The Dryline. Jack Grubbs
the new JETS. If Tom’s ideas pan out, I am going to turn this into a fortune. I guarantee it.” A big toothy grin appeared beneath intense eyes and crooked nose.
“Duquette is putting pressure on me. Still, yesterday’s discussion went well.” Fred Barrister looked back and forth between Bart Miles and Frank Milsap. The Wellington Oil and Exploration conference table was so large it made him feel small. Nervousness, like small insects, crawled all over him. “He called again this morning and told me he wanted to see the entire file from Soboda, along with all actions I have taken.”
“So what are you going to do?” asked Bart. “Because you sure as hell are going to do something.”
Fred moved uncomfortably in his very comfortable chair. “Well, I plan to write up a letter that is nothing more than regurgitation of what has already been written, except that it now will have my signature on it.” He remembered something that Elam had told him. “One thing that may help is that he told me a new model is being made. I told him that we could write an addendum if the changes are minor. I also told him that if the changes were major, we might have to submit a new patent. He told me that the changes were small but I think he’s hedging.”
Bart interrupted. “Yeah, he told us about an improved model. That’s what we’re interested in. How soon do they expect to have it and how long can you hold them off?”
“Based on what he was saying, it should be completed in three to four weeks. I can add several weeks to the timeline by making the argument that their tweaks to the system are considered major changes. Even with minor changes, I can slow the process down while making them think we are moving along.” Fred ran his tongue around the outside of his teeth as though cleaning them, a maneuver often made when thinking on his feet. A small grin grew. “One other thing that might make it much easier for us is the concept of being the ‘first to invent’.”
Fred gave a short class on the significance of being the first to invent a device and its priority over being the first to file a patent. He argued that if the changes being made by Don and Elam could be construed as a new design, and then if Wellington Oil submits plans of basically the same new device, they could claim that Wellington was actually the first to invent the new device. “It all boils down to us being able to obtain either the plans or a prototype of the new design, making a few small modifications, and submitting it first.” He grinned wider. “I can get it done easily.”
Bart broke in, “I don’t want others getting involved. Understood?”
“No problem. I can get the help without anyone knowing what is going on.” Fred felt confident. Cocky was more like it.
Frank asked, “If you’re the lawyer, why don’t you have the plans of the new device already? I mean, how in the hell can someone work with a patent lawyer on a product and not disclose the specific design?”
“I don’t know. But legally, he doesn’t have to submit the new design until they are ready to. My guess is that they are still working on it. Duquette said he’d give me some details soon, but not everything. Just enough to keep the patent going.” The smile widened again. It was huge. Fred Barrister was rocking and rolling. “If they build the prototype, which is exactly what I think they are doing, and if we can have access to it long enough to make our own set of plans, we’ll have a better chance of submitting first while steering clear of legal issues.” I just nailed it, he thought. I am one smart SOB.
Bart wrote a couple of notes on a pad of paper, circled a few words, and then looked back at Fred Barrister. “You need to find out what is going on with the plans and the prototype. I can take care of obtaining any prototype and getting our own plans from it.”
“I can do it.”
“Fine. Frank, any questions?”
“Nope. Seems everything’s going well.”
Bart spoke dismissively to Fred. “I don’t care about whatever else you have going on. This is where your effort will be. I want to see you here once a week. Schedule it with my secretary. That’s all.” Bart got up and headed for the executive restroom. No handshake. No acknowledgement. His only comment being, “Frank, hang on for a minute.”
Once Fred Barrister departed, Bart and Frank analyzed where they were with obtaining the JETS. Bart sat at the head of the table, Frank occupying a seat two chairs away.
“Once he has this new prototype out in Luling or wherever, we’ll have Carlos steal it over a weekend. We analyze it, make and submit our own designs for a patent, and, while Barrister sandbags their efforts, walk off with billions.”
Frank played devil’s advocate. “I still see a lot of ‘ifs’ in this whole thing. Don’t underestimate Duquette. We need to plan this very carefully. Can you really do it?”
Bart shrugged and rebutted Frank’s concerns. “This device belongs to us. Period. If they can, OPEC and all the other greedy bastards will eventually move the price to two hundred dollars a barrel. China and India keep increasing the demand and that’s not going to change. Hell, the Americans just don’t understand, but their days of buck-fifty gas are gone forever. The big oil companies are raking in money by the billion-dollar basket load. As for the United States, all this crap about alternate energy will get bogged down in governmental incompetence. We’ll be dead before oil is no longer at the top of the chain.” Bart had a hard time sitting still, the anticipation of untold wealth filling him with glee. “And Frank, my good man, it’s our turn. We’re going to dip into the pot for personal fortunes that may even be too big for your greedy ass.” His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
Frank softened at Bart’s absolute conviction of success.
Bart started to chuckle. “Yes indeed, Frank. We’re going to steal this thing right from under their eyes. Can you imagine what they’re going to think when we roll our own version off the assembly line? ‘Duh, what the hell happened to us?’” Bart laughed and Frank followed. Bart had to stand up. He went to the window and looked down on the people of Houston, scurrying from place to place in search of lofty, mostly unobtainable dreams. He could not take the grin from his face. He turned around, slamming his right fist into his left hand, and smiled at Frank. “This is so damn much fun. All I have to do now is to make sure my sleazebag ex-wife doesn’t get one penny of it.”
They laughed again.
Sixteen
Saturday, January 30
Broken Wing Ranch
Ensconced in front of his computer, Tom finished the JETS redesign just before his self-imposed deadline of eleven o’clock on the third night. He summed up his evening fairly accurately—Not the way to spend a Saturday night. Redesigning the wellhead section had been easy; the down-hole well chamber had not. He placed the AutoCAD drawings of his work on the large drafting table and studied his work. To save some time, Tom would pass the AutoCAD drawings on to Paige and she would run an analysis of the strength of Tom’s system.
The different mechanical parts of the system were detailed in sharp lines of differing colors. Top, side, and offset views would be complicated to the average person. To a machinist the drawings would be a simple recipe. Satisfied, Tom reasoned that his modifications would result in a system that was robust, able to get knocked around in the hole, and capable of moving oil at a rate up to thirty barrels an hour. Realistically, a thirty-barrel-per-hour stripper well would be nearly impossible to find. He played around with some figures. The new system would most likely operate much more than eight hours a day, and the price of oil would never be at forty dollars a barrel again. Finally deciding upon a minimal amount of three barrels an hour for at least sixteen hours a day at a conservative price of eighty