Peak Oil by Arno Joubert Page A

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