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“work with Roger—Cressey—on getting some CAP here—fast.”
    Stafford had another request. “When Air Force One takes off, can it have fighter escorts?”
    â€œSure, we can ask,” Miller replied, “but you guys know that CAP, fighter escorts, they can’t just shoot down planes inside the United States. We’ll need an order.” Miller had spent two decades working in the Pentagon and knew that the military would want clear instructions before they used force.
    I picked up the open line to the PEOC. I got a dial tone. Someone had hung up on the other end. I punched the PEOC button on the large, white secure phone that had twenty speed dial buttons. When Major Fenzel got on the line I gave him the first three decisions we needed. “Mike, somebody has to tell the President he can’t come right back here. Cheney, Condi, somebody. Secret Service concurs. We do not want them saying where they are going when they take off. Second, when they take off, they should have fighter escort. Three, we need to authorize the Air Force to shoot down any aircraft—including a hijacked passenger flight—that looks like it is threatening to attack and cause large-scale death on the ground. Got it?”
    â€œRoger that, Dick, get right back to you.” Fenzel was, I thought, optimistic about how long decisions like that would take.
    I resumed the video conference. “FAA, FAA, go. Status report. How many aircraft do you still carry as hijacked?”
    Garvey read from a list: “All aircraft have been ordered to land at the nearest field. Here’s what we have as potential hijacks: Delta 1989 over West Virginia, United 93 over Pennsylvania…”
    Stafford slipped me a note. “Radar shows aircraft headed this way.” Secret Service had a system that allowed them to see what FAA’s radar was seeing. “I’m going to empty out the complex.” He was ordering the evacuation of the White House.
    Ralph Seigler stuck his head into the room, “There has been an explosion in the Pentagon parking lot, maybe a car bomb!”
    â€œIf we evacuate the White House, what about the rest of Washington?” Paul Kurtz asked me. “What about COG?” Continuity of Government was another program left over from the Cold War. It was designed to relocate administration officials to alternate sites during periods of national emergency. COG was also planned to devolve power in case the President or key Cabinet members were killed.
    Roger Cressey stepped back into the video conference and announced: “A plane just hit the Pentagon.” I was still talking with FAA, taking down a list of possibly hijacked aircraft. “Did you hear me?” Cressey was on loan to the White House from the Pentagon. He had friends there; we all did.
    â€œI can still see Rumsfeld on the screen,” I replied, “so the whole building didn’t get hit. No emotion in here. We are going to stay focused. Roger, find out where the fighter planes are. I want Combat Air Patrol over every major city in this country. Now.”
    Stafford’s order to evacuate was going into effect. As the staff poured out of the White House compound, the Residence, the West Wing, and the Executive Office Building, the Uniformed Secret Service guards yelled at the women, “If you’re in high heels, take off your shoes and run—run!” My secretary, Beverly Roundtree, was on the line to Lisa, telling her that she and the rest of my staff were still in our vault in the Executive Office Building. “Okay, okay,” Lisa was saying, knowing she could not persuade her to leave, “then bring over the chem-bio gear.”
    Our coordinator for Continuity of Government (we will call him Fred here to protect his identity at the request of the government) joined us.
    â€œHow do I activate COG?” I asked him. In the exercises we had done, the person playing the