Athabasca Page 3

  “I don’t doubt it. What were his qualifications, and what was his company?”

  “One and the same thing, really. He headed up one of the biggest and arguably the best security agencies in New York. Before that he was a cop.”

  “What did his company specialise in?”

  “Nothing but the best. Guards, mainly. Additional guards for a handful of the biggest banks when their own security forces were under-staffed by holidays or illness. Guarding the homes of the richest people in Manhattan and Long Island to prevent the ungodly making off with the guests’ jewellery when large-scale social functions were being held. His third speciality was providing security for exhibitions of precious gems and paintings. If you could ever persuade the Dutch to lend you Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch’ for a couple of months, Bronowski would be the man you’d send for.”

  “What would induce a man to leave all that and come to this end of the world?”

  “He doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to. Homesickness. More specifically, his wife’s homesickness. She lives in Anchorage. He flies down there every weekend.”

  “I thought you were supposed to do a full four weeks up here before you got time off.”

  “Doesn’t apply to Bronowski—only to those whose permanent job is here. This is his nominal base, but the whole line is his responsibility. For instance, if there’s trouble in Valdez, he’s a damn sight nearer it in his wife’s flat in Anchorage than he would be if he were up here. And he’s very mobile, is our Sam. Owns and flies his own Comanche. We pay his fuel, that’s all.”

  “He’s not without the odd penny to his name?”

  “I should say not. He doesn’t really need this job, but he can’t bear to be inactive. Money? He retains the controlling interest in his New York firm.”

  “No conflict of interests?”

  “How the hell could there be a conflict of interests? He’s never even been out of the State since he arrived here over a year ago.”

  “A trustworthy lad, it would seem. Damn few of them around these days.” Dermott looked at Mackenzie. “Donald?”

  “Yes?” Mackenzie picked up the unsigned letter from Edmonton. “F.B.I. seen this?”

  “Of course not. What’s it got to do with the F.B.I.?”

  “It might have an awful lot to do with them, and soon. I know Alaskans think that this is a nation apart, that this is your own special and private fiefdom up here, and that you refer to us unfortunates as the lower 48, but you’re still part of the United States. When the oil from here arrives at Valdez, it’s shipped to one of the west-coast states. Any interruption in oil transfer between Prudhoe Bay and, say, California, would be regarded as an unlawful interference with inter-state commerce and would automatically bring in the F.B.I.”

  “Well, it hasn’t happened yet. Besides, what can the F.B.I. do? They know nothing of oil or pipeline security. Look after the pipeline? They couldn’t even look after themselves. We’d just spend most of our time trying to thaw out the few of them that didn’t freeze to death during their first ten minutes here. They could only survive under cover, so what could they do there? Take over our computer terminals and master communications and alarm detection stations at Prudhoe Bay, Fairbanks and Valdez? We have highly trained specialists to monitor over three thousand sources of alarm information. Asking the F.B.I. to do that would be like asking a blind man to read Sanskrit. Inside or out, they’d only be in the way and a useless burden to all concerned.”

  “Alaska State Troopers could survive. I guess they’d survive where even some of your own men couldn’t. Have you been in touch with them? Have you notified the State authorities in Juneau?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t love us. Oh, sure, if there was physical trouble, violence, they’d move in immediately. Until then, they’d rather not know. I can’t say I blame them. And before you ask me why I’ll tell you. For good or bad we’ve inherited the Alyeska mantle. Alyeska built the pipeline and they run it; but we use it. I’m afraid there’s a wide grey area of non-discrimination here. In most people’s eyes they were pipeline, we are pipeline.”

  Finlayson reflected on his next words. “It’s hard not to feel a bit sorry for Alyeska. They were pretty cruelly pilloried. Sure, they bore the responsibility for a remarkable amount of waste, and incurred vast cost over-runs, but they did complete an impossible job in impossible conditions and, what’s more, brought it in on schedule. Best construction company in North America at the time. Brilliant engineering and brilliant engineers—but the brilliance stopped short of their PR people, who might as well have been operating in downtown Manhattan for all they knew about Alaskans. Their job should have been to sell the pipeline to the people: all they succeeded in doing was turning a large section of the population solidly against the line and the construction company.”

  He shook his head. “You had to be truly gifted to get it as wrong as they did. They sought to protect the good name of Alyeska, but all they did, by blatant cover-ups—it was alleged—and by deliberate lying, was to bring whatever good name there was into total disrepute.”

  Finlayson reached into a drawer, took out two sheets of paper and gave them to Dermott and Mackenzie. “Photostats of a classic example of the way they handle those under contract to them. One would assume they learnt their trade in one of the more repressive police states. Read it. You’ll find it instructive. You’ll also understand how by simple thought-transference we’re not in line for much public sympathy.”

  The two men read the Photostats.

  Alyeska Pipeline Service Company Supplement No. 20

  Pipeline and Roads Revision No. 1

  Job Specification April 1,1974

  Page 2004

  C. IN NO EVENT SHALL CONTRACTOR OR ITS PERSONNEL REPORT A LEAK OR AN OIL SPILL TO ANY GOVERNMENTAL AGENCY. Such reporting shall be the sole responsibility of ALYESKA. CONTRACTOR shall emphasise this to all its supervisory personnel and employees.

  D. Further IN NO EVENT SHALL CONTRACTOR OR ITS PERSONNEL DISCUSS, REPORT, OR COMMUNICATE IN ANY WAY WITH NEWS MEDIA whether the news media be radio, television, newspapers or periodicals. Any such communication by CONTRACTOR shall be deemed to be a material breach of CONTRACT by CONTRACTOR. All contacts with news media regarding leaks or oil spills shall be made by Alyeska. If news media people contact CONTRACTOR or CONTRACTOR’S personnel they shall refer news media to Alyeska without further discussing, reporting or communicating. CONTRACTOR shall emphasise the aforementioned ALYESKA news media requirements to all its supervisory personnel and employees.

  Dermott rested the Photostat on his knee. “An American wrote this?”

  “An American of foreign extraction,” Mackenzie said “who obviously trained under Goebbels.”

  “A charming directive,” Dermott said. “Hush-up, cover-up or lose your contract. Toe the line or you’re fired. A shining example of American democracy at its finest. Well, well.” He glanced briefly at the paper, then at Finlayson. “How did you get hold of this? Classified information, surely?”

  “Oddly enough, no. What you would call the public domain. Editorial page, All-Alaska Weekly, July 22, 1977. I don’t question it was classified. How the paper got hold of it, I don’t know.”

  “Nice to see a little paper going against the might of a giant company and getting off with it. Restores one’s faith in something or other.”

  Finlayson picked up another Photostat. “The same editorial also made a despairing reference to the ‘horrendous negative impact of the pipeline on us’. That’s as true now as it was then. We’ve inherited this horrendous negative impact, and we’re still suffering from it. So there it is. I’m not saying we’re entirely friendless, or that the authorities wouldn’t move in quickly if there were any overt violations of the law. But, because votes are important, those in charge of our destinies rule from behind: they sense the wind of public opinion, then enact acceptable legislation and adopt correspondingly safe attitudes. Wha
tever happens, they’re not going to antagonise those who keep them in power. They are not, with the public’s eye on both them and us, going to come and hold our hands because of any anonymous threat by some anonymous crackpot.”

  Mackenzie said: “So it amounts to this: until actual sabotage occurs, you can expect no outside help. So far as preventative measures are concerned, you’re dependent solely upon Bronowski and his security teams. In effect, you’re on your own.”

  “It’s an unhappy thought, but there it is.”

  Dermott stood up and walked back and forth. “Accepting this threat as real, who’s behind it and what does he want? Not a crackpot, that’s sure. If it were, say, some environmentalist running amok, he’d go ahead and do his damnedest without any prior warning. No, could be with a view to extortion or blackmail, which do not have to be the same thing: extortion would be for money, blackmail could have many different purposes in mind. Stopping the flow of oil is unlikely to be the primary purpose: more likely, it’ll be a stoppage for another and more important purpose. Money, politics—local or international—power, misguided idealism, genuine idealism or just crackpot irresponsibility. Well, I’m afraid speculation will have to wait on developments. Meantime, Mr Finlayson, I’d like to see Bronowski as soon as possible.”

  “I told you, he has business to finish. He’ll be flying up in a few hours.”

  “Ask him to fly up now, please.”

  “Sorry. Bronowski’s his own man. Overall, he’s answerable to me, but not in field operations. He’d walk out if I tried to usurp his authority. Unless he had the power to act independently, he’d be effectively hamstrung. You don’t hire a dog and bark yourself.”

  “I don’t think you quite understand. Mr Mackenzie and I have not only been promised total co-operation: we’ve been empowered to direct security measures if, in our judgment, such extreme measures are dictated by circumstances.”

  Finlayson’s Yukon beard still masked his expression, but there was no mistaking the disbelief in his voice. “You mean, take over from Bronowski?”

  “If, again in our judgment, he’s good enough, we just sit by the sidelines and advise. If not, we will exercise the authority invested in us.”

  “Invested in whom? This is preposterous. I will not, I cannot permit it. You walk in here and imagine—no, no way. I have received no such directive.”

  “Then I suggest you seek such a directive, or confirmation of it, immediately.”

  “From whom?”

  “The grand panjandrums, as you call them.”

  “London?” Dermott said nothing. “That’s for Mr Black.”

  Dermott remained silent.

  “General manager, Alaska.”

  Dermott nodded at the three telephones on Finlayson’s desk. “He’s as far away as one of those.”

  “He’s out of State. He’s visiting our offices in Seattle, San Francisco and Los Angeles. At what times and in what order I don’t know. I do know he’ll be back in Anchorage at noon tomorrow.”

  “Are you telling me that is the soonest you can—or will—contact him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could phone those offices.”

  “I’ve told you, I don’t know where he’d be. He could be at some other place altogether. Like as not he’s in the air.”

  “You could try, couldn’t you?” Finlayson remained silent and Dermott spoke again. “You could call London direct.”

  “You don’t know much about the hierarchy in oil companies, do you?”

  “No. But I know this.” Now Dermott’s customary geniality was gone. “You’re a considerable disappointment, Finlayson. You are, or very well may be, in serious trouble. In the circumstances, one does not expect an executive in top management to resort to stiff outrage and wounded pride. You’ve got your priorities wrong, my friend—the good of the company comes first, not your feelings or protecting your ass.”

  Finlayson’s eyes showed no expression. Mackenzie was staring at the ceiling as if he had found something of absorbing interest there: Dermott, he had learned over the years, was a past-master of penning an adversary into a corner. The victim either surrendered or placed himself in an impossible situation of which Dermott would take ruthless advantage. If he couldn’t get co-operation, he would settle for nothing less than domination.

  Dermott went on: “I have made three requests, all of which I regard as perfectly reasonable, and you have refused all three. You persist in your refusals?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Dermott said: “Well, Donald, what are my options?”

  “There are none.” Mackenzie sounded sad. “Only the inevitable.”

  “Yes.” Dermott looked at Finlayson coldly. “You have a radio microwave band to Valdez that links up with the continental exchanges.” He pushed a card towards Finlayson. “Or would you refuse me permission to talk to my head office in Houston?”

  Finlayson said nothing. He took the card, lifted the phone and talked to the switchboard. After three minutes’ silence, which only Finlayson seemed to find uncomfortable, the phone rang. Finlayson listened briefly then handed over the phone.

  Dermott said: “Brady Enterprises? Mr Brady please, Dermott.” There was a pause, then: “Good afternoon, Jim.”

  “Well, well, George.” Brady’s strong carrying voice was clearly audible in the office. “Prudhoe Bay, is it? Coincidence, coincidence. I was just on the point of phoning you.”

  “Well. My report, Jim. News, rather. There’s nothing to report.”

  “And I have news for you. Mine first, it’s more important. Open line?”

  “One moment.” Dermott looked at Finlayson. “What security classification does your switchboard operator have?”

  “None. Jesus, she’s only a telephone girl.”

  “As you rightly observe, Jesus! Heaven help the trans-Alaskan pipeline.” He pulled out a notebook and pencil and addressed the phone. “Sorry, Jim. Open. Go ahead.”

  In a clear, precise voice Brady began to recite a seemingly meaningless jumble of letters and figures which Dermott noted down in neatly printed script. After about two minutes Brady paused and said: “Repeat?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You have something to say?”

  “Just this. Field manager here unco-operative, unreasonable and obstructive. I don’t think we can profitably operate here. Permission to pull out.”

  There was only a brief pause before Brady said clearly: “Permission granted.” There came the click of a replaced receiver and Dermott rose to his feet.

  Finlayson was already on his. “Mr Dermott—”

  Dermott looked down at him icily and spoke in a voice as cold as winter: “Give my love to London, Mr Finlayson. If you’re ever there.”

  2

  Thirteen hundred miles south-east of Prudhoe Bay, at ten p.m., Brady’s men met Jay Shore in the bar of the Peter Pond Hotel in Fort McMurray. Among those qualified to pass judgment on such matters, it was readily agreed that as an engineering construction manager Shore had no peer in Canada. His face was dark, saturnine, almost piratical—which was rather an unfair trick for nature to play on him, since that same nature had made him easy-going, companionable, humorous and cheerful.

  Not that he felt in the least humorous and cheerful at that moment. Nor did the man who sat beside him, Bill Reynolds, Sanmobil’s operations manager, a rubicund and normally smiling man to whom nature had given precisely the kind of diabolical mind that Shore appeared to have but didn’t.

  Bill Reynolds looked across the table to Dermott and Mackenzie, whom he and Shore had met thirty seconds previously, and said: “You make fast time, gentlemen. Remarkable service, if one may say so.”

  “We try,” Dermott said comfortably. “We do our best.”

  “Scotch?” asked Mackenzie.

  “Thanks.” Reynolds nodded. “Twin jet—is that it?”

  “Right.”

  “A shade expensive, a man would think.”

  “Gets you a
round.” Dermott smiled.

  “Head Office—that’s Edmonton—told us you might take up to four days. We didn’t expect you in four hours.” Reynolds eyed Dermott speculatively over his newly-poured glass. “I’m afraid we don’t know much about you.”

  “Fair enough. We probably know even less about you.”

  “Not oilmen, then?”

  “Of course. But drilling oilmen. We’re not familiar with mining the stuff.”

  “And your full-time job’s security?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So there’s no need to ask what you were doing up on the North Slope?”

  “Right again.”

  “How long were you up there?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Two hours! You mean you can lick a security—”

  “We licked nothing. We left.”

  “May one ask why?”

  “Operations manager was…unhelpful, let’s say.”

  “Me and my big mouth.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m the operations manager here. But I get the message.”

  Dermott said pleasantly: “No message. You asked a question, I answered.”

  “And you decided to walk out—”

  “We have a backlog of cases all over the world, and no time to waste trying to help those who won’t help themselves. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, gentlemen: your company expects Mackenzie and myself to do the questioning while you do the answering. When was this threat received?”

  Shore said: “Ten o’clock this morning.”

  “You have it with you?”

  “Not exactly. It came by phone.”

  “Where from?”

  “Anchorage. International call.”

  “Who took the message?”

  “I did Bill here was with me, listening in. Caller gave us his message twice. Word for word he said: ‘I have to inform you that Sanmobil will be incurring a slight interruption in oil production in the near future. Not much, I assure you, just sufficient to convince you that we can interrupt oil flow whenever and wherever we please.’ That was all.”