“Unfortunately, we’ve arrived,” the Alpha boss said, “so the strobe lighting and party bar will have to wait for another time.”
“Shame,” Hauck muttered. It was clear to him there was no way out. His hands were bound. His left arm barely felt attached and there was blood all over his shoulder. He couldn’t even do what Dani had done days before, be tracked by his own phone. It was somewhere back in the barn. Melted cinders by now.
They drove up to the black trestle in the center of the well pad; it was about twenty feet high, lit up by a series of floodlights. The pump head, which Hauck recalled Dani telling him was known as a “horse head” on these old wells, bobbed up and down in three-or four-second intervals.
“Welcome to Trixie One,” McKay said. “I hear you’re already acquainted with Hannah, her cousin. She’s been quite a girl. Three hundred and sixty barrels a day. Seven days a week. For eighteen months now. Unfortunately this is the end of the run for her.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Hauck said.
“For you, too. Pull up here,” he instructed Robertson. “I’ll get the well cap open. Why don’t you show Mr. Hauck around.”
It was dark. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. Hauck tugged at his wrists, testing the ties. But there was no give. At least he was alive. They could have shot him back at the farm.
Though he knew they hadn’t brought him up there just to give him a second tour.
“You realize this is all gonna come falling down on you.” Hauck turned back and looked at McKay. “You. Alpha. RMM. Global Exploration. People saw what happened back there. You can’t buy them off forever. It’ll all come out. And it’ll bring down everything. The merger. The entire company.”
“You’re right.” McKay nodded. “We can’t sweep this one under the rug. Or down the well cap, as we say here. But these kinds of operations always carry the possibility of future surprise. It’s like sinking a well. You never know how it will turn out; you only try to keep the odds in your favor. It’s kind of an arbitrage, between what you can control and what is inherently uncontrollable. In our favor, experience tells me, the people back there will see quickly what’s in their best interest. And that would be water, Mr. Hauck, all the water they need in this drought. And all the benefits that go with it. Basically a continuation of their way of life. The police, even the local prosecutors … the same calculus works for them as well. They know what they get with us and they don’t know you. So we’ll see how it falls out. Ultimately, our most important goal is to protect our client.”
“And those people back there on that farm? Your people?”
“What people, Mr. Hauck? You mean our men? Trust me, that’s already in the process of being cleaned up. Maybe a gas line explosion. Or in the fire in the barn. They won’t be found. They all knew the risk when they signed up here. Isn’t that right, John?”
“Part of what we signed up for, Mr. McKay. Just like back in the service. Only the pay is a whole lot better.”
“And earned.” McKay nodded. “So that only leaves one thing unattended to, in my view, and we’ll see where the chips end up falling …”
Robertson turned off the engine in front of the giant, hissing pump head.
McKay jumped out from the back and opened Hauck’s door. “You, Mr. Hauck. And where there’s no body, there’s often no proof of a crime, isn’t that right? You’re an old detective, I’m told. And I promise, where you’re going, a hundred years from now there still won’t be a trace of any part of you. Even an earthquake won’t be able to alter that. Get him out there,” McKay said to Robertson, opening his door. “I’ll be inside.”
A bright, intense light came up the road from behind them, momentarily blinding Hauck. Robertson shielded his eyes. Another vehicle, a black Jeep this time. One of the vehicles that was at the farm. The guy behind the wheel was the one who had circled behind Hauck there.
“Take the car and wait down by the road,” McKay instructed him. “No one comes up. And I mean no one.”
“Yes, Mr. McKay,” the operative said. He executed a three-point turn and headed back down the hill.
“So, c’mon now, Mr. Hauck.” Robertson swung around and took out a Colt 9 mm army issue. “Out of the car. I don’t have to explain how this all works all over again, do I? I’ve heard you already had the tour.”
Hauck didn’t move, ratcheting through the possibilities of how he could remove the gun from this former Special Forces guy with his own hands bound and his right shoulder limp and aching. They weren’t promising.
“I said, get out!” Robertson said again, digging the gun into Hauck’s shoulder like a cattle prod.
Pain shot through him. He bent over. Robertson reached for the binds and dragged Hauck out of the car seat onto the ground.
“C’mon, get up now,” Robertson said. “Quit being such an old hen. Everyone told me you were tough.”
“Tough enough to have gotten that gun from you back at the barn.” Hauck pushed up to a knee. “With only one arm.”
“Yeah, well even my eighty-year-old grandfather gets a boner every once in a while. Don’t dream on it. Won’t be happening again.”
He kicked Hauck forward, in the direction of the well, its large horse head pump bobbing up and down in a steady, hissing rhythm—ka-chung, ka-chung, ka-chung.
“Three hundred and fifty barrels a day,” Robertson said. He pushed Hauck toward it with his boot. “Seven days a week. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year. For almost two years …”