Where there are saints, there are thieves.
Where there are high mountains, there are deep abysses.
The struggle between thieves and police has played out in various fields for thousands of years, and the technologies of stealing and anti-theft have continually evolved in this war.
And oil theft, from any perspective, is the pinnacle of thieving techniques.
Saturday, approaching noon
The remote ridge, which should have only been frequented by worms, now had so signs of human activity. Six super-heavy trucks were parked on a compacted road in the shadow of a mountain recess, surrounded by twenty modified vehicles of various sizes. Seventy or eighty people patrolled the area, and even a Pterosaur-mounted drone hovered in the sky for reconnaissance.
Night Wanderer had invested heavily in this operation.
But within their strict encirclent, there was only one hole less than three ters in diater. The opening was over two ters deep, leading to an underground cavity, where Night Wanderers had placed a ladder for easy access.
Their leader was pacing along the edge of the huge pipeline at the bottom of the underground cavity, the sound of his boots echoing in the silent, closed environnt.
Paul Jones, known in the underworld by the nickna Dogkiller, Dog Hunter, or Hunter.
As for why he had this na, one look at the coat he was wearing would tell you.
100% real human skin, not a bit of fake, traditionally handcrafted, processed through twenty-two ancient federal Star-Spangled Banner techniques, soft and glossy in texture.
No joke, just with this coat, Paul could unabashedly claim himself as the spiritual descendant of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Lincoln.
It is said—Indians of old used scalps for boots, today Wanderers use human skin for coats.
Not to ntion, he was about to engage in a traditional Star-Spangled Banner trade—oil theft.
This vibe couldn’t be more authentic.
Thus at this mont, Paul’s mood was a mix of pleasure and a hint of anxiety, anxiety laced with a hint of excitent. For Peizhuo Petrochemical, hundreds of thousands might be a small figure, but for Night Wanderers, whose survival environnt was being squeezed by Kurt Hansen, it was a month’s trade.
He looked down at his watch; it was nearly 10 o’clock, but the people he had arranged hadn’t arrived yet.
Several tis he considered calling Handz to urge them, but reason held him back.
A sudden commotion arose above the camp.
"Boss, they’ve arrived, three of them, and they’ve brought a lot of stuff."
Paul took a deep breath, then said in a calm tone,
"Got it, bring them in."
Soon, Night Wanderer underlings brought down three engineers who were completely covered, faces hidden, along with large toolboxes that were specially escorted.
Almost treating the three of them like revered parents.
Paul spread his arms in a welcoming gesture as he approached.
"Be careful, folks, this is an underground cave, the ground is quite slippery. If anything happens to you, I can’t explain it to Handz."
The three engineers were imdiately startled by this guy who looked imposing and fierce yet deliberately put on a facade of friendliness. Not to ntion the lingering bloodstains on his coat.
If it weren’t for higher-ups having caught them using their positions to traffic ’waste oil,’ they wouldn’t want to deal with these Evil Land smugglers at all.
Still, the one in the lead mustered the courage, picked up a toolbox, and bypassed Paul, ignoring his friendly overtures.
Their mission was singular: bore holes, extract oil, seal the operation when ti’s up, and leave.
Who gets the oil? Where does it go? Who’s buying?
None of that concerned them.
Paul, rebuffed, said nothing, understanding that after this job, they’d part ways, strangers to each other.
The three walked with several large boxes to the pipeline, over two ters in diater. First, they used electronic instrunts to test the pipeline’s stability data and determine where to drill. One of them marked two barrel-sized circles on the pipe with an oil pen, then took out six huge rubber dampers to bind around the extremities of the drilling site, each damper about five ters apart.
Every kiloter of the pipeline had a vibration detector, extrely sensitive. Even through five or six ters of thick soil, it could detect a vehicle driving over it, not to ntion drilling.
If they did nothing and just took a jackhamr to it, as soon as you hit it, they’d already have a hovercraft preparing for takeoff.
Next, they connected instrunts to the external ters of the pipe, adjusting the pipeline’s current readings. To prevent pipeline corrosion and rust, energy companies apply an external current to make the protected structure the cathode, inhibiting electron migration that causes tal corrosion, thereby preventing or mitigating corrosion.
If the pipeline experienced damage or corrosion, the ter reading at the cathodic protection station would fluctuate abnormally, instantly locking on to the location and deploying maintenance personnel.
After addressing these two issues, they weren’t done yet. The three engineers instructed Night Wanderer underlings to proceed with the planned preparations. Two large rubber pipes were cautiously carried in from the hole entrance, fearing any drop.
One engineer used a wrench to tap the pipe, and after confirming no abnormal fluctuations in the outermost damper readings with his companions, began work on the pipe wall with tools.
He detached his prosthetic limb, replacing it with a smart jackhamr, and started drilling at the four corners of the circle. This Φ2000×35 pipe wall was a full 35mm thick, and with the engineer’s exquisite skills and prosthetic control, he managed to leave 2mm undrilled.
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