The Swarm (5 page)

‘Tina!' he shouted. ‘Have you been missing the oil?'

‘That's Lars Jörensen,' said Lund. ‘He's responsible for monitoring the helicopter and seagoing traffic on Gullfaks C. He's an excellent chess player too.'

Jörensen was wearing a Statoil T-shirt and reminded Johanson of a petrol-pump attendant. He clasped Lund to his chest, then shook hands with Johanson. ‘You've picked an inhospitable day,' he said. ‘In good weather you can see the full pride of the Norwegian oil industry from here, every last platform.'

‘Are you busy at the moment?' asked Johanson, as they climbed down the spiral steps.

‘No more so than usual. Your first time on a platform, is it?'

‘It's been a while. How much are you producing these days?'

‘Less and less. Production on Gullfaks has been stable for a while now, with two hundred thousand barrels coming from twenty-one wellheads. We should be pleased with that, but we're not.' He pointed to a tanker moored to a loading buoy a few hundred metres away. ‘We're filling her up. There'll be another along later, and that's it for today. Soon we'll start running out.'

The wellheads weren't directly below the platform but were scattered a fair distance away. The oil was extracted, separated from the natural
gas and water, then stored in the tanks on the seabed. From there it was pumped to the loading buoys. A safety zone stretched five hundred metres around the platform and only its maintenance vessels were allowed to cross it.

Johanson peered over the iron railings. ‘Hasn't the
Thorvaldson
arrived?' he asked.

‘She's at the other loading buoy, just out of sight.'

‘So, you don't even let research vessels come close?'

‘The
Thorvaldson
doesn't belong to Gullfaks and she's too big for our liking. It's enough trouble trying to persuade the fishermen to steer clear.'

‘Do you have much trouble with them?'

‘Last week we had to chase away a couple of guys after they'd followed a shoal right under the platform, and at Gullfaks A recently a tanker drifted loose - engine problems. We sent a few people to help, but the crew got it sorted just in time.'

Jörensen spoke casually, but he had described the catastrophe that everyone prayed would never happen: a loaded tanker heading straight for a platform. The impact would send shudders through some of the smaller structures, but, worse still, the tanker might explode. Every platform was equipped with sprinklers that would release several tonnes of water at the least sign of fire, but an exploding tanker could tear a platform to pieces. Such accidents were rare, and usually happened in South America where safety regulations weren't as strictly observed.

‘You're looking slim,' said Lund, as Jörensen held the door open for her. They went into the accommodation module and walked down a corridor lined with identical doors that led into the living quarters. ‘Don't they feed you well enough?'

‘Too well,' laughed Jörensen. ‘The chef's amazing. You should see our dining room,' he added quickly to Johanson. ‘It makes the Ritz look like a roadside café. No, the platform boss doesn't like North Sea bellies. He's told us to get rid of any extra kilos, or else he'll ban us from the platform.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Directive from Statoil. I don't know if they'd really go that far. In any case the threat was effective. No one wants to lose their job.'

They reached a narrow staircase and walked down, passing a group of
oil workers whom Jörensen greeted. Their footsteps echoed in the steel stairwell.

‘Right, this is the end of the line. You've got a choice. Either we go left, grab a coffee and chat for half an hour, or right, to the boat.'

‘Coffee sounds good,' said Johanson.

‘We haven't time.' Lund told him.

‘The
Thorvaldson
won't leave without you,' said Jörensen. ‘You could easily—'

‘I don't want to have to race there. Next time I'll stay longer, I promise. And I'll bring Sigur too. It's about time someone played you into a corner.'

Jörensen laughed, and Lund and Johanson followed him outside. Wind blasted their faces. They were at the bottom edge of the accommodation module, standing on a thick steel grating, through which they caught glimpses of billowing waves. A constant hissing and droning filled the air. Jörensen led them towards another short gangway. An orange launch was suspended from a crane. ‘What are you doing on the
Thorvaldson?
' he asked casually. ‘I heard Statoil might be building further out.'

‘It's possible,' said Lund.

‘A new platform?'

‘Not necessarily. Maybe a SWOP.'

Single Well Offshore Production Systems were enormous vessels similar to tankers with their own oil-recovery facility, used in depths of more than three hundred and fifty metres. A flexible flowline kept the vessel in position over the well while the oil was pumped into the hold, which served as a temporary storage tank.

They got into the launch. It was spacious inside, with several rows of benches. Apart from the helmsman they were the only ones on board. The boat jerked as the crane lowered them into the sea. Cracked grey concrete flashed past the side windows, then they were bobbing on the waves. The crane detached itself from the boat and they motored away from the platform.

The
Thorvaldson
was now in view, recognizable, like most research vessels, by its boom, used for manoeuvring submersibles and other equipment into the water. The launch drew up alongside it and docked. Johanson and Lund climbed up a steel ladder, fixed securely to the vessel. As he struggled with his suitcase, it occurred to Johanson that
maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to pack half of his wardrobe. Lund, who was ahead, glanced round. ‘You thought you were here for a holiday, did you?' she asked.

Johanson sighed. ‘I was beginning to think you hadn't noticed.'

 

Every large landmass in the world was bounded by a relatively shallow strip of water, no more than two hundred metres deep, known as the continental shelf. Technically, it was the underwater continuation of the continental plate. In some parts of the world it extended only a short way into the sea, but in others it continued for hundreds of kilometres until it dipped towards the ocean's floor, either falling away sharply or inclining gently in a terraced slope. The depths beyond the shelf were an unknown universe, more mysterious to science than outer space.

The shelf regions, however, had long been conquered by mankind. Humans were land animals, but needed water to survive, which was why two-thirds of the world's population could be found within sixty kilometres of the shore.

While oceanographic charts showed the shelf around Portugal and northern Spain as a narrow strip of seabed, the perimeter of the British Isles and Scandinavia extended into the water for some distance, so that the two regions merged together to form the North Sea, a relatively shallow expanse of water that averaged between twenty and 150 metres in depth. In its present form it dated back barely ten thousand years, and at first glance there was nothing remarkable about it, with its complex currents and fluctuating water temperatures. In the world economy, though, it played a central role. The North Sea was one of the busiest areas in the world, lined by industrial nations, and home to Rotterdam, the biggest port in history. Although the English Channel was only thirty kilometres wide at its narrowest point, it was one of the world's most travelled waterways: freighters, tankers, ferries and smaller craft jostled for space within its narrow confines.

Three hundred million years ago, vast swamps connected Britain to the continent in an unbroken chain of land. From time to time the area flooded as the waters advanced, then retreated. Gradually, mighty rivers swept into the basin, laying down mud, plant and animal remains that built up into a deposit many hundreds of metres thick. Seams of coal formed, while the land continued to sink. New deposits accumulated, compacting the sediment into sandstone and lime, and trapping organic
debris underground. At the same time the temperature in the rock rose. Exposed to the combined effects of heat and pressure, the organic matter underwent complex chemical changes, eventually forming oil and gas, some of which leached out of the porous rock and permeated upwards into the water. The rest remained buried.

For millions of years the shelf had lain untouched.

Then oil was discovered, and Norway joined Britain, Holland and Denmark in a race to exploit the underwater riches. In thirty years, it had become the world's second largest exporter of petroleum. The Norwegian continental shelf contained the bulk of the deposits - roughly half of Europe's oil reserves - and its store of natural gas was equally impressive. The drilling extended ever deeper, and simple scaffold constructions gave way to oil platforms the size of the Empire State Building. It wasn't long before plans to build autonomous subsea processors became reality. It seemed as though the party would last for ever.

However, as fishing yields declined, so did the supply of petroleum. Many subsea oil fields had already been drained, and Europe was faced with the spectre of an enormous scrapyard full of disused platforms. There was only one way out of the plight that the oil nations had brought upon themselves. On the other side of the continental shelf untapped reserves of petroleum were stored beneath the surface of the deep-sea basins and in the continental slopes. Conventional platforms were useless in such conditions, so Lund and her team were developing a different kind of technology. The continental slope wasn't uniformly steep, and in places it sloped down to form terraces - the ideal terrain for a subsea facility. The risks involved in working at depth meant that human labour had to be avoided. With the fall in oil production, the oil workers' fortunes had waned. In the 1970s and 1980s they had been well paid and in demand, but now there were plans to reduce the workforce on Gullfaks C to two dozen. Even an enormous construction like the Troll A platform practically ran itself.

The fact of the matter was that the North Sea oil industry was no longer profitable. But closing it down would be even more costly.

 

Johanson emerged from his cabin. The atmosphere on board the
Thorvaldson
was one of quiet routine. The boat wasn't especially big. Some of the giant research vessels, like the
Polarstern
from Bremerhaven,
had space for helicopters to land on board, but the
Thorvaldson
needed every spare metre for equipment. He strolled over to the railings and gazed out to sea. They had been sailing for almost two hours, passing through conurbations of platforms and oil rigs. Now they were north of the Shetland Islands, beyond the continental shelf, and the view had opened out. Nearly seven hundred metres of water lay between the seabed and the ship's keel. The continental slope had been charted and surveyed, but the zone of eternal darkness still retained its mystery. Powerful floodlights enabled scientists to illuminate small sections, but it was like exploring an entire country by night with a streetlamp.

Johanson remembered the bottle of Bordeaux and the French and Italian cheeses in his suitcase. He went to look for Lund and found her conducting a pre-dive check on the robot. The three-metre-high open-sided box was suspended from the hydraulic boom. The outer casing of its lid bore the name ‘Victor'. Cameras and an articulated arm were mounted on the front.

Lund beamed at him. ‘Impressed?'

Johanson dutifully looped back around
Victor
.

‘It's a great big yellow vacuum cleaner,' he said.

‘Spoilsport.'

‘How much does it weigh?'

‘Four tonnes. Hey Jean!' A thin man with red hair peered out from behind a cable drum. Lund beckoned him over. ‘Jean-Jacques Alban is first officer. He keeps the
Thorvaldson
afloat,' said Lund. ‘Jean, I've got stuff to get on with. You'll look after Sigur for me, won't you?' She hurried off. The two men watched her go.

‘I expect you've got more important things to do than explain Victor to me,' said Johanson.

‘Oh, it's no problem. You're from the NTNU, right? I gather you've been examining the worms.'

‘Why's Statoil so interested in them?'

Alban made a dismissive gesture. ‘It's the characteristics of the slope that we care about, really. We found the worms by accident. I reckon the problem's all in Tina's mind.'

‘But isn't that why you're here? I mean because of the worms,' said Johanson, surprised.

‘Is that what she told you?' Alban shook his head. ‘No, that's only part of the mission. We'll follow it up, of course, as we always do, but our
main task is to clear the way for an underwater monitoring station. The idea is to build it on top of the oilfield, so if the site seems safe, we can install a subsea unit.'

‘Tina mentioned something about a SWOP.'

Alban looked at him uneasily. ‘Er, no. As far as I'm aware, the subsea processor is a done deal. I don't think there's been a change of plan.'

So, no floating platforms, then. Johanson decided to quiz him about the robot.

‘It's a Victor 6000, a remotely operated vehicle, or ROV,' Alban explained. ‘It's got a working depth of six thousand metres and can stay under water for days at a time. We guide its movements from the boat - a cable leading up to the control room delivers its data simultaneously. The next trip is a forty-eight-hour recce. We'll get it to fetch you a handful of worms - Statoil prides itself on preserving biodiversity.' He paused. ‘What do you make of the creatures?'

‘It's too early to say,' said Johanson.

There was a clunk and Johanson watched as the boom hoisted Victor off the deck.

‘Follow me,' said Alban. They headed amidships towards five shed-sized containers. ‘Most vessels aren't equipped for using Victor, but since we could accommodate it, we borrowed it from the
Polarstern
.'