Free Reckoning by Ian Barclay Page A

probably went berserk for some reason,” Avedesian replied defensively.
    “Those detectives acted out here like they were walking on the moon. They were bug-eyed at all the strange stuff on these
     installations. I was the same way for the first few days until I got used to things. If they had found that body in someone’s
     kitchen back on the beach, in surroundings more familiar to them, they might not have been so quick to say suicide.”
    “No one saw anybody else, there were no other fingerprints, the gun was in the man’s hand,” Avedesian said. “What more do
     you want?”
    “He tried to kill you with that container, and mealong with you. The man had a three-year faultless work record on the Brent field, a family with young children, no criminal
     record, good pay and benefits. It doesn’t fit. I think he was killed first, and the seaman was killed accidentally because
     the killer didn’t know how to operate the crane properly. Remember, my attention was drawn to that container in the first
     place because of the clumsy way it was being handled. If it weren’t for that, I probably wouldn’t have pushed us out of the
     way in time.”
    “You didn’t have to hit me.”
    “I’m tired of your bitching and complaining, Avedesian. You’d better hear a few facts, then I’ll say nothing more. You can
     go on fooling yourself if it makes you feel better. First thing you should know is that, for reasons I’m not going to tell
     you, I think one man has killed your six buddies. He’s a skilled pro—a mechanic, a high-priced executioner. He scares me,
     and I got a lot less to worry about than you. Sticking your head in the sand isn’t going to make him disappear into thin air,
     Avedesian. He’s taken one crack at you, and although he missed, he managed to cover his tracks well enough to fool Scotland
     Yard. He’s going to take another shot at you real soon, and he’s right here with you on this flotel. You intend to stay?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t recommend it,” Dartley said.
    “I know. I appreciate what you say but I still feel safer out here than back on the beach. If I can’t surviveout here on the North Sea, I don’t believe I’d stand a chance on dry land.”
    “That’s stupid, Avedesian.”
    “Maybe. It’s the way I feel.”
    “All right,” Dartley conceded. “So long as you’re clear about what I think the risks are—”
    “I understand.”
    “He’ll have figured by now that I’m here to protect you from him, if he ever had doubts about it,” Dartley said. “From now
     on, he’ll be looking for an opportunity to separate us and bag you real easy. You’d better cooperate with me in coordinating
     our movements. You haven’t been making much of an effort up until now. You don’t want this gator to catch you alone.”
    “He won’t,” Avedesian said.
    “I wish I could believe that.”
    When Avedesian heard over the radio that they were changing a drill bit at Brent Alpha, he wanted to see how things were going.
     He and Dartley were ferried there on a Bell 212. The roughnecks were well into pulling up the drillstring by the time they
     arrived. The five-inch-diameter pipe was screwed together in thirty-foot lengths. The roughnecks hauled the pipe out three
     lengths at a time, ninety-foot sections that whipped like bamboo. Every three lengths, they clamped the pipe ends and unscrewed
     them with a rotary table. The man on top of the derrick threw a noose of steel cable around the tip of a ninety-foot section
     after it wasunscrewed. When this three-length section was released, he leaned it upright against the derrick along with others. Then the
     next three-length section of five-inch pipe was drawn up.
    The work was hard, dirty and dangerous. The work clothes, gloves and boots of the men handling the slippery pipe were coated
     with mud. One false move could result in a broken bone or worse. The men hosed the mud off the hot pipe, and the metal steamed
     in the cold