Athabasca. Alistair MacLean

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      “Do you believe that?”

      “I wasn’t there.”

      “The explanation was generally accepted?”

      “The explanation was widely disbelieved.”

      “Sabotage, perhaps?”

      “Perhaps. I don’t know. I was here at the time. I’ve never even seen Pump Station No. 8. Been rebuilt, of course.”

      Dermott sighed. “This is where I should be showing some slight traces of exasperation. Don’t believe in committing yourself, do you, Mr Finlayson? Still, you’d probably make a good security agent. I don’t suppose you’d like to venture an opinion as to whether there was a cover-up or not?”

      “My opinion hardly matters. What matters, I suppose, is that the Alaskan press was damned certain there was, and said so loud and clear. The fact that the papers appeared unconcerned about the possibility of libel action could be regarded as significant. They would have welcomed a public enquiry: one assumes that Alyeska would not have.”

      “Why were the newspapers stirred up – or is that an unnecessary question?”

      “What incensed the press was that they were prevented for many hours from reaching the scene of the accident. What doubly incensed them was that they were prevented not by peace officers of the State but by Alyeska’s private guards, who, incredibly, took it upon themselves to close State roads. Even their local PR man agreed that this amounted to illegal restraint.”

      “Anybody sue?”

      “No court action resulted.”

      “Why?”

      When Finlayson shrugged, Dermott went on: “Could it have been because Alyeska is the biggest employer in the State, because the lifeblood of so many companies depends on their contracts with Alyeska? In other words, big money talking big?”

      “Possibly.”

      “Any minute now I’ll be signing you up for Jim Brady. What did the press say?”

      “Because they’d been prevented for a whole day from getting to the scene of the accident, they believed Alyeska employees had been working feverishly during that time to clean up and minimise the effects of the accident, to remove the evidence of a major spillage and to conceal the fact that their fail-safe system had failed dangerously. Alyeska had also – the press said – covered up the worst effects of the fire damage.”

      “Might they also have removed or covered up incriminating evidence pointing to sabotage?”

      “No guessing games for me.”

      “All right. Do you or Bronowski know of any disaffected elements in Fairbanks?”

      “Depends what you mean by disaffected. If you mean environmentalists opposed to the construction of the pipeline, yes. Hundreds, and very strongly opposed.”

      “But they’re open about it, I assume – always give their full names and addresses when writing to the papers.”

      “Yes.”

      “Besides, environmentalists tend to be sensitive and nonviolent people who work within the confines of the law.”

      “About any other disaffected types, I wouldn’t know. There are fifteen thousand people in Fairbanks, and it would be optimistic to expect they’re all as pure as the driven snow.”

      “What did Bronowski think of the incident?”

      “He wasn’t there.”

      “That wasn’t what I asked …”

      “He was in New York at the time. He hadn’t even joined the company then.”

      “A relative newcomer, then?”

      “Yes. In your book, I suppose that automatically makes him a villain. If you wish to go ahead and waste your time investigating his antecedents, by all means do so, but I could save you time and effort by telling you that we had him checked, double-checked and triple-checked by three separate topflight agencies. The New York Police Department gave him a clean bill of health. His record and that of his company are – were – impeccable.”

      “I don’t doubt it. What were his qualifications, and what was his company?”

      “One and the same thing, really. He headed up one of the biggest and arguably the best security agencies in New York. Before that he was a cop.”

      “What did his company specialise in?”

      “Nothing but the best. Guards, mainly. Additional guards for a handful of the biggest banks when their own security forces were under-staffed by holidays or illness. Guarding the homes of the richest people in Manhattan and Long Island to prevent the ungodly making off with the guests’ jewellery when large-scale social functions were being held. His third speciality was providing security for exhibitions of precious gems and paintings. If you could ever persuade the Dutch to lend you Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch’ for a couple of months, Bronowski would be the man you’d send for.”

      “What would induce a man to leave all that and come to this end of the world?”

      “He doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to. Homesickness. More specifically, his wife’s homesickness. She lives in Anchorage. He flies down there every weekend.”

      “I thought you were supposed to do a full four weeks up here before you got time off.”

      “Doesn’t apply to Bronowski – only to those whose permanent job is here. This is his nominal base, but the whole line is his responsibility. For instance, if there’s trouble in Valdez, he’s a damn sight nearer it in his wife’s flat in Anchorage than he would be if he were up here. And he’s very mobile, is our Sam. Owns and flies his own Comanche. We pay his fuel, that’s all.”

      “He’s not without the odd penny to his name?”

      “I should say not. He doesn’t really need this job, but he can’t bear to be inactive. Money? He retains the controlling interest in his New York firm.”

      “No conflict of interests?”

      “How the hell could there be a conflict of interests? He’s never even been out of the State since he arrived here over a year ago.”

      “A trustworthy lad, it would seem. Damn few of them around these days.” Dermott looked at Mackenzie. “Donald?”

      “Yes?” Mackenzie picked up the unsigned letter from Edmonton. “F.B.I. seen this?”

      “Of course not. What’s it got to do with the F.B.I.?”

      “It might have an awful lot to do with them, and soon. I know Alaskans think that this is a nation apart, that this is your own special and private fiefdom up here, and that you refer to us unfortunates as the lower 48, but you’re still part of the United States. When the oil from here arrives at Valdez, it’s shipped to one of the west-coast states. Any interruption СКАЧАТЬ