Riley's second call was to Cole, back in Austin. Once again he explained the situation. "So I don't know anything about fires, I agree. I'm going to learn real fast. Go on, you shithead, tell me you're worried about me. Look, you're going to have to use the helicopter and fly Coots and his crew here, providing he agrees to help out. I think he will. Make arrangements to transport the control rigs, the D-7 Cats, the bulldozers, and all the heavy metal rigging. Coots will tell you how many heavy-duty trucks and Jeeps he needs. He'll have a list as long as his arm. Get him whatever he wants."
Cole's voice was anxious when he spoke. "You're crazy, Riley. Look, you got the money; let Coots and people who know what they're doing handle it. How in the hell am I going to explain this to Grandmam Billie?"
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"You tell it to her like it is. You think I'm going to let my grandfather down now? Now, are you going to do what I asked or not?"
"Hell yes, but I'm entitled to protest on general principle. I'll see you in a few hours."
"Thanks, Cole."
Coots's arm swept across the crooked rolltop desk. Papers that were dry, brittle, and coated with stale barn dust sailed in every direction. He didn't need to see the bills and threatening notices to know what the numbers were. The ledgers that held more mildew than entries followed the papers. He had those entries engraved on his brain, too.
This little cubbyhole of an office had originally been the tack room in the barn. When Tess was on her decorator fit, she'd moved him out here, and he'd stayed because it was a place to get away from her nagging tongue. It had proved to be the perfect sanctuary not only for himself, but for Ivy as well.
The other oilmen, his cronies, all had offices in their houses, but then, he wasn't the businessman they were. He'd never had a head for numbers and paperwork. All he needed to know he kept in his head, rounded off to whole numbers. Right now his head told him he had all debits and no credits.
How could he have known, how could any of them have known, that oil would drop to single digits per barrel? He'd been caught with his pants down, like everyone else. Now he wished he had listened to Riley Coleman when he told him to hedge his oil production on the commodities exchange and not to close off his strippers. It had gone against his grain to listen to the young man with his fancy college education. But it hadn't gone against his grain to borrow a million and a half dollars from that same college kid.
He'd worked like a dog and busted his ass all these years, and here he was about to be wiped out. He'd be damn lucky if he could hold on to Buckalew Big Wells. What he needed was a goddamn miracle, and they weren't happening in Texas these days.
Goddamn fucking OPEC, The bastards had flooded the market with cheap oil in their efforts to increase the market share. Did they care that he, like the others, could lose everything? Not likely.
Coots's rough, callused hands raked his hair. He could feel the trembling begin in his shoulders and work through his
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entire body. Right now he felt lower than a snake's belly. As much as he dreaded it, he was going to have to tell Tess her jewelry and furs would have to go. Anything else they could sell, too. All the silver and crystal. Two of the cars. He'd already cashed in his insurance policies and dropped the premiums on Tess's jewelry and furs. She'd screech for days when she found out. He'd been putting off telling her, but he couldn't postpone the moment any longer.
He wondered, and not for the first time, what his life would have been like if he'd married a different kind of woman, one who worked with him instead of against him. A woman he could talk to, like now, so they could work out their difficulties together. One who would offer to sell her jewels and furs. Someone who would pat his shoulder and tell him things would be all right. Or was that the boy in him wanting his mother to make things right? Whatever it was, he needed it and he didn't have it.
A man needed comfort, and he shouldn't have to beg for it. He'd provided, and provided handsomely, all these years. Now, when the bottom was staring up at him, what did he have? Not a goddamn thing. Not even a family.
Coots's eyes went to the cheap little picture frame with a shot of himself and Ivy near one of the derricks. She'd bought the frame and put the picture in herself and had given it to him one year for Christmas. It was one of his few prized possessions.
Ivy used to come out here and hide, and he'd never given her away. He'd sit at the desk and watch her cower in the corner when her mother and sister ganged up on her. Her sanctuary, too. Misfits, the pair of them. Ivy would be all right. He was glad about that. Ivy would make it, and he had to believe it was because of the way he encouraged her—out here in their quiet place. He'd told her she could do whatever she set her mind to do. That had to go for him, too. You do what you have to do. And right now he was going to march into the house and lay it out for Tess. If she balked, if she gave him one second of grief, he'd pack his bags and leave.
Coots pushed the swivel chair back from the desk and got heavily to his feet. He squared his shoulders, something he hadn't done for months now. On the walk back to the house, his thoughts raced. He wondered how much he could cram into his poke. A couple of changes of clothes, his straight razor, some hard soap, an extra pair of boots, and a few dollars cash.
'Tess!" he bellowed.
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"You sound like a bull," Tess complained. "Get in the house; you have a telephone call."
"What were you going to do, tell them to call back?" Coots grumbled.
"You told me never to set foot in your... office. I yelled, but you didn't answer."
Coots picked up the phone and listened to the crackly voice on the other end of the wire. Tess's jaw dropped when she saw her husband stand a little straighter. It snapped shut when she saw the excitement in his face. She almost fainted when she heard him say he could be ready to leave with his crew in a matter of hours.
Coots stomped his way back to the barn, rummaged for a loose-leaf notebook that held phone numbers, and returned to the house to make his calls. Tess trembled with fear when she heard him talking to his men. If there was one thing Tess was mortally afraid of, it was fire.
Tess stood teetering on her high heels waiting for her husband to make his last call. "Why, why are you going? Who was that on the phone? Coots, y'all answer me right now, this second!"
"I'm going to put out a fire, and when I'm done putting out that fire, I won't be coming back here. If you have a need to reach me, I'll be staying with Joe Wilson. You can get the phone number out of the book. Give the number to the girls if they want to call me. They called me! Not Red Adair. Me! Jesus, they called me! I knew that kid was smart. I was the dumb one," he added generously.
"What kid? Who are you talking about, Coots?"
"Riley Coleman, that's who. Cole Tanner is flying me and my old crew in the Coleman helicopter out to Rudy Granger's fields to put out his poison well. What do you think of that, you miserable excuse for a woman?" Coots bellowed unnecessarily loud to make his point.
Tess had never heard such excitement in her husband's voice. Not even on the day they got married. "Riley Coleman called you!" she cried in shocked surprise.
"I told you your hearing was going. Yeah, Riley Coleman," Coots snapped.
Tess trailed after Coots as he packed his gear and shaving kit. His steps as he moved from place to place were light, like those of a man with a purpose. "Y'all aren't really moving in with Joe Wilson, are you, Coots honey?"
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Coots looked straight at his wife. "I said I wouldn't be coming back to Buckalew Big Wells. You wanted it, it's yours. See you around, Tess."
Riley waited impatiently on the makeshift helicopter pad for Cole and the cargo trucks to arrive.
Coots cast a professional eye to the blazing well. "Move those flags back two feet," he barked. He continued to shout orders. When he was satisfied things were temporarily under control, he stomped his way over to Riley. Riley's hand shot out quicker than lighting. Coots reached for it,
his eyes level with Riley's.
"I was a little worried you might not want to take this on." Riley had to shout to be heard over the roaring well.
"No time to jaw around now." Coots said gruffly. "You giving me full rein, right?"
"Tell us what you want and we'll do it."
"For starters, everyone wears a red suit and helmet. Only the red suits give instructions. Anyone know what started this hairy beast?" Coots asked. He shrugged into the slick red coverall.
Riley shouted again. "A wild well they managed to cap, a spark, who the hell knows? Granger is an old man, and he isn't up on the latest safety measures. It's been burning for three days, four wells right in a row. If they go, the whole field goes, and we're all done for."
"You got that right," Coots bellowed. "Will you believe me if I tell you you're in good hands? I forgot more than Red Adair ever knew."
"It's all yours, Coots."
Coots took off on a run to where his men waited for their orders. Cole hung back, his eyes fearful.
"Jesus, Riley, you aren't going in there and... You won't ... You can get killed! You don't know a goddamn thing about fighting a fire. Let the pros handle this."
"I can't ask someone to do something I'm afraid to do myself. What would that make me? I plan to live here, Cole. I'm going to have to deal with men like Granger and Coots for the rest of my life. Where did you get the idea I was a coward?"
"I didn't say you were a coward, I said you don't know anything about putting out fires. You screw up, do one little thing wrong, and bam! That's the end of Riley Coleman." Cole tried for a light tone but didn't succeed. "I'm not plan-
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ning on sticking around to run Coleman business. I can't put it any blunter."
Riley shrugged, his eyes following Coots as he leapfrogged around the fire site. "You better get out of here unless you're planning on helping."
Cole looked at his cousin. He was so scared he could only nod. "Someone has to watch over you. Where's my red suit?"
Riley laughed. "Over there in that yellow truck. One size fits all." He clapped his cousin on the back. "Glad you're here, Tanner."
The Texas oil fire was carried on the evening news. The late-night news went nationwide. By early morning all three major networks had their camera crews well behind the safety lines for live on-the-hour coverage. By noon reporters from every major newspaper had joined the camera crews. A midaf-ternoon update found one of the newsmen trying to corner Coots as he zigzagged in and out of the safety flag boundaries. Coots's arm swept out, knocking the man's camera off his shoulder. "I got no time for interviews," he bellowed. "Get the hell out of here. Get this guy out of here!" he continued to bellow. Two burly-looking men lifted the newsman and dumped him unceremoniously next to his camera truck.
"You stay put, you hear! You cross that line one more time and your ass is grass, mister!"
"Man down! Man down!" Frantically Riley looked around. A steady stream of red suits was running through the barrier of flags. Riley joined them.
"Who is it?" He shouted to be heard over the roaring flames.
"Cole," Coots shouted back. "He got his leg stuck between two lead pipes. You got any ideas about spitting on this fire, start puckering up; the water line just busted. Get back, Coleman; we don't need another casualty."
Riley elbowed him out of the way. "That's Cole out there." Riley ran then, crouching low to slide under the roped-off flag area. The intense heat drove him backward, but the thought of Cole pinned down so close to the burning well spurred him on. He felt his eyebrows melt away, as well as his lashes.
"Second-degree burns at best," one of the fire fighters muttered out of the corner of his mouth. It was impossible to hear what the man was saying, so Riley watched his lips. His
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lips pulled back into a snarl of frustration. "Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?"
"Asshole," Cole managed between clenched teeth. "You sent me out here to fix the busted water pipe. Just get me out of here, okay?"
"Not so easy. Those pipes are red-hot. We've had to move the flags back; and that means we aren't controlling the fire. Everything that could go wrong is going wrong. Sit tight; a medic is coming along with one of the rigs. Damn good thing you're wearing that asbestos suit."
The look of anguish in Riley's eyes made Cole rally. "You know us Colemans; we lead charmed lives."
The heat was so intense, Cole felt as though he would black out any second.
Riley reached down and patted him with his thick gloves. "The rig is getting ready to pull off the pipes. Coots is having a bird."
Moments later Cole was carried off on a stretcher. A doctor from town cleaned his legs, dressed the burns, and ordered an ambulance to take Cole to the hospital.
"No way!" Cole shouted. "Give me something for the pain —a shot, novocaine, nothing to make me sleep." An argument followed. Coots and Riley drew the doctor aside. Seconds later the doctor jabbed Cole with a needle and handed over three red pills. His face was grim, his eyes worried. He snapped his bag shut. "You belong in the hospital, and I refuse to take responsibility," he said.
Cole was up and hobbling over to Riley and Coots. "What is it?" he demanded. Coots couldn't look him in the eye, and Riley had to swallow twice before he could get the words out. "Somebody has to fly some nitroglycerine in here."
Cole broke into his third sweat in as many minutes. He tried to remember what he knew about nitro, and all he could come up with was, an oily substance used in the manufacture of explosives and sometimes used for heart patients. Deadly if mishandled. His eyes went to the burning well, the orange flames and black smoke shooting upward. Even back this far, the heat was intense. The flags had been moved for the third time. The fire was out of control.
"It's raining," Riley said inanely. He looked upward as a vicious roar of thunder rolled overhead. A jagged streak of lighting raced downward.
"There goes the control head!" Coots bellowed. "Shit! Son
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of a bitch! Everybody move it. You two stay here!" It was an order that Cole and Riley both obeyed. They stood on the sidelines watching the men inch forward, only to be driven back by the intense heat.
'This looks like a lost cause," Cole grumbled.
"Without the nitro, it is. It's the only thing left. They only use it as a last resort. Not much time. That well could go in the next six hours."
"Did Coots make the arrangements?" Cole asked in a hollow voice.
"Yeah, he did. We both figured .. . What I mean is .. ."
"What you mean is, if you were in my shoes, you'd do it. Right?" Riley nodded miserably.
"Let's get it together, then, before this stuff wears off." His voice was still hollow-sounding as he limped behind Riley to the trailer.
Reporters swarmed after them, holding out microphones for a quote or even a few cusswords that would be deleted on the evening news. Riley stiff-armed them as he beat out a path for Cole. "Later," he shouted.
"You been saying that for the past thirty hours," one reporter snapped.
Inside the trailer Riley poured coffee into two dirty mugs. The cream he added was as hot as the coffee. Everything was hot—the desks, the chairs, the metal door of the trailer. Even the floor felt hot under his boots.
"You in pain?" Riley asked.
Cole shrugged. "I'm not exactly a happy camper, if that's what you mean. I'll make it. Just tell me where I pick this stuff up and what precautions to take."
"Cole, I don't know. Coots said they'd tell you everything you need to know when you set down. You don't land here when you get back, that's for sure. Coots said the best place for you to land was Granger's third drill site. We'll truck it in from there."
Cole swallowed hard. "Guess I better get going. Thanks for the coffee. . . . Riley. . ." They slapped clumsily at each other's shoulders. "Why do I feel I've been in this place before?"
Riley shook his head. He'd give anything at this moment to drown
out the sound of the fire fighters' frantic voices and the raging inferno. He swiped at his face with his grimy suit sleeve.
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"See you in a couple of hours," Cole said softly, so softly Riley had to strain to hear the words.
Cole limped his way to the Coleman helicopter. He'd lied to Riley about the pain. The shot had only taken the edge off it, and now the edge was sharpening, making him gasp for breath. Don't think about anything but what you have to do. You can do it. Pop two more pills and think about the time you won the championship rifle-shooting contest at school. Think about the day Riley crewed for Yale and came in a winner and you were so damn proud of him you shouted till you lost your voice. He forced himself to call up old memories all the way to Galveston, where he was to pick up the nitroglycerine.
Cole listened carefully to the explosives engineer as he strapped the nitro to the seat. "It's all yours, buddy. I'd fly this thing real gentle if I were you. Set this bird down real careful or you won't be here to read about it." His eyes fell to Cole's leg. He hadn't missed the strain and pain in his eyes. "Good luck, fella. You'll get our bill in the mail." It was a feeble joke, and neither man laughed.
Cole adjusted his wraparound sunglasses. He looked down at the wooden box on the seat next to him. Life or death, success or failure. Aloft again, he thought about his family, each member in turn. He refused to think about Sumi; Sumi was his life now. If something went wrong, if he blew this, it would be all over. Cole sweated. His teeth were clenched so hard, he thought his jaw would crack. The pain in his leg was making him gasp for breath. If he didn't think about Sumi, things would be all right. Sumi would be there....
Coots stalked the perimeters of the fire. He'd done everything humanly possible to contain the fire. He knew in his gut that Red Adair couldn't have done any better. They would blow the fire if Cole Tanner was successful in flying the nitro in intact. He didn't envy the young man. He knew experienced flyers who wouldn't touch the stuff for ten grand.
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