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Zale looked at Goodman. "Say again."
"Two trillion barrels of oil from shale, and that's a conservative estimate."
"Good lord," muttered Sherman. "That's far below the estimates on government energy reports."
"Those were doctored," Goodman said, with a sly twinkle in his eye.
Riley laughed. "If you can get your cost below fifty dollars a barrel, you'll put the rest of us out of business."
"Not yet. At the moment we figure our cost will run around sixty dollars a barrel."
Morales leaned his chair back on two legs and placed his hands on the back of his head. "Now all that is left before we can begin our operation is the final completion of the oil pipeline system."
Zale did not immediately reply. He nodded at Sandra Delage, who pressed a button on a remote control that lowered a large screen. Almost instantly, a large map of Alaska, Canada and the lower forty-eight states filled the screen. A series of black lines traveled across national and state borders from oil fields to refineries to major cities. "Ladies and gentlemen, our oil transportation system. Thirty-seven thousand miles of underground pipeline. The final line from Sam Riley's Pioneer Oil fields in Nebraska, Wyoming, Kansas and the Dakotas will be in place and ready to send oil by the end of the month."
"Circumventing the environmentalists by laying pipe underground was a brilliant stroke," said Riley.
"The excavation pipe-laying machinery developed by Cerberus engineers enabled our construction crews working around the clock to lay ten miles of pipe every twenty-four hours."
"An ingenious concept," said Jesus Morales, "leasing the right-of-way from the railroads and laying pipe along the track."
"I must admit it saved untold billions in litigation and hassles with private and public land owners," acknowledged Zale. "It also allows us to pump oil directly into every major city in both countries without restrictions or having to worry about strict governmental regulations."
"It's a miracle we've come this far without interference from the Justice Department," said Sally Morse.
"We've covered our trail well," said Zale. "Our moles in the Justice Department ensure that any mention or questions by their agents or from the FBI are quietly misplaced or filed away for future review."
Guy Kruse looked at Zale. "I understand a congressional committee led by Congresswoman Loren Smith is launching an investigation into your affairs at Cerberus."
"Smith's probe will go nowhere," Zale asserted firmly.
"How can you be so sure?" asked Morse. "Loren Smith is one member of Congress who definitely is not on our side."
Zale looked at her, his eyes cold. "The matter will be handled."
"Like the Emerald Dolphin and the Golden Marlin?" Machowsky murmured sarcastically.
"The end justified the means," retorted Zale. "The ultimate goal was accomplished by blaming the disasters on malfunctions by Elmore Egan's engines. All contracts by shipbuilders to install his magnetohydrodynamic engines have been canceled. And with Egan dead, it's only a matter of days before we have the formula for his super oil. Once we go into production, we will control and share in the profits of the manufacture and sales of his engines. As you can see, we're covering every side of the fuel oil market."
"Can you assure us that there will be no more interference from NUMA?" asked Sherman.
"A temporary situation. They have no jurisdiction in our commercial affairs."
"Pirating their survey vessel and crew was not wise," said Riley.
"A circumstance that unexpectedly turned against us. But that is history. No trails lead to Cerberus."
Dan Goodman raised his hand. "I, for one, applaud your successful campaign to enrage the general public against foreign oil coming into the United States. For decades, no one cared where their fuel supplies were coming from. But with the supertanker disasters your Viper group caused in Fort Lauderdale, Newport Beach, Boston and Vancouver, where millions of gallons of oil spills invaded highly populated and affluent areas of the country, public outcry to become self-sufficient in oil has soared."
"All those arranged accidents within the space of nine months made the Exxon Valdez spill in Alaska look like a minor melodrama," agreed Morales.
Zale shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "A tragic necessity. The longer the cleanup goes on, the stronger the demand for domestic oil."
"But haven't we sold our souls to the devil to establish our market position and monopoly?" asked Sally Morse.
"Monopoly is a distasteful word, my dear lady," said Zale. "I prefer to call it a market trust."
Morse held her head in her hands. "When I think of all the people, the birds, animals and fish that have
