have twelve pump stations, locally or remotely controlled. They have sixty-two remote gate valves, all radio-controlled from the pump station immediately to the north. Those gate valves can stop the flow of oil in either direction.
"There are eighty check valves to prevent the oil from flowing backward, and, well, all sorts of other weird valves that would only make sense to an engineer. Altogether they have a remote-control capability at well over a thousand points. In other words, they can isolate any section of the line at any time they want. Because it takes six minutes to shut down a big pump, some oil is bound to escape -- up to fifty thousand barrels, it's estimated. That may seem a lot, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to what's in the pipeline. But there's no way the oil can keep on pumping out indefinitely."
"All very interesting." Brady sounded cool. "You can bet they try harder to protect the environment. You can also bet that crooks and extortionists don't give a damn about the environment one way or another. All they want is to interrupt the flow of oil. Can the line be protected?"
"Well, about this huge blind spot you mentioned -- "
"What you're trying not to tell me is that the pipeline can be breached any place, any time."
"That's right."
Brady looked at Dermott. "You've thought about this problem?"
"Of course."
"And you, Donald?"
"Me, too."
"Well then, what have you come up with?"
"Nothing. That's why we sent for you. We thought you might come up with something."
Brady looked at him maliciously and resumed his pondering. By and by he said, "What happens if there's a break and the oil is stopped in the pipe? Does it gum up?"
"Eventually. But it takes time. The oil is hot when it comes out of the ground and it's still warm when it reaches Valdez. The pipeline is very heavily insulated, and the oil passing through the pipe generates friction heat. They reckon they might get it flowing again after a twenty-one-day standstill, maximum. After that -- " He spread his-hands.
"No more oil flow?"
"No."
"Not ever again?"
"I shouldn't think so. I don't really know. Nobody's talked to me about it. I don't think anyone really wants to talk about it."
No one did until Brady said, "Do you know what I wish?"
"I know," Dermott said. "You wish you were back in Houston."
The radio-phone rang. The driver listened briefly, then turned to Shore.
"Operations manager's office. Will we return immediately. Mr. Reynolds says it's urgent." The bus driver picked up speed.
Reynolds was waiting for them. He indicated a phone lying on his table and spoke to Brady. "Houston. For you."
Brady said, "Hello." Then he made a gesture of irritation and turned to Dermott.
"Horseshit. Damn code. Take it, huh?" This was hardly reasonable of Brady, since it was he who had invented the code and insisted on using it for almost everything except "Hello" and "Good-bye." Dermott reached for a pad and pencil, took the phone and started writing. It took him about a minute to record the message and two more to decode it.
He said into the phone, "Is that all you have?" A pause. "When did you get this message, and when did this happen?" Another pause. "Fifteen minutes and two hours. Thank you." He turned to Brady, his face bleak. "The pipeline's been breached. Pump Station Number Four. Near Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range. No hard details yet. Damage not severe, it seems, but enough to close down the line."
"No chance of an accident?"
"Explosives. They took out two gate valves."
There was a brief silence while Brady surveyed Dermott curiously.
"No need to look so goddamned grim, George. We were expecting something like this. It's not the end of the world."
"It is for two of the men on Pump Station Four. They've been murdered."
Four
It was half-past two in the afternoon, Alaskan time, almost dark, but with good visibility, a ten-knot wind and a temperature of -- 4ºF. -36ºC. below when the twin-jet touched down
"There are eighty check valves to prevent the oil from flowing backward, and, well, all sorts of other weird valves that would only make sense to an engineer. Altogether they have a remote-control capability at well over a thousand points. In other words, they can isolate any section of the line at any time they want. Because it takes six minutes to shut down a big pump, some oil is bound to escape -- up to fifty thousand barrels, it's estimated. That may seem a lot, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to what's in the pipeline. But there's no way the oil can keep on pumping out indefinitely."
"All very interesting." Brady sounded cool. "You can bet they try harder to protect the environment. You can also bet that crooks and extortionists don't give a damn about the environment one way or another. All they want is to interrupt the flow of oil. Can the line be protected?"
"Well, about this huge blind spot you mentioned -- "
"What you're trying not to tell me is that the pipeline can be breached any place, any time."
"That's right."
Brady looked at Dermott. "You've thought about this problem?"
"Of course."
"And you, Donald?"
"Me, too."
"Well then, what have you come up with?"
"Nothing. That's why we sent for you. We thought you might come up with something."
Brady looked at him maliciously and resumed his pondering. By and by he said, "What happens if there's a break and the oil is stopped in the pipe? Does it gum up?"
"Eventually. But it takes time. The oil is hot when it comes out of the ground and it's still warm when it reaches Valdez. The pipeline is very heavily insulated, and the oil passing through the pipe generates friction heat. They reckon they might get it flowing again after a twenty-one-day standstill, maximum. After that -- " He spread his-hands.
"No more oil flow?"
"No."
"Not ever again?"
"I shouldn't think so. I don't really know. Nobody's talked to me about it. I don't think anyone really wants to talk about it."
No one did until Brady said, "Do you know what I wish?"
"I know," Dermott said. "You wish you were back in Houston."
The radio-phone rang. The driver listened briefly, then turned to Shore.
"Operations manager's office. Will we return immediately. Mr. Reynolds says it's urgent." The bus driver picked up speed.
Reynolds was waiting for them. He indicated a phone lying on his table and spoke to Brady. "Houston. For you."
Brady said, "Hello." Then he made a gesture of irritation and turned to Dermott.
"Horseshit. Damn code. Take it, huh?" This was hardly reasonable of Brady, since it was he who had invented the code and insisted on using it for almost everything except "Hello" and "Good-bye." Dermott reached for a pad and pencil, took the phone and started writing. It took him about a minute to record the message and two more to decode it.
He said into the phone, "Is that all you have?" A pause. "When did you get this message, and when did this happen?" Another pause. "Fifteen minutes and two hours. Thank you." He turned to Brady, his face bleak. "The pipeline's been breached. Pump Station Number Four. Near Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range. No hard details yet. Damage not severe, it seems, but enough to close down the line."
"No chance of an accident?"
"Explosives. They took out two gate valves."
There was a brief silence while Brady surveyed Dermott curiously.
"No need to look so goddamned grim, George. We were expecting something like this. It's not the end of the world."
"It is for two of the men on Pump Station Four. They've been murdered."
Four
It was half-past two in the afternoon, Alaskan time, almost dark, but with good visibility, a ten-knot wind and a temperature of -- 4ºF. -36ºC. below when the twin-jet touched down
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