Jill Winslow lay on top of Bud Mitchell, and I could tell they were both breathing hard, then she sat up and straddled him with her legs, facing southwest. I could now see the distant lights of an aircraft, far out over the ocean-eight miles, actually, and about twelve thousand feet above the water.
She said to me, “Stop it! Stop!”
I hit the Pause button and looked at her. She stood and said, “I can’t watch this again. I’ll be in the kitchen.” She walked barefoot out of the family room.
I sat there for a full minute, looking at the frozen screen-Jill Winslow sitting on top of Bud Mitchell, the surf caught in mid-motion, the stars no longer twinkling, a thin, wispy cloud frozen like a splotch of paint on a black ceiling. And almost opposite Smith Point County Park, two lights-one red and one white-were captured on the film. You wouldn’t think they were anything other than stars in a still photograph, but in a motion picture, you would see them blinking and moving from west to east.
I got up from my chair, sat on the coffee table, and leaned toward the big plasma screen. I hit the Slow Motion button and watched closely.
At 8:29 and 19 seconds, I saw a glow on the horizon to the right, and I froze the frame. The video camera at the top of the dune was about twenty feet high, including the tripod, and from this vantage point you could see a little more than most of the eyewitnesses who’d seen this from a boat, or from ground level, which on the south shore of Long Island was barely ten feet above sea level, if that. I looked at the glow awhile and decided it could be-could be-a missile launch.
From where I’d seen the glow, I could now see a tongue of bright, red-orange light rising into the sky. It rose quickly, even in slow motion, and I could now make out a white plume of what looked like smoke, trailing behind it. I glanced at Jill and Bud, but they hadn’t seen it yet. It was 8:30 and 5 seconds, and I hit the Pause, slid off the coffee table, and knelt in front of the TV screen, staring at the point of light until my eyes got blurry. I rocked back on my haunches and continued the tape in slow motion.
There was no mistaking what I was seeing now, and what over two hundred other people had seen, including Captain Spruck, who, to be honest, I had doubted. I could see why he was so obsessed with this now that I saw it myself, and I owed him an apology. More important, the American people were owed an apology, but I didn’t know from whom.
I thought of my meeting in Jack Koenig’s office and him looking me in the eye and saying, “There is no fucking videotape of a couple screwing on the beach with the plane exploding behind them,” then, “No fucking rocket either.”
Well, fuck
The streak of light, trailing its white plume of smoke, rose higher until it was about mid-frame on the TV screen. At this point, I saw Jill’s head turn toward the light, and she stared up at the sky, then Bud sat up quickly so they were face-to-face, then he turned and looked over his shoulder to where she was staring. The light was almost incandescent on the TV screen, and I could see it was gathering speed. I glanced at the lights of the aircraft, then back to the rising streak of light. I was too close to the TV to see the whole screen, so I stood quickly, backed up to the coffee table, and sat.
There was no audio in slow motion, but there was nothing to hear anyway, and I stared, mesmerized by what I was seeing, because I knew exactly what was going to happen.
The burning light seemed to make a sudden turn as it converged on the blinking lights, and I saw the evidence of the turn more clearly in the smoke plume, as it twisted.
A few seconds later, there was a flash of bright light in the sky, which looked strange in slow motion, like a Roman candle burst, then a few seconds after that, a huge fireball began to grow in the black sky-like a bright red flower, blossoming in a time delay film. I froze the frame at 8:31 and 14 seconds and stared at it.
Jill and Bud were caught in the freeze-frame almost standing up straight now, both facing the red sky burst. I hit Slow Motion and watched as the fireball grew larger. I could see that, indeed, the burning aircraft was rising, then I saw two streams of burning jet fuel descending toward the ocean, and as they got closer to the surface, I noticed the reflection of the burning fuel on the smooth, glassy surface, and yes, the reflections appeared to be two streaks of light rising
I watched the seconds counter, and about thirty seconds from when this series of events began, I hit the Play button and restored the audio.
Everything on the screen was moving at normal speed now, including Jill and Bud, who weren’t really moving much at all, but were staring, transfixed, at the fire in the sky.
I saw pieces of burning debris now, dropping from the sky. Then I heard the first explosion as it reached the camera microphone, a dull muffled bang, followed a second or two later by a much louder explosion. I saw Jill and Bud flinch a half second before I could hear the bigger explosion, which reached them before it had reached the camera microphone.
I went back to slow motion and watched the aftermath of the disaster: the main part of the aircraft, which had incredibly climbed another few thousand feet until the fuel ran out of its engines, now began to spiral downward. I couldn’t see or comprehend all that was happening, even in slow motion, and I never saw the nose of the aircraft fall away, but I thought I saw the left wing separate, and I could see the great mass of the 747 dropping out of the sky and falling into the sea.
The sky was clear now, except for smoke, which I could see illuminated by the burning fires on the smooth ocean.
The couple on the beach stood there, naked, frozen, as though someone had pushed the Pause button of the world, except that the surf rolled in slow motion on the beach, and the horizon glowed with orange and red fire.
I pushed the Play button, and the surf sped up, and the fire danced on the water.
In Bud’s first take-charge action of the night, he took Jill’s arm, said something, and they turned and began running back toward the camera on the dune. He was faster than she was, and he didn’t slow down for her or give her a backwards glance to see if she was okay. The man was a complete asshole, but that was the least important thing revealed by this videotape.
I stared at the burning fuel on the horizon, and neither Jill nor Bud could know it then, but 230 men, women, and children had perished in the blink of an eye. But I knew it, and I felt my stomach tighten, my mouth was dry, and my eyes were moist.
Bud and Jill had disappeared at the base of the dune, then their heads and shoulders reappeared as they scrambled up the sandy slope, Bud first, followed by Jill.
The camera had been set to maximum zoom, so their faces were blurry, but I could make out their features. I froze the frame and looked at him, his arms reaching for the camera. The man looked scared out of his mind. I looked at her, and she, too, looked frightened, with her eyes open wide, but I noticed also that she was looking at him, as though she wanted him to say something, to tell her what had happened and what they should do. I played the next few seconds in slow motion, and saw his stupid face right in front of the lens, filling the screen. That face, I thought, could be put on a Wanted Poster with the caption, “Have you seen this useless, self-centered piece of shit? Call 1-800-ASSHOLE.”
Bud had gotten a grip on the camera, though not his nerve, and the screen became a crazy kaleidoscope of images that were hard to follow as our hero ran down the dune into the valley and dropped the camera. I heard Bud say, “Get dressed! Get dressed!”
Then, someone picked up the camera, and I saw a flash of the night sky. I could hear them breathing hard as they ran, and I saw indistinct images bouncing around. A car door opened, then slammed shut, followed by two more doors opening and closing, then I heard the sound of the engine starting, and saw some bouncing on the nearly black screen, and then more hard breathing, but neither of them spoke. She was probably in shock, he was trying not to pee his pants. I wanted to scream at him, “Say something to her, you useless piece of shit.”
I waited through about five minutes of black silence, and I was about to turn the TV off and rewind the tape, then I heard her voice. “Bud, I think a plane exploded.”
He replied, “Maybe… maybe it was a giant skyrocket… fired from a barge. It exploded… you know… a fireworks show.”
