Rogue Element

Abe Niko’s head was under water for a good two minutes before he stopped thrashing, his brain forcing him to inhale. The water was cooling as it flowed into his seared lungs and the air traffic controller felt happily light-headed. He wondered why he hadn’t sensed the truck’s presence around the corner. He slipped into a black blanket of unconsciousness, all fight removed by a calming euphoria. Within another minute, he was dead.

A starter motor for a large diesel whirred and the engine caught. The army truck ground its gears and slowly moved off.

Sydney, 0600 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

Excerpt from phone interview with Indonesian Ambassador Parno Batuta on ABC Radio 702:

ABC: What sort of terrain has the Qantas plane crashed in?

Batuta: We do not know where the plane has come down.

ABC: But you’re searching the island of Sulawesi?

Batuta: Yes, we are concentrating our search there. It’s a rugged place. Much jungle and volcanoes. And the plane could feasibly be anywhere within a very wide area.

ABC: There’s a report coming out of Jakarta, attributed to the air traffic controller who raised the alarm, that the plane could have crashed outside Indonesian territory.

Batuta: We are operating on the advice of our air force and that is something being considered.

ABC: When will you broaden the search?

Batuta: I believe our air force is already doing that.

ABC: If you are also considering other possible areas, then the search must be vast. That being the case, what resources have been allocated?

Batuta: Every available aircraft has been committed.

ABC: Have you invited Australian aircraft to help search?

Batuta: No. Our air force is more than capable.

ABC: What will you do when you find the aircraft?

Batuta: We will allow experts to examine the crash site and try to find the causes, naturally.

ABC: Are there any suggestions yet of terrorism?

Batuta: I would ask you, please, not to ask such a question. We don’t know anything about terrorism. A plane has come down and that is all anyone can say for certain at this moment. And certainly, all I will say. Thank you.

Sydney Airport, 0600 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

The void into which QF-1 had flown left a vacuum that needed to be filled. Everyone, but especially people close to the passengers, needed answers. Not the ones asked by the politicians and the media, but simpler, more real questions. What has happened to my son? Is my daughter alive? Is my husband dead? The questions were underpinned by a consistent belief that the plane had to be in the air somewhere, still flying, because Qantas planes simply didn’t crash. The government couldn’t tell them anything new, and neither could Qantas. They were left to work it out for themselves.

The first of these bewildered people began to arrive at the departure lounge of Sydney Airport. They came in ones and twos, besieging the Qantas flight check-in desks with questions. By noon the crowd had swelled to over a hundred and the section had become unworkable. And as their numbers had grown, so had their mood changed. Sydney Airport management had called security and had the irate throng moved as calmly as possible out of the way, into a large section of vacant seating. Qantas staff drifted amongst them with tea, coffee and sandwiches but offered nothing more sustaining, namely, answers.

Central Sulawesi, 0635 Zulu, Wednesday, 29 April

A sonic boomlet cracked as a bullet going supersonic creased the air over Joe’s head. His mind was grappling with his situation, and nothing about it figured.

Now they were coming for him! The last thing he remembered seeing, before throwing himself onto the ground, was the image of two soldiers racing across the crash site towards him. Bullets continued to slap through the bush beside and behind him. They wanted him to keep his head down. He complied.

Eventually, one of those bullets would get lucky. While Joe was sure they couldn’t see him, his position on top of the hill was exposed. He had to leave. His problem was that he didn’t have a clue where he should run to, only that he should move, and fast. His world had utterly collapsed. He hurriedly stuffed bottles of water and the axe into the rucksack and slipped into the bush on his belly, dragging the rucksack behind him.

At the crash site Sergeant Marturak surveyed the wreckage. It was an unpleasant scene with an equally unpleasant smell, and while he was pleased that he hadn’t been one of the passengers, the devastation left him unaffected. Marturak and his Kopassus troops were no strangers to death and destruction. He was surprised that there had been survivors at all, given the obvious violence of the aircraft’s impact, but survivors were easily turned into victims with an FNC80, the Indonesian army’s standard issue carbine.