Dr. Ibrahim Jaber presided, giving muted directions to two colleagues. He talked, they listened. He moved his hands in slow chopping motions and his colorless face was compressed as he emphasized a point. On their first encounter, Davis remembered Jaber as being subdued, almost listless. Now he looked like a mime on Valium. From a distance, even his eyes appeared changed, lacking the intensity Davis had seen earlier. Now they were dim, like a light that was neither on nor off, but something in between.
Sorensen hadn't come up with anything yet on Jaber's background, but Davis had asked around among the other investigators. He'd found out that the guy was Egyptian, just as he'd guessed, and had a Ph. D. from Cairo University in systems engineering. After a short stint writing computer code for an Italian avionics supplier, he had hooked up with Aerostar, a nascent Russian airframe manufacturer. Neither job was management, but rather technical in nature. Apparently the guy was some sort of expert in software integration, made his living by renting out his skills to whoever was buying. A hired gun. Not bad work, but hardly the resume of a chief project engineer for a new civil aircraft program.
Davis edged over.
When Jaber saw him coming he ended his one-sided conversation The two men he'd been lecturing faded away.
"Hello, Mr. Davis."
Davis nodded. "Dr. Jaber."
"Are you looking forward to hearing the cockpit voice tapes?"
"Looking forward to it? Not really. But we might learn a few things."
"Yes, indeed."
Davis said, "I understand that you're something of an expert in the design of flight control software."
Jaber waved the compliment away, that false air of coyness so imbued in people who thought highly of themselves. "I would more precisely describe my work as systems integration — it is my duty to bring conformity to the various aircraft computers and data inputs."
"Then I should ask your opinion. Whose concept do you prefer — Boeing or Airbus?"
Jaber cocked his head to one side, the way people did when they were perplexed, as if a new angle of perspective might bring enlightenment. "I am an engineer, so Airbus, of course."
In the decades since Airbus had come into existence, two essential theories had evolved concerning the design of flight control systems. Airbus had pioneered fly-by-wire technology for commercial aircraft, a method where the pilot controlled what was basically a joystick, and a series of computers then provided inputs to hydraulically actuated flight controls. Boeing, on the other hand, had long kept a more traditional method, retaining mechanical links between the pilot and the flight control surfaces. Over the years, the two manufacturers had gravitated to something of a middle ground, but these divergent design philosophies gave rise to yet another division — pilots favored more direct input, while engineers liked to give their computers ultimate say. Davis knew, from a neutral investigator's standpoint, that each camp could point to spectacular failures of the other.
Jaber continued with what sounded like a well-rehearsed sales pitch. "At CargoAir we have embraced technology, Mr. Davis. The C-500 functions on a triple redundant system. The calculated chance of three concurrent failures — if that is what you allude to — is one in six billion over the life of the program."
Davis never liked numbers like that. The guy who designed the Hindenberg probably had great numbers. Lethargy aside, Jaber was beginning to remind him of Hurricane Sparky. He said, "Okay, so lets say the flight control system was working as advertised. Would it have allowed such a steep dive? Wouldn't it have limited the angle of descent or the airspeed?"
"These questions are yet to be answered. But, of course, everything must be measured with respect to the control inputs made by the pilot."
Careful words, Davis thought. Throw it all back on the pilot. "So you give credence to Dr. Bastien s theory regarding the accident? You think it may have been an intentional act?"
The Egyptian shrugged. "It is not for me to say, Mr. Davis. My expertise lies not in the human condition, but the far more predictable arena of software interfaces. I understand logic, sir, not emotion."
Davis nodded politely. Then he tried a new tack. "Bastien suggests that the data recorder contains no useful information because the circuit breaker was pulled just before the dive began."
Jaber nodded as he followed the thought.
"Well, I've been wondering — just for the sake of argument, you see — if there was any other way the data recorder could have failed."
Jaber s movements turned glacial. Again Davis noticed the eyes, filled with — what? Acceptance? Resignation?
"Another failure mode?" Jaber queried. "The data recorder is one of many systems on the aircraft, Mr. Davis. None are perfect, and so it could have been a routine failure, of course. But I believe that to certify a data recorder, your own FAA requires a demonstrated time-between-failure rate of no more than one in every twenty thousand hours of flight time."
Davis thought, More numbers. He said nothing.
"Therefore," Jaber extrapolated, "could this have happened? Yes. But I ask you, what are the odds?"
Davis didn't stop to calculate. "But you are an expert in systems integration. What if another system failed, something tied in with the data recorder? Maybe a component connected to a common electrical bus?"
Jaber shrugged. "There are remote possibilities. I am told there was a brief power interruption on the ground as the crew was preparing for flight. As a pilot, you know such events can play havoc on individual systems."
"Queertrons," Davis said.
Jaber cocked an ear. "I beg your pardon?"
"Queertrons. That's what pilots call them. Those little stray elements of matter that gum up everything with a circuit board. When an instrument goes haywire, you remove power for a few seconds, turn it back on, and the problem is usually solved. Usually."
"Yes, from an operator's perspective you are essentially correct. And I will tell you that the same difficulties can occur when various aircraft systems interact. But this power interruption on the ground we are speaking of — it took place fully half an hour before the data recorder ceased functioning. Any relationship between the two would seem highly unlikely."
"Highly," Davis repeated.
Someone shouted a five minute warning for the briefing.
"Clearly you have more questions," Jaber said. "Perhaps we can discuss this at a later time."
Davis nodded. More discussion. His day-planner was filling up fast.
Jaber headed for the briefing.
Davis stood right where he was. In front of him was a section of wreckage. He recognized it as the remains of a cockpit windscreen, the thing twisted in its frame, inch-thick layers of clear laminate shattered beyond recognition. He was glad Jaber had at least given him hope — there was a remote chance that the power interruption could have some relationship to the data recorder failure. Davis had one tiny straw to grab for, something beyond the possibility that Earl Moore had pulled the circuit breaker himself, rolled inverted, and pulled toward the earth.
There was, however, one certainty in it all. One thing that Bastien was actually right about. The fact that the data recorder had failed only seconds before the airplane started its final dive — that was too much of a coincidence. Davis didn't know the method. Not yet. But someone had made it happen.
Someone trying to hide what really caused the crash of World Express 801.
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Sorensen took off her New Balances before she entered her room. They were caked in mud, and she figured housekeeping would appreciate it if she didn't track it all over the carpet. She had just tossed them in the tub when her phone rang.
It was a government-issued device — big, heavy, and power-hungry, with a battery symbol that always seemed to be pressing the last bar. The thing was supposedly secure, another satellite gadget, but these days you could never be sure. She walked to the window with the phone in hand, allowing two more rings to shift her mental gears. Sorensen glanced outside. Her room had a reaching view of an open field bordered by brown, dormant hedgerows. In another three months it would be nice to look at. She turned away and hit the green button.