Sea of Greed

To call it a train was an overstatement. There was only one car, about a third the size of a standard subway or Metro car. It sat on a narrow-gauge set of rails only three feet apart. Once he and the Secret Service agent were seated, the train began to move, accelerating briskly and silently into a lighted tunnel.

The ride was incredibly smooth and quiet. The tracks were polished and gleaming in the light.

As the track curved to the left, Rudi noticed a siding and a small platform. Doors leading from the platform were sealed and locked, but Rudi knew Washington’s layout as if he had a map printed in his head. Considering the speed, direction and time, they’d just passed the National Archives Building. Interesting place for a secret subway stop, he thought.

A minute later, the car slowed, coming to a halt in front of a formidable steel door.

Reaching out of the tram, the Secret Service agent typed in a code and then placed his hand on a scanner.

Rudi recognized the device. It not only checked the agent’s fingerprints, it measured his heart rate and skin temperature. The theory was, if he were being coerced into betraying the President, his heart would be beating faster than normal and his skin would be registering a higher temperature. In which case, entry would be denied.

The same held true if he’d been drugged or, even worse, if his hand had been forcibly removed from his body. No heartbeat, low temperature, anything out of the ordinary, and the steel doors — thick enough to keep Superman out — would remain closed.

“What happens if you get nervous?” Rudi asked.

The agent looked at him without smiling. “Reassignment to other duties.”

Fortunately, the agent wasn’t the nervous type and his heart rate checked out. The doors opened and seconds later they were pulling into the White House subterranean station.

After passing through two more layers of security, Rudi found himself in an elevator, which let him out in the Emergency Operations Room. This was not the normal Situation Room but a bunker-like facility two levels below the main building.

The President was there, along with Vice President Sandecker. A third man, with narrow features and gray hair, sat beside them. His ID badge had the Energy Department logo on it.

Introductions were made and Rudi learned that the man’s name was Leonard Hallsman. He carried the cumbersome title of Undersecretary of National Resources and Energy Security. “I use it to impress and confuse people,” Hallsman insisted. “I’m a scientist, actually. A geologist specializing in oil reserve estimates.”

Rudi shook Hallsman’s hand and sat down. “We seem to be awash in oil these days. Does that make your job easier or harder?”

“Both,” Hallsman said. “But it doesn’t raise my pay.”

A round of soft laughter circled the table and Rudi got to the point. “I assume this has something to do with the Alpha Star incident. Am I being taken out behind the woodshed or given a gold star?”

The President leaned forward. “Gold star wouldn’t cover it,” he said. “What your people managed to do in such a short period of time was incredible. I’d give them an award, but Jim says they’d never accept it.”

“The Admiral’s right,” Rudi said. “But send over a case of Don Julio Silver tequila and you’ll have their eternal gratitude.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” the President said. “You know, when I picked Jim to be my VP, I did it mostly for political reasons. I also knew enough about what he’d been able to do with NUMA to know it was top-notch from stem to stern. I’ve only had that idea reinforced during my term as President. Your actions during the Nighthawk incident prevented a worldwide calamity and your operatives’ quick thinking and tenacity in Japan last year not only prevented a second calamity, it saved an alliance that’s crucial to world stability. As I understand it, some of the same people involved in those incidents are the ones out in the Gulf right now.”

“That’s correct,” Rudi said. “Kurt Austin and Joe Zavala.”

“Can they keep their mouths shut?”

Rudi wondered where this was going. “I’m sure you’ve already asked your Vice President about that. He hired them. He brought them up through the ranks. I’ll defer to him on that question.”

The President sat back and then glanced at his VP. “You really know how to pick them, Jim.”

“I got lucky,” the Vice President said. “Should we cut to the chase?”

“By all means,” the President said. He looked across the table to the geologist from the Energy Department. “Hallsman, the show is yours.”

The first thing Hallsman did was slide a file across the desk to Rudi. It was far thinner than the one Rudi had left with Alcott.

Rudi slid his hand under the band and broke the seal, opening it. The first page showed a map of the world, with pie charts on each continent showing the total oil reserves. There were sections for proven reserves, unproven but estimated reserves and, finally, theoretical recover scenarios.