When the second plane hit the South Tower, Norman Washington had made up his mind: it was a cover-up.

A single man in his fifties with short greying hair and office-style glasses, he shared his terraced house in Dorchester, on the outskirts of Boston, with Oswald, a whisky-brown Labrador named after the shooter of JFK. They were just like any human couple but for the fact they weren’t sharing the same bed – except on stormy nights, when Oswald would crash on Norman’s bed and snuggle up next to him. There was room in his bed, after all. His only attempt to tie the knot had ended with his bride-to-be running away with an old friend of hers. “Stop worrying, we’re just good friends,” she used to reassure him.

On the afternoon of September 18, he got back home from work – almost twenty years as a debt collector, a job that had nourished his mistrust of other people – and took Oswald out in the backyard garden for a short walk. Then, he dropped a can of moist mince turkey & chicken into the dog’s bowl, made himself a pot of coffee and sat at his desk. When the browser page opened up, he typed in the words “9/11 attack”. Thank God for the web, he thought, scrolling down the Google page: it was already swarming with ideas about who had really done it. He took a sip of his coffee and set out to prove that 9/11 was the biggest conspiracy of all time, something that made the Kennedy assassination look like chickenfeed.

At 2 30 a.m. he was still stuck in front of his computer. Reluctantly he folded his laptop, vowing to himself that he would do whatever it took to accomplish ‘the Task’.

Since then, every day, right after work, Norman would feed his beloved Oswald, stroke him a bit, and then dedicate the evening and much of the night to the Task. As for the weekend, it was wholly consecrated to the cause. Feeding himself and Oswald were the only breaks he took. Oswald wasn’t complaining. When Norman tossed the dishes in the basin and went back to his computer, the dog looked at him with an expression which seemed to say “a man gotta do, what a man gotta do”. The whole family unit, of which Oswald was a pillar, was now dedicated to the Task.

Incredible feelings of excitement would strike him with every twist and turn of his investigations. Several key websites had become the wells where he would slake his thirst, the sources of his daily replenishment; he deemed them loyal allies in the battle for the big Truth, the one with the capital “T”.

Some days were more fruitful than others: eye-opening links, courageous confessions, enlightening articles, mesmerizing never-before-seen videos appearing from the hidden nooks of the web. Oswald recognised these moments by Norman stamping his feet rhythmically on the floor. That was the sign that his master was happy, and a good time to approach him. He jumped up with a human-like nod meant to say something like “I’m happy to be your dog, are you happy to be my master?” to which Norman responded with a few strokes and pats before going back to the Task.

There were moments when Norman felt overwhelmed by the avalanche of material available: controlled demolitions, CIA cover-ups, Flight 93 shot down by a missile, fake phone calls from victims, Air Defense Stand-Down orders, Federal Protection for 9/11 hijackers. Every link took him to a more gripping scenario, a more shocking revelation, a stream of controversial assertions. He felt as though the whole world was waiting for him to discover the Truth.

Oswald barked to bear witness to his own existence. Norman turned slightly and smiled, as if saying “Yes, I remember about you”. But did he? He was neglecting all his usual engagements. He didn’t play with his dog, had no social life – not that he had ever had a lot of it – didn’t watch TV, didn’t go to the cinema… His health was suffering – he’d forgotten to take the pills for his mitral insufficiency for three days, and missed a routine check. I’ll do it next time, he thought. Nonetheless, the Task was giving him all the vitality he needed. He certainly wouldn’t have said it in public, but 9/11 had changed his life for the better.

END OF PART ONE