I was driving to work when I got a priority Cell phone call that a plane had hit the trade center.
Switching on the car radio was chaos with conflicting stories.
I tried making two quick calls and both were blocked, I knew something, something was seriously wrong.
I drove up to the very top story of our parking structure and in the distance, across the water I could see smoke, a lot of smoke, and flames.
Entering the building some people were comforting one women who was crying about her husband who was a broker in the city.
People were crying, some were rushing past me, leaving. Any conference room that had a TV had a cluster of people around it.
I made my way to a large war room used in emergencies. Seven people were there ahead of me with more milling in. The same story would be recited like a mantra each time someone else would walk in. Building, plane crash, I don't know.
I was asked to check federal websites on a bank of wall monitors for updates.
Nothing, business as usual to the outside world.
A telephone bridge was in progress to check the status and disaster recovery profile of network systems and services with about 20 or so people present.
It was all so casual, but happening so fast. When the second plane hit it was clear that we were under some sort of attack.
Focusing on the technical details helped, but the wall screens showed images and replays that made it all very surreal. Like this was some sort of over the top drill.
Through out the day the phones would ring and emails would pour in. Everyone heard from people they hadn't heard from in months, if not years.
As hours dragged by and night had come the reality was centered around the people who didn't or could no longer call.
And that was Tuesday, the rest of the week really sucked.
