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JEDDAH: The king leads the Saudi delegation at a Gulf Cooperation Council summit in Manama, there is a new government in Israel, and there is a crisis in Sudan; that Arab News front page could have been published on almost any day in recent years. 

Except the Saudi king was King Fahd, the Israeli prime minister was Yitzhak Shamir, and another report on the page tells you that this was Dec. 23, 1988. 

Two nights before, Pan Am Flight 103 from Frankfurt to Detroit, via London and New York, had been blown up by a terrorist bomb as it crossed the border between England and Scotland. 

With a death toll of 270 — all 243 passengers and 16 crew, and 11 victims on the ground in Lockerbie, where the aircraft smashed into two residential streets at 800 kph — it remains the deadliest terror attack in UK history. 

Few events resonate all the way from a small Scottish border town to the White House. This was one such event. Lockerbie, with its 4,000 souls, joined that list of places in the UK and elsewhere — Aberfan, Munich, Srebrenica, My Lai — forever associated in the public consciousness with cruel and senseless loss of life. 

Scotland, my country, and Glasgow, my city, are not soft places, nor are the journalists they produce noted for emotional incontinence. But I saw tough, cynical, diamond-hard reporters return from Lockerbie numbed into glazed-eyed silence by the enormity of what they saw there, and full of respect and admiration for the quiet dignity and fortitude with which its townspeople bore their losses. 

Most of the plane’s passengers were American, and their relatives flew from the US to identify bodies and possessions. The people of Lockerbie temporarily buried their own grief to provide accommodation, food, comfort and solace to the bereaved. Bonds were forged that remain to this day. 

When a terrorist attack was confirmed, the perpetrator identified by Washington was inevitable. The US and the regime of Muammar Qaddafi in Libya had been in a state of undeclared war for years, and US airstrikes in April 1986, far from cowing Qaddafi, appeared only to have incensed him. 

US and UK investigators believed Libyan agents in Malta concealed a Semtex bomb inside a radio-cassette player and sent it in a suitcase to Frankfurt, where it was loaded aboard Pan Am Flight 103 and the fate of 270 people was sealed. 

With some narratives, paradoxically, it can make sense to work backwards — in this case from when Abdelbaset Al-Megrahi, a Libyan intelligence officer and former head of security for Libyan Arab Airlines, died at his home in Tripoli on May 20, 2012, at the age of 60. 

More than 11 years earlier, in January 2001, three Scottish judges sitting at a special court in a former US air base in the Netherlands had sentenced Al-Megrahi to life imprisonment on 270 counts of murder for the Lockerbie bombing. He served more than eight years in two prisons in Scotland before the Scottish government released him on compassionate grounds when doctors said he had terminal cancer, and he returned to Libya in August 2009. Given three months to live, he lasted for nearly three years. 

Al-Megrahi was, and remains, the only person to be convicted of the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103; with his death, therefore, case closed? Well, no. 

The repercussions began soon after the disaster, and continue to this day. Pan Am, its security operations exposed as criminally useless, was bankrupt after a year and out of business after two. UN sanctions against Qaddafi and Libya reinforced their pariah status, and by February 2011 the country was embroiled in civil war. Qaddafi was captured and killed on Oct. 20, 2011. Al-Megrahi would outlive him by seven months. 

For the rest of us, airline and airport security have intensified on an apparently endless upward trajectory, and we can at least be grateful that an unaccompanied suitcase with a bomb inside can never again travel from Malta through two airports to the skies over Scotland. 

Perhaps most significantly, however, Lockerbie may have marked the beginning of a collapse in public trust in what our governments tell us. Authorities in the US and the UK have always insisted that Al-Megrahi was guilty, and that he acted alone or with a single accomplice. Few believe that. 

Major world events — the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the moon landings, the 9/11 attacks on America — attract conspiracy theorists like iron to a magnet, and Lockerbie is no exception. It was Iran; it was the Palestinians; it was Mossad; it was the Stasi; it was apartheid South Africa. 

What makes Lockerbie different is that one of the “theories” is almost certainly fact — but which one is anyone’s guess. One man more entitled than most to make that guess is Jim Swire, the softly spoken but determined English country doctor whose daughter Flora, 23, perished on board the plane. 

Swire, now in his late eighties, has devoted his life to finding the truth about Lockerbie. He met and questioned Al-Megrahi. He met and questioned Qaddafi. He has been a thorn in the side of UK and US authorities for more than 30 years, and he believes to this day that the case against Al-Megrahi was a travesty and a tissue of lies, to cover up some ghastly truth that may never be known. 

US President George H. W. Bush set up an aviation security commission in September 1989 to report on the plane’s sabotage, and British relatives of the victims met members of the commission at the US Embassy in London in February the following year. A member of Bush’s staff told one of the relatives: “Your government and ours know exactly what happened, but they are never going to tell.” 

Perhaps not. But like a tenacious shoot from a seed buried deep beneath the soil, the truth has a way of reaching the light. 

This year the production of two television drama series, one focused on Swire’s dogged search for that truth, has brought the Lockerbie tragedy back into the public consciousness. Old theories are being revived. 

But this year could also see those theories refuted — or vindicated. 

On May 12, a man identified in court papers as Abu Agila Mohammad Masud Kheir Al-Marimi, or simply Masud, will go on trial in Washington charged with having made the bomb that destroyed Pan Am Flight 103. 

The story of how Masud was identified, captured and extradited to the US — a country with which Libya has no extradition treaty — remains to be told. 

It also remains to be seen whether the trial of Masud will bring some kind of closure, or simply further distress, for the still-grieving families of the victims of Pan Am Flight 103, and for the people of Lockerbie.

• Ross Anderson, associate editor at Arab News, was on duty as a senior editor at Today newspaper in London on the night of the Lockerbie disaster.