Eleven days later, on March 27, an airplane cockpit was the scene of yet another in-flight battle. This time the results were even scarier. A German man broke into the flight deck during a Germania charter flight from Berlin to the Canary Islands. The man, believed by authorities to have been under the influence of alcohol, forced his way into the cockpit while the plane was over Spanish airspace. Once inside, reports say, he threatened the pilots and told them the plane was under assault by “terrorists.” He then proceeded to punch, kick and choke the 59-year-old pilot.

At some point the attacker managed to grab the controls. The aircraft veered from its flight path and lost altitude briefly, but the co-pilot managed to stabilize it. “Help, we need strong men, we need strong men!” the co-pilot reportedly announced. Four passengers from Sweden, Russia and Germany, along with flight attendants, responded to his plea and managed to subdue the attacker. A spokesman for Germania, a charter company operated by LTU, said “There was no real danger at any point for the passengers.” This statement is a crock of public-relations bullshit, pungent enough to wrinkle noses on both sides of the Atlantic. Everyone aboard the aircraft was in danger, all 143 passengers and crew. Why else would the co-pilot be screaming for help?

During the past few years, passenger attacks against flight attendants have been well documented by the media. Cabin personnel have been slammed against bulkheads, put into headlocks, punched, kicked, spat at, urinated upon, hit over the head with beer bottles and threatened with their lives. These in-flight assaults are extremely rare, yet more and more air ragers find themselves traveling to that final destination behind bars. Horrible though it may be, when a flight attendant is attacked, the safety of an aircraft and its passengers is not always at issue. When someone breaks through the cockpit door, however, when someone poses a physical threat to the only two people qualified to keep an aircraft aloft, the potential for disaster makes it everybody’s issue.

The cockpit door is the only barrier between a kamikaze passenger and an unsuspecting pilot. It is a marginal defense, built for ease of crew entry and as an emergency escape, not as a fortification against determined intruders. The Alaska Airlines ordeal prompted five popular airlines (Alaska, American, Delta, Northwest and TWA) to announce, just one week after the incident, that they are seeking ways to fortify bifold cockpit doors — standard on MD-83 aircraft — like the one Bradley was able to break through. “The one thing you can’t do is put a bank vault door on the cockpit,” said Alaska Airlines spokesman Jack Evans. “The door needs to be secure, but it also needs to be an emergency exit as well.”

Paradoxically, some international carriers allow the cockpit door to remain unlocked during a flight. Any passenger can walk right in, even those who might mistake the cockpit for the lavatory. U.S. airlines adopt a quite different policy, however. They require that the cockpit door remain locked at all times during flight, except, of course, while crew members are entering and exiting. In this respect, pilots and flight attendants carry cockpit keys as standard equipment. But in one particularly appalling incident, a cockpit key gave a deranged passenger access to the flight deck and the consequences were fatal.

On July 23, as All Nippon Airways flight 61 ascended from Tokyo’s Haneda Airport on its way to Sapporo, Yuji Nishizawa, 28, got up from his seat, pulled an 8-inch knife on a female flight attendant and forced her to unlock the cockpit door. It’s not certain how he managed to smuggle a deadly weapon through airport security. But what he did next is crystal clear. He ordered the co-pilot out of the cockpit and demanded that the pilot fly to a U.S. military base west of Tokyo. When the pilot refused, Nishizawa stabbed him in the neck and took control of the aircraft.

With the deranged man behind the yoke, the Boeing 747, packed with 503 passengers and a crew of 14, plunged to within 300 meters (984 feet) of the ground. Moments before what might have been the airline industry’s worst-ever disaster, the deposed co-pilot and an off-duty pilot stormed the cockpit, tied up the assailant and resumed control of the aircraft, which they managed to land safely in Tokyo. Despite the efforts of an onboard physician, the injured pilot bled to death.

Later, when police questioned Nishizawa about his motive, he expressed a fondness for flight simulation games, which had apparently ceased to capture his imagination. “I wanted to soar through the air,” he reportedly told police.

In the All Nippon Airways case, a hijacker forced his way past the cockpit door in a planned attack. But unplanned break-in attempts by disturbed passengers add a whole new wrinkle to the withering face of in-flight tranquillity. Since July 1997, there have been at least 14 instances where an unauthorized person attempted to breach the cockpit door during a commercial airline flight, including the two described above. Of these, eight were successful. The result: Three physical attacks on pilots (all in March), at least five flight diversions and more than two dozen pilots who were forced to shift their attention from the controls to a potentially violent intruder. Here’s how the incidents played out:

July 14, 1997: After Thomas Kasper poured hot coffee on a flight attendant (inflicting second- and third-degree burns), his traveling companion, Susan Callihan, kicked a hole in the cockpit door. Witnesses on the Continental Airlines flight from Houston to Los Angeles said Callihan then told the flight crew there were bombs and guns on the airplane, though none were found. In addition to this, Kasper nearly opened an emergency door when the plane landed. Both were arrested and convicted of interfering with a flight crew. The couple received his-and-hers prison sentences of three and two years respectively.

July 27, 1997: A woman traveling with her young son tried to enter the cockpit aboard a Northwest Airlink flight from Iowa to the Minneapolis-St.Paul airport. When the pilot closed the door, the woman — described by one passenger as a white-knuckle flier in the midst of a panic attack — became hysterical. She kicked open the cockpit door. Passengers said the pilots chose to return to Fort Dodge Regional Airport because they could no longer concentrate.

Nov. 25, 1997: As the pilots of a Cathay Pacific aircraft prepared to land in Bangkok, Thailand, a drunken Burmese passenger stormed the cockpit. He was removed by passengers and crew, handcuffed and turned over to Bangkok police upon landing. At the time of the incident, Cathay Pacific’s policy allowed cockpit doors to remain unlocked during flight. The policy, an airline spokesman claimed, facilitates better communication between pilots and cabin crew.

Dec. 16, 1997: Dean Trammel, a muscular, 200-pound college football player, suffered a “psychotic break” aboard U.S. Airways flight 38 bound for Baltimore from Los Angeles. After wandering up the aisle and claiming to be Jesus Christ, he tried to get into the cockpit. Flight attendants blocked access, but Trammel threw one of them over three rows of seats. She slammed into a bulkhead. Passengers and off-duty U.S. Airways pilots wrestled Trammel to the ground. He was tied with seat-belt extensions at his wrists, elbows, ankles, knees and legs. The plane landed with the two off-duty pilots sitting on top of him.

Sept. 23, 1998: The FBI charged Titan Tibor Sallai with intimidating a flight crew by allegedly attempting to enter the cockpit of a United Airlines jet. The plane was traveling between Las Vegas and Washington. Crew members had to use force to prevent Sallai from opening the cockpit door as well as an emergency exit door. Federal agents reported that at some point during the flight, Sallai attempted to drink contact lens cleaning fluid. The plane diverted to Denver.

Oct. 27, 1998: British rock star Ian Brown, formerly a singer with the Stone Roses, threatened to cut off the hands of a British Airways flight attendant. While the pilots attempted to land the aircraft, he hammered against the door. Brown claimed the pilot had provoked him. Lawyers have attempted to exonerate him.

April 5, 1999: An intoxicated passenger forced his way into the cockpit of an unidentified commercial jet as pilots were attempting to land at Copenhagen, Denmark’s Kastrup Airport. Once inside the cockpit, the passenger began shouting abuse at the pilots. His voice was reported to have been so loud and distracting that the crew had difficulty hearing radio directives from air-traffic control. The man was arrested upon landing.

June 6, 1999: After being denied more alcohol, Christopher Bayes fought with flight attendants and tried to storm into the cockpit, according to prosecutors at his trial. Delta Airlines Flight 64, en route to Manchester, England, from Atlanta, was forced to divert to Bangor, Maine, where Bayes was arrested. Bayes, who continues to deny his guilt, was convicted of assault and sentenced to six months in prison.

Aug. 5, 1999: Sanil Shetty Kumar, an American, was given a six-month jail sentence after trying to force his way into the cockpit on a Singapore Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Singapore via Tokyo. Kumar became intoxicated during the L.A. to Tokyo segment. After cockpit entry was thwarted by passengers and two male flight attendants, Kumar attempted to open an emergency exit door, shouting, “Tonight, everybody will die.”

Nov. 21, 1999: A Canadian Airlines jet flying to Halifax from Calgary was forced to divert to Ontario after an angry passenger walked into the cockpit. The man, who allegedly attempted to assault the pilot, had been shouting and creating a ruckus earlier. He had to be removed from the cockpit by passengers and crew members. At the time of the incident, Canadian Airlines policy allowed cockpit doors to remain unlocked except during takeoff and landing.

March 2, 2000: The FBI filed a criminal complaint against Joachim Peter Franke, a German national who tried to break into the cockpit of a Delta Airlines jet because he thought the plane was “flying too low and was in danger of crashing.” The deranged man had to be restrained after repeatedly trying to push past a flight attendant who blocked the cockpit door. The attendant yelled for help. Two passengers came to the rescue and held Franke in a seat until landing. Franke faces a fine of $10,000 and up to 20 years in prison.

March 20, 2000: An angry American woman was arrested after allegedly entering the cockpit during an America West flight from Phoenix to New York. How Denise Laverne Brown managed to breach the cockpit door is not exactly clear. But once inside, Brown allegedly attacked the co-pilot. FBI agent Doug Beldon said, “Apparently she refused to return to her seat, failed to obey the orders of the flight personnel, became angry, went into the cockpit and struck the co-pilot.” The flight diverted to Albuquerque, N.M., where the passenger was taken into custody by federal authorities.

As much a testament to the competence of airline pilots as to the swift response of dauntless passengers and cabin crew, not one of these cockpit intrusions resulted in an airplane disaster. But if attacks continue at the present rate, how long can courage and competence hold out?

At least one airline isn’t waiting to find out. More as a deterrent to hijacking than a defense against cockpit-bound passengers with fear or alcohol pumping through their veins, the government of India recently instituted a sky marshals program. As of Jan. 1, all Indian carriers are subject to random occupation by armed National Security Guard commandos. In an attempt to add an additional layer of in-flight security, flight attendants now undergo special “anti-hijacking” training. This no-nonsense approach comes after the Christmas Eve hijacking of an Indian Airlines plane that left one man dead and saw hostages held aboard the aircraft for nearly a week.

Are similar measures needed to prevent unplanned attacks like those on Alaska Airlines and Germania? Does this latest development by the Indian government signal an increase of federal marshals on U.S. carriers? Veteran fliers will remember that in 1970, following a decade in which U.S. airlines experienced dozens of airplane hijackings — many of them to Cuba — the sky marshal program was born.

These specially trained, armed agents travel on flights that have a higher-than-normal probability of being hijacked. Referred to nowadays as “federal air marshals,” they sit quietly in coach or first class, dressed in civilian clothes and are authorized to make arrests without warrants for any offense against the United States or its aircraft. The air marshal program was enabled by the Federal Aviation Act of 1958, the Anti-hijacking Act of 1947 and the International Security and Development Act of 1985.

Capt. Bob Cox is special projects officer for the national security committee of the Air Line Pilots Association, an employee labor union representing 55,000 pilots at 51 U.S. and Canadian carriers (including United, Delta, TWA, Northwest, U.S. Airways and Alaska). Cox believes that other airlines should follow the example set by Indian carriers. “The ALPA strongly endorses an increase in the use of armed federal air marshals on random domestic flights to deter or prevent violent attacks on crew members,” he says. “These are highly trained individuals with well-refined abilities to protect the cockpit and will do so at all costs.”

Not all pilots agree with such a drastic approach. Ed Horton, an international airline captain with 25 years’ experience in matters of flight security and disruptive passengers, doesn’t want the airplane cabin to turn into a battle zone. “The last thing you want is shots being fired inside an aircraft.” Horton believes the best way to stop potentially violent passengers is with well-trained eyes rather than weaponry. “All airlines need to do a better job at training crew members to recognize potentially disruptive passengers,” he says. “We need to learn more effective ways to approach them, how to diffuse the problem and how to deal with them effectively should violence erupt.”

With the possible exception of Indian Airlines and a few others, most airline companies do not properly train their flight attendants on how to handle violent passengers. Cabin crews are equipped with written, step-by-step procedures for dealing with almost every conceivable problem on a flight: seat malfunctions, broken ovens, cabin depressurization, medical emergencies, emergency evacuations and inoperative lavatories. They even receive detailed information on what steps to take should a woman give birth in flight. But there are no comprehensive procedures for suppressing a ballistic customer, no blueprint for crews to follow should they come face to face with the passenger from hell.

Left to their own devices, crew members are nevertheless quick to improvise. When Trammel attempted to break into the cockpit of the U.S. Airways jet, a quick-thinking flight attendant used a service cart to block access to the door. That stopped him long enough for passengers to help wrestle him to the ground. Flight attendant Renee Sheffer suffered serious injuries during the melee. Her husband, Mike, promptly created the Skyrage Foundation, a watchdog organization aimed at eradicating assaults against flight crews. With Sheffer at the helm, the foundation’s Web site tracks every reported instance of in-flight violence and serves as a forum for open dialogue on the subject. Sheffer believes that “anyone who attempts to, or actually enters, the cockpit and endangers the safe operation of the aircraft should have the maximum penalty imposed if convicted. (If President Clinton signs the aviation bill that the House and Senate just passed, that would mean a $25,000 fine).”

But he’d like to see the penalties become even more severe. “We should also adjust the federal sentencing guidelines to reflect the enormously serious nature of these acts, by increasing the level of offense to something similar to kidnapping or attempted murder. That way, federal judges would be able to impose serious prison terms.”

In 1994, the Federal Aviation Administration reported 121 incidents of
in-flight passenger misconduct. These incidents run the gamut, from severely
rude and obnoxious behavior — for example, a passenger verbally threatening
to punch a crew member — to outright physical assault. By 1998 the figure
had reached 283.

But because the FAA records only those incidents that airlines choose to
disclose, the total number of assaults is probably much higher. United
Airlines, for example, recorded 635 incidents of disruptive behavior in
1998. Of these, 61 were physical assaults. If one airline claims to have had
635 disruptive incidents in one year (9.6 percent of which were assaults),
and the FAA reports a grand total of only 283 occurrences on 84 U.S.
airlines during the same period, it’s safe to say that somebody is not
telling the whole story.

Perhaps in the not-too-distant future, a pleasant smile and friendly demeanor will no longer be listed in the job description for those seeking employment as a flight attendant. Instead, airlines may seek physically imposing, nightclub bouncer types who can deliver a knee to the groin or a blow to the solar plexus as effortlessly as an after-dinner cordial.

Now that older jets with three-pilot cockpits are gradually giving way to economically efficient models built with a cockpit for two, the modern-day flight crew is reduced by 33 percent. With only two pilots aboard instead of three on many flights, their safety and well-being have become more important than ever. As a result, pilots are becoming more and more reluctant to put themselves in harm’s way. “Sending a pilot into the passenger cabin to help resolve a dispute seriously diminishes the safety of the flight,” says Northwest Airlines Capt. Stephen Luckey, chairman of the ALPA’s national security committee. “This is particularly so in the event of an altercation which could result in an incapacitated pilot.”

Airline pilots must remain untouched and unencumbered behind the cockpit door. Unsound doors need to be fortified. Cabin crews need to be better trained. The federal air marshal program may need to be expanded or restructured to accommodate this new wave of nonterrorist terrorism. Until these aspects of in-flight security are properly addressed, who’s going to stop a fearless, able-bodied maniac from breaking into the cockpit and assaulting the two most important individuals on an aircraft? Fearless, able-bodied passengers and cabin crew have done so in the past, but our luck is bound to run out one of these days.

Jim Rodgers, Ulster Unionist member and Belfast city councilman, has spoken out against the terrorism peddlers. He told the BBC that the T-shirts are offensive to people who have been affected by the so-called troubles. He added, “We are trying to bring people to this city and attract investment, and I think if people are wearing T-shirts with sectarian slogans, it gives the wrong image of our beautiful city.”

Ink Castle’s owner, referred to as “Big Al,” disagrees. He told the news service his T-shirts merely poke fun at terrorism. “They do not support either loyalist or republican paramilitaries,” he said. “Some of the terrorists on the T-shirts are Islamic, not even from here. If you can’t laugh at them, what kind of sense of humor have you got?”

I headed toward the sea and soon found a quiet spot where a staircase
led down to the water’s edge. The lower steps had been worn away, and
the waves rolled under those left hanging and exploded in the cave
underneath. Each wave sent a spray of white surf back into the air. I
sat dry and aloof.

Down the shore a little, two old men stood with fishing lines in the
water. When I sat down, they stopped their conversation and looked over at me, then resumed talking.

Alone, I stared out at the scattered dhows, wooden boats with ancient
sails pointed across the water like arrows.

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

“Do you mind if I talk with you?” I turned to see a young man
approaching cautiously. He couldn’t have been more than 18, was
slightly built and wore nice tan pants with a white button-down shirt.

“Not at all.”

He sat on the step next to me. I waited for him to ask if I needed
transport or wanted to see the monkeys of Jozani Forest, but he didn’t.
Instead he asked where I was from and what I was doing. I told him, and
asked the same.

His name was Ahmed, and he was on his way home to Pemba, the Tanzanian
island north of Zanzibar. His mother, he said, was a doctor and his
father worked for the Ministry of Education. He had just finished Form
5 at a Muslim school in Morogoro, and was going home for the summer
before his last year. Then he would go to university, where he had great
academic ambitions. He wanted three degrees: biology, physics and
chemistry. Ahmed wanted badly to exceed the achievements of his
parents.

“But first,” he said, “I want to work as a ‘guidi.’ Do you know
guidi?” he asked.

“You mean to take tourists to the East Coast?”

He looked disappointed. “No, guidi means … in Swahili …” He
struggled for the words. “You don’t know guidi in English?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“You know … how do you say? …” He went into a lengthy explanation,
half in English, half in Swahili, about what I understood to be the
person who goes into a house first, in secret, to throw bombs. I told
him I understood, but wasn’t sure what the word was in English.

“Where do you want to do this?” I asked.

“In Palestine,” he said.

“You want to throw bombs at Israelis?”

“No.” He seemed reluctant, and went into another long explanation.
First, he said, he wanted to study to get his three degrees and then go
to one of the Hamas schools to learn how to construct bombs. He
explained this with no trace of bitterness, but rather with the innocence of
a boy describing his dream to be a fireman.

“I want to be the one who makes the bombs,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what to say, and a silence ensued, which I finally
broke. “That must be a hard job.”

The point was not lost. “Many people of Zanzibar,” he said, “they want
to go to England or Denmark to get a good life.”

“But not you?”

“Not me. I want a tough life.”

“How come?”

“Because,” he looked out across the water, “I have never faced it.”

“Yeah,” I said, “me neither.”

The waves crashed beneath us, exploding out into the surf. The sun
grew red as it sank toward the horizon and tourists from the balcony of
a nearby hotel grew louder and more obnoxious.

As we sat in silence watching the water and the dhows, I wondered what
it was, exactly, that made him so sure he wanted to go a place he’d
never been and make bombs for throwing at people he’d never met.

The more I thought about the question, the more it puzzled me. Ahmed
was confident and polite, a boy to have over for dinner. He didn’t look
like a bomber, a terrorist. He certainly didn’t
want to kill me, but just to chat in the lonely interval while he waited to
go home. Yet his belief in the politics of violence, rooted in a faith
in the Koran, seemed unshakable.

Waves crashed under us in the growing pause. Questions rolled through
my mind and since neither of us seemed to feel threatened by the other,
I decided to ask one.

“So,” I said casually, “how do you know the Koran is the truth?”

“Because,” he said, “I read it and I know it is the truth.”

“But how do you know?”

“If you read it, you can see: There is the truth.”

“What about the Bible?”

“The Bible is also truth, but the Koran is more truth,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah,” he waved a hand dismissively toward the water, “because, you see,
everyone has their different Bible. Everywhere you go, it is all
different. But the Koran, it is all the same, each and every one.” He
held out two fists triumphantly. “The Koran is much stronger.”

I appealed to his scientific side. “You know how in chemistry, when
you have an experiment, you can’t know something until you have the
proof. What is the proof that the Koran is the truth?”

“Ah haa,” he said, finally seeing what I meant. He told a parable
about a light bulb and a dark room — something about not knowing you are
in darkness until you see light. It was a sort of paradox designed to
make the head spin in revelation.

When my head did not spin, Ahmed looked perplexed and a little
frustrated. “You will never see until you read the Koran yourself,” he
said.

“That’s possible,” I admitted, and in silence, we watched the sun sink
below the sea.

“OK,” he announced in a mixture of proclamation and plea, “I want to
go now.” I told him I had to leave, too. We both rose, turned our backs
to the sea and walked partway down the road together.

At a crossroad, we exchanged invitations to each other’s homes, as
Tanzanians always do, and said a cordial goodbye. I went one way down
the road and Ahmed the other. After walking a little, I turned around
to look, just as he did the same, and our eyes met briefly before we
both turned back and continued on our way.

Koppel’s point, of course, was that “Biowar” — or something close to it — is going to happen in America sooner or later. Cynics will say “Biowar” was nothing more than a ratings stunt; but if so, the “Nightline” producers sure know what turns on their audience. Over the last decade, terrorism has slowly been filling the vacuum in the public imagination that was created when the Soviets checked out of the Kremlin, leaving the long-occupied villain role up for grabs.

Terrorism has been on the front pages for much of this decade, especially in the past year — from the bombing of U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania to the FBI’s decision in late July to ban tours of its headquarters building after Saudi terrorist Osama bin Laden threatened to blow it up.

In a comprehensive public opinion poll conducted last year, respondents cited terrorism as the No. 1 danger the United States faces from abroad, followed closely by the proliferation of chemical and biological weapons. An unscientific search of the Internet Movie Database indicates that even more films have been made about terrorists in the 1990s than there were about Soviet intrigue in the 1980s.

Experts disagree on whether an attack like the one “Nightline” depicted is likely. Optimists and doomsayers alike must draw their conclusions from the same swirling muck of fear, politics, pop culture and speculation that fuels the news media.

“The difficulty we have, with the possibility of terrorists using chemical or biological weapons, is we don’t have a validated threat,” explained RAND terrorism expert Richard Jenkins. “We don’t have any evidence that any particular terrorist organization is planning to carry out an attack.”

Former CIA Director John Deutch tried to put the threat in context: “The likelihood is high compared to a nuclear event, and high compared to the likelihood of general nuclear war during the Cold War, which was a catastrophic enough threat … to shape our security architecture.”

Right around the time “Biowar’s” imaginary virus was claiming its first victims, I happened to be browsing through counterterrorism equipment at a conference sponsored by the Jane’s Information Group. I peered at a startled-looking mannequin lying in an airtight decontamination stretcher. I compared auto-injecting syringes and fountain-pen-shaped cartridges loaded with emergency vaccines, and tested radio attachments for gas masks.

I spent the better part of an hour learning about a French-made hazmat (hazardous materials) suit from an energetic salesman. “Business must be good,” I offered, looking at the variety of equipment his firm distributed — mostly military gear customized for civilian use.

He responded that the United States has millions of potential “first responders,” from police and fire personnel to emergency medical technicians: “Two to three years from now, our domestic hazmat response teams are going to be better equipped than the military.”

They may have to be, and not just because of a possible biowar. As terrorists continue to experiment with small-scale chemical and biological weapons, police and hazmat teams will have to recognize an attack in progress and know how to respond. Unlike explosives, germs and poisons do the worst of their damage silently.

Particularly in the case of a gas attack, a quick response is critical — experts speak of a “golden hour” in which intervention can save lives.

When a truck bomb exploded at the Federal Building in Oklahoma City, for example, emergency crews never checked to see if the device had been laced with a chemical agent. That blunder could have had lethal consequences.

A number of terrorists have already used or attempted to use chemical or biological weapons in small quantities. Although a bomb is easier to use, and in many ways more practical, exotic weapons make even small attacks disproportionately frightening.

In 1984, for instance, two members of an Oregon cult poisoned local salad bars with salmonella, infecting 750 people (none fatally) in an attempt to fix a local election.

In 1994, two members of the right-wing Minnesota Patriots Council were arrested for planning to smear ricin, a lethal poison drawn from the seeds of a common garden plant, on doorknobs.

Nevertheless, only one group — the apocalyptic cult Aum Shinrikyo — has succeeded in launching a large-scale chemical attack. After several failed attempts with sarin nerve gas and anthrax, cult members killed 12 and injured more than 5,000 in Tokyo by planting pouches of sarin gas on the subway.

Although some experts and government officials agree with “Nightline” that a major attack is coming — Defense Secretary William Cohen famously declared that it was no longer a matter of “if,” but “when” — the greater threat from increased access to exotic weapons may be more attacks rather than bigger ones.

After all, terrorists only need to kill a few people — violently and with no warning — to wield the weapon of fear. Kill too many people, the logic goes, and governments will dig in their heels; the public will harden. As Col. Robert Leitch, a military medical consultant, explained, “You don’t want to kill a lot, just one, and publicly, with lots and lots of pictures.”

The strategic issues may be changing: A new class of terrorist has emerged in the last 10 years, drawing inspiration from religious or extremist subcultures without the political agenda of, say, the Irish Republican Army or Hezbollah.

Frank Ciluffo, a fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, says this new class of terrorist is especially dangerous, because it has no interest in a sympathetic public. “Historically, terrorism has been a tactic to get to the negotiating table. Today, on the other hand, you’ve got a number of groups who don’t want to get to that table, they want to blow up that table … They’re not concerned with popular support.”

Nevertheless, if you assume that only groups fitting a relatively narrow profile would attempt an attack on the scale that “Biowar” depicted, then the world is much less threatening than if you assume any malcontent with a chemistry kit is a potential Dr. Apocalypse.

Analysts remain anxious about Aum Shinrikyo, which combines significant resources ($300 million to $1 billion, by some estimates) with technical expertise and a sufficiently skewed worldview. Bin Laden also shows a similar mix of religious extremism and deep pockets.

But with the number of major threats reduced to a handful, sound intelligence can do much to prevent a calamity. Technical challenges further limit the pool of potential mass terrorists further. Despite money and expertise, for instance, Aum Shinrikyo failed in several attempts to find a way to disperse its nerve gas widely enough to kill thousands. In the end, it was only able to kill 12 people — tragic, to be sure, but a far cry from 50,000.

If the threat is limited, the defense measures aren’t. Every year, Americans spend $100 billion on personal security — an industry that employs some 2 million people — and counterterrorism has been claiming a growing piece of that pie. The number of agents at the FBI devoted to counterterrorism has grown from 550 in 1993 to 1,383 this year. The White House has committed $11.4 billion over the next 10 years to upgrade security at U.S. embassies around the world. And in January, President Clinton pledged $10 billion to fight terrorism in 2000.

But there are limits to what prevention can accomplish. Like car thieves, terrorists go for easy targets. As Washington takes steps to secure embassies, military bases, airports and government buildings, terrorists will still be left with a long list of targets to choose from — town centers, tourist attractions, commercial areas and public transport. “No terrorist bomb will remain unexploded for want of a target,” Jenkins remarked. If everyone is a suspect and everyone is a target, law enforcement cannot possibly prevent every incident.

Still, the most immediate challenge facing Washington may be neither a biowar nor a proliferation of attacks, but its own counterterrorism bureaucracy. As of 1997, 40 different government agencies were in the business of fighting terrorists. At the recent terrorism conference, I encountered military officers, independent analysts, police officers, accountants, at least one spy, a man who (among other, more relevant credentials) invented a robot howitzer, a student from my alma mater, contractors, doctors, a patent lawyer and a busload of firemen.

Committing $10 billion was easy. Deciding who gets it is another matter altogether. Maybe we should call it Bureauwar.

“This is a book about peace, not about war,” Arcade’s Jeanette Seaver says. (Daoud now supports the peace negotiations — he is a member of the Palestinian National Council — and has renounced terrorism.) But the book has made Daoud’s own life anything but peaceful. Early in June, Germany issued an arrest warrant for him on the basis of the book’s confessions. “It was a violent hostage taking. That’s a very legitimate reason to seek his arrest,” Werner Schmidt, a spokesman for the German consulate in New York, told Salon Books.

A week later, on June 13, Israel barred Daoud from returning to his West Bank home in Ramallah. Two weeks ago, U.S. representative Steven C. LaTourette of Ohio delivered a letter to President Clinton calling on him to demand that Daoud, now in Jordan, be turned over to Germany for prosecution. And that isn’t all. Seaver reports that “60 Minutes II” has already sent a crew to interview Daoud. (A spokeswoman for the show claimed no knowledge of such a crew.)

According to Seaver, Daoud was not paid for the U.S. publishing rights; his share of any profit reverts to his coauthor, Gilles Du Jonchay. “This is a book that should be read as you would read Napoleon’s notebooks: It is militarily and strategically interesting,” Seaver told Salon Books. “We are not censors or judges. We are publishers.”