Chapter Fifteen #3
“You can, to a point,” Nate said between bites.
“The problem is that it’s low grade, or dated, or unverified.
I need the real deal. A large-scale map, say something like 1:500,000 or higher, is not going to present the level of detail we need to overlay with the more detailed points that we have to reference from Philby and Thomas. ”
“Makes sense,” Wally conceded.
“Well, think about it. The Rub’ al Khali is a massive landmass filled with practically nothing. Over two hundred and fifty thousand square miles. The smallest mistake could have massive consequences. It’s the same principle as minutes of angle.”
“I don’t follow.” Wally looked perplexed.
“Well, misjudging the minute of angle while shooting means that even the smallest error in aim is amplified downrange when it comes to hitting your target. The farther the bullet travels from the initial point of aim, the more of a spread you get.”
“Right,” Wally said in a bored voice. “I went to sniper school, mate, I know what the term means. What do you mean?”
“I’m getting to that,” Nate said, narrowing his eyes at the interruption.
“The same principle applies here. If we think that an underground river runs through a certain point, but we are off because of the poor quality of the data, we’ll miss the mark.
We could be only a mile off and we’d never find what we were looking for.
If we are farther off due to miscalculations on a shitty map, then the chance of hitting the mark decreases exponentially. ”
“Got it,” Wally agreed, “although I do keep hearing the word we in there…”
Nate flushed, visibly embarrassed. “Shit, Wally, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
Wally grinned. “So now I’m not invited, then?”
Nate’s brain was fried from the mental gymnastics of the day, and it took him a second to realize that Wally was messing with him. “Alright, then, wiseass, you do what you want, but I have to see this through.”
“Look, I don’t have a case right now, which means I have nothing but time. I’ll stick around for a while and help out, if you don’t mind,” Wally said.
“Really?” Nate asked. “Not that you’re not welcome, but…”
“We’re mates, Nate. And honestly, I’ve been having a good time. It’s been a few years since I got pissed and had a good rumble like last night. It’s not the same without someone you trust watching your back.” This time Wally was sincere.
Nate held his beer up. “I would be honored to have your help, Sergeant Walton,” he said with a smile, referring to Wally by his former rank. Wally raised his beer and the two clanked glasses.
“God save the King.”
“God save the King,” Nate repeated. They each gulped down some beer. “We just need to hope that we can find a correlation between the underground water sources and St. John Philby’s well.”
“Sin-juhn,” Wally corrected.
“What?”
“It’s pronounced Harry ‘sin-juhn’ Philby.”
“Really?” Nate asked.
“Yeah,” Wally said. “I served with a Rupert who was called that.”
Nate thought about it, perplexed that he hadn’t known that. “Fascinating.”
“So,” Wally said, “what’s the next step?”
“I already told you,” Nate replied.
“Yeah, I got it. Wait to see who responds. So?”
“So what?”
“So open that bloody thing up and see if we have any takers. I’m on the clock. Ain’t got all day.”
Nate gave him a hard stare with his eyes but grinned. “I think I might have to implement more stringent hiring criteria,” he joked.
Wally didn’t miss a beat. “You can’t afford me, mate.”
Opening the laptop, Nate logged back into his email. There were a few responses. Two were automated replies, but one caught his eye. It was from a man who worked at the Secretariat of the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification, or the UNCCD.
“Well, that’s a mouthful,” Wally said when Nate read it out loud. “What’s he say?”
“Looks like he’s recently been working on the issue of the water crisis in Saudi Arabia.
He says the UNCCD commissioned a study to chart freshwater sources in the country, including the Empty Quarter…
” Nate scanned the email before excitedly slamming his fist down on the table.
“He received the study earlier this month and forwarded it to someone in the United Nations Environment Programme in Bahrain. But… he has a copy.”
“Bloody hell, that’s fucking lucky,” Wally said.
“No kidding. He said the study is to support a U.N. expedition to chart new wells in the region so he can’t release the study, but he’ll allow us to come and take a look at it.”
“Is that good?” Wally asked. “Don’t we need a copy?”
Nate nodded. “One thing at a time. I’ve no doubt we can take some discreet photos and some detailed notes that will allow me to re-create the area of interest for our purposes.”
“Alright, then. When and where?”
“His office is in Bonn, Germany.”
“Well, that’s not too far,” Wally said. “We can catch a flight or road trip it and be there in a day.”
“Hmmm,” Nate said. “He’s offered to let us examine the report first thing Thursday morning, so we’ve got a day and a half.”
Wally clapped his hands together. “It’s settled, then. We’ll road trip, stop off at a few pubs on the way, and make it in time for Thursday morning. What’s this geezer’s name anyway?”
Nate scrolled down to the signature line at the bottom of the email.
“Gilbert Richter.”