And again: What I do write here, is fictional. Just wanted to make this sure. Any comments of any of the characters in this story do not necessarily express my own opinion.
I do not own anything.
Chapter 3
The 12th September was a Wednesday. Newspaper had special parts included, there were special broadcastings in TV and special reports could be heard and read in the Internet all over the world. Theories of conspiracy were widely spread already, Internet and social networks helped. Most people were scared now. They suspected Al Qaeda or Hamas behind it, suspected a return and revenge of them.
Some people thought it was a flash in the pan again and nothing more severe would happen. People all over the world were interviewed. They suspected that any kind of terroristic organization would soon take over responsibility for the attacks.
Death toll rose over 1000 at midnight, 1200 at five am. The streets had been full of people at the time of the attack. People in other buildings were killed and injured, people who wore buried by the exploding second airplane, people in the Museum, people in their offices around.
Ziva and McGee stood in the office. NCIS agents were running hectically around. It was nine o'clock, 12th September.
The two special agents stood in front of the TV and watched CNN breaking news. The news under the actual happening showed only facts about the attack: How many people were dead, how many people were still suspected in the ruins, how many people were injured, that all hospitals in Washington DC and around were jam-packed and that the fire was not extinguished yet.
They saw police men and firefighters running around at the ruins of the Museum.
Then the picture switched to The Ellipse, the green area in front of the White House. That plane was not burning anymore.
It was just a big, black piece of debris that was still smoking. A small column of smoke went up into the air, not as much as the one that could have been seen yesterday.
'Have you spoken to Tony?', McGee asked all of sudden.
Ziva shook her head. 'He's still in intensive care. The hospital is too crowded. You can't even go to visit someone.'
They both returned silently to watching news. After a while Ziva asked: 'What do you think? Who is responsible?'
'Al Qaeda, perhaps.'
'That would be illogical.'
'Hamas.'
'No. Don't think so.'
'Then, what do you think?'
'I don't know. Whoever this was, they were courageous enough to do what Al Qaeda did before.'
'They don't want to provoke them. They just wanted the same they achieved eleven years ago.'
'They want us to fear them as much as Al Qaeda. Another terroristic group, perhaps. But with other goals.'
'Why that? They obviously both want war with America.'
'They would have cooperated. Or at least somehow made the connection more clear. And they would show themselves responsible for what happened. To make us know a face.'
'I don't think they were religious motivated.'
'Yeah, in that point you can be right. I mean-', she stopped in mid-sentence.
'Is Gibbs standing behind us?', she asked. They both had looked at the TV at the whole time.
'Yes, he is', McGee said and they both turned around at once.
Gibbs stood there taking another sip of coffee. 'Hey, boss', the two special agents said at once.
'How's Tony?', Gibbs asked.
'We don't know', Ziva said. 'You can't even get near the hospital.'
Gibbs nodded.
'No dead marine?', McGee asked.
'No', Gibbs said shortly and sat down at his office desk.
'So, what shall we do?', Ziva asked surprised.
'Watch news', Gibbs said.
Ziva and McGee looked at each other. They turned back to the big screen and re-watched the speech of the President which he had held yesterday, only half an hour after the attacks. It was repeated now on every hour. It was 599 words long, the exact length of the speech Bush had held eleven years ago.
It was quite similar and recognizable. (Just in case someone puts the wrong date in the headline…as some teacher might do when they want their pupils to analyze Bush's speech in an exam^^).
Tony lay in a bed. There were three other people in beds in this two-bed-room. He was in hospital and it was very loud. Doctors, injured people and visitors ran through the corridors and the rooms. Tony looked around. The other people seemed to be either unconsciousness or sleeping. One of them was under high medication that keeps him calm. Tony looked out of the window and back inside.
The room was white. He hated hospitals.
It reminded him on the death of his mum. He looked outside. He had a view on the sky. Great. At least he could see planes up there. But there weren't any.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a doctor entering and coming toward his bed.
'How are we now?', she asked.
'Great', Tony said and his breath caught.
He knew that voice.
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