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On a crane high above the secondary platform, heavy nozzles dangled downward.
With the cargo holds of theYucatán open beneath them like the gaping mouths of
hungry birds, the crude oil from theValhalla rig gushed out of the nozzles,
filling the numerous interconnected but compartmentalized chambers that made
up the bulk of the tanker.
TheYucatán had a double hull, an outer shell to avoid punctures of the inner
compartments extremely conservative efforts designed to prevent disastrous oil
spills. The crude petroleum poured out from the pumping platform at an
enormous flow rate, but even so it would take many hours to fill the
supertanker. The respite gave plenty of time for most of theYucatán s crew
members to shuttle over to the relative metropolis of theValhalla rig.
Keene was struck by how much the tanker s deck looked like the Great Plains,
only uglier. The expanse was dirty and stained, a long series of riveted metal
plates studded with hatches and vent chimneys. Lines of different colors red,
blue, and yellow were painted in patterns across the deck, zone demarcations
of some sort. The hieroglyphics were too large for anyone to make out at this
level. He figured that they were something like the lines and roads Incas had
made in the South American plains, depicting giant shapes visible only from
high-flying aircraft.
The crane holding the hoses from the pumping substation extended down into the
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prow s main hatch, pouring into the primary tank holds. Behind them, the tall
nine-deck structure of the bridge housing and habitation levels looked the
size of an office complex. Lights blazed from the windows, gleaming up on
theYucatán s radar mast and the long cable of the radio antenna.
Keene fixed his gaze on the huge structure of theValhalla platform a quarter
mile away. Holding the tanker s deck rail, he stared at the rig a dazzling
cluster of lights riding high above the gentle Caribbean waves. A torch of
natural gas blasted from the end of the flare tip which extended on a long
derrick far from the rest of the structure. A tall derrick stood like the
Eiffel Tower in the center of the airport-sized deck.
When he saw a challenge like that, he had to go for it. The central derrick
was the highest thing around. He wanted to touch it, the way a kid reaches for
the star on the top of the Christmas tree. McKendry would say he was thinking
crazy which was true. On the other hand, that was what he was good at.
Keene stripped to his shorts. He climbed down the metal ladder on the outer
hull of theYucatán and plunged into the tropical waters. The water was calm
and warm, and the tanker and the production rig were huge landmarks even under
the pallid moonlight. A powerful swimmer, he estimated that he could relax and
cross the distance in less than twenty minutes.
Just enough to work up a little sweat, he thought, interrupting his steady,
gentle strokes to tread water so that he could look up at the star-studded
night sky. Neither the weather nor the distance concerned him. Unlike
McKendry, he didn t have a problem with whatever critters inhabited the depths
of these Caribbean waters.
He recalled one time on Lake Tahoe. A couple of dancers had taken the two of
them on one of those boat tours around the lake. About halfway around, one of
the women took it into her head to move to the rail and yell, Shark!
To give him his due, McKendry hadn t been the only one to go on automatic and
suspend disbelief. However, while the others moved to the rail on a shark
watch, McKendry paled and moved farther away from it.
Time to get over it, buddy, Keene thought, laughing out loud. As far as he was
concerned, if he couldn t outswim a shark for a mere quarter of a mile, then
he wasn t much of a swimmer.
Stroke after stroke after stroke.
Doing nicely, Keene thought, a little surprised despite himself. He was
feeling the effort in his muscles, but that was to be expected. It had been
some time since he or McKendry had done any serious exercise. His partner
would feel the strain every bit as much.
Closing in on theValhalla platform, thinking about his partner, Keene became
aware of the sleek death of sharks swimming below. The idea, he admitted to
himself, was not exactly pleasant. He wanted to believe that the noise and
chemical leakage and higher temperatures from the offshore structure would
drive away such predators, but he knew differently. Part of his education as a
short-term investor had taught him that the environment around oil platforms
was a boon for fish, and with the increased schools living among the concrete
support pillars, he supposed that sharks might also hang out in the better
feeding grounds.
He increased his speed, and was happy to reach the shadow of the platform and
pull himself up to the metal rungs alongside the fat elephant leg of the pier.
Better not rest here, he told himself. You look like somebody s midnight
snack. He grasped the rungs and scrambled up, not stopping until he was ten
feet out of the water.
Access ladders led up the concrete support legs to the main platform. He
looked at the long line of rungs waiting for him. It was quite a way to climb,
especially if he wanted to make it to the top of the central derrick in good
time.
He climbed higher, to the underpart of the main platform. It hung like a broad
airplane hangar above him. Lifeboats dangled under the deck; in an emergency,
they could drop a hundred feet down to the sea. Keene recalled having read
somewhere that more people were killed during oil rig safety drills testing
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out the hazardous systems than had ever been hurt in other kinds of accidents
on oil rigs.
He listened to the waves echoing in the superstructure, looked at the immense
core of theValhalla, and found himself awed that something this huge could be
built in a harbor and towed out to sea to be anchored elsewhere.
Moving on up, he said into the wind.
He began to climb again. Once he reached the undercarriage of the main
platform, he followed catwalks, ascended metal steps, ducked through hatches
until he stood on the main deck.
A helipad covered a large, flat circle atop the main platform. Next to that
was an oil-processing area filled with huge tanks and a nightmare maze of
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