Out on the water, absorbent booms along the greatest concentration of floating oil filled up and clogged. Skimmers tried to draw in the oil but lost ground quickly in the face of the gushing flow. Cleanup tugs struggled to deploy nylon containment booms, long draperies that hung under the water, la.s.soing the oil for pickup by recovery boats. A barge anch.o.r.ed near Alcatraz Island received the recovered oil from containment vessels. Privately owned fishing boats and small pleasure craft made an effort, scooping five-gallon buckets of foul-smelling crude directly from the surface.

At the stern of the Zoroaster, Zoroaster, the wall of the four-story deckhouse admonished in large, mocking letters: NO SMOKING, PREVENT ACCIDENTS, and SAFETY FIRST. the wall of the four-story deckhouse admonished in large, mocking letters: NO SMOKING, PREVENT ACCIDENTS, and SAFETY FIRST.

Todd worked with three men to clamp the transfer hose into the hatch of cargo hold 7. He moved in a barely controlled frenzy, like the rest of his team, and they ended up getting in each other's way. The clamorous racket, the foul fumes, and the treacherous deck made conditions worse.

Todd pulled a wrench from a deep pocket on his greasy slicker and tightened the seal. "Start the pumps!" he yelled, raising a gloved hand.

Farther up the deck, the Oilstar helicopter pilot waved an acknowledgement, then spoke into the chopper's radio. A few moments later, the hose shuddered as Tiberius Tiberius started another pump. More crude began to flow out of the started another pump. More crude began to flow out of the Zoroaster Zoroaster's hold.

Todd stumbled to the deck rail. The weather slicker hid much of his big-boned frame, but he had managed to smear oil over his craggy face and brown hair. He coughed and spat over the rail.

Below, brownish-black oil continued to bubble out of the torn hull like a vile potion in a cauldron. The oil lay two feet thick on top of the water. If it was up to him, he'd just as soon toss the tanker captain overboard into the mess; the idiot should have at least gone down with his ship, like a real captain, after causing a disaster like this.

With the outgoing tide and turbulent weather, there was a very good chance the Zoroaster Zoroaster would slip off and plunge into the deep channel. If that happened, the tanker would drag with it the 900,000 barrels of oil still on board. Its cargo holds would leak into the Bay for years. would slip off and plunge into the deep channel. If that happened, the tanker would drag with it the 900,000 barrels of oil still on board. Its cargo holds would leak into the Bay for years.

But Todd had a job to do, and he would bust his back cheeks to accomplish it. He couldn't turn back the clock and prevent the wreck from happening. He had to turn off his disgust at seeing the ma.s.sive damage grow worse every second. The whole dang world was watching, but he had to focus on the job at hand. Keep cool. There would be time to get p.i.s.sed later-get good and drunk, maybe even look up that captain and kick some b.u.t.t. While other people spent all their time yakking and complaining, Todd Severyn waded in and started doing doing something about it. something about it.

He yanked off his thick gloves, stuffed them in his pocket, and reached inside his slicker. Hauling out his walkie talkie, he clicked the channel to his counterpart over on the Tiberius Tiberius. "Glenn! Give me an update. How much have we offloaded so far?"

The radio crackled after only a moment's pause. "Close to fifty thousand barrels. Pretty good for a day's work-"

Todd scowled. "Darn it, that's only a few percent of what's still inside."

He heard shouting in the background of the Tiberius Tiberius. Glenn snapped back, "Then shut up and keep pumping! We're doing everything we can."

The transfer hoses had been pumping for less than fifteen minutes, throbbing as they sucked barrel after barrel out of the Zoroaster Zoroaster's holds-when the wind picked up. Todd froze, wondering what else could go wrong. Lightering operations were tough under good conditions, but now the sea grew rougher. The fog had cleared, but the sky turned gray like a smoke pudding.

The deck began to creak, and the ship suddenly lurched to the side, increasing the slant.

Todd scrambled to grab the rail as panic welled up in him. He heard the other six men on the tanker shouting. He hated to leave a job unfinished, hated to run away when conditions got worse-but he wasn't stupid. He knew when to make the call. He pressed the TALK b.u.t.ton on his walkie talkie. "Getting unstable, Glenn. Start thinking about closing up shop." He looked at his watch. It was getting close to high tide, the greatest danger, when the supertanker rode highest on its unsteady balance against the bridge pier.

The Tiberius Tiberius responded. "They're going to crucify us if we abandon this puppy, Severyn. She's still gushing thousands of gallons a minute." responded. "They're going to crucify us if we abandon this puppy, Severyn. She's still gushing thousands of gallons a minute."

Todd wanted to smash the walkie-talkie on the deck. "If the Zoroaster Zoroaster goes down, none of my people are gonna be on it. I'm ordering the chopper to start shuttling people back over to you." goes down, none of my people are gonna be on it. I'm ordering the chopper to start shuttling people back over to you."

"We'd better check with Oilstar-"

"It's my call, and I'm making it." If Emma Branson didn't like it, she could come out of her high-and-mighty Oilstar office and do the work herself.

He switched off the walkie talkie and raised a hand to get the attention of his crew. He pointed toward the helicopter, then held up four fingers. Seeing this, the first team of four broke away from their work and struggled up the sloping deck, slick toward the helicopter, which seemed about half a mile away. The pilot started the engine while waiting for them; two minutes later the blades began to rotate.

The walkie-talkie crackled . "Oilstar okays it, Severyn. But the minute the weather turns better, we come right back."

Todd's stomach twisted with the thought of how much oil still remained in the unbreached cargo holds. He shouted as the wind picked up again, "After the chopper takes the first load of my people over, we'll unlash the two ships. Stop pumping from cargo hold 3. We'll disconnect right now. Three of us will stay here to get the transfer hose ready when it's time."

He turned to see the four men clamber aboard the helicopter. The blades became a blur, and the craft lurched from the deck, heading toward the adjacent Tiberius Tiberius.

As Todd watched the copter land on the other tanker, the Zoroaster Zoroaster groaned under his feet, listing and settling deeper. He fell back against a metal supply shack mounted to the deck. groaned under his feet, listing and settling deeper. He fell back against a metal supply shack mounted to the deck. Keep cool Keep cool, he reminded himself, but the thought of the tanker sliding off the submerged ledge and plunging to the bottom filled him with terror, which he attempted to smother in front of his men.

Jimmy Mack, a wide-eyed kid just days with the company, started yelling about stupid risks. Todd staggered over to help him disconnect the transfer hose from cargo hold 3. "I keep my word-no one's going down with this ship!" He bent over and used his wrench on the transfer hose connection.

Two men detached the hose from the hold and hauled it toward the deck rail. Black oil gushed from the end, splattering the deck. Todd radioed for the Tiberius Tiberius to shut off the pumps to cargo holds 7 and 8. "Start unlashing the ships," he said. The words sounded like failure to him, and it made him angry. "Get ready to disengage these other hoses." to shut off the pumps to cargo holds 7 and 8. "Start unlashing the ships," he said. The words sounded like failure to him, and it made him angry. "Get ready to disengage these other hoses."

On the deck of the smaller tanker, the helicopter lifted off and began its journey back. Working two men at a time, Todd and his companions threw off the heavy hooks securing the Zoroaster Zoroaster to the to the Tiberius Tiberius. The thumping vibrations of the helicopter grew louder as it approached the supertanker's landing pad.

"Disconnect those hoses," Todd shouted. "Move it!"

With a large swell, the Zoroaster Zoroaster lurched, tumbling them backward into the water cannons. Todd smashed his elbow against a large red pipe, but managed to grab the rail of a foam-monitor station. Everything was going wrong. Todd felt as if he were standing in the path of an avalanche. One of the men smacked his helmet on a release valve, and water began to spray from a nozzle. lurched, tumbling them backward into the water cannons. Todd smashed his elbow against a large red pipe, but managed to grab the rail of a foam-monitor station. Everything was going wrong. Todd felt as if he were standing in the path of an avalanche. One of the men smacked his helmet on a release valve, and water began to spray from a nozzle.

No longer lashed together, the two tankers drifted apart by a few more feet.

The transfer hose at cargo hold 7 sheared away, spraying oil in all directions. With a loud pop pop, the hose connected to cargo hold 8 tore off. The Zoroaster Zoroaster began to tilt sideways, away from began to tilt sideways, away from Tiberius Tiberius.

"She's going down!" Todd shouted. For just a moment he wanted to run in blind panic to the empty chopper pad, but he had to get his crew off. He shoved Jimmy Mack toward the landing platform. "Go! Now!"

"Yes, sir!"

All three men began a scramble for the helicopter pad near the stern deck. They were covered with petroleum slime, the rough metal deck plates slick with crude. Jimmy Mack tumbled to his knees, disoriented with panic. Todd reached out a big hand and helped him up. "I told you I keep my word!"

The helicopter came in and tried to land, but the Zoroaster Zoroaster tilted fast. Todd grabbed a rail to keep his balance. Just as the second team of three made it to the landing circle, the copter rose up and circled back around, leaving Todd and the two others to scream for it to come back. The tanker lurched again. tilted fast. Todd grabbed a rail to keep his balance. Just as the second team of three made it to the landing circle, the copter rose up and circled back around, leaving Todd and the two others to scream for it to come back. The tanker lurched again.

Over the side of the ship, the black petroleum looked like a vile quagmire, bubbling like lava. Fumes burned Todd's face and eyes like acid. He couldn't imagine a death worse than drowning in several feet of crude oil.

The helicopter wheeled overhead and landed with a skid, bouncing across the deck. Without waiting for the rotors to slow, Todd and the others ducked their heads and scrambled to the open door. They tumbled into the back in an oil-stained pile of bodies. The last one on, Todd still hung halfway out of the hatch as the copter took off. "Yeeee-hah!"

The pilot flew without speaking, his jaw clenched, as they lifted up and away from the Zoroaster Zoroaster's tilting superstructure. Todd struggled to a better position to watch through the scratched plexigla.s.s c.o.c.kpit window.

Below, the Tiberius Tiberius pulled away from the sinking pulled away from the sinking Zoroaster Zoroaster. Sliding down, rolling sideways as it lost its slippery grip on the Fort Point ledge, the Zoroaster Zoroaster toppled in a slow-motion avalanche. Todd's stomach sank with it. Water and oil foamed gray in the churning violence of the plunge. The supertanker's hull yawned open wider, geysering black crude into the waters. toppled in a slow-motion avalanche. Todd's stomach sank with it. Water and oil foamed gray in the churning violence of the plunge. The supertanker's hull yawned open wider, geysering black crude into the waters.

Before his eyes, the disaster became a thousand times worse.

Despite the desperate lightering operations, nearly 50 million gallons of crude oil remained in the breached cargo holds. Cold, dark water swallowed the doomed supertanker in less than fifteen minutes.

Todd watched, sick with disgust. From inside the Zoroaster Zoroaster, oil would continue to gush upward for years . . . and now there was no way to stop it.

Chapter 6.

The Zoroaster Zoroaster spill was a s.h.i.t-storm in a small room, but Speaker of the House Jeffrey Mayeaux had to cover a smile as he faced the audience for the news conference. He took grim pleasure in knowing he had arrived on the scene a full three hours before the Vice President was due. The rooster-faced V.P. didn't even know he had been upstaged yet. spill was a s.h.i.t-storm in a small room, but Speaker of the House Jeffrey Mayeaux had to cover a smile as he faced the audience for the news conference. He took grim pleasure in knowing he had arrived on the scene a full three hours before the Vice President was due. The rooster-faced V.P. didn't even know he had been upstaged yet.

A techie wearing jeans and a faded yellow T-shirt scurried stooped over like a hunchback, checking leads to the microphones on the podium. Mayeaux walked in, flanked by his Chief of Staff Franklin Weathersee and a Secret Service mastodon. He fixed his eyes on the reporters; they looked like crawfish in a bowl, and he was about to have them for dinner. He wore his gravest "I'm from the government, I'm here to help you" expression.

The Honorable Jeffrey Mayeaux would do his best to witness the concerns first-hand and say the necessary words to foster hope. He was good at that. Yes, the government would do everything possible to help the San Francisco area cope with this crisis. You betcha.

The Executive Branch would be p.i.s.sing Tabasco sauce by this evening.

Mayeaux had skipped out on his Acapulco "conference" early for the sole purpose of stealing the V.P.'s thunder. Unannounced, Mayeaux was the first high-level government official to respond to this serious disaster-and the bozos at 1600 Pennsylvania would not get the credit this time. Mayeaux would shake the hands and kiss the babies; Vice President Wolani-Miss Congeniality-would get the tough questions a few hours from now. The whole escapade should add at least another ten grand onto Mayeaux's lobbyist salary after he retired from Congress in a year.

A half dozen video cameras jockeyed for position as he turned to expose his best side. He eyed a cute brunette gripping a microphone bearing the letters KSFO. Watching the way she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the microphone, holding its head close to her red lips, Mayeaux thought how deliciously erotic it looked. Admiring the swell of her bodacious b.r.e.a.s.t.s against her silk blouse, Mayeaux made a mental note to have Weathersee offer her an off-the-record interview, "inside sources," before he had to jet back to the east coast. Often enough, promotion-hungry lady reporters were willing to go to extremes for a scoop. And you didn't know unless you asked.

Like a few other Louisiana politicians, Mayeaux didn't give a c.o.o.na.s.s's d.a.m.n about scandal. His const.i.tuents watched it with the fascination of spectators at a car accident-but as long as they knew some of Mayeaux's obvious weaknesses, they didn't dig too deep for hidden flaws. The old saying went that every person owned the same total allotment of vices . . . so the folks who looked squeaky clean usually had some very twisted skeletons in their closets. According to that theory, a holy roller like V.P. Wolani probably got off by pulling legs off live frogs.

Mayeaux straightened, pulling himself to his full height of five and a half feet. For his opening statement, he spoke slowly, careful to smother his leftover Cajun accent, as he always did in public speeches.

"Incredibly devastating," he said. "This could set back the advances we've made in environmental management by decades. I have personally contacted the Federal Emergency Management Agency to encourage their best efforts here. I also advocate calling out the National Guard, but of course that's up to the administration, whenever they get here. I understand the Vice President is on his way, so you can ask him yourselves. He'll be along any time now."

"Mr. Speaker, Mr. Speaker!"

He scanned the crowd until he caught the brunette's eye. He raised his eyebrow a fraction before nodding to her. He didn't give a rat's a.s.s for her question, but he kept his public face on autopilot. He wondered how much of a challenge she would be. "Go ahead."

"How will this affect the proposed new gasoline tax? Will the administration back the House's legislation calling for a majority of the tax to be used for cleaning up the environment?"

He pegged her: tough reporter type, arrogant and driven, looking for the big story. Willing to do just about anything for it-and he bet his Louisiana homegrown hot link would satisfy her. "I don't see how the President could refuse to sign the bill, especially now, with this mess right in America's lap."

"But do you antic.i.p.ate a fight? Could this be a big test of your abilities as Speaker?"

Mayeaux put on his "grave and understanding" expression to mask his utter scorn for testing his abilities. He was in this for the ride and the perks, and by next year he could say goodbye to all the bulls.h.i.t.

"We all try to work within the system, Ma'am. I've been in close contact with Vice President Wolani, who is making time in his busy schedule to personally view this disaster." Mayeaux squelched a smile before it could form on his face. "I'm sure when he returns to Washington, he'll convince the President of the necessity for this legislation. If not, then I'll have to twist a few more arms." He flashed the brunette a warm smile and turned to answer other questions.

Before long, he glanced at the clock at the back of the press room. He had been talking for ten minutes. Good enough. Short and sweet. The reporters would remember the "zingers" more than the message; he'd have to personally thank that cute new speech writer who'd come up with the lines on the jet up from Acapulco.

Excusing himself, Mayeaux smiled one last time at the brunette, then answered a final question over his shoulder as he was led into the anteroom. Weathersee, a stable but joy-killing anchor through Mayeaux's entire career, bent closer and spoke quietly. "Emma Branson is waiting upstairs in a private suite."

"You make a good den mother, Franklin," he said.

The Chief of Staff ignored the comment. "She needs to speak with you."

Mayeaux glanced around and saw no one dangerous in view; the media was gone and with no one listening, let his annoyance show. "That old b.i.t.c.h? I can't afford to be seen with her, especially now. Oilstar connections are going to be extremely bad for my reputation right now."

"I thought you were planning to work for her," Weathersee said calmly.

"That's after after I retire, and you know it, Franklin!" I retire, and you know it, Franklin!"

"She came in through the back entrance. No one saw her. She says it's urgent," Weathersee said. "She's in a hurry and is calling in a few favors."

Mayeaux allowed himself to be guided toward the elevators. "Yeah, yeah." He knew who had spearheaded the donations that bankrolled his campaign. Even though other big oil companies had stayed away from direct contributions, Emma Branson and Oilstar had played too important a role to ignore.

They emerged from the elevator. Weathersee waited outside the penthouse door as Mayeaux entered, somehow managing to stand without fidgeting for impossibly long periods.

Mayeaux smiled broadly at Branson as he padded across the beige-carpeted floor to kiss the lizard-faced woman on both cheeks. He thought he might get frostbite on his lips-G.o.d, he knew she had once been married, but Mayeaux couldn't imagine anyone willingly f.u.c.king the old hag.

He flashed her his warmest grin. "This is like old home week, cher cher, defending the environment, running into old friends." He stroked his hand up and down her arm. She looked so much like a mummy. "How've you been? d.a.m.n tragic about that tanker!"

Emma Branson smiled, but her eyes looked as hard as a diamond-tipped oildrill. She wore a necklace of small pearls over a throat that was wattled like an iguana's. A television set in the back of the suite recapped Mayeaux's live interview; she did not seem pleased about it. Branson picked up a decanter of scotch and poured two fingers' worth into a pair of gla.s.ses; she thrust one at him.

"This is no time for bulls.h.i.t-my corporate board is waiting for me. This spill will hurt the economy a great deal more than it will hurt the environment, Jeffrey. We'll get this mess cleaned up well enough in a few months, but the oil business will be paying forever. We're going to be in court over this one for the next half century."

Branson placed her gla.s.s on the counter without sipping from it. Mayeaux didn't say a word; whatever the old iron maiden wanted from him, it wouldn't involve small talk. Branson came straight to the point. "I'd hoped to speak with you before the press conference. You sounded rather enthusiastic about this new tax of yours-how hard are you going to push it?"

Mayeaux took a measured sip of scotch. It had a smokey, peat-like flavor, and very pure. It had to be a single malt-everything about Emma Branson was first cla.s.s. He paused long enough to make her think his answer wasn't spring-loaded.

"It's scary, Emma. This spill provides the catalyst for the new tax, and there's nothing I, or the back-room boys, can do to prevent it. There's too much momentum behind the bill. Every TV in the country is flooded with Zoroaster Zoroaster images, and people are demanding a scapegoat-they want to string somebody up by the b.a.l.l.s, and they don't care who. The tax will be a way to ensure 'it doesn't happen again.' You know, like 'the war to end all wars.' Propaganda bulls.h.i.t, but there you have it." images, and people are demanding a scapegoat-they want to string somebody up by the b.a.l.l.s, and they don't care who. The tax will be a way to ensure 'it doesn't happen again.' You know, like 'the war to end all wars.' Propaganda bulls.h.i.t, but there you have it."

"Do you really think you could use that money to buy more efficient equipment or make better tankers? Do you think even triple hulls would be safer? Smaller tankers means more tankers, more traffic means more accidents. Simple statistics. You don't gain anything." Branson shook her head.

Mayeaux swirled his drink and took a final sip. He might as well have been wrestling with an alligator. Emma Branson was personally responsible for bringing in over five million in contributions, and even at that, he had been lucky to get re-elected this time. If every other state besides Louisiana hadn't had term limitations, Mayeaux would never have gained enough seniority to be elected Speaker this year. Pure unadulterated serendipity, a fait accompli before the new selection rules could grind their way through the system. With his track record he would never rise higher-but with Branson's backing, he'd make a fine lobbyist for the oil industry. d.a.m.n fine, with his connections.

He sighed and placed his drink on the counter next to Branson's still-untouched gla.s.s. A shame to waste good scotch. He looked her in the eye.

"Emma, as always you have a point. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in politicking that I forget my roots, not to mention my friends. Tell you what-when I get back to Washington, I'll bury this legislation in subcommittee. I'll throw my staff into patching together a compromise solution." He reached out and squeezed her hands.

Branson pulled her hands away, but she did not argue with him. As he reached the door, Branson's raspy voice said, "I'll be paying close attention to the Congressional Record, Jeffrey. Just remember those future plans of yours. Don't bite the hand that feeds you." She paused, then smiled. "Or I'll I'll be the one to string you up by the b.a.l.l.s." be the one to string you up by the b.a.l.l.s."

Mayeaux forced a chuckle, keeping a grin plastered to his face. "I'm heading back to D.C. right now to work on it."

Outside the door, Weathersee steered him to the elevator. "The V.P.'s plane is due in another hour. Did you want to join the welcoming party?"

Mayeaux's grin melted as soon as he was away from the penthouse door. "h.e.l.l, no! I've already upstaged the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I don't want to be seen fawning over him. It's bad enough I promised Emma Branson I'd look for an alternative to the energy tax bill." He raced through the options-there had to be a way to not p.i.s.s off the oil industry.

Weathersee raised an eyebrow, then looked at his watch as they waited for the elevator. "I didn't think you'd want to stay. I've booked you back on a direct flight that leaves in less than an hour-" He fell silent as the elevator door opened, glancing around; when no one came out, they stepped in. "Unless you have other plans? I did keep your suite at the hotel."

Mayeaux sighed and smiled. "Offer that brunette KSFO reporter an exclusive deep-background interview with me tonight. Order room service. Champagne. I'll leave tomorrow morning. And call my wife-tell her I've been held over."

"Should I start the staff researching gas tax alternatives?"

Mayeaux shook his head, waving dismissively. "And have Huey Long roll over in his grave? There's no way to stop it, no matter what I promised Branson. I'll throw it back into negotiations and let it build up its own momentum-as long as I don't go on record for it, that should keep Branson happy. I'll call for a voice vote so she can't pin me on anything."

The elevator b.u.mped to a stop. When the door opened, a crowd surged toward him. Speaker of the House Jeffrey Mayeaux put on his smile and started shaking hands, offering rea.s.surance. He spotted two sweet young things straining to get a glimpse of him.

He hated the work itself, but G.o.d, he loved being a congressman.

Chapter 7.