Chapter 17
Captain Zaharie was confident he had avoided being seen by anyone who would raise the alarm as he descended through twenty-five thousand feet altitude. Like most airline pilots he was unaware that the engines of his aircraft had their own communication with the outside world.
The analysers within the jet engines would transmit their status via a fast transmission called a ping to a satellite in space operated by Inmarsat, which sent information to the manufacturers to acquaint them if any problems were imminent. The flight crew thus alerted could take appropriate action and disaster averted. While not accurate in giving the aircraft's position, the company engineers could calculate within an arc of North and South longitude where roughly the craft was as at the last ping. The Inmarsat satellite above the Indian Ocean was ageing and considerably less precise than the newer versions.
Shah activated the systems he would need, autopilot, air pressurization and the flight computer. Caution lights flashed on the panel, but he took no notice, his flight computer calculated he had close to fifteen hundred and fifty nautical miles to the target before fuel ran out. Roughly three hours to travel he surmised. His brain went through diverse scenarios, and he realised he had never decided exactly where on the base he would strike. His thoughts were deeply engaged in this aspect when he was abruptly shocked into consciousness. From out of nowhere, a fighter jet passed over his cockpit at only fifty feet.
The aircraft turned and took up station less than three meters from his left wing tip, and he was looking at the helmeted head of a US Navy pilot sitting in his FA-18.
Chapter 18
In Beijing the arrivals board showing the status of flight MH370 changed state from DELAYED to a blank. Those who had come to meet and greet relatives and friends milled about in confusion. People angrily confronted the information desk or the check-in counters which yielded no news on the state of affairs. Frustration led to anger, before a spokesperson stood on a baggage plinth and announced that Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 was missing. This did nothing to quell the crowd. Security attempted to keep the agitated throng under control. Shouted demands for more news fell on deaf ears and met with silence. Many in the group burst into tears, while others simply prayed.
Cell phones raised to heads and the news swiftly arrayed to the press and friends back in Malaysia and China The media circus began.
Within the hour rescue teams scoured the skies. Chaos ensued. Firstly the search centred around the South China Sea off the coast of Vietnam. Much time was lost before it then switching to a region across the Malay Peninsula. Military and civilian craft scoured the seas looking for oil slicks, debris fields, or anything that may give an indication of the missing aircraft’s whereabouts. They were unaware that MH370 was still airborne high above the Indian Ocean.
Chapter 19
Headquartered in Washington DC, The National Transport Safety Authority would have an interest in the missing Boeing 777-200 ER of Malaysian Airways.
The aircraft was designed and built at the Boeing factory in Seattle, and had an exemplary record. If there was a fault in the manufacture or airframe of the aeroplane they needed to know about it as soon as possible.
It was the Chief Board Member, Deborah Herdsman who made the call to the Senior NTSB investigators office and requested a competent operator be dispatched to Malaysia to assist in the probe for the missing aeroplane. “Larry, this will need some ego stroking with the parties involved. I want you to send someone with a diplomatic touch”.
“Consider it done”, was his reply as he flipped through the names of his experts.
Chapter 20
Zaharie didn't believe it for a moment. How they located him so quickly, he had been meticulous in his planning. It took a second for the reality of the circumstances to set in. The US Navy had found him and was going to stop him. He looked again at the aviator flying in formation close to his wing tip.
The fighter pilot raised his hand in a gesture of speaking into a microphone and waved to indicate he wanted to communicate with him. For a moment Zaharie just stared at him, then he looked away as if he hadn’t seen him. The warplane pulled about one hundred feet ahead and directly in front of the airliner and waved his wings in the International Signal to “Follow Me”, when civilian aircraft encountered military ones. The Boeing 777 did not comply.
Chapter 21
Carl “Wild Bull” Meredith manoeuvred to his previous position and took in what visual clues he could see inside the airliner's cockpit, then let his jet fighter slide further back along the fuselage of the plane. The cabin section was in darkness, but he could see some of the passengers through the windows lit by the navigation and strobe lights of his aircraft. Nobody was moving. A young face pressed against one porthole. Mouth open, the facial expression of a girl child appeared to be pleading for help. He radioed back his information to the control centre on board Carl Vinson.
“Gold Eagle, Gold Eagle, this is Wild Bull” he intoned.
“Go ahead Wild Bull” was the reply. By now the Captain and a gaggle of brass had assembled in the operations room.
“A pilot appears to be in charge of the aircraft, the passenger cabin reveals itself to have suffered a decompression judging by the ice remaining in the corners of the windows. The lights are off in this section and there is no sign of life. I repeat, no signs of life. My judgement is he has restored pressurization”.
The Captain requested the highest ranking officers to accompany him to the wardroom.
When all were assembled he spoke quietly but with authority.
“What do you make of the situation”? He addressed nobody in particular.
“Looks like a hijacking to me” offered the squadron commander.
Other intonations mumbled in agreement. “But by whom?” a voice declared.
There was a silence in the room which was palpable.
“Any ideas of his intentions?” the Captain asked, not really expecting an answer.
“He's planning to plough into us” one of the group stated emphatically.
“If not the fleet, then where? He’s heading in the wrong direction for us”, replied the Skipper.
They speculated, but it went unspoken.
“I guess I'll have to kick it upstairs, it’s above my pay grade”.
The Skipper turned and disappeared out the door heading for his own quarters.
Captain Thomas pondered for a moment before calling Diego Garcia. The Commander there listened to the information given by the Master of the Carl Vinson. “Stand by, and I will return back to you shortly”, he said, and without preamble, hung up and dialled the Pentagon again on his secure line.
Chapter 22
The nondescript cubicle simply had one nameplate on the door, Richard Battley and underneath Homeland Security without any rank disclosed or other description. This could mean he was an operative for any of the alphabet soup of defence departments that constituted the United States Security forces. Those working in the offices adjacent suspected that he must be an undercover agent, commonly referred to as a spook.
Richard Battley stood out in the Pentagon, at six feet one inch he was tall, his body lean but it was evident he was not a warrior.
He wore quality tailored suits from Alexander West and 6th Avenue instead of military uniforms, and his gait was more Wall Street Broker than the purposeful march of the Officer class.
Battley was in fact a lawyer, an expert in International Law, having gained his degrees in Harvard Law School and Cambridge, England. He married a former beauty queen and had an excellent residence in Stone Ridge Virginia. One could not describe his home life as intimate. Like many of his contemporaries in the halls of power the secrets and absenteeism took their toll on the marriage. The couple still enjoyed each other's company but largely lived separate existences. He worked for the United States delegation to the United Nations for ten years before being seconded to the US Justice Department, and from there to the Presidents' personnel ad
visory committee.
He reported directly to the Chief of Staff, and was responsible for holding the administration at arms length from the country's many covert operations. Plausible Deniability was the often termed phrase. It was his job to keep the Office of The Commander in Chief as far removed from the more clandestine activities of his agencies as possible. What the President didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, was Battley’s modus operandi.
His successful interventions managed to keep the Whitehouse out of the financial scuttlebutt of Wall Street, and the sexual escapades of former Presidents from both parties.
He spoke with a Mid-Atlantic accent, and rarely showed emotion.
He could and would decide the outcome. There would be no 9/11 on his watch.
He enacted several phone calls over the next ten minutes. He advised The Chief of Staff of the state of affairs, before contacting a unit at the NSA specializing in electronic hacking. They restored a specific device the pilot of the rogue aircraft had made inoperable.
This instrument communicated information about the engines back to a company named Inmarsat. His last telephone call was to the base Commanding officer on Diego Garcia. His instructions were clear and concise, “Watch where it proceeds and if needs be, take it down”.
He hung up, preferring succinct statements of purpose.
Chapter 23
Dawn would be two hours away as the two aircraft streaked over the pitch black Indian Ocean at five hundred miles per hour. The fighter jet was not going anyplace and Zaharie realized it. He looked across at the FA-18 on several occasions but the Navy airman stayed in formation. A few times Zaharie attempted to turn his craft into him but the FA18 was far too nimble and the pilot excessively skilled for him to intimidate his adversary. He could see the miles counting off to his target, yet doubts formed in his head whether he would ever reach it.
Chapter 24
Back in Diego Garcia the commanding officer was busy deploying assets to confront the imminent threat. He had dispatched two fast patrol boats and a guided missile destroyer to intercept the oncoming airliner. The Chagos-Laccadive Plateau of which Diego Garcia forms a part of the southern boundary, drops away to a depth of three thousand feet or more. It would be near impossible to find any craft or ship that sank into the valleys and crags of this underwater labyrinth. The base commander ordered two fighters to join the Boeing and the attack aircraft from the Carl Vinson. As this incident required discretion, he raised no general alarm.
The Colonel answered his telephone. “Secretary of Defence here Commander” the voice on the other end announced. “I am giving you an order to undertake whatever measures are necessary to see we do not have another nine eleven on one of our military bases like we did with The Pentagon. If you deem it imperative, take the bird down and remove any debris from the neighbourhood. The incident did not happen in our territory. Do I make myself absolutely clear”? The Commanders' brow furrowed as he answered, “Sir”.
The phone line went dead.
He considered his position. This is what you get the big bucks for he thought.
He picked up the telephone and pushed the appropriate button on the implement, and said “put me through to the pilot from the Carl Vinson”.
Every aircraft in the United States Navy is equipped with a scrambler, the code of which changed daily making it virtually impossible to intercept conversations between the pilots and carrier operations.
Carl heard the intonation of his controller come on, “Wild Bull, Wild Bull, I have the base commanding officer from Diego Garcia for you, patching him through now.”
A moment later the voice of the Chief came on.
“Lieutenant Meredith, I want you to listen closely to what I have to say,” a pause, before he continued, “You are now about an hour out from our base here, is there any chance that the civilian aircraft is heading to Mauritius or another landing place?”
Carl answered, “I don't believe so Sir”, he replied.
“Can you confirm his intentions at all?”
“He is not responding to my signals Sir, unfortunately there is no indication where he is heading nor his frame of mind”, Carl communicated.
“If that is the case I require you to bring that bird down now” the base commander said.
“How?” Carl responded in a hushed tone.
The base chieftains` voice was firm and authoritative, “I want you to use the Vulcan to disable his engines”.
The FA-18 is equipped with a powerful twenty millimetre Gatling gun which could dispense six thousand rounds per minute from its five barrels. Lieutenant Carl Meredith armed the weapon and fired a brief burst. He eyeballed the captain of the 777 and noticed his response. The rogue airliner immediately rolled away. The pilot gave a look of total surprise. He was now aware the Navy meant business. He gained his composure and returned the Boeing 777 onto its previous course. Although he wished otherwise, Carl agonized over what he had to do, time had run out.
The FA-18 slipped back to a distance of one hundred meters behind the airliner. Carl couldn't help looking at the young face in the window of the passenger jet as he took up his position to the rear of the Boeing Jetliner.
The visor of his helmet came alive with the targeting information he needed. The attack reticule centred on the left engine. Carl squeezed the trigger for less than two seconds. The tracer bullets led a fiery track straight into the huge jet engine, causing a hail of sparks and fire to emit from it.
Chapter 25
In the Captains seat of MH370, Zaharie experienced the jolt of the port side engine exploding and saw a sheet of flame. Warning lights flashed around the dashboard of the stricken airliner. “The bastard shot at me”, he apprehended. It had not occurred to him that they might shoot him down. In his perplexed emotional state of mind instinct swung into play, as he shut off the left motor and pulled the fire suppressant lever. Bells and warning hooters sounded, lights flashed, all adding to his state of confusion. Within a minute the starboard engine exploded also. Like the great pilot that he was,, he ticked through the shutdown procedure and fire extinguishing drill for the second engine. The aeroplane became eerily quiet. Without the engines working, the pressurized air decreased. Zaharie lowered the nose into the best angle of descent to reach below ten thousand feet. He attempted to restart the APU (auxiliary power unit) however, devoid of the air bleed from the main engines it failed to fire. The emergency generator descended from the belly of the aircraft granting electrical power to the vital instruments for flight.
As the aeroplane dropped beneath 10000 ft (ca. 3 km), he could see the waves of the ocean below. Fortunately for him the waters were flat this night giving him a chance to survive the landing. His egotism kicked in, and he believed that if Chesley Sullenberger could do it on the Hudson he can do it on the Indian Ocean.
He became the professional pilot once again, lining his airliner up for an emergency landing on the undulating sea. The waves came up to meet him; slowly and deliberately he raised the nose and put the rear of the aircraft onto the water.
He kept the wings level for as long as he could. The left engine caught the crest of a swell spinning the aeroplane sideways. It skipped across the top of a few waves before a large crack appeared just aft of the first class segment of the fuselage, as it settled on the sea. The warm salt water of the Indian Ocean rushed in filling the long cabin section in minutes. Air trying to escape and the incoming deluge caused a vortex which swirled around forcing some articles out through the gaping wound on the airframe. A blue holdall snagged on the jagged metal for a moment before being expelled out onto the undulating sea. Largely intact, Flight MH370 slipped beneath the waves taking the bodies of the Captain and crew and 227 passengers down three thousand feet to rest in a canyon on the ocean floor.
Chapter 26
Circling above, Carl Meredith watched the final moments of flight MH370 and it's departure beneath the waves . Noting on his flight computer the GPS position of the aircraft disappeara
nce he did one last pass over the area, and having “Bingo” fuel he headed for the airstrip on Diego Garcia where he could refuel before returning to the “Carl Vinson”.
He disengaged his armaments and abruptly realised he had videotaped the event on his USB. The private recording of one's engagement was an offence against Navy Regulations and, although common amongst pilots, could incur you being grounded or worse. He pulled the stick from its holder and sort a place to hide it. His craft would be serviced by a different crew chief in Diego Garcia, and he did not want it found by any upstart wishing to “go by the rules”.
He streaked past the two aircraft sent from the base on Diego Garcia, and far below him two fast patrol boats and the guided missile destroyer were heading to the coordinates that he had earlier given. He landed ten minutes later. He was looking forward to a large hot breakfast and coffee while he waited for the refuelling to be completed. A Jeep with a “Follow Me” sign greeted him at the taxi ramp, and he duly followed him to a parking bay. No sooner had he exited the cockpit he escorted by a Marine Guard into a complex of buildings. His minder led him through numerous passages before entering a room which looked like it was used for interrogation. Still dressed in his flight suit and carrying his helmet, he was ordered to strip down to his underwear. This was not the greeting he was expecting. “Sit and wait” the guard told him, as she picked up Carl's flying suit and left the room, closing the door with an ominous thump,
In The National Interest Page 4
