In The National Interest

by J. Harvey Barker

  Curt enquired of the driver if he knew which hotel he would be staying at. He nodded in affirmation, so he sat back into the sumptuous seats and closed his eyes.

  The chaotic world of Kuala Lumpur flashed by outside the air-conditioned luxury of the Lexus. He gained brief glimpses of everyday life in the nation's largest city, but in what was most likely a surprisingly short time the car pulled up in the entrance of the Banyan Tree Hotel. He was unprepared for the opulence of hostelry in this Malayan capital. He duly followed his chauffeur through the elegant lobby to a desk manned by a very attractive young woman dressed in a white blouse and light blue jacket. The driver said something to her in Malay, and she held out a slender hand in greeting. “Welcome to Malaysia and the Banyan Tree Mister Joyner” she responded. “Please may I have your passport”.

  Curt was sure his expense account would not be approved to cover the cost of such an opulent hotel and began to protest to the lady standing in front of him. She quickly realised his dilemma and said, “The Government of Malaysia is paying for your accommodation and wishes you to have a pleasant stay while you are here”. His sharp brain immediately saw a conflict of interest position arising, however, not wanting to make a scene he replied with a warm “Thank you” and duly checked in.

  He followed the valet waiting with his bags on a highly polished gold cart, through the foyer and into the elevator. They stepped out to the deathly quiet hallway and the attendant unlocked room 3234, and led him in. The apartment was luxurious without being ostentatious, the panorama from the window revealed a sparkling view of the Petronas Towers and the business district surrounding it. He was just checking the mini-bar when there came a knock on the door. He opened it to see a female of Asian characteristics standing there.“G`day, are you Curt Joyner from the NTSB?” she enquired.

  He was somewhat taken aback by the Australian accent, not having heard one since his R & R leave from the Vietnam War, and replied in the affirmative.

  “May I come in? I'm from the ATSB in Australia, your down-under equivalent” she said.

  Curt ushered her in explaining he had barely arrived and was unpacking. He studied the young woman for a moment noting she looked extremely fit. It was often difficult for westerners to gauge the age of Asian women, but he guessed at early to mid thirties’ and she filled out her black T-shirt and jeans with feminine pride. “My name is Kim Doh but everyone calls me Kimmy. I am a second generation Vietnamese-Australian, I speak several languages and have a degree in Aero-engineering, does that answer the questions you are dying to ask?” she stared at him with a cheeky smile, giving him a moment to compose himself.

  “Yes, I apologise if I looked a bit shocked,” he replied, noticing the blue folder she carried.

  “Well, are you ready for a drink?” The invitation was more of a plea, offset by the smile in her impish face.

  “I was about to unpack & hit the hay. It's been a long flight,” the urge for a Bourbon was strong, he said “OK, but I need to make it an early night. I have an important meeting tomorrow.”

  “Me too” she replied, the impish grin showing itself again.

  She waited outside the door until he joined her, and as he locked it, he noticed her pluck a hair from her head and place it across the jamb. “Worked for James Bond,” she said as they walked to the elevators.

  They alighted at the fifteenth floor, and she led him out onto the terrace which commanded a superb view of the city. The temperature out here was not unpleasant and the breeze wafted the sensuous aromas of the street food vendor's up to them. A heady mix of spices and blossoms in this tropical Asian capital. Kim arranged her chair so she was sitting adjoining Curt with her back to the view of the Kuala Lumpur skyline. They ordered drinks, and she placed the blue folio between them. As she opened the folder she noticed the waiter loitering close to them. She stared at him until he got the message and moved back into the bar. Curt was curious but made no comment.

  Keeping her voice low, Kim outlined the details as they knew them.

  She emphasised the point that this was politically sensitive to the Malaysian Government and that they would prefer the report indicate an aircraft malfunction rather than pilot error or worse.

  Curt said nothing although he had been advised by his superiors at NTSC that this would be so.

  At this juncture he wished to see where the evidence took him, rather than become involved in any political finger pointing. Kim continued, “ From information we have gathered it would appear that the airliner was flown away from the South China Sea, across the Malay Peninsula, avoiding radar tracking and headed out into the Indian Ocean.” She persisted. “From our initial enquiries the aircraft was satisfactorily maintained and the two pilots well-trained, with the Captain having over five thousand hours in type, and he was a Senior Check Captain. We believe the plane was more than likely hijacked, but I will let you decide what to think from your own investigations.”

  Curt interrupted, “Who is we?” He asked.

  Ignoring his question she paused and completely changed the subject to a synopsis of Malaysia and its political history, economics of the country and its place among the Asian Tigers. This took quite some time before Curt let an involuntary yawn cross his face.

  “I am sorry” Kim said, “I am keeping you up?. Please read these notes I have prepared for you, and I'll see you at the briefing tomorrow morning.” Before Curt could let out an apology, she rose from the table, said goodnight and quickly left.

  He was feeling the effects of the inevitable jet lag, and was pleased the conversation had been short and business-like, he signed for the drinks and made his way back to his room. He pulled the electronic key from his pocket and was about to unlock the door when curiosity caused him to check the hair which Kim had placed over the jamb. It was gone. Cautiously opening the doorway he looked around, it appeared to remain undisturbed from when he left it. The fibre could have easily dropped off he surmised, and wearily headed for the bed leaving his unpacking until the morning.

  Chapter 31

  He awoke as the bright tropical sun made its way through the scenic window.

  Though a time difference existed between local and Washington, his flight had landed in the evening, giving him a good night's sleep and minimising the jet-lag, common with long haul aviation.

  He was showered, dressed, and breakfasted, and waiting in the lobby when his chauffeur came to convey him to the conference with the transport investigating team.

  The meeting was held in a convention room at the Sama Sama Hotel.

  The chamber was arranged with a large table down the centre, place cards and bottled water, with a thick blue book titled Preliminary Safety Investigation Report, positioned under each name.

  Curt took his place, noticing Kim was seated well away from him.

  The Malaysian Minister for Aviation opened the meeting and read from the report.

  He spoke unhurriedly in perfect English. He introduced himself and his position within the government, before proceeding around the table acquainting each member in turn, establishing their area of expertise, including the military personnel.

  He asked them all to open the folders and commenced reading aloud from his blue book and other prepared notes which gave them up to date information not contained in the booklet. Curt remembered his grandfather saying “never play cards with a Chinaman, you can't tell from their expressions what they are thinking”. While not politically correct in this day and age he could see from the inscrutable countenance on the faces around the table what he had meant.

  Curt picked a yellow highlighter from his pocket and marked the salient passages which required more investigation. Item twenty-three caught his attention. The histories of the pilot and co-pilot were described in great detail, flight time operated, the captain's exemplary record, the fact he was a senior captain as well as a check captain with more than eighteen thousand flying hours. His practised eye scanned through the details of his personality, marital stan
ding, children and community service. He certainly did not show any obvious mental problems. One line caught his eye. He highlighted it.

  The captain had a sophisticated flight simulator in his home. He would ask about this.

  The co-pilot presented to be ordinary, without any disturbing mental traits. It was known by his fellow workers he would “break the rules” occasionally by allowing female passengers to come into the cockpit during a flight and even enjoy a cigarette with them. It was apparent he had an “eye for the ladies”. Was he compromised by a love tryst? Curt highlighted this also.

  The aircraft itself was a Boeing 777-2H6ER Serial Number 28420, delivered to Malaysian Airlines in 2002 and powered by two Rolls-Royce Trent 892 engines. The airframe had some fifty-three and a half thousand flying hours and seven thousand five hundred and twenty-six cycles, that is take-off and landings. Last “A” check maintenance was certified on the twenty-third of February 2014, only a month before the aircraft disappearance. The vital crew oxygen replenishment system had been enacted on March the seventh. Curt had already perused the records of the airframe on the flight from Los Angeles, and noted a minor incident requiring the replacement of the wing tip, and duly marked the notation with his highlighter. He would speak with the engineer responsible. The report also made reference to two Iranians travelling on false passports. They had been investigated by the Malaysian authorities and found to be asylum seekers. Furthermore, it noted that Zaharie Ahmad Shah had not increased his life insurance cover.

  Curt caught Kim looking at him a few times. The representative from Boeing wore a constant frown but the rest of the assembly were inscrutable.

  When the meeting concluded, the chairman thanked them and wandered out to a press conference being held in an auditorium in the hotel. It was standing room only.

  Chapter 32

  Curt made his way into the back of the room. Media, both print and television formed up with their unanswerable questions. TV and photo-journalists lit up the place and it appeared to be more like a disco tech with strobe lighting rather than a serious press conference. Relatives cried or called out in anger and frustration at the lack of information being given out.

  Discreetly Kim emerged at his side. “I don't envy the Minister's job right now”, she said in a loud voice, trying to make herself heard over the melee around her.

  “Wanna go somewhere quiet and talk about what we have”? She asked.

  Curt nodded in agreement, and they pushed through the throng into the crowded corridor.

  Kim led him throughout the hotel onto an open air bar and sat near the rail where she could observe the other patrons. A restaurant attendant approached and took their orders. She made small talk, indicating the respective skyline points of interest in the Malaysian Capitol, until the waiter returned with the drinks. Curt paid, leaving a tip which was the American way. Kim frowned but said nothing.

  “Without the aircraft or black boxes we don't have a lot to work with”, he offered as a conversation starter.

  “Not a great deal at all, but I noted Zaharies use of a home flight simulator. I wonder if any examination of that will yield new data”, she responded.

  “Good catch”, he replied, “ I saw that myself, and yet not much information accompanied the notation.”

  “Without an aircraft or data to proceed with, I believe that would be a useful place to begin our investigation. We must check if any unusual life insurance policies were issued recently, as well,” he added.

  Kim frowned, not at what her collogue had pronounced, but at a man seated near them on the balcony.

  “Let's go”, she said, “we'll meet again in the morning and see if we can't get a closer look at Zaharies` simulator setup”. As they left the bar Curt noted the fellow Kim had been observing got up to leave also.

  Chapter 33

  Richard Battley sat at his desk, palms drawn together as if in prayer. Being a devout atheist, he was, of course not praying but seriously studying the report in front of him. Battley pondered the dispatch and decided he would have to make a momentous decision. There could be no loose ends which could unravel his strategy to distance the White House from these events. He had at his disposal, numerous operatives embedded within the military and other departments of the United States bureaucracy, who received payments extraneousness to their official emoluments. He could call on that expertise at a moment's notice, he would do so now.

  He left his office and took a leisurely stroll down to Arlington National Cemetery, through to the Korean War Remembrance section where he withdrew one of the encrypted phones from his coat. He checked the immediate area for potential eavesdroppers, but not a soul was visible. He sat on the commemorative bench and dialled a memorised number. The call connected to someone at Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program (SFTI) in Nevada, commonly known as Top Gun. Richard Battley spoke in a moderate voice devoid of any superfluous pleasantries, using no names or introductions, delivering his instructions concisely and without emotion to the caller on the other end. He finished the call after three minutes and hung up. Pleased he had covered the “loose end” he ambled casually back to The Pentagon, stopping to buy a Hot Dog from a vendor near the entrance.

  Chapter 34

  Carl Meredith had returned from flying CAP as the Carl Vincen turned toward the Arabian Gulf. He brought his jet to a stop and shut down the engines. A group of multi coloured shirts descended on the aircraft immediately it braked. It was pushed back into its allocated space and Koa was at eye level with the pilot even before the canopy was fully raised. “You have to report to the bridge, and see the Old Man as soon as you can,” he blurted out. He was wearing a huge grin so it wasn't bad news, Carl assumed.

  He made his way to the briefing room, hung up his helmet and proceeded to the Island as it was known. His fellow jet jockeys all saluted in jest as he strolled past indicating something was up.

  The interior of the bridge of the massive carrier was painted in a greenish grey to avoid any reflections from its green tinted glass. Carl entered through a narrow passageway into the subdued light of the tower. About fifteen officers of various ranks stood or sat at their stations. There was none of the usual banter between them, everyone was on their best behaviour when the “Old Man” was present on deck. Captain Thomas sat in his high-backed chair, chatting with the Flight Lieutenant standing beside him. Noticing Carl, he stood and motioned to him to come over. Salutes were exchanged before he introduced Flt. Lt. Andrew Hare.

  “The reason Lt. Hare is here”, he explained, “is to assess you for further training at SFTI (Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor) in Fallon, are you impressed?”

  Naturally he was interested, TOP GUN, this was the pinnacle of recognition for any naval pilot. He simply answered “Yes sir”.

  Lieutenant Hare stood confidently with feet splayed slightly apart to compensate for the rolling motion of the ship. Carl could see this was not Hares` first time aboard an aircraft carrier.

  “Right then”, said Captain Thomas, “I believe the lieutenant wishes to take you out this afternoon to personally assess your ability, although I have already given him our performance rating.

  I suggest the both of you head to the briefing room and organise yourselves, dismissed”.he concluded.

  With that Carl and Hare threaded their way down to the briefing room.

  Lieutenant Hare walked to the whiteboard and proceeded to outline the routines they would be going through. His call sign was Rabbit he announced which was appropriate given his name.

  He used a combination of drawings on the board and miniature models of the FA-18 at the end of sticks to illustrate the manoeuvres they would be performing. It was after lunch when they departed the carrier to a region free of other traffic to set about the trial. “Rabbit” had flown in with his F16N Viper jet fighter which was thought by some to be the best dogfighting aircraft in the navy.

  It was to be a clash between the F16 and the FA-18. The Viper was a much more “use
r-friendly craft” having every switch for aerial battle placed on the HOTAS (combination flight stick & throttle) , whereas the Hornet required the moving of the hand to change weapon settings, a slight disadvantage when in close combat. The Viper had another advantage, its power to weight ratio, that allowed it to recover acceleration when in high “G” manoeuvres. The Hornet was the newer design which gave it a degree of superiority in turning because of its moveable leading edge wing flaps and vector nozzles on the engines. It made it easier for the pilot to keep the nose of the fighter pointed toward the bogey in a dogfight. It also had the newer and better radar. The two aircraft were well-matched.

  The first few passes followed the routines outlined by Hare on the whiteboard. Then “Rabbit” instructed him to initiate an attempt to intercept him as he broke away to the right. Carl Meredith had a good deal of time in his aircraft and knew its shortcomings He forced the Viper to use its superior speed to keep its distance while turning. Hare was sucked into an overturning fight and the Hornet used its computer generated flight characteristics to out corner his enemy bringing the bore sight directly onto Hares aircraft.

  “That's a kill”, he transmitted to Carl. “One to you” he said. “Let's try a head to head,” he instructed.