Oil Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 4) (13 page)

Now there were lists of names, rosters, departmental flow charts.

Then numbers again, and letters in some kind of code.

And this went on.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Finally, Narang began whispering at the keyboard, and, from time to time, the ceiling of the room as he threw his head back, attempting, it seemed, to get his breath.

Finally, he looked at Nina and asked:

“Do you see this?”

Nina shook her head:

“I see, but I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”

“All right. Follow the pointer. This is not easy. But it is all here.”

“What is?”

“You must simply look…”

The moving cursor:

Narang:

“These figures are from Tuesday, May 2, a bit over a month ago. The well has reached a depth of 13,293 feet below the sea floor. The final string of production casing from the wellhead at the sea floor to total depth has been put in the hole, and cemented in place.”

Nina understood none of this, but it had a kind of haunting quality about it, and she could not take her eyes off the figures sprinkled over the screen before her.

“The well plan calls for fifty one barrels of cement. Look…look here: this graph shows that they have used only twenty-three barrels. This will be in no way sufficient to ensure a seal between this 7-inch production casing—do you see it on the chart?––and the 9 and 7/8-inch protection casing they had put in before.”

The professor was immersed in his subject now, and his eyes could be seen glittering behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Now please watch, Ms. Bannister. Mud has been lost to the reservoir while drilling the bottom portion of the well. This is the phenomenon which we generally refer to as ‘lost circulation.’ It usually indicates good reservoir quality, an interval of lower pressure or both, and can result in an enlarged wellbore or “washout.” This is important
—exceptionally important––
because it might have been difficult to create a good cement seal between the casing and the formation. It also would have been impossible to ensure the effectiveness of the cement seal without running a cement-bond log.”

Silence for a time, save for the humming of the computers and the projectors.

“All right. We shall proceed. It is now four days later. The cement that they did pour contained—and you can see that in the spectrum analysis over on the second chart there––a nitrogen additive to make it lighter so that it would flow more easily and better fill the area between the casing and the lost circulation-washout zone. That might make some sense, but surely they must have recognized that it also lowered the cement’s ability to make a good seal, and cause gas from the reservoir to dilute the viscosity of the cement.”

A door opened.

Someone looked in, and asked if the three people in the room needed anything.

They did not.

The door closed.

More:

“The next day. They have waited about 20 hours for the cement to dry. Oh my heavens––they are displacing the drilling fluid in the wellbore and riser with sea water. Sea water is much lighter than drilling mud so there is going to be less downward force in the wellbore to balance the flow of gas from the reservoir.”

And so it went.

Narang spoke primarily to Annette, who nodded, obviously understanding what to Nina was simply gibberish.

But clearly something was wrong on Aquatica.

Finally, lights went up in the room.

“What’s going on out there?” asked Nina.

“Oh a great deal. And none of it very promising. But I can promise you, dear Ms. Bannister, that you have done a very good thing, and a very brave thing, by bringing me this disc.”

“It was just a thought of mine. Edgar’s phone. If I could find it, I would know who he was trying to call.”

“And a brilliant thought it was.”

“Can you do anything with this information?”

“Oh yes, oh yes. I can first decipher it, calculate the extent of damage that has already been done, make certain projections—and then begin contacting the right people.”

“Great. But…I feel like there is probably something I should do.”

“There is, dear lady. There certainly is. And you are going to do it with Annette, right now.”

“What?”

“Go and eat lunch.”

There is only one reason why one should not live in the charming and magical city of Lafayette, Louisiana, this being the traffic. Even at normal times of year, getting from one point to another is difficult, the original city planners having neglected to take into consideration the concept of the left turn.

But there are very few normal times of the year, normal being an abnormal phenomenon for Cajun thinking.

Rather, there is always a parade of some kind going on.

Mardi Gras season, for example, always begins with Epiphany and worsens, so that by February fifteenth, one week before the day itself, traffic is almost intolerable. The city is paralyzed, its major streets cordoned by gray metal barricades that resembled modular prison cells.
 

But it is not only Mardi Gras. There are late spring parades, early summer parades, fall parades: Car travel becomes impossible, each turning being met with flashes of blue squad car lights, as stern policemen, either on horseback or motorcycles, stare at drivers and make small circular motions with their hands, ostensibly suggesting another route to the grocery store or the bakery or the filling station or whatever…but signifying in actuality that the vehicle must simply stop and remain immobile until the parade is over.

This is why Professor Narang suggested to Annette that she and Nina walk to The Olde Tyme Grocery.

The Olde Tyme Grocery is one of hundreds of reasons why one
should
live in the charming and magical city of Lafayette.

Food.

The Olde Tyme Grocery was just an expanded shack, perhaps a half mile from campus.

But it had a kind of splendor about it, just the same.

One walked into a scene of chaos, tunneled through a constant crowd, bellowed as loud as possible either SHRIMP! or OYSTER! or CATFISH!

…and then flattened oneself into one of the far shack corners like a hat rack until an echo-bellow approximating the order-bellow rolled through and over the crowd signifying that the sandwich itself was ready.

There remained a bit of hand to hand combat involved in reaching the counter, paying the bill, getting the treasured grease soaked sack, and escaping into the balmy swamp air again—(tables existed at The Olde Tyme Grocery but were only available during those hours when the establishment was closed)—and going somewhere to eat the food.

‘Somewhere’ in this case was the alligator pond in the center of campus.

Annette and Nina chose one of the metal benches separated by a sidewalk from the three-foot high metal fence separated by no more than a few reeds and a fallen tree from the four foot alligator, which, gray as the mud it was lying on, stared implacably and enigmatically at them as they unwrapped their shrimp po-boys.

Nina wondered what to talk about first.

She could talk about the huge battered shrimp that seemed to dwarf not only the buns that semi enclosed it but also all of the living wildlife-birds, fish, squirrels, turtles—that moved about the placid lake before them.

Or she could talk about the wisdom of eating anything at all this close to a four-foot alligator, which, though admittedly not a ten-foot alligator, was still a good deal more significant than the four-inch pet alligator Nina’s parents had once bought for her in a pet store.

She chose that for a time.

“Don’t the alligators worry you?”

Annette chewed for a while, closed her eyes, savored the sauce even as it was dribbling down her cheek, wiped herself clean with a brown napkin, and finally recognized that another being was with her on the bench.

“What?”

“The alligators.”

“What about them?”

“Aren’t they a little close?”

“Close for what?”

“You trust them?”

Annette shook her head before taking another bite.

“I don’t tell them any secrets, if that’s what you mean. How’s your po-boy?”

“Good. Great, really. These shrimp are huge. I just mean…well, there are students passing by here. And little children. And pets.”

“They don’t bother the gators.”

“No, that wasn’t…”

She continued to look at Annette, who, mystified, looked back at her.

Finally, it was time to change the subject.

“So what do we do, Annette?”

“Eat.”

“I know. But after that?”

“After that, Nina, you take it easy. Go home. Sit by the ocean. You’ve earned a rest.”

“But Aquatica…”

“What’s going on out there is what’s going on everywhere in the deep-water industry. They’re cutting corners.”

“So what will happen now?”

Annette nodded:

“Narang will happen now. Edgar, and you, have done a helluva thing by getting him this disk.”

“He’s that good?”

“He’s amazing, Nina. Do you know anything about him?”

“No, practically nothing.”

“Born in New Delhi but raised in London. Educated at Cambridge. Then Harvard.”

“Why is he here?”

“Because big oil is here. Right in Lafayette.”

“He hates big oil?”

A pause. Then:

“He doesn’t hate big oil as such, Nina. He hates big oil and greed when they join up.”

“Doesn’t that always happen? Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Not exactly. There are fine people in the oil business, and Narang knows every one of them. From New York, to Washington, to New Orleans….he’s not a firebrand kind of guy, not a demonstrator who would get himself kicked off a rig. Right now I can promise you, he’s making calls.”

She stood up, walked in a tight circle around the bench, and continued:

“If I were to take that disc anywhere—LP, the police, the EPA, anywhere—I’d just get laughed at.”

“Despite what’s on it?”

“The things that are on it are not that obvious. It takes a world class physics person to see what their long term effects are going to be. That’s Narang. Nina, he will get Aquatica fixed, if anyone can.”

“And for the time being?”

“I don’t think there’s an immediate danger. A month down the road, maybe two months. But it won’t happen. Narang won’t let it.”

“I just feel like I should…”

“What you ‘should,’ ma chere, is fly back home. Go out to eat. Let us handle it from here.”

“Will you keep me updated?”

“Of course we will. Don’t expect to see any big splashy news stories, though. Everything will be kept very quiet. And besides, the things that are going to happen…increased viscosity tests, heightened awareness of various density parameters…these things don’t make the big headlines anyway. But don’t you worry. They’ll be getting done.”

“So you think I…”

“Should go back to Bay St. Lucy, feeling good about the whole thing. When does your flight leave?”

“Two fifteen.”

“Great.
 
I’ll take you to the airport.”

“I feel like I should at least say good-bye, express my appreciation to Professor Narang.”

Annette smiled and shook her head:

“If either one of us walked into his office right now, he probably wouldn’t even know we were there. That disc you brought him is like a bone for a dog. He’ll be thinking about nothing else for the next few days and weeks.”