After a delay of about an hour the doorway opened and in marched a full Colonel of the United States Marines, accompanied by two lieutenants. “Stay seated” ordered the commissioned military officer as Carl rose to his feet. He sat opposite. The three men had him recite every detail of “the incident” as they called it. For two hours they shot questions at him, each intervening at various times. The Colonel eventually stood and addressed the airman.
“Listen son” he stated, there should be no need for me to advise you of the oath you took on entering the service, however, I am advising you that what you did today is Top Secret and will remain so. You are not permitted to discuss the incident with anyone, not even your flight commander is that clear?’
“YESSIR” Carl responded, although a little too loudly.
“Do you have any recording devices on you of the occurrence?” he asked.
“NOSIR” was the prompt reply, and it was the truth, he didn't have any evidence actually on him.
The Colonel arose and gave a salute, turned and was out of the door before Carl could regain his feet and return the military courtesy.
It took about another twenty minutes before the Marine guard re-emerged with Carl's flight suit and commanded him to dress and come after him. He noticed that the pockets had been turned inside out and the garment thoroughly inspected. He led him through the corridors back to the FA-18 which was now sitting on the taxiway, refuelled and positioned for departure. He clambered aboard and started the engines. The standard recording USB stick had been removed.
He complied with the “Follow Me” jeep to the runway, called the tower and immediately cleared for take-off to the Carl Vinson. He muttered “I was never even given breakfast” as his jet climbed into the bright morning sky.
On the flight back to the aircraft carrier his mind wandered to the events of last night. He could have done nothing different, he explained to himself, he followed orders, yet his recollection kept seeing the small face of a dead girl against an oval window. He reached back and retrieved the USB card from its hiding place and zipped it into a pocket on his flight suit.
Carl obtained clearance from air traffic control and lined the FA-18 up for the approach to the carrier, picked up the Christmas tree and let down the landing gear. Suddenly he could only see the child’s face squeezed up against the oval window. He failed to snag the wire and had to do a bolter, meaning he had to go around for another try. Raging Bull prided himself on having never missed a touchdown, in the knowledge that his name would show up on the “Greenie Board” or display of shame for the rest of the cruise. His next effort was flawless as usual, and he was greeted by his crew chief with a “what the fuck” look on his face.
Koa was right there when Carl raised the canopy of the fighter jet. He said to him, “hide this” and the little Hawaiian took the USB from him and slipped it into the pocket of his brown jacket without anyone noticing. He was wise enough not to query his pilot, sensing this was not the time nor place.
Chapter 27
The news of the missing airliner was headlines round the world.
Curt Joyner watched the morning coverage like millions of others. He lived alone in his condo on 770 Maine Avenue. The apartment was not large plus it had a view over the wharf neighbourhood if you leaned out from the edge of the balcony. It's biggest advantage was that it was a mere fifteen-minute drive from work, twenty if the traffic was chaotic. A halfway decent stereo, a comfortable chair across from the TV was all he needed to make him content. A few framed photos of his children, and grandchildren, rested on a sideboard but none of his ex-wife. He was close to his offspring, both had done well for themselves, his daughter had a promising career in a law firm in the Midwest and his son was already a Major in the military. He completed dressing, putting on his grey suit and red tie which his daughter told him gave him a “power look”, and moved to the kitchen to finish his “starter coffee”, the first of many he would consume throughout his day. He was sipping his beverage when the phone rang, he was half expecting the call. He picked it up. “Joyner,” he said.
“Pack a bag” the voice on the other end stated. “You’re heading to Malaysia. A Malaysian 777ER-200 is missing. While it's not in our area, it's a Boeing manufactured aircraft and we need to be involved; it will probably require a bit of tact and diplomacy given the authorities are very touchy about the Americans tramping over their turf”.
“Hey Boss, I’m as stealthy as a fox, I can tip toe across anybody's tulips without leaving even one footprint” he joked. “Well it may take that mental dexterity anyway, I want you to call by the office and pick up your written credentials, and supply you the facts as we know them.”
“Give me half an hour and I'll be there,” replied his operative.
Curt Joyner was a senior investigator for the NTSB, the National Transport Safety Board. He had mastered his trade way back when he joined the US Navy.
He was assigned as an aircraft carrier's AIMD, Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department, at which he excelled. He took great joy in probing the inner workings of the sophisticated electronics of the war birds of the time, many innovations of which were standard in the airliners of today.
Joyner took any and all courses made available to him. At the end of his enlistment he had excelled, but the long periods of separation were not easy for a newly married couple and thus he left.
He blamed his naval service for the ultimate breakdown of his marriage but it did give him two children, a boy and a girl, on whom he doted, as well as his grandchildren. He found it was not difficult in obtaining employment with McDonnell Douglas.
He enjoyed the line of work with the civilian corporation and introduced many innovations for the DC-10, transferring his experience with the new technology installed in fighter jets. The company merged with Boeing a few years later, and he served for a period with them, but like most mergers, it was only a matter of time before downsizing occurred. In a few months Curt took the lucrative redundancy package offered. Fortunately the National Transport Safety Board were recruiting. They required more personnel to cover the increased workload owing to the burgeoning passenger aircraft industry.
He had been with the NTSB ever since.
Curt Joyner stepped briskly into the bedroom and opened the double doors of his cupboard. He retrieved the big blue duffle bag which he and all the NTSB investigators, had packed and ready to leave at a moments notice. It contained toiletries, clothes and numerous other pieces of equipment necessary for their work. A large NTSB insignia was embroidered on both sides and a sizable plastic identification tag clipped to the handle. He grabbed his all-weather jacket off the coat hook, checked that the house was locked and left, not knowing when he would return.
It took him less than half an hour to drive to the NTSB building in Washington DC and park in his allocated position. The air was crisp as he walked to the elevator which lifted him to the sixth floor, and his office. On his desk was a blue folder and a Manila File. He unsealed the envelope and slid out the airline tickets and letter of authority inside. Washington to Los Angeles, LAX to KL (Kuala Lumpur). He would be spending a lengthy time in the air. He sat at his desk and opened the blue folder. It didn't take long to read the file, so far, it consisted of only six pages. The typed account revealed little more than what he had seen on the news. It did however, give him the names of his contacts in the Malaysian Air Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB) division of the Ministry of Transport. A handwritten note from his boss was attached by paper clip to the side. “You're there to see if a malfunction occurred with the airliner. The Government Minister is touchy about establishing a link to the pilots or crew, it might be inadvisable to look into that at this time”. The Boeing Aircraft Co.had provided a manual detailing the specifics for the actual aeroplane; serial number 28420, registration 9M-MRO aka MH370. It incorporated everything from the engines, Twin Rolls-Royce Trent 892, to the cabin layout as ordered by Malaysian Airways. The craft was configured to car
ry 282 passengers and crew.
The file also contained the aircraft freight manifest. He noted the Lithium batteries.
Curt Joyner stood and placed the documents into his briefcase which was actually a flying bag the same as the ones used by airline pilots. It would carry much more than an ordinary attaché case.
He decided the folders could be studied on the long trip to Malaysia.
He exited the building and drove out to the Dulles International Airport to catch the American Airlines flight 282 to Los Angeles. He left his vehicle in the parking area reserved for NTSB staff, placed his permit in the front window, and walked with his baggage into the terminal. He was unsure of when he would return.
Chapter 28
Three more investigating officers gave Carl Meredith a thorough debriefing after landing. In reality it resembled enough of an interrogation. They repeatedly requested him to recite the events regarding the “incident” to the point where he gained the suspicion they desired him to swear the airliner was intentionally flown into the sea by its rogue pilot. In the end he said, “write up the report however you like but don't ask me to sign it, I won't lie”. This caused a great deal of consternation in the room but eventually the commander dismissed him with a stern warning not to speak of the incident to anyone.
He gained the feeling that he had done something wrong.
In the weeks following the event Carl found himself living in an uncomfortable stupor. The “Black Dog” of depression enveloped his off-duty hours. He was still capable of fulfilling his role as a fighter pilot, but he sensed he had lost his edge. His sleep had a recurring nightmare in which he could clearly see the tortured face of a little girl calling to him as he shot down the airliner.
It was Koa, his Crew Chief who broached the subject with him. “I have noticed you are not flying with your usual penash lately”, he said with a sympathetic look. “Are you not well or something?” he added seriously.
Carl returned his gaze and broke into tears. He couldn’t explain his torment lest he break the oath he made to his interrogators and the U.S. Navy.
“Listen Man, the Hawaiian said in a consoling voice, if you can’t tell me then maybe you should talk to the medics or the Padre?” he continued.
Carl shook his head and wiped his eyes before saying he would take it on board. “Do you have the USB stick I gave you?” he whispered.
Koa nodded ascent. “Please keep it in case something happens to me. He patted his friend on the shoulder and thanked him for his concern.
A few days later, his demons still active, he wandered down to the Chaplains’ cabin.
Gerald Tomlinson, the “sky pilot” as the crew referred to him, deliberately left the door to his office open when he was in attendance. It made a welcoming invitation to drop in.
Carl Meredith baulked at the doorway before regaining his composure and poked his head around the door.
The Chaplin looked up from desk and beckoned him in.
“Hi there. Welcome to Gods’ little acre,” he stated with an inviting smile.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” replied Carl, in some way regretting his decision to enter.
“I was just putting the finishing touches to Sundays’ sermon. Please take the seat next to me.” he said as he deftly swept a handful of prayerbooks from a chair into a neat pile on the corner of his desk.
Gerald Tomlinson had been with the Navy for fifteen years. He administered to his flock both as religious advisor and part-time psychiatrist. He loved working in the service and believed it made better citizens of those who served. He saw any questioning of the command structure as treason.
Carl closed the door behind him. “ I don’t know where to start Padre,” he said.
The chaplain remained quiet, leaving his penitent to express his anxiety in his own time.
“By following orders I may have inadvertently killed civilians,” he blurted out.
“I see her in my dreams every time I sleep,” he continued.
The tears weld up in his eyes as he related the story of shooting down an airliner., and the visions that haunted him.
“There are times you must follow orders which are unpleasant to you, but in the military it is the commanders decision, my son. That responsibility is theirs not yours,” he counselled.
The paster narrated experiences of pilots in the Gulf War he had mentored.
“The consequence of military action is collateral deaths. Which is why our leaders try to avoid it,” he concluded.
They spoke for a further hour before Carl considered his conscience salved. They parted with a handshake and the chaplain’s “See you at service on Sunday” cheery farewell.
Concerned at the mental health of the pilot he decided to request some downtime for him from the Captain.
Chapter 29
Richard Battley had been exceedingly busy. It was his job to see that nothing embarrassed the United States of America nor the Office of The President. He had already formulated a strategy to distance the United States from any repercussions from the incident.
It was the British who first created the Office of Protector of The Crown earlier in the Seventeenth Century. The title was never mentioned and the individual who held the position was the most trusted in the British Establishment.
Recruited from the spy services such as MI5, it was the job of the Protector to guard the institution of The Crown from the foibles of the members of that august family. It had proven to be very successful over the past century and a half, but its work was more difficult with the advent of the modern new media.
Once, “The Protector” could merely have a discreet word with the owner of a newspaper to suppress a scandal. Occasionally they used tactics which were downright intimidation or blackmail. The institution of the monarchy was far too precious to disregard. If the people were to lose faith in the highest symbol of their democratic governance, anarchy and revolution would surely ensue, leaving open the door to totalitarianism.
On more than one occasion this had resulted in a Royal person being confined to an asylum and if warranted, an accidental death.
The United States had seen the benefits of the Protector and had established a similar office as part of the Secret Service.
The behaviour of some Presidents since, had shown the great value of this concealed arm of the service.
Battleys` position came with sole access to an account of several hundred million dollars, in a bank in the Cayman Islands. Hidden through a network of shelf companies, he could discreetly transfer funds to some of the most unconscionable individuals who would do anything if the price was right.
Immediately after ordering the commander of the base at Diego Garcia to bring down flight 370 he spoke to the National Security Agency. He specifically required their computer division, send out a coded instruction to the USS Georgia, a nuclear-powered submarine, in the southern Indian Ocean.
The message ordered the sub to transmit commands to an Inmarsat satellite orbiting high above.
The spacecraft would send a signal to the jet engines of a participating aircraft, and wait for a return called a handshake. This signified they were operating normally or otherwise. An acknowledgment would allow the manufacturers to advise the pilots of any impending problems and give them time to take precautionary measures before developing into an emergency.
Most aircrew were unaware of this function. The pilot of MH370 was not one of them, he had made sure he disabled this device with all other tracking mechanisms, but he failed to notice it had been remotely turned on again.
The next step in Battleys’ program involved an encrypted call to the base commander, on the island of Diego Garcia.
“Colonel,” he instructed, “I need you to run a clean-up crew out to the site of the incident and remove all debris floating in the field, as well as disbursing any oil on the surface.”
“I want you to bring back any pieces found to your base under total secrecy and burned or buried. This is a
matter of the highest priority and National Security. You must understand that the country and the President cannot be connected to the event”.
His tone and air of authority made the Colonel react like this was a career breaking order if he did not comply, which it was.
Chapter 30
A blast of cold air hit Curt Joyner as he stepped into the skyway tunnel connecting the International Airport of Kuala Lumpur to the shuttle from LA. Carrying his flight-bag-come-briefcase, he thanked the cabin staff for their courtesy and the comfortable crossing and proceeded into the terminal. Three gentlemen in dark, neatly tailored suits stood at the entrance holding a sign which read Mr. Joyner.
Curt walked over to the trio and introduced himself.
The introductions were formal, polite and perfunctory. One of the group diplomatically requested his ticket and passport which he handed to a junior loitering in the background, “we will take care of your baggage and entry visa, please come with us while we wait” the older gentleman suggested. The trio led him through the terminal into the VIP lounge where comfortable seating had been arranged. A Malaysian Airlines' stewardess bought a tray of hot snacks and placed it on the coffee table in the centre of the group and enquired if any of them would like a drink. Curt watched the three other men to see what they ordered, this being a Muslim country, he was reluctant to request a whiskey, although he actually needed one, so he asked for an orange juice. An underling produced a large ring back folder, which he passed on to Mr. Adam, who was obviously the senior member of the group. Mr. Adam, as he had introduced himself, then handed the file to Curt.
“You will find all the relevant subject matter we have so far, in this book.” he explained.
“Please review it in your hotel ahead of our conference tomorrow”, he added. “ We are still evaluating information as it comes to hand. You will have the latest update at our next meeting.” and with that statement he rose to his feet indicating the reception was over. Before Curt could ask any questions, he was motioned toward the door leading to the exterior. The small group was met by the underling who handed Curt his passport, visa duly stamped, and escorted them through the terminal to a black Lexus parked in front, where the chauffeur was loading the last piece of his luggage into the boot. The three Malaysian officials and their entourage waited until the vehicle moved off before re-entering the building.
In The National Interest Page 5
