Herbert's head throbbed. So much money in one shot, but only if he served up Sonny on a plate. Connell didn't make idle threats; it was now or nothing.
"Well, thanks for wasting my time,” Connell said. “I'll get my information elsewhere."
"Wait!” Herbert said, hearing how loud he sounded in his quiet office. “I'll give it to you.” Herbert gave Connell the number. Even as he did it, he knew he was doing something wrong, but Connell would just find another way to get the information. Wrong or right, Herbert had already given up the goods on Sonny McGuiness. To not get anything out of that mistake was just plain bad business.
"You're a smart man, Herbert,” Connell said. “A very smart man. I also need any information you can give me on Sonny himself. What other sites has he discovered, and what companies does he usually work with?"
Herbert's jaw opened in astonishment. Connell had never asked for such details before.
"I… I can't tell you that."
"I want that information and I want it now, Herbert,” Connell said in a cold, detached voice. “Give me all the information you have on Sonny McGuiness. I'll double my offer. Fifty thousand dollars."
"But that information isn't part of the deal. The deal is I come across info on any big finds and I call you. That's it."
"The deal's changed,” Connell said. “You'll give me all the info right now, or you're out of the stable. No more payoffs."
Herbert felt his face growing red with anger. “You… you wouldn't do that! I've given you great information!"
"Don't be stupid, Herbert. You think you're the only one on the payroll? You think I do this shit for my health? I have a system, a system that gives me major finds, and if you're not part of that system, then you're out of that system."
Herbert paused, then clenched his teeth. His head felt hot. He knew he'd bitten off way more than he could chew this time. “I think I'll take my twenty-five thousand and call it finished, Mr. Kirkland."
This time it was Connell's turn to pause.
"It's a one-time offer,” he said finally. “When you're out, you're out for good. I want that information."
"I gave you his number."
"I won't forget this, Herbert."
Herbert swallowed and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I know that, Mr. Kirkland."
Herbert hung up the phone, then dropped his face into his hands. Guilt perched on Herbert's conscience like a buzzard on a coyote's carcass. He'd sold Sonny out. Just like that. And to Connell Kirkland, no less. Connell was not a nice person, to put it lightly, and he would stop at nothing to possess this find. In mining circles Connell's nickname was “Cutthroat."
Connell wanted this one, wanted it bad. Sonny was in deep shit. And Herbert knew he was the one to blame.
Connell's fingers drummed the desktop, ba-da-ba-bump, ba-da-ba-bump.
He hated Herbert Darker. He hated any whiner, and Herbert was a whiner of the highest degree. Business was business, and if you had to sell someone out to make money that's what you did. But you didn't whine about it, you didn't try to rationalize it, try to justify it in order to assuage your guilt.
Connell had dozens of agents performing the same task as Herbert Darker. He referred to the numerous informants as his “stable,” as if he were a pimp and the spies his whores. He'd created the network four years ago with only three people, two in America and one in South Africa. The system was illegal but profitable, and he'd gradually added to the roster. Now his stable encompassed twenty-seven geologists and environmental analysts from across the globe, all of whom knew that any potential find they reported to Connell would earn them a quick five grand.
Those calls usually amounted to nothing. Sometimes they were outright bullshit, people trying to scam him. The one thing — the only thing — he liked about Herbert Darker was that the man never tried to run a scam.
Herbert never called with low-grade sites, never called with finds that amounted to nothing, and never, ever called with erroneous data. Each time Connell took a call from Herbert, it merited special attention. Herbert triple-checked every sample, and on top of that often researched the site himself before calling.
This time, however, Herbert had called after only one test, and less than three hours after completing it. Very amateurish. Or at least it would be from anyone else. It meant Herbert had almost pissed himself from excitement. Ten ounces of platinum per ton of ore would do that to a fella.
If the numbers held true, the find would be by far the richest vein ever discovered. Connell smiled at Herbert's petty greed. The man risked jail and the destruction of his business for a lousy twenty-five grand when the platinum vein's worth might measure in the hundred-million range.
Connell paced his office, staring out his window on the fifty-sixth floor of the Renaissance Center building. It was dank and drizzly above the Detroit River, thick clouds blotting out the stars. His cheap suit itched. He ignored the distraction. He could afford far better clothing, better even than the custom-tailored affairs sported by EarthCore's other executives. Hell, by now he could probably afford almost anything, although he hadn't checked his bank statement in over two years. Connell had more important things to do with his time than spend it worrying about appearances.
He felt anxious. If this find was even half as big as Herbert Darker estimated, it would be one of the richest sites on the face of the planet. It would definitely be EarthCore's biggest asset. A sense of urgency filled him — any rival company that discovered the site would move fast to buy or lease the property. At the moment, Connell held the edge. He had to get to Sonny McGuiness and he had to get to him fast.
First, however, he had to inform the boss.
"Come in, sweetie,” Barbara Yakely said through thick cigar smoke as Connell entered her massive office. The office, and everything in it, had once belonged to Barbara's husband, Charles Yakely Jr. Since the plane crash that killed Charles Jr. and her son — Charles III — just over a decade ago, EarthCore and the big office belonged to her.
She gave Connell a warm smile. He was her favorite. Most thought that Connell had garnered her favor with his penchant for big-dollar digs, but it went much deeper than money and profit. They shared the unspoken void of true love lost to sudden, heart-ripping tragedy. She'd watched him change from a gregarious, wide-smiled person into a hard-faced, hard-hearted man. Once upon a time he'd been a familiar face to almost everyone in the company. In the last four years, however, he'd become nothing more than a voice on the phone to most employees, a voice of pure efficiency and power.
Efficiency was the key word, she reminded herself. Efficiency, and profitability.
"This better be important, sweetie,” Barbara said, her gravely voice holding a note of impatience.
"It's important.” Connell's features were expressionless, but then they always were. “We have a lead on something that could be big."
"How big?"
"How familiar are you with the platinum market?"
Barbara shrugged. EarthCore had no platinum interests, and as such she didn't concern herself with the subject.
"Prices have risen steadily for the last five years,” Connell said. “Ford introduced a new catalytic converter two years ago and hailed it as the next generation of pollution control. Their converters, each of which requires two ounces of platinum, are a revolutionary step in automobile pollution control. The system not only reduces pollution, but the air that leaves the car is cleaner than the air that goes in. No more pollution. No more smog. The end of the electric-car threat. The oil companies are nuts over the technology."