The Dow's up and all's well

ROGER FRANKLIN reports how the battered citizens of New York are ready and willing to have their fears soothed.

It was John the Apostle who promised that the truth shall set you free, which only proves he would have made a lousy New Yorker.

In times such as these - two months after the World Trade Center came down, seven weeks since the first anthrax-dusted letters, and six days from the moment when a jetliner plunged from the sky for no apparent reason as yet - it may just be that lies are this city's sustaining strength.

New Yorkers aren't supposed to be that way, of course. They normally take pride in the savvy, street-smart cynicism they wear as a badge of honour. They know $10 won't buy a Rolex on the sidewalk outside Macy's, that the "marijuana" hawked in parks is oregano, that only dentists sell bridges.

Those scams thrive on suckers from somewhere else, the ones born every minute who deserve not a moment of fleeting sympathy.

Yet just now, lies are precious - particularly the ones we tell ourselves.

Take last Monday, a day that began beneath another topaz sky just like the one from which a pair of hijacked jets swooped down to destroy the World Trade Center. Except this time it was the Rockaway section of Queens that burned.

More terrorism, that was the instant surmise as live-cam images of a neighbourhood in flames banished all the TV talk shows.

How could it be anything but the result of a bomb? That was certainly the instant wisdom on Wall St, where anxious traders pitched the Dow into a plunge.

Yet by the early afternoon the markets were clawing their way back in the first stirring of an improbable resurrection that would continue to gather strength.

The markets' saviour? Geese.

Long before the fires were extinguished and the bodies tallied, officials were issuing bland assurances that the American Airlines Airbus had no doubt sucked a flight of the migrating birds into its engines over Jamaica Bay.

A hefty goose would do it, the spokesmen said, reminding one and all that a flock of mere starlings once brought down a plane in Boston.

So the city took a deep breath, set aside its fears and went back to work. By Tuesday, however, those engines had been examined and there was a problem: no feathers.

So it must have been an exploding turbine, the same officials pronounced with same straight-faced certainty.

Except it wasn't a mechanical failure, either - something that became abundantly clear when on-site investigators relayed the news that the engines' internal components were crumpled but intact.

By Wednesday, the theory had shifted yet again. This time the theorists were saying Flight 587 had been downed by a lingering swirl of turbulence from a Japanese Airlines' plane that had taken off almost two minutes earlier. Once again, Monday's cold fear failed to return. The markets kept on rising.

Rather than dwell on the possibility of yet more domestic terror, a grateful nation switched its attention to Afghanistan, where Kabul's fall was taken as a sign that life in the United States might soon return to normal.

Perhaps that eagerness to believe was rational. Perhaps turbulence really did bring down Flight 587. Perhaps there was nothing more to fear now that Osama bin Laden was said to have fled his cave. Perhaps the bad dream that began on September 11 was indeed coming to an end.

And yet, for those with a masochist's curiosity, painful doubts retained their allure. Some sprang directly from the burned wreckage littering Rockaway's moonscaped streets. Others, at least in the case of this reporter, were much closer to home.

Why would turbulence tear both engines from their mounts? Maybe one, but two seemed a stretch. And why did the stabiliser come clean away, to be found as neat and undamaged as it if carved from the tail by a butcher's knife?

What of the spray of fuel that misted down on Jamaica Bay? Didn't that mean a violent rupture of the wing tanks?

Once again, past precedent brought little comfort to those not transfixed by the Dow's rally. In previous crashes attributed to turbulence or wind shear, doomed aircraft had remained intact until they met the ground. From the soothing voices of officialdom, however, there was no more than the slightest inflection of doubt.

Yes, they conceded, a bomb could not be ruled out. But since there was no direct evidence of a blast, that possibility was low on their list of explanations.

The same might also have been said of geese, exploding turbines and turbulence, but never mind. The markets, like the national mood, were rising. What a pity if Wall St was caught once again in a downdraft of dread.

So, for the most part, New York suspended its cynicism.

Yet anyone who happened to be near the United Nations building in Manhattan on Monday morning had a harder time dispelling doubt. Unlike the Rockaway crash scene, what happened on a street no more than 100m from this reporter's home received no publicity.

Briefly, this is what took place: At almost the same moment that Flight 587 came down in Queens, the cops who have infested the UN district since September 11 noticed a man one of the officers later described to local residents as "an Arab with a big backpack".

First watched approaching the nearby Israeli consulate, he was seen to veer away and take a circuitous route to the small bridge that crosses 42nd St, where he deposited his bag between two parked cars.

Challenged as he walked away, he began to run until brought down with a flying tackle and truncheons. He spoke no English but was found to be carrying a fake ID, a quantity of cash, and a one-way bus ticket to the Canadian border.

As for the bag, well, nobody is too sure what it contained because the bomb squad whisked it away.

I know all this only because the cops told me, as did neighbours who witnessed the incident. Yet when I called the local precinct on Tuesday, it was as if I was talking riddles. "Nothing happened," grunted a cop.

But it did. Half the neighbourhood saw it. And if it didn't happen, why did a flying squad of NYPD tow-trucks haul every parked vehicle off the bridge? Why was all traffic banned from the area for the rest of the day.

"Nothing happened that you need to worry about," the cop repeated before hanging up.

Should I make the effort to believe him? Should I deny my own eyes? Should I embrace the comfort of wilful amnesia?

It's midday and I have errands to run in what a military man might describe as the target-rich streets of Midtown Manhattan.

Yes, perhaps the cop was right. Maybe there really is no need to worry. The Dow has 10,000 in its sights and the sirens are silent. So shower, shave and grab a coat to ward off the autumnal chill.

As for the cold fear of reasonable doubt, well, John the Apostle must have been misquoted: These days, nothing brings more comfort than a willingness to be deceived.

Full coverage: Crash of Flight 587