Lone Star

Chapter 1

"You got it?"

Aye.

Yer sure it’s the right stuff?

Look man, I haven’t a clue. I’m no’ a vet am I? I asked for what you wanted and this is what I was given.

Silence as the three pairs of eyes already in the car weighed the answer.

Get in then. If this doesn’t work it’s on you.

They drove in a silence punctuated only by the clunk of a faulty windscreen wiper, ineffectually slapping at the persistent drizzle.

Street lights blurred and receded, replaced with the dark mystery of the countryside, occasionally punctured by oncoming headlights.

Eventually they turned down a narrow track, bumping and slithering along slowly until they finally squeaked to a halt.

A river hissed nearby and there was a loud Oof! when someone fell over the gate and into the mud as they scrambled into the field.

Where are they then?

How should I know?! They’re probably sleeping somewhere. Do they lie down?

Unsure of what else to do they set off across the sodden grass.

Out of the gloom they gradually spied darker shapes emerging, blocking their way like giant molehills.

Right, pick the first one and dart it.

Me?

Aye, you! You’re the one with the gun aren’t ye?

Aye but… he blustered, realising he had been elected whether he liked it or not.

Watch it, they’re getting up!

C’mon man, do it now or they’re gonnae make a run for it.

A great hulking shape lifted from the grass ahead.

I cannae see right, can we no’ shine the torch on them?

Are ye daft man? Do ye want tae get caught?

There was the sharp ‘Phut’ of a sudden pressure release.

Ye missed it ya wank!

You dae it then!

Aw geez the fuckin’ thing!

A fumbling with unfamiliar equipment, a ripping of plastic as a new dart was inserted and finally another Phut followed by a bellow and a thunder of hooves.

Watch it!

Aaaaah! Fuck fuck fuck! Ma’ fuckin’ foot! It ran ower ma foot!

Shut it! You’ll wake the keeper! Where did it go?

It’s over here.

Lying in the grass thirty feet away was a dark amorphous shape, poleaxed and immobile.

Right, let’s dae this and get out of here. An’ shut him up fer Christ’s sakes or I’ll use the last dart on him!

A knife flashed and crimson spurted.

Let’s go!

They dragged the injured man, whimpering and bitching the whole way, back across the field, bundled him unceremoniously over the gate, and into the car.

The trophy was held up for all to see.

Good job. They won’t ignore us now.

They drove back in a fog of drying mud and self-righteous zeal.

Chapter 2

Concentrate.

You’re not playing your boss, you’re playing the course.

Eye on the ball, gentle swing back over the right shoulder, pause, swing through, ‘whuthwack’, club now brought to rest over the left shoulder and pause to watch with smug satisfaction as the ball flies off into a china blue Texas sky.

Shit Curtis, you smacked that sucker like it was a red-headed stepson.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that particular line but Curtis smiled anyway, more in pride and satisfaction at the shot he’d just knocked out than at the down-home bluster of his golfing partner.

Bill Griffard, the wise-cracking boss he was trying to shut out of his thoughts while he concentrated, was a stand up kind of a guy. He was originally from Louisiana, N’Awlins to be precise, and although he affected a simple-farm-boy-cum-Southern-Hick attitude, Curtis knew he was a smart-as-a-whip Harvard graduate.

It was a darned good shot alright, maybe even a Tiger shot. He was a good golfer, not scratch or anything, but pretty good enough to take on Bill head to head.

The grass was still wet from the early morning sprinklers and the beautiful spring day was warming up. They were playing the Walden course near to where Curtis lived on Lake Conroe. The course was a big part of why he’d relocated to the area, being as how it was rated number one in the Houston area; that and the fact that Carmen had fallen in love with the lakeshore dream home they’d found.

Some oil guy had completely remodeled it and then run out of cash before he could move in. One man’s misfortune was another’s payday as they say, so Curtis had begged and borrowed and scraped and had finally gotten the money together to buy the place. It was the ideal home in the ideal location, only seventy-five minutes in the rush hour to the office, and in a great school neighborhood for little Kimberly.

Of course the huge summer tropical storms rolling over the Texas plains from the Gulf of Mexico were a drawback, and the bugs were almost unbearable at times, but after all, mosquitoes and hurricanes were the price of paradise.

The day was perfect for a relaxing round; the temperature in the low 80s and no humidity, which made springtime feel as though Houston really was a great place to live. Yep, it sure was a perfect day for a relaxing round.

Except for the fact that Curtis knew the purpose of today’s round wasn’t relaxation.

He shaded his eyes to see if he’d hit the fairway precisely where he’d wanted to. The 7th was a tricky Par 4, with a long straight shot off the tee to place the ball down the left side so he had an opening at the green with his second shot. He hadn’t landed in a perfect lie, but he was close enough.

They took the little electric cart towards their respective balls, Curtis noticing with satisfaction how much further from the dog-leg they had to stop in order for Bill to take his next shot.

Curtis liked his boss. He didn’t micro manage, at least no more than Curtis could stand being micro managed, and preferred to work along the general principle whereby so long as targets were hit and no crap was dumped at his door, folks could pretty much be trusted to get along with the job in any way they saw fit. Best of all, Bill wasn’t precious about having to win at golf.

Still, when the rubber met the road, he was still the boss and this was definitely no social occasion. Bill was pissed and Curtis knew something big was on his mind. He didn’t know how they’d managed to get as far as the 7th without anything coming up.

Shoot! said Bill, as his second shot went wide of the fairway and into the rough. I guess I’d be as well to concede this one too. You’re on a roll man and I ain’t going in there...goddamn place is full a’ water moccasins and copperheads.

It’s not over yet. I still got a difficult shot to the green, and assuming I hit it first time, if I don’t sink it in one for a birdie, then it’s still wide-open. It’s gonna take me a 6 or a 7 iron from here and y’all know how those shots always give me trouble.

You are either a sadistic sonofabitch or you’re just being a suck-ass. Well, hang me a sign out when you’re done.

Curtis grinned and headed for his ball. He got into the zone and swung the 6 iron in a perfect arc. The ball lifted gracefully, descended slowly, bounced three times and then trickled across the green. No sweat, he was on a roll. When they got to the green all it took was a quick line-up with the putter, a solid tap, and Bill was on hand to lift the pole to let the ball gurgle into the cup for the birdie.

Son of a gun. You are unbeatable today man. Tell you what, you win the next two and we’ll call it a nine and head to Changs for lunch. The 9th is an easy cut back to the clubhouse anyway. That work for you?

Now that’s what I call a plan, said Curtis, relishing the early finish and the good food to come. He had it zipped anyway. He knew from experience that when the losing bug bit, it bit hard, and Bill was coming out in lumps.

The car ride down I-45 was uneventful and there was no sign of the recent floods and washouts on the road. Houston weather was unpredictable at all times and just last week all six lanes of the freeway, both directions, had been under water causing chaos and even some fatalities. Today, however, the traffic was moving freely in the sunshine and there was still no indication of the point of the day’s business.

They made small time chit-chat and Bill talked at length about the new turbine design and how it would revolutionize their market potential. Curtis already knew all of that, but he also knew that when Bill had a knot in his butt about something it was best to let him unravel it in his own sweet time.

Curtis had been immersed in the new turbine project anyway, at least throughout the design phase. The uplift in watts generated from the same base wind-load was going to change the entire dynamic of their sales profile. There wasn’t a competitor out there that could match their stats, and if the field trials currently going on west of San Antonio lived up to their initial promise, they were onto a potential goldmine. Suddenly everyone wanted to be in renewables and they were sitting pretty to clean up on the crest of the environmental tidal wave started by the ripples of Obama’s inauguration speech.

Generally speaking, he didn’t like Obama’s policies. Curtis was a cut-me-to-the-bone-and-I-will-still-bleed-true-blue-Texas-Republican kind of guy, just like his daddy and his grand-daddy before him. Texan first, American second, but always Republican. If you were to ask one, a Republican Texan would tell you that he didn’t like anything the Democrats did out of a combination of stubborn principle, loyalty to the Bush clan and a hereditary conservative tradition. Everyone knew, however, that most of all they didn’t like Democrats because they were Socialists, perhaps even Communists.

If his grand-daddy Jefferson had still been alive, Curtis was certain he’d have called Obama nuttin’ but an uppity left-wing neegrow and not thought it in any way racist.

Curtis liked to feel he was a little more progressive in his thinking, but there were still enough rednecks out there that hadn’t stumbled too far from the cave. Although, that said, even the worst of them had to admit that Obama carried out a masterful election campaign and if he ran the Whitehouse staff the way he ran his election team then he might just make some kind of a job of the Presidency. Lord knows someone would have to; the economy was a mess since the crash in 2008.

Obama’s emphasis on environmentally friendly energy sources had come as music to Curtis’ ears. This was just the boost that Tex-Eco Inc needed. Not that the market had been particularly tough in the last few years, with Texas already being the largest exporter of wind energy in the USA, larger even than most European countries who were generally thought to be the leaders on so-called green technologies, but that additional Presidential emphasis would certainly open doors that were currently firmly shut with the promise of easier, fast-tracked planning and access to new finance sources.

They swung off ‘45 and headed into The Woodlands, crossing the bridge over the Waterway by the iconic Anadarko Oil building, past their own more modest office complex and on into the central Woodlands Mall car parking area.

Changs was full of ladies who lunch; mostly rich wives sitting in the sunshine like exotic butterflies, almond eyed with glasses of chilled chardonnay and picture perfect nails.

Jeez man, the sun sure fires up a man’s blood huh? said Bill, nodding politely as they passed through the canopy area at the entrance of the restaurant. The Cougars are out to play today and no mistake.

Curtis laughed out loud at that. The notorious and not so rare Woodlands Cougar; he’d seen them often enough of course, sipping their drinks and chattering like multi-colored parakeets in the sun, but the salaciousness of Bill’s remark gave him a new lens to look at them through.

We’d best get you inside then Bill, in case you get clawed to death.

Oh am too old and tough for their kinda prey. They like ‘em young and juicy. Don’t hurt none to look tho!

For two? said the pretty young hostess as they came through the door.

Yes ma’am. They followed her to an open table.

After their server sang her way through the specials and they had ordered their drinks, Bill said, You know that trouble we’re having over in the UK?

Curtis released a controlled sigh. He knew alright. Everyone knew. The thing was a mess. They’d been approached by a UK company last year to make a joint bid on a large projected wind farm: Tex-Eco to do the technical engineering, design, and manage the fabrication specification; the UK company were to do the assembly on site and the field installation.

It all started well enough, as these things do, but cracks in the partnership started to appear pretty soon. There were planning problems, there were political problems, there were technical problems, there were finance problems, there were cultural problems.

So a cursory, Yeah, to Bill in acknowledgement that he knew about it was all it needed.

Yeah ain’t the half of it, Curtis. Times are tough, you know that. This recession is changing all the rules of the game and we are hurtin’ just like everyone else. We took a lot of risk when we went after that deal over there, a lotta risk. But that was back when working capital was easy to get and banks were throwing dollars at any and every investment opportunity. Now it’s a shit-storm out there and the banks are turning off the gushers on our cash. We need all our projects to start pushing some dollars back into this business instead of sucking them out. At this time, be advised that we’re bleeding to death. We’re over-extended on all fronts and we’re running out of money man. It’s as serious and as simple as that. If we don’t get some movement and get this log-jam cleared, then things could get pretty exciting around here. Now, this is off the record so I want your word this is just between us; you remember the lay-offs that happened last November? They’re nuthin’ to what could be comin’. This recession could finish us Curtis. I mean it; it’s that serious my friend.

Curtis was stunned. He knew times were tough. Times were tough everywhere after all. But for it to be as serious as this was a real shock. He and Carmen remortgaged and borrowed to the max to finance the lake home just last year, just before the bombs had fallen on the finance market, and they were barely keeping it together as it was. If he were to lose his job, what then?

Their server arrived back wearing a smile as wide as a Chevy’s grill and they hurriedly ordered their food.

So. What do we do Bill? he asked when she had gone.

I’m glad you asked, Curtis. I need you to take over this UK project. I want you to git over there and light a rocket under their asses. These Limeys just don’t seem to be able to get anything done; they redefine the urgency implied by the word mañana. I want some results and I want them now. They’re sitting on the first payment to us because they say the hardware provided on site so far is not to spec. That’s just a whole load of horseshit; I signed those technical specifications off myself. Every time I call them I git the runaround from some asshole called McDermott. I can’t tell if he’s a bean-counter or a goddamned engineer. The man is so persnickety about everything I kinda git the feeling he’s deliberately slowing us up. Trouble is I don’t know why. I want you out there next week to ride shotgun on those sons-a-bitches. Let’s get ‘er done man.

Curtis was speechless. Me? Go abroad? To the UK?

Their food was brought out and he had time to consider the full ramifications as they served the plates. Carmen would go nuts, that was a given. Kimberly would cry her eyes out; she’d never been apart from him for longer than a week and he already knew this wouldn’t be a quick turnaround. He’d never been out of the States before either, unless you counted that trip to Tijuana for Stacy’s bachelor party in ’97 and even then, that was only a one nighter.

What experience did he have of dealing with foreigners apart from the occasional email back and forth answering technical questions? This hadn’t been his project anyway but he knew that Bob Stoker, the original project manager, had taken leave of absence since his wife died of cancer and the project was rudderless at this time.

Sheesh, talk about a big ask.

But Bill, I don’t even have a passport man. Why me? Why not Andy or Bakram?

Don’t you worry about that, all taken care of. We got a fastrack application waiting for you back at the ranch and you’ll have it FedEx’d by the weekend. As to why you, well you are the most experienced manager, and you know it, and you have the technical background to make sure they won’t be able to pull the wool over your eyes with any techno-shit. Andy and Bakram have got their own projects to run and I am needed in San Antone’ on the trials as you know. We need all hands on deck and every single project we got out there to start to turn a profit. You’re the man Curtis. You’re not gonna tell me you won’t go I hope? Bill held his fork on its way to his mouth meaningfully.

Curtis looked at his hands on the table. No Bill. I’ll go. Of course I’ll go.

Good answer. Eat your Mongolian Beef, it’s delicious.

Chapter 3

"Can you get me the... he looked at the note again, Gaoth file, please Bonnie?"

"Do you mean the Gway file?"

Puzzled, he looked again at his note. Nope…says here G-A-O-T-H.

"Yes sir, that’s it, but it’s pronounced Gway, she said it with a smile. It’s Gaelic. My great uncle was from Scotland, somewhere up in the Hebrides, Lewis I think it was called, anyway they all spoke Gaelic there and he taught my dad a few words and phrases. I can hardly remember any of it now but I know that word. It means wind, but it also means a fart." She said the last part almost in a whisper and then giggled with embarrassment.

Uh-huh, said Curtis. Well can you get it for me anyway Bonnie? Please?

Yes sir, she said, immediately picking up the mood. Guess the boss didn’t feel like playing today then. It’s all on the system already. Do you want me to look out the contract hard-copies then?

Yep, and get me the drawings, tech refs and planning consents, he called over his shoulder as he headed for his office.

Good morning Miranda, he said as he entered.

Miranda as ever, said nothing. He walked to her tank and took food from the box on top and sprinkled some through the pop-hole. The large cichlid rose to the surface and gulped down the dried flakes gratefully.

Guess you’ll miss me when I’m gone, huh? Well don’t you worry baby, I’ll make sure I give Bonnie full training okay?

Here we go, said Bonnie as she breezed in with the files. Where do you want them? On the desk?

He nodded and headed for the coffee machine in the corner. He poured a cup and stirred in some Sweet’n’Lo, recalling the previous night’s discussions at home. Carmen hadn’t taken to the idea one little bit. She’d sulked for most of the evening in fact.

What the hell are we supposed to do when you’re gone, Curtis?

She had a point. This would be a much longer trip than usual. Like most Americans, Curtis was used to traveling. The average drive to a decent restaurant around Houston was at least ninety minutes after all, and to get any serious work done he had to get on an airplane on a fairly regular basis. Those trips, however, were the usual Monday morning out, Thursday night back, and so Carmen was used to mid-week layovers. This would be different. This could be three to four weeks with no breaks. Never mind Carmen being unhappy, he wasn’t exactly singing hymns at the prospect either. But it had to be done; Bill had made it completely clear. If they didn’t get all of these projects, particularly this Gaoth or Gowth or Gwayth or whatever to start paying up, then the company was finished. He sighed, added some creamer and headed back to his desk to start work.

Patrick put his head round the door. Hey big guy, I hear you’re off to the Old Country.

Curtis smiled and nodded, Uh-huh. News sure does travel fast in this place.

Andy told me. We’re working on that Gulf-Onshore project and he got some heat last night from Bill about speeding up the ROI. Still, I’d rather be in the firing line at home here in Texas, than overseas. How is Carmen taking it?

’Bout as well as you’d expect.

Patrick was a family friend from a long way back. He and Curtis played college football together at Texas State and the friendship stuck, more so because they had both gone for engineering electives, and despite a few years where Curtis had worked in California, they had been around each other pretty much all their adult lives.

Well, Becka and I will call over often, y’all know that, to make sure everything is running smooth at Rancho CCK. Andy liked to call the lake house that; a play on the fact that Carmen was a Mexicana and the initials of their names: Curtis, Carmen, and Kimberly. Anything else that we can do, y’all just need to holler. When you headed off?

I haven’t gotten my head around the job yet. It all came out of nowhere so I got this pile to dig through first. I can’t even pronounce the goddam name of the company we’re partnered with yet man, and get this; Bonnie said it’s a Gay-lic name for a Fart. What kinda operation was old Bob running over there anyhow?

Patrick laughed. I sure as hell can’t help you with that one. You’ll be taking your clubs with you of course?

Why?

"Why? You do know you’re going to Scotland right? The home of golf? The Old Course