Not quite Ground Zero, the Pentagon:
For just a moment, Caleb Moorecock was convinced he'd finally joined his reprehensible ancestors. Five seconds ago, he had been walking down a seemingly interminable corridor in the Pentagon, being routed to the fifth office that probably would not have a clue what to do with him since he started his search yesterday. He had been wishing he could find one of those brilliant but lacking in moral standards hackers he was always hearing about to get him in to the Pentagon computer archives instead of plodding through the officialese and red tape of going through channels. Then something had scythed into the side of the Pentagon like a rapidly cooling knife through something a bit tougher than butter and ripped away the hallway a hundred feet in front of him. The concussion threw him to the floor. He had rolled for the shelter of an open doorway as the force of the explosion that followed the impact caused the entire area to shudder and groan. The noise alone was terrifying.
He waited for the initial reactions of the building to settle before unwinding and coming to his feet. He stepped out of the doorway, one of many startled and frightened people reacting to the smoke and fire where the hallway had been. Most of the people around him started to head away from the damage. He and a couple of men in green uniforms worked their way toward the impact zone. Smoke clogged the hallway, obscuring their sight, except for flashes of flame. They lay on the floor and inched their way toward the damage.
Wreckage. Caleb chanced a look. Something had plowed into and most of the way through the building. He could hear stressed materials creak and crack around the opening. He looked again and was appalled. The roof had collapsed down onto the wreckage, but it looked like … a small jet of some kind had crashed into the building. How on Earth had that happened? He ducked back as a small explosion shook the area again. He and the other two men inched their way back, every nerve straining to catch the slightest twitch in the building around them. The floor sagged toward the opening, but did not seem to be actively falling. They regained their feet and joined the people leaving the area. There was nothing to be done for anyone in the impact zone.
Outside, emergency vehicles and news crews were converging on the building. As Caleb joined the throng of people, he noted the smoking hole torn in the side of one of the landmark buildings of his country and tried to fathom what had happened. He overheard a woman remarking that it was horrible, horrible. First New York and now this. New York? He walked to his car, got in and pulled out his cell phone. For a moment, he thought it had broken. It worked.
"Foster? Moorecock. What happened?"
"Where are you?" Foster asked.
"In the Pentagon parking lot, feeling both shaken and stirred. Someone crashed an airplane or something with an engine on it into the side of the building." He got a quick feed of what Foster, as well as anyone else watching the news, knew. Caleb was inclined to ask if the terrorists were out of their minds. But he knew the answer to that. They were, as far as normally sane people were concerned. "I'll be in touch." He knew Foster would be livid over that cavalier exit from Foster's nominal command. He had followed the silver haired fox who founded SHADO, never quite understanding why. When Foster took command, he had started to walk away, but he was too involved by then. Foster was good. He kept his most difficult operative busy, if not happy. But this was right up the renegade's alley and he would not let Foster or the rest of the organization stand in his way.
Aliens were annoying. This was pure human evil. This was his birthright, to hunt them down and deal with them. The smile on Caleb's face disturbed the people who chanced to see it. Nemesis was on the move.