

Tara knew that the issue of Xander and Faith always depressed Willow a little bit. "Tell you what, sweetie. I'll go wash up, and then we can sit down and try to figure out Buffy's dream?"

Willow smiled. "That's sweet, baby, but it's getting really late and we both have classes in the morning. Let's just go to bed and deal with all that tomorrow."

Warehouse 23, New Mexico. 12:47 AM local time, 2:47 AM EDT

Ethan Rayne tossed and turned restlessly within the cot in his cell. He'd been having trouble sleeping lately. Finally, he gave up - and flat on his back, the Englishman stared at the ceiling for several minutes. Then he asked the world in general, "Bloody hell, why can't I get to sleep?"

The chaos mage had been on edge during the last few days. He couldn't explain why. He hated this place and his captors, of course, but Ethan was pretty sure that wasn't it.

The only thing he knew for certain was that something big was about to happen. Who knew, maybe he'd even be able to use it to his own advantage somehow.

Garage of a rental house, Orlando, Florida. 3:17 AM local time, 3:17 AM EDT

The rental van shook as he climbed into the back of it.

"Hand me that box," the nameless man said to the guy helping him, pointing to a box on the ground. "And be careful!" he snapped as the box was handed to him.

He carried the box further into the van, carefully placing it on top of pile of boxes. He walked back.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes after three," was the response.

"We need to hurry up, then. We only have about six hours before we need to be there."

Caritas Karaoke bar, Los Angeles, California. 1:31 AM local time, 4:31 AM EDT

Lorne laid the phone down onto the bar after answering it. He subsequently looked around and found the person he'd been looking for. "Ametila. Phone call!" the Host called out.

She waved and made her way over behind the bar. The waitress then smiled at her boss, "Thanks, Lorne, who is it?"

"That sailor boy of yours," Lorne responded with an eye roll.

Ametila's smile grew broader as she picked up the phone. "Hey honey," she said. "What's up?"

"Hello, Am," the voice of Commander Michael "Red" Byrne said across the long distance phone line, using his nickname for the waitress. "Just thought I'd call and say hi."

"Where are you? LA, I hope?" the woman asked with a hopeful smile on her face.

"Sorry sweetie, wrong coastline. I wish I was there, though," Red answered.

"Are you going to be able to get out here during the weekend?" Ametila asked.

"I might be able to get over there later this week, depending on how work goes," Red replied vaguely.

"Well, I hope it goes quickly for you then. If you get out here by then, I'll take some time off and maybe we can go up to that cabin getaway in the mountains," the demoness suggested.

"I'd like that," Red said and then he hesitated. "Look, sweetie, I want you to do something for me, okay?"

The waitress held the phone closer to her ear, as the noise from the club was making it difficult for her to hear her boyfriend. "What, Red?"

"What time do you get off work?" he asked.

Ametila thought about it for a second. "My shift ends around two or so. I may get in a little overtime, it's actually kinda busy tonight."

There was silence on the other end of the phone line for several seconds. "Ametila, please forget about the overtime tonight, okay? Just go home as soon as possible, and stay there for the next twelve hours or so."

Ametila frowned. "What? Why?"

"No reason...well, uh, I mean, I'm pretty sure nothing's going to happen out there, but I'd feel a whole lot better if I know you're safe at home," was Red's response.

"Red, you're starting to scare me. What's going on?" Ametila now looked worried.

"Sweetie..." Red hesitated. "I can't tell you that much about my work, you know that."

"Mike," she said in a stern tone. The same one nearly all wives use when they know their husbands are being deliberately evasive.

"Ametila, all I can say is that something's planned for tomorrow morning, and I want to know that the woman I love will be safe at home when it goes down. Please - I want you to promise me that you'll not be out on the streets tomorrow, just in case," Red said passionately.

"Honey-"

"Promise me! Please. I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important!" the Navy SEAL pressed home the point.

Ametila glanced around the club. "All right, fine. I promise when my shift is done I'll go home, warm up a cup of goat's blood and just read a good book."

"Well, except for the goat's blood, that sounds terrific. Although I've been in some countries where I was expected to drink it, so guess I can't complain too much," Red said somewhat nostalgically.

"Then I'll have a warm glass of the stuff waiting for you during the weekend," Ametila said coyly.

"For you, I'll look forward to it," Red said back, the smile on face his evident to any who was listening. "Honey, I hate to, but I really need to go. I love you, sweetie."

Ametila started tearing up. "I love you too. And whatever it is that you and your friends are up to, you come back to me safe and sound, you hear?"

"I will," Red said before he hung up. Ametila placed the phone back on its cradle, and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

"What's wrong, honeycakes? Did that boy of yours do something?" Lorne asked, knowing his employee was feeling distraught.

Ametila shook her head, still dabbing at her eyes as she did. "No, no, it's just something's happening tomorrow and he's worried for me. It'd be sweet, if it wasn't also so annoying at the same time with all the official secrecy stuff."

Sunnydale, California. 1:47 AM local time, 4:47 AM EDT

The Sunnydale Junior High School student known as Cassie Newton opened up the medicine cabinet with her right hand, as she rubbed her forehead with her left hand.

"Why can't I get to sleep?" the blonde girl muttered to herself. "You'd think sleeping would help with the headache." She took out a bottle of aspirin.

Cassie had been having these headaches all day. She didn't know why.

Of course, even with her latent ability to see the future, she was about to be surprised in the morning like so many others in the country.

President's Park, Washington D.C. 5:08 AM local time, 5:08 AM EDT

President George W. Bush breathed hard as he jogged along the path.

The Secret Service had not been happy *at all* when they'd realized that their principal object of protection had decided to go jogging outside the White House grounds. There had been some intense discussions on the matter. Finally Bush had decided to just go ahead and do it, and let the Secret Service catch up with him.

It was going to be a long day, and the President knew he was going to be cooped up inside most of it in the bunker atmosphere of the White House.

He needed to be outside for a while.

Besides, he was the President of the United States, and what was the point of being that if you couldn't do whatever you wanted every once in a while?

J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C. 5:10 AM local time, 5:10 AM EDT

FBI Director Robert Mueller took a quick gulp from his cup of coffee, as he waited for his visitor to enter the office. He was supposed to be down in the Counter-Terrorism Command center, and had actually been about to head down there when the call had come in.

So the Director and one of his deputy directors were here awaiting their visitor. The door swung open, and Agent Malcolm Fletcher came in.

Mueller knew the man's record, and he also knew that Fletcher had been seconded to some spook group ages ago; the one that was more or less running the show planned for later on in the morning. He recalled how the agent's section chief had been sorry to lose him; he'd had the potential to become an assistant director one day, according to Malcolm's last performance evaluation.

But after that meeting with Xander Harris and his friends in Arkansas, that career path had pretty much evaporated into oblivion as far as this balding FBI agent was concerned.

"Agent Fletcher, I hope your urgent call doesn't mean we have a problem with one of the planes?" Mueller said.

Fletcher shook his head. "Not the planes, sir." He laid a sheaf of papers on the Director's desk. He took out a picture of an Arab man. "This guy's on the watch lists for providing possible support to the terrorists. I've been reviewing some of the names who we think are providing support to the hijackers. I figured it would help up roll up the networks."

The deputy director nodded. "We did the same thing months ago in preparation of our response."

"Yes, but this weekend I went ahead and rechecked the lists, and I learned that the Philadelphia PD picked him up on Sunday night for stealing a delivery van. I did some more checking on him, including everything that Able Danger had on this guy," Fletcher said, referring to the military's program for tracking terrorists. "They had his credit history. He used a credit card to rent a Hertz truck on Friday."

"So why would he be stealing a truck two days later?" Mueller asked.

"The Philly police learned the van he had rented broke down. But the thing is, he's not the only one on the watch lists who's rented a van during the weekend. There are several all across the nation."

The deputy director frowned at that. "When they tried to bomb the World Trade Center, they used a rental truck to carry the bomb."

"And Timothy McVeigh used a Ryder truck for his bomb," Fletcher added.

"Oh, hell!" Mueller said simply, reaching for the telephone.

Rural South Carolina. 5:13 AM local time, 5:13 AM EDT

Daniel Cleburne flipped the light on in the dairy barn. The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating the line of cows.

Daniel paused a second, mentally surveying his livestock to make sure everything appeared all right. Satisfied, he started his chores; these cows had to be milked regardless of whatever else he had to do today.

Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. 5:18 AM local time, 5:18 AM EDT

The motorcade of SUVs made its way down the runway, escorted by police cars and motorcycles, the emergency lights flashing off the hangars as they passed. All around them, it was clear that security was pretty tight as armed soldiers patrolled the facility.

The motorcade pulled up to the Air Force 747 painted blue and white, sitting on the tarmac, an Air Force Officer standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the plane. After the SUVs stopped an older bald man got out of one vehicle roughly in the middle of the fleet, along with several other people.

"Welcome to Air Force Two, Mr. Vice-President," the officer said to the man as he saluted.

"Is everything ready?" Dick Cheney replied.

"Yes, as soon as you and Mrs. Cheney are on board, we'll be ready to take off," was the response.

"Good," Cheney said simply as he made his way up the stairs into Air Force Two.

Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, Boston, Massachusetts. 5:25 AM local time, 5:25 AM EDT

Xander groaned as a knock at the door woke him up. "What?" he grumbled as he got out of bed.

The Marine sergeant-major known as Gunny opened the door and looked inside. "Come on, Howard, up and at 'em. The colonel said to tell you it's showtime."

McGuire United States Air Force Base, New Jersey. 5:31 AM local time, 5:31 AM EDT

"All right, gentlemen, it's time to answer the questions you've no doubt been asking ever since you flew in."

The Air Force General stood in the front of the room full of pilots in flight suits. On the wall behind him was a map of the northeastern United States.

"So, here's the deal. This morning you'll be flying patrols over the northeast part of the country. You will either be over specific urban areas, or tracking specific planes. You will be flying with live ammunition. You may be called upon to fire your weapons."

He paused before he continued on. "You need to know, you may be given the order to fire upon what started out as civilian airliners." At that, the pilots started looking at each other and murmuring. The General looked out at them. "And now, I'm going to tell you why."

Office of the Attorney General, Department of Justice, Washington D.C. 5:47 AM local time, 5:47 AM EDT

"In my estimation, Colonel Cleburne is correct. They'll delay until they feel they can get a high enough body count, which would be later on in the morning - after nine or so, possibly even later than that," the young voice said through the speakerphone.

Attorney General John Ashcroft knew Irving Hollins' voice from the Top Secret conferences they had both participated in over the last few months. Right now, time didn't allow for a face-to-face meeting of all the principals, so a conference call on a secure line was taking place.

"That's quite a gamble." That was from Condi Rice, the National Security Adviser.

"Either way, I don't see how we have much choice in what to do about it," Esther Marcum said. "Mr. Howard knew nothing about all this, so we've almost been caught with our pants down so to speak. How long would it take us to organize an effective response? And what are the odds we're going to miss some?"

"Also, there is no way we can get our people to the vans we know about until at least one of the planes has taken off." That was Robert Mueller talking from the Counter-Terrorism center at the FBI building.

"What do we know for sure?" Ashcroft recognized Richard Clarke from the White House situation room. "What cities do we need to worry about?"

"Philadelphia, Chicago, Washington D.C., New York, Denver and San Francisco, those are the ones we've identified so far. Of course, there may be more," Mueller said.

Ashcroft glanced at the aide sitting across the desk from him. "What can we do on such short notice?" the AG asked.

"Send in agents to those that we know about, and send out an alert nationwide to the various police agencies for the others," Mueller answered simply. "In Washington and New York, we've already got everything in place and can probably catch them quickly. The others, well, unfortunately, I'd say it's going to be pretty much hit or miss."

"Where's the President?" Ashcroft asked.

Clarke answered, "Secret Service is taking him down to the Presidential Emergency Operations Center in the basement. Air Force Two hasn't been able to establish a secure line for the VP yet."

Ashcroft rubbed his forehead. "The American public needs to know we did everything possible to protect them. Forget it, I'm not willing to wait. Robert, get moving - take them down as soon as you can, and send out the alerts to every police department in the nation."

"Yes, Mr. Attorney General," Mueller said as he hurriedly hung up.

Portland International Jetport, Portland, Maine. 5:53 AM local time, 5:53 AM EDT

The counter agent smiled as she took the boarding passes from each passenger as they boarded the airliner. A line of passengers was in front of the counter, and most people were looking impatient to get aboard.

She took the boarding pass from the next person in line.

"Good morning, sir. Thank you," She glanced down at the name on the boarding pass. "Enjoy your flight, Mr. Atta."

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 6:04 AM local time, 6:04 AM EDT

The Federal judge shook the sleep from his eyes as he staggered down the stairs to the front door, where the relentless pounding was coming from. {Who the hell could that be at this time of day?}

He looked through the peephole. Once he saw who it was, he opened up. {Damn it, it's six o'clock in the morning!} "What do you want?" the judge said in a somewhat groggy voice.

The Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia FBI office hurried in, followed by a couple of other agents. "Sorry to intrude, Your Honor, but we needed to get these search warrants to you right away in order for you to sign off on them."

The old man frowned. "Couldn't this have waited until I got to the office?"

The SAC shook his head. "No, sir. It has to be right now."

Newark International Airport, Newark, New Jersey. 6:13 AM local time, 6:13 AM EDT

Riley Finn glanced over at the teenage girl in the van seat next to him. "How are you doing?" he asked Bethany Chaulk.

"Well, I gotta tell you, I'm kinda scared," she said softly.

Riley smiled. "We all are, anyone tells you anything different is lying."

Bethany looked surprised at that. "Really, all of you soldiers are worried as well?"

"Of course, we're not all special like you after all," Riley said with another smile.

Bethany thought for a second. "I don't know. I've never had to do something like this before."

Riley grinned. "Like I make a habit of flying around in jetliners fighting terrorists? It's a first time thing for all of us."

"But all of you seem so calm and collected. It seems to me that this is nothing more to you than like going on vacation," Bethany commented. Outside the van's window, Newark passed by.

"For you it is, all you need to do is sit in the cockpit and keep the door closed until I knock. All that and a free trip to Los Angeles. Sounds like a vacation to me," Riley joked and then he turned serious. "You'll do fine, Bethany. You're already a hero, just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Promise?" Bethany asked.

"Promise," Riley answered.

The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 3:17 AM local time, 6:17 AM EDT

The microwave dinged as Angel waited for the pig's blood to warm up.

It had been a productive night. The Powell case had been resolved with no one getting hurt. Well, no one from the Fang Gang or any innocents anyway. Those demons that had been extorting money from the Powell bar patrons were a different matter.

The rest of his crew had gone home for the night, it was just him and Darla in the hotel right now. The pregnant woman was asleep at last and had finally stopped treating him like her personal slave - or even worse, like a henpecked husband. Angel took out the warm pig's blood and took a sip from it. He smiled, as it was just how he liked it. { Ah, blessed relief. }

Things weren't looking too bad, all in all. Darla's pregnancy seemed to proceeding well, as best as could be expected for a mystical vampiric pregnancy anyway. Connor was safe and sound, and due to enter the world towards the end of November.

Angel allowed himself to cautiously look forward to what the next day would bring.

Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 6:52 AM local time, 6:52 AM EDT

The man who had boarded the plane in Portland, Maine heard the ringing of his cell phone.

He pulled it from his pocket. "Yes." He listened for a few seconds. "Yes, everything is proceeding well."

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 3:58 AM local time, 6:58 AM EDT

Buffy Summers rolled from side to side in the bed. Her sleep was a restless one. The Slayer dream from the night before still weighed heavily on her, as did the words of her sister and mother at dinner the previous night.

Down the hallway, Joyce and Dawn slept more soundly as Joyce's alarm clock ticked towards its 6 am wake up call.

Not far away at the UC Sunnydale campus, Willow and Tara slept peacefully in their dorm room, as Amy the rat slept in her cage.

In a nearby dorm room, Jonathan Levinson slept like the dead, his desk having a stack of spell books on it concerning the art of transmogrification.

In an apartment nearby, Giles slept with his alarm clock set early. He wanted to get up early enough so as to call the Watchers Council, to try and enlist their help in interpreting Buffy's dream.

Elsewhere in town, Anya Jenkins slept with a smile on her face as Andrew Wells lay asleep beside her. It had been a profitable day at the Magic Box, after all.

Rental property, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 7:01 AM local time, 7:01 AM EDT

Heavily armed FBI agents wandered around the house, having stormed the residence not long ago. Out in the garage, several agents in heavy body armor moved in and out as the agent in charge watched from the end of the driveway. Up and down the street, the police were evacuating the rest of the homes on the block.

"He won't say anything, not even to ask for a lawyer," one FBI agent said he walked up next to the agent in charge.

"The bomb squad boys said the van carried enough explosives to take out the better part of a city block. Luckily for us, he hadn't primed it or he could have blown himself up when we came through the door," the agent in charge, who was named Richard Gunter, replied.

"Kinda hard to do when you're the only one in the house, and we've got you in handcuffs in the living room," the other agent joked.

"Yeah, but what about those we don't have in handcuffs?" Gunter asked.

141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. 4:10 AM local time, 7:10 AM EDT

Cordelia Chase pulled the covers up to her neck as she slept contentedly in her bed. She was tired from last night and was enjoying the chance to get some beauty sleep, alone. Not far away, her ghost roommate Dennis Pearson was looking through some of her fashion magazines as a way to pass the time.

It still astonished the restless spirit just how much some attitudes had changed, ever since he'd been alive.

Over at his apartment, Wesley was sleeping off the aches and pains he had gotten from the fight with the demons earlier in the evening. He didn't think Virginia, his girlfriend, would have been in the mood for some hanky-panky tonight.

Richmond, Virginia. 7:21 AM local time, 7:21 AM EDT

Oz walked into the kitchen, only to find Fred already there cooking breakfast. He looked at the Texan woman. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

Fred shook her head. "No, you?"

Oz shook his head also. He sat down at the table and the two of them just stared at each other in silence.

Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 7:29 AM local time, 7:29 AM EDT

Cleburne and Xander walked down the connector tube to the commercial jet. A couple of other Siberians in civilian clothes also walked with them, the remainder of the strike force for this plane was waiting to board with the regular passengers.

Cleburne handed Xander an old-fashioned Sony Walkman. "Here, we might have to wait a while. It'll help the time pass."

Amused, Xander slipped on the headphones and pressed Play. Only to hear Mick Jagger starting to sing, "Jumpin' Jack Flash".

{Cleburne, you never cease to amaze me. Ah, what the hell; And I howwwwwled at my momma in the driving rain.}

The exact same place. 7:35 AM local time, 7:35 AM EDT

Six minutes after Xander and Cleburne had walked down it, two Arabic men walked down the tube with the other first class passengers, one of them recognizable from videotape surveillance at the Portland airport as Mohamed Atta.

Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C. 7:40 AM local time, 7:40 AM EDT

Gwen Raiden looked at her watch. She was getting impatient. She wanted to get this over with, and go home to LA.

Red noticed her fidgeting. "Don't worry, it'll come soon enough."

Somewhere in the southern Afghanistan mountains. 4:15 PM local time, 7:45 AM EDT

The tall, bearded man looked out over the mountains in the countryside. Nearby was a small group of armed men.

Soon, soon it would happen.

Baltimore, Maryland. 7:50 AM local time, 7:50 AM EDT

The traffic reporter looked out of helicopter window, as the cameraman peered over his shoulder. The pilot paid close attention to the controls.

The cameraman spoke up, "Studio says we're on in three."

"Okay, let's get ready, see if we can spice up this beautiful Tuesday morning," the traffic reporter responded, already getting into character.

Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 7:59 AM local time, 7:59 AM EDT

Xander had long since put the Walkman aside, this was no time for listening to music after all.

"He's off the phone," Cleburne commented under his breath. Xander didn't have to ask who the Marine colonel was referring to, he knew.

"Can I ask you something?" Xander said.

"Go ahead," the Marine colonel said, without looking from the crossword puzzle book he had.

"Why the heck are we wearing business suits?"

"Look around you, kid, this isn't exactly some place where riot gear would remain unnoticed. We want to blend in, of course we're wearing business suits," Cleburne lowered his voice. "Besides, it seemed appropriate."

Suddenly, the stewardess's voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, the tower has told the captain that we are cleared for takeoff. Please place all trays in the upright position, and make sure to adjust your seats as well."

Cleburne put away his book. "And we're off."

Xander leaned back in his seat, as the jet began to taxi down the runway

The plane started to move faster.

He thought of the time he had taken confession at the Abbey where Dawn was created. { Father forgive me, it's been over a year since my last confession to Brother Feodor. }

Flight 11 continued to pick up speed.

He thought of all things he had done since that night outside the Bronze.

The jetliner thundered down the runway as it took off.

He thought of the three girls who had left him outside the Bronze. Once he would have done anything for them, even died for them. Now he forced them to the back of his mind.

Xander's plane soared upwards towards the sky, taking the Timetripper to meet his destiny.

TBC...