Twin Towers Two continued
"This is a massive amount of fuel, it will feed the fire, the heat inside will exceed 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit," added the chief scientist, "weakening the steel holding the floors to the walls, causing each floor to collapse onto the one below - "
Cabal cut him off: "The towers were destroyed in a controlled demolition. That's the hypothesis is it not?"
The scientist uncomfortable: "Yes."
"And how much will it cost me to disprove this hypothesis?"
The financial manager stood up, projected his estimate:
"In the 70's when the originals were completed the total cost was in the region of 1.5 billion dollars."
"Today they would cost 17.2 billion," Cabal quickly calculated. "Well under budget."
Two towers silhouetted by the sun. Cabal looked beyond the architect's model at the sand where the full scale replicas would be built, leaned down, picked up a rusted fragment of cluster bomb he had tested years ago.
"The area is now totally secure sir," reported the head of the private army.
"Seems a shame to disturb the peace," Cabal remarked. He turned his back on the silent space, waved, the trucks rumbled forward.
"Are these the original blueprints?" he asked the architect.
"They were difficult to acquire, they present new challenges: the towers were constructed in the 70's, we must use technology of that era, steel of the same grade, concrete of the same mix design."
"No expense spared," Cabal demanded - he comprehended the complexities but interpreted them as conspiracies of a shadow government. A Red Indian camped at the outskirts of Cabal's desert observed patrols and distinguished the organic link between secrecy and evil.
Yellow dozers scuttled a million cubic yards of excavated dirt. Down to bedrock, 25 ton cages of metal reinforcement rods lowered into slurry filled trenches, cages placed, concrete poured in. Symphony of cranes, metal locusts jacking themselves up, the colossal ascent of robust hooks floating rafts of red steel hoisted heavenly, neon slashes of arc wielders blinking inside sheer symmetrical walls rising without setback.
As the towers grew they dissolved in the reflection of each other.
Inside the towers Cabal held meetings, the spectrum of problems homogenized by his totalizing order. He insisted each floor contain office equipment, computers, that all 43,600 windows were installed - and cleaned. Tower one featured the restaurant on the 107th floor, tower two had observation decks on 107 and 110. 17,400 manikins were distributed, disturbing the workers with their vacant stares and shop front poses.
Cabal lived and worked on the top floor of tower one, his helicopter on the roof - he never took the lift. As the towers neared completion he relaxed, opened the restaurant, gave the workers discos on the observation deck. They rigged a rope slide between the roofs and slid between barbeques. The manikins warmed up, workers dressed and named them. There were rumors of orgies with sex workers in Tower Two; the closer to completion the wilder the stories as the men joined Cabal in isolation.
Two planes landed on the desert strip. The pilots left, the engineers set up remote controls. Cabal inspected the Boeing 767-223ER. "We will crash it between the 93rd and 99th floors at 08:46:40 am, at 466 miles per hour," said the engineer. Cabal entered the second plane, a Boeing 767-223ER. "This plane will travel at 545 mph and crash between the 77th and 85th floors, at precisely 9:03:06." Cabal turned and insisted: "No matter what, these planes will remain on schedule, no exceptions."
A circle of cameras and microphones surrounded the towers, the devices digitally vascularised by a placental network fanning the desert, the conduits thickening to intestinal cables hearniating from warehouses resembling NASA control, the hub of communications, surveillance and monitoring stations manned by rows of technicians. A large monitor displayed Cabal's digital empire, normal programs suspended as his satellites established geostationary orbit over the test site.
Measuring equipment transmitted a kaleidoscope of visuals, illuminating focused faces of scientists calibrating seismometers for measuring ground movement, to scribe a 3D map of seismic ripple, with infrared thermograms covering heat spread and receivers detecting the velocity of billions of nanobots implanted in every component of the towers - Cabal's latest military gadgets.
Construction complete, the builders left a ghost town of trailers. Final preparations over two weeks; test flights, measuring instruments re-checked. The night before the experiment Cabal ate a last supper alone in the restaurant. Once his food was served the chefs and waiters left the building. He was supposed to vacate too, but drank heavily, fell into a deep stupor - unless he said otherwise the test would run; no one was to return.
His dream was vivid, technical and ultimately cathartic. He penetrated the tower's physical dimensions, navigating matrices of architectural diagrams, reflecting the schematic anatomy, revealing the loading of the columns, the re-distribution of weight which maintained stability long enough for life-saving evacuations. Then the columns formed a crucifix and Cabal wept at the foot of the cross, for Jesus who sacrificed his life so humans could live.
When he awoke the sun was perpendicular to his drowsy head, yet despite the hangover his dream still fiercely burned. He checked his watch, 8:44. He had two minutes left, could see the first jet descending, dug the cell out his blazer, useless, needed the cb radio's direct channel, turned over the dinner trolley, chairs, table, manikins, the Boeing's turbines louder; with face against glass he no longer believed in the conspiracy, it would crash below him.
He saw the radio at his feet, contact; 'Avert!' the GPS program bypassed, operator rolled hard, wings vertical, belly yards away, too low to recover, plane slammed into the desert behind the tower, the fireball crowned with thick, black smoke. The other plane approached tower 2. Cabal hesitated, mission control requested clarification, he responded, the plane banked sharply, exploded perpendicular to the first crash. Four dark towers climbed the desert sky.
Cabal lived out his days in Arkansas, no longer paranoid, ignoring information, happier planting trees than watching news. His empire inherited, diluted, on the same trajectory as civilization: non-existence. Two million years in the future the monoliths stood in the desert, post-apocalyptic winds strumming their architecture, the hum of frequencies stimulating the networked nanobots of the twin towers, together as two hemispheres of a brain, conscious and intelligent.
END
