NURSE: Madam?
AMERICAN WOMAN: I’m fine, thank you.
NURSE: Do you have any flulike symptoms at all? Muscle pain, fatigue, headaches?
AMERICAN MAN: She’s good.
AMERICAN WOMAN: [sniffs, coughs]
NURSE: Madam, forgive me, but you don’t look very well.
AMERICAN WOMAN: It’s … it’s the dry air from the plane.
AMERICAN MAN: Is all of this still necessary?
NURSE: I don’t make the rules, sir. I’m just a nurse. But you had to consent to the return screening when you purchased your ticket, as do all the other aid workers who spend time in the region.
AMERICAN MAN: Are they filming us? Shouldn’t you have asked to film us?
NURSE: Well, sir, they’re not recording a reality show. It’s for security reasons. Neither of you left the capital?
AMERICAN MAN: No, no. Our foundation works in education, all in Kinshasa.
NURSE: Madam, you really do look a bit off-colour–
AMERICAN WOMAN: Oh, Jesus Christ! How many more times are you gonna tell me I look like crap? [crying] I’m sorry I don’t look so lovely without my make-up on and I’m sorry I’m not good at travelling, but I swear to you, I don’t have some godforsaken jungle disease, OK? My God, we’ve been killing ourselves trying to build schools no one seems to care about, we’ve been flying for ten hours, I just wanna go home and see my grandchildren.
AMERICAN MAN: Honey, you’re doin’ the Lord’s work.
NURSE: I’m sorry, madam. I didn’t mean to cause any offence; I’m just following protocol. So, can I just ask you to confirm that neither of you went to any of the recently infected areas in the past eight weeks?
AMERICAN MAN: No, no, no. We never went upriver. Our work is in the capital.
NURSE: Very well. You’re all set. Cheers. Have a safe flight.
AMERICAN WOMAN: [coughing]
AMERICAN MAN: Have a great day.
5
Spoons chinked against mugs and bacon sizzled on the grill. The coffee machine hissed in a cloud of steam and low-level conversation pulsated. The diner’s early morning symphony swelled.
As she stepped through the door, Kaitlin breathed in the appetising aroma of fried food and fresh brew. Her stomach rumbled. She’d been skipping meals, trying to eke out what little funds she had until this business was done.
But the recordings Dylan had forwarded had intrigued her enough to move fast. She could see how this one could be important. An evidently sick woman, possibly infected with a virulent strain of something or other, would be a nightmare scenario for any flight. Could a couple returning from the Congo have unleashed a deadly pandemic on board Flight 702, a fast-acting virus that had brought the plane down?
Pausing, she surveyed the diner from under the brim of the New York Jets cap she’d pulled low to hide her face as much as possible. Paranoia was a way of life now; she wasn’t taking any chances.
There was the woman she’d come to see, in a booth at the far end. Dolores Grier was African American, mid-fifties, carrying a few extra pounds and looking cornered. Her eyes darted around and her nod to Kaitlin was surreptitious.
After the Flight 702 memorial service attended by the President where the sick woman’s daughter had spoken, Dolores had left a garbled message on the hotline. She sounded frightened. Dolores had been working for Atlantic Airlines and was now back in the US. A direct witness. That was gold dust.
Kaitlin slipped onto the bench opposite her contact. ‘Hi. I’m Kaitlin.’
‘Dolores.’ She continued to look around the diner. ‘You weren’t followed?’
‘No. I’m being super careful.’
Dolores leaned back in her seat, relieved.
‘Do you mind if I record this?’ Kaitlin asked, sliding her phone across the table.
‘S-sure.’
‘OK, I don’t want to waste your time, so let’s get straight into it. You were on the gate for 702, is that right?’
Dolores moistened her mouth. ‘Yeah.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘This older couple, the woman – she looked sort of tired. She kept kind of falling asleep. And sneezing. So this kid, he was, uh … Latino or Arab. He comes up to me and says “Hey, that lady’s sick.” Apparently, they’d been in Africa.’
‘You didn’t tell the FBI?’
‘It’s not like I decided not to tell them. I just didn’t say anything. And the agents had so many questions about the other passengers. They didn’t ask about the old couple.’
‘What happened after the kid told you they looked sick?’
‘I called them over. Wayne and Wendy LaPeer. The man was so friendly – Mr LaPeer. He said his wife was just tired ’cause they’d been travelling ten hours. They’d been doing charity work or something. I didn’t know they’d come from somewhere that had been under an infection advisory – the medical screeners who process aid workers dealt with all that. And the woman just … looked at me with this, uh … sort of gaze. It was kind of hollow. Seemed like standing was taking a lot of energy. I asked her if she was well enough to fly and she just said, “I’m trying to go home.” And so, I let her go home.’
‘OK, tell me—’
Dolores twitched and leaned across the table. ‘I think there’s a man staring at us. No, don’t look!’
‘What man?’ Kaitlin felt the heat rise in her neck.
‘The guy in the green jacket. Or maybe he’s just eating eggs.’ Dolores sighed. ‘See? This is what my life has become. Wondering if strange men are following me because I couldn’t fess up when I should have.’
‘You think she was really sick? Sick enough to maybe …’
‘Have somethin’ to do with the plane going down? Yeah. The look she gave me – I can still see it so clearly. Glassy eyes, red eyes. Clammy. Her skin was kinda yellow. But her husband was just … smiling so big, as if it were just the most wonderful day. Like a big, happy dope. I thought maybe she was sort of like me. Like a version of me where I didn’t get divorced, and me and Jimmy spent a couple of weeks in Kinshasa every year to remember how lucky we were.’ Her eyelids batted down for a moment.
‘And your bosses, your co-workers – none of them saw the LaPeers?’ Kaitlin pressed.
‘Don’t think so.’
‘You didn’t speak to them about it after the plane went missing?’
‘No, dear, I’ve just been thinking about it myself.’ Dolores played with her coffee spoon. ‘I quit Atlantic after the accident. Before I left, though, I-I looked up the LaPeers’ ticketing transaction. They bought the tickets the day before the flight. They were in a rush. And then I let them on.’
Dolores dropped the spoon and it clattered in the saucer. She sucked in a deep juddering breath.
Kaitlin felt a rush of compassion at what this woman must be going through. ‘Are you doing OK, Dolores?’
Dolores blinked away hot tears. ‘Oh God, I’m such a monster. I let a woman with a crazy disease on a plane, and your brother dies and here you are comforting me.’ Dolores glanced past Kaitlin’s shoulder and her eyes narrowed. ‘OK, that guy is definitely looking at us.’
‘Dolores …’ Kaitlin cautioned. Those mood swings weren’t good. There was a lot churning away inside this woman.
Dolores drew another ragged breath. ‘Hundreds of people dead. A good chance this is all my fault. Unless … maybe you know something I don’t.’
‘I-I don’t know much. Yet.’
‘Oh. There it is, I suppose.’
‘The couple. You said their name was LaPeer?’
‘Yeah. They have an Instagram page. It’s still up. I look at it sometimes.’ She stared deep into her coffee cup, yet another victim of Flight 702.
As she made her way out of the diner, Kaitlin felt her phone vibrate. It was her mother calling. She stared at it, letting it ring until it went to voicemail, and then she felt a bout of guilt.
She couldn’t face talking right now. There would be too m
any questions, endless attempts to get her to return to class, to give up her search.
What a terrible daughter she was. Not so long ago, she’d never have dreamed of ignoring her mom’s calls. They were such a close family and she’d always had a particularly tight relationship with her mom. Texting every day, FaceTiming every couple of days. Her mother was so loving, a true matriarch who cared for her brood.
Her father, in contrast, was both stern and strict, though no less loving underneath it all, Kaitlin knew. He carried with him that immigrant drive to work hard, to see his family succeed and not struggle as his own parents had. That focus on discipline sometimes made him seem bad-tempered and aloof, but underneath was a gentle man who just wanted the best for his children.
The loss of Conor had hit both of her parents terribly hard. Her mother had become, if anything, even more effusive, lavishing twice the love and attention on Kaitlin. Kaitlin knew that love had to go somewhere, that her mother was clinging on to her one remaining child out of a deep-seated fear that she might lose her, too. Though it pained her to admit it, carrying the weight of it all sometimes got suffocating.
Her father had retreated into himself, barely talking and disappearing for long stretches to be alone. Kaitlin had caught him drunk on two occasions when she’d visited home. That wasn’t like her dad at all. She was worried about him.
If she were really honest with herself, she knew she ought to be there supporting them, and that thought only made her feel worse. She kept telling herself there would be plenty of time to be there for them once the truth about Flight 702 had emerged, when they’d all be able to return to the lives they’d had as best they could.
Was that just a pipe dream, though? She stared at the voicemail notification, then slipped her phone away. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.
Down in Tompkins Square Park, someone was playing a guitar and singing a poor cover of a Taylor Swift song. Kaitlin heaved up the window and leaned on the ledge, looking out over the fall display of gold and amber as she hit the keys on her phone.
A man picked up after a couple of rings, his voice sounding like someone who’d missed his train by a split second. ‘Population, Refugees and Migration. This is Dobbs.’
‘Hi, I’m looking for Melonie Diaz.’
‘Melonie is no longer with us.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘That sounded bad. No, she’s not dead. She quit. How can I help?’
‘I had some questions about an NGO that your office funded. The LaPeer Schools Network? They were in Kinshasa.’
Dobbs made a strangled note of irritation. ‘Where did you say you were calling from?’
‘My name’s Kaitlin. I’m a friend of their daughter’s.’ An easy lie. But she needed to know what might have made Wendy LaPeer sick. How virulent was it? Could it have been so bad that it brought the plane down? She needed experts and lying was the only way she could see to gain access to them.
‘OK.’ His voice softened. ‘Tragedy what happened to them. I can only imagine. Both parents …’
‘I know. She’s … she’s still a wreck.’ Kaitlin had no need to fake these feelings; they rolled out of her with ease. ‘I know six months may sound like a long time to be grieving, but it’s … still hard for any of the family to talk about what happened. So, I’m calling on their behalf. Did you know the LaPeers at all?’
‘Met them last year when I was visiting our projects in Kinshasa. They ran a good operation. Kept their schools going, and that’s the hardest part.’
‘It’s just that, Mr Dobbs. The reason that I’m actually calling is that the kids are worried Mr and Mrs LaPeer may have been … sick, before they got on the plane.’ God. When did she become such a good liar? It was a good thing the man on the other end of the line couldn’t see her face.
‘Sick?’
‘Yeah. That maybe they had something that … might have spread …’
‘I read that theory. That the LaPeers were infected with the Ebola virus and this somehow spread throughout the plane and had brought it down. It’s hokum.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Three reasons. First, the Ebola outbreak was way upriver. And the only people who go upriver into the jungle are missionaries, and the LaPeers weren’t missionaries. Secondly, all staff are quarantined before they leave the DRC.’
‘So, the LaPeers would have been quarantined?’
‘Absolutely. We do that as a precaution because the signs don’t appear for several days.’
‘And what are the signs?’ She’d done her research. She knew the answer, but it was good to hear it from the expert.
‘Fever, headaches and then …’ Dobbs’ voice trailed off.
‘Go on.’
‘Well, basically, if you develop Ebola, you … well, your whole body just starts to melt. But we have to do a health screening for anyone coming out of the DRC,’ he added in a hurry, no doubt trying to sweep over the gruesome image. ‘They didn’t have Ebola.’
‘But Mrs LaPeer was sick.’
‘Maybe she had a cold.’
‘And the third reason?’
‘What?’
‘You were talking about reasons. You said there were three. What was the third reason?’
‘Ebola was eradicated in the DRC over a year ago.’
‘But you said that upriver there could be some—’
‘I said that’s where the Ebola outbreak occurred. But they eradicated it in just forty-two days. The WHO are usually incredibly effective at disease mitigation.’
It was clear that this man had nothing more for her.
After she hung up, Kaitlin clambered out onto the apartment’s fire escape and looked out over the city. Dobbs was adamant, but she still wasn’t convinced. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe that corrosive paranoia was turning her into one of those crazy conspiracists. Was this how it happened? A slow march from reason into a swamp that eventually swallowed up everyone who ventured in there?
There was a cover-up. There had to be a cover-up.
She needed to know more. She grabbed her phone and opened Instagram. It was time to delve into the LaPeers’ lives and look for a way to reach their daughter.
6
The offices of Murray & Wexler were on West 42nd Street. On a good day, they smelled of the bakery downstairs and on a bad day, they reeked of the garbage barges unloading at the wharf on the Hudson River. There was nothing Rory Murray could do about that, short of moving premises, but this really wasn’t the time. One breakthrough, that was all he needed. One big case and the world would smell a whole lot sweeter.
And Flight 702 was his path to that.
Rory stretched out his legs on the corner of the desk, showing off his polished Cuban heels. He was a tall man, but he liked that extra height they gave him. Imposing. Good when walking into meetings.
‘Law Firm to the Stars. What do you think about that, Shana?’ Rory raised his hands to frame an imaginary billboard. He could see it in his mind as clear as day. His personal assistant seemed to be having trouble, though.
Shana was standing in the doorway to his office, looking confused. She had a big heart. He liked that. She was a terrible personal assistant, though.
‘Danny Guzman!’ he said.
‘Danny?’
‘Danny Guzman! Days of Our Lives. Admittedly it was only a small role, for … three weeks? But he’s a star, right?’
‘Oh, yes. You represented him in the—’
‘Potentially catastrophic “hot food in the lap” suit, yes. Could have been devastating for Mr Guzman in his line of business. If he’d been scarred … Northern Airlines understood that and it’s to their credit that they were prepared to settle.’
Shana stared.
‘OK, I can see this one isn’t catching fire with you. Let me think on it.’
‘OK, Mr Murray.’ His PA turned to go, then said, ‘Don’t forget Renee Keffler is coming in.’
Rory frowned. ‘That
isn’t in the calendar.’
Shana showed a sheepish face. She’d forgotten to put it in his diary. Again.
As his PA slipped out, Rory shouted, ‘When’s she coming, Shana?’
A muffled ‘Ten minutes,’ floated back.
Rory swallowed his irritation and jumped to his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair in front of the hand mirror he kept in his top drawer, spritzing with aftershave – just a little, he didn’t want to smell like a gigolo. Then he practised his smile a couple of times and loaded his briefcase with the documents he’d put together on Flight 702.
Renee Keffler had an imposing intellect, a caustic tongue and a bearing that suggested she always knew more than the person she was talking to, which she usually did. That was exactly why Rory liked to use her as an expert witness whenever he could. She dominated the opposition before she even opened her mouth.
‘Renee!’ Rory boomed, throwing his arms wide when Shana ushered her through the door. ‘Always, always a joy to see you.’
‘Still working out of this shithole, Rory? When are you going to move up in the world?’
‘I’ve stayed to honour the memory of Karl Wexler, you know that. And yes, maybe I’ve stayed too long, but you can’t put a price on loyalty.’
Renee sighed. She’d always had a low tolerance for his flights of fancy and dazzling wordplay.
Low frequency, Rory, he told himself. That’s the way to go.
‘Let me treat you to lunch. I owe you that.’
‘Fine. Anything to stop me breathing in the garbage fumes.’
Rory led Renee to the deli three doors down. It didn’t look much from the outside, but the pastrami on rye was so huge, it was a heart attack in waiting.
Once the sandwiches and beer had been delivered, Renee flicked out a paper napkin and asked, ‘So, how’s the aviation law business, Rory?’
Rory wagged a finger at her. ‘Always straight down to the nitty-gritty, Renee. That’s what I like about you. Business is good, yes, but it could get a lot better very quickly. If I can nail down what happened with Flight 702.’
‘I figured that’s what you wanted to talk about.’
Renee had been a top-level executive at three different airlines, climbing the ladder methodically until she shocked everyone by switching to the enemy and becoming an air accident investigator. That put the fear of God in every CEO, because she knew their games inside out.
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