“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.”