Kara’s Game. Gordon Stevens

Control that,’ she ordered Maeschler. ‘Nothing else, just point out that they’re telling us to land with an eighteen-knot tail wind and the maximum is ten.’

      ‘Control, this is Lufthansa 3216. Repeat last directions.’

      Something was wrong. Finn ignored the other men round him and listened to the exchange.

      ‘Lufthansa 3216. Turn right on to two eight five for landing on Zero Nine Left.’

      ‘Control, this is Lufthansa 3216. You originally told me to land from the east on runway Two Seven Left. Now you’re telling me to land from the west on runway Zero Nine Left.’

      ‘Affirmative, 3216.’

      ‘But according to ATIS there’s an eighteen-knot tail wind from the west, and the maximum tail wind for a 737 is ten knots.’

      There was no reply.

      Finn swung in his chair so that he could see the TV monitors. There had been no live pictures of Lufthansa 3216 since the Boeing had left Amsterdam, therefore ITV and CNN were replaying the takeoff from Amsterdam, and the BBC were running a studio discussion: a presenter and what Finn thought of as the inevitable panel of experts.

      ‘What’s ATIS?’ the presenter asked.

      ‘Airfield Terminal Information Service,’ the flight consultant told him. ‘It gives the latest airfield report to incoming pilots.’

      ‘What’s the difference between a tail wind of ten and eighteen knots?’

      They stopped talking as Maeschler spoke again.

      ‘Control, this is Lufthansa 3216. If I follow your instructions and land from the west, the tail wind will mean that I might run out of runway.’

      For the second time there was no reply.

      ‘Is that correct?’ the presenter asked the panel.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So if they land from the west, they might not make it?’

      ‘They should make it …’

      ‘But?’

      ‘There’s a chance they won’t.’

      ‘And the authorities are aware of that but are still telling them to do it?’

      Be careful, the expert warned himself. Wrong answer and he wouldn’t be invited as an expert again; right answer and he might jeopardize his government contracts. ‘So it would seem,’ he agreed.

      What’s happening? one of the sergeants in the police unit supervising the demonstration in Parliament Square asked the woman next to him. Heathrow’s changed the route in, she told him. Heathrow’s told them to land from the west, but the tail wind from the west is above the permitted speed and it means they might run out of runway. Bloody politicians, the policeman said aloud.

      ‘Control, this is Lufthansa 3216. Be aware we are fuel priority.’ Lufthansa 3216 running out of fuel, they understood. ‘I repeat. Be aware we are fuel priority.’

      So what do I say, the radar controller stared at the crew chief, what do I do? ‘She’s turning.’ He picked up the first movement. ‘Repeat. She’s turning.’

      ‘3216 turning,’ the crew chief told the shift supervisor.

      ‘Lufthansa 3216 turning,’ the supervisor informed Downing Street.

      ‘3216 turning left,’ Simmons told the crew chief. ‘Confirm, she’s turning left.’

      ‘You mean right.’ Because that’s what we told her to do. That’s what we were ordered to tell her.

      ‘No, I mean left.’

      

      There was nothing on VHF and there should be something. ‘What’s happening?’ the BBC presenter asked the panel.

      ‘One of two things.’ It was the flight expert again. ‘Either Lufthansa 3216 has turned north. Except that’s what Air Traffic Control instructed, which seems unlikely.’

      ‘Or?’

      ‘She’s disregarded Air Traffic Control and turned left, which would be the normal route in. Then she’d head south at an angle till she picks up the ILS beam, turn right, and follow the beam into Heathrow.’

      ‘Over London?’

      ‘Yes. Over London.’

      ‘And as of this moment, all other air traffic into and out of Heathrow has been stopped.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So the only plane which will fly over London in the next twenty minutes is Lufthansa 3216?’

      ‘Yes.’

      

      The cloud was around them. ‘Locking on to ILS,’ Maeschler told her. ‘Beginning final approach.’ The Boeing banked gently to the right, the cloud thinned and the ground was suddenly visible beneath them. The green of the fields below them, the silver of the Thames snaking away from them, and the grey of London in front of them.

      …The next time the United Nations lets your people down you must have something the world wants, he had told her … The next time the UN fails you, you must have something which makes the world afraid of you …

      

      CNN, BBC and ITV were all already transmitting pictures from Heathrow, BBC cutting with shots from Parliament Square, and ITV mixing with aerial shots of London from an Aero Spatiale Twin Squirrel jet helicopter.

      So what are you thinking, Finn?

      I’m thinking that I’m at the top of the ladder. The night’s black as hell around me and the aircraft door is in front of me. Steve to my left, Jim and Ken tight behind; Janner and his team at the rear door, the helicopter hovering over the flight deck of Lufthansa 3216, the ops major counting down and the diversion about to go in. I’m in first, that’s what I’m thinking. I go right, start looking for the hijackers. Steve goes left and checks the flight deck and toilet. Jim covers me and Ken covers Steve.

      Although that’s not all I’m thinking.

      What do you mean, Finn? What are you really thinking?

      ‘Lufthansa 3216 is approaching from the east.’ The radio presenter tried to stifle the excitement in his voice. ‘We are receiving reports that Lufthansa 3216 has passed over the Thames flood barrier and is about to fly over the City.’

      ‘We have first pictures of Lufthansa 3216,’ the voice of the ITV presenter was suddenly urgent, suddenly dramatic, the monitor showing the shot from the Twin Squirrel, the Boeing slightly below it.

      Christ she’s low, Finn thought. The television images were almost unreal – the empty runways at Heathrow, the people in Parliament Square, their faces turned up and their eyes searching the sky to the east. The aerial shot from the helicopter of Lufthansa 3216 tracking up the river.

      Docklands was below her, Tower Bridge in front then suddenly below, and Westminster and Big Ben drawing her in as if she was on a piece of string.

      Finn glanced at the BBC pictures from Westminster – the sky empty in the background and the Palace of Westminster in front, Big Ben to the right and the Churchill statue to the left.

      ‘Lufthansa 3216, this is Heathrow Tower.’

      ‘Heathrow Tower, this is Lufthansa 3216.’ Maeschler, the captain, husband of a beautiful wife and father of two pretty children – the papers had found out and published a family photograph. Maeschler the hero who’d landed 3216 at Schipol even though the authorities had tried to stop him.

      ‘3216, you are cleared to land.’

      There was a slight delay.

      ‘Thank you, Heathrow Tower.’ Not the captain