The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3)

by Christopher Hepworth

  ‘Sam, what are you going to do about your half-brother, Jack?’

  It was the question Sam had been dreading and he suspected it was the issue that had been bothering Cantara since his return from the temple. He had pleaded with Rania to help him find Jack and spirit him out of the country. But he knew he was putting Rania in a compromising position as the minister of internal security, especially as Jack had been with the group that had murdered the five geologists. Quite correctly, she had refused. He also knew the extremists were hunting for Jack in revenge for the shooting of Tariq and the second rebel soldier.

  ‘I don’t know, Cantara. I hope the Rapid Deployment Forces find him before the rebels do. I will try to get him the best lawyer I can afford.’

  ‘The Rapid Deployment Forces don’t take prisoners, Sam. At least not often.’

  ‘I know.’ Sam’s head dropped. ‘And Jack won’t allow himself to be taken alive. He’ll go down fighting.’

  ‘You can’t give up on him, Sam. I know Rania and I have our differences, but if she were in trouble I would find her and bring her out. It’s a matter of family honour.’

  ‘You couldn’t fight the security forces and the rebels on your own. You would get yourself killed.’

  Cantara considered Sam’s response. ‘You’re right, Sam. I’m sorry to have upset you.’ She ran a hand along his shoulder to reassure him of her support.

  ‘I do feel guilty, but I didn’t make him join the rebel battalion. He did that all on his own.’

  Cantara steered the felucca away from a large floating branch that was being carried downstream on the current. She also steered the conversation away from dangerous ground. ‘Do you still believe there’s oil in Tom Bradshaw’s well?’

  ‘I sent his papers to The Woodlands laboratories. Tom thought the shale was rich in oil, but was exceptionally deep. The lab is still to confirm Tom’s data, but it looks like a perfect site for Daingerfield’s deep fracking technology.’

  ‘But that won’t help the Sirius Motor Company.’

  ‘Let’s say I have certain leverage with Rex. All exploration licences granted by the Egyptian minister of petroleum are conditional, and this time the minister imposed some pretty tough commercial terms.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I managed to persuade the minister that only Daingerfield Oil has the necessary technology to extract the oil from such deep and challenging terrain. I also told him that in return, Daingerfield Oil would triple its investment in its Egyptian-based solar panel subsidiary.’

  Cantara punched him on the shoulder once more. ‘Rex will go mad. He’s trying to close the Luxor solar plant.’

  Sam smiled at Cantara. ‘The minister is a clever negotiator. He knows this oilfield could put Daingerfield Oil back into the big league.’

  ‘And were there any other concessions the minister wrung from you?’

  ‘Only one. The minister turns out to be something of a car enthusiast. Especially after I took him for a spin in Colin Jenkins’ second Sirius prototype. He suggested Daingerfield Oil should make regular and sizeable contributions to the development of the Sirius factory as a contribution to Luxor’s high technology economy. Of course, I tried to resist his outrageous terms but I had to agree in return for a nine-year exploration licence.’

  Sam looked up and saw the broad grin spread across Cantara’s lovely face. She dropped the tiller and joined Sam on the comfortable cushioned seat. He carefully stowed their empty wine glasses in a small alcove behind the stern seat as the felucca wheeled around and the sails flapped in the wind. Cantara wrapped her arms around Sam and kissed him passionately.

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up too soon,’ Sam cautioned her. ‘Rex’s business is under a lot of pressure and he’s not going to agree to the licence conditions without a fight.’

  ‘Rex trusts you, Sam. He will take your advice.’ She hugged him tightly and kissed him once more, but this time with a sense of urgency. Sam relished the sweet taste of her lips, and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  Unable to contain his desire any more, he gently drew her head closer and kissed her with a passion that had been burning within him since he first met her in Cairo. He explored her mouth with his tongue and ran his hands along the soft contours of her back. His fingers toyed with the waistband of her jeans and all the while he pulled her closer. Cantara unbuttoned Sam’s shirt and ran her fingers along his chest before dropping her hand towards his toned stomach, her fingertips gently outlining the scar from his bullet wound. As she moved her hands around to caress his back, a gust of wind blew the felucca close to a pile of rocks near the Elephantine shoreline. Cantara reached up, grasped the tiller and steered the boat away from the rocks with one hand while she continued to rummage beneath Sam’s shirt with the other.

  Sam and Cantara both laughed as the boat lurched to starboard like a drunkard. ‘I think it will be safer if we moor the boat for a while,’ she said. Cantara climbed into the helmsman’s chair and took full control of the felucca once more.

  ‘There’s a little cove around the corner we can pull into for the night. Please try to restrain yourself for the moment, first officer Jardine.’

  ‘Aye, captain,’ Sam responded with a smart salute. ‘I will be standing to attention and eager for duty the minute we hit dry land.’ Sam walked to the bow of the little boat, grabbed the coiled mooring rope and readied himself to jump ashore.

  ‘Oh, you had better be,’ Cantara said seductively. ‘I plan to carry out a very thorough inspection of my crew...’

  CHAPTER 25

  Sam’s stomach knotted as he waited for his appointment with Rex Daingerfield. In his mind he rehearsed his negotiating strategy and he shuffled through the documents in his briefcase. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of yelling as Daingerfield hurled insults at a shell-shocked senior executive who retreated from his office. Sam raised a sympathetic half-smile at the downcast man as he stumbled his way towards the lifts.

  ‘Jardine. Get in here now!’ Daingerfield yelled from his office.

  Sam took a deep breath, pushed out his shoulders and strode into the magnificent inner sanctum of the Daingerfield empire. Daingerfield was staring out of the window, trying to recover his composure after his confrontation with the executive who had come bearing bad news. The legendary oil magnate turned to face Sam. Sam was shocked to see how much Rex Daingerfield had aged since their last encounter twelve months before. He was still a handsome man, but his hair had greyed and his shoulders had taken on a rounded bearing. More alarming, the passion that used to burn in his eyes had dulled.

  Daingerfield walked over to the brandy decanter and poured two large measures into a pair of balloon snifter glasses. He carried them both over to Sam and thrust one into his hand.

  ‘Hennessy Paradis Rare Cognac, I’m afraid. Only one thousand dollars a bottle. Times are tough in the fracking industry. If I remember correctly, the last time you were in my office you were partial to my Louis XIII de Remy Martin Grande Champagne Cognac. That’s thirty-five thousand dollars a bottle if you can get a hold of one in the first place. I’d flown it over from Paris for a meeting with the speaker of the House of Representatives that afternoon. You managed to polish off the whole goddamn bottle like it was lemonade.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. You should have said,’ Sam replied.

  Daingerfield winked at Sam and clinked his brandy glass against Sam’s. ‘The speaker, John Falkner, is a renowned brandy snob but he had no idea he was drinking a twenty-dollar replacement we rushed in from the nearest liquor store.’ Daingerfield took Sam by the elbow and steered him towards the comfortable leather armchairs at the far corner of the office.

  ‘How’s Sienna doing?’ Sam asked. He knew Daingerfield’s daughter had succumbed to a deep depression and was being treated at a private psychiatric clinic in the heart of The Woodlands community.

  ‘Please take a seat.’ Daingerfield pointed to one of the brown leather armchairs. Sam sank into the luxuriou
s piece of furniture and placed his briefcase at his feet.

  ‘Not good, Sam. I fear we may have lost her. At least mentally. She’s telling everyone she meets that the world’s about to end. And she’s behaving like a religious fanatic. It wouldn’t be so bad if she was a Christian, a Jew, or even a Muslim, but she’s freaking people out with her fondness for ancient Egyptian goddesses. I thought she was making good progress last year, but now she’s worse than ever.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it, Mr Daingerfield. But she did go through a terrible experience in Egypt. She just needs time.’

  Daingerfield shuddered at what she had endured. ‘I’m most grateful you managed to find her and bring her back home, Sam. I’m not sure I have thanked you enough.’

  ‘You’ve thanked me sufficiently. I’m sorry that the whole experience affected her so much.’

  Daingerfield lapsed into silence and swirled the brandy around his glass half a dozen times before letting out a long sigh. He reached across and grasped Sam’s forearm. ‘When I rescued her from that religious cult in Egypt four years ago, she would sometimes revert to her temple persona. She would speak in a strange archaic language and her voice would drop several octaves. I don’t mind saying, when she was in that state of mind, it scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘I hope she recovers soon. She’s a remarkable woman.’

  ‘Sienna keeps asking after you, Sam. She wonders why you haven’t visited her since you returned Stateside.’

  ‘I will pay her a visit as soon as we’re done here.’

  Daingerfield stood up from the sofa and retrieved the carafe of cognac. He poured them both another drink. ‘Have you sold out of the solar-powered car company yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Sam replied.

  ‘Take my advice. Get out quickly. It’s a fucking millstone ’round your neck. I feel guilty for getting you into this renewable business in the first place.’

  ‘I must admit, I’d assumed you had put me out to grass when you sent me to Egypt.’

  ‘Actually, it was the psychiatrist’s idea. He knew how much of an environmentalist Sienna was and he thought it would do her good to have a harmless hobby to take her mind off her religious delusions.’

  ‘You sent me to Egypt as therapy for your daughter?’ Sam said, appalled at how he had been manipulated.

  ‘It was supposed to be for a few months until you ran out of budget. But I’ll give you your dues. You don’t do things by halves, Samuel Jardine. You’d spent twenty million dollars of my money faster than I could respond to your bloody emails. Now you’ve got the Egyptian government and half the automotive industry believing in your pipedreams. You have a big pair of balls, I’ll acknowledge that.’

  ‘Except the solar panels and the Sirius are not pipedreams. Both products are at the forefront of technology. With the right level of investment, they could become world beaters.’

  ‘That’s the point. If you sell now, you and your team of half-baked amateur entrepreneurs could become millionaires.’

  Sam’s eyes flared with anger. ‘You took a risk with your fracking company twenty years ago, Mr Daingerfield. No-one thought it was possible to make money from oil shale rock, but you developed the horizontal drilling technology and damn near cornered the market.’

  ‘That was different, Sam.’

  ‘No, it’s not. In twenty years’ time, fossil fuels will be a distant memory. Renewable power will be the energy source of choice. Those who are in it first will make a fortune, and you know it.’

  ‘The point is, Sam, you’re showing your hand too soon. The oil industry isn’t going to lie down without a fight.’

  ‘Then help me fight them, Mr Daingerfield.’

  ‘I’d love to help, but I’m in dire financial straits myself. If I hadn’t run into major production problems in Greenland, I might consider investing in your crazy schemes, but right now I can’t even get credit from Starbucks.’

  ‘I thought Greenland was supposed to be a small experimental well? Don’t tell me you have a major fracking programme in the most fragile environment on the planet?’

  ‘Don’t get all sanctimonious with me, Jardine. We’re an oil business, not Greenpeace. As it turned out, the well wasn’t commercially viable and was beset with technical problems. That’s why I’m in the shit. We might take another look at the well in the spring, but to all intents and purposes it was a costly mistake and Wall Street wants my ass on a platter.’

  Sam looked at Daingerfield doubtfully, but decided to push on with his negotiation. ‘Look, I’m not after charity. I’m offering you a business proposition.’

  ‘Believe me, automotive companies are for dreamers and fools. Even one like the Sirius with its clever technology. I won’t touch it with a barge pole.’

  Sam ignored the comment. ‘Have you heard of the legendary Nefertari Shale?’

  ‘It’s a myth. Pure and simple.’

  ‘Not according to your geologist’s report. They think it’s the next El Dorado and it’s all yours if you work with me on the licence conditions.’ Sam thrust the geologist’s report towards Daingerfield. The oilman’s eyes lit up and he snatched the papers from Sam. For the next ten minutes, Daingerfield scanned the report before he removed his reading glasses and leaned back in his sofa.

  ‘This is good, Sam, but the Egyptian government will commence a tender for the exploration rights. The process takes years. Wall Street will have hammered the final nail in my corporate coffin by then.’

  Sam handed Daingerfield a signed contract from the Egyptian government, which gave Daingerfield Oil full and exclusive exploration rights for nine years. Daingerfield let out a long whistle. ‘It seems someone in the Egyptian government has taken a shine to you. This oil contract could be the biggest of the decade. BP and Exxon are going to be pissed they didn’t get a look in. How the hell did you pull it off?’

  ‘There are a couple of conditions.’

  Daingerfield laughed. ‘There always are. But I can see why Sienna put such faith in you. This could bring our company back from the brink. The Street will love it.’

  ‘The Egyptian government wants you to offset the carbon emissions this oilfield will generate by investing in a couple of Egyptian-based fledgling renewable projects.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. The solar panel division and the Sirius Motor Company?’

  Sam pretended to be impressed by Daingerfield’s insight. ‘There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes, Mr Daingerfield.’

  Daingerfield laughed. ‘I don’t bloody well believe it. Sam, you never give up, do you?’

  ‘You’ll sign the contract?’

  Daingerfield took out his pen and countersigned the contract alongside the Egyptian minister of petroleum’s signature. He poured two more cognacs and handed one to Sam before walking towards the large window. Gazing at the neat rows of low-rise buildings of the Daingerfield office campus, he looked like a latter-day Napoleon contemplating the loss of his empire. He looked back towards Sam and then spoke almost in a whisper. ‘Unfortunately, we may never be able to take advantage of the contract,’ he said. ‘Congress is pushing through a bill even as we speak that will make it illegal for American oil companies to frack in high-risk countries such as Egypt.’

  Sam stared at Daingerfield and his jaw dropped. He did not doubt for a moment Daingerfield was telling the truth. ‘Surely they can’t do that?’

  ‘The legislation is called the “Make America Prosperous” bill. Its purpose is to protect industries that were once the backbone of America’s industrial strength but are now in structural decline.’

  ‘Protectionism?’

  ‘That’s one way to describe it. The administration in Washington wants to increase jobs in the American auto, aviation, steel and fossil fuel industries by targeting unfair competition from overseas.’

  ‘How can fracking for oil in Egypt be classified as unfair competition?’

  ‘The bill throws a wide net over Russian, Chinese, Arab-speaking and OPEC nati
ons who do things better and cheaper than we do. The intention is to withdraw financial and technical support from those countries and jolt America’s declining industries back to life by giving them a free run in their own market. Except in this particular situation, it could jeopardise my company and your solar vehicle business.’

  ‘So if the bill goes through, the Nefertari exploration licence will be useless?’

  ‘Unfortunately that’s true, Sam. We would be seen as giving technical and financial support to a country on the banned list. And in the meantime, many unscrupulous characters in the industry are going to make a lot of money out of the bill.’

  Sam could visualise the end of his Egyptian renewables projects and imagined the anguish it would cause the Sharif family. ‘Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this?’

  ‘There is a way, but you will need every ounce of rat cunning you possess.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I’m sending you right into the epicentre of the swamp.’

  ‘The swamp?’

  ‘K Street, Washington. Home of the American lobbying industry. I’m going to introduce you to my old friend Clint Cobb from the American Fossil Fuels Alliance, and he’s going to help you consign the worst elements of the Make America Prosperous bill to the trash can.’

  ‘What? Just like that?’

  ‘Well, it might take a few months and a few million well-placed dollars. But essentially, yes.’

  Talk about blatant manipulation of the American legislative system, thought Sam.

  Sam’s mortified expression didn’t escape Daingerfield’s notice. ‘Now Sam, if you are going to get all sanctimonious again about how we get things done around here, I’m pulling the plug. You can’t be an eco-warrior and a prude at the same time.’