Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1)

by Randall Reneau

  “Right this way, gentlemen,” I said, motioning down the hall. “It’s the third door on the left. The one marked Columbia Resources.”

  I walked ahead and opened the door to Cyrus’s office.

  Sally Friesen rose from her desk to greet us.

  “Good morning, Sally,” I said. “We’ve got a meeting scheduled with Cyrus.”

  “Yes, I’ll let him know you’re here,” Sally replied, walking over to the door of Cyrus’s private office.

  She knocked softly on the door and then opened it just enough to stick her head in. “Cyrus, Trace and the gentlemen from Hong Kong are here.”

  “Okay, thank you, Sally. Would you see if they would like a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Cyrus got up from his desk chair, straightened his tie a tad, and walked into the outer office.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Cyrus said, looking very dignified in his charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and blue silk tie.

  I shook hands with Cyrus and gestured to my guests.

  “Cyrus, you remember Mr. Chang from the conference in Toronto?”

  “Of course. Good to see you again, sir. And welcome to the Pacific Northwest.”

  Chang and Cyrus shook hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. McSweeny. I would like you to meet our chief mining engineer, Mr. Zhoa,” Chang said, gesturing to the bespectacled, short but very stout, engineer.

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Cyrus said, shaking hands with the engineer. “Please come into my office, gentlemen, and have a seat at the conference table.”

  Sally got Chang and Zhoa cups of hot tea while the rest of us drank coffee.

  Chang took a sip of his tea, set his cup down on the glass-covered mahogany conference table, and started the meeting.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, “I asked for this meeting to reaffirm to you my company’s continued interest in acquiring a majority interest in Montana Creek Mining. And secondly, to get an on-site look at the Sullivan Mine, especially the coring operations.”

  I glanced quickly at Cyrus and then back to Chang. “We are keenly aware of your interest in acquiring a control position in Montana Creek Mining, Mr. Chang. This interest was reinforced after our recent visit with Al Pantelli. Both Al and his brother, Pino, strongly suggested I should sell my shares to URAN-China Nuclear Corp. in order to facilitate your proposed purchase of their shares. An offer, I respectfully declined.”

  “I wonder,” Cyrus added, looking directly at Chang, “if you are fully aware of the type of people you’re dealing with. And I am speaking of the Pantelli family.”

  “We are not suggesting we wish to join the Pantelli family in any type of business venture,” Chang replied, calmly. “Rather, we merely wish to acquire the shares they own in Montana Creek Mining. Simply put, we would prefer to have a controlling interest in your company prior to making such an acquisition.”

  “My advice to you would be to go ahead and acquire the Pantelli’s’ shares, regardless of whether or not you’re able to get control,” I replied. “The Pantellis have no interest in uranium or any commodity, except cash. I can assure you, we are not too happy about a crime family holding a large block of our shares. And I suspect, at some point, the SEC will share our concern.”

  “Everybody in this room believes both uranium and the value of our shares are going higher,” I continued. “It could be a very astute investment to acquire the Pantelli’s’ shares at this time.”

  Chang rubbed his chin with his right hand and looked at Zhoa.

  “Well said, Mr. Brandon, and worthy of serious consideration.”

  “I would appreciate it,” I replied, looking directly into Chang’s jet-black eyes.

  Okay, fellows,” Will interjected, seeking to take the rhetoric down a notch or two. “If we’re to get to the mine in time to see much this afternoon, we’d better adjourn and continue this conversation on the way to Winthrop.”

  “Bathroom is down the hall, fellows,” Cyrus said. “It’s several hours’ ride to the mine.”

  Chang and Zhoa left Cyrus’s office and headed for the restroom. Cyrus motioned Will and me closer to his desk.

  “I think you got his attention,” Cyrus said, softly. “And I think they’re beginning to realize they don’t want a Mafia family as significant shareholders in Montana Creek Mining, either.”

  “I agree,” Will added. “Maybe they’ll go ahead and buy out the Pantelli’s’ shares unconditionally?”

  “Could be,” I replied. “Let’s get them to the mine and dazzle them with some high grade. When they get all touchy- feely with ten percent uranium ore, it just might solve our Mafia shareholder problem.”

  Both Cyrus and Will chuckled.

  “Stranger things have certainly happened with this company,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.

  “Ya, think?” Will replied, with a snort. “Only if you call a mad chemist, an IRA bomber, and you two characters having supper with a Mafia don, strange.”

  We were all chuckling when Chang and Zhao came back into the office.

  On the drive up to Winthrop, I gave Chang and Zhao a brief history of the Sullivan Mine and updated them on drilling operations to date. By the time we pulled into the Winthrop House, both men were up to speed.

  “Let’s check in, and then we’ll run over to our core storage warehouse,” I said. “It’s a little late in the afternoon to head up to the mine.”

  “Excellent,” Chang replied, “Both myself and Mr. Zhao are very anxious to view the cores.”

  “Okay, let’s get checked in and re-group here in the lobby in, say, fifteen minutes?” I replied.

  Twenty minutes later we pulled into Bob Malott’s construction yard and parked in front of the warehouse holding our core.

  Bob saw us pull in and walked over from his office.

  “Bob, I’d like you to meet Mr. Chang and Mr. Zhao,” I said. “They’re with URAN-China Uranium Corp., one of our larger shareholders.”

  Bob stuck out his right hand. “Nice to meet you fellows. You’re in for a hell of a treat. Just wait ‘til you see the cores.”

  I unlocked the warehouse door and flipped on the interior lights. Fish had several core boxes open and sitting on a long table.

  “Fish is still logging these,” Bob said, gesturing at core in the open boxes.

  “Take a look, gentlemen,” I said, walking over to the tables. “Just be sure to put any core you remove back in the same slot and orientation. We don’t want to foul up our geologist’s logging.”

  Chang and Zhoa took out their hand lenses and pulled small sections of the high-grade uranium ore from the core boxes.

  For a moment both men were silent. I glanced over at Cyrus and Will, and raised my eyebrows.

  “Trace, if I was not holding this ore, I would not believe it,” Chang said, glancing at his engineer, who appeared to be in a nearly orgasmic state. “The uranium grade is unbelievable, and there are gold values as well?”

  “Yep, in an adjacent vein system,” I replied, trying not to gloat too much.

  “Very impressive,” Chang kept repeating.

  I looked over at Cyrus and Will, and smiled.

  After about an hour of salivating over the cores, I finally got Chang and Zhao back into the Suburban.

  “Well, I gather you liked what you saw?” I asked, heading back to the W.

  “Very impressive,” Chang said, for the umpteenth time.

  I laughed. “Yes, sir, It’s what we call the ‘mother lode.’”

  Chang said something in Chinese to Zhao, which I guessed to be a translation of mother lode.

  “Okay, fellows,” I said. “Let’s get back to the hotel, have some supper, and get some sleep. We’ll head up to the mine first thing in the morning.”

  At supper, I introduced our two Chinese friends to Washington State Black Angus steaks.

  “Trace, this steak is like Kobe beef. It’s very delicious,” Chang said, between mouthfuls of medium-rare rib-
eye.

  “Yep, it’s hard to beat,” I replied, glancing over at Cyrus. “I’ve only found one other place with steaks this good.”

  “And where was that?” Chang asked.

  “One of the casinos, in Las Vegas.”

  “The Comstock?”

  I nodded and smiled. “You do your homework, Mr. Chang.”

  “I like to know my adversaries, Mr. Brandon.”

  “As do I,” I replied, making eye contact with Chang.

  After the steaks and coffee, I suggested we retire and meet for breakfast at six sharp. I wanted to be done with the mine tour by late afternoon, and be back in Spokane by evening. Chang and Zhao had an early flight out the following day.

  The next morning we all had a light breakfast and loaded into the Suburban. In about thirty minutes we were at the Sullivan Mine.

  Fish walked over as we were climbing out of the truck.

  “Morning, fellows,” he said with a wave.

  “Mr. Chang, Mr. Zhao,” I said, gesturing toward Fish, “I’d like you to meet our project geologist, Tom Troutman. Tom’s been seconded to us from International Uranium. Who, as you know, owns twenty percent of Montana Creek Mining.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Troutman,” Chang said, shaking Tom’s hand. “Please meet my chief mining engineer, Mr. Zhao.”

  Fish shook each man’s hand. “Good to meet you, and please call me Fish. Come on over to the drill. We’re just pulling some core from the ore zone. It should be pretty good.”

  We all ambled over to Red’s drill as his helper decanted five feet of fresh core into a wooden tray.

  Fish took a paint-brush, dipped it into a coffee can full of water, and wetted the cores.

  “Wow,” Chang said.

  Fish laughed. “Wow is right. Have you fellows ever seen uranium ore like this?”

  “Only in the Athabasca mines, in eastern Canada,” Zhao replied, kneeling to get a better look at the shiny, wet core.

  I gently nudged Cyrus, who I knew was thinking the same thing I was. Chang would make an unconditional tender for the Pantelli’s’ shares. I couldn’t blame them. It was the mother lode.

  Chapter 60

  Will and I were having lunch at the First Inn a couple of days after we’d deposited Chang and Zhao at the Spokane airport.

  “Well, I think the guys from Hong Kong were well pleased with what they saw at the mine,” Will said, wiping some ketchup from his upper lip.

  “Yep, I thought old Zhao was going to pee his pants when he saw the cores,” I replied.

  “You think they were dazzled enough to try and buy out our shareholders down in New Orleans?”

  “I think they’ll try. They know none of us insiders are selling, and that includes Cyrus. If they want to acquire a chunk of shares, outside of the market, they’ll have to deal with the Pantellis.”

  I’d just finished my observation when my cell phone started vibrating.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said, finishing a french-fry. “Our good buddies from the Big Easy. Hello, Mr. Pantelli. What can I do for you this fine day?”

  “You can tell me what kind of smoke you blew up the Chink’s’ asses on their visit to the mine?” Al Pantelli said with a laugh.

  “Oh, just the usual dog-and-pony stuff. Why? What’s up, Al?”

  “What’s up is, our commie friend, Chang, called me and offered to buy my shares outright, no strings attached. And at a twenty percent premium to today’s price.”

  “Well, Al, all I can tell you is they got quite excited when they got their hands on the cores. There was some serious Chinese being tossed around,” I said with a chuckle.

  “I’ll bet. So what do you think?”

  “What’d you mean, Al?”

  “Should I sell to the fuckin’ commies, or not?”

  “Hell, Al, it’s up to you. I’ve already told you what I think about the mine and the company’s future, but there’s always the unexpected.”

  “What unexpected?”

  “If I knew that, it wouldn’t be unexpected.”

  “Goddamn it, Trace. We’re talking about a hell of a lot of money here.”

  “I know it, Al, but it’s your call.”

  “What about you? What’re your plans?”

  “You’re talking apples and oranges. I have different goals and responsibilities than you all.”

  “How so?”

  “My first priority is to the shareholders of the company. Your first priority ought to be, and rightly so, making a profit. The Chinese have just presented you and Pino with that opportunity.”

  “I see, and what about you, Trace? Would you ever consider selling your shares to the Chinese?”

  “As I said before, Al, at this point in time, I’m not interested in selling my shares to anyone.”

  “Well, you’re consistent, I’ll give you that. Okay, Trace, thanks for your time. I’ll let you know what Pino and I decide.”

  I hung up and looked across the table at Will.

  “Just like we figured, huh?” Will said, between bites of his hamburger.

  “Sort of. Reading between Al’s lines is not easy, but I get the feeling he’s going to have a hard time letting go of his shares. He’s afraid to pull the trigger, afraid he might leave something on the table.”

  “Damn. I was hoping we’d get those fellows out of our company.”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see how this all plays out.”

  Chapter 61

  Special Agent Beau Monroe was not one to wait and see. He’d piled up a ton of bureau hours trying to nail the Pantellis, and so far all he had to show for his efforts were two dead hit men. Not exactly a home run, but maybe a solid double.

  Monroe leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He looked over at Agent Wilson Allen, who was finishing up the report on Sean Flannigan.

  “Wilson,” Monroe said, “I think we need to change course on the Pantelli investigation. I think we need to get those bastards the old-fashioned way.”

  “We can’t just shoot ‘em, Beau,” Wilson said with a smile.

  “No,” Monroe said, chuckling. “Although not a half-bad idea. No, I mean the way the government took down Capone and some of the other capos. We need to get the IRS involved. I know someone in the criminal investigation division. I’ll give him a call. Maybe we can get the Pantellis on tax evasion.”

  “Good idea, Beau. Listen, one other thing has been bothering me. How the hell did the Pantellis end up with their Montana Creek Mining shares? Rosenburg’s debt was to the Comstock Casino. So how’d the shares end up with the Pantellis?”

  “Good question. Do the Pantellis have a reported ownership in the Comstock?”

  “Another good question.”

  “Get the team on it. Also, see if Al or Crispino have any felony convictions that would preclude them from ownership in a Nevada casino.”

  “Will do. What did old J. Edgar say? ‘Always follow the money.’”

  Al and Pino were sitting in Al’s office, trying to figure out whether to take the money.

  “Damn, Al, it’s a hell of a profit. Maybe we should sell to the fuckin’ Chinks.”

  “Mixed feelings, little brother, like seeing my ex-wife drive off a cliff in my new Caddie,” Al replied, with a chuckle. “If the Chinese want our shares bad enough to pay a premium, they must figure the shares are going to go a hell of a lot higher.”

  “True, but remember what Pop always said. ‘You never go broke taking profits.’ Plus, as Trace told you, there’s always the unexpected.”

  “What could happen that’d fuck up the deal?”

  “Another Three Mile Island, or a terrorist attack with a dirty bomb or a nuke.”

  “Yeah, that would fuck everything up, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would.”

  “You know the other thing that chaps my ass about this?”

  Pino laughed. “No, Al, what?”

  “Selling anything to the fuckin’ Chinese commies.”

&n
bsp; “Hey, we’ve sold shit to a hell of a lot worse.”

  Al nodded. “Yeah, I know. But my gut says we should let the commies sit a bit. Hell, maybe they’ll raise the bid.”

  Agent Allen dropped a pile of documents on Special Agent Monroe’s desk.

  “You’re not going to believe this, Beau,” Allen said. “The Pantellis don’t have any felony convictions. They’ve been indicted for murder, extortion, drug dealing, the whole shiteree. But no convictions.”

  “Unbelievable. What about the Comstock? Are they listed as owners?”

  “Not directly. The Comstock is a privately held company. The majority shareholder is an LLC named Black Chip Investments. You’ll never guess where the LLC is domiciled.”

  “Cayman Islands?”

  “Confirming once again why you get the big bucks, sir.”

  Monroe laughed. “Can we find out who’s behind Black Chip?”

  “Maybe, but it won’t be easy.”

  “Okay, good work, Wilson. Keep on it.”

  “Will do, sir. Oh, and one more thing. The IRS is going over the Pantelli’s’ individual tax returns for the past seven years, as well as the casino’s. Maybe they’ll turn up something of interest.”

  “I’ll settle for anything that keeps them picking prison cotton for the next twenty years.”

  Chapter 62

  I hadn’t seen Tina Hart in weeks, and decided to give her a call to see how she was doing, and hopefully arrange a date.

  “Tina, it’s Trace. Sorry it’s been so long, but I’ve been tied up with investors and operations up at the mine.”

  “I understand, Trace. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

  I knew from her tone this conversation was headed south.

  “Listen, I was wondering if we could get together later this week. Have supper, take in a movie?”

  “Trace, I can’t. I’ve met someone, and we’re getting pretty serious. He’s in education like me, and he wants to get married and have a family. I know you. After the Sullivan project, you’ll likely be off on another project to God knows where. I care about you, Trace, but our lives are just too far apart.”