In The National Interest

by J. Harvey Barker

  He preferred the enquiry be curtailed before the media launched their own speculative and penetrating examination.

  He considered the best way to implement that.

  Chapter 47

  Kim Doh checked her emails as soon as she boarded the Eurostar for her return journey to Paris. She immediately opened those from curt. He advised her that his boss in the NTSB had managed to twist some diplomatic arms and had obtained permission to inspect the suspect pieces of the aeroplane, however they were under protection in a secure warehouse in Toulouse. He asked her to collect her bags and meet him at the La Grand Balcon Hotel in that city. He intended to fly there directly from Paris.

  Keeping her frustration to herself she reorganized her plans and decided to go straight from the station to the airport where she would hopefully meet Curt for the flight to Toulouse.

  She telephoned the hotel in Paris. The helpful concierge, arranged checkout and have her bag picked up from the room. He called back a few minutes later and enquired, “Did you have any visitors in your absence?” Kim replied in the negative. “The housekeeper said your belongings were strewn about. Please forgive my impertinence, I ordered her to pack everything neatly and be transported by the hotel’s limousine to Orly airport for your collection at the information desk.” She thanked the gentleman profusely. Meanwhile she pondered the intrusion into her room.

  She was unsure if it was the Australian accent or that she spoke fluent French which gave rise to his co-operativeness, but she was grateful nonetheless.

  Her flight was from Orly Airport and the time of her departure should correspond closely with Curt’s from Charles de Gaulle. She hoped she would catch him at their destination so they could share a cab to the hotel.

  The rain was pouring down when she arrived at Toulouse.

  Chapter 48

  The laptop in front of Curt Joyner announced that a new device was present in his computer and after doing a virus scan loaded up the image. He stared fixated as the screen revealed a moving picture of an aircraft being intercepted. The tail colours designated it to be a Malaysian airliner. The video was taken at night, yet the aeroplane was showing no navigation lights. It was illuminated by the flashing green strobe lighting of the pursuing craft. The fuselage was largely in darkness save the dim luminosity from the emergency exits. By looking closely he could make out human silhoettes in the windows. The filming aircraft moved tightly alongside the airliner. Curt watched in fascination as the video revealed the cockpit and a male at the controls. He heard the voice of the military pilot seeking to make contact with the him, without success. Several attempts were made before the fighter jet shot forward in front of the civilian carrier. It waggled it's wings in the internationally recognised warning to “follow me”. There was no response from the other pilot.

  The fighter again took up station on the left wing of the airliner. The flyer of the Malaysian aircraft tried to manoeuvre his craft away from his pursuer, before realizing it was an impossibility. He doggedly returned to his course.

  Several minutes elapsed with the military jet holding station alongside, as the fighter pilot receiving instructions.

  Curt could not decipher the messages. He watched as it dropped back some distance behind the airliner.

  He was shocked to see an aiming reticule reveal itself on the camera. “My God, he's going to shoot it down”, he uttered aloud, not meaning to. He looked around him but no one appeared to hear. He returned his gaze to the screen.

  He watched in morbid fascination as the tracer bullets spat forth marking a straight line to the left engine which exploded in a shower of sparks and flame. The fighter then slid across to the right of the fuselage. The 50 calibre machine gun spoke again, causing a similar explosion in the starboard side. The airliner pitched downward. Curt watched as the civilian craft glided through the glow of dawn toward the ocean beneath. He saw the pilot of the aircraft struggle with the controls before making a very creditable attempt at landing his aeroplane on the heaving waters below. He held his breath as he watched the airliner put down tail first in a shower of foam, prior to the port engine catching a wave sending the `plane skipping sideways. Once the sea spray settled, Curt could plainly see that the Boeing 777 was largely intact except for a prominent crack which appeared precisely to the rear of the cockpit. He watched as the sea devoured the wreck and take it down into the depths. There was little debris noticeable not even an oil slick.

  Curt sat back shocked. A thousand thoughts raced through his brain, as he stared at the now blank screen. Was this the smoking gun he sought? Whose fighter jet had shot down the airliner? Why? Who had placed the USB stick in the pocket of his jacket? He was troubled by what he had just witnessed.

  The Captain’s voice broke through his contemplations announcing the imminent arrival of their flight into Charles de Gaul airport.

  Curt closed his laptop and secured the USB stick in his zippered pocket.

  His colourful travelling companion raised his seat back and removed his ear buds as if awakening from a deep slumber.

  Curt Joyner made his way through customs and immigration without a problem, and wandered via the concourse to the terminal for domestic travel. He caught the first available flight to Toulouse.

  The trip was uneventful for which he was grateful. It gave him time to evaluate the video he had seen. It certainly was crucial evidence. He really wanted to examine the pieces of an aircraft washed up on those islands before jumping to any conclusions.

  The flight from Charles de Gaul landed in Toulouse ahead of schedule. It was raining heavily when he emerged from the terminal. He attempted to contact Kim on her cell but it went straight to her voicemail. Thinking she must have left for their hotel he joined the queue for taxis. The rain poured down and the wait for a cab seemed to take forever.

  Curt heard a shout from the head of the line and looked up to see the Rastafarian man standing by a car door gesturing to him to share a taxi with him. Without hesitation, he moved to the vehicle and threw his luggage in the back seat and scrambled in after it. His companion sat beside him and directed the driver to take them into the city.

  Chapter 49

  Kim’s flight had been delayed due to the weather and by the time she had collected the bags she realised she had missed Curt by twenty minutes. She struggled with the luggage emerging from the airport to confront the long queue waiting for a Taxi only to see Curt entering a cab with a colourful man wearing dreadlocks and red, black and green attire. She tried to shout his name but the vehicle had already moved off. A taxi was just pulling into the terminal when she jumped the queue and pushed past the waiting passengers. Throwing the bags on the back seat she clambered in and ordered the driver, “follow that cab”. She raised one finger vertically to the irate line-up of people.

  The taxi they shadowed weaved swiftly through the traffic. It became apparent to her after they had travelled several miles that it was not heading into the city. A cold fear swept over her.

  “Don't get too close”, she commanded.

  Her cab dropped back as if the driver was accustomed to the cloak and dagger exploits of his passengers. The pursuit continued for twenty miles and Kim noticed they were now in the industrial area of Toulouse. Abruptly the taxi they followed veered to the kerbside, it's tyres smoking as it came to a stop.

  The rear door flung open and instantly the cabby exited the vehicle, a gun in his hand. He pointed it directly at someone in the back.

  Kim ordered the driver to stop.

  Chapter 50

  It was some time before Curt twigged the car was not headed into the city but rather the backstreets of an industrial area. Though he had never been to Toulouse, he knew this was not the main thoroughfare.

  “Where do you think your going?” he commanded of the driver.

  The Rastafarian spoke instead. “Hand me that computer and the USB stick and you won't get hurt”, the creole accent now gone.

  The black man looked fit and forebo
ding.

  Curt would be no match against the heavy man on the street, but in the confines of the back seat of a compact Peugeot he was a formidable foe. He said “here take it” and with an unexpected jerk of his arm he swung the laptop end on into the black man’s face, catching him between the eyes. Holding the computer with his right, he let fly with a pounding left hook into his assailant’s temple. The Rastafarian was out cold.

  When the driver saw what had happened, he slewed the car to a screeching halt. Both front and rear doors opened simultaneously. Curt, clutching his laptop and his baggage tried to dive out of the vehicle only to be confronted with a man holding a gun.

  He was about to surrender when the gunman crumpled at the knees and fell sprawling to the pavement.

  He heard his name shouted and turned to see Kim standing by the door of a second cab with her arm stretched out, holding what appeared to be a cell phone.

  “Quickly”, she screamed, “get in”.

  Curt didn't need an invitation, he was with her in seconds, and they both plunged into the rear of a Citroën taxi.

  “La Grand Balcon Hotel driver”, she said matter of factly.

  “Oui Madam,” he replied, as if this type of happening was an everyday occurrence in Toulouse.

  With the adrenaline pumping they embraced, Curt squeezing his saviour as if he would never let go. It took the rest of the journey to the hotel before their breathing was back to normal.

  Chapter 51

  They alighted from the cab after giving the driver his biggest tip of the year, and entered the hotel.

  “Give me your phone”, Kim said, “we are being tracked, and a mobile telephone is the easiest way.” She took his iPhone and removed the battery, doing the same with her own.

  “At least we can have an uninterrupted sleep”, she said with a wink.

  The Hotel Grand Balcon was wedge-shaped, built in the 1930s. It retained it's Art Deco interior except for modern bathrooms and bedroom fittings. Kim delighted in Curt’s choice.

  They used the express check-in and proceeded straight up to their room.

  They both spoke at the same time before Kim let Curt open the conversation.

  “What was that thing you used on the gunman?” he said quizzically.

  “I can't tell you”, Kim responded defensively.

  “What? Why?” Curt asked.

  “It would contravene the national secrets act for both of us. Your government and mine”.

  “Hold on a moment. We have each signed that piece of paper so I can't see how your telling me would breach any regulations,” he continued.

  Kim looked thoughtful for a time before agreeing with him and extracted the device from her handbag. It appeared to be an older, chunkier version of a mobile phone.

  “It's a Phaser, like in Star Trek. It works the same as a Taser, the difference is, it requires no wires. It uses twin laser beams to transmit the electric charge. You saw the result. Non-lethal but effective. It also has the benefit of not attracting attention at the airport security”, she added.

  Curt gazed at Kim before asking, “Who do you really work for?”

  Kim took a deep breath and thought for long time prior to answering.

  “My darling Curt I have to confess that I am a spy.... Oh, I am a certified aeronautical engineer, and I do work for the Air Safety Investigation department. I am also employed by the Australian Secret Intelligence Service. The equivalent of your CIA . They drafted me for this job because the powers that be assumed it could have been terrorism. ASIO would have had a great deal of interest if that turned out to be the case. I am sorry if I have deceived you”, she added.

  “Well I'm glad we got that out of the way,” said Curt still smarting from being duped.

  He continued, “There have been considerable developments over the course of the last two days, and we need to appraise ourselves as to where we are in this investigation.”

  With a serious countenance he added, “I found the Captain of the Vinson very evasive in his answers, constantly referring my questions to matters of national security and to seek my information from Navy Headquarters in San Francisco.”

  “I have something important for you to look at”, he stated, as he set his laptop up on the bedside table.

  Kim watched the mysterious video in awe and horror as the events unfolded on the computer screen.

  When the movie finished, Kim put her head in her hands and murmured to Curt, “what happened there?”

  “I think we just discovered what befell our aeroplane”, he replied stern faced.

  “We need to get this evidence to the Malaysian authorities,” she said looking aghast.

  “Not so fast,” Curt countered, “It doesn't tell us who, why, or where the wreckage is located. Without that information we are only speculating.” He appeared troubled by what he was contemplating. Could his own government be covering up a gross violation of the norms of civilised behaviour?

  “Where did you obtain the USB stick?” Kim asked.

  His reply sounded weak to them both, when he said, “I don't recall exactly, but I found it in my jacket pocket after I returned from speaking with the Captain and crew on the Carl Vinson”.

  “Perhaps it came from a crewmember”, she volunteered.

  Try as he might, Curt was unable to recall who had secreted the video on him.

  “What were you able to discover in your investigations”, he asked.

  “Well quite a lot actually,” she said, referring to the notes on her iPhone.

  “Firstly, our friend James Churchill was run down and killed by a hit-and-run driver. I made my way to his house and despite the gendarmes' refusal to let me in, I was able to look through a window and saw the place had been trashed. Someone had been there searching for something. I believe I have that something”. With that said, she reached into her bag and removed an iPhone which appeared worse for wear. Exposed to the elements for quite some time it looked distressed despite Kims` best efforts to clean it up.

  “You need to hear this,” she said placing the device in front of him and pressed the start button on the recording.

  Curt listened intensely to the tape. His face revealing his emotions as he scrutinized the last moments of the passengers on flight MH370.

  He let out a deep sigh at the conclusion of the tape.

  “We need to transfer this back to the lab for analysis. This strengthens our theory of sabotage by either the Captain or Co-Pilot,” he stated.

  “What did you discover from the interview with the technician from Inmarsat?” he added.

  Kim again referred to her notes. “He became most put out when I questioned the reliability of the data they provided, which has been the basis for the unsuccessful search so far. He did elude to a time gap in the transmission of the indicator from the engines though, putting it down to the age of the equipment. I asked if anyone could have transmitted a false signal to the satellite, at which he became quite upset raving on about conspiracy theorists. Before ending our interview, however, he said if we wanted to find a more accurate position where the aircraft came down we should contact the CNTBTO, whoever they are”, she concluded.

  Kim said she had no idea who or what the initials stood for. She opened her laptop and Googled it. The search engine revealed the acronym. The Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty Organisation which headquartered in Austria. To begin with she didn't understand the connection. She read on and it soon became apparent what the guy from Inmarsat was telling them.

  Wikipedia revealed the CNTBO had 50 primary and 120 auxiliary monitoring stations throughout the world to detect nuclear explosions on land and under the sea. There were 11 hydro-acoustic stations detecting acoustic waves through water, and 60 infra-sound stations. These could detect very low frequency sound waves over vast distances, perhaps even an aircraft hitting the ocean. Their eighty radionuclide air sampling stations discovered and reported radioactive particles released into the atmosphere from underground and
underwater explosions.

  The organization also had 16 laboratories under it's control to analyse the information gathered.

  “I have never heard of them,” said Curt.

  “How can they be of use to us?” Kim chimed in.

  “I'm not sure,” replied Curt, “We will have to do more research into it”.

  At that moment the bedside telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.

  “Curt Joyner”, he answered. “Yes, tomorrow morning? That will be fine. About 9 AM, you'll send a car? I look forward to meeting you. Thank you.” He hung up the handset.

  “That was the French Ministry of Defence,” he said to a quizzical Kim. “I wonder how they knew we were here?”

  “You remember those cards we filled in when registering? They are electronicly scanned and sent directly to the Security Services each day. It would not be difficult to find us, so what did they want?” She stated.

  “They have finally given permission to examine the pieces of the aircraft found on those islands. They will have a car pick us up at 9AM and take us there”, he replied.

  Curt made a copy of the iPhone recording on his computer before he and Kim descended downstairs for dinner.

  He directed Kim to head to the restaurant and obtain a table while he withdrew to reception. There he requested a padded envelope, into which he placed the batted iPhone and sent it priority paid marked Private & Confidential, to Julie Jorgensen, a trusted ally in the NTSB laboratory.

  Once they finished their meal, curt suggested a walk along the canal before retiring. Kim excitedly agreed to see some of the city. They wandered the ancient streets admiring the old architecture and when Curt slid her hand into his, she entwined her slender fingers through his more pudgy digits. When they reached the sprawling square of La Capital, bathed in lights, he turned and kissed her. She returned the intimate moment and the pair walked arm-in-arm on the sojourn back to the hotel. Their partnership had become more than professional.