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FIRST EDITION

© Florence de Changy 2021

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Source ISBN: 9780008381530

Ebook Edition: February 2021 ISBN: 9780008381561

Version: 2021-02-03

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Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Note to Readers

5  Contents

6  Dedication

7  Epigraph

8  Maps

9 Foreword

10  1 Flight MH370

11 2 Where Is the Plane?

12  3 Malaysia Boleh!

13  4 Australia Takes Charge

14  5 Alternative Scenarios

15  6 The Families’ Committee Launches a Private Investigation

16  7 Counter-investigation in the Maldives

17  8 Will the Réunion Flaperon Solve the Enigma of Flight MH370?

18  9 Some Debris Surfaces in the Gulf of Thailand

19  10 A New Wave of Debris on the East Coast of Africa

20  11 Could the Captain Have Run Amok?

21  12 Not Everyone Is Buying the Official Narrative

22  13 The Official Version Is Looking Shaky

23  14 The Simple Scenario: A Crash in the South China Sea

24  Epilogue: The disappearing act

25  Addendum: A few (very) instructive examples of airline crashes

26  Acknowledgements

27  Index

28  Picture Section

29  About the Publisher

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Dedication

To the families and friends of the 239 people on board Flight MH370 on 8 March 2014.

To all those, on whichever continent they live, who have helped me in my investigation with their testimony and explanations.

To all those who are persevering in good faith with their research, so that one day we will know the full story of what really happened to Flight MH370.

To all those who know something more, and who are duty-bound to reveal their share of the truth and end the terrible distress of the victims’ loved ones.

To my family and friends, whose support and patience have been essential to my work.

Epigraph

‘It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key.’

Winston Churchill, 1939

‘We live in a world where the powerful deceive us. We know they lie, they know we know they lie, they don’t care. We say we care, but we do nothing.’

Adam Curtis, HyperNormalisation, BBC Documentary, 2016

‘International affairs are very much run like the mafia.’

Noam Chomsky, 2020

Maps

Foreword

I first heard about the disappearance of a Malaysia Airlines jetliner as I was listening to the RAI news in the Fiat I had rented at Verona Airport. I was on a short visit to my childhood home. It was the morning of Saturday, 8 March 2014, and I pulled over so I could hear the details more closely.

As the days went by, RAI news kept talking about Malaysia Airlines and its wide-body jetliner, which had still not been located despite a massive search operation involving ships and aircraft. Seen from afar, the whole affair seemed decidedly weird. I really wanted to be on the spot. After several years in Kuala Lumpur a decade earlier, I still had a soft spot for Malaysia, a little-known country that, until recently, rarely rated a mention in the Western media.

When a week later Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Razak referred to a ‘deliberate act’, the affair assumed an even stranger dimension. Now we were no longer talking about a simple plane crash. So what were we talking about?

Just after I returned to Hong Kong, my home base for the previous seven years, French daily Le Monde, the newspaper I have been working for since the mid-nineties, asked me to go to Kuala Lumpur, where the disappearance had already become ‘the greatest mystery in the history of aviation’.

While the whole affair was strange when seen from afar, seen close-up it was positively Kafkaesque. It was not possible in 2014 for a Boeing 777 carrying 239 people to have simply disappeared. Nothing ‘mysterious’ happened that night. The loss of the jetliner must have a cause, whether it was human, technical or political. What had really happened was simply not yet known to the general public, I told myself.

To me, claiming that Flight MH370 could have disappeared sounded like an insult to human intelligence. People and computers must necessarily know something; radar systems and satellites saw what happened. Whatever the nature of the event, traces must have been left behind, even if they were only slight. It seemed to me that it was my professional duty to find these traces, analyse the context, note down the inconsistencies, identify the red herrings and get any witnesses to say what they knew. Above all, to refuse to let the concept of ‘mystery’ be associated with the case.

1

Flight MH370

Friday, 7 March 2014. It is almost midnight. Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA) is in night-time mode. Almost all the stores and cafés, including the shop that sells Malaysian pewter souvenirs, have pulled out their accordion shutters and switched off their window lights. The day’s last passengers are left with just a few steel benches in large, empty corridors leading to the departure gate lounges.

In front of gates C1–C3, some 30 passengers for Flight MH370 to Beijing are waiting, standing in front of the information screen, at which they look up from time to time. At KLIA, passenger and hand-luggage security controls are carried out just before boarding. Seasoned air travellers are familiar with the procedure. Put your belongings on the scanner conveyor, take your computer out of its case, remove your belt and empty the contents of your pockets – coins, keys, glasses and mobile phone – into a plastic tray. Sometimes you even have to take off your shoes and socks. But security controls at KLIA are anything but zealous, and a certain slackness is visible in the security video of passengers filmed before they board Flight MH370.

As the passengers gather on the far side of the three electronic security archways, the security staff – half a dozen men and women in black-and-white uniforms – are talking to each other. Calm and relaxed, they await the instruction to start the control. The aircrew, meanwhile, have already gone through and are now on board, getting the aircraft ready. First through were six air hostesses and flight attendants, and then 10 minutes later the captain and his co-pilot. The two men put their peaked caps and luggage on the scanner. Neither takes anything out of his bag, not even his flight iPad. Nor do they take off their jackets. Both are given a quick body search. They do not speak to each other. The last time Captain Zaharie Ahmad Shah flew MH370 and its return Flight MH371 was on 22 February, just two weeks earlier. Other air hostesses arrive later. One at 23:33, and two more at 23:38. Passenger boarding begins at 23:46, just under one hour before take-off.

One of the first to pass through is a very stylish Chinese woman. She is wearing a frilly hat that she does not remove, with a matching pink-and-white outfit. She is followed by a young couple with a collapsible pushchair and a small girl who teeters around them. Although the passenger list notes that there are nationals of 14 different countries, the great majority of the passengers seem to be Chinese: Chinese from continental China, from Malaysia, Canada, Australia, the United States or Taiwan.

At this late hour, people’s movements are a little clumsy. Faces are tired and drawn. This daily flight is usually one for regulars. It is sometimes called a ‘red-eye flight’, a night flight that is not long enough for you to sleep properly, as it takes less than six hours, including take-off and landing.1 On weekdays, MH370 mainly carries businessmen, but the Friday night–Saturday morning flight is different. Its passengers are going home or spending the weekend in Beijing. Most are dressed for the cold weather of northern China rather than the equatorial heat they are leaving behind.

The families of the fated crew and passengers have kept on asking for this video without success, but I was able to view it through wholly unofficial channels. On the video, it is possible to recognise some of the passengers referred to in subsequent press reports, such as the celebrated calligrapher with his magnificent white hair. The 20 engineers and researchers employed by the American electronics company Freescale Semiconductor, all of whom are Malaysian or Chinese, are harder to identify. You can spot a group of tourists returning from a trip to Nepal, and some 30 upper-middle-class Chinese who have gone to Kuala Lumpur for an investment trip at the invitation of a property developer, with a view to buying property in Malaysia. There is also a 32-year-old stuntman, who already has an impressive career under his belt. One month earlier he had moved to Kuala Lumpur to work on the new Netflix series Marco Polo. He is flying back to Beijing to spend the weekend with his wife and two small daughters. Two retired Australian couples stand out from the rest: Western in appearance, taller and more heavily built than the other passengers. One is holding an Akubra – a well-known Australian hat brand – in his hand. The four French passengers also stand out in this mainly Asian crowd – a mother, accompanied by three young people: her daughter, one of her two sons and his French-Chinese girlfriend. After a week’s holiday in Malaysia, they too are returning to Beijing, where they live. At this very moment, the father is in Paris. He is set to board a flight to Beijing a few hours later, and when he does so all he knows is that his wife and children are on their way there too. The other Caucasian passengers are one middle-aged American, two young Iranians, a New Zealander, a Russian and two Ukrainians.

One year later, an American blogger was to suggest that the Ukrainians could be implicated in MH370’s disappearance, as he suspects them – on the basis of a hypothetical scenario2 – of having hijacked the plane to Kazakhstan. The two Ukrainians arrive together, in the last few minutes of boarding, and they look far more energetic than their fellow passengers. They have the physiques of US Marines and wear body-hugging black T-shirts. Each has a large carry-on bag, and they whisk them on to the conveyor belt with practised ease. I found out much later that their tickets were the only ones that were completely untraceable by the investigators. No idea where they were purchased, no travel agent, no method of payment, no place of issue. Highly abnormal apparently. The two men happened to be seated on row 27, right below the Satcom antenna. Of all the passengers who board the flight, if you had to pick out two as being hijackers, the Ukrainians are the ones who best look the part, in terms of age, physical condition, appearance and body language.3

Some passengers go through the security archways still wearing a coat, a belt or a hoodie. Looking unconcerned, they come through in small groups, and then go back again one by one. Wristwatches trigger the alarm too. The camera films this gently chaotic coming and going. One passenger opens a Thermos flask and turns it upside down to prove it is empty. Then another passenger takes a king-size bottle of Coca-Cola out of a bag that has just been scanned, and drinks it in full sight of everyone as he awaits his travelling companions.

An employee of Malaysia Airlines (MAS), in the turquoise jacket worn by ground staff, goes through the archway in the middle with a transparent plastic bag in his hand, seemingly containing rolls of fax paper. The light flashes red. No one reacts. He continues on his way without being checked. A little later, a wallet becomes lodged between the metal rollers after passing through the scanner; and then a female passenger gets her head stuck in her coat as she slips it back on, unintentionally creating a brief moment of comedy. In short, the boarding process is rather disorderly and lackadaisical. In less tragic circumstances, the legendary Malaysian happy-go-lucky approach would elicit a smile in anyone watching it back on video.

Obviously, air transport security regulations, although universal, vary from one airport to the next. But at Kuala Lumpur, it’s difficult to find any information about regulations in the airport’s official documentation. On its website, under the heading ‘Airport Check-In Guidelines’, the subsection ‘Security Checks’ consists of two lines of text: ‘Security Regulation on Hand Luggage’ and ‘Hand Baggage Guidelines’.4 The information stops there. No details whatsoever. Unbelievable – and highly unusual for an airport that serves more than 40 countries, and handles 30 million passengers each year.

Just when it seems that everyone has been through security, a young Chinese man, wearing a very tight-fitting white suit and sporting an Elvis-style quiff, leaves the waiting room and strides quickly through the security archways in the wrong direction. He heads back towards the terminal as though he has forgotten something. At the end of the video, at 10 minutes past midnight, with the security staff apparently shutting down their control station, the young man has not returned. Did he save his life by missing his flight, or did he rush back in time to board? More importantly, have some of the other passengers, who on this video can be seen heading towards the boarding gates, been able or allowed to step out at the last minute too?

Thirty minutes later, the Boeing 777-200, with the manufacturer serial number 28420 and the Malaysia Airlines registration 9M-MRO,5 takes off as it does every night at the same time: 00:40, give or take one or two minutes. The aircraft’s ascent, which takes 20 minutes, seems trouble-free.

At 01:01, the plane reaches 35,000 feet. Flight conditions are good, not to say ideal. The in-flight catering service can begin, but usually on this flight passengers take no notice as they try to get some sleep. At 01:07, the aircraft sends out its first ACARS message (the acronym stands for Aircraft Communications Addressing and Reporting System). The bulletin provides real-time data indicating the aircraft’s technical performance levels, which are theoretically sent to the ground automatically, both to Boeing back in Chicago in the US, and to Malaysia Airlines. The system is activated at regular intervals, which depend on the subscription taken out by the airline. In the case of Malaysia Airlines, the interval is 30 minutes. For some airlines, the interval depends on the route.

Everything is normal. Malaysia Airlines enjoys an excellent reputation both for safety and service. Its fleet is very modern, and its aircraft are on average four years old, although the Boeing on Flight MH370 is 12 years old. The plane was delivered in 2002, and it has already flown for 53,465 hours, performing 7,525 cycles (i.e. flights) prior to this particular MH370 flight.

Its only recorded accident at the time was a ground collision with another plane at Shanghai Pudong Airport in August 2012. On 23 February 2014, 12 days before the night in question, the aircraft was in the hangars of Malaysia Airlines undergoing maintenance. One of the first announcements from the airline after the plane’s disappearance states, ‘There were no issues on the health of the aircraft.’ The next maintenance control was scheduled for 19 June.

After flying for 40 minutes, the airliner is about to leave the airspace of Malaysia and enter Vietnamese airspace right next to it.6 Less than five hours remain before the descent towards Beijing. Landing is scheduled for 06:30. At 01:19, the Boeing leaves the Malaysian air traffic control zone with a routine message: ‘Good night, Malaysian three seven zero.’ After the investigation, the pilot’s friends, family members and an expert were asked to identify the voices in the transmissions made between MH370 and air traffic control. It was established that the initial speech segments before take-off were those of the first officer, meaning that the captain or pilot in command (PIC) was at the helm. The subsequent voice recordings, including the last transmission, are of the captain, meaning that it is the co-pilot who is flying the plane at the time it disappears. The captain’s voice is relaxed and does not sound suspicious in any way. Normal procedure is that immediately after leaving Malaysian airspace, the aircraft should declare its presence to the Vietnamese authorities with a message such as: ‘Ho Chi Minh control, Malaysia 370, flight level 350, good morning.’ But there is no call from MH370. In the ensuing minutes, the situation veers dramatically into the abnormal, the unknown, the unheard of.

At 01:20, five seconds after passing waypoint IGARI assigned to Singapore,7 and 90 seconds after its last radio transmission, the transponder – the main means of communication between the aircraft and air traffic control – is switched off. Or it switches itself off. The button is located between the seats of the two pilots. Switching the button is as easy as turning a car radio on or off, requiring a quarter-turn in one direction or the other. But switching the transponder off between two air traffic control zones is an extraordinary thing to do – and highly suspicious. According to the information provided by the Malaysian authorities one week later, the aircraft first turns to starboard for a few seconds, and then starts making a U-turn to the port side and heads west-south-west. Then the ACARS system (which automatically controls the sending of technical information) is switched off as well. Or, again, it switches itself off somehow. Pilots are not even taught the procedure for doing this, because there is no imaginable reason for switching off the ACARS system, never any justification for doing so, whatever the situation. Although often described later as ‘complicated’, the procedure is in fact not particularly complex. With three clicks on the communications page of the trackpad, it is possible to deactivate the three transmission modes. The two actions – switching off the transponder and, a little later, the ACARS system – at first sight rule out the most frequently encountered scenarios in any accident: technical failure, pilot suicide and in-flight explosion. They suggest that someone has taken control of the aircraft in a way that has never previously occurred in the history of aviation.8

Deprived of its ACARS system, the aircraft does not transmit even the slightest item of technical information, which, when relayed by satellite, could have enabled it to be located. And so the 01:37 ACARS bulletin is not sent. Nor is the 02:07 bulletin. Is the alarm raised immediately at Boeing, Rolls-Royce and Malaysia Airlines? At first sight, yes, ‘necessarily’, assume all the experts questioned just after the aircraft’s disappearance. But not a single comment, explanation or technical insight will be forthcoming from the American plane maker Boeing or the British jet engine manufacturer Rolls-Royce, these two cornerstones of the global aircraft industry. When Air France Flight 447 went down between Rio de Janeiro and Paris in 2009, the last ACARS bulletin made it possible to locate the crash site, as the indications gave the crash time to within five minutes.

So has a perfect hijacking, leaving no trace, just taken place? Or, more accurately, an almost perfect hijacking. For even though it is no longer transmitting signals, the aircraft automatically receives a silent electromagnetic signal, called a ‘handshake ping’. Only the echo of the ping indicates whether it has been received. Until this unique situation arose, these pings had never been used for the purpose of locating an aircraft. Mathematical extrapolations of the highest order of complexity will be needed in an effort to interpret these last indications of the aircraft’s whereabouts, and thus deduce from them its final trajectory.

After the message ‘Good night, Malaysian three seven zero’, we know nothing more of what happened in the sky on board MH370. On the ground, however, it is the start of many hours of tragic blundering, during which time the Boeing vanished into thin air.

The register of messages logged between the control towers of Kuala Lumpur and Ho Chi Minh City reflects a remarkable string of failures. From 01:20 onwards, Vietnamese air traffic control knows that MH370 should be arriving in its zone. But it waits 19 minutes before alerting Kuala Lumpur about the strange silence of the Kuala Lumpur–Beijing flight. It should have reacted within three to four minutes at most. And meanwhile the Kuala Lumpur control tower does not receive any news either; MH370 has not returned to the local frequencies.

At around 01:30, on instruction from Vietnamese air traffic control, the pilot of a flight to Tokyo that was theoretically close to MH370 succeeds in contacting the aircraft on the emergency frequency (121.5 MHz), and asks if the flight has made its transfer to Vietnamese air traffic control.

‘There were [sic] a lot of interference … static … but I heard mumbling from the other end,’ said the captain. ‘That was the last time we heard from them, as we lost the connection. If the plane was in trouble, we would have heard the pilot making the Mayday distress call. But I am sure that, like me, no one else up there heard it,’ he told the Malaysian newspaper The New Sunday Times the following day.

The conversation is interrupted, which often happens. The pilot has to continue along his flight path to Japan; he does not try again. He has the job of flying the plane, after all. According to several investigators who have tried to find out which planes were close to MH370 in its final moments, it could be the pilot of Flight JAL750 or of Flight MH88. The conversation has not been made public by the authorities, even though, according to the pilot – who gave his testimony anonymously – all the other aircraft and ships in the zone at that time must also have heard it. However, the provisional report indicates that at around 01:54, Ho Chi Minh City also asks the pilots of Flight MH386, on its way from Shanghai to Kuala Lumpur, to try to contact MH370. No further details are given. The statement of the ‘Duty Executive Despatch Operation’ (sic) recorded by the Royal Malaysian Police mentions that Flight MH52 was also asked to try to contact MH370. The pilots of both MH52 and MH88 were interviewed by the police – according to their statements, both tried many times but failed to reach MH370.

At 01:46, Ho Chi Minh City tells Kuala Lumpur that the aircraft disappeared from the radar screens just after passing the next waypoint, BITOD, 37 nautical miles (approximately 68.5 kilometres) away.9 At 02:03, after several fruitless exchanges between the controllers of the two neighbouring zones, the Kuala Lumpur control tower informs its Vietnamese counterpart that the operations centre of Malaysia Airlines has located the plane … in Cambodia. This is good news, but also rather strange. Why would MH370 have left its flight path without warning the local air traffic controllers? And what is it doing in Cambodia? Ho Chi Minh asks the Malaysians for more details. Half an hour later, at 02:37 precisely, the operations centre of Malaysia Airlines sends the Vietnamese, who are somewhat dubious, the coordinates of the aircraft’s alleged new position in the skies of Cambodia. A satellite call is attempted at 02:39 but without success. Once again, why do they wait so long? About one hour later, the operations centre of Malaysia Airlines corrects its earlier message; the position given in Cambodia was based on a ‘projection’ rather than the actual location of the aircraft. In other words, no one – not the airline, nor the air traffic controllers, nor anyone else – knows where MH370 has gone.

The airliner has, essentially, vanished for 2 hours and 10 minutes, somewhere between two hesitant and perplexed control towers, confused by a false indication supplied by the airline’s own operations centre. The Vietnamese then try to contact Hong Kong and the Chinese island of Hainan, to see if by any chance they have seen the missing aircraft fly past.

It is discovered about two weeks later, thanks to a radar image from Thailand, that at 02:22 the aircraft is already north-east of Sumatra (Indonesia) on the other side of Malaysia. It has radically changed its route and clearly abandoned its initial destination. Why? Where is it going?

MAS does not raise the official alert until 05:30, an hour before its scheduled arrival time.

At Beijing Airport, the main display board in the airport concourse shows Flight MH370 as ‘Delayed’. Both in Kuala Lumpur and Beijing, people are growing impatient; they have not received the customary ‘arrived in Beijing’ text, nor any reply from a mobile phone. When no one emerges from arrivals at the scheduled time, worry starts to set in. At 07:24, one hour after the scheduled landing time at Beijing, Malaysia Airlines issues an evasive news release, announcing that Subang Air Traffic Control lost contact with Flight MH370 at 2.40 am today (8 March). The waiting family and friends are terrified and panic-stricken. For all the families of the 239 people on board the flight, an interminable ordeal begins. What has been lost is not contact, but an airliner.

For many months, almost nothing would be known of the crucial details about the flight path actually taken by the plane, between its last point of contact with Malaysian air traffic control and the last indication of its presence at 02:22 on a Thai military radar. The details were reconstituted by trial and error, and assembled like a jigsaw puzzle over subsequent weeks, months and years, in the light of information that was released in dribs and drabs, for the most part diluted in an ocean of false or inaccurate data.

The first interim investigation report, dated 1 May 2014, provided very little information. ‘Even if you have your wallet stolen, you get a longer report than that,’ the brother of a female Chinese passenger said to me in disgust. Over the course of the following years, several reports, as well as various studies by the ATSB (Australian Transport Safety Bureau), tried to bring together in a coherent way most of the information known about the flight. But several independent investigations carried out since then by experts fascinated by the case, with whom I have been in regular contact, suggested that errors, inconsistencies and false information may have found their way even into the official reports on which this account of the aircraft’s final hours was based.

It took me two years to first spot the many flaws and inconsistencies of the official narrative and another three years, approaching witnesses, searching for traces – as well the traces of erased traces – to put together a much more plausible version of what truly happened that night.

1 According to Factual Information: Safety Investigation for MH370 (8 March 2015), the planned flight duration was 5 hours and 34 minutes.

2 In February 2015, Jeff Wise published The Plane That Wasn’t There online at www.jeffwise.net.

3 There are some question marks over some other passengers, including the sole Russian. In fact, all the countries that had nationals on the flight cleared them of any possible links to terrorism, with the exception of Russia and Ukraine, who ignored the requests made by the Malaysian police.

4 See www.klia.com.my.

5 This aircraft also has the following Boeing references: block number WB-175 and line number 404. These identification numbers are referred to in the investigation.

6 The sky is virtually divided into different airspaces (called Flight Information Regions or FIR), where traffic control and flight assistance are provided by the designated ACC (Area Control Centre) or ATCC (Air Traffic Control Centre). In this case, MH370 is leaving the airspace controlled by Malaysia (KL ATCC) and is due to enter the airspace controlled by Vietnam (HCM ATCC).

7 Flight paths pass through a series of virtual waypoints, which are given five-letter names for ease of identification.

8 Since the night in question, thousands of Boeing 777 pilots, of all ages and nationalities, have tried to find out how this is done, and have succeeded. But why is this procedure possible, if it can never be justified, whatever the in-flight situation? The best explanation I have heard, after consulting pilots, members of the military and other experts on this intriguing question, is that an aircraft ‘cannot and should not be designed to fight its pilot’. This is indeed a very good argument. The aircraft is a tool in the hands of the pilot, who is completely in charge of everything on board.

9 Aviation uses nautical miles as a standard measurement of distances. One nautical mile is equivalent to 1,852 metres.

2

Where Is the Plane?

‘It’s best to stay at the Sama-Sama Hotel next to the airport. That’s the journalists’ headquarters and there are press briefings every day at 5.30 pm. But the investigation is going nowhere. It looks like a dead-end assignment, if you ask me.’

So said a friend and colleague from RFI (Radio France Internationale) even before I arrived in Kuala Lumpur a week and a half after the aircraft went missing. More than 160 media crews had been dispatched from around the world to cover the story in the immediate aftermath of the disappearance, and almost all of them had descended on the Sama-Sama Hotel. Camera tripods and assorted bags of equipment littered the corridors, while the huge but soulless, tasteless lobby of this luxury hotel hummed with activity. Some of the crews had set up their little company flags, surrounded by improvised groupings of tables and sofas. Others had laid claim to a column, stuck their corporate logos on it and set up camp nearby. The news-hungry throng was like an army of ants swarming over freshly fallen fruit.

Were it not for its slapdash organisation and the prickly tension that prevailed, this high-density media colony would have seemed much like the press gatherings at many international summit meetings and major sporting events. But there was a difference here. In the corridor leading to the auditorium used for press briefings, the press room was adjacent to the family room. When its door was ajar, wails of despair or bursts of anger sometimes escaped – a reminder of the human drama underlying this compelling mystery. The Chinese families, especially, were at the end of their tethers. Some family members had gathered at the Lido Hotel in Beijing, but many had made the trip to Kuala Lumpur, hoping to be on hand as soon as any new shred of information became available. A simple misunderstanding or awkward question by a journalist could trigger a fit of rage. Encounters with the authorities would frequently degenerate into shouting matches, walk-outs, bottles of water being hurled at spokespersons and so on. The anguish suffered by these men and women who had lost a loved one was mounting with each passing minute; they had been haunted ever since Huang Huikang, China’s ambassador to Malaysia, came to see them a few days after the disappearance and said, probably at a loss for words, ‘This is very complicated, you cannot understand.’

How can he tell us it is ‘complicated’ when at the same time they are telling us they don’t know anything? 1

The celebrity news anchors of the major global networks were on hand as well. Notwithstanding Russia’s annexation of Crimea and Putin’s intentions for the rest of Ukraine, the disappearance of Flight MH370 was considered the most newsworthy story of the hour. The topic was ideally suited to the demands of live television, with ‘breaking news’ reports and updates running 24/7 in wall-to-wall coverage. In the early days following the plane’s disappearance, coverage consisted of a series of statements, contradictions, denials, rumours, confirmations, retractions and clarifications … a vortex of information that gave rise to a nebula of hypotheses.

Within hours, China, Thailand, Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam, Australia, the Philippines and the United States made search teams available to Malaysia. Backed by its experience with Flight AF447 from Rio de Janeiro to Paris, which went down in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Brazil on 1 June 2009, France dispatched a delegation from its air accident investigation bureau, the BEA. As required under Annex 13 of the Convention on International Civil Aviation, also known as the Chicago Convention, a joint investigation team was quickly formed. At its head was a former Malaysian director general of civil aviation. The team called on the expertise of specialist organisations in a number of countries in addition to the BEA (France): the NTSB2 (US), the AAIB3 (UK), the AAID4 (China) and the ATSB5 (Australia), along with accredited representatives from Singapore and Indonesia. Boeing, Rolls-Royce and the British satellite company Inmarsat – of whom much more later – were also invited to take part. In accordance with the Chicago Convention, Hishammuddin Hussein, the Malaysian Minister of Defence and Transport, declared:

The main purpose of the international investigation team is to evaluate, investigate and determine the actual cause of the accident so similar accidents could be avoided in the future. It is imperative for the government to appoint an independent team of investigators that is not only competent and transparent but also highly credible.

A person close to the investigation told me, ‘Americans from the NTSB, the FBI and the FAA6 were on the scene immediately. The British also sent two investigators. They went to see the people at Malaysia Airlines and requested access to all the data.’

As logic demanded, the starting point of the investigation was the last point of contact with the plane. This was in the South China Sea, midway between north-eastern Malaysia and the southern tip of Vietnam. At first, that was all anyone knew; contact with the plane had been lost over the Gulf of Thailand, along the interface between Malaysian and Vietnamese airspace, just after the plane had crossed waypoint BITOD. The Malaysians carefully refrained from saying that they knew the plane had executed a U-turn to the left. Instead, they ordered that search missions be confined to this single area.

On the first day of the search, a Singaporean plane was sent out to overfly the area. We were subsequently told that 9 planes and 24 ships had gone out for the search, although we never saw a detailed list of them, nor were we given the precise location of the search areas. From one day to the next, the numbers kept rising. It was hard to keep up. When the search area was expanded to include the other side of Malaysia, representing a total area of nearly 100,000 square kilometres, the media was told that 42 ships and 39 planes were deployed. At the peak of the search operation, 26 countries were involved.

In the dead of the night of the disappearance, a few witnesses reported the unusual presence of a plane overflying the Gulf of Thailand. They described noises out of the ordinary: white lights, a low-flying plane and even a plane on fire. These accounts bore no resemblance to the ‘business as usual’ ballet of long-haul jetliners between Kuala Lumpur and Tokyo, Seoul, Hong Kong, Taipei or Beijing that were barely visible because they flew at much higher altitudes.

Along the north-eastern coast, villagers in Pantai Seberang Marang declared that they had heard a very loud noise coming from the direction of Pulau Kapas, a resort island. Under the headline ‘Villagers heard explosion’, the 12 March issue of Free Malaysia Today confirmed that the Terengganu police had taken statements from several villagers who reported hearing a loud explosion during the night of 7 to 8 March. Without consulting one another, the villagers gave the following independent accounts: at about 1.20 am, Alias Salleh,7 36, was sitting with friends a few hundred metres from the sea when they all heard a very loud noise, ‘like the fan of a jet engine’. Another villager, Mohd Yusri Mohd Yusof, 34, stated that when he heard the strange noise, he thought a tsunami was about to hit. Other inhabitants of the area claimed to have seen weird lights above the ocean. In Kelantan State, 66-year-old fisherman Azid Ibrahim noticed a very low-flying plane ‘below the clouds’8 at around 1.30 am. The plane was in view for nearly five minutes. His fishing boat was about 10 miles off Kuala Besar. It would have been impossible to miss the plane, he said, as ‘its lights were as big as coconuts’. Unfortunately, everyone else on the boat was fast asleep.

More or less at the same time, about 30 kilometres from Kota Bharu,9 the young businessman Alif Fathi Abdul Hadi, 29, also noticed bright white lights. He insisted on reporting what he had seen to the MMEA (Malaysian Maritime Enforcement Agency)10 because the plane was flying ‘opposite to the usual direction’. In the same area but much further out to sea, south-east of Vietnam, a 57-year-old New Zealand oil rig worker named Michael J. McKay, who had gone outside to have a smoke in the middle of the night, insisted he saw an aircraft on fire at high altitude due west. ‘I believe I saw the Malaysia Airlines plane come down. The timing is right,’ he wrote in an email that he sent to his employers, after Malaysian and Vietnamese officials ignored his initial message.

Meanwhile the Vietnamese press was publishing some interesting information, but it went virtually unnoticed in the pandemonium of those first few days. As early as the morning of 8 March 2014, the daily newspaper Tuoi Tre News quoted a statement issued by the Vietnamese Navy, announcing that ‘the plane went down 153 nautical miles [283 kilometres] from Tho Chu Island’. On Sunday, 9 March, a large oil slick stretching over a distance of 80 kilometres was spotted from the air about 150 kilometres south of Vietnam. ‘This is the first and – for the moment – only potential sign of the missing plane,’ reported the search plane’s pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Hoang Van Phong.

Another highly surprising report was published by China Times, a pro-China news website based in Taiwan, as well as by the Chinese news website China.com. It told of ‘an urgent distress signal from Flight MH370 picked up [by] the US Army unit based in U-Tapao, Thailand’. In his message, the pilot said the aircraft was about to disintegrate and he needed to make an emergency landing.11 This information, if true, struck me as being extraordinarily important and intriguing, but at the time we learnt nothing further and it was generally ignored by the Western media.

There were other reports that corroborated the immediate and local crash scenario. Peter Chong, whom I met a year later during another assignment in Kuala Lumpur, was a friend of the missing pilot and had initially been told that the plane had crashed in the Gulf of Thailand. Flying business class on Malaysia Airlines on his way back from Bangkok on the evening of Monday, 10 March, he asked the air hostesses to convey his condolences to the pilots of his own flight. ‘I just wanted to express my solidarity in these trying circumstances,’ he explained to me. To his very great surprise, a message scribbled on a paper napkin came back to him a few minutes later. In the note, which he tucked away for safekeeping, the captain thanked him and added, ‘Wreckage to your left’. At the time, the plane was flying over the southern part of the Gulf of Thailand. Peter Chong peered out the window and saw a clearly lit area at sea where he said he was able to make out intensive search operations. Chong took this as evidence that, ‘at that stage, Malaysia Airlines believed the plane to have gone down in that area and had informed its crews’.

Moreover, the day after the last contact with the plane, Chinese satellites detected three large floating objects believed to indicate ‘a suspected crash sea area’ for Flight MH370. The location of this debris – 105.63°E and 6.7°N – was compatible with the last point of contact with the jetliner. The images were supplied by Sastind12 and dated Sunday, 9 March at 11 am. They showed the objects as small white spots against a background of grey sea. The dimensions of the three objects were given as 18 × 13 metres, 19 × 14 metres and 24 × 22 metres for the largest. It was not every day that one came across such large floating objects of a size comparable to that of a Boeing 777, which is 64 metres in length, with a wingspan of 61 metres. And three objects at once! Clearly, this was the first serious lead that had turned up since the searches began. Several news channels rushed to announce that the plane had been found. But Xinhua, China’s official news agency, had waited three full days, until Wednesday, 12 March, to release these images. More surprising still, Minister Hishammuddin then asserted without batting an eyelid that the images had been made public ‘by mistake’. If this were indeed the case, it was undoubtedly the first time ever that the People’s Republic of China had shared satellite images by mistake. The minister added that a Malaysian surveillance plane had patrolled the site and found nothing there.

The search effort in this area was dominated by two American warships equipped with helicopters, and one Singaporean P-3 Orion maritime surveillance aircraft. Numerous other vessels were supposedly patrolling these waters as well. This part of the sea is encircled by the Gulf of Thailand and the coast of Vietnam and China to the north, the Philippine archipelago to the north-east, the large island of Borneo along with Java and Sumatra to the south, and finally, Malaysia and Thailand to the west. Surely a jetliner – even one smashed to pieces – and dozens of bodies should have been noticed sooner or later.

The fact that the Chinese satellite images were released simultaneously with a new revelation that the plane had allegedly made a virtual U-turn to the west meant that the images did not attract as much attention as they otherwise might have. From that point, despite the mounting pile of clues, attention shifted completely away from the South China Sea.

Eyewitness accounts, reports by the Vietnamese Navy and Chinese satellite images, as telling as they may have seemed, quickly faded into oblivion, relegated to the large and increasingly crowded box of ‘as-yet unexplained temporary clues’ like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that must be kept in a corner of the table until they can be made to fit into the overall picture.

Accordingly, from Tuesday, 11 March, scenarios other than a plane crash into the South China Sea began to take shape. In an apparently ill-advised burst of transparency, Rodzali Daud, the Royal Malaysian Air Force Chief, told the local newspaper Berita Harian (Today’s News) that at 2.40 am that Saturday – one hour and 21 minutes after the last radio and radar contact with the plane – the aircraft had been detected by the Royal Malaysian Air Force Base at Butterworth near Pulau Perak. This minuscule island at the northern end of the Strait of Malacca13 was actually on the western side of Malaysia, the opposite side to the search area. That the Air Force had detected a plane was a fact. Or at least it would be confirmed as such later on. What it was at the time, however, was a gaffe. The poor guy had spoken too soon and spent the following days attempting to deny his own claims. He released a statement saying that Butterworth had in fact received an unidentified signal at 2.15 am. The next day, the time was advanced to 2.30 am. Soon enough, no one had any idea what the Air Force had seen, or where, or at what time. If the Malaysian response was a mission to obfuscate, it was already well underway.

This did not stop Malaysia from secretly deploying two of its ships and a military aircraft to search along the country’s western coast, even though the north-eastern coast was still the designated search area. The New York Times, citing American officials familiar with the investigation, reported that the missing plane had climbed to 45,000 feet, which is above the plane’s service limit, then descended to 23,000 feet, well below a normal cruising altitude, as it approached Penang.14 The newspaper later reported that a mobile phone tower had picked up a brief signal from the co-pilot’s phone around this time. None of these elements were subsequently confirmed, but nor were they explicitly denied.

According to the first interim investigation report, which came out in May 2014, military experts viewed the radar recordings of the plane’s inexplicable movements at 8.30 am on 8 March, or seven hours after the jetliner went missing. The data was sent to the minister of defence and transport at 10.30 am, who in turn informed the prime minister.

Malaysia never explained how or why, having learnt that very first morning that the plane had radically changed its flight path by heading west, it nonetheless ordered a large-scale search operation to the east, in the South China Sea, calling on the assistance of China, Vietnam and Thailand in particular. These search missions were not officially called off until a week later. An Australian named Ethan Hunt, one of the organisers of the committee of families formed in June 2014 to raise funds for a private investigation, later said to me, ‘If they had wanted to create a diversion to give them time to do whatever they were supposed to do with the plane, they couldn’t have found any better way to do it!’

Meanwhile, a spontaneous army of volunteer detectives offered their services to the Tomnod web platform to help scrutinise millions of satellite images of the search areas. This site, a crowdsourcing project originally launched at the University of California in 2010 and now ‘retired’, called on volunteers to study satellite images and detect forest fires or refugee settlements, map typhoon damage and the effects of other natural or man-made disasters. Prior to the search for Flight MH370, Tomnod had a few thousand contributors. After the search for MH370 began, Tomnod had to shut down on 11 and 12 March due to high traffic of up to 100,000 visits per minute. It reopened again with a more powerful algorithm. More than 8 million people have scrutinised Tomnod images a total of 98 million times and have identified 650,000 objects of interest. Even Courtney Love posted a satellite image from the Tomnod site on her Facebook page, with the following comment: ‘I’m no expert but up close this does look like a plane and an oil slick.’

It looked as if the searches for the aircraft were continuing to target the wrong place, while distraction and diversion tactics took centre stage. The multinational search fleet kept chasing its own tail in the South China Sea, with no clear idea where or how to look for the plane. Meanwhile the families and the media stayed at the crisis centre established at the Sama-Sama Hotel, restless, champing at the bit, and wracking their brains to find meaning in the mass of incoherent and sometimes contradictory information served up at the daily press briefings.

With the release of the passenger manifest, the official accounts began to pussyfoot around in earnest. Malaysia Airlines issued four consecutive statements concerning the number of nationalities represented on board. The first gave a figure of 13, the second said 14, the third was up to 15 and the fourth back to 14. Admittedly, the Taiwanese were counted as Chinese, and the Italian and the Austrian listed on the manifest were in fact two Iranians travelling with stolen passports. Moreover, there were reports of four stolen passports for a while, but one of the press briefings revealed that ‘in fact there were only two’. None of these details were of much interest to someone searching for a Boeing 777 and the 239 people on board, but they filled the airwaves. And it was a great way to sow confusion.

When the passenger manifest was first released at the end of Saturday, 8 March, a spokesman for the airline announced, ‘This is the list of everyone on board. All the families have been informed.’ Shortly thereafter, however, two ‘survivors’ came forward. Luigi Maraldi, an Italian on holiday in Asia at the time, heard his name among the list of missing persons. He immediately called his family to reassure them. Fortunately, his family had not been informed of his disappearance. Luigi’s passport had been stolen six months earlier. As for Christian Kozel of Austria, he was at home when Flight MH370 went missing. He too had had his passport stolen in Thailand two years earlier.

It turned out that the stolen passports were being used by two young men from Iran, Pouria Nour Mohammad, 19, and Seyed Mohammed Rezar Delawar, 29, who had bought them in Thailand. Iran? At long last, the perfect terrorism lead that everyone had eagerly been awaiting seemed to be at hand. The two men had entered Malaysia with their Iranian passports, then changed their identities during their stay in Asia. Malaysia Airlines refused ‘for security reasons’ to explain how passengers holding forged passports had been able to buy their tickets. A flurry of contradictory information ensued. The Malaysian Department of Civil Aviation first claimed it was not sure that the two suspicious passengers had been picked up by the airport security cameras. Next, the Malaysian minister of home affairs declared that ‘they had Asian features’. But then Azharuddin Abdul Rahman, the Director General of Civil Aviation, said that ‘they did not look Asian’. When a journalist asked the director to describe the physical appearance of the two Iranians, he answered, ‘Do you know the Italian football player Balotelli?’

That evening, the conference room full of journalists indulged in the only collective burst of laughter of the entire crisis, and confronted the Director General, who had just mispronounced the name of the famous Italian striker, born of Ghanaian parents. Was he trying to say one can be Italian without looking Italian? Or did he mean the Iranians had African features? In short, were they Asian or African? Football players or terrorists? Whom to believe? What were the facts?

Interpol then announced that the two men had no known terrorist connections. It appeared that they were hoping to join their families in Europe and trying to hide their nationality by travelling via Beijing. As a matter of fact, in the midst of all this confusion, the head of the international police agency Interpol said he did not believe the disappearance of MH370 was a terrorist incident. ‘The more information we get, the more we are inclined to conclude it is not a terrorist incident,’ said Interpol Secretary General Ronald Noble on Tuesday, 11 March 2014.

The story took yet another unexpected twist with the publication of the two men’s photos, extracted from the security video of the boarding process. There was nothing ‘African’ about the men’s appearance; they certainly looked Iranian. But the photos showed them as having the same lower bodies. Their torsos and faces were different, but they were both wearing identical jeans and trainers, triggering a new wave of scepticism. Had the photos been doctored? No, it was apparently ‘just a photocopying error’, for which the officials apologised. The Iranian terrorism lead fizzled out. After three days, no one believed it any more. Nonetheless, it had been the focus of the news coverage for at least 48 crucial hours.

Meanwhile, Bloomberg, BBC and many other news outlets quoted Director General Azharuddin as saying during one of the first press briefings, ‘Before the flight took off, the airline removed the baggage of five passengers who didn’t board after checking in […] There are issues about the passengers that did not fly on the aircraft.’ Five no-shows on the same flight is a lot, yet no further elaboration was given. Usually, removing the luggage of the no-show passengers in such situations would create a significant delay. But that did not occur here. Maybe these passengers only had carry-on luggage? That happens a lot with frequent flyers who want to avoid waiting to collect their luggage on arrival. But then, on 11 March, Malaysia Airlines denied the news articles that claimed five checked-in passengers had never actually boarded the aircraft. The airline did confirm, however, that four individuals who were booked onto the flight had never checked in. Their identities were not revealed, and because the individuals never came forward, this unresolved issue was merely added to the list, alongside the question mark hanging over another passenger, Zhao Qiwei, seated in 18D, whose name, according to the Chinese authorities, did not match the passport number provided.

The hours ticked by without a single clue being found by the search operation. Soon enough, however, the press would be able to feast on the latest media tidbit. On its programme A Current Affair, Australia’s Channel 9 aired an interview with a young South African woman named Jonti Roos. Sharing some corroborating photographs, she recounted how two years earlier the co-pilot of Flight MH370, Fariq Abdul Hamid, had invited her into the cockpit on a flight from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur, along with one of her girlfriends. She explained that the captain of that flight (whom she did not name) and his young co-pilot Fariq, 25 at the time, had noticed the two young women queuing to board the aircraft as they walked past them.

Phuket is the tourist capital of Thailand, known as much for its beaches as for its hostess bars. As they entered the plane, the women were invited to join the two pilots in the cockpit, where they ended up staying for the entire hour-long flight, including the take-off and landing phases. In her televised interview, Roos described the two airline pilots as smoking a lot and constantly twisting around in their seats to face the young women, who were sitting on the folding seats at the back of the cockpit. Concerned about damaging the co-pilot’s reputation, since his background was obviously coming under scrutiny with the investigation into the missing Flight MH370, Roos insisted that she never felt she was in danger at any time. She showed a few flirtatious photos in which it is hard to tell who was having the better time during this brief encounter, the pilots or the two young travellers sporting the pilots’ caps on their lovely heads. Ms Roos was still a Facebook friend of the co-pilot, who had since settled down.

Fariq was 27 years old and had logged a total of 2,763 flight hours when he boarded the plane for Beijing for his last supervised flight15 on a Boeing 777 on the night of 7 to 8 March 2014. Malaysia Airlines has a rule that a co-pilot trained on a new type of aircraft must be accompanied by a supervisor for their first five flights. The co-pilot was engaged to marry another pilot, Nadira Ramli, 26, whom he had met at the flying academy in Langkawi. Like Fariq, Nadira was from a good family, and she was employed by AirAsia, the low-cost rival of Malaysia Airlines. People had positive things to say about Fariq when asked to comment by the local press. They portrayed a conscientious and respectable young man who coached young people at five-a-side football in his spare time. He had recently given the kids T-shirts for their team. A neighbour of the family reported that the co-pilot’s father, a senior civil servant in Selangor State, was very proud of his son. His grandmother described the young man as ‘a good son’, ‘obedient’ and ‘religious’. These comments concurred with the view of Fariq as ‘a good Muslim, humble and quiet’ voiced by people at his neighbourhood mosque. On 19 February, only a few weeks before the fated flight, Fariq Abdul Hamid had been a guest on CNN’s Business Travel programme, where he came across very well. Although he had definitely flaunted safety rules on that Phuket–Kuala Lumpur flight under the responsibility of the flight’s captain, all the other aspects of his life painted a rather reassuring portrait of him.

Actually, the unfortunate episode of the Phuket–Kuala Lumpur flight made the co-pilot simply appear as a high-spirited young man who was busy enjoying life. This was quite different from the terrorist, criminal or suicidal mindset that some would have preferred to find. Nonetheless, many in the media seized upon his one mistake to condemn what they termed a ‘reckless attitude’ and ‘perhaps the first clue of guilt on the part of the crew’. There were ‘intriguing personalities in the cockpit’, ‘the co-pilot was known to break aviation rules’ and much more. The whole world was searching for an explanation and somewhere to place the blame.

On Tuesday, 11 March, Malaysia Airlines responded to this volley of criticism, saying that the company was ‘shocked’ by the claims about its employee, although it expressed doubts as to their veracity. If anything, the incident highlights the airline’s lax attitude.

After the finger had been pointed at the co-pilot, all eyes turned to Captain Zaharie Ahmad Shah, 53, who became the target of an apparent smear campaign. One source said he was divorced. Another claimed that his wife and children had just moved out of the family home the day before the flight. Still others portrayed him as a political fanatic. The press quoted sources close to the investigation as saying that the pilot was allegedly distraught at the new five-year jail sentence for Anwar Ibrahim, the leader of the major opposition party, the Malaysia’s People’s Justice Party or Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR). The sentencing had taken place a few hours before the flight on 7 March 2014. Some sources reported that Zaharie had joined other supporters of Anwar to protest at the Court of Appeal in Putrajaya.16 There were also reports that his diary was blank past the date of 8 March. He was even discovered to have ‘distant relatives in Pakistan’, as though this alone would make him, if not culpable, at least suspicious.

Like his co-pilot, Zaharie’s home was searched, leading to the discovery of a flight simulator. At the press briefing on 19 March, it was revealed that data on this had recently been deleted. The FBI undertook the task of recovering the deleted files. According to the Malaysian news daily Berita Harian, of particular interest to the investigators were five of the landing strips found on the simulator, all of which were at least three kilometres long – the minimum required to land an aircraft the size of a Boeing 777. The runways were located in Malé, the capital of the Maldives and a regular destination of Malaysia Airlines; Diego Garcia, an overseas territory of the UK with a US military base where no civilian aircraft were supposed to land; and three other landing strips in India and Sri Lanka. Two weeks later, however, the American investigators declared that the simulator data contained ‘nothing incriminating’.

A potentially compromising photo of the captain was soon published, first on the front page of the local newspaper Utusan-Cosmo. In the picture, he was sitting on a sofa with a pretty young Malaysian woman and two children. The wording of the photo caption was vague, but suggested that the pilot had a second family. In Malaysia, a Muslim man may have up to four wives, provided he can afford them and follows certain rules. The same picture was picked up by several British tabloids avid for anything that could pin blame onto the captain of the missing flight.

One of the most damning testimonies came from New Zealand. Lincoln Tan, Sino-Singaporean by birth, was serving as special correspondent for The New Zealand Herald. The journalist drew on testimony from a ‘friend’ of the captain to attempt to drive another nail into his coffin. In its 26 March 2014 issue, one of Tan’s articles in The Herald cited but did not name a ‘long-time associate of the pilot’ who claimed that ‘Captain Zaharie Ahmad Shah’s world was falling apart. He had been facing serious family problems, separation from his wife and relationship problems with another woman he was seeing.’ This anonymous informer told Tan that the pilot was ‘terribly upset’ by his wife’s departure. He said he was convinced that Zaharie could well have decided to end it all ‘by taking his plane to a part of the world he had never flown in’. The article went on to claim: ‘The fellow pilot raised questions about the captain’s state of mind. He guessed that Captain Zaharie may have considered the flight a “last joyride” – the chance to do things in a plane he had previously been able to do only on a simulator.’

Three months later, The Sunday Times reported that the Malaysian police had completed their investigation and cleared everyone on board the flight of any suspicions.17 Everyone but the pilot.

I found these suspicions surrounding Zaharie somewhat incompatible with the portrayal coming from other sources, that of a smiling grandfather, a model-building and cookery enthusiast, a handyman, a man who always enjoyed a good joke and was well liked by his flying students. True, he readily talked politics and had a sophisticated flight simulator at home. But even the ‘long-time associate’ quoted by The New Zealand Herald acknowledged that Zaharie lived for the ‘3 Fs: family, food and flying’. A year after the plane went missing, the interim report18 had collected only mundane details about him: married with three children, fracture of the second lumbar vertebra in 2007, and good resilience to stress at home and on the job. ‘No known history of apathy, anxiety or irritability’, it stated. The report also said there were ‘no significant changes in his lifestyle, interpersonal conflict or family stresses’. In fact, according to the interim report, there were ‘no behavioural signs of social isolation, change in habits or interest, self-neglect, drug or alcohol abuse of the Captain, First Officer and the cabin crew’.

Once again, who to believe, what to believe? Everyone was well aware that the pilot was the master on board. Naturally, he bore primary responsibility in the event of failure, thereby making him a prime suspect. But as far as I was concerned, I knew I would need to make up my own mind about this essential member of the cast of characters.

When this all began, the media was being dragged from wrong track to dead end; very soon the various fleets of vessels taking part in the search were starting to question the way the operations were being coordinated and managed. A foreign emissary with access to the crisis management centre set up during the early weeks described to me a scene of ‘unbelievable chaos’, with ‘Chinese and Korean officers standing around with their hands on their hips or scratching their heads, wondering what they were supposed to be doing or not doing’. On Wednesday, 12 March 2014, the exasperated Vietnamese government decided to scale back its involvement in the maritime search off its coast on the South China Sea, criticising ‘the lack of detailed information coming out of Malaysia’. That same day, China’s foreign minister echoed this sentiment: ‘For the moment there is too much confusion. It is very difficult for us to determine whether any given piece of information is accurate or not.’ Coming from a Chinese diplomat, such direct criticism was vanishingly rare and attested to the prevailing din and disorder. Indeed, in the few short days since it began, the crisis, more than any military exercise to date, had trained an unforgiving spotlight on the lack of coordination and procedures for information-sharing in this part of the world.

Besides the criticisms from the Chinese and Vietnamese authorities, Wednesday, 12 March marked another turning point. On that day, the cast of characters was joined by a new player who had been virtually unknown prior to that point: Inmarsat, a British satellite company that had been listed on the London Stock Exchange since 2005.

An executive at rival satellite telecommunications firm AsiaSat told me, ‘Inmarsat has an excellent reputation. They are known for technical excellence across the industry.’ He did point out, though, that their expertise lay in handling data transmission between commercial aircraft and the ground, rather than geolocating or tracking planes.

Despite this caveat, Inmarsat became the source of the final and official version of the jetliner’s flight path after the loss of signal. For although the ACARS stopped transmitting technical data to Malaysia Airlines once it was disabled, we soon learnt that the plane continued to passively receive silent signals, those ‘handshake pings’ we met earlier, the final communication links with MH370 after it vanished from the radar screens. But determining the jetliner’s location from these signals was a monumental task as the pings were not designed for that purpose, nor had they ever been used as such.

At Inmarsat, engineer Alan Schuster-Bruce, an alumnus of Queens’ College, Cambridge, had already worked extensively on the case of Flight AF447. Pursuant to that accident, he made it possible to take some additional measurements of these passive pings, notably their duration and frequency. ‘I was thinking we might need it one day […] might be useful, might not be useful,’ explained Schuster-Bruce in the only documentary that details Inmarsat’s crucial role in this case.19 So it was no surprise that upon hearing the BBC news report of a missing plane at 11 am on Saturday, 8 March 2014, he was the first to realise that Inmarsat quite possibly had data that would be of interest to the investigators. Inmarsat set off in a race against time. Although the handshake pings were but tiny electromagnetic signals, the scientific team felt it was worth trying to analyse them. Initially, knowing how long it took for the pings’ echoes to bounce back would allow them to determine the plane’s distance from the satellite.

I tried to picture these pings as tiny invisible dots that travelled eight times during the night of 7 to 8 March from the ground station in Perth (Western Australia) to geostationary satellite 3F-1 positioned 36,000 kilometres from earth above the equator, whence they were relayed automatically to the Boeing 777 of Flight MH370 before they turned around and travelled back through space to deliver their data to Perth, all at the speed of light. Incredible. And it was these tiny pings – the final ping more than the seven previous ones – that defined the story the world would be told about the fate of Flight MH370.

There is little point here in attempting to describe the complexity of the calculations required, especially given that satellite 3F-1, albeit ‘geostationary’, nevertheless moves constantly north and south over the equator. In other words, for each ping emitted there is a circle in the sky along which the distance between the plane and the satellite is constant. As it flew, the plane must have crossed these different circles, from the first to the seventh, each of which corresponds to the precise instant the ping was emitted. An eighth and final ping emitted at 8.19 am was different from the rest. Not only did it arrive much earlier than predicted – just a few minutes after the penultimate one timed at 8.11 am – but it contained a reboot instruction. Inmarsat’s engineers surmised that once the plane engines had run out of fuel and shut down, the communication system automatically tried to restart. There were no more signals after that one. In conclusion, the plane continued to fly for seven hours after contact was lost. That was the first monumental discovery by Inmarsat.

In London a handful of scientists thus learnt that the plane had remained in the air until 8.19 am. But which way was it going? ‘We suddenly realised that if you knew the initial position of the aircraft together with the likely speed of the plane, there was a good chance that maybe one could get a look at the track of the aircraft,’ recalled Schuster-Bruce. A telephone meeting was then set up between Inmarsat in London and Malaysia Airlines in Kuala Lumpur during which, according to Schuster-Bruce, Inmarsat tried to convince the ‘very reluctant’ airline how crucial it was to hand over this additional data.

The Malaysian authorities had good reason for their reluctance. Answering Inmarsat’s questions would be tantamount to admitting that they had been aware their plane had turned west and had been sighted north of Sumatra (off the western coast of Malaysia), even as an armada of 43 ships backed by 58 aircraft was acting on instructions to look for the plane in the South China Sea (off Malaysia’s eastern coast). The task was complex. ‘One of the concerns we had was that this could just be one big hoax that someone had played on Inmarsat […] that the aircraft went down and someone at the same time pretended to be that aircraft,’ said Schuster-Bruce.

But Inmarsat ultimately came up with a scenario compatible with the pings – its ‘two-arc theory’. The plane must have flown along an arc heading either north (from Thailand to the border between Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan), or south (from Indonesia to the middle of the Indian Ocean). This was Inmarsat’s second major discovery.

Inmarsat shared its two deductions with Malaysia on Wednesday, 12 March. There was no reaction from Kuala Lumpur. ‘Clearly they’ve got all sorts of information coming in. They were also probably sent information that the plane was in the Pacific by other people,’ said Schuster-Bruce. On Thursday, 13 March, The Wall Street Journal announced that the plane allegedly flew for several hours after radio contact was lost.20 For two days, Defence and Transport Minister Hishammuddin Hussein denied the new information as vigorously as possible. This was his consistent attitude throughout the crisis, to the point where he could easily wear the moniker ‘Mr No-No’.

The day The Wall Street Journal came up with their breaking news that the flight had continued to fly on for several hours, the Malaysian TV news station Astro Awani was pursuing a very different lead. An Astro Awani reporter asked Hishammuddin if there was still a possibility that passengers on MH370 had communicated with people on the ground around 2 am, 30 minutes after the plane had last been spotted. The TV station said they had seen a screenshot of some messages supposedly sent on the Kik messaging service by the only American adult on the flight, IBM employee Philip Wood, to a contact of his in Beijing, whose username on Instagram was Hun_l. Astro said they had verified the identity of Hun_l, and had talked to two people in Malaysia who knew him personally. In the SMS conversation, Wood mentioned to Hun_l that he was using his phone secretly, that the temperature in the cabin was ‘warm’ and that there seemed to be a problem with the aircraft’s air-conditioning system. More worryingly, he also mentioned having ‘difficulty to breathe’, but he seemed to be in no panic because in his last message he said he’d be in contact once he arrived in Beijing. Mr No-no completely dismissed this question. This troubling text message was soon to be replaced by another one, also supposedly sent by Wood, though it was much more headline-grabbing, as we’ll see later on. The Kik app has now closed shop and I am not sure what to do with this other clue, whether it was genuine or not. Why would anyone make up such a message? I’d love to be in contact with Hun_l for confirmation and to know the exact time and content of the messages he said he received from Philip Wood.

On Friday, 14 March, news broke from an unlikely source – a White House spokesman announced ‘new information’ and ‘a new search area’, referring to the southern Indian Ocean. In this manner, Washington forced Kuala Lumpur to emerge from its silence, but left it up to the Malaysians to disclose the details.

On Saturday, 15 March, Malaysia’s Prime Minister Najib Razak finally made his first public statement since the start of a crisis that had thrust his country into the international limelight in a way that no other event had ever previously done. He stated that the situation was ‘without precedent’, corroborated the story that the plane had indeed changed course, as had been discussed over the preceding five days but denied until that moment, and confirmed that the data transmission systems of the Boeing 777 (ACARS and transponder) had been ‘disabled’ and that Inmarsat’s theory that the plane flew until 8.19 am along a northerly or southerly corridor was correct. He also advanced the theory of ‘a deliberate act by someone on the plane’, with the proviso that whoever seized control of the aircraft would have to have had solid flying experience. After making his one and only statement to the press, Prime Minister Najib took no questions from journalists. The disappearance of Flight MH370 and its 239 passengers and crew had just entered a new phase. It had been planned – seemingly quite masterfully. So was it a hijacking, then, and if so, to what end?

After allowing its neighbours, allies and partners to search for the plane in the wrong place for a week, Malaysia had just waited two further days before officially confirming a major piece of information and setting in motion the appropriate response. Some people viewed this as sheer incompetence. Others suspected a deliberate tactic intended to hide an embarrassing truth. And as important as they were, the Inmarsat pings did not provide the definitive key to the mystery. On the other hand, they did increase the search area tenfold.

With no new information coming to light, the second week bore a strong resemblance to the first. The authorities used the press briefings above all to deny the information going around – the false as well as the true. No, the plane was not seen over the Maldives. No, the plane did not make a U-turn 12 minutes before the now infamous sign-off message by the captain: ‘Good night, Malaysian three seven zero.’ No, we do not yet have any intention of apologising to the families. No, we are not going to disclose the data received from the radars of neighbouring countries. No, we do not know what is contained in the pilot’s flight simulator. No, we still do not know the plane’s flight path.

Every evening at 5.30, Defence and Transport Minister Hishammuddin, the Executive Officer of Malaysia Airlines, the Inspector-General of Police and the Director General of Civil Aviation, arms by their sides, would line up to face the music in the press conference auditorium. With each passing day they looked a little bit more sheepish, a little bit more hemmed in by a room packed to the gills with cameras taking live footage, flashes snapping and journalists who were themselves becoming ever more frustrated as time dragged on. A tall, imposing Sikh acted as the MC, choosing which of the journalists got to ask their question.

On 19 March, a BBC journalist asked the Director General of Civil Aviation to confirm whether the Boeing had crossed this or that waypoint. The answer came back: ‘We are still investigating.’ Still investigating? This was the one piece of information that everyone had believed to be ‘clearly established’! The Director General pointed out that it was no longer crucial to know ‘which way’ the plane had travelled, since attention was now focused exclusively on where it ended up. Eleven days after the plane went missing, the response from the media was a collective gasp of bewilderment.

At another evening briefing, a journalist with the Financial Times pointed out to Hishammuddin that Kazakhstan, mentioned a day earlier as being ‘at the heart of the search mission along the northerly arc’, did not seem to be aware of its own role in this operation. According to the journalist, this major Central Asian republic had not received a single request for assistance from Kuala Lumpur. But the press briefing was already coming to a close. The tall Sikh escorted the officials out the back door. They were rushed away from the conference room, leaving numerous raised hands and even more unanswered questions behind them.

The Malaysian authorities were regularly caught out by such blatant examples of incoherence or incompetence in this investigation. Journalists discovering Malaysia for the first time were dumbfounded, wondering in what kind of Kafkaesque country they had landed.

1 Sometime in 2016 I met a young man who had lost his father in the flight. He recalled that during the third briefing (the first one he was able to attend), the Malaysian lieutenant told the families present, ‘We know things we can’t tell you.’

2 National Transport Safety Board, United States.

3 Air Accidents Investigation Branch, United Kingdom.

4 Aircraft Accident Investigation Department, China.

5 Australian Transport Safety Bureau.

6 The FAA is the American Federal Aviation Administration, the regulator of civil aviation in the US.

7 Quoted by Bernama, Malaysia’s official press agency.

8 Quoted by the New Straits Times, a pro-government English-language daily in Malaysia.

9 Kota Bharu is the capital of Kelantan State.

10 This was the principal government agency tasked with maintaining law and order, and coordinating search and rescue operations in the Malaysian Maritime Zone and on the high seas.

11 See www.chinatimes.com/realtimenews/20140308003502-260401 (a Chinese-language website).

12 Sastind is China’s State Administration for Science, Technology and Industry for National Defence.

13 The Strait of Malacca is the sea lane between the island of Sumatra (Indonesia) and the Malaysian peninsula.

14 ‘Radar Suggests Jet Shifted Path More Than Once’, The New York Times, 15 March 2014.

15 The Captain was qualified to double-act as supervisor.

16 Putrajaya is the administrative capital of Malaysia, 30 kilometres south of Kuala Lumpur. Anwar’s five-year prison sentence for sodomy was upheld by the Federal Court, Malaysia’s highest court, in February 2015.

17 The Sunday Times, 22 June 2014.

18 Factual Information: Safety Investigation for MH370, 8 March 2015.

19 The BBC Two Horizon documentary Where Is Flight MH370? aired on 17 June 2014.

20 ‘Missing airplane flew on for hours. Engine data suggests Malaysia flight was airborne long after radar disappearance’, The Wall Street Journal, 13 March 2014.

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