ANTHONY HAWK and FRIDA, THE CAT: "Missing Airplane": One of the greatest mystery in civil aviation

By Jean-George Charbonnier

Anthony Hawk, a New York profiler, gets a million dollar job to solve civil aviation's greatest mystery, the disappearance of flight MH 370. He gets unexpected help from Frida the Cat, his office cat, and Jeremy Bender, a CIA officer-Colleague who has access to top-secret radar analysis in Southeast Asia. Little by little we learn details from the personal environment of the two pilots of the crashed plane. Yes, we accompany them into the cockpit of their Boeing 777, experience the take-off process through a TV documentary that ends abruptly.

On the outbound flight to Kuala Lumpur, the home airport of flight MH 370, Anthony compares the data on all aviation incidents over the past few months. Was an overheated landing gear the trigger for a possible chain reaction that ultimately led to the total failure of all on-board systems? Was the cockpit crew still able to react to make an emergency landing, or did the Boeing remain alone in the air on autopilot before finally crashing into the open sea? Before Anthony Hawk can find the right answers, he is assassinated and suspected of murder himself. His friend Jeremy is also in trouble when his wife and their three children are kidnapped. Only Frida, the Cat proves to be an invaluable ally. She alone remains Anthony's trump card.

• Language: English
• Publisher: tredition
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9783347769427

Book preview

Chapter 1 – One million dollar job

My name is Anthony Hawk. I work in one of those little offices on South Street, where there are dozens. They offer few amenities, not even a shower, but a fire escape and only an outdated garbage chute. Anyway, it's fun to look at the Eastside River from there. The fan roars above my head and I could tear all my clothes off from the heat.

Right now I'm one of New York's most in-demand case analysts, the so-called profilers, who have to poke their noses in everywhere. Usually there's good money to be made out of it, but I'm on a losing streak right now. I'm in arrears with a full six months' rent and, looking at it soberly, I'm on the verge of bankruptcy. Then my phone rings.

„Anthony Hawk!"

„What do you say, one million dollars?"

„Surely, the thing must have a rake!"

„Who do I have to kill for this?"

„Nobody?"

„That's good, even fine!"

„Within three month - around the world?"

„Then I can assume that you know me and my work?"

„Okay, I’ll take it!

I couldn't find words. This call saved me from my financial distress. The next day I made myself comfortable in my office chair. I crossed my legs. My new client's files were stacked to the ceiling. Its size put me in a kind of shock. Was the solution to the riddle buried under this pile of files? My office cat, who stayed with me and with whom I shared countless Hamburgers in the early days of survival training, didn't find it so funny when I frantically packed my suitcase and set off again. She was well known in the adjoining offices. She got treats and cuddles from all sides. At least I didn't have to worry about her while I was away. Weren’t we a well-rehearsed team?

Before that, all the two-legged helpers had an annoying habit of texting me at lunch as soon as I put the first bite in my mouth. That really got on my nerves. Why did they always have to play the entertainer at the table? Not so Frida, my office cat! She gave me those twinkling little eyes, got my approval, and settled into one of the stacks of files. Loudly she began to think about individual facts. A talking office cat? It was anything but what I expected. Of course I will be careful not to divulge Frida's advice at this point. Only this much became clear to me at that moment, in Frida I had an invaluable ally.

Chapter 2 – Tall blondes

Unlike my colleagues, I had quit smoking and drastically reduced my alcohol consumption. Yes, I could claim to be absolutely clean where others only calm their nerves with hard liquor. I had vehemently declared war on the many Hamburgers. Every day I jogged in Brooklyn Park. Every day, a huge car avalanche piled up on the Brooklyn Bridge - downtown bumper to bumper. Bullshit!

I had lunch with Jeremy, a CIA colleague friend, at one of the nearby bistros. To outsiders, this bistro made a somewhat run-down impression, which is why walk-in customers strictly refused to visit this place. Only insiders and regular customers kept the business going. Everything was freshly prepared; there was none of the usual canning found in most fast food restaurants, while little emphasis was placed on ambiance. On top of that, I hate modern styling, which was en vogue in most New York fast food restaurants. In the end it wasn't even enough for a clean cleaning rag. As soon as that filthy, dirty rag spread its disgusting foul smell day after day, I turned on my heel never to set foot in that place again. My extremely sensitive nose forbade it.

I knew this place from days gone by when I was nearby on business. Yes, I still remembered the old lady who used to be in charge here, without being the boss. She was always friendly and courteous, anything but profit-oriented and always in a good mood. The only thing that mattered to her was the well-being of her guests. With her dishes, which in hindsight seemed like jelly to me, she contributed to this to the best of her ability. The stressed-out New York businessmen realized what a great soul they were dealing with. She always had a smile on her face; there was a familiarity, like knowing each other from a past life.

Her heart was undoubtedly in the right place. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of New York, it felt like a rock in the surf, even like an island of bliss. I would have liked to know what became of her. The current owner, a man in his mid-forties, seemed rather taciturn despite his excellent cooking skills. So I didn’t think to ask him or his employees about his predecessor. Surely the rental had been done by an agent who took care of all the formalities without anyone bothering about the past.

Jeremy was amazed as I ordered a vegan meal every time. My adherence to a vegan diet works wonders; since then I haven't had to go to the gym every night. There was nothing I hated more than some New Yorkers’ exaggerated enthusiasm for sports. They jog in the middle of traffic to be seen by everyone. Damned!

In front of me was a damn delicate case containing all the ingredients for a worldwide catastrophe scenario. I gave no sign. The insurance company of the crashed Boeing commissioned me to create an operational case analysis. So what could be more obvious than to examine the private environment of the pilots first and foremost. Alternatively, I could expand the possible circle of perpetrators.

My fee was performance-related. The generously calculated expense rate was given in advance and without any consultation. Of course I loved such challenges that catapulted me out of my dreary everyday life. As a globetrotter, they gave me the illusion of reaching for the stars.