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GULF OF MEXICO (Monday, Dec. 10, 2012) — The employees of Arco’s oil platform 2004 were very solicitous of Kristy Brown. The bosses vied to be the ones who escorted her to the assembly room for the memorial service. Every roughneck, roustabout, and support staffer came up to tell her how sorry he was.
Danny was obviously well-liked, Mac thought. But most of the reaction was due to Kristy’s quiet beauty and warmth. People wanted to be around her. Shit, he wanted to be around her, didn’t he?
The flight out over the water had been beautiful. Hec helped Kristy into the co-pilot’s seat; Mac and Troy perched on the bench seats in back.
Been six years since I rode in one of these, Mac realized. At least no one’s going to expect me to jump out of this one. Yet. Hec briefed them on the safety features. Showed them where the life preservers were. “I’ve never gone down yet,” he had said cheerfully. “But there’s always the first time.”
The day was clear with little chop. Hec flew low so they could see the water. The platform looked small at first, but it quickly grew larger until it loomed on the horizon. He circled the platform, giving them an idea of its size — two football fields side by side, he said. One hundred fifty men, well and five women, were out this shift too. He zipped back out again, approached higher, and landed on the helipad.
Sonny Barber and his crew were waiting. Sonny helped Kristy out of the pad. He introduced her to several management men, who solemnly shook her hand. Mac and Troy tagged along behind, pretty much ignored.
“We pump 200,000 barrels of oil a day, and 120,000 cubic feet of natural gas,” Sonny explained. He gestured toward the drills, pushing down 20,000 plus feet. “Everything is monitored electronically. The slightest sign of a leak, the computer shuts us down.”
He explained the drilling apparatus, introducing Kristy to each person on duty. “We work 12-hour shifts for seven days,” he said. “Some companies have two weeks on, two weeks off. Some like it better that way, others our way.”
The living quarters were actually quite nice, although small. Satellite television. Smoking was allowed in certain places, although a butt overboard was grounds for severe discipline.
“I said we’d make the guy fish it back out,” Sonny said cheerfully. “So far we haven’t had to.”
Danny’s room was sterile, nothing on the walls, nothing in closets or drawers. Someone else lived in it the week he was on shore, Sonny explained. Danny stored his stuff in a locker. Normally, he’d be emptying his locker, unpacking right now. Other rooms showed signs of life, although they still had the feel of a hotel room. A nice hotel, but not home.
They’d help Kristy go through Danny's locker after lunch, Sonny said.
Lunch was very good. Mac had heard the meals on the platforms were excellent, and it seemed to be true. The buffet served corn chowder or chili, chicken, barbecued spareribs, makings for sandwiches, several kinds of salads, a variety of vegetables, including a vegetarian entree. Pie seemed to be the favorite for dessert.
“Our chef is out of New Orleans,” Sonny said. “He’s excellent.”
Mac drifted over toward Pete while they stood in line to be served lunch. “Introduce me to Mary Beth, would you?” he asked quietly.
“Sure.” Pete looked around. “Over there,” he pointed, to a table where a young woman sat alone. “Come on. I’ll take you over.”
Mac wasn’t sure what he expected Mary Beth to look like. He suspected it took a certain kind of woman to work on an oil platform with 150 men. Mary Beth was in her late 20s, about average height, but muscular, with brown hair and eyes. Her hair was braided down her back. She was wearing a blue-gray jumpsuit, with Anderson stenciled above her chest pocket. No makeup. Her face glowed with health and fresh air, although fine lines already showed at the eyes from the sun. She smiled at Pete as he approached.
“Mary Beth, this is Mac Davis,” Pete said. “He came out with Danny’s sister. Said he’d like to meet you.”
Mary Beth held out her hand, Mac shook it. “You’d better get some food. They feed us pretty good.”
“So I hear,” Mac said. Pete patted Mary Beth’s shoulder and rejoined the line. Mac pulled out a chair, sat down.
“Sonny tells me you and Danny were pretty close.”
Mary Beth sighed. “Yeah. Hard to believe he’s dead. I guess I don’t believe it. Not really.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together tightly. “That his sister? Kristy?”
Mac nodded. She smiled. “I’d like to meet her. Danny was really proud of her.” She toyed with her food, pushed it away. “How did he die?”
Mac repeated the story. She nodded. They sat quietly for a few minutes.
‘Danny was... Oh, I don’t know, how to say it,” Mary Beth said finally.
“You two in love?” Mac asked, somewhat uncomfortable.
She shrugged. “Not quite. But it was going there, I thought. Neither of us were quite ready to settle down, but given time... Danny would have been a good husband.” She grinned, and it brightened her whole face. “Given that the man couldn’t tell a successful lie to save his soul, you’d always know if he were being faithful at least.”
Mac shook his head and laughed. “That’s the truth,” he said. “Worst liar I know.” He hesitated. “Mary Beth, Danny had something he wanted to give me, something important, a packet of stuff. He died before he could tell me where to find it. Sonny thought you would be the one who would know where he hid it.”
Mary Beth frowned thoughtfully. “That why he was so antsy last shift?”
“Probably.”
“Not in his locker?”
“We haven’t looked through that stuff yet,” Mac explained. “Sonny said after the memorial service. But I’m betting he would have hidden it somewhere else.”
She sighed. Closed her eyes, leaned back slightly in her chair. “Danny was all wired when he came out last shift. Wouldn’t talk to me about it. But you could tell something had happened, was happening.”
She opened her eyes, looked at Mac. “This related to why he died?”
“Not really,” Mac lied.
“If I help you find it, will you let me see what it is?”
Mac hesitated.
“I just want to make sure he wasn’t going to do something stupid, you know, about the platform.”
Mac shook his head. “It is not about the platform,” he assured her. “It’s something to do with when he and I were Marines together.”
“Ah. Now that makes it clearer.” She gestured to the sandwich on her plate. “You want that? Grab it and come with me.”
Mac snagged the sandwich and followed her out the door. She led him down a hallway, stopped at a locker, pulled out two slickers and hard hats. Handed him a set. Mac shrugged into the slicker, stuck the hard hat on. Followed her out a door that said authorized personnel only. It took them outside, along a girder walkway. It was windy, cold and noisy. The wind blew too hard to talk above it, almost too hard to even think. Mary Beth steps were sure and even, Mac followed closely. She ducked behind a huge cement pillar of some kind, probably 15-20 feet in diameter. In the lee of the pillar, it was quieter. There was a small seat, looked like a lawn chair of some kind, and a locked box.
“Danny came here when he wanted to get away from people,” Mary Beth explained, now that she could be heard above the wind. "I was probably the only person he showed this private spot. We’d come here sometimes.”
She looked around at the box. “He said he liked to be able to see the horizon and think. If he stashed something, it’d be here in the box.’
Mac crouched beside the box. It was welded to the T-beam behind it. Wouldn’t stay any other way. It had a combination lock on it. “You know the combination?”
“My birthday,” she said steadily. “01-20-84.”
Mac set the codes, missed one, swore softly. His hands were cold. He spun the dial started over again. He opened the box. Inside were a pair of binoculars, a small flask, and a package wrapped with newspaper and bound with string. Mac pulled it out.
“That what you’re looking for?” Mary Beth asked.
Mac untied the string. Inside were several folders and a computer disk. “Yeah. This is it.” He looked in the box. Nothing else. Mary Beth nodded.
“You want to read it here?” she asked. “I’ll wait.”
Mac gestured her to the chair, he sat on the box itself. He opened the files, paged through them. The first file was evidently Troy’s work. He had documented Parker’s career. There were notes from an interview with someone about Parker’s role at the CIA. A printout of a story about the CIA’s connection with drugs and the Contras. Parker’s resume. Troy’s own log of what happened when they busted the coke warehouse in the badlands along the Texas-Mexico border. A copy of a memo about the jurisdictional dispute over the case. The case file, which repeated what Mac had gotten.
The second folder must have come from Troy’s secret source, Mac thought. In it were the memos ordering background reports on the four of them who were on the mission. The memo was dated November 16. That might be useful in clearing his name somewhat, Mac hoped. The next set of pages was a background report on Parker himself. Mac frowned, what the heck was this for? He read through the attached memo. Light dawned. Parker had ordered a background search on himself! To see what a headhunter might find? Huh. What had he been afraid someone would find? The background report, however, appeared to be quite complimentary. Mac frowned thoughtfully. More copies of correspondence. Mac paged through it, but nothing leaped out at him. He’d read it more thoroughly later, but Mac didn’t see what was worth killing Danny for.
He picked up the disk, slipped it into his back pocket. The papers he put back in the folders and retied the package as close to the original as possible. What he really wanted now was a computer.
Mary Beth was sitting quietly, looking out to sea. He touched her shoulder lightly. “Ready to go back?” he asked gently. She nodded.
Mac reached down, gave the combination lock a spin, and then followed Mary Beth back out into the wind.
The memorial service was just starting when Mac and Mary Beth slid into the assembly room.
“That’s Ben Herraz,” Mary Ellen whispered, as they found seats in the back. “He’s kind of like a chaplain for us, usually holds Sunday service.”
Mac nodded. He looked attentive, but his mind was elsewhere. He mulled over what he needed to do. How he was going to pull it off. Was Kristy serious about wanting to be with him for protection? Mac thought about that. It made him nervous to have her vulnerable, he decided. She was right, too easy for someone to think snatching her would work a second time as well as it had the first.
Herraz led everyone in singing Amazing Grace again. This time Mac mumbled along. At least this guy's speech was shorter than the preachers had been, he noted. As people began to leave, Mac turned to Mary Beth. “You going to be okay?”
She tilted her chin out, nodded. “I’ll be fine.” He squeezed her shoulder and went to find Sonny.
“I need to make some plane reservations,” Mac said softly. “Any way I can use a phone?”
Sonny grunted. “Come meet our reservations officer. She’ll take care of you.” They walked down the hallway together. Sonny eyed the package. “That what you came for?”
Mac nodded, then grinned lopsidedly. “Want to look?”
Sonny nodded. Mac untied the package, handed over the files. Sonny paged through them. “Not about the platform,” he agreed with relief and handed the files back.
“No,” Mac carefully tied the package up again. “You’re a bit paranoid here, aren’t you?”
“Is it paranoia if they are really out to get you?” Sonny asked, turning into an office.
Mac shrugged. “Probably, but then, I’m a fan of paranoia myself. Keeps a person alive.”
Sonny laughed. “I bet you are.”
An older woman looked up. She was wearing half-glasses that she let slide off her nose. They dangled from a chain around her neck. “Sonny,” she greeted him. “And you must be one of our visitors.”
“Mac Davis,” Mac introduced himself. He shook the hand she held out to him.
“I’m Bertha,” she said. “What can I do for y’all?”
There was a map of the Louisiana coastline behind her. Mac walked over to it. “Troy needs to be dropped off where the helicopter picked us up,” he began. “But Kristy and I need to be in El Paso as soon as possible. I was hoping you all would be willing to put us off at a commercial airport where we could have tickets to El Paso waiting.”
“El Paso?” She typed something into her computer, brought up a reservation screen. “Sure, we can do that. Put you down in Port Arthur, you can catch a flight at 4 p.m. on Southwest, put you in El Paso at 6:30 p.m. You want me to make hotel reservations too?”
Just like that.
Mac pulled out his wallet. “Can you take cash?”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she agreed.
At his request, she booked both the plane and hotel reservations in Arco’s name. “You running off with that girl?” she asked cheerfully.
Mac laughed. “I wish.”
Troy stuck his head in the door. “Hey, Mac, we’ve got all of Danny’s things. You about ready to go?”
“Just a minute,” he said, without turning around. Bertha printed out confirmations, handed them to him. “Anything else?”
“One more thing,” he said. “Could you make copies of this for me? Two copies?”
Once again, he untied the package, handed over the documents. Bertha ran them through the copier behind her and handed them back. Mac remade the package. Then he borrowed a large mailing envelope, stuffed one copy in it, addressed it to Shorty. Bertha took it.
“Nothing about the platform in there is there?” she asked.
Sonny snorted. “I already read them,” he said.
Bertha nodded. “Good. That it?”
“Thanks, Bertha,” Mac said gratefully. He put the second copy in a folder with the reservation confirmations attached to the outside. “You’re a life saver.”
“Get on out of here,” she said waving him off.
Troy had a hand truck with three boxes on it. Kristy stood near him. She looked exhausted. Troy’s eyes widened at the package in Mac’s hands. “You found it,” he said.
“Yeah,” Mac handed it to him.
Sonny glanced at his watch. “Come on, Hec’s waiting,” he said, urging them down the hallway.
“Do you got something figured out yet?” Troy asked as they walked toward the helipad.
“Kind of,” Mac said.
“Those agents are going to be sitting right where we left them this morning waiting for us you know,” lamented Troy.
Mac instinctively clutched the package tighter.
“How do you feel about driving that Saturn to D.C.?” Mac asked.
Troy looked at him and grinned. “I bet it handles as well as it looked this morning...sure. But what about the package? And how are we going to get past those agents?”
Mac grinned. “They won’t be there,” he said confidently.
Hec was waiting for them inside the pilot’s shack. “Ready to go?” he asked cheerfully. “Bertha says I’m landing in Port Arthur first. Then Sulphur.”
Troy looked confused, but Mac nodded. “You have to file a flight plan don’t you?”
Hec shrugged. “I call the airport at headquarters, tell them where I’m going,” he agreed. “Not really a flight plan, per se. Why?”
“Those agents,” Mac said. “I don’t want them hassling us about what we saw when we get back. I figure they’ll be listening when you log your flight plan. Can you tell them you’re going to drop us off in Lake Charles, then take some Arco execs to Port Arthur, and then you’ll be flying to Sulphur?”
Hec’s eyes narrowed. “This got anything to do with the platform?” he asked suspiciously.
Mac shook his head no. Sonny sighed. “Maybe we are getting a bit paranoid out here,” he muttered, then said louder, “It’s okay, Hec. I’ve checked it out. Nothing to do with us — just keeping the little lady safe.”
Mac’s eyes widened at the phrase little lady. He glanced at Kristy out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t even notice, he thought. Must really be tired.
“Okay, then,” Hec said, his cheerfulness returning. “Sure, I can take you to Lake Charles.”
Mac shook his head. “We won’t really be going there,” he explained, and couldn’t help but grin. “But the FBI will.”
Hec laughed. “Be glad to file that report. So we land at the airport in Lake Charles, take off. Then where?”
“A quick drop at Sulphur. Troy’s going to pick up the car.”
Hec nodded. “And then on to Port Arthur. Got it. Let’s get going then. I’ll wait until I’m in the air to file the new plan.”
“Would you get in trouble if you neglected to mention that brief stop at Sulphur?” Mac asked, climbing in back. Hec helped Kristy into the front. This trip, she looked like she needed it. Mac hoped she could hold up for the next leg of the journey. They had several hours of travel yet to go.
Hec shrugged. “Doubt it, but I’ve been in trouble before. It didn’t seem to hurt me none,” he said.
Troy crawled in beside Mac. “After you drop me off then I’ll head to D.C.,” he said, “In the Saturn... with the package. With those two agents following behind?”
“Maybe,” Mac agreed. “They’ll figure it out eventually I suppose. I don’t think they’ll expect you to drive, however.” He hesitated. “It’s still dangerous, Troy. They may leave a spotter behind at Sulphur watching the Saturn. Or they may not take the Lake Charles bait. If you can get to the Saturn, there’s a 9mm under the passenger’s seat.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to have a shootout with the FBI,” he said. “It’s not likely to advance my career one bit.”
“These may not be real FBI agents, and even if they are, I doubt they’re assigned to this legitimately,” Mac cautioned. “They don’t want a ruckus to have to explain either. Waving a gun around ought to at least make them cautious.”
“Humph. And where will you and Kristy be?” Troy shouted in Mac’s ear to be heard over the noise of the helicopter. “Port Arthur?”
Mac shouted in Troy’s ear in return. “We’re going on from there. Best you don’t know where.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed, he looked at the package. “You made copies,” he said, enlightened.
Mac grinned at him. “If you have to, give them the damn package. But be sure to put up a good fight for it.”
Troy nodded enthusiastically. “Now that I can handle.”
Mac turned sober. “And Troy?” he said. “Don’t let them take you hostage again. They aren’t going to let you go a second time.”
Troy took a deep breath. He nodded.