Moratorium

by Chuck Sampson

  “If Mike’s in trouble, why doesn’t he go to the police?”

  “I don’t believe the cops would help him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because more than likely it’s the cops who are following him. You ever heard of Jeff Moon?”

  “No.”

  “You remember that arson fire down in Laguna? A group of monkeywrenchers torched a car lot full of Lexis SUVs.”

  “So what? Bunch of kids with matches, I don’t see the big deal. The dealer probably has insurance.”

  “I just want to warn you, man. Gnome told me the FBI is way hyphee to catch this nutcase. The G-men think…actually man, they know Moon torched the SUV parking lot. And, they think he might be hiding up here in the back country, maybe near the punchbowl in Santa Paula.”

  “So what’s this got to do with Mike?”

  “The fire happened at three a.m. Mike was able to hold the presses and have the news about the SUV arson in his four a.m. edition. He had the story printed and on the streets before the fireman finished snuffing out the blaze. It’s like he has inside info on what Moon is doing. Gnome and I noticed it, so I am sure the FBI did too”

  “That sounds like something stupid Mike would do.”

  “I’m not worried about him; I just want to make sure you and Kelsey stay out of this mess.”

  “Thanks Rogue. But Mike’s her brother. And as annoying as he is, I don’t want to see him end up in jail, for her sake.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Try to convince him to stay out of trouble.”

  “Good luck. Gnome and I did our best already and he doesn’t seem to care if he winds up in prison or not. He’s doing it all for the good of world.”

  “Well if he ends up in prison, it’s not going to be good for Kelsey, she really loves him. And believe it or not, I don’t really hate him. I just wish he’d get over himself and leave me and Kelsey alone. So what’s this Moon guy look like?”

  “Gnome says the official description is medium height, brown eyes, brown hair, and medium build-no distinguishing scars or tattoos.”

  “That’s not much of a description.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Medium Average guy who blends with the crowd. I’m glad I am not responsible for catching this dude.”

  Chapter 3

  Kwan finished reading the report, rose up from her desk, and yelled out a loud “yes” over and over. She stopped when the janitor burst open the door to her office.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Li?” he said.

  “I’m okay,” she replied.

  The janitor nodded and left. She sat down at her desk and set the analysis in front of her. Picking up a framed photo of her parents, she spoke to their images aloud, “Finally I will make you happy.”

  She placed the picture back and taking her computer mouse in hand, she moved the white arrow over a power point slide of the Chevron Research Division’s organization chart. Four rows of photos formed a pyramid. On the top row was the single block of the Division President. Two vice presidents were beneath him and four directors were below them. Kwan found her picture in the director’s row, picked it, and executed a copy. She moved the arrow to the VP of Research and Oil Discovery, left clicked the mouse, and selected paste. Her face covered the VP’s block. Much better, she thought.

  Hours later, after parsing through each page of Dana’s report, she closed the cover and put her head on her desk. The phone rang. Her watch read six p.m., when her mother usually called to check on her. She picked up and before she could say hello, a loud voice with a heavy Chinese accent interrupted her.

  “Kwan Li?”

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “I work for Chinese Embassy. I possess important information for you. I must meet you.”

  “Ok, well I am about to got home now.” Kwan checked her calendar. “I’m free most of tomorrow morning.”

  “No, I will meet you at seven this evening at the Camarillo Amtrak Station.”

  “But why-”

  “I can’t talk on phone. I will be wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a white carnation.”

  “Well all right, I-” Kwan stopped at the sound of the click from the other end of the line.

  As she pulled into the Amtrak station and parked next to a Lexus IS300, the same year and model as the car she drove, she shook her head in disgust. She had spent a lot of extra money adding the custom white, leather seats and the special order chrome wheels. She wanted to have something unique about her car to keep from blending in with the thousands of others which filled southern California’s freeways. Despite all her expense, the ride beside hers was a carbon copy.

  Her image in the rear view caught her attention. She paused to adjust her shiny black hair, and check her mascara and eyeliner in the mirror. Maybe he’s young and handsome, she said to herself. She spotted the man from the station instantly, about fifty feet past the railway platform entrance. She marched over next to where he sat, smoking a cigarette. Once she had brushed off the leaves from the farthest end of the bench, she sat down. Waving her hand to clear the smoke, she gave him a hard look and then coughed.

  He tossed the butt, turned his head and gave her a yellow-toothed, sensual, sneer of a smile. She smiled back meekly, trying hard not to show her disappointment at the sight of the aged creature with bulging, blood shot eyes. He had a protruding potbelly and yellow fingers; his hair was slicked back, like an ancient movie actor. After several awkward moments of silence, he finally said “Your grandparents do not appreciate Chinese Government laws and insist on defying them. For the protection of our society they are scheduled to be executed.”

  “Who are you and what do you want?” Kwan Li stiffened her back and squared her shoulders as she spoke. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, waiting for his response. She did not like to be bullied and routinely handled the aggressive behavior directed toward her from overly ambitious male competitors. If this man expected her to break down and start sobbing from his threatening behavior, she was surely going to disappoint him.

  “My name is Bao Yang and I want information,” He looked straight ahead, across the brightly lit Amtrak train tracks and into the night.

  “What information?”

  “I want information about Chevron operations, oil exploration activities in particular.”

  “Get bent. Nobody blackmails me, nobody.” She replied as she jumped up from the bench, and started to walk away.

  “So, you truly are an American. You feel no desire to save your ancestors, no responsibility for providing security for your elders.” He spoke to her back as she sped down the sidewalk that led to the Amtrak entrance. Her black heels clicked rhythmically and her black hair danced wildly as she went.

  She got back into her Lexus and headed north on the 101 freeway. Tears streamed down her face and her hands trembled. Once past the gridlock in Santa Barbara, she changed over to the leftmost lane. She didn’t let off the gas pedal until she reached the Lompoc exit. On the way, she got her cell out and let her parents know she would arrive soon.

  She parked her car and got out, slamming the door. Her mother, a shorter, more wrinkled, and slightly heavier version of herself, waited for her on the front porch, under the light. She met her mother at the top of the steps. Kwan’s eyes were red, and black streaks of mascara ran down each of her cheeks. She wiped the streams of tears away as she explained to her mother what had happened.

  “Kwan Li, you did the right thing,” her mother said. They walked into the living room together and closed the door. She stopped and held Kwan in her arms and placed her hand softly on the back of her head. “Your father and I expected them to contact us one day. So did your grandparents. Don’t worry. You did exactly as we advised, and they would approve.”

  “How do you know mother?” Kwan pulled away from her mother’s embrace. “They are in prison; maybe they have changed their mind. I could free them. I could give that horrid man what he wants and we could live togethe
r with my grandparents. Isn’t that what your God would want?”

  “Kwan Li,” her father set down his papers and rose from his easy chair. “We have no right to break the laws of our new country just to satisfy our own personal desire.”

  “Didn’t you and mother break the law when you brought us to this country illegally and you purchased phony IDs?”

  “Yes, that was illegal, but not treason.”

  “Yes, but you did break the law.”

  Her father’s face reddened. “We did what we had to do for you. We, and your grandparents, want for you what we did not have-the freedom to worship God, or in your case, the freedom to not worship God-”

  “Father, if you want me to say I believe-”

  “No, no, Kwan, faith can only come from your heart. Your mother and I would never force our religion on anyone, especially our own daughter.” He paused, with a softer tone he continued, “We want you to enjoy the right to follow your own conscience. That was why we came here.”

  “But I want to save my grandparents, I don’t owe Chevron anything. They would fire me the instant doing so served their purpose.”

  “We can’t make deals. Your grandparents would refuse to come even if you gave in to their demands.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her father picked up his papers from the coffee table and sat back down in his chair. “At Tiananmen we had a saying, ‘We are already old, it doesn't matter to us any more,’ that is what your grandparents said to us when they arranged for us to leave. We begged them to come with us, but they refused. They wanted to spend their last years in their homeland. They knew they would be arrested and possibly executed for their role in the protests at Tiananmen, as well as for being Christian.”

  “But how can we desert them?”

  “We are not deserting them, we are honoring them. I am respecting the sacrifice they and thousands of others made that week in April at Tiananmen Square where many of my fellow students died for the freedom you now benefit from. You now have the freedom they longed for. Don’t waste their gift to us.”

  A month later, she entered the Anaheim Hilton. She checked the announcement and schedule board in the middle of the lobby. Halfway down the list of events she found the object of her search, the seminar on Advances in the Multi-lateral Oil Drilling Processes, scheduled for nine a.m. in the 2340 auditorium.

  She knew the presenter as the son of the world renowned Alexis Grigoryan, Peter Grigoryan. Peter’s father invented the first lateral system for oil exploration and taught him all he knew. Soon after the wall in Berlin collapsed, Peter came to America with his father. He was now a Senior Scientist in the employ of Jack Tanner. No one she had ever met was more smug about his knowledge of oil drilling operations than he. No one she had ever met was more arrogant and unabashedly immodest about their abilities. And no one she ever met had more of her professional admiration than he.

  She made her way to the second floor and into the crowded auditorium. Small circles of casually, yet expensively, dressed men and women scattered about the room chatted loudly until their voices reached the level of a low roar. They spoke of getting whip stocks and packers delivered on time, or finding enough skilled tool pushers and mud loggers to get a job done. The subject of every conversation eventually turned to the topic of the moratorium-the official prohibition of any further oil drilling or exploration off the California coast. Recognizing a small group of Chevron executives and VPs, she spent several minutes conversing with them. It was good to make her face known to her superiors and show them how busy she was learning new methods of oil discovery.

  At the sight of Jack Tanner, she smiled. She liked him. An attractive man for his age, she thought. Short, broad about the chest, Kwan admired the deep lines that cracked his tanned face. He had a thick neck and square jaw. His trimmed beard was so red it looked fake. His calloused, thick fingered hands exposed the fact that he had come up from the ranks and spent a large part of his life out in the field working on the rigs he now owned.

  He flashed a smile at her from his seat as she glided between the islands of talking people toward his table and sat down next to him. “Glad you are here,” he said, “But do you think it wise to be seen socializing with a competitor?”

  “TANOCO isn’t large enough to be considered a competitor of Chevron.” She retorted, taking his glass of wine from him and finishing off the rest. “We think of TANOCO as being like one of our vendors.”

  “Touché, however, isn’t it ironic that the senior scientist of little ol’ TANOCO is going to teach the big boys like Chevron, BP, Texaco, and EXXON how to drill for oil?”

  “Drilling is what you do best; you sure don’t know how to find or sell the stuff.”

  “Well you have me there; let’s call a truce. What do you think of Pete?”

  “He’s smart, like his Dad. What’s that corny saying about the acorn and the oak tree?”

  “Corny saying? Don’t you mean nutty saying?” Jack said.

  Kwan rolled her eyes, “You and you’re your lame puns,” she said and then laughed.

  “Nobody knows more about the lateral drilling process than the Grigoryans,” Jack said.

  “What good is a process alone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you have to find the oil first. That is my expertise… well, at least the expertise of my staff.”

  “Your senior scientist? What’s he discovered of any consequence in the last decade?”

  “Not him, we have a new man. The guy is going to be the Grigoryan of seismic analysis and modeling. He is a genius and unlike your Petey boy, he doesn’t even think he’s smart.”

  Tanner sat up and his eyes widened, “So has he made a big find?”

  “Now Jack, would I even tell you if he did?” Kwan replied, and then gave him a big grin.

  “Well, what’s his name then?”

  “No way, I’m not going to give you the chance to hire him out from under us.”

  Tanner slumped back into his chair and sighed. “I know Kwan,” he said, “that was out of line, sorry. But if this genius of yours has found a major new well, don’t forget the world’s greatest oil drilling crew for lease is right here in your own backyard-TANOCO.”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry; we will be negotiating some deals in the near future.”

  “There are going to be a lot of new deals once the moratorium on oil exploration and drilling is lifted.”

  “The ban’s been re-instated, you know.”

  “Yeah, and did you notice the ten cent jump in price of regular? It’s going keep on creeping up until there’s enough heat from the portion of the public who has to pay the bills to get bar lifted again, you wait.”

  The host of the evening’s seminar approached the podium. He raised his hands and began asking everyone to take their seats and be quiet. Jack motioned for Kwan to stay put. He explained that the seat she was sitting in was for his son Mike and he didn’t expect him to show up. After the host made his introduction, the tall, lean figure of Peter Grigoryan, approached the podium and everyone came to their feet and applauded. They sat down as soon as Peter began his lecture. When the lights were dimmed he presented to them a new method for drilling for oil in a lateral direction using only one borehole in the vertical direction.

  The audience remained silent as he explained his startling and revolutionary method for drilling for oil; he called it advanced multi lateral drilling. With his new system he could reach any oil fracture from a single vertical drill for more than ten miles-twice as far as any previous drilling system. The new method used steerable drill motors with sophisticated ground penetrating sonar controlled positioners to find exact oil deposit locations. And its computer controlled sonogram sensors provided visual imagery of the steerable drilling motor’s environment.

  When Peter finished, the crowd applauded and cheered with rock concert fervor. It was a fine pitch for TANOCO’s new research. Kwan noted the looks on the faces of the CE
O’s who rushed the podium to shake his hand. She was sure he had succeeded in generating a lot of interest in his new technique. And he did so, she concluded, without divulging any valuable technical details. TANOCO was sure to receive more funding from these companies.

  “He has a right to be arrogant, I suppose,” Kwan said to Jack, who only smiled back.

  The bright lights came on and a platoon of white uniformed waiters entered the room carrying large, silver, platters of food. Trays of wine and other drinks followed. The smell of steamed lobster, garlic, ginger, and barbequed steak, filled the auditorium. The volume of the chatter level in the dining area spiked. People mulled about and socialized.

  “Got to go now.” Jack said.

  Kwan sensed the urgency in his voice, cut him a quick smile, and then said, “You better get over there before the nutty professor gives away all your company's secrets.”

  “Don't I know it,” Jack replied, and then he headed for the podium.

  She scanned the tables for someone she could identify from the other large oil companies. Her eyes caught sight of a tall, thin, dark-haired man dressed in jeans and a dark, blue, sport jacket. The man leaned against the back wall behind one of the tables reserved for CEOs and VPs.

  He was probably in his late twenties, early thirties tops. She could not tell for certain if he was Asian or white. His widely separated, black eyes were round with only a slight narrowing at the corners that made his face look girlish. His hair was a typical Asian black color; however, it was also uniquely wavy. His face exhibited a serene look, with only the slightest hint of a yellowish-tan color in his skin.

  She leaned forward a little to note which company owned the table the young gentleman was near. Sitting one seat from the end, she recognized the fat, despicable, man who had provided her the motivation for coming to this seminar on this particular night- the old, yellow toothed, Bao Yang. The young man walked over to where Bao Yang sat, bent down, and whispered in his ear. BaoYang smiled and nodded. Then he waved his hand limply. The young man bowed, straightened up and then walked quickly out of the room through the double door behind their tables.