Darkness Falls, page 7
He shook his head violently. No, this went against everything he thought he knew about Jenna. Sure, he could see ANWR. She could be a little nuts sometimes, and when drilling had been approved there, she'd reacted as though someone had authorized bizarre medical experiments on her dog. Besides, ANWR was nothing more than a government publicity stunt that produced a completely insignificant amount of oil, most of which was sold to the Chinese.
Ghawar, though? That wasn't a little nuts, it was bat-shit insane. You were talking about virtually shutting down Saudi Arabia's already shaky economy and sending economic ripples -- tidal waves, actually throughout the world. One way or another, if Ghawar went down, people were going to die -- maybe in a civil war in the Middle East, maybe from the United States falling back on military power to replace the lost oil, maybe from poorer countries being cut off by higher bidders. The bottom line was that this went way beyond a little overly passionate environmentalism.
So he had to ask himself again: could these bacteria have evolved naturally?
And again he had to answer that it was one in a billion. Could someone else have come up with it without having seen his notes? The chances were better, but still only one in a million.
No matter how the facts were twisted and turned, Jenna remained at the center.
He began flipping through a photo album full of pictures of her as a child, stopping at one depicting her sitting in an open field when she was about three. The color was faded, but her eyes were still bright and full of the wonder that hadn't dimmed in adulthood. What would she have thought if she'd lived to see her bacteria succeed?
The sound of an approaching engine wasn't exactly unexpected, and he hastily began refilling the boxes and slapping tape across the tops.
"Dr. Neal!"
With the last box sealed, he descended the ladder and paused in a deep shadow at the entrance to the barn. There were four men in all, one standing by a stereotypically black Suburban, two disappearing into his house, and one coming his way.
Erin held his hands up and stepped out of the shadow. "Peace, guys. I'm sorry about the plane, okay? Just a little joke, you know?"
They didn't handcuff him, which he figured was a good sign, but they weren't gentle when they shoved him into the back of the SUV. He found himself crammed between two sizeable men in dark suits, and the driver stared at him in the rearview mirror as though he thought Erin was going to jump through one of the closed windows.
The man in the passenger seat was silently dialing a cell phone, but instead of putting it to his ear, he held it back over the seat.
Erin took it. "Uh, hello?"
"Quite a stunt," Mark Beamon said. "You'll notice I'm not laughing, though."
"We need to go back to Saudi Arabia," Erin replied.
It obviously wasn't the response Beamon had been expecting. "What?"
"Get us a plane. We need to go to Saudi Arabia right now."
"Why?"
"I'll explain later."
"Getting in there would be kind of complicated. You got us deported, remember?"
"I'll deal with the Saudis. You deal with the plane."
There was a long silence. Finally, "Okay."
The line went dead and Erin dialed a number into the phone from distant memory. The connection failed, but on his third try it rang.
The greeting was in Arabic and it cut out a few times, but it was still intelligible. "Mohammed! It's Erin Neal."
"Erin!" came the lightly accented reply. "It is wonderful to hear your voice. I'm sorry that I could not see you when you were here. And about the problems you had."
"Then you'll be happy to hear I'm coming back." He had to shout to be heard.
"That could be difficult," came the hesitant reply. "The approvals would be --"
"I also need unlimited access to your imaging computers."
"Erin, you know full well that no one gets
"I'm not bullshitting here, Mo. I'm going to be there in a few hours. You know me, and I'm telling you that this is important."
There was a long silence and then a resigned sigh that was difficult to differentiate from static. "Let me know when you're landing. I'll send a car."
The headlights of the Suburban turning onto the road made the night-vision scope on his rifle useless and Jonas put it down in the dirt next to him. The vehicle's windows were opaque, making it impossible to see whether Erin Neal was inside. His instincts said he was.
Jonas slid forward on his stomach, enjoying the sensation of the jagged rocks beneath him, and focused his binoculars on the vehicle's license plate before it sped out of sight.
He'd parked behind a low ridge a few hundred meters from the entrance to the dirt road leading to Erin Neal's house, and he expected to be there for the foreseeable future. So far, there was no sign of Jenna, but while Michael Teague had many limitations, he was usually right about these kinds of things. Jenna would come. And when she did, she would be dealt with the way she should have been long ago.
He went back to his vehicle and slid into the driver's seat, gunning it over a small rise and pointing it toward Neal's house. There was no telling how long he'd be gone, and Jonas knew this might be his only opportunity to gain a better surveillance position. He dialed Teague's number and listened to it ring in his ear piece as he bounced up the road.
"Did you find her?" Teague said in the way of a greeting.
"No," Jonas answered, concentrating on making his English understandable over the phone. "She hasn't come. But there was a car here. A government car. It's gone now."
"A government car? Did Neal leave with them?"
"It is impossible to be certain yet, but I believe so."
"How long was it at his house?"
"About fifteen minutes."
"There's no reason to drive out there for fifteen minutes other than to pick him up," Teague said, more to himself than to Jonas. "He's gone with them."
"Yes," Jonas agreed. "This has just started and already Neal is working for them. He knows a great deal."
"Do you have a point, Jonas?"
"I can take care of him when Jenna comes."
"That wouldn't be suspicious, would it? A scientist investigating a bacterial infestation that people still believe is natural turns up murdered. How does that help our cause exactly?"
Jonas didn't answer. Teague was right when he said that he was the one who had made this possible. But as far as Jonas could see, it was simply because he easily could. He'd sacrificed little and was, in his soul, a weak man enslaved by his own cravings --for superiority, for power. Jonas would not stand by and allow those failings to jeopardize what they were so close to accomplishing.
"He is dangerous, Michael."
"Don't think, Jonas. Do you hear me? Just take care of Jenna like you should have in Montana."
Chapter 11.
"It's good to see you, Mo," Erin said, shaking hands with the balding Arab over a set of concrete barricades intended to separate suicide bombers from the towering glass building behind. He was tall -- probably six foot six -- and the stoop he used to compensate seemed more pronounced than Erin remembered.
"Mark, this is Dr. Mohammad Asli. He is Saudi Aramco's chief geologist."
Beamon climbed out of the limousine and thrust out a hand, which Asli took with reluctance. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Beamon."
Asli didn't elaborate, but Erin noticed that he seemed to hold the government agent's hand a little too long -- a brief battle of wills that Beamon obviously didn't want to fight.
"Please come with me inside where it's cool."
Erin had taken a sleeping pill on the flight over to shut off his head and, amazingly, it had worked. He'd slept almost the entire way and now was able to put together a few coherent thoughts as they crossed the lobby to an elevator. Interestingly, Beamon hadn't tried to wake him or press him with questions. For now, at least, he appeared satisfied to sit back and watch.
It was a little unnerving, really. Although he didn't look all that bright, Erin was starting to think his demeanor was calculated that the man understood more than he let on.
Asli inserted his ID card into a slot and they began dropping beneath the Aramco building to the chambers that held a computer system that Erin had never actually laid eyes on, but supposedly it rivaled the one used by America's National Security Agency.
"Now that you're here, perhaps it's time you tell me what is so important?" Asli said.
"How many more rigs have gone down since I left, Mo?"
"What makes you think we've had more problems? It was an isolated incident and we've closed the affected area." His tone suggested that he was reading from an unseen cue card.
"I imagine it wasn't easy for you to get me in here after your government was so anxious to get me out. Why would they change their minds?"
"Because, like me, they were intrigued," Asli said, leaning against the back of the elevator and focusing on Beamon. "You and I have a relationship based on trust, Erin. Is that not right? But -- and I don't mean to offend -- Mr. Beamon here is a well-known former FBI official with undeniable connections to the Central Intelligence Agency and rumored connections to Eastern European organized crime."
"No way," Erin said, genuinely surprised.
Beamon just smiled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one for himself and held the pack out. Erin shook his head, but Asli accepted and let Beamon light it for him.
"And now," the Arab continued, letting the smoke billow from his mouth as he spoke, "he's the head of a Homeland Security division that we know very little about beyond the fact that it is concerned with securing America's energy supply. At any cost, I assume. Would you care to comment, Mr. Beamon?"
The elevator stopped and the doors opened, but Asli didn't move.
"A lot of the stories about me have been exaggerated," Beamon said. "And the reason you don't know anything about the organization I work for is because it doesn't actually do anything. Not that unusual for Homeland Security, really."
"So I'm to understand that they inserted a man with your background and reputation to head an organization that, as you say, does nothing?"
"It's the God's honest truth, Mohammed. I'm getting married and inheriting a kid pretty soon. I go to the zoo. I play golf."
It was clear from Asli's face that he wasn't buying any of it. "So, you vouch for this man, Erin?"
He wasn't sure what to say. Beamon had been a bit of an enigma since they'd met, and now he was starting to sound like a dangerous enigma. "I barely know him, Mo. You make your own decision."
The door began to close again and Asli stuck a hand out at the last moment, reversing it. "Since you left, three more wells have failed."
"And are you seeing any indication of problems at other wells?"
He glanced at Beamon again before starting down the empty corridor. "At four more."
Erin let out a long breath and watched Asli punch a code into a pad next to a heavy steel door. The room beyond wasn't as impressive as Erin had imagined -- just a few computer terminals and some chairs scattered about.
"Okay, we're going to run a simulation," Erin said, rolling a leather chair up to one of the terminals and inviting Asli to sit. The Arab did, but obviously he wasn't happy about it.
"We're going to assume that the bacteria came in through water injectors, Mo."
"No," Asli said. "Our water is treated to prevent this. In fact, the treatment process is based on your design."
"Humor me."
Beamon wandered around behind them looking for an ashtray. "What's a water injector?"
"Don't you know anything about oil drilling, Mark?"
"Not really. Why would I?"
"Because you run . . . oh, never mind. Think of a reservoir as just a big cave full of oil that's under pressure. You drill a hole and the oil shoots out, right? But after you take a bunch out, the reservoir loses pressure and that means you have to pump in a corresponding amount of water to keep the pressure up. It's about a thousand times more complicated than that, but you get the point." He turned to Asli. "Do you have water-injection history on the problem area, Mo?"
"Of course."
"Okay. Then here are the assumptions. Let's say it got into the water supply through all the treatment facilities in the span of a week."
"That's simply not possible," Asli protested. "The water for the different treatment plants doesn't even come from the same places. Some is aquifer water, some is seawater --"
"You're humoring me, remember?" He shrugged.
"With how much bacteria?" Asli asked.
It was a good question. Probably no more than a person could reasonably carry. "Call it three liters per injector."
"Okay. When?"
"Let's start with three years ago and see where that gets us."
"How fast does it spread?"
Erin pulled the keyboard toward him and typed in the numbers that Andropolous had come up with.
A detailed map of the reserve appeared on the screen and they watched a purple stain begin spreading out from the water injectors.
After about twenty seconds, Asli paused the simulation. "It doesn't work. The wells are going down in the wrong order. In fact, three years ago, there was no injection program in the area of one of those wells, so your scenario is impossible."
Erin jammed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. The problem was that Asli and everyone else was assuming this was a natural event and not someone purposely pumping bacteria into the system. Now the question became how far in that direction did he want to lead them, in light of the fact that it was his genetic design.
"Erin?" Asli prompted.
"I'm thinking."
He turned and paced back and forth across the room, feeling a chill that he told himself was caused by the air conditioning.
This wasn't Alaska. It was Ghawar -- the largest oil field in the world. He glanced up at the ceiling, but wasn't sure what he was looking for. Ghosts? A whisper from Jenna about what the hell was going on?
The bottom line was that he could have ignored what was happening in Alaska, but he couldn't ignore this. If he was right, this could affect the entire world. And worse, it might just be the beginning.
He finally walked back and leaned over Asli's shoulder. "Okay, we know which wells have gone down and when, the permeability of the reserve, and the spread rate of the bacteria. We're going to assume that about three liters of bacteria came in through the water injectors over the span of a week. With that information, can you solve for the date it was introduced?"
Asli caressed the computer's space bar for a few seconds. "Yes, it can be done, but it's beyond the software's built-in capabilities. It's going to take some specific programming."
Erin patted him on the back. "Do it."
"I actually used two variables," Asli said, jerking Erin awake and nearly causing him to fall off the chairs he'd fashioned into a makeshift bed. "The date and the amount of bacteria introduced -- which you didn't seem certain about. It made for an incredible number of permutations, which is why it has taken the computer so long to calculate."
"You got an answer?" Erin said, grabbing his cold coffee from the floor and walking up behind the man. Beamon leaned against the back wall, his expression approximating resignation.
"I got a nearly exact match." Asli tapped the screen. "It was actually two liters of bacteria, thirteen months ago."
Erin frowned and watched the simulation on the screen take down the wells in the correct order and timeframe. But thirteen months couldn't be right. That was after Jenna and the others had died. "I think you made a mistake, Mo."
"Why?" he heard Beamon say. "That date and amount seems as good as any to me."
"It's hard to explain in simple terms," Erin fumbled. "It, uh, doesn't seem like it could spread that fast."
He could feel Beamon's eyes drilling into his back, but tried to ignore it. "Could it have been earlier, Mo? Maybe there was less bacteria to start."
Asli shook his head. "Maybe a month earlier. Two at the most. But one of those injection wells is only fifteen months old, so that brackets it."
A hot sweat broke across Erin's forehead. "Are you alright?" Asli asked.
"Could you excuse me for a second?"
He concentrated on walking as naturally as he could past Beamon and through a door that led to a tiny bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he slowly slid down onto the floor.
No bodies were ever found.
There was the distress call saying they were taking on water, but the seas had been calm. An hour later, a plane had flown overhead, but there was no sign of Teague's ship. No debris, no people in the water, no oil slick. Nothing.
Erin pulled his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. As self-described radical environmentalists, Teague and his people would have been on a list somewhere in the government -- not exactly an ideal situation for creating a bacteria to destroy oil reserves. Now that he actually gave it some thought, it made complete sense.
"Oh, my God," he said quietly, burying his head in his knees. Jenna hadn't drowned. None of them had.
The banging on the door broke him from his trance and he jumped to his feet, taking deep, controlled breaths.
"Erin?" came the muffled voice. "Are you okay?"
He pulled the door open and yanked Beamon inside, slamming it behind them and then just staring stupidly at him.
To his credit, Beamon didn't press, instead filling the silence by lighting another cigarette. "So how bad is it, Erin?"
"Bad. Mark --"
"Yes?"
"I . . . I think it's time for us to go talk to the president."
Beamon took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. "We're already on his schedule. Ten tomorrow morning."
Chapter 12.
"Excuse me. Sir?"
Jenna Kalin watched through her open window as the gas station attendant approached a man pulling what seemed to be an endless series of gas cans from the back of his pickup.
"You can't fill those," the attendant said, pointing to a large handwritten sign saying just that. "Tanks only. There are a lot of people waiting and we don't have another supply truck coming in for a few days."
