Oceans on Fire

Martin Granger

Description

When Nathalie Thompson's cameraman doesn't show at the airport alarm bells start to ring. But, with a TV commission on the table and a job to do, she sets off across the world to make a documentary on ocean energy and its positive effects on climate change.As the camera rolls Nathalie's worst nightmares slowly unfold; accidents happen, drilling rigs sink and marine structures are mysteriously damaged. At the same time a US senator, involved in a controversial new law concerning ownership of the seas, is caught in a sordid sex scandal. With rumours of bribery and corruption at every turn there's more to her film footage than shale fracking and ocean engineering. In her quest to uncover the truth, Nathalie is in for a nasty surprise as she finds herself embroiled in a dangerous world of conspiracy, mayhem and sabotage.

Informations

• Publié par: RedDoor Publishing
• Date de parution: 25 juin 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783017171
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Published by RedDoor www.reddoorpublishing.com
2015 Martin Granger
The right of Martin Granger to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
ISBN 978-1-78301-717-1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover design: Sheer Design and Typesetting
Typesetting: www.typesetter.org.uk
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Also by Martin Granger
MANILA HARBOUR
About the author
One
The ice-biting wind hurled itself into the ship s anemometer. The needle on the bridge flickered, forty-two knots and rising. A man in glistening yellow oilskins leant over the rail and stared at the black waters heaving towards the horizon. The waves must be reaching nearly eight metres. It was a strange sensation, here he was somewhere in the Southern Ocean in a maelstrom and yet he could balance a coffee cup in the palm of his hand without spilling a drop. He stretched out an arm to prove the point. The deck he was standing on was as sound as rock. It was a scene that he must have described a hundred times to the various dignitaries or students who had visited the vessel. What was the line he opened with? Even in the roughest seas this ship can drill through six miles of water and three miles of rock.
It was a great line but, unless he had seen it with his own eyes, he doubted whether he would have believed it. The IOD Revolution was held steady by means of a computer-controlled positioning system. Sam Armstrong s speciality was ocean floor sediment and the Earth s climate; and he just had to know how this thing worked. The ship s engineer was only too pleased to have the opportunity to tell him.
We put a beacon on the sea floor right next to the drilling point. There are a number of hydrophones attached to the ship s hull that pick up the signals. Our computers work out the arrival times and send messages to the ship s twelve bow thrusters to keep us in position.
Sounded simple, yet, when you were standing stock still on what you knew was a ship floating on thrashing Antarctic waters, it still felt crazy. He drank the last of his coffee and was tempted to throw the plastic cup into the waves. It was one of those standing on the top of a cliff moments - an imperative for him to jump off. Sam was a dyed-in-the-wool environmentalist, a geologist dedicated to removing the threat of climate change. He opened the flap of his oilskin s pocket and dropped the cup into it.
A shout came from the deck above him. He looked up and tried to lip-read the words over the noise of the wind. The first officer was waving at him like a traffic cop on speed.
Trouble? he shouted back. It was useless; his question was just wrapped into the air and taken away with the spray. He pointed to his ear and shook his head violently. Then he pointed upwards and mouthed the word up . Why he mouthed it and didn t shout it he couldn t work out. It was just one of those things you did. Maybe if someone couldn t hear, it was done to bring some sort of equality into the conversation. He made his way gingerly across the drenched deck to the nearest stairway. The ribs on the iron steps had been painted so many times they were almost smooth and he had to hang onto the handrail to stop himself from slipping.
The first officer grabbed his hand to help him up the final rung.
You re needed on the bridge. The chief engineer wants to start drilling and the captain needs your advice.
This wasn t the first time Sam had been called in to act as a referee. The International Ocean Drilling Project was over time and over budget. They had set out six weeks ago to drill ten kilometres of core samples from the southern ocean floor. This would tell them about the state of the Earth s climate in the Antarctic region over the last ten million years. Their various government sponsors were impatient for the results but the seas had been high and, even with computerised positioning, it had been difficult to drill. To date, they had only brought up half of the target cores. This had led to tension on the bridge. The captain and the chief engineer were standing like chess players on either side of the chart table.
Come in, Sam, invited the captain without taking his eyes off the chief engineer. Otto here thinks we re in an ideal position to drill.
Otto began to protest. I didn t say ideal, I said
The captain raised his hand. Otto has informed me that the sea conditions are well within the tolerance of the drilling rig, and that we should start drilling the next core. I ve pointed out to Otto that I m responsible for the safety of the crew on this ship and, no matter what the international committee says, I m not going to risk the lives of these men for a few feet of clay. The captain arrested Otto s next interruption with a military stare. Otto closed his mouth without saying a word.
Even , The captain turned to face Sam, even if that clay gives them an argument to keep their jobs at the next election.
Sam was aware of the undertones of this statement. For days now, discussions around the captain s table had centred on the ethics of their task. Some governments were leaning heavily on the scientists to come up with data to show that their economic policy of burning fossil fuels would have little effect on the climate; others wanted figures to prove a case of impending doom.
Captain, I m a scientist and, as a scientist, I want to know the truth. Otto, on the other hand, is an engineer and if he says that it s safe to drill, I believe him.
Otto looked at the captain and shrugged as if to say I told you so .
The captain turned to the bridge s instrument panel and studied the mass of flickering needles and blinking lights. Cold hard rain started to hammer against the windscreen. The pause was just becoming uncomfortable when the captain turned to speak.
Okay, you two, let s get this straight. I will position the ship for drilling and your team will play it by the book. All procedures to be followed with no shortcuts. I want to be informed about any sign of trouble immediately. Then the decision will be down to me. If I say abandon the bore and cut the drill string, you cut it. Is that understood?
Otto was about to say that there wasn t going to be any trouble when Sam took him by the arm and started to guide him out of the bridge.
Absolutely, Captain, he said. We will give you the drilling coordinates and procedures in writing within the hour.
Sam half ushered, half pushed Otto down the stairs to B-deck. From the colour of Otto s neck he could see that he was fuming. This was confirmed when they reached the operation s cabin.
What the fuck do you mean? exploded Otto. Give you the procedures in writing. He knows what the bloody procedures are, and if he doesn t, he should do by now. What a waste of fucking time. As if we haven t got enough to do in this bloody storm.
Calm down, Otto, we ve got our way. He says you can drill, just get on with it. I ll ask one of the university trainees to fill in the forms. I m supposed to be teaching them something, anyway.
I hope they learn fast because I m not waiting any longer. This sea s getting rougher by the minute. We ve already dropped the guide cone onto the sea floor. If we don t get that drill string in soon we really will be in the shit.
The pieces of drill were made up of rigid steel pipes nearly half a metre in diameter. When they were all screwed together to make a six-mile-long drill string, it behaved just like that, a piece of string. It wasn t easy to get such a long drill to bite into hard rock so Otto and his team had come up with a way of making it stick. Ten minutes later Sam was explaining this to his university trainee in his cabin.
Okay, so they ve lowered this huge aluminium cone onto the seabed. Technically, we should have logged this operation into the project book, so you can do that now and make up some sort of figure in the time column. Now the next thing we do is to use sonar to find its exact position and keep adding on bits of pipe until the drill bit wobbles around in the inside of the cone.
The trainee seemed genuinely interested. How do we know when it gets there?
We can see it; there s a camera on the end of the drill. We can even take a photo to show the captain it s there. Sam s right eyelid flickered. Keep him in the loop, if you know what I mean.
And then?
And then we fill the cone up with concrete so the drill tip stops wobbling and bites when we switch it on.
Amazing! How far down will we drill this time?
Three miles; enough core sediment to show the changes in climate over the last ten to twenty million years. But before we go too deep we have to bring up a sample from a few hundred metres. It s a pain but it s procedure. And with the mood the captain s in right now we can t afford to skip it, however stupid it seems.
What do you mean stupid , Sir?
Well, it s never happened; a gas bubble, that is.
Sam could see that he was losing his trainee. The poor boy had been thrown in at the deep end. Three years at university studying oceanography and then, as some sort of government PR exercise, a two-month postgraduate jaunt on the IOD Revolution , the most sophisticated deep-sea laboratory drilling ship in the world. No-one had really thought through what to do with these students. Once on board, there was no way they could get off before