“Fracking?” Hauck volunteered.
“Yes, as it’s more widely referred to. These techniques allow us to tap into deposits that were heretofore unreachable, drill multiple arms off each well site, which makes it cleaner and more community friendly. So it’s important to work in concert with the local population—the town, the government—to make sure our goals are all aligned. Alpha assists us with this. Tries to show them that our gain is their gain too. Not only in terms of drilling leases, which can be lucrative, of course. Far more so than all the potatoes and corn seed they can grow in a lifetime. But for the community as well. In our trade, there is a certain winning of the local hearts and minds that becomes necessary.”
One day some bad actor stirring up trouble just disappears during the night from their bed … Hauck recalled Brooke saying. Black PsyOps.
Hauck wondered if Moss was speaking of Chuck Watkins.
“We’re not just some big, bad oil and gas company trying to take away their way of life, Mr. Hauck.” Moss smiled. “Way too many regulations. It’s just not done that way anymore.”
“By winning the local hearts and minds,” Hauck said, “I assume you mean the fancy new football field, the parks and new police station …”
“And the schools and the medical centers … Anyway, all that’s only the short answer to your question. The long one would probably take all day and …” Moss glanced at his watch.
“I appreciate your time.”
“Look, Mr. Hauck, let me lay my cards on the table. I know who you are and what you’ve done … RMM is a firm that appreciates one’s service for their country. Perhaps you’d like to see that firsthand.”
Hauck chuckled. “I think I may already have.”
“Sorry …” the oilman said.
“RMM’s appreciation. Yesterday I was run off the road by a couple of your big rigs. On my way back from my visit with Alpha.”
“Our tankers …?” Moss acted surprised.
Hauck shrugged. “Big, bright letters on the sides. RMM. Impossible to miss. Then the police chief drove up and kind of convinced me Templeton wouldn’t be the best place for me to put down roots.”
Moss gritted his jaw and grabbed a pen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear about that. I’ll make a point of looking into it.”
“Not to worry. No harm, no foul.”
“But at the least, not a very nice way to repay your interest in their company, was it?” Moss smiled circumspectly, giving Hauck the impression he didn’t for a second believe the reason for Hauck’s visit here.
“The same occurred to me.”
“Anyway, what I was referring to,” the RMM executive said, “was to drive you out myself and have you meet Hannah.”
“Hannah?”
“Hannah One. She’s the biggest-grossing well in the entire Wattenberg field. Over five hundred barrels a day. There’s also a Hannah Two and a Three. C’mon, you can come with me.” He stood up. “I’ll drive you out, if you’re free.”
Hauck stood up as well. “Perfectly free.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Wattenberg field was as “oil dense” as any in the country, Moss explained on the ride out. Two to four times more so than the larger and much more well-known Bakken field in North Dakota.
They took Moss’s BMW 535i, which was parked in an underground garage. Along the same row of cars, Hauck spotted two sleek, black Yukon SUVs, identical to the ones he saw watching him in Templeton yesterday.
“Feel free to move the seat back and crack the window if you want.” Moss put a pair of sunglasses on that he had in the driver’s console. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke?”
Hauck shrugged. “Your car.”
“Trying to give it up. For the kids. But old habits are hard to kick. Picked it up in flight school.”
“The service?” Hauck detected a military demeanor in him as well.
“First Gulf War.” They got back on Route 34 in the direction of Templeton. Moss put the window down and blew a plume of smoke out the window. “I told you, a lot of us in this industry are veterans.”
On the trip, the conversation shifted to the land out here. The dry, arid shelf on what was known as the Niobrara shale field, which until ten years ago no one even suspected was a jackpot for oil. “It took state-of-the-art seismic imaging to even get a sense of what was down here. Now it’s one of the largest oil and gas deposits we have.” Moss chuckled. “The damn Apaches are probably kicking themselves, right …?”
“Question?” Hauck turned to him. They drove along the river in the direction of Templeton.
Moss flicked an ash out the window. “If I can.”
“Are you familiar with someone at Alpha named Robertson? First name John.”
“Robertson …?” Moss shook his head. “Can’t say I am. He works out here?”
“Far as I can tell.” Hauck took whatever Moss said with a grain of salt. The RMM man knew why he was here, and he knew what Moss was trying to get out of him. “I thought maybe he worked on the RMM account.”
“Lots of people do. What’s his job?”
“Senior coordinator of field activities.”
Moss nodded. “In this business, ‘field activities’ is a pretty broad job description, Mr. Hauck. It could mean most anything. Rig work. Site management. At Alpha, they tend to focus on the population side, not the sites. So he could be the point person for what they do.”
“This guy’s skill set back in Afghanistan seemed a bit more extensive than standing up in front of a town meeting.”
“What do you mean?”
“PsyOps. Special Forces training …”
Moss look a last drag, stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray, then lowered his window again and flicked out the butt. “You know, I’m beginning to get the impression you’re not so interested in the Alpha Group for your company at all as you are in this guy.”
They drove along the same stretch of road where Moss’s truckers had forced him off the road. “Anyway, your police chief seem to know him.”