The Einstein Papers

CHAPTER 35

The monitoring station for the western oil fields of Saudi Arabia sat baking in the desert sun. Clad in green smoked glass, the building seemed to undulate in the hot air. The area surrounding the building was bleak— acres of sand ringed by a chain-link fence. A few scruffy plants growing from the wasteland did little to alleviate the monotony of the endless expanse of desert. A scorpion peered from his hole atop a hill near the building then slid back inside out of the heat. The temperature was 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade.

Inside the building the temperature was considerably cooler; the finest air conditioners money could buy were silently attacking the heat. On the second floor of the building Jackson Trumball slid a fishing magazine into his desk drawer, then looked over at his Saudi partner, Nazir Hametz.

"It's my turn to do the readings," he said, rising from his chair. Hametz nodded and motioned to the clipboard on bis desk. "After that we can go to lunch."

Trumball grabbed the clipboard and walked to the bank of gauges and flashing lights that covered the far wall. He began to enter the readings onto the sheet. Ten minutes later, after Trumball had finished, he entered the data into the computer, then brushed his hair in front of a mirror hanging on the wall.

"What's the special today?" Trumball asked Hametz in a light Texas drawl. Hametz glanced at the lunch menu hanging by the door. "Looks like Italian," he said as he twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

"Has to beat lamb," Trumball said as he followed Hametz to the cafeteria. Seventy miles to the north of the monitoring building, at King Khalid Well No. 47, a drop in natural gas pressure automatically signaled to the well to cease pumping. As happened several times a day, some gas was expelled from the pressure release valve. As the valve released the gas, the Enviorco microbes were injected into the well pipe. The microbes began to multiply instantly. They continued downward, eating everything in their path. King Khalid Well No. 47 would soon be as dry as the surrounding land. Returning from the cafeteria, Hametz burped lightly, then, because it was his turn, reached for the clipboard on TrumbaUs desk. He began to record the readings from the oil wells on the sheet of paper. Six minutes later he noticed the problem.

"Red light on Khalid number 47," he said to Trumball.

"I noticed a low-pressure reading on that well on the last check. She's been doing that a lot lately."

Hametz tapped the light to see if it was jammed, but it remained glowing. "Call the service people to check it out."

"Okay," Trumball said. Reaching for the telephone, he dialed the field supervisor.

"This is Jackson Trumball in monitoring. We have a red light on number 47, northeast King Khalid Field. Do you have a crew nearby that can check it out?" The static over the phone line made the supervisor sound like he was in a shower.

"Northeast Khalid 47?"

"That's the one," Trumball shouted.

"Hold on."

Trumball could hear the man talking in Arabic in the background. "It'll be about twenty minutes," the supervisor said when he came back on the line. "My crew has to load some corrosion testing equipment in the truck. Then we'll drive over. Give me your extension, I'll call you back."

Trumball gave him the extension number and the phone went dead.

"Make sure you note that number 47 is out when you fax that report," he said to Hametz.

Hametz grunted in reply, then sat down at his desk and finished the report. Twenty minutes later the service supervisor of the King Khalid field, Jake Long, slid his Ford truck to a stop in front of King Khalid Well No. 47.

Motioning to his workers for help, he hoisted a remote color camera assembly from the rear and dragged it toward the well. Removing the bolts securing the wellhead with a wrench, he dropped the tiny camera into the casing, then fed out some cable. Next, he switched on the television screen and adjusted the contrast.

"Feed the cable down slowly and stop when I tell you," he said to one of the workers. As the camera was fed downward, Long stared at the image on the screen. The camera shot a panoramic view, showing the pipe as a tube looking from above. Long stood in shock, trying to comprehend this image from deep inside the earth. The sides of the pipe, normally coated with oil, were devoid of all petroleum. In the place of oil was a graygreen substance that looked like mucus. Returning to his truck, Long bought back a fishing tool with a scooped cup. Attaching the cup to the end of a flexible metal shaft, he slowly fed the instrument down the well opening. As the cup reached the level of the camera, Long watched the screen carefully. Manipulating a joystick that moved the cup, he scooped up a sample of the gray-green liquid and then retracted the shaft. When it reached the top of the well, Long dipped his fingers into the liquid.

"Looks like baby shit," he said to one of the workers standing nearby.

"Smells like it too," the worker noted.

Long walked to the truck and picked up the phone.