Peak Oil Page 7

Alexa frowned, momentarily taken aback, and then smiled slowly. “What did you say?”

  He looked at her then back at the road and shrugged.

  She punched his shoulder. “What?”

  “I said that you hated kids.” He flinched as she punched him again, harder this time.

  “You did not.”

  Neil chuckled. “No, I asked her where her real mommy was, but she shut up like a clam.” His lips pressed together and he cast her a conflicted glance. “She just stared at me.”

  Alexa looked straight ahead. She could see that his interaction with the kid had upset him somehow. She turned in her seat as she noticed a patrol car with flashing lights in front of one of the houses. “Slow down.” She craned her neck. “What’s this all about?”

  A yellow truck was parked on the lawn. The cargo bed contained a huge metal spool with a roll of thick black pipe. Alexa recognized the Becks, the couple they had met at the inn. They were involved in a heated exchange with an officer, pointing fingers and gesturing at their backyard. The officer was shaking his head.

  They drove by unnoticed.

  Neil picked up speed and gunned the Chevy out of town. They cruised past a man wearing blue overalls and an orange neon jacket. He was attaching a sign onto a pole next to the road. It said, “Welcome to Dabbort Creek, Population 687, Home of the Ocelot.”

  “That was quick,” Alexa said. “Two new people and the sign has already been changed.”

  Neil shrugged. “Like you said, happy staff, happy residents.”

  Alexa jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, those two didn’t look happy back there.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I wonder what that was all about.”

  She guessed he was still thinking of the conversation he had had with the little girl.

  They drove for twenty-five miles and cruised past a road sign that announced, “Refatex Refinery, 5 Miles Ahead.” They made good time, and Neil turned into the gates to the refinery. They eased in next to a guardhouse with a boom gate. A security guard slid open the window and touched his hat.

  “Good day. How may I assist you folks today?” he asked in a nasally tone. He looked like a retired boxer; he had a skew nose and cauliflower ears.

  “We’re here to have a look around,” Neil said.

  The guard pursed his lips and shook his head firmly. “No can do. You need to tell me who you’re here to visit or state the nature of your of business inside.”

  Neil fumbled for his Interpol ID Badge and then handed it to the guard. “It’s official.”

  The guard got on a phone and punched in a number. After a while, he put it down and turned back to Neil. “Sorry, no can do. Unless you have a search warrant or something, entry is denied.”

  Neil frowned. “Why?”

  The guard handed Neil a business card and his ID badge. “Because Mr. Bledisloe said so. He’s the Refatex lawyer.” The man slid into his chair. “Call him if you want,” he said before sliding the window closed.

  Neil backed away from the boom and turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Alexa punched the number into her cell phone, and a female voice answered. “Mr. Bledisloe, please.” After a click, the phone rang.

  “Yep,” someone replied.

  “Mr. Bledisloe?” Alexa asked.

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “Mr. Bledisloe. Captain Alexa Guerra, Interpol. I need to visit the facility at Refatex in Dabbort Creek, but I was refused entry. Could you tell me why?”

  Bledisloe went silent for a moment. “Interpol, hey? What, do we have an international security situation on our hands?” He chuckled wheezily.

  “As a matter of fact, we do.” Alexa closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “One of our field agents disappeared a couple of days ago.”

  Bledisloe chuckled again. “Report it to missing persons then. That’s not an international security risk. What was he doing in Dabbort Creek in the first place?”

  Alexa slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “That matter is sub judice. Are we going to gain willful entry or not?”

  “Sub judice my ass,” Bledisloe rasped. “I would have known about it. You’re not getting in without a warrant.”

  Alexa slammed the dashboard. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, slowly. She could hear the man’s labored breathing. “Very well then. Thank you for your time,” she said calmly.

  “No problem,” Bledisloe said and hung up.

  Alexa looked at Neil. “Someone doesn’t want us in there.”

  Neil put the car in gear and gunned the gas. “I think we may have our first lead, Captain.”

  Neil kept quiet on his way back to town. He had an uneasy itch in the back of his brain that he couldn’t shake: that the reason they were here was only the tip of a much larger iceberg.

  Alexa stared out of the window, deep in thought. She wore a light, floral summer dress. She had kicked off her shoes and was sitting cross-legged, her dress pulled up high on her tanned legs. He wondered if she was thinking the same. He put his hand on her knee, and she threaded her fingers through his without looking up.

  “Slow down,” Alexa said again as they neared the house where the police officer and the Becks had had their altercation less than an hour ago.

  The patrol car was now gone. Neil recognized David Beck, the man they had met at the diner at the Ocelot Inn a couple of days ago. His dark hair was plastered to a sweaty brow. He was working a mechanical lever on the back of the truck, rolling up the thick rubber hose onto the large spool that stood on the loading bed of the truck.

  Neil slowed down and pulled up on the grassy shoulder of the road in front of the house. He pushed a button, and the window slid down. “Oi,” he called to David, waving a hand.

  David Beck looked up and wiped his brow with a muddy hand. He hitched his dirty jeans above his hips and wiped his hands on a soiled T-shirt. He smiled and waved when he recognized Neil and jumped off the truck.

  “I noticed you had a visit from the local law enforcement,” Neil said as Beck approached.

  Beck leaned forward, resting his hand on the roof. He shook his head. “Asshole.” He bent down and greeted Alexa. “Come in. I have some coffee on.”

  They undid their seat belts and followed Beck into his home.

  “Excuse the mess, we’re still getting settled in.” David Beck pointed around the foyer.

  Cardboard boxes stood scattered, some empty and others halfway unpacked. The house had a modern, spacious interior with upscale finishes. The living room was tiled with white, polished marble, and the large, glass sliding door opened to a view over the valley and the forest below. A row of framed watercolor paintings were propped against a corner in the living room, but Neil didn’t recognize any of the artists.

  David led them into the kitchen.

  Lucy Beck was on her knees, unpacking cutlery and dinnerware. She looked up and smiled brightly. “Hi,” she said, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt. ”Good to see you guys again.”

  David Beck took a bottle from the counter and rinsed his hands. “Damn water supply is cut off again,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

  He removed four chairs that were stacked on top of a table and placed them on the floor. Lucy poured the steaming coffee into mugs.

  “So, why were the cops here?” Neil asked, taking a seat.

  David waved a dismissive hand. “They’re ignorant idiots. They won’t let me dig a well.” He took a sip of coffee. “I found a strong stream thirty yards down in my backyard; it’s all we need to supply the household.”

  “You dig water wells?” Alexa asked.

  Lucy laughed. “No, we’re geologists.” She glanced at David and smiled. “We both got our doctorates at Princeton.”

  Alexa nodded slowly. “So why aren’t you allowed to dig in your own garden?” She took a sip of coffee. “Do you need a permit or something?”

  David threw his hand in the air. “Beats me. I’m registered as a driller at the
Texas Department of Environmental Quality. They’ve already approved my drilling permit. That’s what I was trying to explain to the clown, but he wouldn’t have any of it.” He looked at Alexa and then at Neil. “He said Mr. Fitch needs to approve it first, can you believe it?” He shook his head, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

  “Why do you want to dig a hole in your garden, anyway?” Neil asked.

  “A well,” David corrected. “Have you seen the water supply in this place? It’s erratic at best.” He pointed to the faucet. “You never know when it’s going to be disconnected, and we don’t have a ten-thousand gallon holding tank like Missy has.”

  Lucy stood up and placed her cup in the faucet. “I tested the water quality. It’s crap. Filled with oxidized metals and salts. It’s undrinkable. They pump our drinking water all the way from one of the nearby lakes.”

  “Why?” Alexa asked.

  David shook his head. “I don’t know. But I damn well am going to find out.”

  Lucy leaned back against the faucet counter. “Are you guys working up at Refatex as well?”

  Neil cast a furtive glance at Alexa. She pursed her lips and nodded.

  Neil looked directly at Lucy. “No, we work for Interpol. We’re here looking for two of our agents who recently disappeared. We found one already, but the other guy is still missing.”

  Lucy frowned. “What were your agents doing in a deadbeat little town like Dabbort Creek?”

  Alexa smiled. “We get asked that a lot.” She drained her mug. “We were tipped off that a certain resident was stockpiling pornographic material. Kiddy stuff.”

  Neil drummed his fingers on the tabletop and then made up his mind. He looked up at David. “We took a ride down to the refinery this morning, but we weren’t allowed in without an official invitation from someone inside.”

  David smiled. “You want us to be that someone?”

  Neil shrugged. “Would that be possible?”

  David Beck grinned. “Of course. Consider yourself invited. When?”

  Neil thought for a moment. He took a long shot. “Tomorrow morning, if that’s okay?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” David stood up and placed his mug in the faucet. He turned to face them. “Could we make it early? Let’s have breakfast together. Dr. Ryan, the guy who runs the facility, promised us a seven o’ clock tour.”

  Alexa and Neil stood up and said farewells to Lucy.

  David Beck accompanied them to the car. “See you tomorrow at six, then?”

  “Thanks, I owe you one,” Neil said as he turned the key in the ignition. They waved good-bye as Neil accelerated into town.

  The piercing ring of the cell phone overpowered the calming white noise of the droning jet engines. Andy Fitch woke up from his power nap, removed his Stetson from his face, and blinked at the screen. He sat up in the leather chair of his private jet and clicked the answer button.

  “You get them?” he asked.

  The voice hesitated for a second. “Um, no, boss. Junior screwed up.”

  Fitch took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “Jeepers, Pete, do I have to do everything myself?”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  He sighed. “Okay, screw that. I’m on my way. Let me see what I can do when I get there.” Fitch disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto a foldout table next to him. “Guav cho muy,” he mumbled in disgust.

  He hailed the stewardess standing in front of the cockpit door. She nodded and trotted to him with a smile. “A double on the rocks, Susan.” He kicked off his shoes. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Certainly, sir.” She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, pulled a small menu from the pocket of the seat, and handed it to Fitch. “You have a choice of strip steak with German-style potatoes, buttermilk, celery, and chives or seared scallops with Brussels sprouts, bacon, lemon, and white beans.”

  The flight attendant put her finger on her lower lip and dragged it down her chin to the scarf on her neck. She loosened it and dropped it in Fitch’s lap.

  “For dessert, you have a choice of lime meringue pie or peanut butter and chocolate tart with caramel sauce.” She smiled seductively and popped the top button of her shirt. “And me, of course.”

  Fitch laughed and slapped her bottom. “Okay, bring me the steak. And then I’ll have you for dessert.”

  Missy waddled past their room as Neil and Alexa locked the door on their way out. A tinge of ocher colored the dark easterly horizon.

  Voelkner nodded a greeting and then folded his arms over the bulge beneath his leather jacket. He had been on early morning watch duty, and Neil was glad to see that he was armed and alert.

  Missy stopped and put her hand on her hip. “Now ain’t we the early risers?”

  Alexa stretched her arms as she yawned. “Look who’s talking.”.

  Missy smiled and turned to Neil. “Thanks for fixin’ my wall, Mr. Allen.” She carried a stack of pillow cases in her arm and jerked her head at Voelkner. “That man of yours has been busier than a cat tryin’ to cover up crap on a marble floor.”

  Neil smiled. Voelkner had done a great job of fixing the mess. He had even taken the liberty of ordering and installing new drywall from the hardware store. By the time they had arrived back from their visit to the Becks, he was finishing up with the paint job. The room looked as good as new.

  Voelkner smiled shyly.

  “Not a problem,” Neil said. “It was silly of me to fall against it.” He pointed to the pillow cases. “Need any help with that?”

  Missy shook her head. “Oh, never mind me.” She winked at Neil. “I’m sure you two have more important errands to attend to than makin’ up beds.” She walked away with a swing in her ungainly step.

  They greeted Voelkner and scampered down to the parking lot. Neil drove down the hill to the main road and stopped at the intersection. “What do we look for when we get there?” he asked, scanning the road for oncoming traffic.

  A couple of men wearing blue overalls and safety boots were waiting at the bus stop. Other than that, the highway was deserted.

  Alexa tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Let’s scope the place out. Frydman asked me to install a Trojan on a PC, which will allow him to monitor the network.” She shrugged. “Once we’ve done that, the rest is up to Interpol.”

  Neil nodded. They had used the services of Colonel Sal Frydman before. He was the head of Information Technology at Mossad, and he was a specialist at uncovering information buried on company hard drives and databases. Once his program was let loose on the Refatex network, no secrets were safe from Interpol anymore.

  Neil turned right onto the highway and floored the gas pedal into the ground. He glanced at Alexa. She was staring straight ahead, a frown on her face. Something was bothering her. She turned toward Neil. “The guy that attacked us . . .”

  Neil glanced sideways. “What about him?”

  Alexa tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I’m sure he was a Legionnaire.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged and then yawned again. “I just know.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “His attack zones, gun handling, they were all signature moves.”

  Neil nodded slowly, trying to comprehend the implications of this information. He glanced at her again, but Alexa simply sat there, her eyes closed, tapping her lips like she always did when she was thinking. She didn’t say anything else.

  They reached the refinery within twenty minutes.

  Neil rolled to a stop in front of the boom gate. The same guard that had refused them entry the day before leaned out of the window of his gatehouse. He lifted an eyebrow as if to say, “You again?”

  “We’re here to see David Beck,” Neil said before the guard could ask. “We have an appointment.”

  The man eyed them suspiciously for a couple of seconds. He grunted, picked up a phone, and dialed a number. After a minute and a brief conversation, he put it down and climbed down from the gatehouse.
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  “Please place your thumb here.” He handed Neil a portable scanner. “We’ll get all your details from the social security database.” He pointed to a camera mounted to the side of the gatehouse. “Your car plates and face are on camera.”

  Neil shrugged and put his thumb on the scanner. After a couple of seconds, the guard took the machine back and glared at the display screen.

  He gave the scanner a whack with the palm of his hand. “Damn thing is screwed again.” He shrugged and fetched a visitor’s logbook from his small office. “It doesn’t pick you up. Please complete this.”

  Neil smiled and wrote some fictitious details in the logbook. The guard held out a plastic basket. “Cell phones and cameras, please. No photos are to be taken once you are inside the complex.”

  They fumbled in their pockets and placed their phones in the basket.

  A bus squealed to a stop in front of the second boom gate next to them. The guard greeted the driver with a smile, opened the boom, and waved the bus through. He turned back to Neil. “Head on to Lambeau Field. Dr. Beck is expecting you.”

  Neil drove through. He waited for the bus to pass and followed it into the Refatex compound. He followed the bus along a wide, tarred road. Gigantic white ash trees had been planted on the green shoulder of the tarmac, casting long shadows in the early morning sun. A golf course was visible beyond a white picket fence. Pop-up oscillating sprayers chugged on the smooth greens and neat fairways.

  “Certainly no water shortages here,” Alexa mumbled.

  The continued for a mile and came to a fork in the road. Neil scanned the directional markers on a signpost. A white arrow that indicated “GILLETTE STADIUM” pointed to the right. Beneath it, a smaller sign read, “Clubhouse.”

  Four white directional markers pointed left. They said, “COWBOYS STADIUM,” “THE LINC,” “BROWNS STADIUM,” and finally, “LAMBEAU FIELD.” Neil followed the bus to the left.

  A short distance later, the bus took a left at a sign that read, “COWBOYS STADIUM” with a smaller sign below it that said, “Refinery, Silos, and Deliveries.”

  They road made a bend around some sand bunkers on the golf course and a putting green with a flag in the middle. They passed two more exits to The Linc and Browns Stadium. The road straightened, and the final sign announced that they had arrived at Lambeau Field.