Charon's Landing (29 page)

“I still don’t get it. It’s not a drug or explosives or anything illegal. I mean, it’s just cold. What’s the big deal?”

“The only thing that makes sense to me, and I believe that Dick Henna of the FBI agrees, is sabotage,” Mercer continued over the startled looks of the two men. “Liquid nitrogen can alter the molecular strength of any material exposed to it. It weakens steel so badly that it can fracture under its own weight. And there would be no trace of tampering. Say someone sprays a piece of equipment with the stuff. Later, when it’s used, the equipment would fail with no logical explanation and no detectable cause. What if they use the nitrogen to weaken a section of the pipeline? When it collapses you’ve got a major spill on your hands for no reason. You’ve been under the media microscope since work started on the new pipeline from the North Slope, so I figured you guys would be tailor-made for this kind of terrorist action.”

Mercer could see he’d caught Andy Lindstrom’s attention. But by no means was the third-generation oilman convinced. Instinctively, Mercer stayed quiet, letting Lindstrom think through the logic. But still he had to struggle not to show his agitation. He’d just dropped a bombshell on the Operations Chief’s desk, and Lindstrom didn’t know that Mercer wasn’t given to paranoid fantasies and conspiracy theories. Come on, damn it, come on. You know this could be a possible threat.

“The pipeline would make a choice target, but it wouldn’t work,” Lindstrom said at last, pulling a fifth of bourbon from a desk drawer and splashing some into three small cups. “The pipe walls are high-tensile steel, about a half-inch thick, with a maximum rated internal pressure load of nearly one thousand two hundred psi. Even if someone froze a section, they’d still need a bulldozer to crack it open, and our response team would be there long before they made their getaway.”

“What about the VSMs?” Mercer fired back, knowing he had to work fast or his warnings weren’t going to amount to anything.

The aboveground sections of the pipeline were supported above the frozen tundra by 78,000 VSMs or Vertical Support Members. The towers were spaced approximately sixty feet apart and were designed to allow the pipeline to shift within its bed up to twelve feet horizontally and two feet vertically to compensate for expansion and contraction of the pipe casing. The VSMs also served as a buffer in the event of an earthquake like the one that devastated Alaska on Good Friday of 1964. The bases of the stanchions were buried anywhere between fifteen and sixty feet deep, depending on the depth of the permafrost. They utilized passive ammonia cooling to ensure that conductive heat from the flowing oil didn’t melt the frozen soil that kept the pipeline stable.

“Same again. Even if you weakened the supports with liquid nitrogen, you’d still need heavy equipment to make them fail. Remember, it took 1347 state and federal permits to get the line constructed, and you can bet dollars to doughnuts that they covered their asses and made sure the whole system was so over-built that God himself couldn’t take it apart.”

“They said the same thing about the
Titanic
.” Mercer let his last statement hang in the air for a minute before continuing. “How about some of the bridges? Isn’t there one over a thousand feet long?”

“Where the pipeline crosses the Tanana River, there’s a suspension bridge of twelve hundred feet, but again, even after weakening the anchors and caisson supports, you’d need dynamite to bring it down. Why bother freezing the steel if you have to use explosives?”

“I know you guys have to put chemicals in the oil to augment its natural heat and make flow easier on the way from Prudhoe. What about just freezing the oil in the line, plugging it up solid? Would something like that cause severe damage?”

“If the oil froze, thermal expansion wouldn’t be enough to crack the pipe casings, and we could have the pipe cleaned out in just a few months,” Lindstrom retorted. Mercer could see that Lindstrom was ready to tear his idea apart. “And you’re also forgetting some other prime targets in Alaska like Elmendorf Air Force Base, or the string of radar-tracking stations along the north coast. And what about the new production facilities in the Refuge? A couple of them are already up and running, piping crude to Prudhoe Bay for transshipment here on the TAPline.” Lindstrom lit another cigarette while a new idea struck him. “The only place Alyeska could be targeted is up at our equipment depot in Fairbanks where we’ve got about half a billion dollars’ worth of drill string, cutter heads, and other equipment.”

“They spray a bundle of drill string, the sections of pipe used to bore into the ground, then smack them with a hammer.” Collins hadn’t detected the sarcasm in Lindstrom’s voice and was seriously considering the possibility. “The pipe wouldn’t crack — it’s too strong — but there would be microscopic fissures. When those turbines on the pads spool up, the string would shatter, fouling the bore hole for eternity.”

“What’s security like up there?” If Mercer could convince just one of the men about his fears, it was better than nothing.

“The expensive stuff, like the diamond cutter heads, are under lock and key, patrolled twenty-four hours a day,” Collins replied. “But the lengths of string are just lying around in big stacks ready to be transported to the North Slope.” Collins rubbed a hand across his balding head, a gold Marine Corps ring catching the final rays of the setting sun through the window.

“I suggest you beef up your force,” Mercer said mildly.

“I don’t see it,” Lindstrom remarked, still unconcerned. “If they shipped over two hundred and thirty tons of liquid nitrogen, they’re after something a hell of a lot more important than spare parts sitting in a warehouse.”

“What’s your estimation?” Mercer tried to draw Lindstrom in again, hoping that the Operations Director would take his warning more seriously.

“We’re secure here at the terminal, and Prudhoe Bay is so isolated it doesn’t make a logical choice.”

“Which leaves?”

“Not much. The pipeline is just too tough for something like you suggest. Alyeska may be a prime target for terrorism, and I’m not ruling us out before this crisis over the Refuge ends, but using liquid nitrogen just doesn’t make any sense.”

Mercer turned to Collins, hoping he still had the other man intrigued. “Why did you say that the terminal itself is secure? I didn’t have any problems getting in.”

“You’re still on the guest list; all others are being turned away. We’ve even suspended the regular visitors’ tour bus from town. Besides the access road, there’s no other way into the terminal. Fences, active and passive detectors, and patrols keep everyone from getting within a mile of any vital area.”

“Mercer, you’ve been focusing on why someone is smuggling liquid nitrogen into Alaska. Have you stopped to ask yourself who?” Though Lindstrom obviously didn’t believe in a threat to his private domain, he acknowledged the possibility of terrorism.

“Oh, I already know who,” Mercer said sharply.

“PEAL?” asked Collins.

“No. This may be their type of operation, but it’s way out of their league.”

“PEAL?” Lindstrom didn’t immediately recognize the name. “Oh, wait. Aren’t they the environmental group with the big research ship anchored in the bay?”

“Yeah,” Collins said. “They’ve been here for a couple of weeks, boycotting Petromax gas stations, giving interviews to the army of reporters that follow them around, and generally making everyone around here as edgy as hell.”

“They don’t have anything to do with this,” Mercer repeated. “They want to stop the drilling in the Arctic Refuge, but this is just too big for them. Boycotting gas stations is one thing, but coordinating an attack against Alyeska is entirely different. Listen, guys, I’m not up here in any official capacity; the Feds are handling the investigation. In fact, I’m in Alaska against the FBI Director’s direct order. But while they’re off looking for clues, I think they’re forgetting to watch over targets. I’m surprised no one from the Bureau has been here to talk to you. That’s what you get for having too many law school graduates and not enough people with brains.”

“You sound like you know who’s smuggling the liquid nitrogen. Who is it?” Collins asked.

“A former KGB colonel named Ivan Kerikov. I’ve dealt with him before. He’s utterly ruthless. He would kill without a moment’s hesitation. Oh, shit, that reminds me. Can I use your phone?”

Lindstrom nodded, and Mercer dialed quickly, the phone number being one of the hundred or so he was able to keep straight in his head.

“Homer Police, Chief MacLaughlin speaking.”

“Chief, this is Philip Mercer—”

MacLaughlin cut Mercer off before he could continue. “How the hell did you know the
Jenny IV
wouldn’t be there?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Bullshit,” MacLaughlin exploded. “No one gets hunches like that. I’ve just changed the deaths of Jerry and John Small from misadventure to murder. Add them to the death of Dave Heller, the guy we found in his beached boat, and it means I’ve got three unsolved killings in a town that hasn’t seen a murder since I became Sheriff. I want some fucking answers.”

“You’ll have them as soon as I do, Chief. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say right now. I can tell you that you won’t find the murderers in town; they’re long gone.”

“No kidding,” MacLaughlin said sarcastically. “Just because I’m a small-town cop doesn’t mean I’m a simpleton.”

“I’m not saying that, but I think your investigation will be better served if you concentrate on finding where the
Jenny IV
was sunk the second time.”

“Fat fucking chance. After my brother-in-law failed to find her by dragging the bottom, I sent out nearly every boat in the harbor. Forty boats, all equipped with fish-finding sonar, failed to find anything. They must have searched a hundred square miles.”

Mercer could imagine their search. Captains and crews half drunk, thrilled at playing cop for a day, running randomly across the water without any logical search pattern. Mercer guessed that MacLaughlin’s one hundred miles was more like ten. There was no sense in pointing this out. MacLaughlin was so angry right now that any criticism would probably set him off like a volcano. Mercer couldn’t blame MacLaughlin; he was caught up in something so big that he didn’t know which way was up.

“Really?” Mercer said, trying to sound impressed while thinking that he might call Dick Henna and have him get an antisubmarine vessel into the area. With its side-scanning sonar, it would be able to find the hulk on its first pass. “I appreciate that, Chief, I really do. I’ll let you know if I get anything more on my end.”

Mercer cut the connection before MacLaughlin could protest.

“What was that all about?” Collins asked suspiciously.

“Maybe something, maybe a red herring. But a couple of nights ago, the
Jenny IV
was moved from where the Coast Guard had sunk her. Whoever did it killed the owner of the boat they used.”

“You think it was this Kerikov guy?”

“Either him or someone working for him,” Mercer said, keeping a tight rein on his building anger. “Like I said before, I really don’t have any right being here and talking to you two. But my ass is on the line here. I’m the only living witness to the discovery of the
Jenny IV
, and I don’t think Kerikov’s going to stop until I’m dead. My only choice is to stop him first. I don’t want to end-run the authorities, but if anything, and I mean
anything
, out of the ordinary happens here, I’d like to know about it.”

“Nothing will, but sure, we’ll keep you in the loop,” Lindstrom answered indulgently.

Mercer gave him the name of the hotel he’d be staying at. He felt he’d done the best he could with what little information he had and could only hope that his warnings wouldn’t go unheeded.

Twenty minutes later, he parked the Blazer in front of his hotel, a large clapboard structure that had seen better days. It wasn’t the best place in town, which suited him fine. After settling into his room and taking a quick shower, he enjoyed a salmon dinner in the nearly deserted dining room. The adjacent lounge was almost as empty, so he decided to head out for a while and maybe talk to some of the PEAL activists who might be in town.

Although he didn’t think PEAL was involved with the smuggling of the liquid nitrogen, he wanted a better handle on the group, partially for his own investigation and partially because he wanted to know more about Aggie Johnston, and PEAL seemed to be a major portion of her life.

Ever since she had stormed out of his house, thoughts of her weren’t too far away. At first, he’d tried to simply will her from his mind, but he gave that up. Aggie was not the type of woman Mercer could forget. In just a short time, she had worked her way into his head so deeply that he found he could recall the specific scent of her hair and the way her eyes softened when she first saw the bandage on his face from the pistol whip. Mercer had never believed the old adage about opposites attracting, but then he’d never really faced it before. He was both hurt and confused that Aggie hadn’t tried to contact him. But he had too much going on to allow himself to be distracted by thoughts of her, yet he still wanted to find out more about her, a lot more. Everything.

He walked along North Harbor Drive, paralleling the small boat marina. The sun had set, and the sound of waves slapping against the hundred pleasure craft came out of the darkness like an eerie recording. The few streetlights cast hazy puddles on the sidewalk, their glow barely glinting off the chrome trim of the nearest boats. The air was heavy with the tangy perfume of the ocean. Although the sidewalks were fairly crowded for a town of only three thousand, there was a loneliness here that was found in all of Alaska except for its larger cities. Out in the harbor he could see the running lights of a large vessel he knew must be the
Hope
.

Mercer finally came across a bar that looked promising, its advertising neon signs casting garish splashes of color into the night. Country music blared from within as a young couple entered, Mercer following close behind. He nodded his thanks to them and surveyed the room.