Protected Pt 01

COLT

I'd spent the better part of the last ten minutes waiting in the richly appointed office of Ms. Pamela Larke, Vice-President of Operations for Larke Oil. I watched the suit behind the desk as she studiously ignored me while typing away on a hidden computer. Young and pretty, the woman was the stereotypical uptight assistant, and because she was the most interesting thing in the office to look at, I'd passed the time imaging what the woman was like. I'd decided she was unmarried, lived alone with one or more cats, and complained about all men being pigs on social media.

She was wearing a suit of either dark blue or black paired with a white blouse. With her hair pulled back into a severe bun, she looked like she'd give a guy's cock frostbite if he were to try to stick it into her, but was probably a wildcat in bed because she never got laid.

I wouldn't mind finding out...

my mind whispered.

I smiled to myself as I continued to watch her ignore me. When I'd entered the office, I could tell by her icy politeness and body language she didn't approve of me, but I couldn't have cared less. It wasn't my idea to be here. I had no

idea why I'd been summoned all the way from Rio Lago to Houston, other than Ms. Larke had a business proposition for me, and had promised to make the trip worth my time. I'd considered driving my truck to the meeting but decided I'd rather ride my Heritage Classic since I was being summoned as the president of the BDMC. When I'd arrived in the parking lot of the Larke Oil building, I'd pulled my only sport coat out of the pillion bag to replace my colors, but that was the extent of my dressing up. In my line of work, showing up wearing clean loafers, dress pants, and a coat and a tie, was a quick way to lose a job. Jeans, riding boots, and no tie would have to do. If Ms. Pamela Larke, Vice-President of Operations, didn't like it, that was her problem, not mine.

I heard a soft tone that I assumed was a computer beeping before the suit rose from behind a mahogany desk that probably cost more than my Harley. "Ms. Larke will see you now," she said as she peeked at me over her small, stylish glasses.

I decided her suit was dark blue, with the matching skirt stopping just above her knee.

Definitely unmarried and living with cats,

I decided as I stood.

The suit opened the door to a large office decorated in the same mahogany and brown leather as the outer office. A wall of glass was behind the large desk, with pictures of derricks and pumpjacks sporting the Larke Oil Logo decorating the remaining three walls. Filling the rest of the abundant space was a cozy conversation area with four chairs surrounding a small, low table, along with a conference table that would seat six, all in the same wood and style as the rest of the furnishings. The suit closed the door behind me.

"Mr. Arne, thank you for coming on short notice," the stunningly attractive woman said as she stepped around her desk, smiling warmly as she extended her hand, her steps silent on the thick carpeting.

Pamela Larke couldn't have been more different than I expected. She was in late-forties to perhaps middle-fifties. She was one of those women who took care of herself and hid her age well. Dressed in a grey pantsuit that fit her perfectly, it showed off her figure to devastating effect. She had to be at least fifteen years older than me, but I'd fuck her over the uptight suit outside any time.

I yanked my attention back to the matter at hand. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Larke," I said as I took the woman's hand. Not only was she supremely fuckable, she had a firm handshake, a friendly smile, and I liked her immediately.

"Call me Pam, please."

"Colt."

"Won't you please sit down," she said, motioning to the chairs in the conversation area. As I settled into the indicated chair, she sat next to me. "I'll come straight to the point. I've got a problem and I think you can help me solve it."

"Help you how?"

"We're having some security problems with our wells in the area near you. Larke Oil, along with other producers in the area, are dealing with a rise in vandalism. Lots of cut fences, damage to the pumps, the normal sort of stuff. We're dealing with that as best we can, but we, Larke Oil I mean, have an additional concern."

"What's that?"

"My niece."

I blinked, trying to keep up. "Your niece?"

"That's right. She's our lead geologist and she's in the field in your area. I want you to keep an eye on her for me."

"Okay," I said slowly. "Why me... and why does she need someone to keep an eye on her?"

"Let me answer the second part first. We're opening a field in the last of the undeveloped Eagle Ford Group in southern Maverick and northern Webb Counties. We believe the drilling activity all around that area has pushed the smugglers and coyotes into the area we're now exploring. We have no proof, but frankly, I think the bad guys are starting to push back."

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around what drug runners and human traffickers had to do with her niece. "Okay, but that doesn't answer the question of why me," I said, waiting for more information before I started asking stupid questions.

She smiled. "First off, you know the area. We asked around, looking for someone who knew the area who could consult with our security firm, and your name came up several times. You're the president of the Buitre del Demonio Motorcycle Club, right?"

"Yes," I replied, drawing the word out slightly as I wondered where this was going.

"I want to hire you... well your entire club actually, to watch her."

I scratched at the side of my face as I thought it over. I was still missing a key piece of information. "Okay, but why? Can't your normal security group do that?"

"The why is easy. Someone took a shot at her a few days ago. Scared the crap out of her dad, me, and Willow all. We don't--"

"Willow?" I asked as the pieces began to fall into place.

"Willow Larke. Her name is actually Addison, but Willow is her middle name and that's what she goes by. Anyway, we don't know if she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time or if the shot was meant for her. Either way, we need someone to keep an eye on her."

"And the second part of the question? Why us instead of your normal security group?" I asked, fishing for the last piece of the puzzle.

"We contract out well security. We, along with the other producers in the area, have a contractor who patrols the wellheads for us. They do a pretty good job of that, but they aren't setup to watch one person. Willow moves around a lot. WSS--Wellhead Security Services--is set up for static security, like on pumps. In addition to watching Willow, I'd also like you to consult with WSS and help them know where they need to focus their attention, that sort of thing, to try to get a handle on this vandalism problem."

"How'd you get our name again?"

She grinned. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah, a little."

"The Maverick County Sherriff's Department."

"Oh," I grunted.

"Obviously, with your history, we were a little hesitant to contract with your, but everyone in the area seems to agree the Buitre del Demonio has, shall we say, turned over a new leaf."

I kept my face carefully neutral. "We've put our past behind us, yes."

"They also said you know the area as well as, or better than, anyone. That's what we need. A local outfit who knows the area and has the resources to protect Willow. You're our only option. We could hire an outside firm for protection, but they won't know what to watch for, or what will seem out of place, and you're the only local group that's big enough, and organized enough, to do the job."

"Ms. Larke, thank you for the offer, but I don't believe we can help you," I said softly.

That seemed to surprise her. "Why's that? I can make it worth your time."

"We don't know anything about personal security, and I don't want to be responsible for your niece getting hurt. Out there in the scrub there's no place to hide. A man with a rifle can take a shot from as far out as a thousand yards if he knows what he's doing, and if he's really good, double that. There's no way to protect against that."

"Which is why I need

you

. We contacted three personal security firms and they wouldn't touch the job either, for the reason you just mentioned. You know the area and you know the locals. You'll know if something seems out of place where an outside firm won't. Larke Oil will support you any way we can. Please, Mr. Arne... Colt... I need you. I know your club has fallen on some tough times, and this could be the break you've been looking for."

I stared at the Houston skyline a moment, thinking.

She's right. This could be the thing we need to get the club back on its feet, and we'd be doing something constructive instead of destructive. God knows the club needs the money, and maybe, just maybe, this can become our new niche.

"What are you offering?" I asked, hoping I wasn't going to regret the asking.

She smiled. "A thousand dollars a day for around-the-clock security."

My heart began pounding in my chest. "For how long?" I asked, and it took real effort to keep my voice steady and casual.

"For as long as it takes."

I frowned, though for that kind of money, I don't know why I'd cared. "Are we talking days, weeks, or years?"

She smiled. "Maybe a couple of months. Not years. This is just for while she's in the field, and until we can get a handle on the overall security problem. I'd figure on no more than three months, tops. Probably less. By then Willow should have her soundings complete and will be back in Houston. After that, we won't need you anymore."

I knew I was going to take the job, but I didn't want to seem too eager. "We'll need payment up front."

She nodded once. "I'll have accounting cut you a check for eighteen thousand dollars before you leave. That'll cover the rest of this month. After that, you can bill us."

I couldn't stop my smile. "I think we have a deal."

Her smile spread as she rose and extended her hand. "Before you leave, I'll find out where Willow is set up. You report to me, so she can't fire you. Work with her as much as you can, but your priority is keeping her safe. If she gives you any problems, you have her call me or Harris."

I took her hand. "Should I expect problems?"

Her grin grew wider. "Willow's a good girl, but she can be headstrong, just like her father."

"We'll work something out," I said as I released her hand.

"Good enough. I'm depending on you to keep her safe."

"We'll take good care of her," I replied as she escorted me to the door and opened it.

"Please do. Sarah! Have accounting cut a check to Mr. Arne for eighteen thousand dollars and have it brought up right away. Tell them to book it to the security account. Also, find out where Willow is sounding and let Mr. Arne know."

"Yes, ma'am," the suit replied.

"When Randy gets here, send him in."

"Yes, ma'am."

I returned to my chair while Sarah worked the phone. "Let me take you to lunch for all your help," I said when she hung up.

She looked over her glasses at me again, the polite coolness still firmly in place. "I have to stay with Ms. Larke, but thank you for asking."

I didn't care if she went to lunch with me or not, but I was enjoying needling her. "How about I take you both to lunch then."

"Ms. Larke has a lunch meeting."

I grinned as I looked away.

Brrr!

I chuckled to myself as I kicked my legs out and settled down to wait for my check and directions to find Willow.

.

.

.

WILLOW

I sat in the recording truck, a medium duty, tandem axel Freightliner, watching the data flow in from the geophones. This was the first test with fresh data since I'd rewritten the density subroutines to process the soundings at a more granular level. I'd improved the delineation detection between the various densities, and I'd added color to make the data easier to read and understand. I had all the bugs squashed using my test data, but it seemed no matter how well I tested the software, I always seemed to find new problems when I started using the software in the field. I'd spent the last three days on bug hunts, and now I was watching and waiting to see what new curveballs Mother Nature would throw at me.

I'd been working on this project most of my adult life. I'd gone to University of Texas at Austin to be a geologist, following in the footsteps of Dad, but then I'd taught myself programming in order to write the software I was now field testing. I'd written the original software as part of my PhD thesis, and while the software had worked as a proof of concept, that original version had more bugs than the Amazonian rainforest and didn't have the fine delineation of the current version. For the last three years I'd been systematically refining the software, making it more accurate and robust as the software inched closer to my vision, and I'd just completed my third complete rewrite of the density subroutines, which were the heart of the software.

The software was still clunky, and ugly, but that was something I could clean up later. First the software had to stop spitting out incorrect results when it encountered a formation it couldn't handle. I smiled to myself as I watched the subsurface map crawl across the screen of my laptop. After my latest rewrite, the bugs had been minor and easily fixed. The important part of the software was the algorithms that calculated density, and I felt like I was getting close with those. Once I had that working properly, everything else would be easy.

As I watched the map slowly slide across the screen, I listened to the chatter on the radio as the thumper trucks inched their way along, stopping every two meters to lower their heavy steel plates to vibrate the ground. The shockwaves they generated traveled through the earth, reflected off the strata underneath, and then were picked up by the ultra-sensitive geophones my team had deployed. It was slow, tedious work, but it saved millions of dollars by giving people like me a chance to see what was under our feet before we sunk a well.

Once my software was fully debugged it would be a quantum leap forward in natural resources exploration. Now geologists, such as myself, could see the strata and make educated guesses about where oil or natural gas could be found, but there was no way to know for sure until an exploratory well was sunk. We could find natural gas or oil, nothing but water, or sometimes, we found nothing at all. Based on the densities of the strata and voids, my software, however, could tell what we'd find... or would once I had all the bugs ironed out. After the software was proven, Larke could skip the expensive exploratory wells and go straight to production.

I smiled as another series of voids began to appear, these full of water according to my software. I might sink a well just to be sure, but costly mistakes like that may soon be a thing of the past, at least for Larke. I knew we'd never be the largest player in the oil market. We simply didn't have the resources to compete on the global level with the likes of ExxonMobile, British Petroleum, or Royal Dutch Shell, but if we could always be sure of what we were going to get when we drilled, we'd be massively profitable. It was going to be our secret weapon, we were going to be the only company to have it, and we were going to milk it for all it's worth.

"We're starting to get some garble," Hank said, pointing to the monitor with a finger. "Looks like the weather nerds were right."

I rose from my chair and opened the door to the truck. The was a breeze blowing, which explained the noise coming in on the data. Other than my software, we were using off-the-shelf components, but to work, my program required the most sensitive geophones available. That allowed my software to detect the minute differences in the reflected waves, but the downside was the geophones were highly susceptible to noise. There wasn't enough wind to rock the truck, but there was enough to shake the scrub, and that was enough to pollute the data. I closed the door and stood behind Hank, thinking a moment.

"Shit," I muttered to myself as I picked the radio mic. "Todd, you copy?"

"Right here, Willow. I've been wondering when you'd call. We definitely have some dust blowing out here."

"Yeah. We're right at the limit. I think we're going to have to pack it in for the day. No point in having to go back and sound this area again."

"Copy that," Todd said, his voice tinny over the radio. "I was hoping to make it to the turn today, but..."

"Yeah. Can't be helped. You and the boys go out and enjoy your short day." I squinted at another computer that had local weather displayed and clicked a button to bring up the hourly forecast. "Weather predicts the winds should drop to three to five around two tonight. We'll pick it up then."

"Copy that. I'll let Mitch know."

"Thanks, Todd."

I hung the mic up and then stood a moment, staring at the computers, radios, and other equipment crammed into the truck. The box might be eight meters, but only five meters of that was mine to work in. The rest was storage for the geophones, cables, generators, and all the other stuff we needed when sounding. We could sound until the winds hit about eight miles-per-hour, maybe a little more if there were no bushes or tall grass immediately around the geophones, but out here, in the Texas desert, there was scrub everywhere. Once it got to shaking, the geophones couldn't tell the difference between a bush being shaken by the wind and a seismic wave from the thumpers. It was a long-standing problem with geo-sounding that anyone was yet to crack.

Making up my mind, I moved to my desk, unplugged my laptop, and closed the lid before stuffing it into my bag. I'd been live recording the seismic data onto my computer and I decided I'd go back to the RV and compare it to the regular sounding map. Now that I had some new data, I wanted to noodle around with it a little more and see how closely my map was tracking with our standard seismic survey.

"I'm going to go. I want to look over this data a little more closely."

Hank nodded. "I'm going to button up here, transmit the data back to Houston, that sort of thing, but then I'm right behind you."

I grinned and nodded. "Please don't get shit-faced tonight. You're so grumpy when you have a hangover."

He snickered. "Jesus, am I ever going to live that down? Somebody took a potshot at us! I needed something to steady my nerves."

My grin became a snicker. "And the chick with the big boobs had nothing to do with it?"

"Nothing at all! That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

I snickered again. "Okay, if you say so. See you tomorrow."

"Take care, Willow."

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I trotted down the retractable steps while slipping on my sunglasses to shield eyes from the sun and blowing dust. I opened the door to my Wrangler. It was scorching inside, and the moment the engine was running, I twisted the knob to set the air-conditioning to blasting.

I turned the Jeep around and began bouncing along over rough and rutted roads until I reached my RV... a Prevost, 12.5-meter, Class A, tandem axel, beast of a machine I called home when I was in the field. It was delivered to the site and serviced along with the rest of the sounding equipment, and because I left a wardrobe of work clothes and boots in it all the time, all I had to do was show up with food and my cat, and I was moved in. Where the rest of the crew was put up in motels or barracks like trailers, I lived in relative luxury. One of the perks of being the Larke Oil's lead geologist... and the owner's daughter.