The Accidental Spy by Jacqueline George

Author:Jacqueline George [George, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780980548471
Publisher: DoctorZed Publishing
Published: 2011-03-10T14:00:00+00:00

- 12 -

Friday dawned grey with the wind rattling the ghibli blinds. The Virgin crawled out of bed and looked at the sky. The wind was coming from the sea, bringing rain and English misery with it. And today was the cement job. What was it about cementing that always seemed to attract foul weather? First he had to decide what he would wear. MacAllans insisted on fire-proof Nomex coveralls. The artificial fabric might be safe to wear, but it felt unbearably hot and sticky in summer. Conversely, on a winter’s day like this, wearing Nomex alone would feel like standing around in the nude. He had some thermal liners left over from an assignment in Germany but he was too embarrassed to wear them here. He settled on jeans and a thick sweater under his coveralls. And no matter what MacAllans said about proper uniforms on location, he would wrap himself in an old ski jacket. He might get wet but at least he would be warm.

The wind-blown streets were empty as he drove to the office to make his morning call. Florian was bitching about the amount of equipment tied up in Sabah. He wanted everything and everybody back tomorrow morning if not sooner. Apart from that, nothing was happening. About normal for a week-end when all the work-over rigs some-how managed to get themselves onto dull repetitive work with no decisions required. He would have to go to the rig to sit out the hours before the job.

As he left the empty car park he thought about going to church, to listen to Evelina and the other girls singing hymns in their Filipino country and western style. Sunday fell on Fridays in Sabah and he would be just in time for mass. Perhaps he could pray for a good cement job. It was not just his clothes that stopped him; it was hard to be enthusiastic about anything on a day like this.

As he jolted up the location road towards the rig he could see the travelling block moving up in the derrick. That meant they were still running casing, and when he pulled up outside Terry’s shack he could see they had another thirty or forty joints on the racks. Terry was reading a novel.

“Hey, guy! You’re here early. You piss the bed or something? Or your little Filipino nurse have early duty? Like a coffee?” Without waiting for a reply he reached for his miniature percolator and a paper cup.

“Just thought I’d stop by and make sure you’re not giving our guys a hard time. How’s it going?”

“Hey, it’s good. The casing crew’s good. Haven’t cross-threaded a joint yet. They’re keeping up a steady twelve joints an hour. We’ll be done by lunchtime. Haven’t seen your guys. They’re out there on the mud-tanks somewhere, mixing up your God-damn expensive chemicals that we don’t really need. Sugar, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And milk if you have it.”

“It’s in the fridge. If you like canned milk. No, they seem to have everything about straight.

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