by Margaret Kay
“Control?” Mother repeated. “If we are assuming that was regarding Annaka, then the next leap is that Keeling had convinced them that he could take care of her.”
The others nodded.
“In lieu of killing her,” Sherman suggested.
“Did the FBI or HQ indicate if there was an accent to the voice?” Mother asked.
Lambchop nodded. “A Texas twang.”
“Annaka indicated no accent for either man,” Mother reminded them.
“We have a third unidentified suspect,” Lambchop confirmed. “And I need not remind anyone that Carstairs home office is in Midland, Texas.”
“I’ll tell her,” Mother said. “I need to wake her up.”
He went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself. He turned the light on in the bathroom, letting a sliver of light shine into the bedroom. He set her cup on the nightstand. He’d left his on the kitchen counter. And then he took a seat on the edge of the bed beside her. Her beautiful face rested on the pillow facing him. She looked so peaceful. He hated to do this, bring her news that would upset her.
“Cariño, you need to wake up.”
Annaka woke at the sound of his voice. She knew enough Spanish to know that cariño was a term of endearment. She cracked her eyes open and gazed into his face, lit by the light from the bathroom that shone on him like a spotlight. Even in her sleepy state, Annaka could tell that something was bothering Danny. “What is it?”
“They found some things on Keeling’s phone. Annaka, it looks like the plan to kidnap you was being discussed between Keeling and a third unidentified man two weeks earlier.”
“Two weeks? When the seismic survey was filed.”
He nodded. “Or just before, gotta check the date of the filing.”
“Why do you think there is a third unidentified man involved?”
He told her about what was found on the phone. She confirmed neither of the men who came into the research office on Christmas Eve had a twangy accent. As she sipped her coffee in silence, he saw not only the gears in her head turning in deep thought, but he also saw that this new information upset her.
He gently stroked over her bare shoulder. She had the sheet and blanket tucked under her armpits, covering her beautiful naked body. “Are you okay, cariño?”
She nodded. He watched the expression on her face morph into pure determination. “Carstairs home office is in Texas. Can your group or the FBI get voice samples from every fucker who works for them with an accent and run a voice comparison?”
Hearing her use the word fucker made Mother laugh out loud. “Fucker, huh?”
“Sorry, I normally don’t use that word, but it was the only one that seemed strong enough.”
Mother chuckled some more. “This really has you riled up.”
“It’s not just the voicemail,” she complained. “Patrick had pictures of me on his phone. He followed me. To the store, my house, and he took pictures without me knowing. And I’m even more upset that I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t looking to see if anyone followed you either. Why would you? Annaka, don’t put any of the blame for this on yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not,” she guaranteed him. “It’s squarely on Patrick and those men.”
Juliette
Remi piloted the boat away from the dock. The Inquirer was a thirty-six-foot piece of shit. Mother wondered how it stayed afloat. Thankfully, there was an eisenglass and canvas covering around the otherwise open bridge to block the wind. In the back was the collection equipment. They would take samples near five oil platforms, including C-Three.
Even with the eisenglass blocking the wind, it was chilly. Mother pressed his body against Annaka’s back. She smiled at him over her shoulder and leaned into him. Ice floes of all sizes dotted the inlet. The sky overhead was overcast, gray, dreary. The water was remarkably calm.
It took thirty minutes to reach the first of the oil platforms they would test near. The metal beast loomed over them like a monster. Remi cut the motor. They would take four water samples, one from each side of it. The weighted collection container was on a small platform that hung over the edge of the boat. It was on a long tether. Annaka used the computer display on the perch and released it. It entered the water with a splash. On the computer tablet, Remi monitored the depth it sank to. She watched it until it descended to the desired depth. Then she opened the valve to the collection container, reclosing it seconds later.
“It only takes a second to fill,” Annaka told him.
Then she pressed the button to retrieve the collection container. After it was winched back aboard, she swapped out the collection container, handing the full one to Remi, who labeled the sample with the rig number and collection location. They repeated this on all four sides of the oil rig. Then they repeated this at the second rig location.
“That’s rig C-Three,” Remi pointed out as a helicopter flew towards the rig the boat was approaching.
“And that’s the team in that chopper,” Mother said.
He watched it land on the helipad on the rig as they neared it. As this was the rig that had the spill, Remi and Annaka took samples at six locations around the rig. His teammates were still on the platform as Remi piloted the boat away, heading for the next platform.
On platform C-Three, the three members of Shepherd Security were ushered into the main control room where they met with Mikey O’Connor, the platform operations manager. BT presented his FBI credentials and badge, introducing himself, Lambchop, and Sherman. The two other men did not draw their badges. It was decided NSA and ATF badges would only confuse things. It was best that the questions were coming from the FBI.
“What can I do for you?” O’Connor asked. It was obvious to the men that he was on guard.
“We’re investigating the leak you have or had and why someone would force one of the researchers at the Anchor Point Research Center to alter federally mandated reports on the contamination levels of the oil leaking from this platform,” Lambchop said, stone faced.
“And why that researcher was then kidnapped,” BT added.
“I heard about that,” O’Connor said.
Lambchop’s eyebrow raised. “Did you now?”
“Yes, I just came back onto the platform two days ago. We’re on for two weeks, off for two. I heard about the disappearances of those two researchers on the news, heard the woman was found alive, but the man was killed by the authorities.”
The three men watched him expectantly. He said nothing more.
“So, did the news also report that she was forced, at gunpoint, to enter false information on the contamination level of oil in the water near this platform?” Lambchop asked.
“No, the news didn’t say that. Why would anyone make her do that?”
All three men had to stop themselves from replying with sharp, biting, or snide remarks. Finally, after staring at the man for several long seconds, Lambchop answered. “That’s what we’re trying to determine. The men who held her at gunpoint had pollutant levels they instructed her to enter, levels that were much lower than the actual tests that were conducted the day before.”
“No, what I mean is, why would anyone make her enter numbers that weren’t actual to say the leak was fixed when we reported to our superiors that it wasn’t fixed yet. We knew that. We have our own monitoring equipment,” O’Conner said.
“Are you sure that was reported?” Lambchop asked.
“It’s in the logbook that it was, entered by the other platform manager who is on when I’m not,” O’Conner said.
“How is it reported? Email?” BT asked.
O’Conner nodded.
“And you were copied on that email?” BT continued.
“No, we have the logbook. We each send hundreds of status emails while on rotations. Neither of us want to get and read that many emails when we are off rotation, that’s why we keep the logbook. We each review it when we come on.” He grabbed a binder and showed them the various tab
s and the entries.
“So, as of the twenty-third, it was not reported that the leak was fixed?” Sherman asked to clarify.
O’Conner shook his head. “It says here there was still a leak. It’s what should have been reported.”
“And what is the name of the other platform operations manager who would have reported this?” Lambchop asked.
“Wally Dalton,” O’Connor spoke, as though he really didn’t want to tell them his name.
“And does Wally live in Anchorage?” BT asked.
“I don’t know where he lives. Hell, he was on over Christmas, he’s off till the eleventh. He has a kid in Texas with his ex-old lady, he’s probably gone to see her.”
“So, he was on this rig until the twenty-eighth?” Lambchop asked.
“Yes. The chopper brings in a new crew and takes off the crew who’ve been on two weeks. A quarter of the platform crew rotates on or off every week, weather permitting. While on the rig, we each work twelve-hour shifts for the entire fourteen days.”
“And during the twelve hours you are not working? Who is on in your place?” BT asked.
“The assistant platform manager. Wally has one too, but they don’t give status reports to management. And before you ask, if anything big goes down during the twelve hours while I’m off, I’m called back into this office.”
Lambchop knew he wanted to look hard at this Wally Dalton and the status emails he sent. On the way to the airport, they would have to stop back off at Carstairs office in Anchorage. As soon as they were off this rig, he’d contact Shepherd to have the FBI obtain a warrant to get those emails as well as Dalton’s address, next of kin, and their address, which he assumed would be in Texas. He was sure Carstairs wouldn’t provide them without one.
The men didn’t talk about the visit until they were back in their car after landing at the helipad. Lambchop placed that call to Shepherd right away and put it on speaker. After giving him a recap of the information learned on the oil platform, Lambchop made his pitch. “Not only do I think we need to get a warrant for all emails regarding status updates from that platform, I think we need to have the FBI check out Wally Dalton. I’m sure he has at least a room in the area they can visit, and I’d like the FBI in Texas to visit his address there. He needs to be interviewed.”
“Anything else?” Shepherd asked. His voice held an edge.
The men exchanged ‘what the fuck’ expressions and gestures. “We’d like the warrant for the emails before we leave, figured we could pop into their office in Anchorage and serve it before we board our flights.”
“This could be a good point to completely hand this case over to the FBI,” Shepherd replied. “Do you see any reason we need to continue to be involved?”
Lambchop took his phone off speaker and brought it to his ear. “Nothing except for the fact that Annaka Sanchez is now Mother’s girl.” He heard a long exhaling of breath come through the phone.
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Mother had a relationship with this woman before we came here. She’s a nice lady. After meeting her in person, I can see why Mother is so attracted to her. I think we should stay involved for several other reasons though. One, the two men who kidnapped her on Christmas Eve are still unidentified. Two, we now have a third unknown man with the Texas twang. And three, with this new information that the managers on the platform knew the oil leak wasn’t fixed yet, but it somehow got reported it was, that screams conspiracy. This was not an innocent error. And given that platforms are federally regulated, it makes it a federal case.”
“A federal case but not necessarily a Shepherd Security case,” Shepherd said. “Your team is scheduled to go out on the next DEA Partner mission on the seventh of January.”
“And I’m not saying we shouldn’t. I just think we should keep an eye on everything going on up here, look over the FBI’s shoulder to see if we see anything different, another set of eyes.”
“Is that going to be good enough for Mother?” Shepherd asked.
“As long as he’s assured that if anything else develops, we’ll be back up, I think it will be.”
“Does she know who we are?” Shepherd asked.
“Just a multi-agency federal task force. I’m sure she hasn’t heard your name.”
“I’m not sure if we can get a warrant that quick, but if we can, you can execute it. If not, the FBI will. Tell Mother I want him to check in with me at least once a day until he comes back on the second.”
“Will do,” Lambchop guaranteed him. “Thanks, Shep.”
After Lambchop disconnected the call, his eyes swept over his teammates. “We’ll continue to get updates from the FBI, but it will be their case now. If the warrant is issued in time for us to execute it, we will, otherwise, it will be the FBI’s baby.”
“We have the connection. We interviewed Shane Robertson at Carstairs,” BT argued.
“Yes, and if we can’t execute the warrant, the FBI will and then they will share all information obtained with Shepherd. It’s what’s in the emails that is important, not who serves them with the warrant. I’d sure like to be in on the interview of Wally Dalton though,” Lambchop said.
“Can we even be sure that Dalton didn’t leave the rig that night? Or anyone else on it, for that matter? I took a good look at every man I saw on that rig. No one matched the pictures that got drawn based on Annaka’s description of her two assailants,” Sherman said.
BT and Lambchop had looked closely at every man they saw, too. “I think the next step is for someone to snap pictures of every man getting on or off that rig. If we can’t get access to Carstairs employee ID pictures, the FBI takes their own. I’ll suggest that to Shepherd when I talk to him next,” Lambchop said.
Sherman laughed aloud. “He already sounded pretty damned ticked by your suggestions. Going to push it further?”
Lambchop chuckled. “As you said, he’s already ticked. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“With the rotation schedule, it will take four weeks to get all those pics,” BT said. “It sure would be easier if our digital unit just took a little fieldtrip through Carstairs employee records.”
“That’s a nice little alternative to the FBI wasting four weeks,” Sherman said.
Lambchop remained quiet. He shifted the car to drive and pulled out of the parking lot, pointing the car towards the Anchor Point research facility.
By the time Annaka, Remi, and Mother returned to the research building, it was nearly lunchtime. The other men had just returned as well. Remi, Annaka, and Peter would start the testing of the water samples while Lambchop and BT went to pick up lunch from the diner. They started with the six samples taken around platform C-Three.
Before they left for the diner, Lambchop brought Mother, Annaka, and Remi up to date on their trip to the platform.
“The platform manager showed us the log indicating that they knew the leak was still not fixed,” Sherman informed them.
“Well, that’s not the information that got relayed up the chain of command,” Remi complained.
“Or got altered once it reached a certain level,” Annaka chimed in.
“We’re on the same page you both are. Something is very wrong,” Sherman admitted. “We know that, will continue to look hard at them, even after we’re gone.”
After, Lambchop and the others filled Mother in on the info they withheld from the researchers. “You were in a boat near the platforms. Is it possible someone could climb down and get into a small boat?”
Mother shook his head and sighed out as he considered it. “I don’t know. There’s a ladder going down the side of each of the three legs the platform sits on, so it’s possible. And the waves were only at two to three feet, but that’s a hell of a climb down and back up again. You realize how high the thing sits off the water when you're underneath it.”
“But not impossible?” Lambchop asked.
“No, not impossible. Any of us could do it easily. Annaka? Prob
ably not.”
Lambchop chuckled. “I won’t tell her you said that.” Then he and BT departed to get their meals.
The results from the water tests on the samples near platform C-Three showed there was still a leak, but not as bad as it had been. The pollutant levels were half of what they were the week before.
“So, something they are doing to mitigate the leak is working,” Mother said.
“It often takes several solutions to stop a slow leak,” Remi said.
“And let’s face it, that’s money leaking away. They want to fix it,” Peter chimed in.