False Impression by Jeffrey Archer Page B

hoped that
Anna Petrescu had managed to escape, but when the South Tower came crashing
down fifty-six minutes later, he assumed it would not be long before the North
Tower followed suit.
    He returned to
his desk and switched on his computer. Information was flooding in from their
Massachusetts field office, reporting that the two attack flights had
originated out of Boston and two more were in the air. Calls from passengers in
those planes that had taken off from the same airport suggested they were also
under the terrorists’ control. One was heading for Washington.
    The President,
George W. Bush, was visiting a school in Florida when the first plane struck,
and he was quickly whisked off to Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana.
Vice-president Dick Cheney was in Washington. He’d already given clear
instructions to shoot down the other two planes. The order was not carried out.
Cheney also wanted to know which terrorist organization was responsible, as the
President planned to address the nation later that evening and he was demanding
answers. Jack remained at his desk, taking calls from his agents on the ground,
frequently reporting back to Macy. One of those agents, Joe Corrigan, reported
that Fenston and Leapman had been seen entering a building on Wall Street just
before the first plane crashed into the North Tower. Jack looked down at the
many files strewn across his desk and dismissed as wishful thinking, ‘Case
Closed’.
    ‘And Petrescu?’
he asked.
    ‘No idea,’ Joe
replied. ‘All I can tell you is that she was seen entering the building at
seven forty-six, and hasn’t been seen since.’
    Jack looked up at
the TV screen. A third plane had crashed into the Pentagon. The White House
must be next, was his only thought.
    ‘A second
plane’s hit the South Tower,’ a lady on the step above Anna repeated. Anna
refused to believe that kind of freak accident could happen twice on the same
day.
    ‘It’s no
accident,’ said another voice from behind, as if reading her thoughts. ‘The
only plane to crash into a building in New York was in ‘45. Flew
into the seventy-ninth floor of the Empire State Building. But that was
on a foggy day, without any of the sophisticated tracking devices they’ve got
now. And don’t forget, the air space above the city is a no-fly zone, so it
must have been well planned. My bet is we’re not the only folks in trouble.’
    Within minutes,
conspiracy theories, terrorist attacks and stories of freak accidents were
being bandied about by people who had no idea what they were talking about.
There would have been a stampede if they could have moved any faster. Anna
quickly became aware that several people on the staircase were now masking
their worst fears by all talking at once.
    ‘Keep to the
right, and keep moving,’ was the constant cry emanating from whatever uniform
trudged passed them. Some of the migrants on the downward journey began to
tire, allowing Anna to overtake them. She was thankful for all those hours
spent running around Central Park and the shot after shot of adrenaline that
kept her going.
    It was somewhere
in the lower forties that Anna first smelled smoke, and she could hear some of
those on the floors below her coughing loudly. When she reached the next
stairwell, the smoke became denser and quickly filled her lungs. She covered
her eyes and began coughing uncontrollably. Anna recalled reading somewhere
that 90 per cent of deaths in a fire are caused by smoke inhalation. Her fears
were only exacerbated when those ahead of her slowed to a crawl and finally
came to a halt. The coughing had turned into an epidemic. Had they all become
trapped, with no escape route up or down?
    ‘Keep moving,’ came the clear order from a fireman heading towards them. It
gets worse for a couple of floors but then you’ll be through it,’ he assured
those who were still hesitating. Anna stared into the face of the man who had
given the order with such authority. She obeyed