moment and see the whole picture. Einstein lost in some calculations, suddenly daydreams about a man riding up in a glass elevator that’s accelerating with the same force as earth’s gravity. Someone outside watches the guy in the elevator let go of a tennis ball, and the elevator floor rises up to meet it. But every experiment inside the elevator convinces the guy that the tennis ball
“And he got the Nobel Prize.”
“Yeah, but not for relativity, special or general. He got it for showing how the photoelectric effect works. You know, the device that opens the door for you at the supermarket.”
She was bitter all of a sudden, and in some ways McGarvey understood her Angst. Eve Larsen was a complicated woman, filled with a lot of self-doubts and insecurities that even a Nobel Prize had been unable to unravel. He’d known people like her at the CIA, especially in the Directorate of Intelligence, who were geniuses at what they did, but who needed constant approval, constant pats on the back, constant reinforcement, or else they would fall into depressions sometimes so deep that they would commit suicide.
“You won the Nobel Prize.”
“Not for physics,” she practically shouted, and several people getting off the plane with them gave her an anxious look. “Only two women ever got that prize — Madam Curie and Maria Mayer, and they had to share their prizes with men.”
When they reached the gate area inside the terminal McGarvey took her aside. “You’re betting just about everything on this experiment working, I understand that. But you’ve gotten yourself so wound up that it might just happen that you won’t be able to step back and see the whole picture.”
She was angry. “How can I help it?” she asked, her voice crisp. “You’ve tagged along as my bodyguard, once again, because you think my rig will never make it to Florida.”
“Concentrate on the science, and let me deal with security,” he said just as tightly.
She wanted to argue, but she compressed her lips and nodded, visibly coming down. But it took a few seconds. “My ex never figured out how to do that,” she said. “Get me to take a deep breath.” She touched his arm. “I’ll worry about my part and let you take care of the rest. Deal?”
“Deal,” McGarvey said, figuring that it would take an extraordinary man to be married to her. She was as high-strung as she was brilliant and she was carrying a very large feminist chip on her shoulder, probably something from a long time ago.
They carried just their overnight bags, Eve because her things were being trucked down, and McGarvey because he was planning to stay aboard the platform just long enough to meet the delivery crew and figure out in practical terms what it would take to send the rig to the bottom.
Don Price, dressed in jeans and a Princeton sweatshirt, was waiting downstairs in front of the baggage claim area, and when he spotted McGarvey he scowled and turned away as if he were going to walk off. But then he stopped and turned back.
“Thanks for coming to pick us up,” Eve said pleasantly, trying to ignore his show of displeasure. “How’s everything going on Vanessa?”
“I was hoping that you would change your mind,” Don said, glaring at McGarvey.
“He’s going to provide security for us.”
“With any luck I’ll just be along for the ride,” McGarvey said.
“Stay the fuck out of our way.”
Price was posturing for Eve, and it struck McGarvey as almost funny, even a little pathetic. But there was something else in the man’s manner. Something in his attitude, how he held himself, the words he was saying that wasn’t adding up. It was as if he were hiding something, as if he were afraid of something. Losing her to another man?
McGarvey shrugged. “Sure thing.”
Price held on for a moment or two longer, as if he wanted to push it, but then nodded tightly, took Eve’s arm, and headed out to where he had parked an InterOil van, leaving McGarvey to trail behind.
“The truck got here an hour after you called, and we’ve managed to get most of the stuff out to Vanessa.”
“Good,” Eve said. “Computers?”
“Most of them are up and running, and we’ve already got a good start on stringing the cabling for the monitors to all four pods.”
“How about housekeeping?”
“It’s not the Ritz but we managed to help get the water treatment plant up and running, so we have plenty of hot water for showers. Separate showers at that. And the food isn’t any worse than we get on campus.”
“Problems?” Eve asked.
“The biggest are the deck mounts for the impeller cabling and restraints,” Don said and she protested but he held her off. “Defloria is working the construction crews practically around the clock. But they’re so goddamned stupid and inefficient it’s a miracle that anything gets done. Anyway he promises that the mounts will be in place by the time we get to Florida. Before, if the weather cooperates.”
“What about the wind today?”
“It’s a little hairy on deck, but inside you can’t feel a thing, except it’s damned noisy, drives you nuts sometimes, especially at night.”
They got in the van, McGarvey in the backseat for the short drive over to the InterOil hangar. “Who’s managing the rig for you?” he asked.
Eve turned around. “Justin Defloria. He and the construction crew and delivery people are on loan from the company.”
“I want you to set up a meeting with him and the delivery captain as soon as we touch down. I’d like to make an inspection of the entire rig with them, and share some of my concerns.”
“No problem.”
“Then I’ll want to meet with your scientists and technicians for about ten minutes.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Don said. “You’re staying out of our way.”
McGarvey ignored him. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk to your people.”
“We’ll all be up in the control room,” Eve said, and she said something to Don that McGarvey didn’t catch, but whatever it was it seemed to work because Price shut his mouth and concentrated on his driving.
From five miles out Vanessa Explorer looked impressive, the whitecaps below the helicopter little more than harmless patterns on the water. But as they got nearer it became obvious that no matter how large the oil platform was it couldn’t compare to the Gulf of Mexico. Every fifth wave that slammed into the two windward legs parted and rose monstrously almost to the main deck level more than fifty feet above the water, the spindrift rising even higher.
“Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is!” Don shouted to Eve.
The chopper pilot was good, but the big machine shuddered with each gust, and coming around into the wind he kept well clear of the upper levels of the superstructure, approaching the landing pad slowly, and easing down, dumping the lift five feet above the center mark. Immediately two deck hands scrambled up on to the pad and lashed the helicopter’s landing struts to the deck. As soon as they gave the thumbs-up, the pilot cut the power, and the engines began to spool down.
Most of the tube-framed web seats in the helicopter’s main bay were folded up against the hull, and the space was filled with sturdy cardboard boxes, a few wooden crates, and a large number of aluminum cases, all marked with numbers and other abbreviations.
“This is the bulk of it,” Don said. “Maybe one more load this afternoon.” He slid the hatch open and instantly the helicopter was filled with a howling wind that was cold and damp and smelled of a combination of oil, diesel fumes, presumably from the electrical generators aboard, and the sea.
“I want this unloaded as quickly as possible,” Eve said. “No telling when this weather will deteriorate, and I want everything aboard before dark.”
“I’ll send Tommy and some of the others up,” Don said, and he and Eve jumped down to the pad, without bothering to thank the pilot.
“I need a ride back in a couple of hours,” McGarvey told him. “Can you hold that long?”
