Privately, Skinner felt that he could trust the straightforward, serious Hardy, but hoped that he would never have to put it to the test.
`Where should we go now?' asked the Secretary of State. Skinner had briefed him earlier, in the command trailer, on the disaster and on the witness accounts of an explosion. Hardy had absorbed the information calmly and without any sign of panic.
Ì suppose we'd better look at the mortuary tent.' The policeman nodded upwards. Just beyond the crest of the slope, they could see the ridge of a great grey marquee which had been set up by the Army.
`Very good. Let's give these chaps a hand.' Two soldiers were walking past them, beginning the trudge up the hill with a laden, blanket-covered stretcher. The Secretary of State took a handle at the front, Skinner at the rear.
`Doesn't bear thinking about,' said Hardy quietly, as they climbed. 'This could be Colin Davey, or Roly McGrath that we're carrying.
Skinner glanced down at a small, bare, bloody foot which showed beyond the end of the blanket, and saw red nail-varnish.
`No,' he said. 'This was a woman.' He saw no point in reminding the Minister that from the accounts of Robert Thacker and the child, Davey and McGrath had been at the heart of an explosion big enough to blow the plane's nose section away from its fuselage.
There had been no room in the Army transporters for trestle tables, and so, inside the long tent, the victims recovered from the valley had been laid on the ground, in neat, ordered rows. Each one was in a black, zippered body-bag.
As Skinner, the Secretary of State and the soldiers laid their stretcher on the ground near one of the tied back entrances to the marquee, Sarah rushed across. Bob opened his mouth to introduce her to Hardy, but she ignored him and bent beside the stretcher. Her face was drawn and her eyes were creased. She was just over thirty, but for the first time ever, her husband saw how she would look in middle age.
Without a word, she drew back the blanket covering the body. Skinner felt the Secretary of State flinch beside him, and heard his gasp as he caught a glimpse of bloody blonde hair, and of a face without recognisable features. 'That's done by the seat in front,' said Sarah, in an emotionless, professional voice, acknowledging their presence without looking up. 'The brace position gives you a chance in a low-level impact, say a crash landing, but in an incident like this, there's no chance at all. All that the doctors here are doing is certifying death' As if to illustrate she placed two fingers against the woman's neck.
'In most cases, even with a post mortem, it's impossible to be specific about the cause. It could be a broken neck, it could be the shock as the impact pulps the internal organs, it could be, and in many cases it probably is, heart failure induced by sheer bloody terror.'
She stood up. 'Okay, boys,' she said to the soldiers. 'Bag her and lace her in order.'
Then: 'As we lay out the bodies, we're trying to Picture the floor of the tent as if it were the valley, south this end, north up there. They're being placed in roughly the position relative to which they were found. We figure it might help in the identification, that it might approximate to the seat order.'
`How many victims have you recovered so far?' asked the Secretary of State, his composure returned.
`They're coming in so thick and fast we ain't keeping a running tab.' She looked along the length of the tent. 'So far I'd guess about a hundred and forty.' She glanced at her watch.
'It's just gone eleven-thirty. Not bad for around two hours' work.'
`Will identification be a problem?'
`Not as great as it might have been. Quite a few of the bodies even have ID in their clothing. Normally, in a high-impact accident you'd expect widespread disfigurement and dismemberment, with bodies burned and personal effects destroyed. Most air accidents turn into human jigsaw puzzles. Not this one, though.'
‘Any ideas as to why?' asked Hardy.
`Well, in this case the plane seems to have been well into its descent when the incident happened, so the seat-belt signs would have been on. That will have had an effect. The people on board seem to have been fairly well disciplined, too. I'm no expert, but from what I've read on the subject, in a situation like this, people often unstrap themselves, so that on impact, they're thrown about, sometimes right through the fuselage, and torn apart.
Not all, but most of the bodies recovered here have still been strapped into their seats.
`Most of all though, I'd say it was the heather. It's so thick up here it seems to have had a certain cushioning effect. When the plane impacted, the fuselage disintegrated, the seats were ripped up and their occupants thrown all around. They were probably all killed instantly at that stage, incidentally. When the bodies landed again, you'd have expected dismemberment to a great extent, but the heather seems to have stopped that.'
Skinner thought of the body which he had found on the hillside and nodded.
`What about burning?' he asked.
`Not much,' said Sarah. 'The explosion of the wing-tanks and the disintegration of the fuselage seem to have happened simultaneously, so apart from a few scorched people in the central area, that hasn't had the effect you'd imagine. What is noteworthy, and the point that will interest you most, is that the greatest burning effect and the greatest damage to the corpses seems to have been found on those recovered from the far end of the valley, and we assume from the front area of the plane.'
`Where the Defence Secretary was sitting,' said Skinner.
She looked at him. Was he on board?'
`Yes. Let's look at the front of the tent.' Rather than walk among the rows of bodies, he led the way out of the marquee and walked along its side to the eastward entrance.
Three body bags, side by side, lay along the end canvas wall. `The flight crew?' Skinner asked.
`Yes. They were brought in about ten minutes ago.'
One of the bags seemed smaller than the others. Skinner knelt beside it and unzipped it from the top. As it opened, he saw the grey, dead, but unmarked face of April, the stewardess who had saved young Mark McGrath's life. Dark, wet hair was plastered against her temples.
Ì will order an autopsy on her, for sure,' said Sarah. 'As I thought, the two pilots have broken necks and seat-belt crushing injuries, but I'm almost certain that she drowned.'
Alarm flooded Skinner's face in an instant. She read his mind. 'No, Bob. She'd have been dead for quite a time before you found the boy. You can't save the world, you know.'
He shrugged his shoulders. It was a gesture of helpless frustration.
`These bodies here,' he asked, after a few seconds, 'these are the ones with burns?'
`Yes,' she said, 'but not like they've been in a fire.'
`Like they've been in an explosion? Like last year?'
She stared at him. She had been so involved in the gruesome business of certifying and arranging the dead that she had not had time to ask herself the questions which would have been second nature in a more normal situation.
`Yes,' she said softly. 'But not at the seat of a blast. Caught in its heat, but not torn by it.'
Ànd these are the bodies found furthest north?'
`Yes. They were still in their seats, the recovery teams said, in rows. There were none beyond them, and the whole of the northern half of the valley has been cleared. The eighteen bodies in the three front rows are the most mutilated we've recovered' She pulled down the zip of a body bag. Skinner glimpsed a black, scorched woman's face surmounted by frizzled hair.
`We've got to do some more searching,' Skinner said to Hardy, who stood stiff beside him, teeth clenched. 'So far we haven't looked south at all. We've been assuming that the plane's tail marked the beginning of the wreckage. But none of these . . .' he waved a hand towards the lines of body bags `. . can have been in the front row.
`Why not?'
`Because there are six of them to each row. Wee Mark McGrath was in the cockpit, so we know that one seat was empty when the disaster happened. Major Legge and I did an air search to the north of
here and found nothing between the main crash site and the reservoir. And the divers had a look at the cockpit below the water. They reported that it was torn off around the bulkhead, with no seats attached.
`We need to find the centre of the explosion before we can begin to find the cause. Those front-row seats, and what's left of their occupants, must be out there somewhere. I have to get the choppers airborne again.'
Ònce I've done that, Secretary of State, I think it's time we gave a statement to the press.'
FIFTEEN
‘I have to tell you formally what you know already.' The Secretary of State's voice shook for a moment as he surveyed the media crammed into the back-up mobile police station.
Op 'The seven a.m. London—Edinburgh shuttle crashed on the Lammermuirs just after eight this morning, with two hundred and five people on board.
Ì have to tell you also that the passengers included Colin Davey, the Secretary of State for Defence, Roland McGrath, Parliamentary Under Secretary of State in the Scottish Office pp and Shaun Massey, the Secretary for Defense of the United States.' A flurry of hisses and gasps swept through his audience.
À full list of the dead will be issued at the conclusion of this briefing. It will show that I have lost many colleagues in addition to those in Government whom I have mentioned, including fellow members of the House, and several in the civil service. Sir James Proud, who sits beside me, has lost a distinguished serving officer, and many families have been bereaved.
`However, even in the midst of this disaster, we can take comfort from one remarkable event. One of the two hundred and five people on board the aircraft, a young child, has survived, and uninjured at that. I will not reveal his identity, although I expect that it will become public knowledge in due course. When that happens, I hope that you will all desist from doing anything which might add to his distress or affect his recovery from an event whose nature and scale he does not yet understand'
Hardy paused. 'In the main I will leave briefing on the details of the accident to the police and to the airline representatives, but I will take one or two questions'
Hands shot up, awkwardly in the enclosed space. 'Sir!' `Secretary of State!' Mr Hardy!'
Reporters shouted over each other clamouring for attention. Alan Royston, the Police Media Relations Manager stood up, calming the throng. He pointed to a Chinese girl in the front row.
Ànnabel Yi, Radio Forth. Can you give us any indication of the cause of the accident, sir.
Was it engine failure?'
Òbviously,' said the Secretary of State, precise to the end. `But the experts must confirm what caused that failure.'
Was the child on board with his parents?' asked John Hunter, an ever-present freelance whom Hardy knew well.
`With one parent, John, the fact of whose death he does not yet understand. Now no more questions on that subject, please.' Ìs he still here?' asked Annabel Yi.
`Nor said Bob Skinner firmly, from his standing position at the side of the small table.
`What effect will this have on your majority?' a tabloid reporter called from the centre of the group.
Àll parties seem to have suffered in this tragedy,' Hardy said curtly. 'I doubt if any of us are thinking of majorities right now.'
`How many MPs were on board, sir?'
`Six in all. You will see them on your list.'
`What was Mr McGrath's majority in Edinburgh Dean, Mr Hardy?'
The Secretary of State shook his head emphatically. He needed no reminding that his dead colleague's majority had been less than secure. Ì'm sorry,' he said, with a trace of temper,
'but I am not going to be drawn by that line of questioning. Ladies and gentlemen, that is all I have to say.' He stood up and left the trailer, with Skinner following. His black chauffeured Rover was parked outside, with its driver standing by, in grey uniform and peaked cap.
Ì must be on my way, Mr Skinner,' he said quietly. 'I'm going to the airport now to collect Leona McGrath. Roland's agent's meeting me there too.'
`Good luck to you both,' said the policeman sincerely. 'Tell the lady from me she's got a great wee boy. And tell her about the girl who saved his life too, will you?' For an instant, a lump rose in his throat.
Ì'll do all that. I'll tell her about you too, rescuing Mark from the plane. Jimmy Proud told me about that just before we saw the press.' His voice dropped. 'Keep me personally informed, Bob, will you, when you find the rest of the wreckage that you're after?
Personally, you understand.'
Skinner nodded. He looked after the car as it reversed out towards the moorland road.
When it was out of sight, he turned and headed away, not towards the press centre, but towards the Command unit. Suddenly a stocky dark-haired figure fell into step beside him.
It was Julian Finney, of Scottish Television. The man was, Skinner knew, a real ferret of a reporter, but he knew also that he was trustworthy.
`Sorry to doorstep you like this, Bob, but . . .'
Skinner smiled. 'Come on, Julian, you always doorstep me like this. What is it?'
`Something I didn't want to mention in there.' He nodded towards the press HQ. 'My office had a call from a woman in Longformacus, saying that she saw the plane coming down in two parts. She said that the main cabin and tail section came down without the rest. She described it very vividly. The airline guy in there, after you left, did his best to give the impression that it broke apart on impact. If I say on air tonight that eye-witnesses spoke of an explosion, would I be making a fool of myself or would I have the story of the year?'
The policeman glanced at him as they walked. Finney knew the questions to ask, all right.
'I don't hand out press awards, mate.'
`No, but if I ran that story, you wouldn't be on to the Complaints Commission either, would you?'
He stopped and looked at the man. 'just don't go over the score, Julian. You've got one eye-witness. Stick to that, don't speculate any further and you won't have any problem with me.'
`Fair enough. There's something else you should know,' Finney went on. 'I heard the guy from the Record take a call from his office. I think it was a tip-off about you — something about smashing your way into the cockpit of the plane and coming out with a kid.
There was a long silence.
`Roland McGrath had a wee boy, didn't he, Bob?'
Skinner glowered at the reporter. 'Tell you what, Julian, and you can believe me. You run any of that, and I really will crucify you.'
Ì believe you, Bob. I believe you!'
SIXTEEN
As soon as Skinner stepped back into the Command vehicle, the telephone rang. One of the two uniformed Sergeants whom Maggie Rose had pressed into service to assist her in her coordination role picked it up on the instant.
`Sir!' he called to the DCC. 'Are you available to speak with Superintendent Higgins?'
`Sure,' he said without a second's hesitation, and took the phone. 'Ali. Hello. Where are you?'
Ì'm at the St Leonards office, sir.' The normally confident Higgins sounded shaken. On another morning Skinner would have been taken by surprise.
`You heard about Roy, I take it?'
`Yes, sir. It's awful, isn't it? I feel guilty. I spoke to him yesterday. He and I had an arrangement to do performance reviews this morning. When I heard he was at the conference I called to remind him, and of course, he'd forgotten. But he promised me he'd catch the first shuttle and be here on time. "Officers' careers are more important than a few extra drinks at a stuffed-shirt dinner." That's what he said. I can't help thinking, if I had just postponed the interviews, he'd—'
`Don't, Ali. I've been doing that too. You didn't put him on that plane, and I didn't. This may sound odd coming from someone who deals in fact and logic, but it was fate; a combination of circumstances. I could have gone myself, I could have sent you, I could have sent Andy. But I didn't. I made the right choice. You could have been neglectful of your responsibilities towards junior offi
cers, but you weren't. You can't look at it any other way. You mustn't.'
There was a long silence at the other end of the line. 'Thanks, boss. I'll bear that in mind.
But there's something else.' If anything, Higgins sounded even more agitated. 'I've just heard a radio newsflash. It said that Roland McGrath was on the plane too. Is that true?'
Ì'm afraid so. Why — d'you know him?'
`Yes. Well, not him so much, but Leona, his wife. She and I were at school together.
We've been pals since we were five. I spoke to her last a few days ago. She told me that she and Roland and their wee boy were having a week together in London, then were coming back up to Edinburgh this morning. So was she on the plane too?'
He could almost feel Higgins gripping tight to her self-control. 'No, Alison,' he said. 'She wasn't. She had a dental appointment in London. She'll be on her way up now. The Secretary of State's going to Edinburgh Airport to meet her.'
A great sigh of relief burst from Higgins, but it was cut short. `But Mark! What about Mark? I'm his godmother. Was he on board?'
`He survived, Ali. Maybe the report that you heard mentioned a survivor. It was him, and he's perfectly all right. That's fate again. It sent Roy Old to his death, but it put wee Mark on the flight deck, in a stewardess's arms, and it kept him alive.'
As Skinner finished speaking, he heard his colleague explode into tears. 'Okay, Ali, it's okay,' he said quietly. 'Why don't you go and look after your pal. Take a uniformed officer with you too, to keep the press at bay. On you go now.' He handed the phone back to the Sergeant.
Maggie Rose was looking at him, concerned. But all he could do was shrug his shoulders and turn away. 'On days like this you have a surfeit of emotion, Maggie. Not just in you, but all around you.' He forced himself back to business. 'What have you done here?'
`My role is co-ordination, sir, and that's what I'm doing, but I'm determining priorities as well. Chief Superintendent Radcliffe is directing the recovery of victims — that's objective number one. Once it's complete he'll move on to gathering in personal effects.
`The CAA people are on the scene. Their first job is looking for the flight recorder, the Black Box thing. They say it's in the cockpit, in the reservoir, so our divers are going down again to bring it out.
Skinner's Ordeal Page 6
