Read Online Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) by T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese - Free Book Online
Authors: T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese
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would have been only slightly taller than herself, had she not been elevated some two inches by what seemed like black combat boots, shined to a mirror polish.
Between the orange jump suit, the huge dark green sunglasses, the bright red scarf around her neck, and the yellow helmet, there was little of an actual woman to see. And now Sandy had donned plastic work gloves the same color as the jump suit.
Nina might have been listening to an erector set.
“Come this way! Let’s get you inside!”
The prefabricated being in front of her turned abruptly, waving as she did so, and strode off over a tangled mass of multicolored cables, finally disappearing for an instant into the two-foot wide opening that separated the outer rail of the Aquatica from a gleaming blue-metal building to their left.
They made their way along, gamely, going single file now.
“Down here!”
They could see the pumping, downward motion of an arm, ten feet in front of them.
This, Nina would later recall thinking, is the most orange place I’ve ever seen. It’s like a huge University of Texas Homecoming Oil Rig.
She bent her head again, and now was on a narrow stairwell heading down into what was darkness for three steps, and then became lighter.
“Through here. We’ve set up a meeting room for you and Hector!”
“Fine.”
Sandy left and the two of them followed.
They climbed the stairs, turned right down one corridor, went up another short flight of stairs and were on deck.
The churning of huge compressors rocked the air around them. Beyond the rail and trailing down to the left were huge brown octopus arms, each one a tube at least five feet in diameter.
Nina remembered the figures she had been quoted: ten billion cubic meters of natural gas; eighty million barrels of oil.
Per day.
The immensity of the thing.
“What about that cable—the silver one? It looks different.”
Sandy nodded:
“It is different. It doesn’t carry oil or gas. It connects to an electric generator on the mainland. We get our electricity through it.”
They squeezed through another opening. Pipes and valves surrounded them and orange-clad figures scurried everywhere, taking readings, checking gauges. While beyond the rails, and fifty feet down, the giant tentacles spread out from the ship and disappeared in the green blue immensity of gulf waters.
“You see, Aquatica prides itself on being a very green pumping mechanism. Most stations burn some of the oil they pump out of the fields down below in order to create their own electricity. That’s all right but it spews hydro-carbons into the atmosphere. That’s where we get global warming. We’re trying to fight against that. Oh, here, turn right and go up that ramp.”
They did so.
“Now—that door in front of you, lift that handle and push.”
Nina was the first in line and so she did so.
A stateroom lay before her, perhaps thirty feet square, darkened by green curtains and viewed impassively by mural paintings of ocean scenes.
In the middle of the room stood a central oak table, upon which a coffee service had been set.
“We know you might not be too hungry, given the job you’ve been asked to do. But the pastry chef made croissants and scones. We’ve also have coffee and tea. If you want to sit down and just have something to keep you going…”
And, as they seated themselves, had coffee poured for them, and watched the pure butter melt in pastries that would have done Bagatelli’s proud, she struggled to make sense of the reality that surrounded her, as opposed to the presuppositions she had brought out to Aquatica.
Horribly cramped quarters, sweating shirtless men, depth charges….
World War I submarine movies.
How stupid your are, Nina!
And there was also a stereotype in her mind of the ruthless oil barons who must have created these rigs in order to plunder the environment and ruin the world’s supply of fish and wildlife.
That was not what she was seeing.
She was seeing
Between the orange jump suit, the huge dark green sunglasses, the bright red scarf around her neck, and the yellow helmet, there was little of an actual woman to see. And now Sandy had donned plastic work gloves the same color as the jump suit.
Nina might have been listening to an erector set.
“Come this way! Let’s get you inside!”
The prefabricated being in front of her turned abruptly, waving as she did so, and strode off over a tangled mass of multicolored cables, finally disappearing for an instant into the two-foot wide opening that separated the outer rail of the Aquatica from a gleaming blue-metal building to their left.
They made their way along, gamely, going single file now.
“Down here!”
They could see the pumping, downward motion of an arm, ten feet in front of them.
This, Nina would later recall thinking, is the most orange place I’ve ever seen. It’s like a huge University of Texas Homecoming Oil Rig.
She bent her head again, and now was on a narrow stairwell heading down into what was darkness for three steps, and then became lighter.
“Through here. We’ve set up a meeting room for you and Hector!”
“Fine.”
Sandy left and the two of them followed.
They climbed the stairs, turned right down one corridor, went up another short flight of stairs and were on deck.
The churning of huge compressors rocked the air around them. Beyond the rail and trailing down to the left were huge brown octopus arms, each one a tube at least five feet in diameter.
Nina remembered the figures she had been quoted: ten billion cubic meters of natural gas; eighty million barrels of oil.
Per day.
The immensity of the thing.
“What about that cable—the silver one? It looks different.”
Sandy nodded:
“It is different. It doesn’t carry oil or gas. It connects to an electric generator on the mainland. We get our electricity through it.”
They squeezed through another opening. Pipes and valves surrounded them and orange-clad figures scurried everywhere, taking readings, checking gauges. While beyond the rails, and fifty feet down, the giant tentacles spread out from the ship and disappeared in the green blue immensity of gulf waters.
“You see, Aquatica prides itself on being a very green pumping mechanism. Most stations burn some of the oil they pump out of the fields down below in order to create their own electricity. That’s all right but it spews hydro-carbons into the atmosphere. That’s where we get global warming. We’re trying to fight against that. Oh, here, turn right and go up that ramp.”
They did so.
“Now—that door in front of you, lift that handle and push.”
Nina was the first in line and so she did so.
A stateroom lay before her, perhaps thirty feet square, darkened by green curtains and viewed impassively by mural paintings of ocean scenes.
In the middle of the room stood a central oak table, upon which a coffee service had been set.
“We know you might not be too hungry, given the job you’ve been asked to do. But the pastry chef made croissants and scones. We’ve also have coffee and tea. If you want to sit down and just have something to keep you going…”
And, as they seated themselves, had coffee poured for them, and watched the pure butter melt in pastries that would have done Bagatelli’s proud, she struggled to make sense of the reality that surrounded her, as opposed to the presuppositions she had brought out to Aquatica.
Horribly cramped quarters, sweating shirtless men, depth charges….
World War I submarine movies.
How stupid your are, Nina!
And there was also a stereotype in her mind of the ruthless oil barons who must have created these rigs in order to plunder the environment and ruin the world’s supply of fish and wildlife.
That was not what she was seeing.
She was seeing
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