by Henry Porter
His next concern was the disc. Clearly the theft was significant, but he didn’t want to alarm Sally Griswald, so when he rang he simply told her that the disc and tape had been stolen overnight from his office. He omitted all mention of the attack. Even so, it worried her that Eric had made a copy and she said that she felt threatened by its presence in her home. Harland suggested that it would be possible for them to send the recording by attachment to his e-mail address, or to express it to Harriet’s home. He gave her both addresses, after fending off several more inquiries about the theft. For the next hour or so he sat, closeted in his office, thinking and making little diagrams. They resembled electrical circuit boards, with each component related to the other. Where Harland was unsure, which was often, he put a dotted line to indicate the tentative or unproven nature of the connection. He spent a good deal of time standing at the window looking at the gradations of blue in the distance of Long Island. Every so often he would dart back to his desk to add a few more lines or another box to the diagram. None of what he produced was very satisfactory because there could be no single interpretation to such random events – yet – but he was coming to grips with the problem, and when Marika brought him some coffee he was at least clearer in his mind about the nature of his task.
She set the cup down and looked over his shoulder with unconcealed interest. Harland asked her to book him on to the six o’clock flight to London and chase up the expenses from a trip in early November. At this, Marika clapped her hand to her forehead and said that she had quite forgotten to tell him about the press conference on the crash that was due to start on the third floor. Maybe he would like to go? Yes, thought Harland, he wanted very much to hear what the Safety Board was going to say about the crash.
He loitered a little distance from the conference room, mingling with a large group that had just emerged from the Security Council, and waited for the press briefing to get under way. Then he realised that he didn’t have to go in. Behind him was a monitor showing the proceedings. He could see Frank Ollins from the FBI and Murray Clark from the Safety Board on either side of Martin Dowl, one of the UN press officers.
Clark, looking rather larger than normal against the background of UN blue, had just risen and was taking the reporters through the procedure that followed the retrieval of the two black boxes. He said that the preliminary findings of the Safety Board meant that sabotage had been ruled out.
‘This was an accident,’ he said. Then he looked up and repeated the word ‘accident’.
He reached behind him for some display boards which he held away from his audience of journalists. ‘We now know that the Canadian Government Falcon 900, on loan to the United Nations, was subjected to exceptional turbulence caused by the preceding USAir flight that landed at La Guardia eighty seconds prior to the crash. This disturbance is called wake-vortex and it is associated with large airplanes, particularly the Boeing 757 which has a wing-flap design that generates a powerful vortex of air. This can force a following airplane into an unrecoverable loss of control. In this accident the preceding airplane was a Boeing 767 which is capable of creating the same type of hazard, although there are fewer recorded incidents involving 767s.’
Clark spun one of the boards round his fingertips to show a diagram of two planes on the same flight path, three nautical miles apart. The camera zoomed in and Harland could see that behind each wing was drawn a spiral.
‘These are the vortices,’ said Clark, pointing with his knuckle. ‘At their core the airspeed may be as much as ninety knots. They can linger for a minute and a half after the plane has passed. Eventually they dissipate or move away. Some descend to the ground before dissipation and bounce right back up into the path of a following aircraft. And that is one of the big problems with this invisible phenomenon. The velocity at the core of the vortices is so powerful that it can affect a big plane like a McDonnell Douglas 88 – which is about three times the weight of a Falcon.’ He turned to his audience. ‘For your information that comes in at around twenty-two thousand pounds.’
He let this sink in then set off again. ‘There used to be five or six serious incidents a year due to this phenomenon. There are fewer today because the Federal Aviation Authority and the National Safety Transportation Board have stipulated minimum distances between landing aircraft. These recommendations and the latest data on vortex incidents are printed in the Airman’s Information Manual, which is readily available to all pilots.’
He turned another board which showed how the vortex had hit the ground and then risen to a height of 120 feet, where it encountered the Falcon.
‘It’s hard to estimate the speed and lifespan of a vortex because it varies according to wind gradient and strength. However we believe that a bouncing vortex intersected with the path of the Falcon at the threshold of the runway. The pilot experienced an uncommanded ninety-degree roll and pitch. He had no time to regain control and the aircraft continued in a right motion until the starboard wing appears to have collided with a light tower. There’s evidence from the flight data recorder that the pilot applied a full left deflection of the rudder and aileron, but could not bring the aircraft under control in time. The pilot had only a fraction of a second to react. All the indications are that he did the best he could to respond to the situation.’
Clark paused to take a sip of water which allowed a journalist from the New York Times to throw in a question. ‘The speed of reaction does not entirely release the pilot from blame,’ he said. ‘Your diagram shows that he was close enough to the Boeing to expose his airplane to these vortices. Was this his fault or Air Traffic Control’s?’
Martin Dowl lumbered into action. He evidently knew the reporter.
‘Mr Parsons, we will take questions at the end of this conference.’
Clark leaned forward and said he didn’t mind answering because it was important for the pilot’s family. ‘Our feeling is that he was well within the safety margin and he had little reason to believe the conditions were conducive to wake-vortex. No warning had been given by Air Traffic Control. This means that aircraft landing on the same runway during the hour prior to the crash had experienced nothing like the catastrophic vortex that he encountered.’
A woman’s voice asked about the casualty list.
‘We’re coming to that now,’ said Dowl testily. He picked up a prepared statement, which he began to read with the gravity of a judge. Harland listened intently, waiting for the official toll. But Dowl was taking his time, first describing the business of the UN officials on board, which turned out to be an informal briefing of Congress on the resources needed for peace-keeping operations, then touching on the reason for Canada’s loan of the plane for the Secretary-General’s forthcoming tour of South American capitals. He concluded with a passage about the Secretary-General’s great sorrow at the death of twelve dedicated professionals in the service of the United Nations.
So, thought Harland, the corpse known as Male C was as good as dumped in the East River. Luc Bézier was never on the plane.
Dowl put the statement down. Then the camera focused on Parsons who had stood up and was asking another question. ‘All through last week we were told that thirteen UN people had been killed on the plane. Now you’re saying only twelve were killed. How could anyone make a mistake like that?’
Dowl took off his glasses and nodded to Clark, who began speaking with laboured patience. ‘Sir, you have to understand the conditions at a crash scene where there has been a violent impact and wreckage is spread over an area of several hundred yards, where the body of the plane has been burned in a fire with temperatures reaching thousands of degrees. These conditions do not aid the recovery of bodies. I am afraid mistakes do occur.’
‘But surely,’ Parsons shot back, ‘there was some kind of passenger list you could check against?’
‘Not in this case,’ said Clark, making it plain with a look to Dowl that this was one for him.
‘Nothing?’ said the reporter, transferr
ing his gaze from the right of the platform to Dowl at the centre.
‘No,’ said Dowl. ‘The aircraft was returning to New York anyway. The UN personnel were making use of it as an economy measure. It will not escape your attention that many of the people on that plane had been at Congress arguing for the payment of late contributions to the UN budget.’
‘So you didn’t know who was on that plane. How can we be sure that you haven’t made a mistake? There could still be people unaccounted for. Isn’t that right?’
Dowl shook his head. ‘No, that’s not possible.’
‘And you’re saying that the next flight would have carried the Secretary-General. When was that trip scheduled for, Mr Dowl?’
‘Last Friday. He was due to visit Colombia with members of the Economic and Social Council.’
‘And the trip didn’t go ahead?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Colombia, that’s a dangerous spot. This must have occurred to the accident investigators and the FBI. I mean, if this crash wasn’t caused by wake-vortex, you would have to look for another cause, wouldn’t you? Have you ruled out any tampering with the plane’s systems?’
‘That’s a hypothetical issue because the NTSB has established wake-vortex as the cause of this accident.’
‘If I’m not mistaken,’ returned the reporter, ‘the only hypothesising going on around here is Mr Clark’s. However convincing the theory appears to be, it is still only a theory – a hypothesis.’
Clark interrupted Dowl with a raised hand. ‘Sir, we are certain that this accident was caused by wake-vortex. It’s more than hypothesis – all the flight and cockpit data comply with the pattern of previous incidents. Since 1983 seventy serious incidents have been minutely studied, and that’s just in the United States. During a ten-year period in Britain five hundred and fifteen incidents – not accidents – were reported at London’s Heathrow alone. We know what we’re talking about here. This is a well-documented and well-understood phenomenon.’
‘Plainly not a well-avoided one,’ said Parsons, and, before anyone had time to react, he added, ‘If the Falcon was too close to the Boeing, someone must be to blame, Mr Clark.’
‘The wake separation distance was satisfactory. We’re looking at all the meteorological data of the time to see if the vortex was capable of an abnormal lifespan. These findings will be included in the final report. But I stress that we are not saying that the investigation is closed.’
‘That’s exactly right,’ chimed in Dowl. ‘This conference is an exercise to keep you, the media, abreast of the preliminary conclusions.’
Harland had heard all he needed.
9
THE QUANTUM FOE
He returned to his office to find Marika with arms imperiously folded across her chest, remonstrating with a man who was fiddling with the fax machine. She gestured Harland into his own office and said sternly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me what happened here last night?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I just had some money taken, that’s all. And I’ve got a bit of a bruise.’
‘But you were mugged! Here, in the United Nations! It’s terrible. Everyone is shocked that such a thing could happen to you after last week.’
‘Well, there it is. I was a little shaken up, but I’m okay now. I’m looking forward to going away for a bit of peace. By the way, how did you hear about it?’
‘One of the guards who found you came by. Asked if there was anything else missing. I said nothing except the fax roll. Somebody stole the damned fax roll. Can you believe that?’
‘What do you mean?’ He knew perfectly well what she meant and instantly realised the significance of the theft. The imaging film, which passed through the machine between two rolls, much like an old-fashioned camera, contained a complete record of the faxes he had received the previous night. All someone would need to do to retrieve the documents was to place the film, page by page, in a photocopier. It was as simple as holding an old piece of carbon paper up to the light – in fact simpler because each section of the imaging film was used just once.
Harland hid his reaction. ‘Someone on this floor must’ve taken it when their machine ran out.’
This didn’t satisfy Marika, but she had something else on her mind. The Secretary-General’s office had called down. There was a brief gap in Benjamin Jaidi’s schedule just after two, and he wanted to see Harland.
He arrived outside the Secretary-General’s suite of offices a little ahead of time, and walked up and down the corridor looking at the framed pencil sketches of the UN buildings. Suddenly he was aware of the guard at the end of the corridor stiffening in his chair. He glanced to his left and found the Secretary-General standing almost next to him.
‘It’s a good trick,’ he said, ‘I learned it when I was a boy. The man who taught it to me said the secret of sneaking up on someone is to imagine that you are leaving half yourself behind. I am sure he was pulling my leg, but it seems to work, doesn’t it?’
Harland looked down into the garnet-black eyes of Benjamin Jaidi. He had met him five or six times before and had always been struck by the man’s eerily fluid presence. Diplomat, crusader, politician and seducer of despots, Jaidi inhabited many roles, but would only agree with the job description of a predecessor who said that a Secretary-General was like a secular Pope. There was something in that, but it didn’t embrace the illusionist’s craft that the neat, inscrutable little man practised in his every waking moment. Harland thought of him as a modern, dark-skinned Merlin. He was without obvious origins. He spoke with an unplaceable lilt, which someone once described as dockside singsong, and his looks might have come from anywhere – the Middle East, Africa, India, even South America. In fact he was born in Zanzibar, was schooled in European universities and had spent most of his working life in the United States.
He took Harland by the elbow and walked him slowly back to his offices pouring out charm and concern for his ordeal. With Jaidi you felt immersed in sympathy.
They sat down in a sofa with their backs to the view.
‘I must say, that looks a nasty injury on your head. Is that the result of the crash?’ He paused. ‘Or did you receive it last night?’
So Jaidi knew.
‘Last night, but it looks much worse than it feels.’
‘Yes, you certainly seem to have been in the wars, Mr Harland. You must look after yourself in future.’
‘Yes.’
‘So,’ said Jaidi, clasping his hands over his crossed knees, ‘Alan Griswald was a friend of yours?’
‘Yes, a good friend.’
‘Did you know he was coming to see me with information which he would only convey to me in person?’
‘I had some idea. Would you mind if I asked what it was about?’
‘It concerned his work in The Hague for the International War Crimes Tribunal, but I can’t tell you more because I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘Do you think this crash was an accident as they are saying?’
Harland weighed his reply. ‘Well, I just watched the press briefing downstairs and the Safety Board’s findings seem feasible enough. There’s no evidence of sabotage.’
‘Yes, wake-vortex is certainly a convincing explanation,’ said Jaidi ruminatively. ‘I haven’t heard of such a thing before. But let me ask you what you really think, Mr Harland.’
‘I think there are very good reasons to suspect that it was sabotage. Someone didn’t want Alan Griswald to talk to you.’
‘But you’re right – there’s no proof. It’s disturbing that such a thing could happen – so many good people killed and yet there’s no evidence of a crime. It makes one feel powerless and angry.’
‘Yes, it does.’
Jaidi sat in silence with a queer expression on his face. Through an open door beyond him, Harland could see the business of the Secretary-General’s office in full flow, but Jaidi seemed in no hurry. ‘I haven’t had any lunch. Shall we see if we can get some tea? I think we nee
d tea and cookies, don’t you?’
He sprang to his feet and went through the open door.
Quite soon afterwards a very tall, Scandinavian-looking woman brought in a tray. Jaidi took a plate of biscuits and began to talk while steadily munching through them.
‘I think we both know more than we are admitting, Mr Harland. Can I make that assumption without offending you?’
Harland nodded and wondered what the hell was coming next.
‘You see, I’ve learned that you know about Monsieur Bézier and that you’ve made inquiries about the work being carried out by your friend Griswald.’ He saw that Harland was about to interrupt and put up his hand. ‘Please, let me finish. I understand that you may be upset by this, but I’ve had to acquaint myself with the facts as fully as I can. I am facing – or rather we are facing – a very difficult time. I think we have to embrace each other and share what we know.’
‘What are you saying, sir?’ asked Harland, tired of Jaidi’s opaque formality.
‘That we have a common purpose and we need to acknowledge it.’
‘No, before that, about Bézier. How have you acquainted yourself with the facts?’
Jaidi sighed and bowed his head a little.
‘Are you saying it was one of your people who took the fax roll from my office? And the break-in at my apartment, the attack last night? I can’t believe it. Are you saying these were at your instigation?’
‘I knew this would be difficult.’ Jaidi sighed again. ‘Yes, I plead guilty on two counts. Let me explain. It seemed to us, by which I mean Mr Ollins of the FBI and Sean Kennedy, the head of security here, that you might have taken something from Alan Griswald’s body. We suspected that you knew what he was bringing me because you were friends. Old friends, I gather. There was something, wasn’t there? But then last night it was stolen from you. Mr Kennedy wondered what else you knew and went to your office and found the fax roll. I’m afraid that he also arranged for a search of your apartment over the weekend, though he did tell me that he and his colleague were let in by a porter. So it was not strictly a break-in.’