Chapter 18 Honeytraps 101

Chapter 18

Honeytraps 101

Skipper was good at a thousand things, but she was the best on Earth at the game of efficiency. Without searching a single file or even blowing the dust off the box, she said, “His name is Thomas Meriwether, and he’s CEO of Meriwether Energy Systems.”

“That’s him,” I said. “How about a number?”

She blurted out his office, home, and cell numbers as if reading from a teleprompter, and I asked, “How do you do that?”

She smiled. “The same way you fly anything with wings. It’s my world, baby.”

I dialed the number and stuck the receiver to my ear.

The Texas drawl was heavy when Thomas Meriwether said, “Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t my favorite double-naught spy. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Good evening, Mr. Meriwether. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He chuckled. “Just a twenty-two-ounce ribeye medium rare and a waitress who looks like she belongs on the Cowboys’ cheerleading squad. What can I do for you, Chase?”

“That sounds delicious,” I said.

“If you think she sounds delicious, you should see her walking away.”

“I meant the steak, Mr. Meriwether.”

“Of course you did. Now, what’s this all about?”

I cleared my throat. “I’d like to get on your calendar to discuss oil exploration in the bayous of South Louisiana.”

“Why, Chase? Are you going into the wildcatting business, son? ’Cause if you are, you’re in the wrong place.”

“No, nothing like that. We’re working a case down here, and things get more bizarre at every turn. Is there a time you could carve out an hour to talk with me and get my head straight on how the whole thing works?”

“I’ve always got time for you, Chase. You saved my hide and a billion dollars, so I’ll scrub whoever’s on my calendar. When are you thinking?”

“How about when you finish your steak?”

“Oh, it’s that urgent, is it? Well, in that case, I’ll forego a glorious evening with the runner-up for Ms. Texas and pencil you in. Are we doing this face-to-face or on a secure line?”

I said, “Surely the secrets to the oil exploration business aren’t classified, are they, Mr. Meriwether?”

He laughed so hard I could almost hear him slapping his knee. “Boy, you listen to me when I tell you the oil-hunting business is more classified than anything the Pentagon’s got going on. Take down this number and call me in two hours.”

I wrote down the number. “Thank you, Mr. Meriwether. Enjoy that steak, and we’ll chat in two hours.”

Skipper giggled, and I said, “You were listening in, weren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” she confessed. “Two hours should be more than enough time to dig up some dirt on Flambeau.”

Anya cocked her head, and I asked, “What just happened in your skull?”

She said, “This word, flambeau , is French, but in Russian is fakel . I think this means in English maybe torch or really big candle .”

“All right,” I said. “Should that mean something to me?”

She furrowed her brow. “I do not know, but something about name rings for me small bell inside head.”

“Keep chewing on it,” I said. “If anything comes to you, don’t keep secrets.”

She nodded. “Before long shower, you said you needed my brain. It is now yours.”

I settled into a chair. “Your brain doesn’t work the same way mine or Skipper’s does. Because of your KGB and SVR training, you pick up on things we overlook, so I want to lay this out for you and get your initial reactions. Are you good with that?”

“Okay. I will try.”

“Don’t try. Just tell me what pops into your head at any point while I tell you the story.”

“I can do this,” she said.

I slid a legal pad from the console and positioned it on my thigh. It took several minutes to take Anya through everything we knew about the situation, and she listened intently to every word.

When I finished, she said, “This is not mission for us. This is mystery for police.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, “but the handful of cops in the parish don’t care, and Kenneth is afraid of going back to prison, so he’s not willing to push the issue from a criminal perspective.”

She twisted several strands of hair between her fingers. “Does he have money?”

“He’s got to have some money. The logs he pulls are worth a fortune, and he can’t have any debt. His truck is twenty years old, and his house is… was little more than a shack.”

“Where is his money? If it was inside house, it is now burned away, no?”

“I don’t know. Skipper couldn’t find a bank account, and you’re right about the money if it was in that house. Why does it matter if he has or had any money?”

She said, “I think someone is trying to make him go away without killing him. If he has enough money, it is possible for him to do this, but if he has no money, he cannot go anywhere.”

I considered her idea until she said, “We must think of reason someone would want him to go away. Does he have enemy?”

“Not that I know of, but I think that’s something we should dig into.”

She said, “His niece… Her name is Cecilia, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe she knows answers we do not. I think she will tell to Gator everything.”

“There it is,” I said. “That’s why I needed your brain.”

I called, and Gator materialized in the CIC.

The hesitant look on his face said he had no idea why I summoned him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Have a seat,” I said. “You’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you may have done something very right.”

He pulled up a chair, but the worry didn’t leave his face. “Okay, so what is it?”

Anya said, “You have relationship with girl Cecilia, yes?”

Gator’s eyes danced between Anya and me. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a relationship. I mean, she’s fun and cute, but—”

“This is relationship, and you must now get her to tell to you everything about Kenneth. You can do this, yes?”

He turned to me. “I’m not sure I understand what you want me to do.”

I took the reins. “What Anya means is that you have a closer connection with Cecilia than any of the rest of us. She’s comfortable with you. That means she won’t have her guard up if you start asking questions.”

Anya jumped in. “Is like honeytrap, except with boy instead of beautiful girl like me.”

“Honeytrap?” he said. “You want me to sleep with her to get her to talk?”

Anya said, “No, this is not necessary. Is very different for women. She is very pretty girl in world of men, so it will not be unusual to her if you want to sleep with her. What is unusual is that you want to talk and listen and spend time with her. These are the things she does not get but she wants.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “So, I’m supposed to pretend to like her and get her to spill her guts. Is that what you’re saying?”

Anya smiled. “I do not believe you have to pretend. I think you do like her. This will make it even easier for you, but there will come time when you are alone with her, and she will offer herself to you.”

Gator stiffened. “This is getting uncomfortable. It’s like talking about sex with your parents.”

Anya placed a foot on the side of Gator’s chair and shoved him across the floor. “I am not old enough to be mother for you. This is insult, and I do not like you now.”

He dug his heels into the deck and stopped his backward momentum. “Dad, would you do something with Mom? She’s getting cranky again.”

I chuckled. “Roll back over here, and we’ll tell you where babies come from.”

He said, “No, thanks. I’m good right here.”

Anya bit her lip. “You have not already slept with her, have you?”

“We slept in the same bed in the camper one night, but it was perfectly innocent, and nothing happened. Chase was there. He was three feet away.”

Anya smiled. “This is very good. This means she thinks you do not like girls, or you are gentleman. Either of these is good. She believes already she can trust you.”

Gator stared directly at me. “I like girls.”

“Relax,” I said. “I wasn’t planning to ask you to snuggle.”

He rolled himself backward two more feet, and Anya giggled. “Come with me, silly boy. I will teach to you how to ask correct questions and to let her know you also like girls…especially her.”

I couldn’t resist throwing a departing jab. “Make sure you teach him that thing women like with the spatula and oven mitt.”

Anya said, “Yes, I could teach to him that, or”—she leaned toward me—“I could teach to him that thing you like.”

I held up a hand. “That’s enough! Just go do the honeytrap class with Gator, and leave me out of it.”

* * *

When two hours passed, Skipper established a secure connection with the number Thomas Meriwether gave me, and the Texan started talking.

“That’s impressive timing, son. Most folks don’t respect other people’s time these days. I appreciate your courtesy.”

I said, “There’s nothing more valuable than time.”

He let out a chuckle. “Well, maybe, but black Texas crude comes mighty close. So, what can I do for you, son?”

I didn’t love him calling me son , but I was in his world and needed his wisdom, so I brushed it off. “I’d like to start with a company called Flambeau Exploration. Have you ever heard of them?”

He let out a long, low whistle. “What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Chase? Them boys over at Flambeau ain’t got a sense of humor at all.”

“I’m learning that. There are a couple of Cessna Caravans—”

Before I could finish, he said, “Yeah, I know about those Caravans. You’re talking about the ones with the telephone pole sticking out of their tails, ain’t you?”

“I am. I’m working a situation with a guy who owns six thousand arpents in two parishes in South Louisiana.”

Meriwether said, “Wait a minute. Hold on there, boy. That’s nearly five thousand acres if my French math ain’t all screwed up.”

“Your math is right on the money.”

“Yeah, right on the money is right. Does this guy of yours own the mineral rights to those six thousand arpents?”

“He does.”

“Let me guess. Them boys over at Flambeau are trying to scare your man off that land, and you’re wanting to start a fistfight with ’em.”

“You know me, Mr. Meriwether. I love a good fisticuffs.”

“I know you do, son, but let me tell you a thing or two about spitting into the wind. Those Flambeau boys are rumored to be mobbed up. Nobody’s ever crossed them and lived long enough to prove it, but they’re a powerful force in the world.”

“In the world?” I asked. “Do you mean they’re international?”

“You can bet your bolo they’re international, and if they get wind there might be a drop of oil on the moon, they’ll be interstellar.”

I said, “Before we get too excited, tell me about these probes they’ve got. Can they really find oil?”

A sound like his boots falling from his desk and onto the floor came through the receiver. “No, they can’t find crude with any degree of accuracy, but they can find natural gas, and where there’s gas, there’s usually crude. Five thousand acres of bayou might be worth more money than I’ve ever spent on ex-wives, especially if somebody like Flambeau sniffed some methane bubbles. Are you ready for a little geology lesson, son?”

“Sure, let’s have it.”

In an instant, the cowboy-hat-wearing oil man turned into a geology professor. “Sometimes, natural gas finds its way into large cracks and spaces between layers of overlying rock. This gas is called conventional natural gas. In other places, you can find natural gas in small pores of shale, sandstone, and other types of sedimentary rock. That’s called tight gas. You’ve heard of fracking, right?”

“Of course.”

He continued. “That’s what they’re after when they harvest by fracking. But the kind of gas we’re talking about occurs with deposits of crude oil. We call that associated gas, and that’s what Flambeau’s after. They can bleed off all the natural gas and still have millions of barrels of crude to harvest. We’re talking about real money now, son.”

I said, “Thanks for the lesson, but I’m afraid we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. Where else does Flambeau explore?”

“Where don’t they explore is a better question. They kicked off in Eastern Europe a bunch of years ago. That’s where most of the commie money comes from in the Soviet Union.”

“There’s no such thing as the Soviet Union anymore.”

He laughed. “Maybe not, but there’s still billions of cubic feet of gas flowing behind what used to be the Iron Curtain, no matter what you call it now.”

I said, “I’ve taken up too much of your time already, but I’d like to ask one final question. What’s your advice for me if I do start a war with these people?”

“Have you still got that crazy Russian chick on your crew?”

“Yes, sir. She’s still with us.”

It sounded as if his boots landed back on top of his desk. “Then I recommend siccing her on ’em and getting out of the way.”

“That sounds like sage advice, Mr. Meriwether.”

“It is, son. Trust me. Now, I’ve got one more question for you before we wrap this thing up. How much does your man want for that five thousand acres of swamp gas?”

“If I can find him, I’ll ask him. Thanks for your time.”

“Wait a minute, Chase. Did you say you can’t find him?”

I caught the handset just before I handed it back to Skipper. “Yes, sir. He’s missing after his house burned to the ground earlier today.”

He groaned. “Then don’t waste your time looking for him. Just notify the next of kin and tell them you’ve got a buyer. You should throw in a nice finder’s fee for yourself while you’re at it. A man’s got a right to have his expenses covered and to get paid for his time and trouble.”

“Thank you, Mr. Meriwether. I’ll be in touch.”