The Alex Cave Series. Books 1, 2, & 3.: Box set

by James M. Corkill

  “Where are you from?” Christa asked.

  “I have a small ranch just outside of Bozeman, Montana.”

  “And you work for the government?”

  Alex smiled. “Sometimes. I’m more of a consultant, now. I spend most of my time teaching at the university.”

  “Oh? What do you teach?”

  “Geology and geophysics.”

  The server arrived and they ordered, Alex a bourbon and water, Christa a vodka tonic with a twist of lime.

  Christa’s curiosity was driving her mad. She felt strangely attracted to Alex, and wondered why. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but decent looking. When he walked, it was with an easy stride, as though unconsciously knowing where each step would land. He seemed so self-confident. Not in an egotistical way, she thought, but more like he knew who he was and what he wanted, and was at peace with himself. She couldn’t restrain herself any longer. “Are you married?” she blurted. She saw a trace of anguish as he looked away. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling foolish for being so blunt. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Alex looked back, saw her embarrassment, and smiled. “Don’t be. It’s just a sore spot, is all.”

  Alex sighed. He had put that part of the past out of his mind for a long time, and the question suddenly brought back a flood of painful memories. He looked over at Christa, who was staring at her folded hands on the table. He hadn’t spoken about his past to many people, but something about Christa’s apparent bold and affable personality appealed to him, and he felt he could confide in her.

  “I was married,” he began. “She was killed three years ago.”

  Christa looked up, saw his painful smile, and felt a strange urge to share his pain. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “What happened?”

  “I met Sevi when I was an agent in Holland, and, after a whirlwind courtship we were married.”

  Christa saw him smile at the thought, and wondered what Sevi had looked like. “Agent, like in CIA?”

  Alex’s smile suddenly turned to a look of hatred as he nodded. “I’d made a few enemies over the years, and they decided to get even. They planted a bomb in our apartment. One with a timer activated when the door was opened. I was five blocks away when I heard the explosion, but wasn’t sure what it was from. When I arrived at our block, I saw the windows blown out of the apartment. The police and fire departments had already arrived, and the ambulance crew was bringing a body out on a stretcher. I had a sinking feeling deep in my stomach, even before I pulled back the blanket. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My mind just went blank. I don’t remember everything that happened over the next few days. I guess I went crazy for a while and went after the men responsible. The CIA finally tracked me down and pulled me out of Russia, but I’d somehow managed to kill the three men who did it.”

  “Is that how you got those scars?” Christa asked.

  Alex looked at her and nodded, then smiled and touched the scar on his nose. “Didn’t help my appearance much, did it?”

  Christa smiled. “So, then what happened?”

  “I came back to the states, went back to college, and managed to get a job at the university in Bozeman.” Alex felt a little foolish and changed the subject. “Enough of my rambling on. Tell me about yourself.”

  “Oh, not much to tell, really. Born and raised in Salem, Oregon. After college, I was hired by All Alaska. Pretty boring, huh?”

  Alex smiled. “Never married?”

  Christa grinned shyly and shook her head. “Just never met the right man, I guess. I’ve had a few boyfriends, but just couldn’t seem to get into any long term relationships.”

  Alex stifled a yawn and Christa noticed. “Listen,” she said. “I imagine you’ve had a long day, with the flight and all. I’d better let you get some sleep.”

  Alex smiled and nodded. “It’s been a long couple of days, matter of fact.” He reached for his wallet.

  “Oh, no,” Christa told him as she reached into her coat pocket. “I said I’d buy you a drink. Women’s lib and all.” Christa set a few bills on the table and stood.

  Alex stood, too. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

  Christa smiled and had to restrain herself from reaching up and hugging him. She extended her hand instead. “You bet.” When Alex took her hand, she could swear she felt a mild tingling sensation from his touch.

  Alex felt a strong desire to hold her. Perhaps it was because he had just shared something very personal with her. Christa turned, and he watched her leave the cocktail lounge. Was it more than sharing his past with her? he wondered. He hoped not. He’d gotten involved once, and had caused her death. He slowly shook his head. “Damn! Don’t do it again, Alex,” he said softly as a picture of Sevi lying on the stretcher flashed through his mind as he walked down the hall. Never again, he swore.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  AMERICRUDE/WEST GULF OIL REFINERY. MARCH POINT, WASHINGTON:

  54 year old Bob Henley laid his cards down on the table in the refinery’s control center. “Gin,” he said with a grin through his gray beard. “That’s twenty bucks you owe me now, Tony,” he added and chuckled.

  The night watchman threw his cards on the table. “I’ve had enough!” he snarled.

  “Come on now, Tony. It beats wandering around the storage tanks out in the cold, doesn’t it?”

  “Not when you’re on a lucky streak,” Tony Mancuso said and stood. Though he was two years younger than Henry, he was completely bald, his brown eyes dull and slightly bloodshot. He pulled a stocking cap over his head. “I’m going for a drive. Be back in an hour.”

  Mancuso left the control center and stepped into the cold night fog. He walked down the steps to his pickup truck, started the engine, and turned on the wipers to remove the dew, which had accumulated over the past six hours. For twenty-two years, he had driven through the sprawling spaghetti farm of oil pipelines at the refinery, conscientious and devoted for the first ten, now bored with the whole routine. Since nothing ever happened anyway, he spent most of his watch in the control center with whoever had the graveyard shift.

  Mancuso shifted into drive and followed the winding road down to the tank farm. The massive metal holding tanks were bathed in bright lights, which illuminated the swirls and eddy of the fog.

  Mancuso stopped near tank number thirty-four and climbed out of the truck. He walked a few paces to the large pipes welded to the bottom of the crude oil storage tank and grabbed the whisky bottle hidden behind them. As he tilted his head back and took a long drink, he thought his imagination was playing tricks on him. He thought he saw colored lights dancing on the outside of the tanks. Some of the whisky dribbled down his cheek, so he brought the bottle down to wipe it away with his hand. When he looked up again, sparkling rainbows of light were all around him. He could feel their heat against his skin, like tiny warm pinpricks. Mancuso stared in rapt fascination for several moments until the rainbows ceased and bright light suddenly blinded him.

  The whiskey bottle fell from his grip and shattered on the ground. A moment later, Mancuso collapsed on top of it, dead.

  In the control station, Henley suddenly heard alarm horns screaming in the night. Flashing red lights dotted the control panel, and a smaller alarm horn was screaming in the room. He leapt out of the chair and studied the control panel. All the pumps were cavitating, and there was no pressure in the lines.

  The telephone began ringing as workers throughout the refinery called in to find out what was happening. Henley let them ring while he continued to shut down the plant. One by one the lights on the panel returned to green, and with the final throw of a switch, the irritating horn became silent.

  Henley began answering the phones and giving instructions. “Get someone down to the tank farm and check the levels in the crude oil tanks! We’ve lost pressure, so make sure the cooker is off!” he screamed into the phone and slammed it down. “I don’t know what happened!” he roared at someone on the thi
rd line. The phone kept ringing, and Henley kept yelling instructions.

  “Yeah,” he said curtly, his face a mask of anger as he grabbed another phone. Henley’s expression turned to one of stunned disbelief. “Are you positive? All right. Check the levels in the other tanks and call me back.”

  Henley hung up and shook his head in wonder as he stared at the control panel. “The tanks are empty,” he mumbled. “They’re all empty!”

  *

  VALDEZ, ALASKA:

  At 5:00 AM the cellphone rang and Bull fumbled on the nightstand for it. “Yeah?” he answered groggily and listened to the caller. “Okay, Herb, be there in a few minutes,” he replied and hung up. He turned to look at his wife, who was snoring softly. He rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on his face, he dressed and grabbed his heavy orange parka, pulling it on as he walked out the door. The sting of frigid air on his face helped him gather his senses as he walked in the morning light toward the office. Bright light escaped through the windows in the entrance, and Bull could see someone moving around inside. When he walked through the doorway, Herb turned to greet him, a deep apprehension etched on his face.

  Herb handed Bull three sheets of paper. “This is a copy of the report from the refinery at March Point.”

  Bull read the report and stared at Herb. “Has this been verified?”

  Herb nodded somberly. “I just got off the phone. After the alarms went off, they sent a man into the tanks and he said the only thing in them was a little water.”

  “Shit!” Bull mumbled. “That’s over ten million barrels.”

  Herb nodded. “They said there’s no oil in the harbor, and the retaining areas around the tanks haven’t been contaminated.”

  “What about the night watchman. Have they questioned him yet?”

  “They found him, but he was dead.”

  Bull walked to the desk and sat down. “This whole damn thing is getting ridiculous. I’m calling the company president to recommend we suspend transporting any more crude on the west coast until we find out what’s going on.”

  Herb listened to Bull argue for several minutes with the man on the other end of the phone. He was shocked to hear Bull use such strong language with the president of the company.

  Bull slammed the receiver down. “Damn! That asshole has no idea what’s at stake here. He’s going to keep loading tankers from the Kenai Peninsula oil wells and the offshore rig at Cook Inlet. He wants us back on line as soon as possible.”

  “Maybe Mr. Cave can get Washington, DC, to intervene?” Herb asked.

  “I’ll ask him, but I doubt it. What’s the weather report, Herb?”

  “The storm’s moving east. We should be able to get to the pumping station in a couple of hours. You won’t have much time, though. Another storm is supposed to be coming in.”

  Bull nodded. “I’d better wake Alex and Christa. Have you eaten yet?” Herb shook his head. “We’ll meet them for breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I have a feeling it’s going to be a hectic day.”

  In the restaurant, Bull explained what happened at the refinery. “Listen, Alex. I was wondering if you might be able to have Washington order the company to stop transporting until we find out what’s happening to the oil.”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll try, but let’s check out the pumping station first. Maybe it will give us more ammunition.”

  Bull nodded agreement. “I’ll round up a pilot. We have a small plane at the airport, and there’s a big landing area near the station.”

  “I’m a pilot,” Alex informed him. “Mind if I fly us in?”

  Bull shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said, and stood from the table.

  “I’d like to go, too,” Christa told them, and Bull gave a nod of approval.

  “I’ll monitor the radio from the office,” Herb told them.

  Bull nodded assent, and they left the restaurant.

  Alex and Bull shoved the airplane out of the metal hangar at the airport. The single engine craft was equipped with huge skis, which could be locked down over the tires for landing on snow. Alex climbed into the pilot seat and began his preflight check, while Bull helped Christa into the rear seat before climbing in front next to Alex. Fifteen minutes later, they were airborne, headed north up the southern slopes of the Alaskan Mountain range.

  Blue skies and sunshine enhanced the spectacular view of the desolate, snow-covered mountains as they followed the route of the pipeline. Small areas of the huge pipe were exposed occasionally, but most of it was either underground or covered with snow. As they neared the summit, Bull pointed to a pass in the mountain range, and a large, snow covered meadow just below it. As they circled the meadow to assess their landing area, Bull suddenly leaned forward in his seat and stared out the side window.

  “Shit!” he moaned softly and turned to look at Alex. “There’s a section of the pipeline missing! Take us around again.”

  Alex did as instructed, and Bull pointed out the window. “See that shadowed area? That’s the entrance to the underground pumping station. There is supposed to be fifty-feet of pipe coming out of the building before it drops underground, but it’s not there.”

  “Maybe it’s buried under the snow?” Christa offered.

  Bull shook his head. “Not possible. That section of pipe was twenty-feet above the ground. It’s gone, I tell you! Take us down, Alex, and we’ll take a closer look.”

  Alex brought the plane down in a smooth landing, and taxied to the northern edge of the meadow before shutting down the engine. About a hundred-feet directly ahead was a large shadowed arch rising above the snow; the entrance to the underground facility.

  “The snow shoes are in the rear compartment,” Bull told them. “Stay on the plane’s skis until you put them on or you’ll sink to your waist in the snow.” Alex and Christa did as instructed. “We’d better find the crew first,” Bull told them, “then we’ll take a look at what happened to the pipeline.”

  Bull led them to the covered entrance, where a flat cement wall separated the chamber from the interior of the facility. White light illuminated the windows built into large double doors in the center of the wall.

  “At least the generator is still working,” Bull said, as they removed their snowshoes and leaned them against the wall. “It runs off a natural gas fired turbine.” Bull led them through one side of the doors, and they felt the warmth of the interior walkway, which ran to their left and right.

  “Anybody here?” Bull yelled down the concrete tunnel as he removed his gloves and unzipped his parka. No one answered, so he waved a hand to the right. “Down there are the pumps and the generator.” He turned left. “Let’s check out the living quarters.”

  The first room they entered was the dining and recreation area, with cooking equipment along one wall. Several plates of partially eaten food sat on the table in the center and the air had an acrid, burnt smell. Bull immediately spotted the large pot on the stove and grabbed a dishtowel to slide the pot into the sink. Steam hissed and billowed from inside as he turned on the water to fill the pot.

  “Shit,” Bull moaned softly. “This doesn’t look good.” He walked across the room to another opening in the concrete wall. “There are six bedrooms down this corridor, three on each side, and a bathroom at the end. Let’s check them out.”

  Bull opened the door to the first room on the right and looked into the bedroom, while Christa and Alex looked into the open doorway of the room across from it. The furnishings consisted of two beds, one on either side of a single desk in the center of the wall directly ahead. Both rooms were unoccupied, as were the rest of the bedrooms and the bathroom.

  “Come on,” Bull told them. “Let’s check out the rest of this place.”

  They walked back down the main tunnel, past the entrance door, and past another door directly across from it. “What’s in here?” Christa asked.

  “Just a storage room,” Bull told her before entering the pumping facility. The muffled wh
ine of the gas turbine-driven generator filled the massive room. In the center of the room two gigantic pumps rose above the floor. On either end of the room, the forty-eight-inch pipeline entered through the wall into the pumps, and exited through the opposite wall. The pumps were motionless and quiet, and the large control panel appeared dead.

  “Where the hell are the engineers?” Bull mumbled. “Come on, let’s go back to the living quarters and call Herb.”

  Bull led the way back through the tunnel. Out of curiosity, Christa opened the small door to the storage room across from the main entrance to see what was inside. She flipped on the switch and gasped in surprise. “In here!” she shouted, and rushed through the opening.

  Alex and Bull ran back and stepped inside. Christa was kneeling next to a man huddled against a stack of cardboard boxes. The man was shaking uncontrollably; his face was a mask of terror, and his eyes stared straight ahead as if no one else was in the room with him. The room was frigid, and the man was wearing only jeans and a tee shirt.

  “Let’s get him into the living quarters,” Bull told them and knelt next to the man. He cradled him in his arms and stood as if the man was as light as a feather. Bull carried him into the first bedroom and laid him on the bed. Christa stripped two blankets off the other bed and spread them over the man, who continued to shake uncontrollably, his eyes wide with fear and still staring into space.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” Christa told Bull. She turned to leave the room and noticed Alex wasn’t with them. When she entered the kitchen, she still didn’t see Alex. Setting her curiosity aside for the moment, she dug through the cupboards until she found the coffee and filters.

  Alex remained in the storage room, staring at the stacks of cardboard boxes lining three walls, directly ahead and to both sides of the doorway. Something bothered him about the way they were stacked. He stepped forward, grabbed the top box in the center, and pulled it down. There was a wide gap between the stack and the back wall, so he set the box to the side and dragged the next box down from between the others and set it on the floor, then bent over the bottom box. Behind the stack, two faces stared up at him through open, sightless eyes. They lay head to head on their backs, and below them were two more bodies.