“Completely. Operate on a much more moderate and undramatic scale but one equally effective. I’d go for the V.S.M.s every time.”
Dermott said: “V.S.M.s?”
“Vertical support members. Roughly half the length of the pipeline is above ground and lies on a horizontal cradle or saddle supported by vertical metal posts. That makes for a fair number of targets −78,000 of them, to be precise. They would be a snip to take out—wrap-round beehive plastic explosives which would need all of a minute to fix in position. Take out twenty of those, and the line would collapse under its own weight and the weight of the oil inside it. Take weeks to repair it.”
“They could still use those hot-air canvas shelters.”
“A hell of a lot of help that would be,” Bronowski said, “if they couldn’t bring up the cranes and crawler equipment to effect the repairs. Anyway, there are places where, at this time of year, it just couldn’t be done. There is, for instance, one particularly vulnerable stretch which gave the designers headaches, the builders sleepless nights and security nightmares. This steep and dangerous stretch is between Pump Station Five and the summit of Atigun Pass, which is between four and five thousand feet high.”
Houston said: “4,775 feet.”
“4,775 feet. In a run of a hundred miles from the pass the pipe comes down to 1,200 feet, which is quite a drop.”
“With a corresponding amount of built-up pressure?”
“That’s not the problem. In the event of a break in the line a special computer linkage between Four and Five will automatically shut down the pumps in Four and close every remote valve between the stations. The fail-safe procedures are highly sophisticated, and they work. At the very worst the spillage could be restricted to 50,000 barrels. But the point is, in winter the line couldn’t be repaired.”
Brady coughed apologetically and descended from his Olympian heights.
“So a break in this particular section, about now, could immobilise the line for weeks on end?”
“No question.”
“Then forget it.”
“Mr Brady?”
“The burdens I have to bear alone,” Brady sighed. “Let me have men about me who can think. I begin to understand why I am what I am. I find it extraordinary that the construction company never carried out any tests to discover what happens to the viscosity of oil in low temperatures. Why didn’t they seal off a couple of hundred feet of experimental pipe with oil inside it and see how long it would take before it gummed up to the extent that it would cease to flow?”
“Never occurred to them, I suppose,” Bronowski said. “An eventuality that would never arise.”
“It has arisen. An estimate of three weeks has been bandied about. Based on scientific calculations, one assumes?”
Bronowski said: “I wouldn’t know. Not my field. Maybe Mr Black or Mr Finlayson would know.”
“Mr Black knows nothing about oil, and I doubt whether Mr Finlayson or any other professional oilman on the line has anything but the vaguest idea. Could be ten days. Could be thirty. You take my point, George?”
“Yes. Blackmail, threats, extortion, some positive and very material advantages to be gained. Interruption is one thing, cessation another. They require a lever, a bargaining counter. Close down the line completely, and the oil companies would laugh at their threats, for then they would have nothing to lose. The bargaining arm would have gone. The kidnapper can’t very well hold a kidnapee for ransom if it’s known that the kidnapee is dead.”
“I question if I could have put it better myself,” Brady said. He had about him an air of magnanimous self-satisfaction. “We are, clearly, not dealing with clowns. Our friends would have taken such imponderables into account and would err on the side of caution. You are with me, Mr Bronowski?”
“I am now. But when I was talking about hazards, I wasn’t taking that side of it into account.”
“I know you weren’t. Nobody was. Well, I think that will do, gentlemen. We appear to have established two things. It is unlikely that any attack will be carried out on any major installation—that is Prudhoe, Valdez or the intervening twelve major pump stations. It is further unlikely that any attack will be carried out in regions so inaccessible that repairs may be impossible for weeks on end.
“So we’re left with the likelihood that any further sabotage will take the form of attacks on accessible stretches of VSMs or the taking out of minor bridges—the possibility of destroying the Tazlina or Tanana bridges is remote, as those could well take weeks to repair. We may not have come up with too much, but at least we have clarified matters and established some sort of system of priorities.”
Not without difficulty Brady heaved himself to his feet to indicate that the interview was over. “Thank you, gentlemen, both for your time and information. I’ll see you in the morning—at, of course, a reasonably Christian hour.”
The door closed behind Bronowski and Houston. Brady asked: “Well, what did you make of that?”
Dermott said: “As you said, just a limitation of possibilities, which, unfortunately, still remain practically limitless. Three things I’d like to do. First, I’d like the F.B.I. or whoever to carry out a rigorous investigation into the pasts of Poulson and his pals at Pump Station Four.”
“You have reason to suspect them?”
“Not really. But I’ve an odd feeling: something is wrong at Number Four. Don shares my feeling, but there’s nothing we can put a finger on except that buff envelope that went missing from the dead engineer’s pocket. Even with that I’m beginning to question whether my eyes or imagination were playing tricks on me: the lighting was damned harsh, and I could have got my colours wrong. No matter—as you’d be the first to agree, every pipeline employee is a suspect until his innocence is established.”
“You bet. You said Poulson and Bronowski seemed on pretty cordial terms?”
“Bronowski is the sort of character who seems on pretty well cordial terms with everyone. If you’re suggesting what I think you are I might mention that according to Finlayson there have been three security checks carried out on Bronowski.”
“And passed with flying colours, no doubt. What does Finlayson know about security checks and how to evaluate them? Has he any guarantee that none of those three professedly unbiased investigators was not, in fact, a bosom friend of Bronowski? Now, I have a very good and very discreet friend in New York. As you say yourself, every pipeline operator is as guilty as hell until proved otherwise.”
“I didn’t quite say that.”
“Hair-splitting. The second thing?”
“I’d like a medical opinion, preferably that of a doctor with some osteopathic knowledge, on how the dead engineer’s finger came to be broken.”
“How can that help?”
“How should I know?” Dermott sounded almost irritable. “God knows, Jim, you’ve emphasised often enough never to overlook anything that seems odd.”
“True, true,” Brady said pacifically. “There was a third matter?”
“Let’s find out how the fingerprint boys in Anchorage are getting on with that telephone booth affair. Three tiny things, I know, but it’s all we have to go on.”
“Four. There’s also Bronowski. And now?”
The telephone rang. Brady picked it up, listened briefly, scowled and handed the phone over to Dermott. “For you.” Dermott lifted an eyebrow. “It’s that damnable code again.”
Dermott gave him an old-fashioned look, put the phone to his ear, reached for a pad and started to make notes. After barely a minute he hung up and said: “And now? That was your last question, wasn’t it?”
“What? Yes. So?”
“And now it’s back to the old jet and heigh-ho for Canada.”
Dermott gave Brady an encouraging smile. “Should be all right, sir. Still plenty of daiquiri in your airborne bar.”
“What the devil is that meant to mean?”
“Just this, sir.” Dermott’s smile had gone. “You will rec
all our three brilliant minds sitting around in Sanmobil’s office and coming to the unanimous conclusion that there were six points vulnerable to attack—the draglines, the bucketwheels, the reclaimers’ bridges, the separator plates, the radial stackers and, above all, the conveyor belting? Some joker up there obviously didn’t see it our way at all. He’s taken out the main processing plant.”
6
Four hours later the Brady Enterprises team stood shivering in Sanmobil’s sabotaged processing plant at Athabasca. Brady himself was enveloped in his usual cocoon of coats and scarves, his temper not improved by the fact that the flight from Alaska had deprived him of dinner.