me that Oliver had never been mentioned in connection with the situation in Brayton anywhere in the media, at any time.
But he was very specifically targeted. He was at a dinner with five other employees of Hanson Oil and Gas, all of whom would be involved in the actual drilling operation. It would have seemed that from that group Oliver would have been the least likely candidate to be attacked.
He had merely performed his analytical function, and had done so in anonymity, at least as far as the people of Brayton were concerned. Between the Hanson and Carlton companies, there was a target-rich environment of people who were about to do damage to Brayton, yet Oliver was plucked from obscurity to die.
Frank Lassenger spent thirty years in the Army Corps of Engineers, retiring as a Lieutenant Colonel six years ago. He had done it all, building and repairing dams, creating structural solutions for buildings that were in earthquake-threatened areas, advising mining companies on safety and structure, and even providing expert guidance for underground rescues. After leaving the service, he had done some private consulting, but nothing that kept him away from his kids and grandchildren for any length of time.
I know all this because we both like bagels.
There’s a bagel store I stop off at almost every morning on the way to work, and Frank is usually there. We got to talking about each other’s jobs; he was more interested in mine, and I was more interested in his.
I instructed officers to contact Frank and tell him that I needed to speak to him about a matter of great urgency. I knew Frank would respond, and he was waiting for me at the precinct when I got there. Frank is the type that if you need him, he is there. I really like that type.
“You know anything about fracking?” I asked.
“Some. I’ve never done it myself, but I’m familiar with it.”
“Ever heard of a guy named Michael Oliver?”
“The guy that got killed? Sure.”
“Did you know him before that?” I asked.
“By reputation.”
I was glad to hear that Frank was familiar with him. “What kind of reputation did he have?”
“Let’s put it this way,” he said. “These companies are spending hundreds of millions, billions, of dollars to take energy from under the ground, sometimes under the ocean. They know it’s there, but until they go after it, they don’t really know how much or, more importantly, how easy it will be to get to.”
“So it’s a crap shoot?”
“Ever hear the term ‘dry well’? Anyway, people have to make the judgment about what’s there and what isn’t, and there are maybe fifteen people in the industry who are considered the best at doing that. Michael Oliver was one of those people.”
“Could he be wrong?’
“Sure, anything’s possible. But if Michael Oliver said ‘drill here,’ I’d invest my money in it, no questions asked.” He laughed, “Well, of course I’d have questions, but you know what I mean. And I don’t really have any money.”
I showed him copies of the information that Gallagher had gotten from Kagan and Rhodes’s room, except for the information about Carlton and the Hanson executives. He seemed most interested in the schematic layouts of the land, as I knew he would.
“Oliver prepared these?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Not sure. Why?”
“They’re well done, very thorough, so it was probably him.”
“Does it show where the natural gas is?”
“It shows where Oliver thought it was, and based on what I see, I would say he was right.”
“So there’s nothing unusual about it?” I asked. “I was struggling to come up with a reason that Oliver was a specific target, but that reason probably did not exist.”
“Well, there’s one thing that surprises me, but there’s probably a good explanation for it.”
“What’s that?”
He pointed to the map. “You see these arrows? That’s where Oliver was telling them to drill.”
“So?”
“So I don’t know why they’d drill in that many places, and it’s too spread out. You drill in the best spots, and then expand if you have to. He was telling them to start out wider. He must have had his reasons, but I don’t know what they were.”
“Would Oliver be important to the process from now on?” I asked. “Would they have needed him to do the drilling?”
Frank shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m sure he’d told them all he knew, and they had his notes and reports. Now it’s just a question of going down there and sucking the stuff out. Guys in his role become expendable once they’ve finished their analysis.”
I nodded. “Expendable people seem to have a short life expectancy.”
It took Bryan almost six hours to break into the box.
That was not a lot, when you consider that it took almost five days to even notice that it was there. It was a fairly large metal box, technically a strongbox, and it was in the kitchen pantry, partially hidden by shelves and dishes.
The reason it took so long to break open was not just that it was locked with a fairly good-sized padlock. It was also just at the end of the range that Bryan’s chain allowed him to reach, so prying it open became that much more awkward. But with the help of a heavy screwdriver that was in a kitchen drawer, he was finally able to get it done.
The result was something of a disappointment. He hadn’t known what to expect, and his expectations had been low. Certainly there was not going to be a key to unlock the chains, thereby allowing him to get the hell out of there.
Only a slightly greater hope would be a handgun, locked away for safety. He might have been able to shoot the chains off, though with his lack of familiarity with guns he knew he might kill himself in the process. Maybe he could have used it to shoot Gallagher if he returned; then they could at least die together.
The third hope, and the most realistic one, was that there was some clue to his location, something that he could use to help Luke find him.
But he was zero for three. All that was in the box were rations, labeled US Army MREs. Bryan had no idea what that meant, but he assumed they were long-lasting rations for soldiers out in the field. Never having been in the army himself, he had no idea if they were any good, but doubted it.
In any event, he had no need to experiment with them; food supply was not his problem, air supply was.
And Bryan had already planned his last meal.
He would dine on the two pills that Gallagher left him.
It was turning into a public relations fiasco for Hanson Oil and Gas.
Of course, Hanson’s bottom line did not rely on public relations, so it could fairly easily absorb the damage. But no one wants their company to look bad, especially in a part of the country so close to Wall Street.
Hanson’s CEO, Randall Murchison, was kept updated on the calls and e-mails coming from the public. They were overwhelmingly negative, as was to be expected. Also in line with expectations was the fact that very few shareholders were among the complainers. Those who stood to benefit financially from the Brayton natural gas find were inclined to be tolerant of it.
Ironically, the death of Michael Oliver, while a damaging blow to the company, provided a public relations
