Billions of gallons of water barreled forward, playing in this new freedom, racing toward the Gulf, changing the river’s course forever. Carrying with it everything in its path. Boats were capsized as easily as toys in a bathtub; fishermen, sunbathers, and picnickers were swept up and carried downriver. Within a half hour Morgan City ceased to exist, as did several smaller towns in the floodplain. Highways, railroad tracks, bridges, and gas and oil pipelines crossing the Atchafalaya were destroyed, disrupting the nation’s flow of natural gas. The lack of water flowing into the Mississippi forced refineries, petrochemical plants, and two nuclear power plants to shut down immediately, leaving millions of people with only emergency power sources. As sediment flowed into that river, barges carrying vital grain and materials to the Gulf sunk into the mud.

By the time the floodwaters reached the Gulf of Mexico, much of its strength had dissipated. A news helicopter in the air to film a police-preparedness drill followed a sixteen-wheeler for miles as it bounced off buildings as easily as a pinball hitting bumpers, until it finally crashed into a pleasure boat and settled on its wheels in the middle of a parking lot.

Washed-out roads made it impossible for rescue, recovery, and repair crews to get near the damage for several days. Initial estimates put the number of dead and injured at more than 23,000. It would be several months before the roads and energy systems were mostly restored, at an estimated cost of $45 billion.

FRIDAY, JULY 11. NEW YORK CITY

It was twenty minutes after two in the permanent twilight of the Lincoln Tunnel. Its three tubes had been cut into the bedrock beneath the Hudson River beginning in 1934 to connect New York to New Jersey and the “west of the nation,” as Fiorello La Guardia had proudly announced. Not unusually, the two lanes of traffic in the northern tube leaving Manhattan were backed up to a standstill; apparently a rental van had stalled just before exiting into Weehawken. Three men were leaning casually against the emergency catwalk guardrail, ignoring the cacophony of angry horns, presumably waiting for assistance. Then, oddly, a white Bronco stopped alongside the stalled van, blocking the second lane. Three more men quickly got out of that car. The Jersey end of the Lincoln Tunnel was now effectively sealed.

The six men appeared to be in no rush. They were practiced and prepared. One of them opened the rear doors of the van and handed each man an automatic weapon. Each of them fired a burst into the tiled ceiling to test his weapon. Shards of broken tiles rained down. The drivers who were trapped directly behind them realized what was happening, got out of their cars and started running back into the tunnel. They were screaming, warning people to run, run, run. The terrorists let them go, pleased they were spreading the desired panic.

After checking their weapons one more time they started walking back into the tunnel, firing several rounds into every car. One of the terrorists climbed onto the catwalk and fired down through the car roofs as he casually walked along. Some people escaped; many more did not. It made little difference to the killers; their objective was to create terror on a level no one would ever forget.