‘I still don’t know that.’
‘Your whisperer at MI5 didn’t say?’
‘No. I think if he had and then it had come out straight away, it would have been too easy to trace back. He wants me to work it out myself so that it can look like it’s all my own effort. He needs to protect himself.’
‘And you believe that?’
‘Increasingly. At first, I was sceptical. But not now.’
‘How come he picked you?’
‘Because he discovered I was preparing this series of articles. There aren’t many journalists who are still working this story. For most people, it’s yesterday’s news.’
‘But if this is true, there’s no journalist in the world who wouldn’t take the bait. This story will make a legend out of the one who breaks it. He could have given it to anyone.’
‘He wanted someone who had a genuine interest, not an opportunist.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘No. It’s what I think, but …’
Stephanie suddenly felt faint. Her vision shimmered. She closed her eyes and hoped the moment would pass. It didn’t.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Proctor.
She swallowed and found her throat hot and dry. ‘I think I’m going to throw up …’
She rose to her feet and was dizzy. She stuck out a hand for balance. Proctor took her by the arm, guiding her swiftly to the bathroom. He left her there and returned to the living room, trying to ignore the sound of her retching. When she reappeared, her skin was grey and damp with perspiration.
He said, ‘I hope you don’t feel as ill as you look.’
The muscles in her stomach were trembling. ‘I thought it was some kind of hangover …’
‘Sit down. I’ll get you some water.’
‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ When Proctor returned with a glass in hand, Stephanie had put on her coat and was fetching her rucksack. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s none of your bloody business.’
‘Look, you don’t have anywhere to go to.’
She looked insulted, then defiant. ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘Why not?’
Her eyes said it first. ‘Because I don’t trust you.’
‘Well, I don’t trust you, either. But I’m willing to take that risk.’
‘Then you’re an idiot. If you knew what I know, you wouldn’t say that so easily.’
‘I’m sure you’re right but if I was going to harm you, I’d have probably done it by now. You can leave if you want to. I won’t stand in your way. But if you want to stay here, you can.’
It was a savage strain of influenza that laid Stephanie low. Proctor offered her his bed but she refused, preferring the sofa. He made her soup, brought her tea, fed her aspirin. She was sullen and silent. For four days, she did little more than sleep. Her temperature fluctuated wildly and during the first forty-eight hours, she vomited repeatedly. The aches never ceased. It was like narcotic withdrawal, the destructive drug being Stephanie herself, her body rejecting every aspect of her poisonous life. At one point, Proctor considered consulting a doctor but Stephanie was adamant that he shouldn’t. When she awoke on the fifth morning, she knew she was getting better.
Proctor was making coffee. Not instant coffee, but real coffee. Stephanie enjoyed watching the little rituals of preparation, from the grinding of the beans to the cup. She noticed that Proctor was a man who enjoyed practical precision. She saw it in the way he kept everything so clean, in the order that ruled his flat and his appearance. There was no chaos around him and, she suspected, none inside him, either.
They returned to the living room. On the cherry table there were two bulging files, a folder, which was open, and an enlarged colour photograph of a Boeing 747. The fuselage and the engines were deep blue. Running forward of the wing’s leading edge were three enormous, crimson letters: NEA. North Eastern Airlines. The letters reached from the belly to the upper deck, and almost as far forward as the flight deck. On the tail, there was a white circle with two arrows pointing out from the centre, one heading north, the other heading east.
Proctor saw Stephanie looking at the photograph and said, ‘Flying in a pressurized aircraft at altitude is like flying in an aerosol can. Now if you imagine –’
‘I don’t want to imagine anything. Just tell me what happened.’
Proctor flicked through one of the files and unclipped a sheet of paper from it, which he then spread across the table-top. It was a diagram of a 747, seen from the front, from both sides and from above, this view including the lay-out of the seating. The North Eastern logo was in the bottom right-hand corner.
‘There were two explosions. The first one – the smaller of the two – occurred at an altitude of thirty-seven thousand feet. It blew a hole in the fuselage just in front of the wings, here –’ He pointed at one of the side views. ‘– and, less destructively, at the same point on the other side. Critically, the force of the blast was not powerful enough to tear the aircraft in two. As soon as it happened, the 747 fell into a steep descent while the flight crew tried to regain control. They were experienced enough – they had over forty-five thousand hours of accumulated flying time between them – but in this situation, there wasn’t much they could do.
‘At this point, it’s probable that most of the casualties were behind the blast. Those in the nose and on the upper deck – first and business class, mainly – would have been less likely to suffer the worst of the deceleration injuries, although they’d still have been damaged by them. In the end, of course, it made no difference. At twelve thousand feet, there was a second explosion and this was what tore the aircraft in two. Or rather, into pieces.’
Proctor poured some coffee into a pale lilac cup which was sitting on a saucer. Stephanie lit her first cigarette in almost a week, then took the cup and saucer and returned her attention to the diagram between them. ‘So what was all that stuff about electric wiring?’
‘The official verdict was inconclusive. The eventual findings dealt only in probability and theory, one of which suggested that a section of electrical wiring may have been faulty. There are lawsuits pending against both Boeing and North Eastern Airlines but while the cause remains only “probable” they are unlikely to be found culpable. If there was more conclusive proof that the cause was something mechanical or negligent, you can be sure that both Boeing and NEA would be investigating the matter more thoroughly,
