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Authors: Robert Graysmith
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case, she was “more persuaded than ever” that the diagnosis of cutaneous anthrax was cor- rect. “This is a unique investigation that has many highly technical aspects,” she said. “There’s legitimate concern that the FBI may not have access to the kinds of expertise that could be essential in putting all these pieces together.” John
E. Collingwood, an FBI spokesman, said the possibility of a connection between the hijackers and the anthrax attacks
had been deeply explored. “This was fully investigated and widely vetted among multiple agencies several months ago,” he said in March 2002. “Exhaustive testing did not support that anthrax was present anywhere the hijackers had been. While we always welcome new information, nothing new has in fact developed.”
SOMEWHERE between the end of April and the third week of May 2001, Mohammad Atta showed up at the U.S. Department of Agriculture in Homestead, Florida. A clerk ushered him into the office of Johnelle Bryant, new manager for the farm service agency. Hers was an important job— arranging or granting government-financed loans for agri- culture, real estate, and farming-type operations.
“He had very scary-looking eyes,” she told ABC News much later. “His eyes were black—so black that his iris was almost the same color as his pupil, which in itself gave him the appearance of being very, very scary. Very intense. And then—with his accent—he came across as very intimidating. How could somebody be that evil, be that close to me and I didn’t recognize it?”
At first Atta declined to speak with Bryant, saying with repugnance she was “but a female.” Though Bryant ex- plained she was the manager, he still balked at conducting business with her. Finally she said, “If you’re interested in getting a farm-service agency loan in my servicing area, then you would need to deal with me.” Her servicing area in- cluded Dade, Broward, Palm Beach, and Monroe Counties. Atta reluctantly agreed. Bryant wrote his name down, spell- ing it “A-T-T-A-H.” He leaned forward and said, “No, A- T-T-A, as in ‘Atta boy!’ I’m originally from Egypt, but I’ve just moved here from Afghanistan. I left all my belongings at home to move to the U.S. to start my dream, which was to go to flight school, and get my pilot’s license and work both as a charter pilot and a crop duster.” Slow-moving, low-flying fixed-wing agricultural crop dusters were a com- mon sight over Florida fields, delivering their spray of liquid fertilizer or insecticide. The fixed-wing aircraft were built to carry large tanks of liquid chemicals.
“It wasn’t actually a crop duster in itself that he was wanting to finance,” Bryant recalled. “He wanted [to mod- ify] a twin-engine, six-passenger aircraft that he could use both for charter flights and crop-dusting.” Atta intended to pull the back seats out and construct a huge chemical tank that would fit inside the rear of the aircraft. He intended to run the spray nozzles along the wing span. “I could use it to stay up in the air longer while spraying sugarcane out in the Broward County area,” he said, “. . . wouldn’t have to land and reload, just continue spraying.”
Bryant explained that a tank of that size wouldn’t fit through the door and, although the aircraft would have a greater chemical capacity than a regular crop duster, his modifications would take up every available square inch of the interior except for where the pilot would be sitting. “You wouldn’t be able to use the same aircraft for both crop- dusting and as a charter plane,” she said. “That wouldn’t work, but it’s very creative.”
“It most certainly would work!” said Atta. “I’m an en- gineer and I know how to solve those problems. I have an engineering degree and have studied in Germany.” Atta had lived and worked in Hamburg.
The entire time Atta was in her office, his emotions kept going up and down. Bryant found him
E. Collingwood, an FBI spokesman, said the possibility of a connection between the hijackers and the anthrax attacks
had been deeply explored. “This was fully investigated and widely vetted among multiple agencies several months ago,” he said in March 2002. “Exhaustive testing did not support that anthrax was present anywhere the hijackers had been. While we always welcome new information, nothing new has in fact developed.”
SOMEWHERE between the end of April and the third week of May 2001, Mohammad Atta showed up at the U.S. Department of Agriculture in Homestead, Florida. A clerk ushered him into the office of Johnelle Bryant, new manager for the farm service agency. Hers was an important job— arranging or granting government-financed loans for agri- culture, real estate, and farming-type operations.
“He had very scary-looking eyes,” she told ABC News much later. “His eyes were black—so black that his iris was almost the same color as his pupil, which in itself gave him the appearance of being very, very scary. Very intense. And then—with his accent—he came across as very intimidating. How could somebody be that evil, be that close to me and I didn’t recognize it?”
At first Atta declined to speak with Bryant, saying with repugnance she was “but a female.” Though Bryant ex- plained she was the manager, he still balked at conducting business with her. Finally she said, “If you’re interested in getting a farm-service agency loan in my servicing area, then you would need to deal with me.” Her servicing area in- cluded Dade, Broward, Palm Beach, and Monroe Counties. Atta reluctantly agreed. Bryant wrote his name down, spell- ing it “A-T-T-A-H.” He leaned forward and said, “No, A- T-T-A, as in ‘Atta boy!’ I’m originally from Egypt, but I’ve just moved here from Afghanistan. I left all my belongings at home to move to the U.S. to start my dream, which was to go to flight school, and get my pilot’s license and work both as a charter pilot and a crop duster.” Slow-moving, low-flying fixed-wing agricultural crop dusters were a com- mon sight over Florida fields, delivering their spray of liquid fertilizer or insecticide. The fixed-wing aircraft were built to carry large tanks of liquid chemicals.
“It wasn’t actually a crop duster in itself that he was wanting to finance,” Bryant recalled. “He wanted [to mod- ify] a twin-engine, six-passenger aircraft that he could use both for charter flights and crop-dusting.” Atta intended to pull the back seats out and construct a huge chemical tank that would fit inside the rear of the aircraft. He intended to run the spray nozzles along the wing span. “I could use it to stay up in the air longer while spraying sugarcane out in the Broward County area,” he said, “. . . wouldn’t have to land and reload, just continue spraying.”
Bryant explained that a tank of that size wouldn’t fit through the door and, although the aircraft would have a greater chemical capacity than a regular crop duster, his modifications would take up every available square inch of the interior except for where the pilot would be sitting. “You wouldn’t be able to use the same aircraft for both crop- dusting and as a charter plane,” she said. “That wouldn’t work, but it’s very creative.”
“It most certainly would work!” said Atta. “I’m an en- gineer and I know how to solve those problems. I have an engineering degree and have studied in Germany.” Atta had lived and worked in Hamburg.
The entire time Atta was in her office, his emotions kept going up and down. Bryant found him
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