Black Oil, Red Blood

Chapter 31



Cameron pulled up multiple browsers on his web site as we waited for breaking news.

It only took thirty minutes. CNN, MSNBC, FOX News—all of them were all over the story. The Twitter memes all started showing hits on PetroPlex and oil. Google news exploded with stories.

Cameron pulled up some live video feeds. We listened in awed silence for a while as various reporters read the contents of Lewis’s and Fitz’s emails and played the whispered audio conversations with subtitles, so they’d be easy to understand.

After awhile, Cameron opened his hacking terminal and connected to the PetroPlex network. He started running some searches on words like “media, press,” and “news.”

The search results were ominous. Now in emergency mode, Fitz didn’t bother trying to cover his tracks. He was giving orders, even in writing, clearly and explicitly. Emails between his subordinates told the whole story.

Fitz had launched a county-wide search for Lewis. He had called Chief Scott and told him that Lewis was missing after having met with us early this morning, and that it wouldn’t surprise him if Lewis were dead. He had advised Chief Scott that Miles, Nash, and I were most likely armed and dangerous, and Scott had issued orders to shoot us on sight.

Then Fitz had gone into cover up super-drive, sending out emails to every government regulator he had a special relationship with. He argued that the emails the press had were taken out of context and that the voice files were fabricated. He also claimed that the sources of the information, namely, us, were wanted murderers and that local law enforcement was hunting us that very moment. He argued that the word of murderers couldn’t be believed.

“That’s jumping the gun, don’t you think?” I said.

“Well,” Cameron said, “it’s a convenient assumption for him, isn’t it? We already know he had trust issues with Lewis. If we hadn’t shot him, Fitz might have done it himself. It would be convenient for him to have someone to blame in advance.”

We turned back to Cameron’s computer screen, which was hopping with activity. It appeared that Fitz had put his media team into overdrive issuing press releases with statistics about how any criminal investigation into PetroPlex would cost billions of dollars in stock losses, eliminate tens of thousands of jobs, and throw the national economy into a dive.

The spin machine had fully spun to life. If he could successfully convince people they should be afraid of losing their jobs, he could swing public opinion in his favor in a heartbeat. That was always the go-to scare tactic Big Oil used.

“What now?” I asked. “If we stay here and Scott starts going door to door, we’re bound to be found.”

“I think it’s time to get out of town,” Nash said.

Cameron started to pack up his equipment.

“You’re driving,” Nash told Dick. “We’re fresh out of cars.”

“What?” Dick said. “I can’t drive. I’m not leaving.”

“Just because you’re not being directly threatened now doesn’t mean you’re safe,” I said. “Once Fitz gets out of panic mode and takes a minute to think about things, he’s bound to realize you were the source of the tapes.”

“Well, that’ll give me enough time to get to the bank, pull out some money and. . . call in some favors.”

Dick, seeing that Nash was about to physically restrain him, darted up the root cellar stairs. “Don’t worry!” he said. “I’ll be right back!”

Nash, on his bad foot, wasn’t fast enough to catch him. I tried myself, but I wasn’t strong enough. Miles and Cameron, deep inside the root cellar, were just too far away. Dick left us stranded there without him.