Deep Sea One Read Free

his throat.
    "Listen, pal, if I wanted to steal shit from you I would have stolen it, wouldn't I?" she clenched her jaw. "Have you checked your fridge?"
    He hadn't. Why would he?
    "Captain, get the coppers, would you?" Purdue nodded and stood up. He waited for her to protest, to come clean, but she did not.
    "Yes, sir."
    The captain knew by his employer's tone that he was bluffing—for now—and waited before actually making a call to the police to arrest the thief. She did not move. In fact, something about her mannerisms told them that she was quite comfortable just sitting in the warm glow of the hearth. Purdue checked his kitchen, shaking his head to himself at actually giving her the benefit of the doubt. In his main fridge he found missing the last half of his zigeunerbraten, which old Franz Grutzmacher had made especially for him the night before. Franz was a dear friend and chef who worked at a posh little place in Queensbury.
    "No!" he gasped.
    Storming into the living room, exasperated, he cried, "You ate my pork? You ate my pork! My favorite dish!"
    "Told you."
    "What kind of savage takes a man's meat?" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up.
    "A hungry one," she mumbled.
    Purdue looked at the intruder in astonishment—for once, speechless.
    ☼
     

Chapter 2
     
    About 140 km offshore from Scarborough, cradled by the North Sea, the Deep Sea One oil platform towered from the heaving dark waters. It was a massive structure, its long steel legs pinned to the ocean floor, fixing it firmly. Permanent structures did not peak anywhere near the Deep Sea One and it looked like a lost robotic lighthouse above the rising and falling waves. On the supported platform its drilling rigs rose majestically like steeples of steel and electricity over the various production facilities, which lay dwarfed against it on the platform. The crew quarters were separate, spaced out in several sections of box-like assemblies. Although the weather was wild most of the time the small crew was accustomed to it and professional in the duties that ran around the clock. Most of the men got along swimmingly, as much as a group of different nationalities and cultures could cope in the cabin-fever conditions of such a living and working space. Most of the time things ran smoothly, both personally and productively, on the giant drilling platform.
    "Jaysus," Liam exclaimed, as he came rushing into the small office of the production manager, "helluva day we havin' out 'ere!" He was referring to the untimely storm, which had hit them harder than expected. They knew it was coming, two days before, but it was not supposed to be so violent. Liam was shaking from the cold, his hard hat askew on his wet hair and he bolted straight for the coffee machine. For once he would take a warm beverage over a Guinness and he rubbed his hands together as the machine steamed away.
    "We have to check the north post, Liam," said Darwin, the shift's subsea engineer. "I am not sure, but what I got after checking the old bottom of Drill 3 didn't sit well with me. I could be mistaken, but it looks as if we might have some problem down there on the electricity line or maybe the structure is faulty at some point."
    "How urgent is it? Can it wait until I chug this 'ere cuppa and thaw me bones? That last wave had the hand of God in it, I tell ya! Swept right halfway up the rig where I was fixing that rusted plate, and then I still had to weld the damned thing, otherwise we'd fall right through," Liam gasped, taking off his hat and running his hand over his head so that his hair was left in matted disarray. He had been a mechanic extraordinaire for more than thirty years, yet he still could not get used to the frigid shock of sea spray on days like these.
    "No rush, Liam. Just finish up there and join me at the bottom. I'm going to prepare the ROV for inspection so we can get that bitch sorted before the storm comes in," Darwin said, himself silently craving a stiff whisky for the