by Ron Walden
As the jet cruised north, through blue skies and over craggy, snow covered, ridges, he tried to rest. The early days, as a deputy sheriff, kept invading his mind. Nine years in that sparsely populated county in Northern California had given him the experience to be where he was today, a pipeline security guard.
“The sky is clear and the temperature is 33 degrees; wind is out of the north at 25 miles per hour. We will be landing at Dead Horse in about 10 minutes. Please check that your seat belts are fastened. Thank you for flying Alaska Airlines.”
The announcement brought Dan back to the present. He zipped his parka and pulled the hood onto his head.
Three officers worked his schedule. The youngest, Rod Brassington, met Dan at the door of the plane. He slapped Dan on the back and said, “Welcome back to Shangrila. Glad to be back, I bet?”
“Always,” They walked down the stairs from the plane together. Dan liked Rod. He was a rawboned, good natured, 6 foot 4 inch ex-policeman from San Jose, California. Rod always had a smile and a joke or a prank to pull. He had a knack for lightening everyone’s load. Rod was good for morale.
Like Rod, Kenny Newby, was also a good medic, and a good officer. He met Dan and Rod at the baggage pickup station. The entire staff at the pump station relied on his medical ability. For the summer months, there was a construction crew on site repairing corroded pipe. It was Kenny’s job to treat illness or injury of the maintenance crew. The permanent staff was treated at the BP hospital 3 miles away, but Kenny was called first for any minor illness or injury.
“Are you ready for two glorious weeks in paradise?”
“I told him it was Shangrila.” All three laughed and walked from the Dead-horse Airport terminal building.
Two men met them outside. They were just leaving their shift. One man would stay behind to maintain security until the new shift arrived. He would then change into civilian clothing and catch the company crew bus to the airport 6 miles away. Shift change briefing was a haphazard affair. Millman gave Dan a quick rundown; the rest would be covered in the written pass-on.
“Hi, Dan. How were your weeks off?” Millman asked.
“Great.” Dan said, “Anything new here?”
“No. The dig crew is still working. It’s hard to keep up with who’s going in and out of the gate—construction people racing around. They’ve been good about stopping at the gate, but sometimes they forget. We’re getting about 300 gate entries a day now. Oh yeah! I almost forgot. The pig crew is on station. They came in a couple of days ago. They’re with the same company, TMC, but they’re all new people working on this pig run. They’re getting the pig ready and have worked a bunch of hours, so we haven’t seen much of them.
“A grizzly walked through yesterday. He didn’t stop though—just sniffed at the dumpster—kept on walking. One other thing. The Sarge’ll be at Pump Station Four all week. They have a couple of days of Oil Spill Contingency Plan meetings, and then he’ll wait there until the pig has passed Pump Station Four and is out of our district.”
Millman’s partner had already made his way to the boarding gate and found a seat in the lobby. Millman waved to the three men and finally said, “Have a good one.”
The red pickup was warm, and the sun was bright as they began the drive to the pump station. Rod and Kenny were on duty until 6 this evening when Dan took over. He worked the night shift alone, 12 hours. It was boring on nights, but the first couple of nights were customarily filled with reading passon and memos.
The first stop was at the BP east checkpoint. Purcell Security company had the contract at BP. Dan stopped the pickup at the window. He didn’t recognize the guard.
“He must be new,” Dan thought. It only took 1 minute to check the badges against the computer and get admission past the checkpoint.
In the summer time, the drive from the airport to the pump station was a good place to see wildlife. The tundra was alive in the summer. Geese nested everywhere. Ducks of every kind raised their young in this area. Arctic fox made the rounds of nests, stealing young when the parents were away. An occasional grizzly could be sighted. There was a small herd of muskox just south of here and could sometimes be seen passing through. Caribou were everywhere.
Rod reached for his bag when the truck turned off the main Spine Road and onto the short road leading to the main gate at the Pump station. “I’ll change uniform here. Take my other bag to the room, Kenny, would you?”
“Sure. I’ll change and be back in a few minutes,” Kenny said.
Arlon Hebert stepped out of the gatehouse, clipboard in hand.
“Welcome back,” Hebert said, as he made check marks on the clipboard, accounting for the three new men on the station.
Rod went inside and began changing into his uniform. When he took control of the gate, Arlon changed into civilian clothing and was ready to catch the bus 10 minutes from now. He would get to the airport just as the flight to Anchorage was loading. It was the same ritual every 2 weeks the year around.
Pump station staff had a similar routine. Their shift change was Tuesday. They’d change each week rather than the two-week schedule for security people. Although it varied slightly, the regular population of the PLQ (personnel living quarters) was 36. The pump station used nine technicians on each shift. There were also cooks, housekeeping personnel, mechanics, and administrative people. This was the most complicated of the pump stations and required the greatest number of technicians to keep track of equipment in the metering buildings.
There was just time to catch a couple hours sleep and a shower. Dinner would be served at 5:30. Dan shared his room with Rod. There were two bunks, two closets, a desk, and a TV. The bathroom was shared with those in the next room. Although small, the rooms were comfortable. Housekeeping did a wonderful job keeping the rooms clean. There was a rule about taking your boots off at the front door. No boots were to be worn inside the PLQ, thus avoiding tracking oil or mud onto the carpet. There were also rules about noise, making it possible for the night shift crew to sleep during the daytime.
The catering staff knew Dan had to be on duty by 1800 hours and so allowed him to come in a few minutes early to eat. He had finished his dinner, and was about to have his second cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie, when the technicians began coming through the line with their trays. A short black man brought his tray to Dan’s table and sat down. Charley Bickford was chief technician on night shift this week.
“Hello, Dan, just coming on?” Charley asked, stirring his iced tea.
“Nights. How’s your family, Charley? Doesn’t your son graduate from college this year?”
You could see the pride in his smile.
“Graduated 2 weeks ago. Has a job, too. He’s going to be teaching school in Bethel starting in September. He’s going to be a deckhand on a salmon drift boat this summer. His mama’s proud of him.”
“And, his papa isn’t? Let’s see, didn’t your last daughter graduate from high school this year?”
Charley smiled again. “Last one. Going to college this fall. Going to University of Alaska at Fairbanks. She wants to be a teacher, too.”
Dan drank the last of his coffee and was picking up his tray when Gwen Stevens sat down at the table.
“Well look at these brutes.”
“You’d better be glad we’re not brutes. Got to go. Duty calls.”
“Dan, is it all right if I come by the gatehouse later and talk to you for a minute?” Gwen asked.
“Sure, I’ll be there all night.”
“Thanks, I’ll make my rounds about 2300 hours.”
Dan cleaned his tray and told Jimmy the cook “good dinner.” He went to the front mud room where he sat and pulled on his boots. He walked the 100 yards to the gatehouse. Mosquitoes weren’t bad tonight. An arctic fox scampered out from under the PLQ, running ahead of him toward the gate. Once outside the gate, it ran into the grass under the pipeline that brought crude from the Lisburne field.
When Dan entered the gatehous
e, both Rod and Kenny were there waiting for him.
“There’s fresh coffee, Dan. What’s for dinner?” Rod asked.
“Steak tonight. Try the apple pie too, it’s really good. Jimmy has salmon and baked chicken if you don’t want steak. Anything going on I need to know about?”
“Nope. The project’s construction folks have quit for the night. Should be a quiet night for you. The Sarge left a list of training stuff to do, if you get time.” He smiled. Sarge called from Pump Station Four and wants you to handle things here this week. He’s going to be out at the project site and away from the phone…that’s about it. Oh! Kenny added, “I brought some new country music tapes. They are there by the tape player. I guess that’s about all. Rod and I will see you in the morning,” The two men began gathering their belongings.
“See you in the morning,” Dan said, pouring a cup of coffee. He turned his attention to the mental checklist of items he would need for his duties.
There was minimal vehicle traffic this evening. ARCO laboratory technicians had come by to pick up samples from the lab. There was also a carryall with four surveyors who were going fishing. The surveyors had returned at 2214 hours, bragging about their good luck.
Dan managed to get most of the training material read and had checked and inventoried all the required equipment. He’d been busy and not noticed the lateness of the hour. He reached into the file drawer and brought out a new pack of Gate Log forms. It was time to begin heading up the gate logs for the next day. The logs, forms, and reports began and ended at midnight. All personnel on station at midnight must be entered on the gate logs for the day beginning at midnight. During construction project times, it became a very time-consuming job. He put a new Hank Williams Jr. tape in the machine and began to write.
He, intent on his task, hadn’t seen the technician’s truck stop at the man-gate. Gwen was opening the door to the gatehouse when Dan became aware of her presence. It was 2325 and she was making the rounds taking readings and changing recording instrument charts.
Gwen Stevens was one of the most unusual people on the pipeline. The first thing people noticed was her physical beauty. She had the body of a playboy bunny and the face of an angel. She was easygoing and a fun person to be around. She had been born on a farm near Vermilion, South Dakota. Her father was a teacher and moved the family to Benson, Minnesota when Gwen was just a baby. Gwen’s mother was a traditional Midwestern housewife. Her father wanted her to become a teacher, and she studied hard to please him. As she grew older, she knew she wanted to go to college and break away from the life her mother endured.
Gwen had never been very domestic and would run off to a party whenever she had the chance. She was always pretty. That gave her an advantage at cheerleader tryouts and other school activities. She was popular and a good student. She had graduated from high school on the honor roll, Valedictorian, with an intense interest in science.
With the help of her science teacher and her father, she was accepted at MIT. Again, she was a good student and very popular. She majored in electrical engineering. In her senior year, she met a nuclear engineering student. They were married a few months later. Both Gwen and her husband, Martin, managed to stay in school and finish their Master degrees. They each studied and worked hard to finish together. They were in love, and made plans for the future, if it ever got here.
Martin was working at a nuclear generating plant near Boston and Gwen was working for Westinghouse in the city. Her project was to develop a computer to diagnose blood disorders. The couple was a picture of success and happiness.
It was their fourth wedding anniversary, they had each had a few drinks, the roads were frosty. Martin didn’t see the stop sign until it was too late. He ran into the intersection and was hit by a station wagon driven by an old man. Martin and the old man were pronounced dead at the scene. Gwen was taken to Boston General Hospital, in shock.
It took her many months to fully recover. She loved Martin, and it took her many years to get over her great loss. Her life fell apart after the accident. She lost interest in her job and soon resigned. She spent the summer in Minnesota with her parents, suffering from a great mental hangover. She became more and more depressed.
Her old science teacher was to be the one to convince her to “get on with her life.” It took several months of talking and coaxing before she agreed to a job interview with Trans Alaska Pipeline Company. The interviewer thought her overqualified for the position, but she was hired. She’d probably be promoted to Pump Station Supervisor within the next year. She lived quietly these days. She only attended an occasional party and then only with close friends. She had two Irish Setters, constant companions when she was off the pipeline.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dan stopped his work, stood, and shook the kinks out of his tired back. “How about a cup of coffee, Gwen?” He poured his own, and seeing her nod her head, poured one for her. “What’s up?”
“There’s something in the warehouse I want to show you. Before I tell you what it is, I want you to promise to take this seriously; this is not a joke. And I want you to keep this a secret. It looks like a big conspiracy at this point. I don’t know who is involved, but I do know it means big bucks. I need your help to investigate. Will you help me?”
Dan watched as she explained. Seriousness on that pretty face was not to be ignored. She was beautiful even though her hair was pushed up under a hard hat, and the blue coveralls she wore were tied in the middle with a webbed tool belt. The sad shadow in her eyes reminded him of a lost little girl
“I haven’t been a real cop for a long time,” he told her. “You know I’ll help you any way I can, though. What’s this all about?”
“It’s about what I found in the new pig.” She paused, trying to judge if he would take her seriously when she told him what she suspected. “Dan, that new pig on the warehouse floor is an atomic bomb.”
“You’re kidding me, right? What the hell would an atomic bomb be doing inside an ultrasonic pig?”
“That’s what I want you to help me find out. The pig alone is worth five million dollars. It stands to reason that anyone with the money to build an atomic bomb and to blow up a five million dollar piece of equipment in the process, has got to be very rich, and the reasons have to be very big. It scares me. Please, Dan, Just look at it and tell me I’m wrong, If I’m not, then….”
“Okay, I’ll look. Meet me in the warehouse at 0215 when I make my walk-through? Gwen, I could look inside that pig and not know what I’m looking at.”
“I knew I could count on you.” She sighed with relief, sipped the last of her coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. “I’ll meet you there at 0215 and show you what I found. If you’d never had special education in nuclear electronics, you’d not know what you were looking at. But, believe me, this is a very sophisticated device. I know.” She went out the door and back to her truck.
Dan returned to the task of changing the gate log sheets and entering reports into the computer. At midnight, the computer began sending the midnight alcohol report that kept track of how many people in the northern division were tested for alcohol consumption. He placed the information with all his reports, and signed off the logs for the day just ending. He then initiated logs for the new day and double checked his work. He peeked over the edge of his coffee cup at the wall clock. In a few minutes, he’d turn control of the gate over to the pump station control room, and he’d make his nightly security and fire hazard patrol of buildings and equipment in and around the pump station property. This nightly security check ordinarily took about an hour and a half.
In his mind, Dan reviewed what he knew about pipeline pigs. He didn’t know why they were called pigs, but it was a universal term used on pipelines everywhere for the bullet shape objects made to travel inside a pipeline for cleaning, or, in the case of the ultrasonic pig, measuring thickness of pipe walls to tell if they had been weakened by corrosion.
Dan took a last drink of his cold
coffee. By this time of night, it began to taste really bad. He picked up the phone and dialed the three digit code for the control room.
Charley answered the phone,
“Control room.” It was the voice of a man being interrupted from an important duty.
“Hi, Charley, it’s Dan. It’s 0135 and I’m beginning my security check. Can you monitor the gate, by camera, for me?”
“Yeah, I am just finishing my daily report for yesterday. Anything going on out there?” Charley was more friendly now.
“No. Just that mother arctic fox and her kits. Those four kits have been sitting outside the gatehouse door. I think dayshift must give them a handout. After my security check, I’m going to stop at the PLQ for a snack. I should be back by 0300. I’ll be on your control room radio channel if you need me, and I’ll stop by on the way through. Thanks Charley.” Dan cradled the phone, picked up his blue hardhat, set the door alarm, and locked the gatehouse.
Dan enjoyed summertime perimeter checks. He seemed to walk in the fizzle of a 12-hour sunset. White front geese, Canadian geese and several kinds of ducks nested in the tall grass and ponds behind the buildings outside the perimeter fence. A flock of rock ptarmigan, a few white feathers still showing, giving them a speckled look, landed near gate number five at the rear of the pump station.
Mother fox came around the corner of a large metal building, hunting for a meal. There was not much chance of catching one of the fleet, quail-size birds, picking gravel, in this open area. With a surprising burst of speed, the white fox dashed directly at the flock. They all burst into the air at the same time, into an arcing departure pattern. One bird must have been paying more attention to the fox than flying and arced too wide, striking the perimeter fence about 7 feet above the ground. The fox ran directly to where the bird had fallen. One bite of the head and the bird was dead. Mama fox picked up the bird, and holding her head high in triumph, trotted off to share her prize with her young.
