Decision Points

response. I told them we had been given a mission that none of us had sought or expected, but the country would rise to meet it. “Freedom and justice will prevail,” I said.
    The meeting ended around 10:00 p.m. I had been up since before dawn and going full speed all day. Carl Truscott , the head of the Presidential Protective Division, told us we would be sleeping in a small room off the PEOC conference room. Against the wall was an old couch with a fold-out bed inside. It looked like Harry Truman himself had put it there. I could envision a restless night battling the cramped mattress and the steel supporting rods. The next day would bring important decisions, and I needed sleep to think clearly. “There is no way I’m sleeping there,” I told Carl.
    He knew I was not budging. “Sleep in the residence,” he said. “We will come get you if there are any problems.”
    Sleep did not come easily. My mind replayed the images of the day: the planes hitting the buildings, the towers crumbling, the Pentagon in flames. I thought of the grief so many families must be feeling. I also thought about the heroism—the flight attendants on the hijacked planes who calmly called supervisors to report their status and the firstresponders who raced toward the flames at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.
    Just as I was about to doze off, I saw a figure silhouetted at the bedroom door. He was breathing heavily and shouting: “Mr. President, Mr. President, the White House is under attack! Let’s go!”
    I told Laura we needed to move fast. She didn’t have time to put in her contact lenses, so she held on to me. I grabbed her robe and guided her with one arm while I scooped up Barney, our Scottish terrier, with the other. I called Spot, our English springer spaniel, to follow. I was barefoot and wearing running shorts and a T-shirt. We must have made quite a sight.
    The Secret Service hustled us out of the residence and down to the underground shelter. I heard the slam of a heavy door and the sound of a pressurized lock as we entered the tunnel. The agents rushed us through another door.
Bang, hiss.
We hustled down the final corridor, past the staff seated outside, and into the PEOC.
    After a few minutes, an enlisted man walked into the conference room. “Mr. President,” he said matter-of-factly, “it was one of ours.” An F-16 fighter had flown down the Potomac squawking the wrong transponder signal. A day that started with a run on a golf course had ended with a scramble to the bunker to escape a possible attack on the White House.

    When I woke up on September 12, America was a different place. Commercial aircraft were grounded. Armed vehicles patrolled the streets of Washington. A wing of the Pentagon had been reduced to rubble. The New York Stock Exchange was closed. New York’s Twin Towers were gone. The focus of my presidency, which I had expected to be domestic policy, was now war. The transformation showed how quickly fate can shift, and how sometimes the most demanding tasks a president faces are unexpected.
    The psyche of the nation had been shaken. Families stocked up on gas masks and bottled water. Some fled cities for the countryside, fearing that downtown buildings could be targets. Others who worked in skyscrapers couldn’t bring themselves to go back to work. Many refused toboard a plane for weeks or months. It seemed almost certain that there would be another attack.
    There is no textbook on how to steady a nation rattled by a faceless enemy. I relied on instincts and background. My West Texas optimism helped me project confidence. Occasionally, I spoke a little too bluntly, such as when I said I wanted bin Laden “dead or alive.” The people around me helped a lot during those trying days. The team at the White House was steady and a source of inspiration. Laura was a rock of stability and love. My brother Marvin and sister Doro, both of whom lived in the Washington area, stopped by frequently for meals. Mother and Dad offered constant support. My family gave me comfort and helped me clear my mind.
    I also drew strength from my faith, and from history. I found solace in reading the Bible, which Abraham Lincoln called “the best gift God has given to man.” I admired Lincoln’s moral clarity and resolve. The clash between freedom and tyranny, he said, was “an issue which can only be tried by war, and decided by victory.” The war on terror would be the same.
    I set three goals for the