Don Vino regarded Tom Hagen with poorly veiled displeasure...

"An offer they can't refuse? Who do these fucks think they are? Have you informed our friends in Las Vegas & Texas?"

Tom squirmed, "Texas are pissed, they've spent a lot of years & money with local companies prospecting potential new oil fields in this Tarnacky place, only to find the biggest new oil reserves in the Southern Hemisphere are a few hundred miles south in this god forsaken Nowheresville."

"What's it called again?" Asked the Don.
"SunnyO, or something. A no horse town halfway between nowhere & nowhere. What's worse, there's only one patch of land big enough to host the operation & these fucks are refusing to sell."

"What are our options?"
"Las Vegas say they know of a local contact who might be usefully engaged. He's done work for Halliburton's in the Middle East in the past. Ex-special forces guy turned lay preacher. He's been a bit flakey since he copped a load of shrapnel & had a steel plate fitted in his head some years back, and has a fondness for chemical stimulation. But Vegas say when he's good he's very good. When he's bad, he's comatose."

"Is Goldstein not available?"
"He's already over committed with our banking friends."

The Don harrumphed "Well go and see this Preacherman. Have him make contact with these SunnyO people & gain their trust. If he succeeds, tell him the Datura plant growing in the front garden is his. We can't afford to let Texas & Las Vegas down on this one. And let Washington know we may need to borrow some Navy Seals if this plan doesn't work. We will get this land, and at our price, not theirs. And lastly, get on the phone to Don Brashi & explain the situation, maybe when he's running the place he can have these fucks gone by lunchtime."

He held up his ring festooned hand for Hagen to kiss, as a sign their meeting was over.