by Joel Shaw
“So, what's on your mind, Mr. Cooke?" She relaxed in her chair, she was moist, she hoped that Harold were on the same page.
CHAPTER 8 - Three YearS Later
(2045) After 15 years of drought (2012-2026), ten inches of rain fell on American soil in 2027. An additional seven inches fell in 2028 across the Norther Tier states. Hopes that the end of the drought had arrived soared for those two years. In 2029 not a drop fell from the skies. Maps were unfolded in living rooms across the country. Where was the water? Most were quick to see that the largest amount of fresh water in the country was contained in the Great Lakes Region. The was no way of knowing what conditions were like in the region: was there any water left in the great lake basins? Given that all methods of mass communication had failed or was deliberately halted, the only way to know was to go there. The Great Lakes Migration began in earnest.
William was seated in front of a twenty-four inch monitor in the office of his new Kansas City home, reading the business page of the Kansas City Star. He noted that oil was rocking around one-thousand dollars a barrel. Koke Industries stakeholders were very happy; another day of record profits. He touched the Market Summary link and scrolled down the AP Headlines, touching the link to ‘United States Accepts UN Food Aid.’ He scanned the article and soon found what he was looking for. Wheat prices rallied on expectations that drought will force United States to continue significant grain imports. He scanned the column looking for more background information...’Australia would be shipping 1.3 million metric tons of wheat monthly to the US to be distributed to those colonies most in need...’ He snickered. The wheat would be distributed alright...to the highest bidder.
The timing was perfect, his men had recently acquired a grain elevator in Salina, Kansas. Twelve empty silos ready and waiting. Salina was perfect, located along the Central Kansas Railway corridor, now owned and operated by the Kansas City Southern Railway, a subsidiary of Koke industries which had terminals in numerous Gulf of Mexico ports. He made a phone call to his broker and was soon guaranteed shipment of one-hundred and eight thousand tons of Australian wheat, enough to fill his silos, all paid for down to the last grain by donations from the United Nations World Food Program, thank you very much.
After receiving the shipment, he planned to donate ten-thousand tons of the wheat to the FEMA Emergency Food and Shelter Program in the name of Koke Industries LLC. His dad would be proud. The remainder he would store and sell long, whenever the market improved his position significantly. All he had to do was to keep a few of his men in Salina to guard the silos.
William slumped in his plush leather chair with a sigh of satisfaction. He lit a cigar and filled his brandy snifter to the rim with Railean rum. His plan was coming together. As happy as he was to have the grain, he knew the serious money was in water. Now, he had to find some water. He recalled an email received several weeks previous from a guy asking for a loan...he searched his inbox for water and soon found the email from Wes Clayburn. Let’s see what Mr. Clayburn has to offer... He read the email several times. Was this guy for real, or what?
William touched an icon on his phone, seconds later he heard the voice of Lieutenant Roland Hanson.
“Yes sir. What can I do for you sir.”
“I have a mission for you, Lieutenant.”
“It’s about time, sir, the men are getting restless. Sorry, sir, go ahead.”
“I have an email from a guy who claims he knows where there are several quarries full of water. You know what a quarry is, don’t you Lieutenant?”
“Yes sir. Where are these quarries?”
“I don’t know, yet. He wants to sell that information to me.”
“How much?”
“Five million dollars.”
“I meant how much water is there, sir.”
“Good question, Lieutenant. That’s what I want you to find out.”
“Five million should buy a lot of water, sir. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to ready a recon squad and wait for further instructions. I’ll get back to you with the coordinates.”
“Roger that, sir. Have you decided on a name for our outfit, sir. The men don’t think Koke’s Cavalry does much for their images. They would like something more distinctive...more...well...mysterious, sir.”
“Do they have any suggestions, Lieutenant?”
“Yes sir, there are a few. We have KC Dragons, Kansas City Green Berets, Koke’s Legionaries, Black Eagles, Army of Darkness, that’s my choice sir. Let’s see...
“You want to call my outfit the Army of Darkness? Are you stupid or what? That sound’s like it came out of a comic book, Lieutenant.”
“It did sir. It’s from the Danger Girl series...”
“Grow up, Hanson.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
“ Black Eagles sounds good...not quite right...though. I want an element of uncertainty or randomness...a sweet and sour kind of name... Hang on a second.” William entered several adjectives into the search engine and touched enter. His eyes locked on the sixth listing in the results; Black Swan Logic. He touched the link and scanned the content...some Taleb guy...blah, blah, blah...Black Swans... unpredictable...change...non-linear randomness...outside the realm of expectations. Perfect.
“You there, Lieutenant?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’m calling our outfit the Black Swans. How’s that sound?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“NO. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think about it, Lieutenant, You are now second in command of the Black Swans. Congratulations.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”
“Find out if we have a graphic designer on staff. If not, get one. I want a Black Swan logo developed ASAP. I’ll brief you on the quarry mission as soon as I get a location.”
“Yes sir. Is that all sir?”
William disconnected. Commander in Chief of the Black Swans; that sounded good. He dialed the number for Wes Clayburn.
#
Wes Clayburn was once the CEO of Kleen Springs Incorporated, a robust and thriving water bottling company founded in 2001 near Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Over thirty years he made millions selling fashionably packaged tap water to fashion conscious consumers.
Life was good until he was indicted and convicted in a 2033 class-action lawsuit for Reckless Endangerment and Negligence following the deaths of fifteen local middle-schoolers who drank bottled Kleen Springs water containing Vibrio Cholera.
He was fined and ordered to seal Kleen Springs’ wells and deliver the 'adulterated' water to the Chippewa Falls water treatment facility for recycling. Due to limited oversight, that didn't happen. Wes handed the treatment facility superintendent five-thousand dollars in cash and was issued a falsified Infectious Waste Report stating that he had properly disposed of the water.
In the spring of 2035, Wes bought a vacant bottling plant and warehouse in St. Cloud, Minnesota and used his fleet of delivery trucks to transport Kleen Springs’ inventory to the new facility. The inventory included 115,740 pallets of 20oz. bottles of 'adulterated' water.
With permits in hand he told the St. Cloud City Council that his bottling plant was scheduled to open in the summer of 2035; it didn't. He spent the spring and summer fishing in Alaska, the fall and winter playing golf at his country club and fishing in the Gulf of Mexico.
He watched with amusement the press releases issued by the Department of the Interior stating that all public water supplies were now under the control of the Federal Government and would be fenced in. His bottled water supply was becoming more valuable by the day. He returned to his condo on the Gulf Coast and worked on his short game.
In the winter of 2035, the St. Cloud government offices closed due to bankruptcy. In a regulation-free environment Wes was free to do as he pleased. He did nothing with his new business. He spent his millions lavishly by the spring of June of 2047, he was broke. On a hunch, he sent an email to his college room mate,
William Francis Koke. It was time to sell some water. After several days, he got the call he was waiting for.
“Hello, Wes speaking.”
“Hello Wes. This is William, William Koke.”
“Yes sir! What a surprise. Good to hear your voice, sir.”
“Likewise, Wes. Listen, let me get right to the point. I’m calling in regard to the email you sent to me...last week I think.”
“The one about the three quarries?”
“Right, that’s the one. You said they’re full of water?”
“Full is a relative term, sir. It’s safe to say there is one hell of a lot of water in them.”
I’m interested, but I need some current data on the volume of water in the quarries. Do you have that available?
“Not at the moment. I’m sure I can find some total capacity numbers, but getting accurate volumes would be very difficult. The quarries are not uniform in size and shape making the computation of an accurate volume more of a guessing game.”
“No offense, Wes, but I need more than your word as collateral for five million dollars. I need real time evidence.”
“I could send you some pictures, sir.”
William stifled his laugh. What kind of sucker did this guy take him for? “Here’s what I propose, Wes. I wire some earnest money...say a million five to your account and you send me the coordinates of the quarries. I’ll send a team up there to verify the location and quantities. You said there were three quarries, right?”
“Yes sir, three quarries with over a million gallons of water in each.” Wes thought he heard an orgasmic groan emanating from the phone. He knew the quarries contained over 20 million gallons of water. William would have to pay the full amount for that information.
“Over a million? You sure? Don’t fuck with me on this, Wes.”
“Easily over a million, sir.”
“Why don’t you want it?”
“I don’t have the capital or the resources to deal with it sir. I’m a one man show now days. I have another, smaller venture in the works.”
“And you need financial backing for you new venture, correct?”
Wes was taken aback. Was William offering to be his partner or trying to squeeze information out of him?
“That’s not what I had in mind, sir. I was thinking more in terms of a loan, plus my finder’s fee.”
“If it has something to do with water, I’d like get in on it, Wes.”
“It’s a bit of a risk, sir.”
“I don’t mind gambling. You know that. What are the potential returns?”
“Depends, what’s water going for on the black market today?”
“Hang on...as you said, it depends...one-hundred fifty per gallon in the US...one-hundred twenty in the EU...two-hundred even in North Africa.”
“I could feasibly be talking about nineteen million gallons of potable water.”
“That doesn’t include the water in the quarries?”
“No sir. That would be yours.”
“So you want a two million dollar finder’s fee and an additional three million dollar loan? Is that right?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Wes, I would need some additional collateral.”
“I have some.”
“Be specific, were talking a lot of money here.”
“I have over one-hundred thousand twenty ounce bottles of water in my warehouse.”
“Your’re not putting me on, are you?”
“No sir. I’m looking at them as we speak.”
“I’ll want to confirm that.”
“No problem sir. You can send your men over here to verify the count if you like.”
William thought for a minute.“Here’s what I’ll do for you Wes. I’ll wire two million to your account today to show good faith. Send me the coordinates as soon as the money clears. I’ll send a team to the location to verify your story. You let me know what you need to get started on this other venture you got going and I’ll help you out if I can. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good to me sir. Thank you. When can I expect the arrival of your team?”
“Sometime in January.”
In the spring of 2045, using his warehoused contaminated water as collateral, he borrowed five million dollars from William Francis Koke,
#
(May 9, 2060) Wes Clayburn, stood behind his faux walnut desk, gazing through the acrylic windows that separated his office from the warehouse. He hired a local contractor to drill a well into the Anoka Sand Plain Aquifer. In the meantime he installed fifty 2,500 gallon underground water cisterns behind his warehouse which he planned on filling with water from the new well. As the diamond drill bit chewed through the upper layers of the aquifer, he read one discouraging report after another regarding the condition of major aquifers across the country. The reports clearly indicated that the country was running out of water reserves. It never occurred to him that he might not find the water he wanted at the bottom of the hole.
The well driller capped the well at six-hundred feet, supposedly the aquifer’s sweet spot. Wes filled three of the twenty-five-hundred gallon cisterns before the flow reduced to a dribble and after five hours of pumping it was dry. His ace had a hole in it.
#
Wes was waiting for the train sent by William Koch to arrive. Water was selling on the black market for six hundred dollars per gallon. It was time to sell some water. His satellite phone rang, he knew who was calling.
"Hello, Wes here."
"Wes, this is William Koch any sign of my train?"
"Bill, what a surprise, how are you today?"
"None of your goddam business how I am Clayburn. Has my train arrived?"
"Not yet, sir. The engineer failed to call me today, I’m not sure if he’s on schedule."
“He’ll be there, don’t you worry. In any event, I’m sending you some help. I need that water down here yesterday."
"That's not necessary, sir; I have all the help I need."
"I'm sending some of my Swans over from the quarry contingent. They'll get the bottling plant up and running in no time. Have you tested the water?"
"Yes sir. I want you to know that the water is looking real good. The cisterns are full. One-hundred and twenty-five thousand gallons of crystal clear water. I’m sampling for major ions, trace inorganic chemicals, volatile organic compounds, herbicides, and herbicide degradates. The frequency of VOCs are climbing and you know that is a red flag. I think we’ll be fine. We don’t want to have to treat this water. We are going to start bottling in June and I'll have your hundred-thou on the way by the end of July, Sir.”
"You'll be bottling by the end of the week, Clayburn. I want that train loaded and on the return trip in two weeks. I want the water here by May 25th. That's your deadline. By the way Clayburn, I'm taking all the water you have on hand. Every ounce. You got that? You still owe me a millon-five. We'll call it even."
"All of the water? Two weeks? That's not possible, sir."
"Oh, it's possible Clayburn and it's going to happen. The Swans will make it happen. Do you know Major Hanson? He's the CO at the quarries."
"No sir, I don't know any of the locals."
"He's not a local. He's my man up there. I have briefed Major Hanson. He'll take care of everything. Just stay the hell out of his way. You read me Clayburn?"
"Listen sir, I don't want you worrying about the water. As soon as the train gets here I'll get the bottling plant unloaded..."
"Don't patronize me Clayburn. You've screwed around with this deal for thirty years. We're running out of water here in KC. You do what I tell you to do. You read me Clayburn?
"All right sir. Yes sir. I’ll be talking to you soon. Say hello to Janie Lynn..."
The connection went dead.
Wes looked at his watch. He looked at the pallets of contaminated water. What was he going to do with all that bad water? How was he going to explain the twenty-three empty cisterns? Wes looked down the rail spur
leading to the industrial park. The train would arrive. The Swans, whatever they were, would arrive. Then what? Maybe he could bribe these Swan guys. It was worth a try.
CHAPTER 9 - JANUARY 11 - Two Years Later
Leland was first to rise after a restless night. He was eager to hear the details of his father's conversation with Faye regarding the hidden quarry. Keeping a secret from the woman whom graciously had taken on the role of his absent mother had been difficult to say the least. He couldn’t help but feel like he betrayed her each and every day and he longed for the day when his father would tell her the truth.
He kicked the frame of his dad's cot; there wasn't any movement from the body-sized lump under the covers. He prodded the lump with his fist. It was too soft to be a body. He scooped the blankets away only to see a couple of extra sleeping bags that Milton had stuffed under the heavy wool blankets to fool him. "You bastard, Milton." He hollered toward Milton's small enclosure. He could hear Milton's laugh through the plywood door.
"Got you, didn't I?" Milton laughed loudly. It was excessive laughter, even forced, but it was one of the few positive emotions that elevated moods in their dark world. It was a luxury that cost nothing to enjoy.
"Yeah, you got me you old fart. You think they..." Leland was unsure of the words to use. “...got together last night?"
"Hell yeah. I'll bet their getting’ nasty right now, doing the undercover rumba. I know I wouldn't mind doing a little dirty dancing with Faye."
Leland blushed. He was a virgin still. He hadn't ever had a girlfriend. As far as he knew, all of the young women had left town years ago, so he tried not to think about girls but he had dreams and some of those dreams resulted in a painful pressure buildup in his testicles. For several years he thought something was wrong with his body until Milton explained the blue-ball syndrome to him when he turned seventeen so he knew how to relieve the pressure when it arose. Milton provided a couple of ‘girly magazines for stimulation. He had them hidden near the quarry where he would go to enjoy his brief fantasies.
"Mind your manners, Milt. My dad got there first. Besides, he's been giving her the eye for years. I'm surprised it took so long for them to get together."