Assignment Black Gold Read Online Free PDF Page B

2000-barrel capacity with electric
agitators, eight desanders , five dry-mud
storage tanks with additional space for 8000 sacks of material, a Haliburton
cementing unit.
    He noted that the personnel quarters could accommodate fifty-six
men. Water was provided by a distilling unit. For handling supplies, the
equipment consisted of a Clyde derrick rated at 41 tons capacity and a Link
belt crawler crane with a 7.8-ton capacity and a 38-foot radius. He noted that
the heliport was designed for use by a Sikorsky S-61N. He skimmed over the
statistics for liquid storage capacity of drilling water, potable fuel, and
diesel fuel, and checked the leg length of the platform at 220 feet from the
sea bottom. The overall length of Lubinda Lady I was 215 feet by 135 feet, not
including the projecting table of the heliport. The design criteria included a
79-foot wave with a 15 1/2-second wave period and a wind speed of 138 MPH. The
platform should be able to ride out any storm that hit this coast, he decided.
    Behind him, the girl said restlessly, “l can make some
coffee. Some scrambled eggs, maybe?”
    He did not look at her. “Did Brady ever go out to the rig?”
    “Sure, a couple of times. He was a great buddy of Matt
Forchette.   Cajun, like you. They call
him the Fork. Matt is the rig boss, rough and tough, like Brady. Like all of
them."
    He turned. “You sound bitter.”
    “I had problems with Brady. His pals didn’t help.”
    “Maybe you tried too hard."
    “I was brought up to live by certain rules and standards. l
won't give them up."
    “And   Brady wouldn't
fall into line?”
    “No. What about the eggs?”
    “You shouldn’t have tried to change him.”
    She indicated the charts and specifications on the
table. “What’s so important about the Lady?"
    “l don’t know.” Durell admitted. “Maybe nothing at all. I’d
like to talk to Matt Forchette. I knew him once."
    “Yes, Brady said so. Brady admired you, you know. But you’re
not the way he described you." She looked at the bourbon bottle Durell had
put back on the desk. “Brady would have finished that after a run-in with
Madragata’s killers like you had tonight."
    “You’re sure you don't know where Brady might be?"
    “No idea at all.”
    “But you know something. Maybe not directly related to
him—but something.“
    “Come on, I'll make the coffee. Louisiana coffee, with lots
of chicory in it, the way Matt and Brady like it. You, too, I presume.
Ugh."
    He followed her into the spotless kitchen, carefully locking
the door to Brady Cotton’s Central office before he left.
     
    Kitty Cotton made a face over the rim of the steaming mug
she lifted to her lips. “There are the accidents, of course.”
    “What accidents?”
    “Didn’t Brady report them?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe he was saving them up to see if anything connected.
Hobe Tallman could have told you about them. The Fork will rave and rant about
them and call the local security people every kind of sons of bitches under the
sun.”
    “Tell me." Durell said.
    It was quiet in the Pequah, almost midnight now, and a low
moon hung over the Atlantic, west of the port. The kitchen was cozy. it seemed
to Durell that Brady Cotton had had it made with this Yankee-Portuguese girl,
whose gaze was as honest and direct as a child’s, but also as that of a woman
whose first attempt at love had ended in failure. He almost envied Brady’s
chance, although this sort of life was not for him; he knew it could never be
his; it would make him vulnerable to being reached through the one he loved. He
shook his head slightly.
    “What accidents, Kitty?”
    She shrugged her square shoulders and sighed. “One of the derrickmen was killed on the rig. They were making a hole
and had a pinchout due to an overlap—hit some
unconformity leading to a basal conglomerate. That didn’t do it, of course.
They were running triple lengths of pipe, and the man was up on the mast at the
third platform—the thribble —when