Dangerous Encounters

Chapter 26 Destruction death and revelation

Railton House. I remembered those two weeks when Ruth, Pat, Mandy and I had worked as a harmonious team on something we felt worthwhile, and Ruth and I had snatched wonderful moments of love and companionship; laughing quietly in the back of the Transit, in cold April in a field with the stars pin sharp in the skies, by the river with Ruth reassuring the jay, singing at Burnley our minds entwined, in the hotel room - 

"I can sort it," said Steve," it's no trouble." 

I shouted, "I said leave it with me. I meant leave it with me. Have I suddenly started to speak Serbo-Croat or have you taken leave of your senses?" 

Steve stalked out saying half under his breath, "OK, boss suit yourself." 

My ulcer took its revenge at my unreasonable behaviour and bad temper meted out on my long-suffering friend. I took water and a Zantac tablet, picked up the phone, and rang the Harrogate base. 

Mick Leason, the quiet spoken Bostonian engineer answered. 

" Graham, what can we do for you?" 

"We're missing a drawing." 

"Which one?" 

"That's the trouble, we don't know the number. I had the thought to send you our list and you get your computer to tell us which number is missing and take it from there. If there isn't one you'll have to ask either us or San Antonio to create one." 

"OK, sounds reasonable. I'll ring you back from our data centre." 

After ten minutes of sorting protocols and connecting the two computers the number of the missing drawing appeared on both our screens. 

"Can we send you the data for you to plot?" asked Mick. 

"No. Our plotter is being repaired. It didn't survive the last of its many moves." 

"No matter. We'll plot one off and send it by chopper. Do you want even more money for this drawing?" 

I laughed, "No, not if it's the right one. It's a transition piece in a duct, which we have to cast. We put money for it in the price. Of course if it shows a fifteen storey office block I might have to think again." 

"No, it's the one. Talk to you later." 

It was a warm night. I walked out onto the landing of the stairway to the cabin. The huge arena, lit by football stadium arrays of lamps, so that the construction team had the best chance of keeping the productivity up during the night, was full of organised activity. 

The main event this shift was to move the tracked tower crane. The huge skeletal machine was unweildy and being electrically driven, we had to pay out a cable along the route of the crane. 

A breeze started to rise as dusk deepened into night. The crane arrived at its destination, and started on the task of moving skips of concrete from a readymix delivery point to a pour. 

I heard the deep syncopated beat of a large helicopter approaching. Drifting ponderously, with twin rotors glittering like disco stroboscopes into the brilliant stage lighting of our site, entered a Boeing Chinook helicopter, at least three times the size of any we had ever had on the site. The sausage shaped body swung from its rotors, the pilot seeking a place to land. Unfortunately the crane was on the edge of the only reasonably sized flat area, bounded on the other side by the American's huge white box on the trailer. 

Steve stepped up, "I'm not comfortable with that thing there. It's not safe for our crane or our people. It should clear off." 

"Yes, you're right."