Free Fire - C. J. Box [117]
“If it could be done cheaply,” Nate said, “it would be what everybody wants.”
“But nobody has figured out how to process coal into gas that way,” Joe said.
“Which is why it’s significant how EnerDyne plans to do it,” Nate said. “It says here their plans are proprietary, but they do have to leak a little the general concept of it to the SEC in order to be listed as a public company and to attract investors. And what it says here is ’EnerDyne is the leading company in the world in a new method to organically gasify coal.’ ”
“Organically?” Joe said.
“Think about it,” Nate said.
Joe and Marybeth exchanged looks, and it seemed to hit them both at the same time.
“Microbes,” Joe said. “They want to find a microbe that will react naturally with coal to produce gas.”
“They think they can find it in Yellowstone,” Marybeth said.
“And maybe they have,” Nate said.
“Flamers,” Joe said. “Free fire.”
Marybeth looked at him.
“There’s a little seam of coal near Sunburst geyser. It’s next to the flamers Hoening talked about and I went and lit.”
“Oh, man,” Nate said, and whistled.
“Maybe someone figured out that the microbes in Sunburst were reacting with that stream of coal to produce gas just under the surface. And if that particular thermophile was introduced to one of those miles-thick seams of coal Nate was talking about . . .”
“It would be worth billions,” Nate said.
Marybeth said, “But they’d need a permit to do it. And if they thought there would be a protest by environmentalists to block any new permits, that might definitely be worth killing for.”
It took a few minutes to sink in. As Joe thought about it, many of the previously floating facts started to drop into place, to become links in a chain of a new theory.
“Who are the company officers?” Marybeth asked softly.
Nate found the incorporation papers. “Layton Barron is the CEO. I’ve never heard of him. In fact, I’ve never heard of any of these people except for the last one. We’ll have to do more research, I guess.”
“Nate . . .” Marybeth prompted, “I’ll do the research as soon as I can get to a computer. But in the meanwhile, what are the names?”
“Oh. Okay. Layton Barron is the CEO. Michael Barson is the CFO. Katherine Langston, VP of development. C. T. Ward the Third, VP of operations. Any of those names ring a bell?”
“Nope,” Joe said.
“This last one will. Guess who’s the attorney of record?”
“Clay McCann,” Joe said.
“Got him,” Nate said.
Marybeth started to say something but stopped abruptly and cocked her head. “I hear someone coming,” she mouthed. Joe sat back and stopped breathing. He heard it too. Gravel crunching.Footfalls outside the cabin, getting closer.
Nate had his .454 out, cocked, and aimed at the door in one liquid movement. Instinctively, Marybeth rose and moved into the shadows between the beds of her sleeping daughters.
The knock on the door was light, barely audible.
Joe stood, Nate behind him and to the side.
“Your weapon,” Nate whispered.
Joe drew the Glock out of the holster, worked the slide as quietly as possible, then kept the gun pointed down in his right hand as he approached the door. He hated being in a situation where his family was right there, behind him, exposed.
“Yes?” Joe asked, keeping his voice calm.
“Mr. Pickett, it’s Simon. I saw the light on . . . . I’m sorry to bother you, but you’ve an urgent message at the hotel from Mr. Lars Demming. He thought you were still in the hotel, and insistedI come get you.”
It sounded like Simon, Joe thought. Nevertheless, he motionedfor Marybeth to get down and checked with Nate, who had his pistol raised in two hands, eye level, ready to fire if necessarywhen Joe cracked open the door.
Joe pulled it open quickly and stepped back, keeping the Glock loose at his side, ready to raise it.
It was Simon, off-duty in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and the desk clerk looked into the muzzle of Nate’s .454 with absoluteterror.
“Sorry,” Joe said to Simon. “You can put the gun away, Nate.”
“Are you sure?” Nate asked.
“I’m sure.”
Joe apologized to Simon as they crunched through