Slickrock Paradox (27 page)

“Here's what I think, Mr. Isaiah. I think you hired Dead Horse to do the assessment for your project, and when they came back and told you they'd found a class one archaeological site, you sat them down and asked what it would take to clear that site so you could build your golf course and your resort. They said no problem. It will cost you, but we can get the job done. Somebody found out, maybe even my wife. Maybe Kayah Wisechild got cold feet when she realized what she was doing, desecrating
her
ancestors' ruins. Maybe she was cut out of the deal because she was Hopi and Peter Anton thought she'd be a liability. She found out, anyway. When you or maybe Anton got wind of it, she disappeared. There were too many loose ends so Kelly Williams disappeared too.”

Isaiah threw his head back and laughed. He sounded like a jackal. “The stories I heard about you were
all
true. You've been out standing in the desert looking for your wife for such an awful long time that you've gone and baked your fucking head.” He tapped his finger on the side of his hat. “I sure like hearing your stories, Pearson. I sure do. I need to tell you this, though. If hear that you've been telling this story around town, or to the feds, I'm going to sic my lawyers on you and they will eat you alive. We understood, Mr. Pearson?”

Silas leaned forward. “It's Dr. Pearson, Mr. Isaiah. As soon as I get a chance I'll be telling this story to the
FBI
. I intend to show them where Kelly and Kayah were working before they were murdered.” He turned on the sidewalk and walked back toward the Visitor Center, leaving Jacob Isaiah boiling in the coolness of the morning.

HE RETRIEVED HIS
car and drove south on 191 to an industrial complex close to the offices of Dead Horse Consulting. He'd learned that Canusa Petroleum Resources had a local operations office in the complex and he gambled that Martin would be there bright and early. His gamble paid off. The receptionist in the windowless office took his name and called Martin on the intercom. Martin emerged from the back of the building and extended his hand to Silas.

“I'm Tim Martin.”

“Silas Pearson.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I have some questions about your operations in this area. I was at your press conference the other day—”

“Quite the pomp and circumstance, wasn't it? You Americans sure like your fanfare.”

“I'm Canadian, Mr. Martin. I moved here twelve years ago, but I don't really understand the place yet either.”

“Come on back. You know, in Calgary or Houston I'd have a wall of
PR
people between me and the environmentalists, but down here it's just me, a few engineers, and Samantha.” They walked through a tangle of cubicles to the kitchen. “Coffee?” Martin asked.

“Sure, that would be great. I should tell you, I'm not with an environmental group.”

“I just assumed you were here to bust my ass about our plans for drilling—”

“Not today.”

Coffee in hand, Martin led Silas to his office. A window provided a view of the Moab Rim, but the office was otherwise unremarkable.

“You have a big presence elsewhere?”

“We're in the top twenty producers in conventional oil and gas in Alberta.”

“Conventional?”

“Old-fashioned. Our main businesses is not in the oil sands, though we have a stake on a play—a development—there. Most of our business is in exploration and drilling. We're small-time in Texas and Oklahoma, but growing. We're building our American team and that's helping us get into the game down here.”

“Hence the name Can-
USA
,” Silas concluded. Martin nodded.

“What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I want to know about your plans to drill in the Canyon Rims region; Flat Iron Mesa, Hatch Wash, and Back of the Rocks.”

“As you might have read in the papers, we're entering into the exploratory phase of our project. Any actual drilling is several years out. We're applying to the
BLM
for a permit to search for oil reserves in several areas in and around the place you call Canyon Rims. It's a designated Recreation Area, so we have to be sensitive to other uses.”

“There are also half a dozen areas within the Canyon Rims complex that are Wilderness Study Areas.”

“That's right. The
BLM
has those off limits, at least until Congress makes a decision on them. Who knows when that might be.”

“You don't see your drilling plans as incompatible with the other uses in Canyon Rims?”

“Our operations will have a pretty small footprint.”

“I'm no expert, but won't there be roads and pipelines and a lot of traffic?”

“Some, but we can bury parts of the pipeline and regulate road traffic.”

“So . . . drilling would require a lot of water. Am I correct?”

“It does take some water to get the oil out of the ground in most cases.”

“How does that work?”

“It's pretty simple, really. We mix water with clay—all perfectly harmless—to force the rock we're drilling through, and then later the oil, up to the surface. The water gets cleaned up and is returned to the watershed.”

“Cleaned up?”

“We set up portable water purification systems that clean the solvents and residual oil out of the water before returning it to the source.”

Silas could only imagine what his wife would have to say about that. “How much would you need?”

“Depends on how many wells we drill, and how much oil each produces. We won't know that for some time. We're only at the preliminary stages. We haven't received regulatory approval yet.”

“That's what the senator was talking about yesterday, streamlining.”

“We think of it as
harmonizing
.” Martin took a sip of his coffee.

Silas shrugged his shoulders. “Call it what you will, the idea is to make the process of getting approval for a project simpler.”

“Sure, but without taking shortcuts when it comes to protecting the environment.”

“Everybody talks about protecting the environment, Mr. Martin, but talk is cheap. You know that you're going to get a truckload of opposition if you push ahead with a drilling project in the Canyon Rims area.”

“I thought you said you weren't an environmentalist?”

“I'm not. Not really, but my wife is. I do like this part of the world. There're lots of others who are going to line up against you.”

“Maybe they will, maybe they won't. Sure, Canyon Rims is a nice place, but it's not
extraordinary
. There's not much that is exceptional about it.”

“I understand the groups like the Southern Utah Wilderness Association have been lobbying to have it added to Canyonlands National Park for more than a decade. They say that Hatch Wash is of particular importance.” Silas watched for his reaction.

“Hatch Wash is pretty, like a thousand other places in the Southwest. You can't lock everything up and throw away the key and keep everybody out except young, fit people with Vibram-soled boots. We either find places where we can drill responsibly, or we import all of our oil from Saudi Arabia, where they don't have any laws at all. I've worked there, and in Iraq, and Kuwait. You think things are tough here? Over there they just cut your head off if you give them any grief.”

“Have you done any kind of preliminary environmental assessment of Hatch Wash?”

Martin shrugged. “I'd have to check with my engineers, but I don't think so. This is just at the early stages right now. We know from the government's own reports that there is oil there, enough to make this worth our while. Once we get things rolling forward we'll have a look at the details.”

Silas watched the man answer his questions coolly. He tried to remember some of the things that Penny would ask. What about the wildlife? What about the impact the traffic and the noise and the flaring would have on people who wanted to experience the wilderness?

“Where are you planning on getting your water from if you drill in Back of the Rocks, Flat Iron Mesa, or Hatch Point?”

“Well, we've got options.”

“Do you? Really? I mean, the place is pretty dry. Kane Creek and Hatch Wash are rare—they have year-round water.”

“Well, that is one of the things that makes the area appealing. We can also pump it in, if we have to, or truck it in, but that makes things expensive.”

“Not as much return to the investors, eh?”

“I don't think that's a bad thing, do you? Making money is what a business is supposed to do.”

“I don't really know. Would you consider building a dam?” asked Silas.

“It's way too early for us to be thinking about things like that,” answered Martin, making a dismissive wave with his hands. “Tell me, Mr. Pearson. You're pretty curious—what's your interest? I take it you're a hiker and you like Hatch Wash?”

“Well, I'm not really much of a hiker. Maybe an explorer would be more accurate. Let me tell you what I'm getting at, Mr. Martin. Did you read about the
FBI
finding a body up at Grand View Point, over in Canyonlands?”

“Sure . . . wait a minute . . . that was
you
!
You
found that body. Now I recognize you. I've got to tell you, you don't look much like your picture.”

“A lot of miles have passed since it was taken. Mr. Martin, do you know who it was that I found?”

“No. I can't remember the name. I think it was in the papers—”

“Kelly Williams—”

“That's it. Should I know it?”

“You should. I understand that he worked for you, albeit indirectly. He was on the payroll for Dead Horse Consulting. They were doing some of the preliminary environmental assessments that are required for you to consider drilling in that area. He was an archaeologist, working with another man named Peter Anton. The two of them had another colleague. Her name was Kayah Wisechild—”

“
Was
?”

“Was. She turned up dead, about two weeks ago now. I found her too.”

“You found both bodies—”

“I did.”

“What are the odds?”

“I'll be spending some time in Vegas after this is through.”

“How did you . . . I mean, how did you find both of them?”

“Purely coincidental. You see, I was actually looking for someone else. Someone
I
lost. My wife. Three and a half years ago she went missing in this region. She went out to explore . . . somewhere . . . and never came back. I've been looking for her ever since. In the last two weeks I've found two bodies of people who were working on an archaeological evaluation of Hatch Wash.
Both
where
your
company wants to build a dam and draw water for your oil developments up on Flat Iron and in the Behind the Rocks region.”

“Now wait a second—”

“Hold on, Tim, it gets better. I think my wife was also onto your work. I think she knew about it before either Williams or Wisechild, and she was about to blow the whistle.”

“That's not possible.” Martin stood up and turned to look out the window.

“I think it is. Her name was Penelope de Silva. Does that sound familiar?”

“I've never heard of her. Never.” Martin turned and looked at Silas. His face was pale, but his eyes were narrowed.

“Are you sure? She was pretty doggedly determined not to let a place like Hatch and the Canyon Rims fall into the wrong hands.”

“Back up a second.” Martin sat down and played with his coffee cup, showing an agitation that hadn't been there five minutes before. “You said these two people, this Williams and—”

“Kelly Williams and Kayah Wisechild.”

“When did these two go missing?”

“A little more than two years ago.”

“And your wife? When did you last see her?”

“Three and a half years ago.”

“What exactly are Williams and Wisechild, and Dr. Anton . . . what exactly
were
they looking for in Hatch?”

“I don't know if they were looking for anything in particular. They were doing an antiquities survey. What they found will keep you out of Hatch Wash, maybe forever. It will shut you down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ruins. Ancient Pueblo ruins, Mr. Martin. Surely the consultants have told you about this.”

“We haven't discussed it. I understood that there were no significant sites in Hatch or anywhere else in that vicinity.”

“Who told you that?”

“Well, the senator's office, to start with. Jared Strom backed it up.”

Silas was silent a moment. “When did they tell you this?”

“When we first hired them.”

“When was that?”

“You see, that's what I'm getting at. I have no idea who these Williams and Wisechild people are. No idea. I'm very sorry to say I've never heard of your wife. Canusa just got involved with this play a little over . . .”—he looked at the ceiling, counting—“fourteen, no fifteen months ago.”

“I find that hard to believe. Dead Horse has been working on this area for years, at least three or four.”

“Not for us. We were invited in about fifteen months ago.
They
approached
us
.”

“Who is they?”

“The
BLM
, and others. The senator actually made the rounds of all the midsized operations looking for suitable partners to work on his Utah Land Stewardship Fund. It was a good opportunity. We have people here in the
US
, of course, who speak on our behalf . . .”

“Lobbyists.”

“We call them government relations specialists, but sure, lobbyists. They make sure that when someone like Senator Smith is looking for partners, he finds
us
. Nothing wrong with that. He approached us and we evaluated the play and decided to jump in.”