The Nevada Job by Vince Milam

Author:Vince Milam [Milam, Vince]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TRG, Inc.
Published: 2020-12-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

I didn’t give a rat’s ass if my presence disturbed Andris Simko. But there sat the big enchilada in all his warped glory, and I wasn’t blowing the intel collection opportunity.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong impression, Mr. Simko. I’m a simple investigator. Nothing more.”

Bascom the lobbyist edged past me and said, “Let’s get to know each other. Mr. Lee, would you like something to drink? A soda pop? Water? Have a seat, have a seat.”

He pointed toward an empty chair across from Antonov, well separated from Simko.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

I sat. Bascom parked on a nearby smaller desk’s edge. The four of us filled the room.

“What exactly would you be investigating, Mr. Lee?” Simko asked.

His cheek remained planted against his palm while he removed the reading glasses and held them across his lap.

“New rare earth discoveries. Yours and Exponent’s operations are the two big players. That’s not news.”

He stared back as his unblinking eyes assessed me.

“Who is your client?” Simko asked.

“I don’t know. I never do.”

Not for the first time, the client separation provided through Global Resolutions proved valuable. Seconds ticked off, the room silent. The low rumbling noises of heavy earthmoving equipment mixed with the window-unit AC hum.

Bascom, ever the facilitator, broke the silence.

“Well, the first thing you should know, Mr. Lee, is the state of Nevada welcomes Mr. Simko’s investment. KDB Mining provides a large number of good-paying jobs for our citizens.”

“Does the state of Nevada also welcome Exponent’s investment?”

“We welcome any investor who follows the rules and benefits our state.”

Translation: the rules included sliding sufficient money into the hands of the governor and select state players and, yes indeed, following those rules ensured the welcome mat would be on full display. The Canadians hadn’t followed the rules. I addressed Antonov, the site’s manager.

“With all the activity here, it seems this is a rich area. Can you add anything to that?”

“No.”

His voice was guttural, the accent thick. A dour Russian who held no truck with private investigators. A part of me didn’t blame him. The cat was responsible for delivering the goods, and Simko wasn’t a person who accepted failure. But if there was physical harassment aimed at the Exponent operations, even if demanded by his boss, Antonov was the one responsible for those on-the-ground actions.

“Do you have a timeline for when you folks might hit full production?”

Antonov stared back without a reply. Simko adjusted his seating and sat up. His chin remained buried among loose folds of neck skin. His eyes blazed as he cleared his throat with a growling sound.

“Are you sure I can’t give you something to drink, Mr. Simko?” Bascom asked.

Simko lifted a dismissive hand toward Bascom and continued his focus on me.

“What happened in Bolivia, Mr. Lee?” he asked.

I could have danced around a direct answer or claimed minimal knowledge, but this little parlay in the Nevada wildlands deserved blunt answers. The man I dealt with would deliver the same.

“Your people murdered several locals. The locals fought back.”

“So you say. I say the local community held a revolution and murdered my people.

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