“That would be me,” Sam said, meeting him half way to shake hands.
The man met Sam’s eyes immediately. “My name is Michael Rodriguez.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Call me Mick…” Smiling affably, he winked and said, “Only my employees and those who want to suck up to me for money call me Mr. Rodriguez. Unless, that is, you want to work for me? Because I know you don’t need the money.”
So he knows who I am… or at least who my father is…
“Sure.” Sam was surprised by Mick’s gregarious attitude. Growing up with his own father, he had met many of the world’s ultra-rich, and this man made the first exception to the rule, that all such men act as if and believe they own the planet and all those within it. “What can I do for you, Mick?”
“Sam… may I call you Sam?” Mick asked and then, receiving the slight nod from Sam, continued, “I’ve heard reports that record numbers of fish have been found dead or dying near “The Dipper,” one of my silver mines. Each year the Dead Zone seems to be getting worse… maybe there’s something to this whole global warming thing, or maybe we just take too much from the soil through Northern America?”
Sam wasn’t sure whether or not Mick was attacking America’s stance on global warming. He was about to mention that this year’s cause of the Dead Zone was triggered by the mine, when Mick continued to speak.
“I’m here to say that I would like to offer you our full support with your investigation.”
“That’s very good of you, Mick.”
“Not at all. It’s the least someone born into my position could offer. Do we have any idea what’s been causing it?”
“As a matter of fact, we do,” Sam said.
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, son, what’s causing this disaster?”
“It appears that blasting from your mine may have caused damage to a local Mayan tomb site of great archeological significance, which has in turn released large amounts of hydrogen cyanide into the waters.”
“Cyanide? We don’t even use that on our mine site. We’re a silver mine, not a gold mine — I’ve no idea where that could have even come from.”
“We don’t know for certain yet, but it appears the Mayans may have discovered the benefits of cyanide in separating gold many centuries before the Europeans did back in the seventeenth century. Somehow, your blasting appears to have opened an old Mayan stockpile.”
“Okay, wow. So what can we do about it?”
“We’re going to need to send a team in to find the primary source of contamination. Then, we’re going to need to safely secure it without damaging the archeological site, which will be performed by another team in conjunction with the Mexican government. Last, we’re going to need to repopulate the local fish.”
“Not a problem, pal. Let me know what assistance you need, and I’ll give you my full support. Then send me the bill. If we caused this mess, I want to take responsibility for it. We’re not one of those companies that destroys the land and then moves on without repairing.”
“That’s very good of you, Mick. You’ll be the first I’ve had dealings with to take responsibility with such equanimity. We appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. I still don’t know how this could have been caused by one of my blasting sites. I mean, it’s very unlikely that the aftershock could have damaged the Ciudad Del Carmen,” Mick said, his voice confident, but not pugnacious. “Roberto Jackson, my manager of the mine, says that the Little Dipper has gone to great lengths to protect the valuable archeological relics of Ciudad Del Carmen. In fact, I made the decision a couple of years ago to halt tunneling down the southern long wall, because of the low level risk. Now, the mine moves more towards the north and east, well below the ocean floor.”
“I know it does.”
“Then why do you believe that it’s my mine that has caused all this damage?”
“Because it wasn’t the Ciudad Del Carmen that was damaged.”
The skin around Mick’s strong jawline tightened — only slightly, but it was the first time Sam had noticed the man’s confidence waver. He was probably only just now realizing that it was possible for his mine to be responsible for a disaster that may end up costing him millions to repair.
“Then what Mayan archeological site were you referring to? There aren’t any other sites nearby.” His eyebrow rose with genuine curiosity.
“A subterranean pyramid, found beneath the ocean seabed…” Sam pointed on a map of the Gulf of Mexico to the exact location, “right here.”
“Shit.” Rodriguez’ face became ashen, and small drops of sweat dripped from his forehead despite the Maria Helena’s powerful air conditioning. “That’s exactly where the Big Dipper runs!”
Sam hadn’t considered the significance until that moment. “If it breaks through, more than 400 feet of water will be pushed through at a force that will kill everyone inside the tunnel!”
“Exactly… please forgive me for a moment, I must call my underground manager.”
“Of course.”
Sam watched as Rodriguez calmly walked towards the outer deck, where his helicopter now rested silently. The man spoke on the phone for a couple minutes. His legs were firm on the deck, not pacing, like so many do during a crisis.
“What do you make of him?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know yet. He seems like a nice enough guy, for someone who’s on the same playing field as my father in overall wealth, but there’s something that I don’t trust about him. I just don’t know what… maybe it’s just my inbuilt dislike of the ultra-rich.”
“Yeah, I hate you rich guys, too…”
“It’s nothing that he’s done or said. It’s what he hasn’t that concerns me.”
“What do you mean? He sounded to me like he was happy to provide whatever help he could.”
“That’s just it. Do you know what my dad’s response was when I told him what the Maria Helena was spending her time doing this month?”
“No.”
“He said, ‘but there can’t be much money in that sort of work.’ That’s what people in my dad’s caliber like to do. Avoid paying what they owe. This man sounds like he hasn’t even talked to his lawyers yet, despite potentially being liable for millions.”
“Okay, I’ll keep my eyes on him. See what wildcard he thinks he’s holding up his sleeve.”
Mick walked back, the serious look on his face now gone. “I’m sorry about that. I just called my underground manager. He’s pulling the team out of the tunnel now. I’ve more than a thousand Mexican workers several hundred feet below the waterline. If that thing breaks, every one of them will be dead before they know what hit them. We’re going to have to send a team through to close the entire tunnel, or risk killing them all. The biggest problem is that water is coming through small cracks, and there’s a practical river pouring down the tunnel. The pumps should be able to keep the tunnels open to my men, but the flowing water will make it very difficult to reach.”
“With that, I might just have a solution…” Sam said.
Sam switched on the projector.
It showed a hand-drawn diagram of the subterranean Mayan pyramid. A red symbol like a lightning bolt highlighted the point on the eastern tunnel of the pyramid where Tom had been nearly killed by the outward flowing hydrogen cyanide.
“This is where the crack was found in the tunnel.” Sam pointed to the spot where the leak was first identified. “We’ll have no way of finding out how close the other side of the hole is to the Big Dipper, but for the blasting at that point to damage the enormous blocks, one must assume that it’s pretty close.”