Passenger List

by John Scott Dryden

  Contents

  Title Page

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  PART TWO

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Credits

  Copyright

  PART ONE

  New York Chronicle Front Page

  * * *

  ATLANTIC AIRLINES FLIGHT TO NEW YORK VANISHES

  * * *

  Rescue teams are searching ocean waters south of Greenland after the disappearance of Atlantic Airlines Flight 702 on a journey from London Heathrow with 256 passengers on board.

  Contact with the plane was lost at 22.15 local time (18.15 ET), a statement from the airline said. Pilots hadn’t reported any problem with the flight’s systems, although the course had been adjusted to avoid a storm over the mid-Atlantic.

  No wreckage has been discovered. Canada, Greenland and Iceland have despatched air and sea search teams, which are currently sweeping the last known location of the plane.

  Distraught families have gathered at JFK and London Heathrow Airport, anxiously awaiting news of their missing relatives.

  A spokesperson for Atlantic Airlines said: ‘As yet, we have no information on what might have happened to Flight 702. Our investigations continue. As soon as we’ve verified intelligence, we’ll inform both families and the media.’

  Atlantic Airlines Statement

  Statement from Atlantic Airlines CEO Robert Culpeper

  * * *

  Our exhaustive investigation into the disappearance of Flight 702 has now terminated. In the absence of black box information and any wreckage from the plane, we’ve relied on the evidence of remote system monitoring. These have shown no sign of malfunction in any part of the plane. The last message received from the pilot was a calm sign-off.

  The only untoward aspect of the flight was a bird-strike during ascent and we must now conclude that this caused critical damage that manifested in a sudden and rapid deterioration of the plane’s systems.

  Our thoughts and sympathies are, as ever, with the families of the passengers of Flight 702 at this time.

  1

  The woman drifted among the trees like a ghost. Dragonflies darted around her, glittering in shafts of Indian summer sun punching through the amber-and-gold canopy over Casperkill Creek. In the distance, the Poughkeepsie traffic throbbed, but the creek was a haven of peace. Birdsong echoed, along with occasional peals of laughter from students sweltering in the shade, swathed in clouds of weed smoke. Kaitlin Le took in none of it. She was haunting the life she used to know.

  As she picked her way along the trail, her thoughts flew across forests and rivers and cities to where her brother was being laid to rest. His memory at least. There was no body to bury. Her mother, Mai, would be wailing and her father, Kien, silent, his face like an open grave, with the extended clan of aunts and uncles and cousins twice removed, family friends and vague acquaintances united in grief.

  Only she would be missing.

  ‘If you don’t come to Conor’s memorial, what will people say? You are now our only child,’ her mother had pleaded on the phone, her voice thick with the accent of the old country that she steadfastly refused to let go as she guilt-tripped Kaitlin. That was her last resort. Kaitlin didn’t want to break her mother’s heart, but to attend that memorial service would be an admission that everything she believed about Flight 702 was wrong. And she wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that.

  As she moved out of the shade, she was jolted from her reverie. Here was the life she had planned for herself: Vassar College and ahead, the pink-bricked Blodgett Hall where she’d spent so many hours chewing through the theories of Keynes and Friedman before deciding to shift her focus to structuralism, utilitarianism and what she hoped would be slightly less of a grind.

  Who was that woman? she wondered.

  A cooling breeze was blowing down the Hudson Valley, hinting at the fact that autumn would be here before too long. Kaitlin trudged on, turning over the new sets of theories that held far greater importance than her studies now.

  She’d almost reached the entrance to her student halls when she felt something scrabbling at her concentration. Someone was calling her name, she realised.

  Kaitlin turned to see her room-mate hurrying towards her, waving. Amelia was an international student, a Brit, all perfectly formed vowels, sunny outlook and a staggering tolerance for beer.

  ‘Mate,’ Amelia gasped as she bounded up. ‘What’s wrong with you? I’ve been calling your name for half a mile.’

  ‘Sorry. Distracted.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s the problem.’ Amelia glanced round to check they weren’t being overheard and whispered, ‘The dean’s office is gunning for you. They sent the Stasi round earlier to haul you in for a show trial.’

  Amelia liked her drama.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s all under control.’

  ‘Is it, though? Is it really? Mate, you’ve barely been to class for weeks. You’ve got to start taking this seriously. They’re going to throw you out. For real.’

  ‘I’ve—’

  ‘Look, I know you’ve got good reasons. But talk to them, all right? You’ve got to. People are queuing up to get in this place. The dean’s office isn’t going to see a space taken by someone who isn’t committed. Regardless of … what they’re going through.’

  Kaitlin wanted to shrug and say, ‘Whatever.’ There were more important things in life, she’d discovered. But her family would be devastated if she got thrown out of college and they were shouldering enough of a burden already.

  ‘I’ll do something to keep the dean’s office sweet. OK?’

  ‘Finally! Smartest person I know and only now do you start using that big brain.’ Amelia tugged her arm. ‘Come on. I’ve bought some brownies, those vegan ones you like. We can pig out and bitch about everyone we hate.’

  Back in the room, as Amelia dumped the brownies on a plate, Kaitlin stood by her bed and let her attention drift over the maps and flight plans and witness statements she’d stuck to the walls. Her eyes wandered over the piles of aviation technical manuals and volumes on ocean currents and air disasters, each one flowering an abundance of multicoloured tags to highlight pages of interest. She would find the answer to what really happened to Flight 702. Whatever it took.

  She pulled out her phone and stared at it for a long moment before calling the mailbox she’d set up. It was a ritual that was performed ten times a day, sometimes twenty, depending on how anxious she was feeling. Everyone who visited the apartment teased her for her constant phone usage. They stopped laughing when she told them why she did it and their faces twisted from a smile into that familiar sickening look of pity. They didn’t understand. How could they?

  The only calls she’d received to the hotline so far were from conspiracy theorists who were working through their psychological issues and had nothing of substance to add to her hunt for the truth. She wasn’t deterred.

  One day, there would be a message waiting that would change everything.

  The converted townhouse reeked of damp. The walls of the meeting room at the back had been painted a sickly ochre and the carpet was such a dark brown, it sucked all light from the space. The few framed
prints were pastels of nondescript subjects, designed to elicit no response whatsoever. Probably for the best. Nobody came here for a good time.

  Kaitlin looked around the circle of drawn faces and felt an involuntary clawing in the pit of her stomach. This was her third meeting and they weren’t getting any better. Why was she putting herself through this? These people weren’t like her. But this was the price she had to pay to convince the dean she was getting back on her feet.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to let your emotions out. Holding it in is a sin against yourself.’ That was Jack, group leader and the King of Platitudes. He lounged in his plastic chair, studiedly languid. His long strawlike hair, thinning on the crown, irritated her, as did his lips. Too thick, too perfectly shaped in an expression of compassion. She felt like a bitch for thinking it, but everything seemed to annoy her these days.

  ‘It’s a curse, isn’t it?’ Marie looked like a yoga teacher who’d been left out in the sun. She waved a hand and ten thousand hoop bracelets jangled on her wrist.

  ‘Tell us what you mean, Marie,’ Jack said.

  ‘Grief. A curse. Some cultures think it’s a supernatural force, don’t they? You summon it in and it sits there on your shoulders. A demon. Maybe—’

  Jack nodded. ‘It possesses you.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. And you have to have an exorcism. Or something. Drive it out.’

  ‘That’s a very good analogy.’

  Marie pouted. She clearly didn’t think it was an analogy at all. Kaitlin imagined a big boot stamping down from the heavens and squashing Marie flat.

  ‘You know what the answer is? Heavy drinking! Got to be done!’ Carlos, one of the others, guffawed.

  He was a construction worker, broad-shouldered, big-bellied. Kaitlin liked him but also felt deeply sorry for him. Carlos grinned all the time, every single moment, but his eyes were always screaming.

  ‘No, Carlos.’ Jack wagged his finger.

  ‘No, of course not. No. But … yes?’

  Jack caught his breath, then decided not to pursue. He turned his lamps on Kaitlin and her heart sank.

  ‘Kaitlin. You haven’t said anything for the last two sessions.’

  ‘Nothing to say.’

  ‘That can’t be true. Why are you here if you don’t want to unburden yourself? Keeping it in—’

  ‘Is a sin against yourself,’ all the other sheep chanted.

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Because it’s the only way I can shut my mother up and keep the dean’s office from throwing me out.

  Jack leaned forwards. He was determined not to let this go. ‘Your twin brother was on Flight 702.’

  ‘Conor, yes.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about him and what he meant to you? It’s good to remember the essence of the people we’ve lost as a way of beginning to cope with their absence.’

  ‘Conor was great. Funny. Kind. We butted heads from time to time, but what brother and sister doesn’t?’

  ‘Ah.’ Jack raised a finger as if he’d caught her out on the witness stand. ‘The way you chose to end your statement on that point … Is there something you’d like to say to Conor now, if you had the chance?’

  Kaitlin feigned a moment’s thought, then shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  That fight. That brutal, stupid fight.

  ‘You’re such an idiot, Conor. Do you have any feelings? Don’t you care about anything but yourself?’

  ‘We hadn’t seen each other for a few months …’ Or spoken. ‘So no unfinished business,’ she lied to Jack.

  ‘It’s hard to come to terms with the death of a loved one when it appears so random. Purposeless,’ Jack preached, holding his hands wide. ‘Our brains crave explanations and without them, the universe appears … cruel. Someone you love, snatched away. For no reason.’

  ‘What do you mean, random?’

  ‘Flight 702 was brought down by a bird-strike. An accident. A terrible accident.’

  ‘That’s one theory.’

  Jack frowned. ‘That’s what the official investigation said happened.’

  ‘But there’s no evidence for that conclusion.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘No evidence.’ Kaitlin swallowed the edge in her voice. ‘All families of the disappeared want answers,’ she added, keeping her voice calm. ‘That’s fair, isn’t it? That’s what we’re owed. Not some lazy resolution designed to wrap things up quickly. For commercial reasons or …’

  Jack was staring at her with a patronising look of compassion.

  ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘That’s exactly the point I was making. We seek out conspiracies when the universe no longer makes sense. We try to impose order on the messiness of life. I understand how you’re feeling, Kaitlin. I think we all do.’ Jack looked around the circle of faces and everyone was nodding and smiling sadly. ‘But you must move on from these fantasies. You’ll never put your grief to rest until you have acceptance.’

  Kaitlin stood, trying to maintain control, but she could feel herself shaking in spite of herself. ‘What I’ll accept is the truth. And until I have that, there’s no way I’m moving on.’

  She turned and walked out. She wouldn’t be back.

  As she walked back from town to Vassar, Kaitlin’s phone buzzed – a message from her mother:

  As you couldn’t be at Conor’s memorial, here’s a video of the service. It was beautiful. So many kind words. I thought you’d like to see it.

  Kaitlin pressed Play, but only managed to make it through a few seconds before it all became too much. She knew her mom meant well, but she didn’t want to see this now.

  Pocketing her phone, she trudged away from the lights. Her steps were a steady, soothing beat and gradually, she felt memories surface. Here was the real Conor, the way she wanted to remember him. That sweet smile, that open, sensitive face. Despite being twins, nobody really thought they looked alike – he was taller than her, with a wiry athleticism that wasn’t bad for a nerd. But there were times when she felt they were like the same person. He knew her better than anyone, and there were times when it was almost as if he could read her thoughts and she could read his.

  It was their fifteenth birthday. They’d had their presents and cake and the usual family celebration. But later, when the house was quiet, they’d crept out into the night and watched the fireflies glow in the dark as they’d talked about their hopes and dreams for the years ahead.

  She’d teased him for wanting to be a code monkey, preferring numbers to people, and he’d teased her back about the guy at school who she had a crush on. They’d laughed and talked for hours. It felt as though nothing would ever come between them. What a great night.

  God, she missed him so much.

  The full moon glowed just above the treetops along the creek. A chill breeze whined through the branches and Kaitlin shivered inside the blanket draped over her shoulders.

  ‘This’ll warm you up,’ Amelia said, slopping red wine into a plastic cup.

  This had been their Friday night tradition ever since they’d rolled up at Vassar: sharing a bottle of Valpolicella while they put the world to rights, outside when the weather was warm enough, in their room on colder nights. Sometimes they were joined by other girls from their dorm, or they’d be in someone else’s room, getting ready for a night of dancing. The last few weeks had just been Kaitlin and Amelia, though. And this would probably be the last al fresco drink for a while.

  As Kaitlin reached for the cup, she noticed her hand trembling. Why did she care so much what some idiot at grief counselling said?

  Amelia smiled at her kindly. ‘OK, so where are you at with the investigation?’

  Amelia was a good friend. She didn’t need to hear any more about this obsession – she’d been assailed by it often enough – but no doubt she sensed Kaitlin wasn’t in the best headspace tonight.

  The fog that had descended on Kaitlin that night six months
ago briefly shifted and for a moment, Kaitlin felt something other than anger and sadness and guilt. A wave of warmth washed through her for Amelia, who had stood by her side through all this. Kaitlin bit off the desire to thank her friend or hug her, for fear it would release such a torrent of pent-up emotion she’d drown in it. All she could do was smile and nod. Even then, Amelia seemed to understand.

  ‘I just wish I had something new,’ Kaitlin sighed. ‘I feel like I’ve hit a wall, you know? There’s something, I know it. I just need one break.’

  ‘If anyone can crack it, babe, it’s you.’

  ‘I don’t even know why Conor was on that flight coming back home.’

  Amelia showed a concerned face. ‘You hadn’t spoken to him for a while, right?’

  ‘A few months.’ Kaitlin winced inwardly. She’d never spoken to anyone about what had happened between her and her brother. But Amelia had been so kind over the last few months and she deserved the truth. ‘We had a fight – a huge fight,’ she began. ‘He came round to see me that night he got his fifteen minutes in the limelight.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. That was pretty cool. Stopping that dangerous malware all on his own.’

  ‘Well, at the very least, it placated my dad, as much as Dad can ever be placated, anyway. He was never happy about Conor dropping out of school to do cyber security.’ Kaitlin flopped onto the edge of the bed. ‘I was so proud of him, you know. All of his dreams had come true. But then he told me what really happened.’

  ‘What really happened? Sounds ominous.’ Amelia took another swig of wine.

  ‘He stopped the malware because he was involved in creating it in the first place.’

  ‘Whoa.’ Amelia’s eyes widened.

  ‘Thomas, you know—’

  ‘Boyfriend.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s a hacktivist. Part of some secret group of keyboard warriors challenging governments, big businesses and the like. There were some crazies involved. Extremists. When Conor and Thomas found out exactly how extreme, they tried to distance themselves, but it was too late. They were in too deep.’

  ‘So those crazies built the malware.’

  ‘To attack world banks. Conor didn’t approve of their methods, I’ll give him that. But he thought banks were an OK target. A victimless crime, supposedly. According to Conor, the banks are all insured for loss, so he thought, why not? His cybersecurity job at the bank made it easy. Slip the malware into the system, stand back and watch the money drain away, out of the pockets of the rich and powerful and into some good causes.’