Ring of Fire III (34 page)

Johannes was a bit overly optimistic in his estimate. It took two weeks before the first run came pouring out of the tower and into barrels. It was three and a half weeks before the oxen pulled the first stout tanker cart the cooper and wheelwright put together, full of heavy oil, over the new bridge across the creek to start its journey to Wietze. It took that long to get the paperwork settled with the tenants and the rent holder for the road across the leased land.

* * *

Hanns, Hermann, Johannes and Adolph walked into the field office and told the receptionist they wanted to talk to Jerry Trainer.

“Can I ask what you wish to see him about?” the clerk asked.

“Yes,” Hanns said. “We need to know if he wants to buy our full output or just our heavy oil for cracking?”

“What are you talking about? All of that is settled before they send in a drilling crew.”

“Well, they didn’t send in a crew, we drilled it ourselves. We’ve got fourteen barrels of heavy oil in a tanker cart outside. You can pretty much dictate the price on it, but if he wants the gasoline, the kerosene and the fuel oil, then he’s going to have to give us the full market price on it or we’ll sell it ourselves.”

Jerry Trainer walked through the open door of his office. He looked over the four men standing there, made eye contact with one of them and said, “Johannes? I heard you went wildcatting. We were wondering whether you had any luck or not. You’ve got a cart of crude outside?”

“No, Herr Trainer, we have a cart of heavy oil. We cannot crack it so we thought to sell it to you. Of course, if you do not want to buy it we can burn it to distill the next run.”

They would have to use part of the last run to boil the next one anyway. Hanns made it clear that he was not about to let them cut any more firewood without paying for it. Fortunately the trimmings off the trees that went to build the derrick more than met their needs so far. But that was it. Hanns was adamant. Even the trimmings from the timber cut for the bridge and what the cooper didn’t use was now set aside to wait for an itinerant charcoal burner to come through. The charcoal burners preferred to work with well-seasoned small branches. The firewood was corded up and shortly would be on its way to the manor house now that a bridge spanned the creek. Until the charcoal burner came, the brush pile encouraged rabbits and other small game, which Hanns thoroughly approved of and the farmers truly hated. Even with the prospects of the oil money coming in, the habit of being tight with the resources was deeply ingrained.

“Well, let’s go take a look at what you have, shall we?” Jerry said.

Outside, Jerry cracked the wooden valve open just a hair and caught a tablespoon full of oil in the palm of his hand. He looked at the color and rubbed a bit of it between the thumb and forefingers of his right hand. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s heavy oil. You can sell it for lubricant or we can crack it for gas and oil. Let’s see, if you’ve got fourteen barrels of heavy oil then you should have about—” Jerry ran off a very accurate list, measured in barrels at fifty-five gallons to the barrel, of how much of each type of petroleum they had. “If you don’t match those numbers then you’ve not condensed it correctly. And of course we will do a quality control check on every cart you bring in, but assuming it’s okay, then let’s see—” Jerry did some quick math and spun off totals and named prices per barrel which were indeed not far below what he was getting for it. Since he ran the only refinery in the world, until now, at least, it would seem he had an effective monopoly on petroleum sales, other than what found its way onto the black market, of course. He would just as soon keep it that way for as long as possible so it made sense to buy their entire output. “How does that sound, Johannes?”

Johannes looked at Hanns, who looked at Hermann, who nodded to Adolph who nodded to Johannes. “Herr Trainer, can we see that in writing,
bitte
?”

“Sure, we can do that. Then I’ll give you a sales slip to take to the bank.” The Abrabanels had opened an office in Wietze. It was their office that Jerry was referring to when he said “the bank.”

At the Abrabanel office Adolph stepped up and took control. They had not discussed what to do, Hanns had assumed they would be paid in cash and they would split the money. “We need to set up three accounts, if you please. Then any receipts coming here will be split between the three accounts. Until further notice I get fifty percent and the other two split the rest. After you are notified, I get seven percent.” They had agreed on seven percent of the profits. Herr Holz was claiming seven percent of the gross product.

Hanns of course called him on it. “You are right, Herr Holz, you are entitled to half until the loan is repaid. But then you get seven percent of the profit, which is not seven percent of the output. We will have expenses, there is the rent for the roadway, there is any more wood that is cut, there is the wage for the cooper and the smith and the refiner and his helper. No, after the loan is paid off, we will deposit seven percent of the profit.”

It really was small change, but it was not in Adolph’s nature not to try and it certainly wasn’t in Hanns’ nature to let him get away with it.

Hanns and Hermann took their portion in cash. Adolph left his on deposit. Johannes had already been paid by Adolph when he paid off the construction crew. Outside in the street a very happy Hanns was counting his money. Hermann put his, uncounted, in his pocket. He could do that with the paper currency that was now an accepted standard in Wietze. The same seamstress who was making the shirts was also producing four-pocket pants on the blue jean pattern, complete with rivets.

“Buy me a beer, Hermann,” Johannes said, “and let’s talk about doing this all over again elsewhere, since you’ve got the money to front us. Or do you want to just sit back and run this one for your cousin? If you do, then I’ll have to talk to Herr Holz about investing in another well and tower.”

“No, Johannes,” Adolph said. “I’m through here. I’m heading home.”

“Sure, Johannes, a beer sounds good. Hannsi can hire someone else to run his well for him,” Hermann replied.

Paris, October 1635

A short, blond, blue-eyed man was ushered into the office of one Yves Neff. Of Cardinal Richelieu’s many clerks, Yves was one of the few who had an office instead of a desk. The nature of what he kept track of required privacy from time to time. This was one of those times.

“M. LeBlanc,” the clerk said, “just what is so important that you felt you had to leave your assigned station to share it with me personally instead of putting it in your regular report?”

“I really do think I need to talk to His Eminence.”

“Oh? And why is that?” As a bureaucrat part of his job was to act as a filter and see to it that his boss was not bothered with trivial matters.

“If he will secure the mineral rights to the tar pits near the village of Parentis en Born for me, I can start producing the petroleum fuels you know he will need for the research projects that I am sure you currently have ongoing.”

“Can you indeed?” the clerk asked with just a hint of a raised eyebrow. “I am afraid,” the clerk said, “you have wasted your time in coming to Paris. I shouldn’t tell you this but under the circumstances I will make an exception. There is an ongoing oil fuel project. Top people are working with the best and latest information. We even had a man in Wietze watching for new developments until he decided to return to France without authorization. I shall have to recruit someone a bit more reliable, someone who knows how to stay in place and forward timely reports, to replace him with and get the new man to Germany immediately.

“Now as long as you are here, we need to discuss these sizable sums you recently spent.”

“I was authorized to buy information.”

“And that information is?”

“I now know how to drill a well and refine petroleum fuel.”

“You seem quite sure of yourself,” Yves said.

“I am. We started from scratch with nothing but an oil seep, and finished with refined fuel which we sold to the manager at Wietze.”

The clerk sighed dramatically. “You were authorized to buy ‘new’ information! We already knew how to do those things. I am afraid that money you spent on your personal education is going to have to be reimbursed, in full and immediately.”

Henri paled. He had financed the driving of an oil well and the building of a cracking tower. In return he would get the lion’s share of the profit until the loan was paid off. Then he would get a premium for as long as the well was in production. His share in the output of the oil well in Germany would pay what he now owed, but it would be a while in coming. He could end up sitting in debtor’s prison until it did. A man could get sick and die doing that. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around!” M. LeBlanc objected. “I can pay it back. But it will take some time.”

“I understand.” Yves smirked. “Why don’t you see about raising it and come back at the end of the week?” He knew Henri could not raise the money. What he had in mind for M. LeBlanc was a nasty, unpleasant job that he was having trouble getting a reliable man to do. This looked like the perfect leverage to get it done.

By sheer chance near the end of the day the clerk’s supervisor M. DeMille stopped at his small office. “Yves, here is a list of questions about cracking oil we need answered. Get it off to our man in Wietze right away.”

“I am afraid, sir, that we no longer have a man in Wietze.”

“What happened? Was he found out? Was he killed, imprisoned, did he fall ill?”

“No sir, he is alive and well and returned to Paris without authorization.”

“What brought him back? Was he homesick? I can understand that. I have been to the Germanies. The cooking is horrid and the wines are worse.”

“No, he thought we would be interested in setting him up to refine petroleum.”

“As if he could!”

“Oh, he can,” Yves said. “According to his reports, he was involved in every step of the process from drilling a well to carting off the finished fuels.”

The clerk’s superior dropped the stack of papers on the clerk’s desk in excitement. “You are sure he can do it?”

“Reasonably sure,” the clerk replied. “But we have a well in production, another one is being drilled, and a team of our best people are working on a cracking tower.”

“And failing miserably!”

“What?” a startled Yves asked.

“You heard me. They can’t get it to work. It has blown up twice. It has burst and burned twice more. It is consuming money, men, and time at an alarming rate. The money is minor, they can always raise another tax, the men mostly do not matter, the prisons are full enough, but the time is something we cannot spare. The teams working on engines were promised fuel a month ago. They are at a standstill until we get it for them. We’ve bought as much as we can but the people in Wietze are keeping a close watch on it and we cannot get anywhere near as much as we need.

“If we have a man who has practical hands-on experience in fuel production we need him right now.”

“M. LeBlanc says he can do it and I see no reason to question the man’s honesty.”

“Where is this wonder worker? I want to see him immediately.”

“I have a local residence recorded right here,” Yves said, picking up M. LeBlanc’s file.

“Let’s go.”

“What?”

“When I said we need that man right now, I meant right now! Let’s go!”

“But, sir, now?” It was, after all, very near the end of the day.

“Now!”

* * *

Yves knocked on the door. When a toothless old woman answered he asked, “Is this where Herni LeBlanc has a rented room?”

“Well, that was fast indeed. When he moved out this morning he told me he had someone else who would take the garret. Do you want to see it?” She really didn’t think they would. They really did not look like the type who would rent such a room up under the eaves.

“No, we do not. You say he moved out? Did he say where he was going?”

“No, all he said was he would send someone else to rent the garret. If that isn’t you, then good day to you.” With those words she closed the door.

“How odd,” M. DeMille said. “Why would the man move so suddenly and without a forwarding address as if something were wrong?”

Yves looked sheepish. “Well, I was planning on offering him that job in the Caribbean that we are having trouble filling. Since I knew I would need some leverage I told him he had to return some misappropriated funds immediately.”

DeMille smirked at his underling’s deviousness. Then it filtered through his mind and he realized if the man could not be found they could not use the knowledge the fellow was carrying around in his head. “That is not fortuitous, Yves. Find the man. Find him immediately and get him working on the fuel production problem. If you can’t produce him by the end of the week, then pack your bags. I think you would be the perfect man for that assignment in the Caribbean.”

Yves paled. He had absolutely no interest in seeing the new world.

By sundown agents and officials all over Paris were looking for one Henri LeBlanc. By sundown the next day only a fast horse could have stayed ahead of the search. The selfsame fast horse carried the word to every port in the country and every way station on the highways and byways to the border and beyond. Henri LeBlanc was a wanted man, a very wanted man indeed.

Behind the closed door an old woman winked at her fair-haired grandson. “Merci, Grandmère,” Henri said. “It seems I owe those fellows a lot of money and it will be a while before I can raise it.”

“How much do you need?”

Henri named a sum.

The old woman shook her head. “I’ve saved a great deal of what you’ve sent home, but not nearly that much.”

“That is not a problem, Grandmère. I will have the money by and by. I just need to stay out of sight and out of debtor’s prison until it catches up with me.”

“Well, you just plan on staying right here, out of sight, for as long as you need to. I will enjoy the company. Besides, the money you’ve been sending home will see to our needs for a good long time.”