Free Peak Oil by Arno Joubert Page B

about?”  
    A yellow truck was parked on the lawn. The cargo bed contained a huge metal spool with a roll of thick black pipe. Alexa recognized the Becks, the couple they had met at the inn. They were involved in a heated exchange with an officer, pointing fingers and gesturing at their backyard. The officer was shaking his head.  
    They drove by unnoticed.
    Neil picked up speed and gunned the Chevy out of town. They cruised past a man wearing blue overalls and an orange neon jacket. He was attaching a sign onto a pole next to the road. It said, “Welcome to Dabbort Creek, Population 687, Home of the Ocelot.”
    “That was quick,” Alexa said. “Two new people and the sign has already been changed.”
    Neil shrugged. “Like you said, happy staff, happy residents.”
    Alexa jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, those two didn’t look happy back there.”  
    He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I wonder what that was all about.”  
    She guessed he was still thinking of the conversation he had had with the little girl.
    They drove for twenty-five miles and cruised past a road sign that announced, “Refatex Refinery, 5 Miles Ahead.” They made good time, and Neil turned into the gates to the refinery. They eased in next to a guardhouse with a boom gate. A security guard slid open the window and touched his hat.  
    “Good day. How may I assist you folks today?” he asked in a nasally tone. He looked like a retired boxer; he had a skew nose and cauliflower ears.
    “We’re here to have a look around,” Neil said.
    The guard pursed his lips and shook his head firmly. “No can do. You need to tell me who you’re here to visit or state the nature of your of business inside.”
    Neil fumbled for his Interpol ID Badge and then handed it to the guard. “It’s official.”
    The guard got on a phone and punched in a number. After a while, he put it down and turned back to Neil. “Sorry, no can do. Unless you have a search warrant or something, entry is denied.”
    Neil frowned. “Why?”
    The guard handed Neil a business card and his ID badge. “Because Mr. Bledisloe said so. He’s the Refatex lawyer.” The man slid into his chair. “Call him if you want,” he said before sliding the window closed.
    Neil backed away from the boom and turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Alexa punched the number into her cell phone, and a female voice answered. “Mr. Bledisloe, please.” After a click, the phone rang.
    “Yep,” someone replied.
    “Mr. Bledisloe?” Alexa asked.
    “Yep, that’s me.”  
    “Mr. Bledisloe. Captain Alexa Guerra, Interpol. I need to visit the facility at Refatex in Dabbort Creek, but I was refused entry. Could you tell me why?”
    Bledisloe went silent for a moment. “Interpol, hey? What, do we have an international security situation on our hands?” He chuckled wheezily.
    “As a matter of fact, we do.” Alexa closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “One of our field agents disappeared a couple of days ago.”
    Bledisloe chuckled again. “Report it to missing persons then. That’s not an international security risk. What was he doing in Dabbort Creek in the first place?”
    Alexa slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “That matter is sub judice. Are we going to gain willful entry or not?”
    “Sub judice my ass,” Bledisloe rasped. “I would have known about it. You’re not getting in without a warrant.”  
    Alexa slammed the dashboard. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, slowly. She could hear the man’s labored breathing. “Very well then. Thank you for your time,” she said calmly.
    “No problem,” Bledisloe said and hung up.
    Alexa looked at Neil. “Someone doesn’t want us in there.”
    Neil put the car in gear and gunned the gas. “I think we may have our first lead, Captain.”

Neil kept quiet on his way back to town. He had an uneasy itch in the back of his brain that he couldn’t shake: that the reason they were here was only the