Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1)

by Randall Reneau

  Jim took one look and laughed softly. “Bloody hell, that’s got to be our engineer.”

  I waved the fellow to our table, and Jim and I stood up to meet him.

  “Gerald Smyth, gents,” he said, shaking each of our hands with an iron grip, “but you can call me Jerry.”

  “I’m Trace Brandon, Jerry, and this is Jim Lee, managing director of International Uranium Corp. Jim’s one of our directors. You got a license for that pig sticker?” I asked with a chuckle, gesturing at his knife.

  Jerry laughed. “Yeah, she’s a whopper, all right. But she comes in pretty handy from time to time. Mainly for skinning young geologists,” he said with a wink.

  We all took a seat, ordered a round of beers, and got acquainted. Later, over steaks, I briefed Jerry on our drilling operation and the Sullivan Mine’s history. We agreed to meet for breakfast at six and then head up to the mine.

  The next morning, after a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hotcakes, and coffee, we loaded into our vehicles and headed up to the Sullivan Mine. When we pulled up, Fish came out of the core shack to meet us.

  “Fish, this is Jerry Smyth one of the principal engineers with Charter Engineering out of Vancouver,” I said.

  “Glad to meet you, Jerry. I’m Tom Troutman. But everybody calls me Fish.”

  “Glad to meet you as well,” Jerry replied. “How’s the coring going?”

  “We’ve just started coring a new location. You’ll be able to get a look at the cores as they come out,” Fish answered.

  “Tom, good to see you again,” Jim said, shaking hands with his young geologist. “Freezing your ass off, are you?”

  “It’s cold, but nothing compared to the Athabasca Basin,” Fish replied. “Come on up to the rig, and I’ll introduce Jerry to Red. And he can get a look at some fresh core.”

  After the intro’s, Jerry took a serious look at the core from the hole Red was drilling.

  “Jeezus—you boy’s have hit the mother fuckin’ lode. Excuse my language, but, sweet Jesus, this ore is incredible. You know the only bad part, though?” Jerry asked, frowning slightly.

  My heart sank. “What bad part?” I asked.

  “The bad part is, I can’t buy any of your shares,” Jerry said with a laugh. “I can’t own an interest in any property I’m doing an engineering report on. And from the looks of this core, I wish I could.”

  Jerry spent the better part of two days either at the mine or in Winthrop poring over the cores and assays. To say he was thorough would be a gross understatement. He checked the underground workings and, watched and recorded our drilling and coring methods.

  Finally on the third day, he’d seen enough. He loaded up his gear, along with some core samples for confirmation assays, and bid us adieu. He promised a draft report in two weeks.

  Jim and I left Fish to carry on, and we headed to Spokane, where Jim would start his trek down under. After dropping him at the airport, I headed back to my office in Ellensburg to check on the corporate end of things. Hopefully, there were no more short sellers, or dead shareholders.

  Chapter 23

  Malcolm’s flight touched down in Vegas at 10:00 a.m. He deplaned, cleared the terminal, and looked around to see if the Pantellis had sent a car. They hadn’t. So, he took a cab to the Comstock Casino.

  The concierge directed him to an office suite on the second floor of the casino. The name-plate on the door merely said Private. Malcolm knocked and walked in.

  A secretary, who could have passed for a show-girl, showed him into Al Pantelli’s office. Al was behind his desk, and his brother, Crispino, was seated on an adjacent sofa.

  Al rose and came around his desk to shake Malcolm’s hand.

  “Malcolm, nice to meet ya. I’d like you to meet my brother, Crispino,” Al said, gesturing toward his brother.

  Malcolm took a step and shook hands with Crispino.

  “Please, call me, Pino.”

  “Have a seat, Malcolm,” Al said, pointing to the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, nothing, thanks,” Malcolm said, taking a seat on the sofa opposite Pino.

  “So, Malcolm,” Pino said, “my brother says we have similar interests in Montana Creek Mining. Especially an interest in the company’s shares.”

  “Yes, and it’s the purpose of my visit today. First, though, I’d like to thank you both for agreeing to see me. I know you’re both busy men.”

  “So what’s on your mind, Malcolm?” Al asked.

  “To be frank, getting our hands on the Montana Creek Mining shares held by Cyrus McSweeny’s offshore company, Carib International. And getting your voting rights restored.”

  Al glanced at Pino. “Why the hard-on for Cyrus?”

  “The son of a bitch has ruined my reputation in Vancouver. I’ve been kicked off Montana Creek’s board of directors, and to add insult to injury, he didn’t even offer to split his short-sale profits with me. Profits, which without my help, he’d have never received.”

  “I see,” Al replied, cutting a quick glance at Pino.

  Pino got up and walked over to the bar and fixed himself a fresh Bloody Mary.

  “And how do you propose to get control of Cyrus’s shares?” Al asked.

  “I found out Cyrus paid someone in the assay lab for copies of Montana Creek’s core-assay results. Hell, he got the information before the CEO did, let alone the shareholders. A serious violation of insider trading laws,” Malcolm replied.

  Al and Pino both laughed.

  “Well, what about information you passed on to Cyrus about drilling operations?” Al asked.

  “My word against his. There’s no document trail, no hard evidence I actually passed any information to Cyrus.”

  “I take it you’re talking about blackmail?” Pino asked.

  Malcolm took a breath and looked at both men; he knew he was about to cross the line, again. “Yes. We tell Cyrus we’ll turn over our information to the SEC and the FBI if he doesn’t cooperate.”

  “Hell, I know Cyrus,” Al said, “I served time with him in a federal pen up in Oregon. He’s not going to just turn his shares over to us.”

  “I agree,” Malcolm replied. “We offer to buy all the shares held by Carib at a discount to market, and he agrees to return your voting proxy.”

  “And in return, we don’t turn him over the feds?” Al asked, looking hard at Malcolm.

  “Correct,” Malcolm replied.

  Al looked at Pino, who was shaking his head and frowning.

  “I think I can give you our answer now, Malcolm,” Al said. “And the answer is, no fuckin’ way. I want you to get back on a plane and get the hell out of Vegas before dark, or we’ll plant your sorry ass in the desert. Capisce?”

  Pino took Malcolm by the arm and escorted him to the door.

  “You see, Malcolm,” Pino said, “the thing we hate more than anything, is a fuckin’ rat. Get your sorry ass back to Canada and you keep your mouth shut. Or, we’ll shut if for you—permanently.”

  Chapter 24

  Special Agent Beau Monroe flew down to New Orleans, set up shop in the FBI offices on Leon C. Simon Boulevard, and started digging into the Pantelli crime family. He’d managed to get a couple of young agents seconded to him, and he put them to work looking at deaths of local underworld characters in the past ten years. Specifically, deaths reportedly caused by strokes or heart attacks.

  It took ten days, but they found two deaths that fit the profile. Both of the deceased men were Pantelli family underlings and up to their ears in drugs and prostitution. Both had reportedly died of strokes, but no autopsies had been performed.

  One of the dead men had been cremated and his ashes scattered all over Bourbon Street. However, the other man had been entered in a crypt in one of New Orleans’s historic cemeteries. It took a bit of doing, but Monroe managed to get a local judge to sign a court order to open the crypt and allow a post mortem autopsy.

  At 10:00 a.m. a call came into Monroe from the medical examiner’s offi
ce.

  “Agent Monroe, speaking.”

  “Agent Monroe, Art Cline, at the ME’s office.”

  “Yes, sir. Any info for me?”

  “Well, yes, but first let me say that without some idea of what we were looking for, we might have missed it.”

  “Neurotoxin?”

  “Yes, and one we’ve never come across before. The victim was killed by an organophosphate. Similar in composition to an old pesticide from the 1950’s. A product called OPP-D. Is this what you were looking for?”

  “Dead-solid perfect. Thanks, Doc.”

  “So, we can repackage the deceased?”

  Monroe laughed. “Yes, sir. Sew him up and stick him back in his crypt.”

  Beau called Chief Inspector Rand, in Vancouver, and filled him in.

  “With the tree frog victim, this makes two cases where an exotic neurotoxin was used,” Agent Monroe explained. “I think we’re on the Chemist’s home turf.”

  “Good work, Agent Monroe. Good hunting, and please keep me posted,” Inspector Rand replied.

  Monroe hung up, rounded up his trusty secondees, and commenced to shaking the trees.

  Chapter 25

  The core results at the Sullivan Mine continued to be good, and Montana Creek Mining’s share price continued to climb. The asking price was now at three dollars.

  Cyrus seemed relatively dormant, and I’d not heard a peep out of Malcolm Trueblood since the board sacked his sorry butt. Christmas was coming, and we’d be shutting the drill down next week, through New Year’s. And, I had a date with Tina for Friday night. Everything seemed to be on very solid ground, which is usually when the bottom falls out.

  I was deep in thoughts of Tina naked in my Airstream when my office phone rang. I jumped and nearly spilled my morning coffee.

  “Montana Creek Mining, Trace speaking.”

  “Trace, it’s Cyrus. Have you got a sec?”

  “Sure, Cyrus. What’s up?”

  “A trader buddy of mine in Hong Kong sent me an encrypted e-mail early this morning.”

  My attention mode kicked into hyper-drive.

  “Yes?”

  “As you know, Trace, the Chinese are all over the damn place trying to tie up uranium reserves.”

  “Jim Lee and I were discussing that very thing when we were up at the mine last week. The Chinese just inked a deal to acquire a majority interest in an Aussie uranium company. They also bought a majority interest in a Namibian uranium mine, from a British company.”

  “Exactly. My trader tells me Montana Creek is on their radar. The Chinese are quietly acquiring a position in our company.”

  “Is it just an investment, or are they up to something more?”

  “I think it’s something more, Trace.”

  “Well, without my share block, there’s no way for them to get control.”

  “True, but they could get what I call ‘negative control.’ Get enough shares to do what we did with Malcolm. Get a seat on the board. How many shares in the float?”

  “Fully diluted, including warrants, about three million.”

  “They might do a tender offer, at a premium to the market, and pick up a good bit, it not all, of the three mil.”

  “What’s your recommendation, Cyrus?” I said, not quite believing I was asking the Virus for his opinion.

  “Well, I agree with you. Without your shares, they can’t get control, and I won’t tender my shares unless you, Wally, Will, and IUC decide to sell. Which I don’t see happening at these levels.”

  “Thanks, Cyrus, and you’re right. We’re not sellers at these levels. Also, I know IUC is more interested in adding to their uranium reserves than in selling their shares. But, there could be a price at which their shareholders would force them to sell. At the end of the day, it’s all about the bottom line.”

  “True enough. Okay, Trace, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’ll keep you informed if I get more information.”

  “Thanks, Cyrus. I’ll brief the other directors.”

  I hung up and sent an e-mail to Jim. He was in IUC’s Melbourne office this week. I called Will and then Wally, who about had a heart attack. We decided to wait to hear back from Jim and then get everyone on a conference call, including the Virus.

  Jim e-mailed back, and we arranged to have a conference call at 2:00 p.m. Thursday afternoon, our time, which would be 9:00 a.m. Friday morning in Melbourne.

  It took a bit of doing and some help from an international operator, but we got all parties on the line.

  “Fellows, I called this meeting to discuss the information Cyrus received from his trader contact in Hong Kong,” I said. “Cyrus, can you bring the board up to speed?”

  “Certainly, and I do have an update to what I passed on yesterday. The Chinese company buying our shares is URAN-China Nuclear Corp., or UCNC. They’ve recently acquired interests in uranium companies in Africa, Australia, and Kazakhstan. They’re extremely aggressive and very well funded.”

  “I know the company,” Jim said. “They are very active in the Australian uranium play. Their speciality is underfunded junior small caps with potential significant reserves.”

  “Except for the underfunded part, that’s us,” I said.

  “Their MO,” Jim continued, “is to get a minority position in the target company through open market share purchases. Then, they typically put together a tender offer for control of the company. They don’t operate any mines they acquire. They prefer to contract with a major mining company to do the actual mining.”

  “Fits tight with your information, Cyrus,” I added.

  “What’s the worst-case scenario?” Wally asked.

  “Worst case,” I replied, “is they acquire all of the shares in the float. Which would give them around thirty-seven percent of the company.”

  “Negative control,” Cyrus said. “Not enough to take over, but certainly enough to get one or two of their people on our board.”

  “And then they’ll tender for the rest,” Jim added.

  “But U.S. uranium can’t, at least for now, be exported to China, can it?” I asked.

  “Possibly as enriched uranium in fuel rods for nuclear power generation,” Jim replied. “But they might be able to export yellow cake to a country with no export restriction to China. Or swap proven reserves here for reserves elsewhere. Or, they could merely be investing in our shares with an eye towards higher share prices down the road. The Chinese are buying up so much uranium. They know the price is going up, along with our share price. Another one of those self-fulfilling prophecies.”

  “So what’s our defensive strategy?” Will asked.

  Cyrus cleared his throat. “Well, fellows, we can’t stop them from acquiring our shares. But as Trace pointed out, they’ll fall short of control. My advice would be to wait a bit, see how this plays out. If it really gets nasty, we may have to seek out a white knight to better any tender they put forth.”

  “Jim, would IUC be interested in picking up additional shares to thwart the Chinese?” I asked.

  “As I mentioned, when we agreed to acquire a twenty percent interest, we are interested in a larger ownership percentage,” Jim replied. “That said, we couldn’t wage a bidding war with the Chinese. They have very deep pockets.”

  We all agreed to run with Cyrus’s wait-and-see approach. I, only half-jokingly, suggested we all re-read Sun Tzu’s Art of War. Hostile takeover attempts were nothing short of corporate warfare.

  Chapter 26

  On Friday night I picked Tina up at her apartment near the university. I’d earlier hit the IGA for groceries, including two rib eyes, salad stuff, and two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. The cabernet was a local-boutique wine made by a Spokane entrepreneur turned winemaker. The wines were blended and bottled in an old converted warehouse in the historic district of Spokane. It was shaping up to be a hell of a night.

  As Christmas was getting near, I’d decorated the exterior of my Airstream with colored Christmas lights. I even dec
orated a couple of small pine trees growing near the trailer and hung a wreath on the door. There was about six inches of snow on the ground, and the margins of the Yakima River were iced over. It looked and felt like Christmas.

  When we pulled up to my Airstream, Tina was duly impressed.

  “Boy howdy, cowboy, you went all out this year,” Tina said with a laugh.

  “Yep, even got a small Christmas tree inside. Might even be a present under it for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Let’s go in and take a look.”

  We got out of the Bronco and walked hand in hand to the door of the trailer. It was cold, and the snow crunched under our boots. The Christmas lights on my trailer reflected off the Yakima River. It was a pretty neat sight.

  Inside we hung up our coats, and I grabbed a couple of wine glasses.

  “Wine, babe?” I asked, holding up a bottle of cabernet.

  “Wow, the good stuff,” Tina said with a smile. “Trying to ply me with liquor?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, removing the cork and pouring us each a glass of the ruby-red wine.

  I took a sip and walked over to the miniature Christmas tree I’d placed in the center of the dining table.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. There is a little something under the tree for you. You must have been a very good girl this year.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s have it cowboy. Can I open it now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I handed her the gift-wrapped package, and she tore off the paper but carefully set the bow aside. It must be a female thing; they all do it. Then she slowly opened the felt-covered jewelry box.