Dermott shoved the letter across to Mackenzie. “Understandably unsigned. No demands. If this is genuine, it’s intended as a softening-up demonstration in preparation for the big threat and big demand that will follow. A morale-sapper, if you will, designed to scare the pants off you.”
Finlayson’s gaze was on the middle distance. “I’m not so sure he hasn’t done that already.”
“You notified ARCO?”
“Yup. Oil field’s split more or less half-and-half. We run the western sector. ARCO — Atlantic Richfield, Exxon, some smaller groups — they run the eastern sector.”
“What’s their reaction?”
“Like mine. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
“Your security chief. What’s his reaction?”
“Downright pessimistic. It’s his baby, after all.
“If I were in his shoes, I’d feel the same way. He’s convinced of the genuineness of this threat.”
“Me too,” Dermott said. “This came in an envelope? Ah, thank you.” He read the address. “‘Mr. John Finlayson, B.Sc., A.M.I.M.E.’ Not only punctilious, but they’ve done their homework on you. ‘BP/ Sohio, Prudhoe Bay, Alaska.’ Postmarked Edmonton, Alberta. That mean anything to you?”
“Nary a thing. I have neither friends nor acquaintances there, and certainly no business contacts.”
“Your security chief’s reaction?”
“Same as mine. Zero.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bronowski. Sam Bronowski.”
“Let’s have him in, shall we?”
“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. He’s down in Fairbanks. Back tonight if the weather holds up. Depends on visibility.”
“Blizzard season?”
“We don’t have one. Precipitation on the North Slope is very low, maybe six inches in a winter. High winds are the bugaboo. They blow up the surface snow so that the air can be completely opaque for thirty or forty feet above the ground. Just before Christmas a few years ago a Hercules, normally the safest of aircraft, tried to land in those conditions. Didn’t make it. Two of the crew of four killed. Pilots have become a bit leery since — if a Hercules can crash, any aircraft can. These high winds and the surface snowstorms they generate — that snow can be driving along at seventy miles an hour — are the bane of our existence up here. That’s why this operations center is built on pilings seven feet above ground — lets the snow blow right underneath. Otherwise we’d end the winter season buried under a massive drift. The pilings, of course, also virtually eliminate heat transfer to the permafrost, but that’s secondary”
“What’s Bronowski doing in Fairbanks?”
“Stiffening the thin red line. Hiring extra security guards for Fairbanks.”
“How does he set about that?”
“Approach varies, I suppose. Really Bronowski’s department, Mr. Dermott. He has carte blanche in those matters. I suggest you ask him on his return.”
“Oh, come on. You’re his boss. Bosses keep tabs on their subordinates. Roughly, how does he recruit?”
“Well, he’s probably built up a list of people whom he’s personally contacted and who might be available in a state of emergency. I’m honestly not sure about this. I may be his boss, but when I delegate responsibility, I do just that. I do know that he approaches the chief of police and asks for suitable recommendations. He may or may not have put in an ad in the All-Alaska Weekly — that’s published in Fairbanks.” Finlayson thought briefly. “I wouldn’t say he’s deliberately close-mouthed about this. I suppose when you’ve been a security man all your life you naturally don’t let your left hand know what the right hand’s doing.”
“What kind of men does he recruit?”
“Almost all ex-cops — you know, ex-State Troopers.”
“But not trained security men?”
“As such, no, although I’d have thought security would have come as second nature to a State Trooper.” Finlayson smiled. “I imagine Sam’s principal criterion is whether the man can shoot straight.”
“Security’s a mental thing, not physical. You said ‘almost all.'”
“He’s brought in two first-class security agents from outside. One’s stationed at Fairbanks, the other at Valdez.”
“Who says they’re first class?”
“Sam. He handpicked them.” Finlayson rubbed his drying beard in what could have been a gesture of irritation. “You know, Mr. Dermott, friendly, even genial you may be, but I have the odd impression that I’m being third-degreed.”
“Rubbish. If that were happening, you’d know all about it because I’d be asking you questions about yourself. I’ve no intention of doing so, now or in the future.”
“You wouldn’t be having a dossier on me, would you?”
“Tuesday, September 5, 1939, was the day and date you entered your secondary school in Dundee, Scotland.”
“Jesus!”
“What’s so sensitive about the Fairbanks area? Why strengthen your defenses there particularly?”
Finlayson shifted in his seat. “No hard-and-fast reason, really.”
“Never mind whether it’s hard and fast. The reason?”
Finlayson drew in his breath as if he were about to sigh, then seemed to change his mind. “Bit silly, really. You know how whisperings can generate a hoodoo. People -on the line are a bit scared of that sector. You’ll know that the pipeline has three mountain ranges to traverse on its eight-hundred-mile run south to the terminal at Valdez. So, pump stations, twelve in all. Pump Station Number Eight is close to Fairbanks. It blew up in the summer of seventy-seven. Completely destroyed.”
“Fatalities?”
“Yes.”
“Explanations given for this blow-up?”
“Of course.”
“Satisfactory?”
“The pipeline construction company — Alyeska — were satisfied.”
“But not everyone?”
“The public was skeptical. State and federal agencies withheld comment.”
“What reason did Alyeska give?”
“Mechanical and electrical malfunction.”
“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 Number Eight. 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 inquiry. 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 life blood 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 minimize the effects of the accident, to remove the evidence of a major spillage and to conceal the fact that their failsafe 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.”
“Ah 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 I assume they’re open about it — always give their full names and addresses when writing to the papers.”
“Yes.”
“Besides, environmentalists tend to be sensitive and non-violent 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 suspect. 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 top-flight agencies. The New York Police Department gave him a clean bill of health. His record and that of his company are — were — impeccable.”