Hilton was going under the loop and turning onto the feeder road that headed south along Interstate 610. “This would probably be something new, probably not something that he was working on with a lot of other people. And Anita, I really don’t want him to know I’m poking around in his business.”
“No problem.” She had finished the last coat on her nails. “Look, let me get on the computer and see what I can find. We have logs of all the data that everyone has accessed over the last month or so. I could also make you a copy of some of the latest presentations I have done for him on show-and-tells.”
“I don’t think it would be presentations. Not that kind of thing. I think it’d be something maybe only Martin was working on. Like a new discovery. Also, check what kind of maps he’s been accessing. We can talk about it next week.” Hilton was pulling into the Petrolea parking lot. “Look, I gotta go now. If you are free for lunch on Tuesday, maybe we can get together then. Love ya.”
He hung up. Anita had gotten used to it. She had asked him to not just cut her off like that, and he had tried to be better. She had finally concluded that he just talked on the phone so much with his trading buddies that that was the way he ended a conversation. Lots of times he started the call just as abruptly, never saying who he was, just launching immediately into some story about where he had been to dinner or what his wife had bitched to him about the night before. It was nothing personal. In fact, today he had even ended saying he loved her, and it had taken a long time for him to be willing to say it—whether he meant it or not.
By the time she got back from the restroom, her nails were dry, and she logged onto the system. First, she looked through all of her directories by date, just to see the most recent stuff that Martin had been working on. Then she viewed it by area, to see who else had accessed data that Martin had. A lot of it was related to the Kazakhstan deal over in Russia, which she made a note of, but couldn’t see how that could relate to Hilton. Those files were huge, and contained some really big geophysical files they had gotten from CIOC-Chevron.
After a while, she got into Martin’s personal directory. About eight months ago they were cutting costs in the computer department and Anita ended up with the job of maintaining user IDs and passwords. It did not take much time and she liked it because now whenever anyone joined Basin, she usually got to meet them when they came for their new security log-ins. Pretty quickly, the guys had figured out that she had access to everybody’s stuff. As a result, when they needed a document from somebody else and that person was out of the office, or on vacation, they would come to Anita. They would talk real sweet to her, and nine times out of ten she would go into somebody’s personal files and get it for them. The only travel stuff was a trip to Wisconsin, but he could’ve booked something privately and she’d never know.
She ran the same searches on Martin’s directory. Unlike the other guys, Martin had also set up about twenty subdirectories, mostly broken down by company or prospect name. It took a little longer to page through them file by file, but she printed off portions of about a dozen that looked new or different. Right before the Wyoming file there was a Wisconsin file labeled Chequam.file. Looking at the file profile, it was quite large. It had been very recently created, at 2:23 a.m. It had been last modified by Martin earlier in the week. Nobody else had touched it. It would take a tape drive to make a copy of the entire document; most of it was seismic. In the end, she printed off the first ten pages of the document and then a standard plot every fifty digital pages through the balance of the material. The guys called this a snapshot. When they would get something like this in from another company, she would routinely get three or four of the guys working the deal. After a while, she would give them each a set of “snapshots,” so they could page through it pretty quickly and zero in on the pieces they wanted more detail on. For this file, the snapshots alone came to 31 pages. The remaining directory was Wyoming, but it hadn’t been touched since the end of last quarter; probably for the quarterly report. When she was done, she had a total stack of fifty or so pages, most of it the Chequam.file, and she carefully arranged them into a document, hand numbered them from one to fifty-three, and placed them into an Interoffice Mailer Envelope with her own name on it. If Hilton did call for lunch Tuesday, she’d at least have something to show him.
Martin had some of his own work to do after the meeting with Hilton. He thought things had gone pretty well. While very personable, Hilton was also pompous and condescending. He wasn’t half as smart as he thought he was, thought Martin. Martin had played dumb. Hilton had starting off telling Martin how busy he was, and saying he was glad to do Anita a favor and talk to Martin. It just came across like Martin was supposed to feel so grateful for the time. Then when they had gotten into talking about their jobs, Hilton had told him story after story about some big trade that had gone bad or some key deal that he had worked on. Hilton had an ego. Hilton was also a shark and that was why Martin was going after him.
Martin had set him up nicely. He told Hilton he was unhappy, thinking of leaving Basin Oil. He made references to finding a big business idea “where nobody ever thought to look.” Said if he went out on his own it would be for the “right opportunity” and Martin would need somebody to discreetly sign leases around the area and provide Martin with some financial backing. Martin had sprinkled in plenty of mining and timber business discussions to keep Hilton guessing and off balance. Hilton wasn’t stupid; it was best to let Hilton put the pieces together. There was no doubt Hilton wanted to ask where the “big new business idea” was located, or even what the “big idea” was, but Hilton probably guessed that Martin wouldn’t have told him anyway. Martin had a little smile on his face. Hilton was probably talking to Anita right now to do a little “research” for Hilton back in the office at Basin Oil. Martin certainly knew that Anita had access to all of his files, and it wouldn’t take her long to zero in on some of his most recent work.
CHAPTER 22
Martin had called the bank a week ago and made an appointment. Over the years he had gotten to know the branch manager. He apologized for the big withdrawal but said he and Liz had decided to get Martin’s 401K account out of CDs and put it in mutual funds. Other than another $30,000 in their checking account, this $87,000 from his Basin Oil 401k, was their life’s savings. Liz didn’t pay much attention to their bank statements, and the branch manager didn’t give it a second thought. Martin thought he needed some “seed money” to get started on his plan.
Martin stopped at a small cell phone company run by an ancient looking Vietnamese man. Martin filled out a minimal amount of paperwork, using all fictious names and addresses, and had gotten a prepaid burner phone, along with a handful of prepaid cellular calling cards. He could now make or receive calls anywhere and nobody could trace them.
Next, he stopped at the business copy center. Earlier in the week, he had stopped at a convenience store and faxed a company name, address, and logo information, along with his order form for business cards (with his new phone number), letterhead and envelopes; even a signature stamp. All of the materials were waiting for him when he got there, and in five minutes, he had paid for them in cash and was gone. Last stop was Merchant’s Bank where he opened a Commercial Account under the name MEC Energy Limited. Showing his new business cards and nonchalantly depositing his cashier’s check, he told the bank representative that he was “starting a new business.” He had always dreamed of starting one, and now, in his own little way, he had. He had a company set up in his own name. It was funded. And he had the checkbook and the business cards that made it all look legit. He could use this company as a front for his “big idea.”
CHAPTER 23
Hilton got a call from Martin two days after their lunch at the Petroleum Club. Hilton was used to this kind of action. When these little shits got a good idea that was going to make them a few bucks, they showed their hand in no time. They had no appreciation for taking their time, setting things up and do
ing it right. They made terrible poker players, too. When they got a straight going, everybody at the table usually knew it. Martin indicated that he did need Hilton’s help. As he said at lunch, Martin needed to lease some acreage in a remote location, and he needed it done very quietly. Martin said he wanted to get going on it as soon as possible, and said he couldn’t use an internal person at Basin Oil because the deal was very tight, so he needed to get someone external that he could trust. Had Hilton heard from Larry? In fact, Hilton had talked to Larry, who was “between jobs.” Hilton described some of the work Larry Walker had done for him—he specialized in “tight holes,” industry terminology for exploration in new areas where a company’s activities needed to remain confidential. Larry was so good, that often he wouldn’t work for you unless he knew you, but if Martin wanted, Hilton could give him a call. Hilton hung up the phone, very pleased with himself. Martin did have something going on and he was doing it himself. It wasn’t part of Basin Oil’s business, but Hilton didn’t know that. Martin looked across the table at Hilton. Hilton smiled. Not only was Hilton screwing the guy’s secretary, now he was going to screw Martin. Martin asked Hilton to have Larry call him.
Larry carried a second cell phone, not so people could call him, but so he could call them. It annoyed Hilton that he had to call Larry first on Larry’s regular cell phone, let it ring twice, and then hang up. Then he had to wait for Larry to call back on his burner phone. But Larry almost always called him right back. Hilton told Larry that he didn’t know exactly what this guy Martin was up to. He explained that he had eaten lunch with Martin earlier, and Martin had something cooking, but hard to tell what. Hilton sensed it was good and he was willing to pay Larry a thousand a day plus expenses to find out. There was no telling how much Hilton was going to make off this deal. Some naïve geologist was no match for Hilton.
A thousand dollars a day seemed like a lot of money twenty-five years ago when Hilton first made that the standard rate that he paid Larry for what was often shady work. Now, years later, Hilton was still offering the same thousand a day. Larry needed the money. He didn’t have any leverage to bargain with Hilton. Hilton was just one of the people you didn’t bargain with, unless you had something he really wanted. Larry listened carefully for a few minutes and agreed to work with Hilton, then hung up the phone and made another call to Martin to set up a meeting for the next day.
Martin had wanted to meet in a place with some privacy, so he picked the Anchorage, down off the Gulf Freeway. It was an old family restaurant that served pretty good food, but the neighborhood had gotten so bad it was never busy anymore. Martin had been there for lunch a couple of months ago when he had a meeting over by the Ship Channel and he knew the place would be empty. As Martin entered, it was deserted except for a few truckers sitting over in the smoking section, and a few elderly gentlemen who had probably been coming to eat at the place for decades. A number of the booths in the back would seat eight people and Martin had called to tell the manager that he was only bringing one guy, but they wanted to look over some papers and needed one of those big booths. No problem. Martin put the reservation under a fake name, and of course, planned to pay cash for the lunch.
Martin was bigger than Larry had imagined. Hilton had described him as a nerdy geologist. The guy might be a nerd, but he was athletic, and good looking too, not the kind of wimp that Larry was expecting. Martin laid things out pretty simply. Several months ago, he had been asked to look at the feasibility of Basin Oil diversifying. They were interested in becoming a natural resources company, not just an oil company. There had been a team to look at mining and the pulp and paper businesses. Mining prices, especially copper, were at twenty-year price lows. The paper companies were doing very well. Demand for paper was through the roof, Martin had said. Computers were generating more paper than ever. Newspapers and magazines were selling like crazy in the information age, too. With a trillion-dollar overnight shipping business, the paper and corrugated cardboard container business was booming. Martin explained that about half of the existing paper competitors had mills that were old and inefficient, and because their costs were high, they lacked the cash flow to upgrade them. A new, efficient player could compete. What’s more, in the future, there was going to be a scarcity of hardwoods, oak, walnut, and cherry. A company that could balance the short-term paper business with the long-term hardwood business could be very profitable. Martin said that the board at Basin Oil had been very supportive, and Martin had been given six months and a small budget to take the idea through the next couple of steps. Martin was convincing. He knew his facts about the timber and paper business. What was in this for Hilton Sinclair, or for that matter, Larry Walker? Larry kept his mouth shut.
Martin said that the first step was to quietly take a large position in long-term leases on timber land that could provide an asset base for short-term pulp feedstock and long-term hardwood growth. Initially, the acreage needed to be aggregated around a future plant site, too, or the costs of transporting the harvested trees would ruin the economies that a new plant would provide. Therefore, after a lot of research, Martin had selected a combination of large, private blocks of acreage in northern Wisconsin for acquisition. Would Larry be interested in going after these leases? The work had to be strictly confidential. If not, just like the oil business, the landowners would get greedy and price them out of the market. If existing timber competitors found out that Basin Oil was getting into northern Wisconsin, they would be likely to do everything they could to snap up available acreage in the area. Martin explained that most people, even at Basin Oil, didn’t know that Martin had been given this “strategic assignment.” In fact, Martin explained, Basin Oil had set up a new company called MEC Resources, and all of the leases would be under this name. Larry would need to operate pretty independently because there couldn’t be any link between MEC and Basin Oil, or word would get out that Basin was behind this. Martin had already set up a bank account for MEC. Martin didn’t think that leasing off the first big blocks of acreage would take much more two weeks. Beyond that, confidentiality would be difficult to maintain, and assuming they acquired the land they were after, Basin would have to make a decision to go forward with the next step and hire an engineering firm to start design of a new plant. Once that happened, everyone would know what Basin was doing.
Larry could tell this Martin guy was no dummy, no matter what Hilton thought. Martin looked at Larry and waited. Larry said that the project intrigued him. He indicated his specialty was confidential plays. He told Martin that many years ago he had spent some time up in northern Wisconsin leasing land for a pipeline right-of-way for what used to be NPC, before they were acquired by Enbridge. He was familiar with the area. He just happened to be available, and his rate was eleven hundred a day. When did Martin want to get started? Martin leaned under the table and pulled out an aluminum alloy map tube. With a few expert moves that belied his twenty years’ experience of handling maps, he deftly pulled a scroll of twenty USGS surface maps out of the cylinder and spread them across the big table in the booth. On each map, Martin had highlighted the select areas in yellow that he wanted to get leased. On a separate page, he had a listing of the acreage and township and range location of each parcel, and the latitudes and longitudes. There were only about eighteen major parcels in all. The land laid about forty miles east of Superior and was completely surrounded by the Chequamegon State Forest. Martin even explained that, should their program be successful on private land, he thought it likely they could get future acreage from the state of Wisconsin, given the attractiveness of long-term hardwood cultivation in the MEC plan. Clearly, Martin had done his homework. They spent another half-hour looking over the maps. Martin traced the boundaries of each parcel and then suggested a priority for leasing them based on size and soil surveys. Martin even had data on soil surveys on the land from the US Department of Agriculture website. Larry, a man who prided himself on staying out of the details, marveled at the thoroughnes
s and preparation. He even had a signature card for Larry to sign, checks printed and a couple of legal-sized boxes of natural resource leases that Martin had gotten prepared by an industry lawyer. The leases all had “MEC Resources Limited” on the masthead. Martin also had a confidentiality agreement for Larry to sign with MEC. Everything was handled. Larry signed. The meeting was over.
Upon taking a job like this, Larry usually hung around Houston for a week, billing his daily rate and completing these tasks that Martin already had completed. This time, upon Martin’s urging, he agreed that he would head for Minneapolis in the morning. Martin had got him ready to go. They took a few minutes to roll up the maps, the soil survey data, the roster of parcels and various other research documents that Martin had included. They shook hands and Martin handed him an envelope with $10,000 in cash, an advance on the first ten days of work. Martin said he knew the daily rate was $1,100 but he had only brought along ten grand. Larry went out the front door carrying the aluminum tube on a shoulder strap. Martin paid the bill in cash, took his time using the restroom and then went out the backdoor, got in his car, and drove away.
Larry didn’t call Hilton right away. In fact, Hilton had called Larry a couple of times after lunch and Larry had made it a point not to return his call. It wasn’t as if he had to report in to “daddy” or something. First, he stopped by his favorite boot shop over on Richmond. After trying on a dozen pair, he selected a nice pair of ostrich, saddle cut toe. $600, cash of course. Then he stopped by one of the men’s entertainment clubs. Valet park. It was the middle of the afternoon and once inside, it took his eyes a few minutes to adjust. There were only about ten customers scattered in singles around the large stage. Even with the tiny crowd, there was a girl, barely eighteen, dancing about to some tune Larry didn’t recognize. She was staring blankly toward the back of the room as she slowly stripped down to nothing, probably on drugs. Larry picked out an empty table as far away from the entrance as possible and sank down into it. Ten minutes later he had a drink in his hand, and for twenty bucks, the pretty girl sitting on his lap wearing only a small, beaded G-string and a three-inch pair of heels.
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