akeady met downstairs.
"I made the arrangements," Spinelli said, spanking out a precise English accent. He was Italian by race, British by birth. "They're preparing the Black Isle hole. We'll give them a sendoff next week. We'll also copter over to Beauly Highpoint, which is near depth. Then we'll check Highland B, which is about a third of the way along."
"Sounds good," Scotty declared. "Though I want to make sure I spend as much time as I need on the Columbus first."
"No problem."
Whittenfeld interceded. "A dignitary named Farquharson arrives tomorrow. He's a Scottish Office undersecretary. He has considerable clout in energy matters, though he's never been near a rig in his life. I want the Columbus team to give him a thorough indoctrination. Since you'll be going out today, prep Reddington and the crew."
Scotty bit off the end of a new cigar. "It's as good as done."
"I also want you to be on board in the morning."
"I'd intended to stay out overnight, anyway."
"Good. And I want you to act as Farquharson's tutor. Teach him something. It will be a good way to orient yourself, make yourself at home."
"I'll do my best."
Whittenfeld gestured to Lefebre. "I want you there as well."
"Of course," Lefebre said.
Whittenfeld turned to Scotty again. "Why don't you join me for lunch?"
"I'd rather have a raincheck," Scotty declared. "I'd like to get out to the ship."
"Right to work," Whittenfeld said with a smile. "That's what I love to see. Raincheck given."
The helicopter hovered momentarily over the Geminii complex, then pitched southeastward.
"Look at those thunderheads," Scotty said, pointing toward the northeast.
The chopper pilot shook his head. "Just window dressing. I spoke to flight service this morning. The prevailing winds will take them due south through the North Sea sector."
Scotty looked at the surrounding countryside. Damn beautiful, he thought. High mountains. Acres of green pasture land. Bare granite pinnacles. Fingers of firths and inlets along the rugged west coast.
The pilot gestured. "There! The peak. It's Ben Nevis, the highest in Scotland. The city just beyond is Fort William, right at the west end of the Great Glen."
Scotty glanced out the side window. Below them was one of the company's seismic vessels, trailing its long hydrophone cable, picking up echoes for geophysical interpretation.
"We're home!" the pilot announced a short time later.
Scotty looked ahead. The Columbus was less than a half mile away, perched just beyond the mouth of Urquhart Bay. She looked magnificent, her huge derrick and drilling assemblage sticking high into the air above the moon pool, the midship access hole down through the hull to the water.
The pilot maneuvered the chopper over the forward helipad and set the bird down. Scotty opened the side door and stepped out. Bob Reddington rushed up and embraced him.
"You old grizzled son of a bitch!" Reddington said, laughlng.
"Me? Old?" Scotty pulled away. "Why, you big jerk. I ought to heave you into the moon pool!"
Reddington suddenly lay down on the side of the helipad, bracing his elbow and raising a massive forearm. "Ready?" he asked.
Scotty dropped down, too, grabbing Reddington's extended palm. "You bet your ass. This one's for a case of beer!"
"Why not two?"
"Two? You'd think I'd never beaten you before."
"You haven't!"
Scotty gritted his teeth. "Well, I've been practicing."
Several crew members gathered. The chopper pilot lifted off but hovered nearby to watch the outcome. The arm wrestling match was over in seconds.
"All right," Scotty said, rising. "I owe you two cases."
Reddington could not stop laughing. "You've been practicing?"
They climbed down from the helipad and walked toward ship center, passing several roustabouts who were unloading one of the Columbus 's supply tugs.
"That's one hell of a way to greet your best friend," Scotty said. "And your boss!"
"What do you want from me?" Reddington asked coyly. "You named the price and took