Peak Oil by Arno Joubert Page B

and put her hand on her hip. “Now ain’t we the early risers?”
    Alexa stretched her arms as she yawned. “Look who’s talking.”.  
    Missy smiled and turned to Neil. “Thanks for fixin’ my wall, Mr. Allen.” She carried a stack of pillow cases in her arm and jerked her head at Voelkner. “That man of yours has been busier than a cat tryin’ to cover up crap on a marble floor.”
    Neil smiled. Voelkner had done a great job of fixing the mess. He had even taken the liberty of ordering and installing new drywall from the hardware store. By the time they had arrived back from their visit to the Becks, he was finishing up with the paint job. The room looked as good as new.  
    Voelkner smiled shyly.
    “Not a problem,” Neil said. “It was silly of me to fall against it.” He pointed to the pillow cases. “Need any help with that?”
    Missy shook her head. “Oh, never mind me.” She winked at Neil. “I’m sure you two have more important errands to attend to than makin’ up beds.” She walked away with a swing in her ungainly step.
    They greeted Voelkner and scampered down to the parking lot. Neil drove down the hill to the main road and stopped at the intersection. “What do we look for when we get there?” he asked, scanning the road for oncoming traffic.  
    A couple of men wearing blue overalls and safety boots were waiting at the bus stop. Other than that, the highway was deserted.  
    Alexa tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Let’s scope the place out. Frydman asked me to install a Trojan on a PC, which will allow him to monitor the network.” She shrugged. “Once we’ve done that, the rest is up to Interpol.”
    Neil nodded. They had used the services of Colonel Sal Frydman before. He was the head of Information Technology at Mossad, and he was a specialist at uncovering information buried on company hard drives and databases. Once his program was let loose on the Refatex network, no secrets were safe from Interpol anymore.
    Neil turned right onto the highway and floored the gas pedal into the ground. He glanced at Alexa. She was staring straight ahead, a frown on her face. Something was bothering her. She turned toward Neil. “The guy that attacked us . . .”
    Neil glanced sideways. “What about him?”
    Alexa tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I’m sure he was a Legionnaire.”  
    “What makes you say that?”
    She shrugged and then yawned again. “I just know.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “His attack zones, gun handling, they were all signature moves.”
    Neil nodded slowly, trying to comprehend the implications of this information. He glanced at her again, but Alexa simply sat there, her eyes closed, tapping her lips like she always did when she was thinking. She didn’t say anything else.
    They reached the refinery within twenty minutes.
    Neil rolled to a stop in front of the boom gate. The same guard that had refused them entry the day before leaned out of the window of his gatehouse. He lifted an eyebrow as if to say, “You again?”  
    “We’re here to see David Beck,” Neil said before the guard could ask. “We have an appointment.”
    The man eyed them suspiciously for a couple of seconds. He grunted, picked up a phone, and dialed a number. After a minute and a brief conversation, he put it down and climbed down from the gatehouse.  
    “Please place your thumb here.” He handed Neil a portable scanner. “We’ll get all your details from the social security database.” He pointed to a camera mounted to the side of the gatehouse. “Your car plates and face are on camera.”  
    Neil shrugged and put his thumb on the scanner. After a couple of seconds, the guard took the machine back and glared at the display screen.  
    He gave the scanner a whack with the palm of his hand. “Damn thing is screwed again.” He shrugged and fetched a visitor’s logbook from his small office. “It doesn’t pick you up. Please complete this.”
    Neil