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.

11. Chapter 11

Part Fifty b

Somewhere in the suburbs of Tel Aviv, Israel. September 11, 2001. 3:00 PM local time, 8:00 AM EDT

The old man leaned back in the chair within his garden, reflecting on current events as the sunlight bathed his wizened body. He knew what today was. Eli Weitz was probably the only person in the country right now who did.

The retired Israeli spymaster knew that the Americans had not told his government what was on the agenda for today, the Siberians were still somewhat distrustful of the state of Israel after that planned 'interrogation' of their miracle prophet a few months back. They didn't want to risk operational security just yet, and the old man was also sure there was a little bit of pique in their actions as well.

However, he had earned the right to know.

No, wait, that wasn't right.

His dead granddaughter Rachael, auv shalom, had earned the right to know. In blood.

Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. The same time

"The first plane has taken off," Condi Rice announced to the room.

George Bush and the others sat around the table silently, watching the monitors on the wall.

Northern suburbs of Virginia. 8:05 AM local time, 8:05 AM EDT

The overnight babysitter sat on the floor of the living room, playing with the child she was being paid to look after. The work was often fun, and the money more than made up for the hours involved. She rolled the ball to the baby boy and said, "Here, sweetums. Now roll the ball back, okay?"

The babysitter didn't get a chance to receive the ball back however, as a huge roar from outside on the street was suddenly heard. She stood up and saw a huge black APC with a battering ram attached charge towards one of the houses at the end of the street. Beyond it, the babysitter could see heavily armed men dressed in black with the white letters 'FBI' on their backs swarming around what she assumed was the destination of the APC.

The woman heard angry shouts from down the street, she also thought she heard someone yelling "FBI, freeze!"

Then she saw a man run around the corner of the house waving an assault rifle.

"Allah Akbar!" he screamed before pointing the rifle at the men.

Rapid gunshots rang out, as the FBI special operations team mercilessly gunned down the terrorist before he had a chance to open fire. His blood-soaked, bullet-ridden body flopped onto the lawn, the rifle clattering to the ground harmlessly. The APC sped past the still-twitching body and rammed into a delivery van that had just exploded out through the still-closed garage door. The APC blocked the van's exit, even pushing it back into the garage of the house.

After witnessing all this, the babysitter didn't hesitate; she reached down, grabbed the infant and headed straight for the door. She then swung it open and saw the FBI agents running from house to house, yelling for people to get out of their homes. Ignoring them all, the young woman started running towards her car to get her charge to safety.

{Like they say in the movies, I'm not getting paid enough for this.}

Queens, New York City, New York. 8:07 AM local time, 8:07 AM EDT

The NYPD lieutenant made his way out of the house with a frustrated look on his face. He walked out onto the street, which was now a beehive of activity. He then keyed the radio he was carrying and said, "Tell the Feds we got here too late. They've already flown the coop."

Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 8:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT

Esther Marcum frowned. "So we don't know where they are or what their target is, only that they're on the loose out there somewhere?"

The conference call had been going on nonstop for the past hour or so. And the latest news just in from New York had not been well received.

"Bottom line, yes," Malcolm Fletcher said from the FBI Counter-Terrorism Command center. "There's a lot of theories being thrown around, but nothing solid so far. Their safehouse is being searched right now for any information. Nothing to report yet, though."

Esther looked at the clock. "The Air Force is trailing the first plane and we haven't heard from Cleburne yet, so it looks like they still haven't made their move. I think it's safe to say the van isn't going to the World Trade Center - but other than that, I couldn't guess where it's going to strike."

"Ashcroft is on the phone with the White House. He wants to shut down Manhattan completely," Fletcher said.

Esther looked across the desk where Irving Hollins was sitting. "In my opinion it would be a good idea, tactically speaking. At this late stage, something like that wouldn't compromise our operational security," the child genius said simply.

"I agree," Esther said. "Besides, we might get lucky and catch a break if we flood the streets with police and National Guard."

"All right then. I'll pass it onto Ashcroft; if you guys could also let the Situation Room in on that, it'd be most appreciated," Fletcher said.

"Done," Esther said swiftly as she picked up a phone on her desk to make the call.

United Airlines Flight 11, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:13 AM local time, 8:13 AM EDT

"Hey, Cleburne..." Xander said nervously, looking at the two Arabs not far away.

"Yeah. I saw it too, kid," Cleburne said. And eerily reminiscent of Ethan Rayne almost four years ago, the secret agent muttered, "Showtime."

The two Americans, one a Marine colonel and the other a former demon slave, started to get up from their seats.

Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 8:14 AM local time, 8:14 AM EDT

United Airlines Flight 175 (nonstop to Los Angeles) thundered down the runway as it rose into the air - carrying 51 passengers, nine crewmembers, five terrorists and 15 members of Graham Miller's Siberian Trip Wire strike team.

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 5:17 AM local time, 8:17 AM EDT

Joyce Summers took the coffee pot out from the coffee maker. It was still dark outside, but for some reason she had woken up early and just couldn't get back to sleep. Actually, Joyce was loath to admit it, but her insomnia was almost certainly due to Rupert Giles not being there to keep his half of the bed warm for her. So the middle-aged woman had finally just given up and gone to the kitchen to fix an early breakfast.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, and turned on the TV in the kitchen to catch the early morning shows. Joyce then sat down at the kitchen table as the idiot box began to ramble on.

Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 8:19 AM local time, 8:19 AM EDT

"All right, what the hell is going on here?" President Bush snapped.

"We know Colonel Cleburne sent the signal that the hijacking had begun, roughly five minutes ago. But there's been nothing since then," Richard Clarke responded.

"Well, that's not good enough! Rummy, do you have anything?" Bush asked the Secretary of Defense.

"No, Mr. President," Rumsfeld said over the speakerphone from the Pentagon. "I'm contacting the fighter jets following the plane to see if anything has happened from their point of view."

Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C. 8:20 AM local time, 8:20 AM EDT

American Airlines Flight 77 rolled down the runway and lifted into the air on its scheduled trip to Los Angeles. On board were 53 passengers, six crew members, five terrorists, the 15 members of Michael "Red" Byrne's Siberian Trip Wire strike team, and Gwen Raiden.

United States Air Force F-15 fighter over upstate New York. 8:21 AM local time, 8:21 AM EDT

The plane powered its way through the upper atmosphere, the fighter pilot maintaining visual contact with the passenger jet that was his quarry at all times. His wingman was right there beside him, and the pilot's cockpit was suddenly filled with a steady tone.

"This is Foxtrot One, I have lock on target. Do I fire?" the pilot asked, praying to God that the answer would be no.

United Airlines Flight 93, Newark International Airport, Newark. 8:22 AM local time, 8:22 AM EDT

Riley Finn shifted restlessly within the first class seat he was sitting in. "Oh, come on..." he muttered.

"Don't worry, we're still cool," Gunny said in the chair next to him.

"We're twenty minutes late taking off!" Riley said.

"I know. But relax, something will happen before too long," Gunny said, glancing behind him.

"Yeah. That's what worries me," Finn mumbled.

Los Angeles, California. 5:24 AM local time, 8:24 AM EDT

Ametila sat in the apartment chair, holding a cup of goat's blood in her hands. She shivered a little, despite the robe she was wearing. Sleep had been impossible to come by after that phone call from her boyfriend and her work shift was over.

Outside, the darkness reigned supreme. She sat in the chair watching CNN, knowing something would happen before too long and suddenly worried sick about it.

Military Command Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. 8:25 AM local time, 8:25 AM EDT

"Sir, Foxtrot One and Foxtrot Two are still requesting orders on what to do," the Air Force General said.

Donald Rumsfeld drummed his fingers on the table. "Any change in the flight plan?" he asked.

The General shook his head. "No, Mr. Secretary, it's still on the path that it would take to Los Angeles."

Suddenly, static sounded from the speakers. "This is Foxtrot One, target has turned south, I repeat - the target has turned south!"

"New York City," Rumsfeld observed with a pained look in his face. "God help us, but that's it. General, tell your pilots they're authorised to-"

However, Rumsfeld didn't get to finish his order as another transmission came over the speakers.

"This is Colonel Joshua Cleburne. Code green delta one, situation under control."

All around the room, mighty cheers erupted as metaphorically speaking the engines of destiny went up in flames.

"Sorry it took so long to figure out what was going on up here. We thought we had more terrorists than expected at first, but it turns out it was just a civilian attacking the bad guys. Anyway, we've got two tangos dead and three prisoners. One stewardess is hurt, but not badly. We're turning south to assume a holding pattern over Pennsylvania."

Rumsfeld smiled, even though he wanted to go home and have a heart attack in peace. "General, tell your boys to continue escorting Flight 11 to Pennsylvania."

A place where often nothing is as what it seems. 5:27 AM local time, 8:27 AM EDT

The brown van drove along the sidewalk, scattering the pedestrians in front of it in both directions.

People looked down from the windows of the high-rise office building at the speeding van. It came to a stop a few yards in front of the building. It then exploded in a huge fireball that shattered the glass into the people looking down, as they all screamed in pain.

A shrieking Cordelia Chase lurched up in her bed within her Silverlake apartment, holding her forehead. "Damn," the brunette seer then muttered. "No way!" She promptly did two things.

First, she took her usual painkillers for the splitting migraine that she now had.

Second, the young woman picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Angel, I just woke up thanks to a vision. And you'll never believe who it is we're supposed to save!"

Downtown Manhattan, New York City, New York. 8:31 AM local time, 8:31 AM EDT

The cab driver honked his horn. "Damn it, move!" he shouted out at the line of cars in front of him. It was rush hour, and he still wasn't used to the vagaries of the job yet. "Noo Yawkers-"

Suddenly he heard the blare of a horn, followed by sirens. Around the corner, there appeared a line of green Humvees. As they drove past the cab, the driver could see they were full of armed soldiers.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" the hackie asked himself in confusion.

Somewhere above upstate New York. 8:35 AM local time, 8:35 AM EDT

"Just who are you guys, anyway?"

Xander looked over at the man who'd asked that. He was the passenger in first class who had caused the confusion by attacking the hijackers himself during the struggle. The Siberians hadn't known who he was and it had been a tense few moments, as the shiner the guy had on his right eye could attest to. Turned out though he was a former Israeli Army soldier, and just doing his civic duty around here.

The first class section had been emptied of passengers except for him, as he was being treated for his wounds. Xander could see in the back of the compartment the two dead bodies that had been placed in empty seats. He could also see the three prisoners who were being watched over by Cleburne's guards. Harris knew that there were other Siberians back in the business class and coach sections, trying to reassure the passengers, but right now that wasn't his concern.

"FBI agents," Xander told the man, using the cover story prepared by STW.

"No you're not, I know special ops people when I see them in action. I've met enough of them back home," was the reply.

"Well, if anyone asks, we're FBI agents. That's what the public is going to be told, so that's good enough for me - and you," Xander said. "Understood?" { Okay, when did I become the voice of authority? }

The Israeli nodded. "Understood."

"Damn it!" Cleburne's curse drew their attention to the front of the first class cabin where he was talking on a cell phone. "They're still not off the ground?"

Xander moved forward to be next to Cleburne, leaving the passenger and medic behind. He raised an eyebrow at the Marine colonel. "Care to share, Mother Hen?"

Joshua covered the cell phone with his hand. "Finn's plane has yet to take off, there was a huge backlog at the airport and the flight was delayed," he explained.

"The others?" Xander asked.

"They're airborne, the tangos have been eyeballed on each one," Cleburne answered before he turned his attention back to the cell phone. "What? Oh, this just gets better and better. Well, the FBI and locals will have to handle them; right now we've got the planes to worry about!"

"We don't have to let it take off, you know. I think we have enough by now to just pull the bad guys off of that plane," Xander offered.

Cleburne glared at Xander for a second, and the 25-year-old man feigned a yawn. "Hey, don't be so hidebound. You've still got two other planes to play with, isn't that enough already?"

"Kid, what did I ever do to deserve you?" Cleburne growled. "Esther, get Riley in on this conference call, command decision time."

United Airlines Flight 93, Newark International Airport, Newark. 8:38 AM local time, 8:38 AM EDT

Riley kept the ear tight to his cell phone. "You sure? I know, I know," he said defensively. "Yeah, I can see where that might be an option. All right, we'll take care of it. Finn out." He subsequently disconnected the cell phone.

Gunny looked at the Army captain. Riley knew he was nominally in charge of this operation, but the younger man also knew the Marine sergeant-major was so much more experienced at this sort of thing that in a crunch he was the one whose instincts should be followed.

"Mother Hen says to go ahead and start the show. He'll take care of everything with the owners later," Riley explained in cryptic language show as to not tip off the bad guys.

"Okay, makes sense. I take it his show went off without a hitch?" Gunny asked.

Riley nodded. "He says things are well in hand. You want to go first or follow me?"

Gunny almost smirked. "After you, Captain."

Riley got up and started walking down the aisle, followed by Gunny, their actions noted by various Siberians sitting throughout the plane. A stewardess also noted it and started walking down the aisle to try and catch them. "Both of you, please return to your seats! We'll be taking off at any moment-"

Riley reached the seat of a certain dark-skinned gentleman, who looked up at the duo being chased by the stewardess. Only to see Riley's fist coming directly towards his face, then he felt pain as he saw red. But as the terrorist unwillingly entered dreamland he heard the shouts of "FBI, don't move!" echoing throughout the cabin...

STW medical facility, Dallas, Texas. 7:39 AM local time, 8:39 AM EDT

"Holly, you're up early."

The former director of Siberian Trip Wire looked up from her wheelchair. "Couldn't sleep, didn't want to miss the show," she remarked.

The orderly frowned at that, but he knew better than to say anything. He had worked long enough in this place to know strange things often happened, and that they were also things best not talked about.

Control room of CNN studios, New York City, New York. 8:40 AM local time, 8:40 AM EDT

The news director held the phone up to his ear. "Come on, you have to know something!" he shouted into the phone.

All around him, the control room was a study in controlled chaos. The director listened for a few seconds. "We've got people calling saying there are army troops on the streets of Manhattan. The Washington bureau says there was some kind of shootout involving the FBI in the suburbs. Now the police are screaming about car bombs. What the hell's going on?"

Clearly, the director didn't like what he was hearing. "No, I need to know *now*! I'm not calling some damn public affairs officer to get the run-around, until you guys decide to let everyone know what you're doing!" He slammed the phone down in frustration.

"Damn, we don't really have anything to put out on the air yet. What?" he suddenly snapped at a tech who'd come up to him.

"We're starting to get calls about the FBI breaking up two plane hijackings," she answered.

"Who from?"

"People on United Flight 11, they're using their cells to call friends and family. Also some people at the airport in Newark, where one of the planes was prevented from taking off."

The director growled, "All right, but get confirmation on details before we broadcast anything. For now let's go with the one solid item we have, the shootout in Washington. Let me know when we get the camera crew in place there. In the meantime, we'll work up the other stories."

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 5:41 AM local time, 8:41 AM EDT

"Morning, Mom," Dawn said as she walked into the kitchen.

"Dawn? You're up early. Way too early," Joyce said to her youngest daughter. "The sun hasn't even come up yet!"

"Doesn't matter. Mr. Kitty Fantastico was hungry, and wanted to be fed." The aforementioned cat followed Dawn into the kitchen, loudly meowing to indicate his hunger. Named alongside Willow and Tara's pet cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico, the feline was the newest addition to the Summers household.

"Right. I'll get the cat food, you get the dish," Joyce said with a sigh.

United Airlines Flight 175, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:42 AM local time, 8:42 AM EDT

Graham Miller leaned his head back as he heard movement behind him. { About time, } he thought as he stood up.

Running down the aisle were two Arabic men, box cutters in their hands. A stewardess screamed as the lead one slashed at her. "We have a bomb!" he shouted out.

The stewardess fell back, as Graham grabbed her and pushed her behind him. "No, no, you don't. What you have is fifteen very ticked-off combat ops who have been looking forward to kicking your asses for several months now," Graham announced with a smile.

That earned him a scream of anger as his opponent charged the Army officer, box cutter extended. Graham twisted a little bit to the left, grabbed the arm and yanked forward. When the arm was far enough ahead and the terrorist was falling forward, Graham suddenly jerked up and twisted the arm almost at a right angle. He was rewarded with a loud snap, a scream of pain and a box cutter dropping to the cabin floor.

Graham pulled his opponent further, grabbing the unbroken arm and twisted his enemy around so that he faced the back of the cabin. The second terrorist ran forward with an inarticulate scream, waving a knife as he did so.

Graham pushed the bad guy he was holding towards the oncoming terrorist. The two collided, the one with the broken arm screaming again. {Must have gotten stabbed by his friend.} Miller thought with detached amusement.

Graham stole a glance down the aisle of the plane. He could see where the rest of the bad guys were meeting unexpected resistance from the Siberians. Being surprised and outnumbered three to one was not a recipe for operational success.

Two Siberians came up to where the two terrorists Graham had faced were laying on the ground, one of them trying to get up. "Things under control, sir?" one of them asked as he whacked the conscious terrorist on the head.

Graham nodded. "I'd say so. These guys seem to have a major problem facing a prepared opponent," he said in contempt, nodding to the bodies on the floor. He took a cell phone out of his pocket. "Clean up the mess while I call it in."

Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 8:45 AM local time, 8:45 AM EDT

"That's three down, one to go," Bush commented after Graham's report came in on the speaker phone.

"One that we know of," Clarke said from across the table. "We've already learned how things have changed from what originally would have happened, what with those damned car bombs. There may be more planes up there."

"I agree, Mr. President," Esther Marcum said over the speaker phone. "Given the stakes, we must operate under the assumption that there are planes in the air that have been targeted which we don't know about."

"Norm, have we lost contact with any other planes?" the President asked of the Secretary of Transportation.

"No, Mr. President. The FAA still has contact with everything currently in the air."

"I think we should ground the rest of the planes while we take out the remaining terrorists on the last aircraft." That was Clarke again. "Better safe than sorry, our luck has been pretty good so far. Let's not tempt fate if we don't have to."

"Can we do that?" National Security Adviser Rice said, looking at the Secretary of Transportation.

"Yes, shouldn't be a problem," Norman Mineta replied as he picked up a phone to the open line he had to the FAA Operations Center. "Monte, bring all the planes down." He listened for a few seconds.

"No, screw pilot discretion. Just order every goddamn plane in the air to come down right now."

NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. 8:51 AM local time, 8:51 AM EDT

The producer, his tie undone and hanging loosely from his neck, hurried up to the desk the reporter sat at. "Look, Brokaw is on his way in, but until then you're the one on the spot. Whatever's going on is big. I just had a source call and say the FAA is grounding every plane in the air."

The reporter that had been chosen to act as NBC's temporary anchorwoman raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, maybe not every plane, I mean that would be-"

The producer cut her off. "No, every single plane in the sky. Unless it's military or government, it's coming down right now. We've gotten calls about a third attempted hijacking. There's that gun battle in D.C. and if you haven't looked out the window recently, the army is shutting down New York."

"So what do you want me to say?" the reporter asked, taking everything in stride.

"Go with the bare bones right now. The FAA is grounding all the planes in the country. Also, there are reports of the FBI storming a house in Washington D.C. I wouldn't mention the troops here in New York just yet," the producer replied. He saw the director frantically waving at him. "Looks like they're ready. Good luck." He hurried out of camera's line of view.

The substitute news anchor took a deep breath. She could see on the monitor off the set that the logo of NBC's breaking news story was going out over the air.

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time

Dawn Summers looked up from her bowl of cereal as the TV screen showed the words, "Breaking News Story" with appropriate music. Joyce looked up from her coffee cup. Mr. Kitty Fantastico just continued eating though, uninterested in the goings-on of the humans.

The TV screen changed scenes to the reporter in the NBC Today news studio looking straight into the camera.

"Hello, this is Ann Curry, live from the Today show studio. NBC News has just received confirmation that the FAA has ordered the grounding of the entire civil aviation fleet in the United States. As of this moment, every single civilian aircraft in the country has been ordered to land immediately. In a possibly related story, the FBI has recently stormed a house in the Washington D.C. suburbs. We can confirm that shots were fired, and bomb disposal experts are on site."

Dawn and Joyce exchanged a look.

American Airlines Flight 77, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:52 AM local time, 8:52 AM EDT

"Oh come on, can't you take a hint?" the Siberian known as Red asked as he dodged the box cutter wielding terrorist's attack. "I mean, look around - you're outnumbered, outclassed and to be honest, you're just annoying us now!"

A snarled oath was the response as Commander Byrne found himself the subject of a renewed attack. Clearly, giving up wasn't on the terrorist's mind. Red glanced behind his attacker and saw the remainder of the plane. The other terrorists were clearly outmatched. Two of them were already down, while a third one was cowering in his seat, arms up in the air to indicate surrender. Towering over him were three Siberians, actually getting in each other's way a little.

However, Red's momentary distraction was what the terrorist was looking for. The Navy officer felt a stinging bite on his right cheek.

"Damn it!" Red shouted. "That had better not leave a scar!"

Byrne dropped back and kicked at the knees of the box cutter wielding bad guy. It had the desired effect, as the scream that resulted testified to. The terrorist dropped to the floor, quickly followed by Red grabbing him by the collar. He yanked him back up and delivered a nasty head butt. The man quickly fell back with a bloody nose.

"You had better hope there's no scar, otherwise if my girlfriend gets pissy about it - well, you're really in for a whole world of hurt!"

White House, Washington D.C. 8:58 AM local time, 8:58 AM EDT

"It doesn't matter what's on the damn schedule, the annual Congressional barbeque is not going to take place on the lawn today!" the assistant to the President said as he slammed down the phone.

"Mr. Henrick, we're emptying the building. You have to evacuate right now," a Secret Service agent said as she entered the office. "I think an orderly exit would be best for everyone involved."

The aide nodded and started stuffing papers into his briefcase.

UC Sunnydale dorm, Sunnydale, California. 6:00 AM local time, 9:00 AM EDT

The buzzer started going off as the clock face turned to six o'clock. It was still dark outside, but then these two were morning people and liked to get up before the sunrise for a long shower and a longer breakfast.

Opening her eyes, Willow Rosenberg reached over and hit the alarm button. "Sweetie, time to get up," she said to the sleeping Tara Maclay as the redhead turned the radio on to hear the morning news.

Wall Street, New York City, New York. 9:01 AM local time, 9:01 AM EDT

The bicycle messenger dodged in between the cars on the street. Several shouts followed him as he made his way. He waved back at those shouting at him using less than five fingers.

The din of honking horns grew and was accompanied by the sound of metal on metal. The messenger looked over his shoulder and saw a Ryder van pushing its way down the street, scraping past a cab as it did so.

The cabdriver leaned out, shouting insults in Punjabi as the van drove on. The bike messenger slowed to see what was going on. He was kinda worried the van might be heading towards him.

The van continued on, doing its best against the congested traffic. The messenger moved the bike up against the curb, glancing at the statue of George Washington not far away as he did so.

More and more horns blared. Suddenly, the rider heard a siren as a police car came around the corner. The cop driver must have spotted the van, as the police cruiser quickly accelerated. The van did likewise, hitting more cars as it did so.

The motor vehicles started moving to try and get out of the way, however they were packed bumper to bumper in the rush hour traffic so they really couldn't move far. The slowed-down van paused for a second, while a second and third police car shot around the corner.

The van suddenly turned hard towards the sidewalk and accelerated towards Federal Hall. It got about twenty feet before it rammed into a Lincoln Town Car that couldn't get out of the way in time.

The bicycle rider stared as the sound of the horn from the rammed car echoed down the street. Then suddenly, the van exploded.

Light. Sound. Heat. Shockwave. The messenger was blown back by the force of the blast. He felt himself hit the glass window as it shattered, and fall to the concrete of the sidewalk.

Unable to fully believe what had just happened, the bike messenger just lay there stunned and bleeding for a few seconds. Then he managed to look up, using his right elbow to prop himself forward. The van was still crushed up against the Lincoln Town Car, but both of them were completely engulfed in flames.

Up and down the street, cars were in damaged from the explosion, some were burning while others weren't. The buildings along the street had their windows blown out, glass littering the roadway. And there were quite a few dead bodies as well.

As he listened to the screams, the messenger looked towards Federal Hall; and standing there unscathed was the statue of George Washington.

WBAL traffic helicopter over Baltimore, Maryland. 9:05 AM local time, 9:05 AM EDT

The pilot leaned back and shouted back to the reporter and cameraman so as to be heard, "We're not gonna land yet!"

"You sure?" the reporter asked.

"Yeah! Studio says to head over towards the airport, they want footage of the airliners landing."

Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 9:10 AM local time, 9:10 AM EDT

"Well, now we know at least one of their targets."

Irving Hollins looked up at Esther Marcum's comment. "Indeed, do we have any idea yet about the number of casualties?" the boy asked as he idly flipped through a bound book.

Esther shook her head. "No, not really. But there are going to be quite a few dead, they hadn't shut down Wall Street before that van exploded. However, it seems to have been a smaller explosion than we expected, I'm not sure why yet."

"Thank God for small favors. Of course, we're still not out of the woods yet," Hollins replied. "Ah, it just occurred to me. Has anyone called Mr. Osbourne and Ms. Burkle to let them know that Mr. Harris is alright?"

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:12 AM local time, 9:12 AM EDT

Joyce and Dawn had moved to the living room to watch the news on the larger television. They could see that the outside world was now definitely a lighter shade of grey, as sunrise was only about twenty minutes away.

"Dawn, go wake up your sister." Joyce looked apprehensive.

Dawn nodded and hurried up the stairs and started knocking on Buffy's door.

"Whatz is it?" was the mumbled reply from within the room.

"It's me, Dawn. You gotta get up."

"G'way, dark, no sun, Buffy sleep," the Slayer mumbled to the Key.

"Wake up Buffy, Mom says there's something happening on TV."

On the other side of the door, Buffy rose bleary-eyed from the pillow. "What?" she shouted out.

"Come on Buffy, move it! They're talking about planes, troops, bombs and all sorts of bad stuff!" Dawn shouted back.

Buffy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, not so bleary-eyed now. "I'm coming."

UC Sunnydale dormitory, Sunnydale, California. 6:14 AM local time, 9:14 AM EDT

"What do you think is going on?" Tara asked Willow as they watched the TV screen.

Willow rubbed her face with a washcloth. "I don't know for sure. However..." She put down the washcloth and opened the desk drawer. "I think this is the perfect opportunity for me to get a decent grade in my media relations class assignment." She took a blank videotape and put it into VCR underneath the TV. It started recording, as the Today Show continued broadcasting news reports on 9/11.

Rural South Carolina. 9:17 AM local time, 9:17 AM EDT

Elaine Cleburne looked out the kitchen window and saw her husband, Daniel walking towards the farmhouse, while three dogs ran alongside him. She looked down as she finished rinsing the plates from breakfast.

The door opened and Daniel came in, leaving the dogs outside. His wife nodded towards the TV playing on the kitchen counter. "TV's going crazy."

Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. "The idiot box is always going crazy." However, he did start watching the news just like his significant other.

Houston, Texas. 8:20 AM local time, 9:20 AM EDT

Anthony Harris shifted his car into park, as he finished moving the vehicle into the parking space.

The move to the Lone Star state hadn't been too bad, he rationalized to himself. The settlement from those government spy types had enabled him and Jessica to move far away from Sunnydale, and all the strangeness that had entailed. It had also allowed them to start over.

They had cleaned up their act a little, in fact Tony had been able to get a decent job in the insurance business. He commuted downtown every day, and had also entered an AA program along with his wife.

{Yeah, things are definitely looking up for me.} Harris thought as he got out of the car, confident he would get to his office on time.

But it was rather telling that he and Jessica hadn't thought of their son for a *very* long time, ever since San Francisco. Also, he had forgot that Wolfram & Hart never forgot debts incurred.

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:23 AM local time, 9:23 AM EDT

Buffy came into the living room from the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in her hands. Although she had a Slayer's metabolism, she still needed a stimulant in the morning to get her juices flowing. Once she had been sure that whatever was happening wasn't supernatural in nature, Buffy had insisted on getting her caffeine fix.

"So what are they saying?" she asked, as the Chosen One sat down on the couch next to Dawn and her mother.

"They're talking about a car bomb on Wall Street," Joyce answered. "They're also talking about planes landing all over the country."

Buffy nodded. She took another sip from the coffee and stared at the TV screen.

Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 9:25 AM local time, 9:25 AM EDT

"So, we've got all the planes accounted for?" the bearded man asked.

Esther Marcum nodded her. "Yes, Scheuer. All the ones in the air are in a holding pattern over the northeast."

"Are they ready at Andrews?" Hollins asked, leaning forward to make sure he could be heard over the speaker phone.

"Yes, everything's in place. They're ready to process all the terrorists and then fly them to Gitmo," Rumsfeld's voice came through the speaker.

"Well, as amusing as it might be to keep him airborne, I suppose I should call Cleburne and tell him the fun part is over and it's time to land," Esther said as she reached for a telephone.

United Airlines Flight 11, somewhere over Pennsylvania. 9:27 AM local time, 9:27 AM EDT

"Esther, it's nice to know you remembered," Cleburne said in a joking tone. "What's the status of events on the ground?"

Xander watched as Cleburne listened to Marcum for a few seconds. "Really? Damn," the Marine colonel muttered. "All right, I'll get everyone headed to the collection site." He disconnected the cell phone.

"Problem?" Xander asked.

"Car bomb on Wall Street," Cleburne explained.

"What? But - how, that didn't happen..." Xander said in confusion, suddenly feeling sick in his stomach.

Cleburne glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot who didn't know the big secret. "Kid, don't blame yourself. We both know history has been changing a lot for the past year or so, and this is just an extension of that. I'm telling you, this isn't something you could have foreseen happening; hell, even I didn't see it coming. So you are not allowed to blame yourself for it. Understand?" he commanded.

"But-" Xander started.

"No. End of discussion," Cleburne interrupted him. "Besides, we've done good today. Whole lotta people who otherwise would've died at the World Trade Center are gonna live. So I'd put that in the plus column."

Xander slowly nodded. "We're landing?"

Before Cleburne could answer, there was a commotion at the curtain separating the first class cabin from the rest of the plane.

"Ma'am, ma'am, please come back to your seat!" a stewardess called out from the back.

But the curtain parted, and an elderly woman came through. "I want to know what's going on! When are we going to arrive in Los Angeles?" she demanded.

Her appearance distracted the Siberian guard closest to the curtain. Unfortunately, that was the moment the people in the first class cabin discovered that there weren't as many terrorists under guard as they had believed after all.

One of the dead bodies jumped up and screamed, dashing forward, a glint of light reflecting off the knife in his hand. The elderly woman saw him coming and started backwards, but she stumbled and fell against the cabin wall. The Siberian reached out to stop the bad guy, but he managed to slash forward before being grabbed.

The terrorist was jerked backwards and gripped around the neck as Xander and Cleburne rushed down the aisle. "Watch the others!" Cleburne shouted out, referring to the other terrorist prisoners.

The bad guy struggled for a second and stabbed backwards with the knife, getting a good hit on the commando. The Siberian fell back into one of the seats with a grunt, bleeding heavily. The terrorist subsequently turned around and faced the oncoming Xander and Cleburne.

Harris got to him first, raising his left arm as the terrorist slashed at him. He used the Jeet Kune Do techniques Cleburne had taught him as Xander felt a stinging sensation, instantly telling him the weapon had grazed him slightly. He quickly struck forward with his right hand, grabbing the knife-wielding arm. The Timetripper then pulled his opponent forward. As the terrorist fell towards Xander, the knife searching for a vital spot, Harris hit him in the throat; then the young man grabbed his enemy's chin and neck and twisted viciously.

There was a sharp *crack* heard throughout the plane cabin, as the terrorist's corpse fell to the floor. Really dead this time.

The old woman started screaming in pain as she held her hands to her neck, where the good guys could see blood seeping through. Xander hurried forward, trying to help stem the flow of the blood and ignoring his own minor injury. He was joined quickly by Cleburne and one of the STW medics.

"Damn. We need to get her to a hospital," the medic said.

"How quickly?" Cleburne asked.

"Now," Xander barked out.

Cleburne nodded. He turned up the aisle to the other Siberians. "Tell the pilot to land immediately, closest airport with a hospital. I'm declaring a medical emergency!"

NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. 9:28 AM local time, 9:28 AM EDT

Tom Brokaw pulled his chair closer to the desk. He looked over at the set manager who nodded. He could see the manager talk into his headpiece. After a few seconds, the manager pointed at Brokaw, indicating he was on the air.

"Good morning, I'm Tom Brokaw. For those of you who've just tuned in, there are a number of major developments occurring in the eastern United States today. We still don't know why, but now it can not be denied that the FAA has ordered the grounding of every civilian aircraft in American airspace. We are also receiving reports of Army troops in the streets of New York City and Washington D.C."

He went on, "However, the main story so far this morning concerns reports coming in of a car bomb going off on Wall Street. There are reports of many casualties and fatalities. We cross now to our reporters, live on the streets of Manhattan."

Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. 9:29 AM local time, 9:29 AM EDT

"Where are they headed?" Rumsfeld asked, the whole room having heard Cleburne's report about what was going on up in the sky.

"Baltimore is the closet airport," an Air Force officer responded.

"Not Andrews?" Rumsfeld demanded.

"No sir, apparently the medical emergency necessitates for them to land immediately," was the other man's reply.

"Damn it, what are they planning to do with the terrorists - have them sit on the tarmac while a couple of taxis come to pick them up?" Rumsfeld said, clearly irritated at the turn of events.

"Sir, there is another option. An Air National Guard base at the airport in Baltimore," an Air Force Colonel sitting nearby said.

"All right. Someone call the commander over there to let him know that he's got some special guests coming," the Secretary of Defense announced.

WBAL control room, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:30 AM local time, 9:30 AM EDT

The news director listened attentively to the message passed to him over the phone. "You sure?" He listened a few more seconds, nodded and hung up.

"Okay, someone call the news chopper. One of those planes that everyone is saying has terrorists on board is supposed to be landing out at the airport in the next few minutes. Someone's hurt and they called for an ambulance to meet the plane."

Disney World, Orlando, Florida. 9:31 AM local time, 9:31 AM EDT

The female attendant in one of the booths that cars went through to get into Disney World leaned out, and took the money from the family entering the amusement park. In the back of the booth a radio blared out music, interrupted every once in a while with news bulletins of the extraordinary things happening all around the country this morning.

Still, families were continuing to come to one of the happiest places on Earth.

The car she had just taken the toll from drove on towards the park, so the attendant turned back to the road leading to the park. Then the young woman blinked at what she saw coming.

A U-Haul truck was speeding straight towards her. { Now that's odd, who brings a rental truck to an amusement park? } she thought to herself.

"Hey!" the attendant shouted out as she realized it wasn't slowing down. It wouldn't fit through the entrance. "STOP!" She started waving her arms, trying to get it to slow down.

The truck didn't slow down though, instead it accelerated. The attendant ran out of the booth, afraid the truck was going to ram it. At the last moment though, the truck veered to the right and just clipped the booth as it went around on the outside.

There was the loud pop and a blast of air of a tire being deflated as the truck drove over some spikes designed to stop cars from coming in without paying. The driver clearly had a struggle for a few moments, but he managed to regain control and the truck continued speeding down the road to the main entrance of the park.

The attendant stared at it as some of the other attendants ran over to help her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, what the hell was all that about?"

"Don't know, guess they really wanted to get in without paying or something. But don't worry, Felicia's calling security. They'll take care of it down the road."

The woman nodded and let them lead her to another booth to sit down.

Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:32 AM local time, 9:32 AM EDT

"Let's go!" the paramedic yelled at the driver as he sat at the break room table. "We got a code red!"

The driver was instantly up and running towards the ambulance. "What's the sitch?" he asked as he started up the vehicle.

"Tower just called, they've got a plane coming in. Passenger with a stab wound on it."

United Airlines Flight 11, approaching Baltimore, Maryland. 9:33 AM local time, 9:33 AM EDT

"This is the captain speaking. Ladies and gentlemen, we're starting our descent, so please remain seated and make sure your seat belts are fastened securely," the pilot said over the intercom, as Xander and the medic worked to stem the bleeding from the old woman's neck.

NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. The same time

Tom Brokaw paused in his description of events and listened to what was being told him through the earpiece he was wearing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm told that we are now about to cross live to our affiliate WBAL in Baltimore, for news concerning one of the planes that an attempted hijacking took place on."

Disney World, Orlando, Florida. 9:34 AM local time, 9:34 AM EDT

The attendant who a few minutes earlier had been forced to flee her booth sat in another one, awaiting word from security about the truck.

At that moment, she heard a large explosion. Looking up, she saw a fireball off in the distance as one of America's most famous icons was destroyed. Only then did the young woman connect what had happened with the news reports that she had been hearing on the radio all morning.

Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:35 AM local time, 9:35 AM EDT

The ambulance sped down the runway. "Slow down!" the paramedic said in the back, checking his equipment. "We don't want to get in the way of the plane landing."

"Well, what about that news chopper?" the driver asked, nodding at a helicopter hovering near the runway.

Inside the WBAL traffic helicopter. The same time

"There it is!" the reporter shouted and pointed at the landing aircraft. The cameraman zoomed in on the plane.

Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time

"Mr. Secretary, we have a situation," a Navy officer called out.

Rumsfeld came over and looked at the monitor the officer had indicated. His relatively good mood instantly vanished.

"Damn it! Someone get the National Guard commander at the Baltimore airport on the phone!" he snarled as the image of the airliner landing unfolded on the screen. The caption on the screen read 'Live from Baltimore'. "And whoever decided to pull a stunt like this, I want their balls in a blender as well!"

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time

The three Summers women watched the image feed live from the East Coast as the reporter narrated. Then Buffy leaned forward as the camera focused in on the airliner, her face growing paler by the second.

"That...that plane looks just like the one from my dream the other night."

United Airlines Flight 11, Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore. 9:36 AM local time, 9:36 AM EDT

The airliner shuddered as the wheels made contact with the runway. Everyone in the plane could feel the brakes being applied, as they felt the force of the landing pulling them forward.

The plane quickly slowed down and taxied to the end of the runway.

Even before the plane had come to a complete stop, the medic was already getting up. "Come on, lift her carefully and let's get her to the damn ambulance!" Xander nodded and stood up himself. Three other Siberians helped him carry the elderly woman.

Nearby, Cleburne was giving orders. "As soon as she's off the plane, I want these three losers off as well. Don't put up with any attitude from them. Everyone else stays on board till we get everything sorted out on the ground." He made his way to the door.

He lifted the bar to open the hatch. The door opened and he looked out. "Ambulance is here and they're moving the stairway up to the plane, you guys ready?"

"Yeah, now get out of the way!" Xander said as Cleburne scooted to the side.

Harris and the others hurried out with their precious cargo. Xander, holding the woman's shoulders, was one of the ones out in front. He stepped through the door, along with the other Siberians who were carrying the wounded passenger.

And suddenly, for some people, the entire world changed.

WBAL traffic helicopter nearby. The same time

"There, they're coming out!" the cameraman shouted as he zoomed in on the now open door and people started coming out.

"Donna, right now there are several men exiting the plane, and they look to be carrying someone. An ambulance has driven up to the airliner and the paramedics are hurrying to meet them. Also, there are several military jeeps converging into the area," the reporter narrated as the cameraman filmed the whole scene and broadcast it out to the world.

Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time

"No, God damn it!" Rumsfeld shouted as he watched the video monitor. He almost lost it completely - because the U.S. Secretary of Defense could see Xander's face *very* clearly, live on national TV. "Get me Baltimore on the phone, RIGHT NOW!"

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California, The same time

Joyce stared at the television in pure disbelief. "Oh dear God! That looks like-"

"Xander."

Joyce turned and saw that Buffy was now standing in the middle of the room, staring at the screen, completely ashen with her jaw nearly on the floor. She finally stammered, "My dream, it's my dream, it's all really happening..."

Dawn blinked at what she saw. "Buffy, Mom," she whispered. "How the hell is this possible?"

Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. The same time

Rupert Giles had gotten up early before attempting to contact the Council for help, but with little success as expected. He'd then planned to head off for work at the Magic Box, but right now the Englishman was sipping a cup of tea instead as he earnestly watched the unfolding events on TV. Unfortunately Giles was watching CBS at the moment, instead of NBC, so he was unaware of what was going on in Baltimore at that precise instant.

UC Sunnydale dormitory, Sunnydale, California. The same time

"Honey?" Tara asked Willow, who had a *very* unique expression on her face.

The red-haired witch was sitting on the bed staring intently at the TV. "Is it recording?"

"What?" Tara asked.

"Is it recording, the VCR, is it recording this?!" she demanded.

Tara hurriedly looked at the aforementioned device. "Yes it is." She looked again at the screen. "Say, doesn't that look like..." She stopped, turned and looked at Willow.

The redhead was still watching the TV screen, tears of joy and pain starting to run down her cheeks. "Oh, Goddess..."

The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. The same time

No TV set or radio was on in the lobby of the Angel Investigations headquarters, as the majority of the Fang Gang learned about Cordelia's vision. They were all unaware of what was being viewed by their counterparts in Sunnydale. This would in fact be very problematic for them in the days to come.

"We're saving *who*?" Gunn asked in shock.

"Wolfram & Hart?" Wesley asked with a similar amount of shock.

"I know, it sounds insane - but a whole bunch of people will die if we don't do anything. I'm guessing at least one of them must be an innocent bystander or a good guy, for the Powers to send us a warning about it," Angel said with a shrug. He had no way to know that Jasmine had in fact deliberately sent that vision to Cordy for another reason.

In the grand scheme of things the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart still had a major role to play in her plans, and the rogue Power didn't want it destroyed. Yet.

"When did being a good guy become so goddamn complicated?" Gunn muttered to himself.

Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:37 AM local time, 9:37 AM EDT

"Over here!" the paramedic called out. Xander and the others carried the woman to meet the gurney that he and the ambulance driver were wheeling halfway.

"What happened?" the driver asked.

"Knife wound to the side of the neck, nicked a vein. She's lost quite a lot of blood," the Siberian medic explained.

"Okay, we've got her," the paramedic said as the group hurriedly wheeled her towards the ambulance. "When we get her inside, I want you to set up a fresh I.V. Gonna need a blood type too. Get her on a line of Wringer's lactate, and for God's sake watch out for hyper-bulimic shock..."

Back at the plane, Cleburne stepped out and then stood aside as the prisoners were half-walked and half-dragged out of the airliner. He surveyed the scene, frowning when he noticed the hovering helicopter. He pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"I want that helo out of my sky. Right now," he growled into the phone.

Rural South Carolina. The same time

"That looks like Joshua," Elaine Cleburne noted as the picture on the screen panned over to the plane to get the image of the terrorists being taken off to their richly-deserved reward.

Daniel Cleburne nodded as he put down his coffee mug. "It is, I'd know that troublemaker boy of mine anywhere. Heh, at least he looks well. Oh, that reminds me, are he and his friends coming for Thanksgiving?"

Elaine leaned against the counter where the kitchen sink was. "I don't know. We might want to call and ask him."

"Yeah. Best wait until tomorrow though, he'll probably be busy the rest of the day with paperwork and everything," Daniel observed.

Los Angeles, California. The same time

Ametila sat on the couch in her apartment watching the news. The phone on the table rang and she reached over to pick it up, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Hello?"

"Sweetie, it's me."

"Red, where are you? Are you all right?" she almost screamed into the mouthpiece.

"I'm fine. I'm at work right now, but I just wanted to call to let you know that I'm okay," Red answered quickly.

"What's going on?" the demoness said, her concerns being somewhat assuaged by the comforting words.

"Sweetie, I can't go into much into it right now. I'm still wrapping up my end of it, but I'll tell you what I can when I get the chance."

"Promise?" Ametila asked in a soft voice.

"Promise sweetie, now I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, if not sooner. I love you," Red responded.

"I love you too," Ametila said before Red hung up.

Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 9:38 AM local time, 9:38 AM EDT

"This is going out nationwide, I take it?" President Bush asked, as he watched the TV screen.

"Yes, Mr. President," Esther answered over the speakerphone. "Unfortunately, we were unable to secure the airport in the little time that we had available."

"Well. I'd imagine that you're not happy with your people being seen in public like this, are you?" Bush asked in a snarky tone of voice.

"No sir, and Secretary Rumsfeld isn't happy either," Marcum answered. "In fact, I suspect that he and Colonel Cleburne are in a race to see which one of them can get that news chopper down first."

"Right. Well, I'd best make a phone call to the president of NBC, try to get him to pull the video footage since it shows undercover government agents in public," Bush said thoughtfully.

The aide named Henrick walked up next to George Bush. "Mr. President, your brother is on the phone. Something's happened in Florida."

Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:39 AM local time, 9:39 AM EDT

The paramedics were finally ready to go, having stabilised their patient after they'd pushed the gurney into the ambulance and closed the back doors. The driver subsequently rushed to the front and the ambulance sped off, siren screaming.

Xander and the STW medic watched the ambulance depart. "I hope she makes it," Harris commented.

"So do I," the medic replied. "Hate to get this far in the mission only to lose someone now," he added.

They both turned and headed to the jeep where Cleburne was. The Marine colonel was coordinating getting the prisoners to a secure location while at the same time seeing to the welfare of the passengers. His mood had clearly darkened from a short while earlier, and the medic took that as his cue to split as soon as possible.

It didn't help that the whole scene was still being watched by the news chopper, up above.

"Don't look up. And I really mean it," Cleburne growled as they approached him. "That damn newshound is broadcasting our little performance to the entire world!"

"Should I get a Hollywood agent, then?" Xander asked innocently, even as he felt concern at the thought of his face being seen by the general public like that. It was almost enough to make Harris wish he had taken up that offer for plastic surgery, back when he'd practically been a prisoner and constantly moving around in STW's safehouses.

The remark just earned him a glare from the Siberian director of operations. "Yeah, maybe not. So what's the word on the other planes?" Xander asked.

"Heading to Andrews. They'll ship the bad guys down to Gitmo, send the civilians on their way and then meet up with us in Richmond," Cleburne explained. "Ah, good, I see someone is finally doing something about our snooper."

High above them, the news reporter was startled to feel the helicopter start to move away from the airport. "Hey, what's going on? Go back!" he shouted to the pilot.

"No way, man, I'm not playing games anymore!" the pilot shouted back, shaking his head. "We're already violating FAA orders, I'll be lucky if they don't take away my license for this. As it is, they're sure to give me a huge fine and a permanent black mark on my record; so last thing I want is someone in that thing over there getting trigger-happy!"

The reporter looked out at where the pilot was nodding and saw an U.S. Apache attack helicopter hovering ominously nearby. The man instantly cursed, for once not caring if he was on the air or not.

The cameraman leaned back. "Studio wants us back there ASAP. They want the footage we shot."

The reporter smiled, thinking he had finally gotten his big break in this business. But down below them, Cleburne smiled too. "Well, that's one problem half solved. Esther is taking care of the rest."

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California. The same time

Buffy stood still in the middle of the living room, staring at the TV screen as it returned to a picture of Tom Brokaw. Joyce and Dawn glanced from the TV set to the Slayer, as Tom started talking in the background.

"Maybe, maybe that could have just been someone..." Joyce started.

"No, it was Xander," Buffy said, already knowing what her mother was about to say. "I've seen him too often in my dreams lately to be mistaken."

"But how?" Dawn asked in confusion, still unable to deal with this ultimate shocking revelation from a few seconds ago.

"I don't know, but what's just happened - the plane, the ambulance, everything took place and turned out just like it did in the dream. It's real, he's the real Xander. I'm sure of it." The phone rang as Buffy finished her statement.

Dawn picked it up. "Hello?" She jerked the phone away from her ear as a torrent of Willow-babble issued from it. A couple of words could be picked out, prominent among them was 'Xander'. "I think it's for you," the Key said simply as she held the phone out to her sister.

Buffy took it. "Yeah, I saw him," she said when she finally had the chance. "You and Tara saw it too? It *was* Xander."

She listened for a few seconds, as Dawn watched her big sister frown. The brunette teenager then couldn't help it, she was suddenly a true believer; that Xander Harris had somehow come back from the dead. Her heart was instantly filled with pure joy, as ancient fantasies of becoming 'Dawn Harris' one day returned to the fore of her mind.

"I don't know how, but Willow, I *know* that it was him," the Slayer said with fierce determination. She listened for a little bit more. "What, you actually have the whole thing on tape? That's great!" Buffy thought for a few seconds. "Bring the tape over to my house, I wanna see it all again so we can decide what to do next."

Wall Street, New York City, New York. 9:40 AM local time, 9:40 AM EDT

The news reporter glanced over his shoulder to make sure the cameraman, well camerawoman actually, was still with him. The two of them had been hurrying up and down the street for the last half hour, dodging the police and emergency services. They had gotten some good pictures from today's events, but the reporter understood enough about his trade that most of them would never make it out over the airwaves. He knew that the networks didn't like to show too much gore and death during prime time viewing.

The advertisers sure as hell didn't like it, and they were the ones with the big bank accounts here. Money talks, and all that.

However, all of the scenes and reporting would be seen by the powers that controlled who advanced in the news business. So making a good impression in that department could definitely have benefits down the road for him.

Then the reporter saw opportunity walking down the street straight towards him.

The reporter hurriedly got the attention of the studio. "Put me on the air, I don't care what else is happening at the moment. Just do it, do it now!"

He got the go-ahead, and the camerawoman gave him her thumbs-up. "Mr. Mayor! Mayor Giuliani!" the reporter shouted out as his quarry stopped and looked at him. "What's going on? Can you tell us anything about what's happened this morning?"

Rudy Giuliani was holding an oxygen mask near his face, all the dust from the explosion had made it difficult for some people to breathe. He pulled himself together, and the reporter marvelled at how his entire demeanour seemed to change once the Mayor saw the camera and the wily old pro got into character.

"My fellow New Yorkers, it's my duty to inform you that our city has just come under direct attack from hostile forces. Most likely you've already heard what happened here on Wall Street half an hour ago, but in addition to that someone just tried to drive a car bomb into the New York Stock Exchange. Luckily, they failed as they couldn't get close enough, but they blew themselves up when their way was blocked. Thus, there have been..." His voice caught for a second. "There have been many deaths in the past hour or so."

"Do we know who's behind all this?" the reporter leaned in to ask the question even as he scuttled backwards.

"The NYPD has been in touch with the FBI. They've informed me that it's the work of an extremist group called al-Qaeda," the mayor explained.

All around the nation, a truly black hatred was born in the hearts of many Americans for Osama bin Laden's terrorist organization upon hearing the New York politician's words. In the White House President Bush frowned for a moment, deciding to make a small but important change to his own speech that he knew he was going to have to make soon.

"What about the planes?" the reporter shouted out over the blare of an ambulance's siren.

"Apparently, they were intending to hijack them and crash them into the twin towers at the World Trade Center. Those animals wanted to kill as many innocents as they could..." An aide hurried up to the mayor and whispered into his ear.

"Oh dear God, no," Rudy Giuliani actually said in shock live on air, and everyone watching had no doubts that the nightmare had just gotten worse after seeing the typical reassuring mask crumble for a moment.

Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 9:42 AM local time, 9:42 AM EDT

"How many dead?" Bush asked in disbelief, incredulous at how this day was turning out so far. { It wasn't supposed to be like this, damn it! I thought we were on top of this thing! }

"They're still trying to get an estimate, sir. At least thirty confirmed so far, but that number is sure to go higher. The bomb exploded at full force near one of the entranceways. There was quite a bit of wreckage and confusion," the aide named Hembree answered.

"Why Disney World?" Rice asked.

"It is - it *was* a high-profile target, one that was relatively easily accessible," Irving Hollins answered over the speakerphone. "Not to mention, it had the added attraction of potentially numerous civilian deaths."

"The whole world knows Mickey Mouse. Every child in the world loves him," Clarke commented. "Outside of every McDonalds or Coca Cola plant in the world, nothing screams 'America' more."

"What about the other bombs and bombers?" Bush asked, glancing at one of the videoconference screens, in particular he was looking at the one with the FBI Counter-Terrorism Command center showing.

.

"We've got the ones in Washington, San Francisco, Denver and Philadelphia in custody," Mueller, the FBI Director, answered.

"We should have every single one of them in custody!" Bush growled.

"We've accounted for everyone we knew of, sir," Mueller answered. "We had no indication of any operation going on in Florida."

"Damn it! The ones we don't know about are killing people, American citizens! What can we do to stop any more?" Bush clearly was angry.

"The raids against their support networks here should help. The agents serving the warrants have been ordered to look for anything that might lead to other bombers," John Ashcroft said from his screen.

"That'll be too late, I believe. In my estimation all of the bombings will be carried out before noon," Hollins commented through the speakerphone.

Hembree idly wondered why this person only used a speakerphone instead of video conference like the others. But then, his was not reason why; his was just to serve the President as best as he could.

"So what do we have?" Rice asked.

"Prayer, and the hope that the local police departments can spot them before it's too late," Clarke said.

Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:44 AM local time, 9:44 AM EDT

One of the cell phones on the hood of the jeep started ringing. Xander leaned back from the front seat, noticing the four such phones that Cleburne had spread out on the hood.

"Old man, I know you like to stay in touch by letting your fingers do the walking, but don't you think four cell phones in addition to the one you've been carrying around is a bit much?" Xander joked.

"Not mine," Cleburne said back as he reached for the ringing cell phone. "Took these off the bad guys. They were chatting back and forth a lot before the big show."

Joshua answered the phone in a noncommittal tone. "Yeah?" He listened for a few seconds as Xander heard voices coming from the other end, and he was clearly able to make out how it wasn't English coming out of the cell phone.

The Marine colonel rolled his eyes, barely keeping his exasperation in check. "Listen up Omar, or Abdul, or whatever the hell your name is. Tell Osama that he got to throw the first punch. But he missed, and it's our turn now. Tell him..." Cleburne thought for a second, smiled and continued. "You tell 'em I'm coming and Hell's coming with me. You hear? Hell's coming with me." Cleburne disconnected the phone. "I loved that movie."

Xander looked at Cleburne with a questioning look on his face.

"Tombstone," the older man explained.

Xander's look didn't change.

"You've never seen one of the greatest Wild West movies of all time?" Cleburne asked incredulously.

Xander shook his head. "No. Used to be a fan of Westerns up until my junior year of high school, but after I met Ampata the Inca Mummy Girl." Xander trailed off, shaking his head. That International Dance wasn't exactly a pleasant memory for him. "Guess I just kinda lost interest in 'em."

"Kid, after you sober up tomorrow, you're watching the DVD of the movie, consider that an order." Cleburne turned away as he gathered up the remaining cell phones, thinking he'd have to do some more digging into Xander's past soon. {Inca Mummy Girl. Hmmmmm.}

Southeast Afghanistan. The same time

The overweight, bearded man with a birthmark on his forehead disconnected the cell phone and looked out over the mountains.

The small group looked at him expectantly, in the middle was a tall and skinny bearded man.

It was to him that the man spoke.

"Something's gone wrong."

Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 9:45 AM local time, 9:45 AM EDT

"Senator Lugar," the aide said from the doorway.

"Yes, Michael?" the silver-haired man looking out the window responded.

"The Minority Leader's office called, there's going to be a joint session at six this evening. Presidential speech."

The older man nodded. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

Brooklyn, New York City, New York. 9:47 AM local time, 9:47 AM EDT

The crowd craned their necks to try and see past the police barricades. The street was filled with police vans and cruisers. Officers in body armour milled around, with a corner convenience store as their focus.

Out of the store, several men were brought out in handcuffs and taken to a police van. As they were loaded into the vehicle, police officers started carrying out boxes of papers from the store.

Daley Plaza, Chicago, Illinois. 8:55 AM local time, 9:55 AM EDT

Large numbers of people were exiting from the buildings around the plaza. A lot of employers had decided to send their employees home in light of the extraordinary events happening throughout the country today. Thus, the plaza was packed with people heading off home.

Needless to say, this was causing problems for Officers Ted Ball and Patricia Garrett of Chicago's finest. The two of them had been sent to the plaza on crowd detail, and so far they were not enjoying themselves.

"Okay, move along, please proceed in an orderly manner!" Ball shouted as he motioned the crowd along. "Of course, they would all decide to go home at once," he muttered.

"Well, it's not like they planned it this way," Garrett said as she helped up a middle-aged woman who had tripped. "Please be more careful, ma'am."

"Only your second day on the job and already you get to deal with a potential riot, huh?" Ball declared as the middle-aged woman departed.

"This is nothing, you should see the crowd at the livestock show at the Iowa State Fair," Garrett said.

Ball could swear that he heard the capital letters in 'state fair'. However his response was prevented from being heard by the insistent honking of a horn on the street. "Great. Now what?" Ted grumbled as the two police officers walked over to answer that question.

A white painters van was trying to navigate through all the pedestrians crossing the street.

"Hey, hold it right there, let the people cross the street!" Ball shouted at the two painters in the van. The look on their faces showed a combination of apprehension, fear, anger and unease.

Trish Garrett looked at the two men sitting in the front of the van. They were dressed as painters and were both dark-skinned. At first she thought Latino, after all there were plenty of Latino painters in Chicago. Then she noticed something funny about the driver's right arm.

There was a wire running from his arm to lower in the van. She looked closer and saw some kind of plastic-mounted button was hanging loosely in his hand as it leaned against the steering wheel.

In the next split second, Trish remembered the warning about car bombs broadcast over the police radio nets earlier. She felt the crowd of people flowing all around her. She looked at the face of the driver, and suddenly she just *knew*.

Her right hand pulled the pistol out of her hip holster effortlessly and moved to meet the left hand. The female cop sighted in quickly. Three gunshots then rang out in quick succession. Three red blotchy dots appeared on the driver's forehead, as it jerked backwards from the deep impacts.

For a second, the street was quiet. Then the screaming started.

"Garrett! What the-" Ball shouted out.

"Bomb, they've got a bomb in there!" she shouted back.

The passenger of the van was stunned for a second. She saw him stare at her, before start to reach over towards the driver. So Trish fired two more times.

The passenger started screaming and cursing in Arabic as blood erupted from his left shoulder as he fell back into his seat. "Get him out, get him out of there!" Garrett shouted as she hurried to the door. It was locked, so she busted the window with the butt of her pistol.

By this time Ball had joined her, and two of them started to pull the passenger out of there. Ted had to reach in to unbuckle the seatbelt, the passenger resisting all the while. The seat belt undone, the two cops dragged him out. He was quickly thrown to the ground.

"Don't move! You are under arrest. Anything you say..." Trish proceeded to read the prisoner his rights as she cuffed him, precisely according to the book.

"You had better be right about..." Ball started as he looked through the broken window, but his voice trailed off. "Holy mother of God!"

His hand fumbled a bit as it hurriedly grabbed the radio microphone on his vest. "Dispatch, this is Two-L-19, we've got a car bomb at Daley Plaza. I repeat, we have a car bomb, shots fired and the driver is down, one accomplice in custody. Requesting immediate assistance, Dispatch, send the bomb squad over here right now!"

Los Angeles, California. 7:05 AM local time, 10:05 AM EDT

The brown van went down the exit ramp on the city street. "Turn right," the passenger said to the driver.

The other man thought he did as he was told, as did the passenger, but in actuality they turned left. "Why these lawyers, I wonder? There are so many other infidels in this city that would make better targets," the driver commented.

"It doesn't matter, this target was personally selected by the leader. It is not our place to question his decisions," the passenger said harshly.

The driver nodded and turned all his attention back to navigating the city streets, he had been in the organization long enough to know when not to ask questions.

However, both the driver and passenger would have been wise to question their own senses.

Pripet Marshes, outside of Kiev, Ukraine. 5:25 PM local time, 10:25 AM EDT

The male teenager pulled at the reins on the donkey. He wanted to be home before sunset. In this part of the world, he like so many others didn't like being out and about after the sun had gone down.

A thumping sound came across the marshes, and the donkey clearly got scared. The boy tried to calm the animal down, muttering at it in Ukrainian. Another thumping sound was heard. The youth looked around, his eyes turning to the north.

He stopped and his mouth dropped open, as he looked off into the distance.

It was a wooden cabin, a cabin on chicken legs, high up off the ground. The cabin had no doors or windows.

What shocked the male teen was the fact that the cabin was actually moving. The house was being propelled by the chicken legs. Each step of the legs resulted in a thumping sound, which explained what he'd just heard.

The cabin was moving at a crisp pace towards the sunset. The boy followed the cabin with his eyes until it was out of sight.

"Baba Yaga," the boy whispered, before he started whipping the donkey as fast as he could to get home.

FBI Counter-Terrorist Command Center, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C. 10:37 AM local time, 10:37 AM EDT

"So we know now that Chicago was also a target," FBI Director Mueller said.

"Yes sir. We identified one of the two men in the vans as having entered the country last month. He was on one of the watch lists, actually," an aide answered.

"So why the hell didn't we catch him when he came into the country?" Mueller demanded.

"The list that Immigration had wasn't updated, unfortunately. They had been sent an update list, but they hadn't gotten around to giving it to the border control officers," the aide explained.

Mueller bit back a curse, there would be time for assigning blame and consequences later. For now, other things had to take priority.

"Okay, who else have they missed so far?" Mueller asked. "I mean, it's been one bomb per city according to what we've seen this morning. So what city haven't they tried anything in yet?"

Agent Malcolm Fletcher was staring at a map of the United States. "Los Angeles."

Mueller nodded, his stomach starting to generate a lot of acid. "Los Angeles."

Los Angeles, California. The same time

Cordelia and Angel waited behind a concrete barrier. A van was parked and the shadow it cast shielded the ensouled vampire from the rising sun.

The meeting with regard to what to do about Cordelia's vision had broken up less than an hour ago, after some intense argument on how to prevent that van from exploding outside the realm of the evil lawyers. Wesley had suggested just informing Lilah or Gavin or whoever about what would happen to the demonic law firm, and let their internal security deal with the upcoming threat.

But as Cordelia had pointed out, that option just wasn't *sure* enough. Not to mention there might be...negative side-effects from dealing directly with the enemy that way, such as collateral damage on the street. If their backs had been up against the wall Angel's Avengers might have been willing to take the risk of an overenthusiastic SWAT team member opening fire and maybe hitting the Spring Street pedestrians, but not under these circumstances.

So Angel had asked for suggestions. Darla had said that maybe they should just send an anonymous phone message to the LAPD, and let them handle it. But Gunn had quickly vetoed that idea, knowing how busy the cops were these days and how easily such phone calls could be traced as well, the distrust the police force had bred over the years coming back to haunt all involved.

And that was when Cordelia had come up with her own particular brand of genius.

"You've got to be kidding," Angel had said in disbelief after hearing the brunette seer's idea.

"No, I'm *not* kidding. What? I think it'll work," Cordy had told her boss in annoyance. "What makes you automatically think it wouldn't work?"

"Well, they'll notice what we're doing, for starters," Wesley had said simply.

"Hey, people are fooled every day. They can be tricked," Charles had said thoughtfully.

"This'll take more than just changing some street signs. They'll notice," Angel had riposted.

"We only need to confuse them for a little bit. How you're going to scare them into giving up is what I'm worried about," Darla had said as she propped up her feet. "It's not like you can just point a big cannon at them."

"Why not?" Cordelia had asked. "Or something similar..." She had then told them her new idea.

Angel had frowned after she finished up. "Okay, having been on the receiving end of one of those, I can say that they *are* pretty intimidating. But, where do we get one?"

Gunn had spoken up, "Guy passed through from Compton while back, said to my boys that his compadres had 'liberated' a few recently. What the hell, the gang warfare around his 'hood would explain why. So if I hurry, I might be able to find him in time for us to grab some of his loaners."

"But who do we know that's able to use those things?" Darla had asked.

"Well," Cordelia had shrugged. "How hard can it be? I mean if Buffy the blonde wonder managed to use one, I'm sure we can figure out which button to push."

The meeting had broken up in a mad scramble to get everything they needed.

Now they were all assembled. "Is this actually going to work?" Gunn asked the others.

"They're here, aren't they?" Cordy answered, nodding down. Below them, the van they'd been waiting for drove through a tunnel into the Los Angeles Sixth Street viaduct. "Good job Wes," she said into the van where Wes was chanting with Virginia Bryce.

Angel silently agreed. "Gunn, your people are up."

"On it," Gunn replied as he brought the cell phone he was carrying up to his face. "Showtime, everybody."

The sound of a diesel engine could be heard as an old bus drove out of the tunnel that the van had just come through. The bus stopped halfway and the driver could be seen to run back down the tunnel.

Along the concrete wall looking down into the viaduct, Gunn's gang members stood up. Some were armed and pointed their weapons at the van.

"Wes, that's it, we're ready now," Angel said to the chanting ex-Watcher. "End the spell."

"Stop those SOBs," Gunn ordered succinctly, after a nod from the male vampire.

"Gotcha," the gang member closest to Gunn said as he pointed a sniper rifle.

The van slowed down as the driver could be seen looking around in confusion. The sniper rifle barked out and the left front tire flattened. A second shot followed quickly and the rear left tire deflated. "Damn, I'm a good shot!" the gang member announced proudly.

"Okay, now let's scare those guys into giving up," Angel said, being careful to stay away from the sunlight.

"Here you go," Lorne said in distaste as he handed a long tube to Cordelia. Gunn picked up one also, as did two of the gang members. The ensouled vampire glanced down at the weapons being handed out that Gunn had been able to procure for this current assignment. The rocket launchers were the same kind as the one used to blow up the big blue demon known as the Judge back in 1998.

Angel could well remember that explosion as he - well, his soulless alter ego Angelus anyway - and Drusilla had dived off that mall balcony, after Buffy had blown up her enemy and huge chunks of the Judge splattered around everywhere. The heat and the noise and the sudden activation of all the sprinklers were pretty much burned into his memory.

Just like they were with Cordelia's, as a matter of fact. Holding this weapon in her hands right now reminded her greatly of her first love, during what almost seemed like the 'good old days'. Focusing though, the brunette woman quickly sighted in on the van as it sat in the middle of the viaduct.

The seconds passed by with nothing happening.

"Guys, I know the plan was for them to surrender, but maybe they don't know that," Angel said, starting to worry.

"How can they not know? I mean they're just sitting there," Cordy commented.

"Cordelia, they were on their way to blow themselves up in a van full of explosives, perhaps rationality is something which escapes them. I think we might need to explain the situation to them," Wesley said, wiping his brow as the strain of the spell had taken quite a bit out of him.

"Okay, well, then who's going to go tell them?" Cordy could see one of the terrorists peering out of the passenger window at her as she asked that. He had to be able to see all the M72 Light Anti-Armor Weapons being pointed at him that could even take out an army tank.

"Well, I can't go," Angel said. "The sun's out."

"Okay, Mr. Sun is a good excuse for you," Cordy commented acidly. "How 'bout you, Gunn?"

"Me? Somehow, I don't think these guys are gonna take kindly to a brother walking up and knocking on the window."

"No one should go near them as long as they're in that van," Wesley said. He stepped forward, sagging a little bit as he did so. Virginia Bryce placed her hands on his shoulder in concern. The former Watcher smiled at the wizard's daughter. "It's all right."

Wesley then cupped his hands around his mouth to make an impromptu megaphone. "Hello, you there in the van, you're surrounded and you can't get out of the viaduct. No one will be hurt if you carry out your mission here. You can't get to Wolfram & Hart now, and there's no point trying to continue. Step out of the vehicle and you'll not be harmed."

A silence followed.

"Ah, guys, when they surrender - what exactly do we do with them?" Gunn asked suddenly.

The Fang Gang looked at each other. "Well, I suppose we could call the police and-" Cordy started.

"Something's happening," Gunn interrupted. Below them, one of the doors of the van was opening.

Angel peered down as best as he could. Something felt wrong to him. Surviving as long as he had, he knew when to trust his gut. "Get down!" the male vampire shouted as he reached out and pulled Cordelia to safety, feeling the skin on his arm burn as he did so.

The van disintegrated with a thunderous explosion of light and sound. The bombs inside the truck ignited into an *huge* conflagration, and the two suicide bombers ceased to exist. However, with the explosion taking place down in the viaduct, no civilians were present to be hurt and no property was destroyed.

"Oh my God!" Cordy shouted as the Fang Gang and the Lost Boys picked themselves up from the ground.

"Damn, they blew themselves up! What the hell were they thinking?" Gunn blurted out.

"Remember, they intended to kill themselves in order to murder large numbers of innocent people. A rational person wouldn't have done so, but clearly they were not rational," Wesley said.

Angel was patting down the smoldering jacket sleeve from where his skin had been exposed to sunlight. "Mission accomplished anyway. Now let's get outta here before someone comes looking to see what happened."

Tate Student Center, University of Georgia, Georgia. 10:45 AM local time, 10:45 AM EDT

Monica Carter quickly walked across the lobby, she had a class at eleven. She had left her apartment late today because she'd gotten all wrapped up watching the news.

Throughout the student center, there were clusters of university students around hastily-erected television monitors watching the national developments. This was a day that would be long remembered in the history of the United States, after all, despite Xander's interference with the timeline.

"Monica!"

The Dance Team member turned to see Angela, a fellow Dancer, calling out to her. Monica quickly walked over to her friend.

"Did you see? Did you see?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, I was watching at the house. It's awful what happened in Florida," the blonde Buffy lookalike replied.

Angela shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. Remember that stud you hooked up with after the game on Saturday?"

Monica frowned, she *did* remember her most recent lover. She had enjoyed her time with him immensely, right up until he had stormed out of her bedroom with a pissed look on his face anyway. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, they showed some of the FBI agents getting off one of the planes after arresting the hijackers. Guess who the first one off the plane was?" Angela answered with a knowing smirk.

Realization sank in with Monica. "What? Him? You sure?"

Angela nodded with a 'cat who ate the canary' type grin. "Oh yeah, you bagged yourself a hero."

Monica, the Dancer who was also a journalism student, glanced around. She saw who she was looking for several yards away. "Hey, Vic!" she called out.

The target of her shout came over. "Yeah, Monica?"

"You work in the director of athletics office, and I need to know about some people who got field passes at the last game. Can you help me out here?"

Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. 7:57 AM local time, 10:57 AM EDT

Rupert Giles stirred his cup of tea, it had certainly been a hectic morning so far. Giles contemplated that it was probably about to get even more hectic from Willow's phone call, saying that she had something incredible to show him. Once he had managed to interrupt the stream of Willow-babble, Giles had told her to come over to his place.

A pounding on the front door instantly told Giles that Willow was here. He placed the cup down and opened the door. Willow rushed in, followed closely by Tara.

"Where's your VCR?" Willow asked, out of breath.

Giles pointed to the living room on the shelf next to the TV. Willow hurried over to it as Tara walked up next to Giles. "Did you watch NBC news earlier?" she asked.

Giles shook his head as Willow turned on the VCR and started rewinding the tape. "No, I-I was watching CBS."

"Then you'll want to see this," Willow said firmly as she pressed Play.

Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 11:07 AM local time, 11:07 AM EDT

Esther Marcum put the phone back on its cradle. "Well, Cleburne and the others from United Flight 11 are on their way to Andrews AFB. The prisoners are being transferred there as well for transport to Gitmo."

Hollins nodded. "Good, having everyone in the location we prepared for the debriefing will reduce the chances of further complications."

Marcum leaned back in the chair behind her desk. "Well, we've certainly had our share of complications so far. The President has talked to the chairman of GE, and that should take care of the video footage ever being shown on TV anymore."

"Good, that should head off Rumsfeld's and Cleburne's coronaries. Still, we don't know how many people might have recorded what they saw while they were watching it. At any rate, I've been thinking about the problem," Hollins commented.

"Go on," Esther said.

"I think our best bet would be to edit the footage, either take Mr. Harris out completely and put someone else in his place, or else alter the image to the point where he is no longer recognizable. Then we let NBC release it again."

Esther smiled. "An excellent idea." Then she frowned. "However, there will be some people who'll notice the changes."

"Hopefully, anyone who does won't realize the significance of Mr. Harris's absence," Hollins replied, not knowing that already someone did fully realize the significance of what they'd seen today.

FBI field office, Baltimore, Maryland. 11:18 AM local time, 11:18 AM EDT

"Good morning, Federal Bureau of Investigation Baltimore office. How may I direct your call?" the receptionist said.

"I'd like to talk to Xander, Xander Harris, no, wait, you may know him as Alexander, uh, Alexander Harris please," a breathless female voice said.

The receptionist waited for a second as she consulted the office directory. "I'm sorry, but there's no one by that name registered as working here at this field office."

"No, no, he was one of the agents on the plane, the plane with the terrorists, I saw it, you must have a way to get in touch with him, uh, maybe you can connect me to the agents at the airport?" was the babbled response.

"I'm sorry, we do not have anyone here by that name and as far as I know there are currently no FBI agents at the Baltimore airport." She started taking notes on the call-in log. This woman hadn't been near a television for the last couple of hours or so, and thus she was unaware of what the caller was referring to.

"Look, I know you probably have to say that, but I'm his best friend, please let me talk to him!"

"Miss-" the receptionist started.

"Look, please just tell him I called, let him know that Willow Rosenberg back in Sunnydale misses him and I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. Please tell him that, tell Xander that. Will you, will you tell him please?"

The receptionist rolled her eyes and gave in to the urge to lose her temper. "All right, that's it. Look, miss, we've got enough going on today that we don't need crank calls cluttering up the phone lines. Now I've got other calls to take, so have a nice day." She terminated the connection, wondering why days like this brought out the crazies as she tore off the sheet from the call-in log and filed it.

Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. 11:27 AM local time, 11:27 AM EDT

The military police lieutenant looked up from his clipboard. "How many?" he asked.

"Three from Flight 77," Red answered.

The lieutenant nodded and made a note on the clipboard as behind Red, the Siberian agents were escorting the three terrorists towards the holding area. The military officer looked up and frowned. "What happened to that one's nose?" he asked, waving the clipboard at the first terrorist.

"I think it got broken," Red explained simply and then pointed at the cut on of his right cheek.

"Ouch, that might leave a scar," the lieutenant muttered.

"Tell me about it," Red grumbled.

The other officer waved over to one of his MPs. "Get a corpsman to take a look at this prisoner before we transport him."

Daley Plaza, Chicago, Illinois. 10:41 AM local time, 11:41 AM EDT

The bomb disposal expert almost waddled across the plaza thanks to all the body armor he was wearing. After several minutes, he reached the bomb disposal van.

'Well?" the waiting police official asked.

The man removed his helmet and visor and took in a deep breath. "Well, we definitely need to send a thank-you note to the officers who stopped these guys. If they hadn't, it would have been ugly."

"That bad?"

The expert shook his head. "We're talking Oklahoma City, or maybe even worse. Some of these buildings wouldn't be here right now if that bomb had gone off. It was real close, the trigger was hanging from the driver's hand. A few seconds more and we would have had a salvage operation instead of a defusing one."

Outside the White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C. 12:11 PM local time, 12:11 PM EDT

"How long before we can go back inside?" one of the reporters asked.

The White House press aide rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. Once the Press Corps had figured out that they weren't going to be blown up right away, secondary concerns had become paramount in their minds.

Some of the reporters were working hard to get information in their never-ending quest for scoops and glory. They had been very *demanding* in their attempts to acquire knowledge of just what was going on.

The aide could understand that. However, some of the others were, well, just plain whining annoyances.

They wanted to know why coffee and refreshments weren't being set up for them. They complained about there being not enough shade. A couple of the reporters had actually demanded to know when the President would come out and brief them personally.

They just couldn't understand that the Man might be too busy for them at the moment.

The aide suppressed a curse, if only the public could understand how things really were in this business...

Kabul, Afghanistan. 9:05 PM local time, 12:35 PM EDT

He could feel that he was about to start sweating. He had heard the news from Northern Afghanistan and knew that the Northern Alliance would be on the move soon. Now this had happened.

"No one in Afghanistan was involved in the events in America. The Taliban are a peaceful regime."

As he spoke, he knew his image was going out around the world by videophone.

Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time

"He looks nervous," Rumsfeld commented as he watched the monitor with the video feed from Kabul on it.

"Understandable. He has to know that we aren't happy about their guest's antics today. No doubt they suspect something very bad is in store for them," said the Marine General, watching alongside the Secretary of Defense.

"Speaking of which, what's the word from General Franks?" Rumsfeld asked.

"He says that they're waiting on the execution order," was the reply.

Rumsfeld sighed. "Well, I suppose we should see to that. Get me the Situation Room."

Siberian Town House, Richmond, Virginia. 1:00 PM local time, 1:00 PM EDT

Oz walked out of the kitchen carrying two soda cans. He walked into the living room and handed one of the cans to Fred, who was watching the TV. Samantha Finn had recently shown up and was currently in the bathroom, so right now it was just the two 'exiles' on their own.

"Anything new?" the werewolf asked.

Fred shook her head. "No, we probably know more than they do. Right now, they're actually interviewing each other."

"No repeat of the footage from the airport?" Oz sat down on the couch and took a drink from his soda can.

"No, looks like Xander's nationwide TV premiere is done for the day. Maybe we'll catch it in reruns," Fred answered with a shrug.

"Somehow I doubt it," Oz replied sagely.

Fred leaned back. "At least it's over now."

"You think so?"

Fred frowned. "They got all the planes, a-a-and I don't think there are going to be any more bombs today. Xander's safe."

Oz leaned back. "This blow-up may be over. But there'll be others, the world of the old Scooby gang is like that. Well, the world of Xander Harris anyway."

"We can go out into the real world, at least sometimes, but Xander is trapped in his world," Fred said sorrowfully.

Oz actually grimaced. "Yeah, we're not trapped."

State Department Office Building, Washington D.C. 1:25 PM local time, 1:25 PM EDT

"I just don't believe it. I know Mullah Omar, and he is a man of peace," the Pakistani General Mahmoud Ahmad said. "I told the same to Director Tenet and his advisors earlier today."

Richard Armitage rolled his eyes. At first he had thought it was good luck that the general in charge of the Pakistani ISI had been scheduled to visit Washington on this particular day. A lot of red tape could be cut through quickly and all that

Of course, that was before the meeting with the good general had started. The Pakistani intelligence services had quite a bit invested in the Taliban, enough that they were willing to overlook some of their transgressions.

However, Armitage was in the process of making clear to this man that some transgressions were not worth the price of overlooking.

"General, let's stop playing games. You know as well as I do what's been going on in Afghanistan for the past few years. Your government had what it believed was good reasons to support the Taliban regime. After all, it's right there on your back doorstep. However, after today, the United States cannot overlook the actions of the Taliban and those it protects. We would not expect you to do so, if our positions were reversed."

"These actions, you claim they were the actions of bin Laden, he is not Taliban. You can't hold the Taliban responsible for his actions," was the reply from Mahmoud Ahmad.

"General, bin Laden is protected by the Taliban. The Saudis requested that he be returned to them, but the Taliban refused because he was doing their dirty work for them. Just look at that attempted assassination of Ahmad Shah Massoud."

"Attempted assassination-?"

Armitage nodded. "They missed. Not very competent, were they? In fact, the best al-Qaeda could do was blow up the entrance to an amusement park. They're someone who really knows how to be on a winning side." He leaned in close towards the Pakistani official. "My country is very angry at the moment, and rightly so. We've been attacked right here on our home soil. We will not stand for such actions, General. Bottom line, from now on - you are either with us or against us."

The Pakistani military officer sighed. { Americans. I will have to contact my president... }

Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 2:30 PM local time, 2:30 PM EDT

Condoleeza Rice looked around the hearing room full of Senators and Representatives. They were all looking at the front of the room, where an intelligence official was talking and pointing at the screen that had been set up.

She knew it was a complete dog and pony show, but sometimes that was what it took to get the facts across. These Congressmen were going to be asked to cast some important votes later on today.

Therefore, they needed to know why they were being asked to do so.

Lisbon, Portugal. 7:35 PM local time, 2:35 PM EDT

The man known as Cyrus took a drink from his glass of wine as the South African mercenary watched the television above the bar. All around the craggy blonde, the other patrons of the hotel bar were doing the same thing.

Needless to say, the events currently taking place in the United States was the subject of their attention.

Cyrus smiled as he put the glass back down. Unlike the others present, he had a fairly good idea what was going to happen now.

The Americans were no doubt very angry right at the moment. And angry Americans, well, Cyrus knew enough history to accurately guess what they would most likely do.

USS Kitty Hawk, Indian Ocean. 11:57 PM local time, 2:57 PM EDT

The Ranger lieutenant nodded to the sergeant next to him. "It's time."

The sergeant turned to the men in the briefing room. "Okay, you heard the lieutenant. Let's go." All around the room, soldiers in battle gear stood up and started heading to the door. "We've got an appointment to keep."

Spartanburg, South Carolina. 3:07 PM local time, 3:07 PM EDT

The former priest known as Caleb shook his head as he exited the diner. Everyone in there had been gaping at the idiot box, and muttering about hitting back at the terrorists. No one seemed to care about the wicked immorality that was all around them. { What's wrong with them all? }

That waitress who had been cavorting around the diner, she just begged for 'correction' and Caleb was looking forward to being the one to give it to her.

"No time for that now."

Caleb started and looked next to him. There was a small blonde young woman who hadn't been there a few moments before. Without her saying so, Caleb knew who/what he was talking to.

"She needs to be taught her proper place," Caleb said, just to test the waters.

Buffy/the First shook her/its head. "Yes, but there are other more pressing matters I need you to attend to." She started walking towards Caleb's truck. "Come on. I'll tell you all about it while you're on the road."

FBI field office, New York City, New York. 4:05 PM local time, 4:05 PM EDT

The FBI agent navigated the crowded conference room, carrying a box crammed full of papers. Around the room, other agents were going through similar boxes. "Where do you want this one?" he asked.

The SAC at the head of the table motioned. "Over there."

"There's a truck full of these downstairs," the first agent said.

The Special Agent-in-Charge sighed. "Yeah, I know. We'll be here for days going through it all, still - this stuff is pure gold. They clearly didn't expect us to come knocking when we did." He opened the box just put down in front of him. "Now let's see what we have here..."

United States Capitol Building, Washington D.C. 6:01 PM local time, 6:01 PM EDT

The House Sergeant at Arms looked around the crowded anteroom. Secret Service agents were present and packed almost wall to wall, and it was enough to make him slightly nervous.

"Are you ready, sir?" the man asked.

The subject of the question just nodded. The Sergeant at Arms turned and opened the door. He stepped through.

"Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States."

USS Cheyenne, Indian Ocean. 4:08 AM local time, 7:08 PM EDT

"Captain, flash message from Pearl Harbor!" the sailor said, handing the printout he had carried from the communications center to the captain.

The ship's commander took the sheet and looked it over. He then looked over towards the XO.

"Orders from National Command Authority. Take us out, time to bring the Tomahawks out to play."

Pakistani Air Force Base, Southern Pakistan. 4:13 AM local time, 7:13 PM EDT

The technician looked in wide-eyed disbelief at the radar screen in front of him, his face bathed in green light. He fumbled for the phone next to his elbow.

"Sir, I have multiple contacts and - now there's more of them..."

He listened for a few seconds. "Yes sir, I know what you said, but there are so many of them. Are you sure we shouldn't do something?'

Again he listened, frowning as he did so. "Yes sir. Just keep watching them. I understand, we are not to interfere in any way." He hung up the phone.

"Well?" the technician next to him said.

"No change in our orders. We watch and do nothing, as they go across our borders."

Richmond International Airport, Virginia. 7:47 PM local time, 7:47 PM EDT

The Lear jet taxied to a stop in the private hangar. As it stopped, the door opened and the built-in staircase was lowered to the tarmac. Cleburne swiftly came out of the door, followed by Xander and Gunny.

"Okay, you two, no lagging behind, we got us a bar that definitely needs visiting," Cleburne said. The three quickly walked to a nearby automobile.

Xander turned and looked back to the jet. "Hey, Red! Sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked.

Red shook his head and he leaned out of the door. "No, I've got my girlfriend waiting for me in Los Angeles. You guys enjoy yourselves, just don't get too wild." He smiled and then closed the door of the jet.

The trio got into the car. "Come on, everyone else is already there! If we're not careful they'll empty out the bar. Gunny, step on it!" Cleburne said as he closed the door.

The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 5:15 PM local time, 8:15 PM EDT

The Scoobies were assembled at Giles' magic shop. It had been a long day witnessing 9/11 and its aftermath, and the members of the gang who hadn't seen the tape before now had just been shown the video that Willow had recorded. Needless to say, the news was a shock to all the newcomers present.

"The tongue is alive?"

"Anya!" Buffy and Willow exclaimed in unison.

Giles sighed. "Ms. Jenkins, if by that remark you mean that Xander Harris is still alive, then yes - that is correct."

"But it can't be, he died when the high school blew up," Andrew said in consternation. "Even I know that!"

"Well, he didn't," Willow said firmly. "Xander's alive."

"Maybe that FBI agent just looked like him. Also, the picture was taken at a distance..." Andrew continued.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "It certainly looked like Xander to me. How sure are we that it was him?" he asked delicately.

"It's him," Buffy said with authority.

"I-it is a safe assumption, based on Buffy's Slayer dream and its reference to the 'real Xander', that we are not mistaken about the identification. Myself, Buffy, Willow, Dawn and Joyce all agree that it is him," Giles added.

"So where's he been all this time?" Anya asked, trying to figure it out and failing yet again. "It's been over two years since your high school graduation!"

"With the government, most likely, a-a-and clearly they used his future knowledge to deal with these terrorist attacks. In, in the world that Xander remembered, the attacks probably took place as well, maybe on a grander scale, and-and so he would have told the authorities what he knew to try to stop them," Giles declared, his logic as flawless as usual.

Jonathan suddenly stiffened. "Timetripper!" he then shouted, eyes wide.

"On behalf of those of us having sex on a regular basis, what?" Anya said caustically.

Jonathan was hurrying into the back room. "Come on!" he shouted.

The others followed the male Scooby to where he was in front of the store's computer, he was furiously typing on the keyboard. "I came across this site a while back, I didn't think anything much about it at the time. I thought it was just some crazy website, y'know, for entertainment only," Levinson explained.

"What website?" Tara asked.

"This one," Jonathan said as he leaned back. On the screen were the big bold letters in Gothic font, "IT'S HIM!"

"This site has been claiming that the government captured a time-traveller from the future and was using his knowledge for strategic advantage. They've made all sorts of claims about him, th-they even call him the 'Timetripper'."

"They're talking about Xander?" Willow exclaimed in disbelief.

"It would appear so. Jonathan, just h-how detailed is this, um, website?" Giles asked, his technophobic nature rearing its head again.

"Uh, like I said, it makes a lot of claims. Some of them are just too incredible to put much faith in, well - they would be, if I didn't know what I know. Like, for example, there was this thing about the Timetripper finding and drinking from the Holy Grail..."

"Can you print out anything that might help us?" Giles asked impatiently.

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I can print out copies of those entries that are archived anyway." He turned on the printer next to the computer and then started typing on the keyboard.

Giles turned to the others. "Hopefully, this information will give us some clues on how to contact Xander."

"You don't suppose those government people are mistreating him, do you? Like, roughed him up to get the information they wanted?" Willow looked worried.

"Sweetie, if they did that then he wouldn't have been on the plane," Tara said. "It looked like he was helping them voluntarily."

Giles nodded. "She's right, Willow. It, it looks like Xander is actively working with the FBI or some other government agency."

"You mean like James Bond?" Andrew spoke up excitedly. "You suppose that they helped set up faking his death, y'know, like Sean Connery in 'You Only Live Twice'?"

"Don't be such a geek, Andrew. And James Bond was the product of a pathetic misogynistic author who had no idea how to treat women as anything other than sex objects," Anya said sharply, as everyone looked at her. "I swear, that guy was really lucky that no female ever summoned me back then to totally vengeance his ass!"

"Yes, er, moving on..." Giles decided to briefly polish his glasses. "It, it seems fairly clear that Xander was able to escape from the high school before we blew it up."

"Hey, do you suppose the government kidnapped him back then?" Dawn asked excitedly from where she and Joyce were standing off to the side.

Giles thought for a second. "I...perhaps. But they would have had to set up for that beforehand, and Xander was staying with Angel...who most undoubtedly would have told us about spotting strangers hanging around his mansion. No, the government probably recruited Xander afterwards."

Willow's eyes grew wide. "Oh my Goddess. That demon!"

"What demon?" Tara asked.

"The one that looked like Xander, remember? I-I-I told you, it looked almost exactly like him. It knows all about Xander, and o-odds are it intends to harm him," Willow explained hurriedly. "We've got to do something - the, the government doesn't know how to deal with demons, that's our job! Buffy, we have to do something..." Willow was in full babble mode and didn't notice the Chosen One not responding to her plea.

Jonathan spoke up, "Not sure if this helps, but the website talks about him and demons a lot. Some of the stories talk about him fighting them, but others, well..."

"What?" Giles prodded the former geek.

"Well, one of the stories has him helping fight this demon motorcycle gang? But another one goes on about how he stood up for demon rights in some small town somewhere in Idaho. It reads like he was a demon rights activist or something," Jonathan explained.

"I see," Giles said, frowning.

"So he's pro-demon? Good, we need more people like that around here," Anya declared as Andrew winced.

Willow pressed her point. "But the government doesn't know anything about demons! They could get Xander hurt, we-we need to find him. That demon that dressed up as him, they might not know what they're dealing with!"

"Willow, don't worry. I'm sure they've taken some precautions, also we'll do everything in our power to help him," Giles said soothingly.

"Angel knew."

The group turned towards Buffy, who had been standing in the entranceway of the back room lost in thought. "Buffy, what-?" Giles asked in confusion.

"Think about it, Giles! Back at Graduation, what happened that day. If Xander's still alive out there somewhere, then that whole thing was *planned* somehow. And it had to be timed just right, otherwise Xander might have gotten himself killed back then. You blew up the school when Angel yelled at you to do it, remember? And he wouldn't have risked Xander's life like that, at least not on a spur of the moment thing. They *had* to have planned it all out ahead of time." Buffy started pacing. "In order to make it work, Xander had to be sure that we would all end up thinking he was dead. He couldn't have done that all by himself, he had to have had help..."

Buffy stopped and stared at the group. "Which means Angel must have helped Xander pull the wool over our eyes. He knew, right from the start."

"Are you sure?" Willow asked, her eyes wide.

"Yeah! Think about it, Will; even though they were roomies for a few months, Angel's known way too much about future events ever since then," Buffy replied. "I mean, that whole thing with Darla for example! You told us yourself how he knew, months before it actually happened, that she was gonna become a vampire again - and he wouldn't say *how* he knew. Angel's probably been in contact with Xander this whole time..."

Willow sputtered in incoherent amazement for a second and Tara's eyes went wide as well, before Buffy started back up again. "He knew, he knew all along and he didn't tell us. He lied, he lied to us! He lied to *me*!" She shouted that last word with a look of agonized hurt and betrayal.

The room was silent for several moments.

"Buffy..." Giles started tentatively, even though he was pretty sure his Slayer didn't want to hear anything about lies of omission right now.

"No, Giles. We had a right to know, 'cause this is Xander we're talking about. We..." Buffy's voice faltered. "...we owe him. What we did that night outside the Bronze is something we have to make up to him."

Willow looked shocked. "You're right, Buff. You're absolutely right! When Angel visited our dorm that night, I talked to him about Xander. And he didn't say anything! I thanked him for saving Xander's life, and he looked me right in the eye without saying a darn thing. Why didn't he tell me?"

Buffy frowned and crossed her arms. "I don't know. But I'm sure as hell going to find out."

"Buffy, wait!" Joyce called out, as her daughter headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Los Angeles," the Slayer said with pure determination. "I've got an ex-boyfriend in that city who's in major need of a serious ass-kicking!"

Most of the males in the room winced in sympathy, before Giles said, "N-n-now, hold on a moment. Buffy, before you go rushing off half-cocked like that, we need to figure out some contingency plans. Like, like what might happen if Angel simply denies everything. Or, or what if while we're there confronting him, someone to tries to steal the videotape? I-it's the only bit of proof we have, after all..."

Buffy frowned, her hand resting on the doorknob. What her friend and father figure said definitely made sense; and like most of her generation, she had a healthy scepticism about the U.S. government being of the people, by the people, and for the people in this day and age. Contingency plans were therefore definitely in order, as her mentor had suggested.

"All right. We'll do whatever we have to today, and then go to LA tomorrow," Buffy growled as she turned around, seeing everyone nodding at the British man's words. "But I swear, once we get there? Angel's gonna find out just what it means to lie to me that way!"

TBC...