Peak Oil (26 page)

He looked up as General Alain Laiveaux entered the mess tent with Alexa Guerra and headed his way. Ryan watched as Alexa and Laiveaux talked to each other. The old general was fond of her, nodding and smiling as they spoke. She listened attentively whenever he said something.
 

The general dragged a chair out for Alexa. She smiled and nodded and then sat down at Ryan’s table.
 

“Lucy told me that your men put up quite a show of force,” Ryan said to both of them.

Laiveaux shrugged. “It’s the only way to extract.” He put his white kepi, upside down, in front of him on the table.
 

Alexa studied Ryan intently with emotionless green eyes. She was beautiful, but she had a steely grit to her. She made him think of Joan of Arc, how she probably looked before going into a battle. He shifted around in his seat as she looked at him.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” she asked.

Ryan sighed deeply. “I guess I’ll probably have to come clean. You will guarantee my safety?”
 

Alexa waved her hand around the tent. “It won’t get much safer than this.”

Ryan pursed his lips and cast a furtive glance around. “Fitch has many resources. Do not underestimate him.”
 

“Tell us,” she said impatiently.

Dr. Ryan glanced at Laiveaux. The general nodded encouragingly.

“All right then,” Ryan said. He removed his glasses and started cleaning them with a napkin. He looked up at Alexa. “Refatex is a state-of-the-art refinery. As I mentioned, we process two hundred thousand barrels of Brent crude a day.” He glanced at Laiveaux. “Only, recently, we’ve scaled down, processing scarcely a fifth of that.”

Alexa frowned. “Why?”
 

“We’ve discovered a major oil shale deposit in Dabbort Creek. Enough to supply the United States with eighty percent of the country’s oil demands for the next twenty years.”

Alexa's eyes widened. “So Fitch has struck it rich?”

Dr. Ryan pinched his brow and then shook his head. “Technically it doesn’t belong to Fitch. The US government passed a congressional act in 1910 called the Pickett Act.” He slipped his glasses back on and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. “All oil shale deposits below Dabbort Creek belong to the US government.” He looked up at Alexa and snorted. “Andy Fitch is mining a product that doesn’t belong to him.”

The captain nodded slowly, chewing the side of her lip. “Okay, he’s due for some jail time,” she said and leaned back in her chair. “A hotshot lawyer will get his sentence rescinded to a year, two maximum.”

Ryan sighed, massaging his temples. “That’s not all.”

The captain’s eyes locked on his. Was it his imagination, or had they changed color? ”What else?”
 

“He’s stockpiling the oil beneath the ground.”

“Why?” she asked.

“We’re waiting for peak oil.”

“Peak oil?”
 

Ryan nodded. “When no new oil is discovered, we estimate crude prices to go up from one hundred dollars per barrel to two thousand, maybe more. When that day comes, Fitch would be the richest man on earth, ever.” He sighed. “So would I.”

“How many barrels have you stockpiled?” Alexa asked.

“Rough estimate,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair. “Close to two billion.”

Laiveaux whistled softly. “
Merde
, that is
énorme
.”

Ryan smiled and shook his head. “Not really; it could keep America going for a hundred days or so.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But we would have made $200 billion in profit.”

Alexa bit her lower lip. “So what went wrong?”
 

“Beck. We needed him to find us some additional storage caches beneath the ground. But he flipped out, threatening to go to the cops.”
 

“Why do you need more caches?” Laiveaux asked.
 

Ryan shrugged. “Look, we melt the shale rock with gas-heated metal rods, and then it gathers in a catchment area that we drill below the shale deposits.” He explained by holding his fingers downward and holding his other hand in a cupping gesture below his fingers. “We drilled more than five thousand of these wells around the refinery and in the countryside.”

Laiveaux stood up and started pacing the room, an incredulous look on his face. “We haven’t seen any of these drill sites.”

“Once the oil gathers in the catchment, we seal the hole and mark it with a GPS positional marker.”

“So why not just refine the shale oil and ship it out?” Alexa asked.

Ryan let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, our refinery was built for Brent Crude. We would have had to modify the refinery to refine shale oils; someone would have noticed.”

The captain nodded thoughtfully and then looked up at him with those intense eyes. “Why is there a feeding pen for the cats in the basement of the refinery?”

Ryan chuckled. “Well, that’s how Fitch discovered the shale. About thirty years ago, he caught an ocelot and tamed it.” He scratched his chin. “It came home one day covered in an oily slick. At first he thought the cat had gotten into the refinery somehow. But the oil on the cat’s fur was different.”

Laiveaux stopped pacing. “Different? How?”

“Premium light sweet crude, the best stuff in town.”

“So Fitch followed the cat?” Alexa asked.

“Yep, followed it to its den. Close by was a warm-water spring, and the crude bubbled from it like liquid gold.”
 

Alexa tapped her lower lip with an index finger. “So he reckons the cats were responsible for making him rich?”
 

“Said they were sent to him by God. And you look after your lucky charms.”

Alexa’s eyebrows arched. “And that is obviously the reason why people aren’t allowed to drill in Dabbort?”

Ryan gave a cynical smile. “Well, we can’t risk someone striking a stratum of shale or oil in one of the catchments, now could we?”

“But why spread the rumor that the ocelots were extinct?” she asked.

“We didn’t want nosy tourists sneaking around. And we sure as hell didn’t need the tourism dollars.”

“The tanker that exploded, was it carrying liquid gas?” Laiveaux asked.

Ryan nodded. “Yes, we use it to heat the metal rods. Brent Crude will sure as hell not explode the way it did in the tanker truck.”

Laiveaux held up a hand. “Okay, that all makes sense. But why would no one go to the authorities?” He pulled his fingers through his short grey hair. “Surely someone else must have known about the shale?”

“My dear General. Gypsies do not blabber their secrets out to anyone.”

Alexa’s eyes widened. “Everyone here are Gypsies?”

“Everyone but Patricia.” Ryan leaned back in the chair. “And the Becks. Fitch needed them for their geological knowledge. We didn’t have specialists in the community, and we were running out of time to get someone trained to become a specialist.”

“Patricia?” Laiveaux asked.

Ryan nodded. “Patricia McBride. Patsy up at Mo’s Diner.”

The captain nodded slowly, pursing her lips. She glanced up at Ryan. “You’re a gypsy as well?”

Ryan nodded.

“But I thought Gypsies stopped going to school at the age of sixteen, even younger? And you’re a doctor?” she asked.

“Becoming a billionaire changes things, and we had the resources and time. I went to study and learn what was needed to set up and run an oil refinery.”

“Is Missy a Gypsy as well?” she asked.

He closed his eyes and sighed softly. This was worse than the damn Spanish Inquisition. “Yes, a dark face. She joined us twenty years ago. Has a doctorate in civil engineering.” He waved his hand around the room dramatically. “Hell, she almost single-handedly engineered the entire plant.”

The captain nodded thoughtfully and then turned to Laiveaux. “Well, then I guess Missy has some explaining to do.”

Mary-Lou sat on the edge of the windowsill, her favorite doll on her lap. She gave it a hug. “Don’t worry, Katy. Momma’s gonna look after you.” She cradled the doll in her arms and rocked it gently. “Hush now, baby, close your eyes, momma’s gonna sing you a lullaby.”
 

She hummed the song that her momma used to sing; she couldn’t remember the words anymore. Grandma Pauline had sung it once, but momma’s version was sweeter.
 

Mary-Lou opened the yellowing lace curtain an inch and peered outside. The man that had spanked momma was there again. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked up at her with a scary grin and then tipped his hat at her.
 

She pulled the curtains together and bolted to her bunk bed. She tossed Katy on her cushion, pulled the sheet from the top mattress over the opening to her bunk, and made sure that no one could see into her stronghold.

She lay down on her back and lifted her legs in the air, examining her toes. They were muddy and black from the dirty river where she liked to play with the cats. Grandma Pauline said the mud was a bitch to wash off, almost like trying to wash the black off of you.
 

She liked the cats. Bella was her favorite. She knew her name was Bella because Grandma Pauline called her that when she came to fetch her kitty snack. Grandma Pauline knew most of them. She counted the names on her fingers. Bella, Bradshire, Raven, Mooky, Cockeye, Blackback.
 

Mooky was gone, she hadn’t come for a visit in ages. But Blackback and Cockeye had been here last night. Grandma Pauline had shooed them away, saying that they were sick. Grandma didn’t put any food out for them this morning either. And she wasn’t allowed to go playing with them no more.

She rolled over on her stomach, pulled a stack of papers from beneath the bed, and started arranging them neatly in front of her. The nasty man downstairs made her shiver. The pictures she had drawn made her feel better, somehow less afraid. She always felt better about scary things after she drew them. Then they weren’t as scary anymore because she had made them herself.
 

She paged through the papers, searching for a blank one. She found one and stared up at the bunk above her, pursed her lips, and thought for a while. She drew what she could remember, her tongue squiggling over her lips as she drew. It had been two birthdays ago. The nasty man had pointed his finger in momma’s face, shouting at her. Momma had cried, begged the man to leave her alone. He had given her a hiding to her stomach, and momma had held on to the man’s legs, sobbing like a baby.

Then he had kicked and kicked until momma could cry no more because she didn’t have eyes to cry out of; she didn’t have a face no more. And then the man had turned to her and smiled and pointed a gun at her and the fire exploded from the gun. She had felt a warm sting in her head and something hot running down her cheek and down her back. And then she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.
 

After that, everything had changed. Momma and the nasty man had gone away. Grandma Pauline had picked her up at the hospital, told her that momma was in heaven and the nasty man was gone.

But he wasn’t. He was right there outside her window, laughing at her.

Alexa felt dog-tired, but she couldn’t sleep. She massaged her stiff limbs and then sat up in her bunk. It was useless; as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw haunting images of Neil’s final moments, his body bouncing on the ground as the bullets ripped through him, the pained grimace on his face.

She felt desperately alone. She thought about Mary-Lou and how fond Neil had been of her. She glanced at her watch: quarter past eight. She stood up and sauntered to the mess tent. Four men stood up as soon as she entered. “Where’s Major Bryden?”
 

Major Joel Rosh stepped forward. “Sleeping.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s on watch from 2:00 a.m.”

Alexa nodded. “I need a lift to the Ocelot Inn.”

Rosh touched her elbow. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy, Captain?”

Alexa stuck a tuft of hair behind her ear and then shrugged. “I can walk if I must, you know?”

The major smiled and snapped his fingers. “Keys, please.”

A soldier threw a set of keys to Rosh; they jingled in his hand as he caught them. “Come on, then, I’ll be your designated driver.” He strode to the exit and Alexa followed, jogging to keep up.

“So what’s so important up at the Ocelot Inn?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Alexa shrugged. “I guess there’s a little girl that I need to see.”

Rosh stopped and studied her face. He pursed his lips and then turned around again, heading toward the vehicles. He unlocked the Humvee, held the door open for her, and then slid into the driver’s seat.

Rosh glanced at her as they drove, the soft glow of a streetlight casting shadows over the deep furrows around his mouth and brow. “I’m sorry.”

She cast him a sidelong glance.

“About the sergeant and…, everything,” he stuttered.

Alexa nodded, staring straight ahead.

Alexa was out of the door before the car came to a stop in the parking area of the Ocelot Inn and started jogging up the walkway toward the reception area, Rosh following close behind. She strode into the reception office and rang the bell on the counter.