Dark Oil (15 page)

Martin smiled. “Better not talk about me, then.” Another pretty good attempt at humour, thought Lara. He was improving. About time, too.

An old man dragging a heavy bundle of sticks, tied together with frayed rope, passed them, staring at Lara. She quickly crossed her arms, an uncontrollable reflex to hide her body, but she held his gaze.

The deep lines on the man's face suggested he was about seventy, but she knew that probably wasn't the case. The life expectancy here was forty eight. Barely more than a decade and she would be dying had she had the misfortune of being born in Negala. She would be getting ready to leave planet Earth after a life of mere subsistence, without having
had any opportunity to make a real contribution to the world, to reach her full potential, or follow her dreams.

It seemed so unfair, but that was the lot of the Negalese people. If she had hoped that finding oil would lead this country out of poverty, she now had her doubts. After just two days in Negala she had learned firsthand that the Minister was corrupt. She had to wonder if that was the tip of the iceberg. Was anyone honest these days?

Was anyone, indeed? The question seemed to translate all too well to her own life. The man she had loved all these years, loved and trusted, the man to whom she had given her heart and her life, was hiding something from her.

A lump formed in her throat as she thought of Tim. How distant he had been lately. Actually, not just lately. For years. To think she had put it down to long working hours. . .her stomach churned.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked as they reached the house.

“Yes. Why?”

“You've gone pale again.”

Lara shrugged. “It's the heat. I'll be fine once we're in the air-conditioning.” She took a deep breath, in an effort to stay focused on her work. “The house is bugged, but what about the office? Any chance it might not be?”

Martin sighed. “If the government's gone to the trouble of tapping our home phone the office will be the same.”

Jack nodded. “We should contact the office and warn Dave, though. He may not know. But first, we tackle Alan. Shall we?”

Jack held the door open for Lara. As she stepped inside, the caretaker came running, an overly enthusiastic smile brightening his face. “Hello Mrs Lara.”

“Hello, Bengali.” Lara tried to return his smile, but it turned out more like a grimace. She couldn't help thinking this was probably the man who had let the government officials in while no one else was around, who had escorted them through the house. He had probably even watched while elaborate surveillance equipment was installed in nooks and crannies.

It only half surprised her. He was, no doubt, related to one of the government employees involved. Everyone seemed to be related to someone here. Or perhaps the officials had told him it was for the good of Negala and he had believed it. Still, it was hard for her to be gracious, hard for her to bite her tongue when she suspected he'd betrayed them. Lara headed for the kitchen and after gulping down a glass of water climbed the stairs to the study. Martin and Jack, who hadn't stopped for a drink, were already upstairs, looking like they were about to throw themselves into the lion's den. Martin picked up the phone and Lara noticed how the muscles in his neck tightened until they resembled violin strings.

She, too, felt her shoulders tense up. She tried to release them but to no avail. There was no reason to be nervous, she told herself. Alan would listen to what Martin had to say, and although he might not be happy about it, he would tell them to come home. He was the CEO of one of the biggest oil companies in the world after all. You didn't get to that kind of position by being unreasonable, did you?

“Martin here, Alan. I've got Lara and Jack with me. I'll put you on speaker.” Martin's voice was even drier than usual. Lara guessed that was how he controlled emotion—he toughened himself to the point everyone believed he had no feelings. She realised now, the more insensitive he seemed, the more he must have been anxious on the inside.

“So where. . .at. . .any. . .fixed?”

“Just a minute Alan, the speaker isn't working well.” Martin pressed his lips into a thin line as he fiddled with the phone buttons.

“It's on but it isn't working consistently,” he continued. “I'm sorry I can't seem to fix it. Lara and Jack won't be able to hear everything you say but I'll brief them afterwards. So, to answer your question, yes, we've made good progress.”

Martin glanced quickly at Lara, then continued. “We have a proposal from the Minister, but we're not going to be able to take it any further for a while as the Minister's leaving the country today.”

There was a pause, an incomprehensible word or two over the speaker from Alan, then Martin shook his head. “Overseas for a conference and a bit of personal travel, I think. At least two weeks.”

A longer pause, then a sigh. “It's. . .hmm. . .complex. We'd like to catch the flight out tonight and brief you in person, since the Minister's not going to be here anyway. We can come back to Negala as soon as he sends word he's available.” He looked at his colleagues. “We're all happy to travel back.”

“Yes,” said Lara and Jack in unison, hoping Alan would hear them. Lara propped herself up against the desk. She'd been standing until now and her legs felt heavy, swollen, probably from the excessive heat when they'd been outside. Without looking behind her, she leaned forward, trying to make out Alan's reply. As she bent at the waist her foot slid backwards a little and came to rest against Jack's body.

She jumped up again, turning to him to apologise, but he must have leaned forward, probably struggling to hear the phone conversation, too. Her face came so close to his that it brushed against his cheek. The muskiness of his scent, the warmth of his skin, sent her into a panic. She wished she hadn't noticed how delicious this man seemed to be.

“I'm sorry,” she blurted, feeling her cheeks turn crimson.

“No, it's me. I didn't mean—”

Martin, now seemingly in despair, raised his left arm to the ceiling. “I understand perfectly.” The line went dead and he slammed down the phone.

From Martin's quickened breathing, his pursed lips and the way he stared into nothingness, Lara knew exactly what had happened. She held onto the desk, feeling weak in the legs and dizzied by the very thought of it. They were not going home.

Alan had told them to stay.

Lara looked around for a clue that what she thought was reality was yet another nightmare. Alan simply could not insist on them staying indefinitely in Zakra. To her dismay, everything—from the business clothes they were wearing to the clock ticking away on the wall—seemed absolutely normal.

Well, she wouldn't let Mr Smiles do this to her. She had a mortgage to pay, a credit card bill and a few more car repayments, but that didn't make her a slave. She and Tim could sell the house if they needed to and move to a more modest suburb.

She bit her lip. The truth was, she and Tim might have to sell the house, only not for simpler life, a life with a child of their own to love, nurture and watch grow, a more meaningful existence. No, she and Tim would probably have to sell the house if they divorced.

Was that really what awaited her? Was there no other way? There was. She would quit her job.

Yes, that was the answer. She would quit and fly home. She would turn things around in her marriage. But what if Tim didn't want that? If he loved another woman, if it was already too late, Lara would find herself divorced and out of work. She knew how long a property settlement could take when marriages broke down.

If she resigned now, leaving the Negala problems unresolved, reneging on her notice period, neither Alan nor anyone wanting to keep their job at Global Oil would find it in their heart to give her a reference. It may have been a boom time in resources, but the legal fraternity was relatively small. If it got out that she had done that—and it undoubtedly would—no one else would hire her in Western Australia.

A sound of exasperation escaped her throat. No, she simply could not act in haste, even though she ached to throw in the towel.

“Why didn't you discuss the Minister's proposal in more detail?” Lara asked Martin, her head pounding from the stress of knowing she might be stuck in Zakra. “After all, it'll be the Minister's men that are spying on us. They'll know he's corrupt.” He wasn't able to discuss strategy, what they planned to do about the Minister's proposal, any ways around it. What he could have mentioned was the proposal itself. It might have been enough for Alan to understand.

“Am I mistaken or did we not agree on what I'd say to Alan?” Martin was snappy, even though she hadn't meant to challenge him. She was simply trying to make some sort of progress, looking for a way forward.

“Sorry, Martin. I didn't mean to criticise. You're right. You said exactly what we had discussed. I just didn't think Alan would be so inflexible. I really need to find a way out of this.”

Martin shrugged. “None of us want to be here any longer than we need to.”

Lara nodded. “Maybe we should call him again?”

“No.” The answer was categorical, blunt, but the faint smile on Martin's lips and the way he tilted his head, looking at her with a softness in his gaze that wasn't usually there, told her he wasn't being his usual difficult self. He just wasn't free to speak his mind in a house that was under constant surveillance.

They had to go somewhere no one was listening to their conversation, they had to talk things over without worrying about who was spying on them. They needed to get hold
of a phone that wasn't tapped. That would allow them to speak freely, as freely as you ever could to a CEO.

“Would now be a good time to call into the office, run over a couple of things with Maine?” Jack had come to the rescue.

“We may as well,” said Martin.

After grabbing a few things, a notebook, a pen, they were ready.

“Could you drop us off as close as you can to the roundabout, please?” Jack asked the driver. Lara frowned, and he seemed to understand that he needed to give an explanation. “My back is hurting.” He was quick to add, “I need to walk a little before sitting at the office.”

The driver set off down the road to the city centre. At the roundabout he braked suddenly, and although their seat belts were fastened, Jack, Lara and Martin were all jolted forward enough to scare them as the car came to a halt.

“What on earth?” Martin stared at the driver. He drew a breath, visibly trying to calm his nerves, before re-phrasing his question. “What happened?”

The driver smiled politely. “Mr Jack said as close as possible to the roundabout.”

Martin shook his head, eyes rounded in obvious disbelief. “All that meant was. . .never mind.”

As they climbed out of the four-wheel drive, a re-constructed Mercedes, built from the spare parts of a number of other cars and still sporting the original colours—a silver boot, one red and three green doors—repeatedly sounded its horn. They were blocking its way.

They scurried to the side of the road, the sand miraculously working its way into their closed shoes, and Martin waved off the driver. “Jack, you really need to be more careful how you express yourself. I don't want to die. Especially not with you.”

Jack laughed it off. “Don't worry, neither do I. You have to admit it was him, not me. Any one of us could have instructed him the way I did.”

As Martin opened his mouth, probably to utter more harsh words, Lara took over. “Well, there are no bugs here.” She looked at her feet, noticing ants the size of her thumb. “Except the living kind. So let's talk. What are we going to do? I say we need to get Alan on a phone that isn't tapped so we can tell him everything, not just what's happened, but our strategy and what we think of the government's.”

Martin pursed his lips. “I hate to break this to you, but corruption or no corruption, Alan isn't going to change his mind. He told us when we left not to come back until we fixed this thing. He said the same again to me today.”

Lara felt her temperature soar. She wasn't sure how much of it was due to the anger in her and how much to the unrelenting sun. “He has no idea our phones are tapped, the house is bugged, the Minister is asking for a brown paper bag
and
is using delay tactics to wear us down. And no idea their twisted ways are starting to work on us! Surely you have to agree he's missing some essential facts.”

Jack rubbed his chin. “Not wanting to side with anyone here but I think Lara has a point.”

Martin raised his arms to a sky that was nearly white with heat. “And how are we going to tell him? The satellite phone at the office will be tapped, too.”

“We can check that,” Jack said. “You never know. And if it is, we'll think of something.”

Lara crossed her arms as a man in a blue dwana walked by, staring at the trio of white-skinned foreigners. At least it was indiscriminate this time as he didn't seem to have singled her out. “We'd better keep moving. We're arousing suspicion.”

They started towards the office, which was a few hundred metres away. “What about the local mobiles we have?” she asked, trying to think of a solution. “Could we get international with them?”

Jack shrugged. “They're just like any other phone here. The service is so unreliable you could be dialling the whole day before you get a line out. And then when—sorry,
if
—you get a line out you're likely to be cut off before the conversation is over. That's why we installed the satellite. Anyway, the mobiles could be tapped, too.”

“Anyone else have a satellite phone?” asked Lara, refusing to be beaten.

Martin shook his head. “It's hopeless. There are a few sats, but all in government offices, or companies with a clear link to the government. It wouldn't be safe to talk there.”