The driver leaned out the window and handed Vernon his ID. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for a flood?”
“Wardrobe malfunction,” Vernon said. “Anyone else in there?”
The driver handed over two more ID cards. Vernon looked at all the cards and read them aloud for Emerson’s benefit.
“Miles Bemmer, Timothy Mann, Bartholomew Young,” Vernon said, slightly louder than necessary.
“Tin Man and the director,” Riley whispered to Emerson. “What the heck’s going on?”
“Proceed,” Vernon said, returning the IDs to the driver.
The Humvee drove a short distance, stopped, and idled, and the transport moved up to the gatehouse.
“Namaste,” Wayan Bagus said to the transport driver. “May we see your identification?”
“What’s with the ‘Namaste’?” the driver said, handing over his ID. “Are you on loan from some other army?”
“Many apologies,” Wayan Bagus said. “You are correct to be confused. It is my understanding that it is customary to offer a salute in these situations.” He snapped to attention, raised his right hand sharply to the brim of his campaign hat, and his trousers fell down around his ankles.
“Cripes,” the driver said. “What kind of underwear are you wearing? It looks like a diaper. Is that what central supply is handing out now?”
Wayan Bagus looked down at himself. “I humbly accept whatever gifts the universe bestows on me. I found this in my laundry basket.”
“Looks like a towel,” Vernon said. “Little Buddy, when we get back to civilization we gotta take you shopping and get you some Calvins.”
The transport driver snatched his ID back, rolled up his window, drove through the gate, and both vehicles disappeared into the night. No one in the truck noticed the two hitchhikers who had snuck up behind and grabbed on to the rear handholds.
EIGHTEEN
Riley and Emerson held on tight as the truck rolled and bumped along the rough terrain, navigating around thickets of woods interspersed with bubbling hot springs and mud pots. The smell of sulfur filled the air, getting stronger with every passing minute.
“Do you hear that?” Riley asked. “It sounds like pounding.”
Moments later, the truck passed into a clear-cut section of the woods with a military-looking compound in the center dominated by a large Quonset-style warehouse. The hut was surrounded by what appeared to be at least fifty immense oil-drilling rigs and an assortment of heavy machinery. Pipelines ran from each of the drills to the Quonset hut, like some giant wagon wheel. Several soldiers dressed in the Rough Rider uniforms and carrying assault rifles patrolled the area, keeping watch over a variety of laborers in khaki jumpsuits working the drills.
Emerson and Riley jumped off the back of the truck at the perimeter of the clearing and dashed behind an unmanned drill.
Riley blinked and sniffed the air. The smell of sulfuric acid was so strong now that it stung her eyes.
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“What the heck is this place?” she asked. “It looks like they’re drilling for oil, but I’ve never seen any rigs that big, and I’m from Texas.”
Emerson examined the drill. “I’d wager no one has ever seen a drill like this. It’s not even made from steel. If I had to guess based on the color and luster, I’d say it was constructed from something in the platinum family of metals.”
Riley ran her hand over the rig. “That would cost a small fortune. Why would anybody do that?”
“This could easily weigh fifty tons,” Emerson said. “Last I checked the spot price of platinum was twelve hundred dollars per ounce. That would make this one alone a two-billion-dollar piece of machinery.”
Riley raised her eyebrows. “But there must be fifty or so here in the compound.”
“That would be a total of one hundred billion dollars if my math is correct,” Emerson said. “Of course, there are cheaper metals, like rhodium, that resemble platinum and cost somewhat less. Still, there’s no way around it. Someone spent an obscene amount of money to set up this facility.”
Riley shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would they use platinum instead of steel?”
“Platinum has two properties that steel does not. It is extremely hard, and it has a melting temperature of about three thousand degrees.”
“Neither of which is important if you’re drilling for oil.”