Decision Points

day. The September 11 briefing, delivered by a bright CIA analyst named Mike Morell , covered Russia, China, and the Palestinian uprising in the West Bank and Gaza Strip.
    Shortly after the PDB, we left for a visit to Emma E. Booker Elementary School to highlight education reform.
    On the short walk from the motorcade to the classroom, Karl Rove mentioned that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. That sounded strange. I envisioned a little propeller plane horribly lost. Then Condi called. I spoke to her from a secure phone in a classroom that had been converted into a communications center for the traveling White House staff. She told me the plane that had just struck the Trade Center tower was not a light aircraft. It was a commercial jetliner.
    I was stunned. That plane must have had the worst pilot in the world.How could he possibly have flown into a skyscraper on a clear day? Maybe he’d had a heart attack. I told Condi to stay on top of the situation and asked my communications director, Dan Bartlett , to work on a statement promising the full support of federal emergency management services.
    I greeted Booker’s principal, a friendly woman named Gwen Rigell . She introduced me to the teacher, Sandra Kay Daniels , and her roomful of second-graders. Mrs. Daniels led the class through a reading drill. After a few minutes, she told the students to pick up their lesson books. I sensed a presence behind me. Andy Card pressed his head next to mine and whispered in my ear.
    “A second plane hit the second tower,” he said, pronouncing each word deliberately in his Massachusetts accent. “America is under attack.”

    Andy Card delivering the terrible news.
Associated Press/Doug Mills

    My first reaction was outrage. Someone had dared attack America. They were going to pay. Then I looked at the faces of the children in front of me. I thought about the contrast between the brutality of the attackers and the innocence of those children. Millions like them would soon be counting on me to protect them. I was determined not to let them down.
    I saw reporters at the back of the room, learning the news on their cell phones and pagers. Instinct kicked in. I knew my reaction would be recorded and beamed throughout the world. The nation would be in shock; the president could not be. If I stormed out hastily, it would scare the children and send ripples of panic throughout the country.
    The reading lesson continued, but my mind raced far from the classroom. Who could have done this? How bad was the damage? What did the government need to do?
    Press Secretary Ari Fleischer positioned himself between the reporters and me. He held up a sign that read “Don’t say anything yet.” I didn’t plan to. I had settled on a plan of action: When the lesson ended, I would leave the classroom calmly, gather the facts, and speak to the nation.
    About seven minutes after Andy entered the classroom, I returned to the hold room, into which someone had wheeled a television. I watched in horror as the footage of the second plane hitting the south tower replayed in slow motion. The huge fireball and explosion of smoke wereworse than I had imagined. The country would be shaken, and I needed to get on TV right away. I scribbled out my statement longhand. I wanted to assure the American people that the government was responding and that we would bring the perpetrators to justice. Then I wanted to get back to Washington as quickly as possible.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a difficult moment for America,” I began. “…   Two airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center in an apparent terrorist attack on our country.” There was an audible gasp from the audience of parents and community members, who were expecting a speech on education. “Terrorism against our nation will not stand,” I said. I closed by asking for a moment of silence for the victims.
    Later, I learned that my words had echoed Dad’s promise that “this aggression will not stand” after Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. The repetition was not intentional. In my notes, I had written, “Terrorism against America will not succeed.” Dad’s words must have been buried in my subconscious, waiting to surface during another moment of crisis.

    The Secret Service wanted to get me to Air Force One, and fast. As the motorcade charged down Florida Route 41, I called Condi from the secure phone in the limo. She told me there had been a third plane crash,