The Rig 3: Eye of the Hurricane Page 3

  Dave's military training had the opposite effect. All his adult life he had been told to follow orders, yes, but more than that he had been trained to follow his instincts and to find out his own mind. Like most ex-soldiers, he had also developed a healthy mistrust of any form of authority. His peers on the rig had always seen him as a conspiracy theorist, a bit of a looney case. Everyone apart from the Irish bartender, Cillian. He wondered whether the Irishman was still alive. He hoped he was, the man was great company and had been even before ‘The City’. The Irish pub had been on a floor above the Plaza. If Cillian had been by his bar, he would probably have escaped the blast.

  “Where are we going?” Wes asked. “Back to the bar?”

  Dave thought for a moment. “No. I doubt those bastards are dead; they'll know where we were already. We need another place.”

  Sheila looked around, the gun still pointed down the corridor as she walked backwards behind them. “Where do you propose we go? Not many places left.”

  “Maybe go to the Irish pub?” Dave muttered.

  Wes frowned at him.

  “Another bar? We can't get her back on her feet with booze.”

  They stepped up the stairs, half dragging Joy with them. Suddenly Wes stopped. “Dave... do you think you could get us into the luxury guest suites?”

  Dave pondered it. “If I can get to a computer, I can unlock them, yes.”

  “There's a security office on that deck.”

  “That'll work.”

  It took them half an hour to climb all the way to the luxury residential deck. It was the place where all the big wigs lived when they were at ‘The City’. Sheila helped Dave and Wes set Joy down. She was still out of it. Dave ran into the security booth and started up the PC. His fingers flew over the keys as he looked for a way to access the security system of the suites. All of a sudden, there was a bleep that indicated he was in.

  “Any preference for a suite, Wes?” His tone was back to normal.

  “Just fucking pick one.”

  For a moment, it was as though Dave was back in the control room for a dive and Wes and he were joshing over the radio.

  “Number thirty-three good for you?”

  “Suits me fine, man.”

  Dave hit the enter key and a door further up the corridor opened. Suite thirty-three. He switched off the screen of the computer and then looked around. In one of the drawers was a Taser, and in another was a laptop. He picked up both, found some cables and walked out.

  Joy's eyelids were opening and closing rapidly when Wes and Dave lifted her up again. Sheila went ahead of them now and entered suite thirty-three with her gun at the ready. She did a sweep of all the rooms, but found nobody there. It had been empty.

  The suite had three bedrooms, each with a king-sized bed. There was a bathroom and even a Jacuzzi. Wes and Dave carried Joy over to one of the beds and laid her down carefully. Sheila shut the door and then came in to close the blind before the porthole. There were no flames around this suite anymore, though there was clear evidence of burning on the porthole. She switched off the light and she and Wes left Dave to take care of Joy.

  There was a well-stocked mini bar and Sheila helped herself to some mineral water. She was parched. Then she laid the gun on the coffee table and sat down next to Wes. She nuzzled up against him, and suddenly she felt tired and closed her eyes. Wes kissed the top of her head and as he rested his head against hers, he too felt his eyelids droop.

  Chapter Five

  There was not much Commander Lovell could do. For everything he could, he needed FEMA's help and he knew he would not get it. The FEMA man was looking over his shoulder with everything he did. The man was even questioning him when he changed course by a few points. He had snapped at that and told the man to sit himself down on a stool in the corner of the bridge and leave him to steer his damned ship.

  And now he saw the storm rolling in as well. He wanted to go closer to the rig, to find out what might be done, but he dared not disobey direct orders. So he kept his cutter at five miles from the place and waited. But that storm looked ominous. It looked as though it would spell the end of the world, and Commander Dan Lovell knew how it would likely be the end of the world for a lot of people out there on that rig. Not just that; if he stayed put, it might be the end of his cutter and his crew as well. It was not a risk he wanted to take.

  “Lieutenant James. We will go to within two miles of ‘The City’ to make our observations and then we will head back to San Clemente. We cannot stay here.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the lieutenant answered. He nodded to the master and the joysticks were pushed forward.

  The man from FEMA got up from his stool and approached the Commander.

  “You have orders to stay put.”

  Commander Lovell grabbed him by the arm and swung him around, pushing him towards the door of the bridge.

  “What the fuck do you see there?” he shouted at the man in despair.

  Indignantly, the man looked out. He answered even more irritated.

  “Sea. Waves. Dolphin.”

  “You don't see that storm coming?” Commander Lovell just managed to stop himself from punching the man in the back of the head. “The black clouds and the high waves underneath it that show how hard the wind is blowing? And the part in front of it where there is no wind?”

  The man shrugged. He did not see it, of that Commander Lovell was certain. He was relieved he had refused to take this chap's orders. The man was useless as a sailor.

  “I want to get as close to that fire as possible to see what is going on there. We are the only officials here observing that thing so I am duty-bound to make proper observations. And then we will head back to port because I am not risking my fucking cutter in a storm like that. Understood?”

  He got no answer. He released his grip on the man and gave him a slight push to show him his disapproval.

  Lieutenant James looked at their position on the GPS. Slowly they approached a point two miles from ‘The City’. He picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned ‘The City’. He saw the flames had abated a bit. The top of the structure was flame scarred, but was no longer burning. He scanned the lower structure and he felt alarmed then.

  “Sir?”

  Commander Lovell approached the lieutenant.

  “What is it, Lieutenant James?”

  The lieutenant handed him the binoculars. “Check the lower structure sir. Front starboard pillar.”

  Commander Lovell took the binoculars and looked where his lieutenant told him to look. He turned the dial a bit, focusing the lenses. Then he whistled. He had seen what had got his lieutenant to call him.

  The pillar was breaking down. Metal plating was coming off the outside, some of it had even been set alight by the intense blaze. And it was just possible to see some of the iron beams that held the pillar up. Several of them were buckling, another had sheared clean through. That pillar was going to collapse soon. And then the whole structure would begin to tilt over. Extra strain would come onto the other already weakened pillars and it would be inevitable the whole structure would come crashing down into the ocean.

  The FEMA man was standing behind them. He had grabbed another pair of binoculars and was looking at the same thing. He was smiling.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Won't be long until rescue is impossible. Then all the problems are solved and we can begin the salvage operation. No point in having survivors around for that.”

  Commander Lovell turned around, his fist raised. But the FEMA man was not there anymore. He was on the deck, slumped against the stool he had occupied earlier. His nose was broken and bleeding.

  Commander Lovell looked to his side and saw Lieutenant James rubbing his knuckles.

  “Fucking bastard...” he swore at the man. “Sorry sir,” he apologized to his commander.

  “If you hadn't, I would have.”

  Chapter Six

  Elly's phone beeped and she pulled it out of her bag. The alert was fr
om her RSS reader. One of the feeds she was subscribed to was that of Senator Jacobs, and it was on that feed that a new message had just shown up. It said he would be in San Diego at one o'clock and he would immediately be holding a public address to reassure the citizens of San Diego that Congress was with them all the way, and that he, himself would do anything in his power to manage this crisis that was befalling the citizens of ‘The City’.

  She looked up the details of the meeting that had just been announced and tapped her phone in her hand as she thought. She thought for a moment about calling Helen, but then she decided Helen had enough to deal with just then. Still, she had some suspicion that the senator might be able to tell them something more about the whole affair. That was the impression she got from the message he had sent out anyway. But there was no way she could be certain she could wheedle any answers out of him. As she walked to the car, a thought hit her and she smiled as she stepped into the vehicle. The cameraman was already behind the wheel and he looked at her as she seated herself in the passenger seat.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We need to get to the harbor. Senator Jacobs is going to hold a press conference. But we need to go home first.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, we need to go home. I need to change.”

  “Change?”

  “Yes, change.”

  The cameraman shrugged and set the car in motion.

  When Elly came down from her apartment, she was dressed as scantily as she could get away with. She wore a pair of towering stilettos and a dress that fitted her tightly. The hem of her dress stopped just below her bum. Her breasts were pushed up and almost spilled out of the bodice. The fact that she wore a blazer did little to make that outfit more sophisticated.

  “What the fuck?” the cameraman exclaimed when she got into the car.

  She gave him a small smile.

  “This is roughly how Jacobs likes his secretaries to dress. He's known as one of the biggest letches in Congress. So I figured I might be more successful getting information from him looking like this.”

  “Jesus...” The cameraman shook his head. “That's almost like whoring yourself out for a fucking scoop.”

  “Nah, it's just using my talents to their maximum effect,” she answered him drily.

  Half an hour later, they arrived at the harbor. The senator's PR team had already set up the stage for him. Several journalists from the area had already gathered, as had another two camera crews. Elly saw there was a CBS van and crew already, so she did not ask her own man to film the event, but she did push to the front of the crowd.

  After a long wait, Senator Jacobs finally arrived and he made his way onto the stage. He raised his hands for silence and then began his speech. She had not seen any papers, so for an instant, she figured Jacobs was speaking without a script. But when she turned around, she saw the teleprompter above the central camera.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press. Citizens of San Diego and of California. Earlier, a great tragedy befell this area. A tragedy which might yet be bigger than any of us could have imagined. Earlier today, a terrorist made his way onto ‘The City’ and set off a weapon of mass destruction there. The blast did not just take the lives of hundreds, but it also caused an oil spill, which was subsequently set ablaze.”

  Jacobs paused for a moment and he took his eyes from the camera to look around the gathered press and public. His eyes came to rest on Elly. She pulled her blazer back a bit and pushed her chest out. For a short moment the senator just gaped, but then something jolted him back to action.

  “Not only is this proof that our security services are woefully underfunded, but it is proof of another thing.

  “‘The City’ was a wonderful project. Yes, it was an oil rig, but it was more than that. While it was an oil rig, it was also a research center and a first step towards building a completely sustainable society. I am happy to have been involved in making it possible, and I cannot but take it personally that this wonderful project – which created so many jobs and did so much good in this city – has been so violently attacked. That something that shows the enterprising and innovative spirit of the American people in such a grand way should be the subject of a horrific attack by extremist terrorists!”

  Again, Jacobs gazed down at the good-looking reporter who stood there right before him, her chest and legs fully on show to his lecherous gaze. He knew he could not stop talking for too long this time, or people would notice the pauses in his speech were too long and they would begin to think he was distracted – or worse, not interested.

  He kept his eyes fixed on Elly and continued.

  “In this time of disaster, the eyes of the entire world are on San Diego and we will not falter in the face of crisis. We will deal with this crisis and with this threat to our security and dignity in a way that only we can. We will stand strong and we will show solidarity to everyone who has suffered, and will still suffer, from the horrible events of this day.”

  He looked down at Elly again and pretended to look around, though she felt his gaze on her. The man was a creep. Right now, she did not know why she had ever voted for him. Perhaps only because he was a Democrat. She was filled with a dislike for the man that she had never felt for anyone else.

  “So I will personally ask the President to make emergency funds available to this region that has already suffered so much. In the days ahead, we will surely need all the funding we can get to be able to conduct a thorough investigation and to clean up our shoreline after the horrific oil spill that was caused by this act of terror.”

  There were cheers coming from the crowd.

  “Meanwhile, I have already tweeted a message with the hashtag SanDiegoStrong. I urge everyone to tweet their support and use that same phrase to show everyone here in this area how resilient we are against the tide of terror!”

  Everywhere people began crying, 'San Diego Strong!' Elly could barely stop herself from laughing. In reality, the whole thing was pathetic. As though anyone would actually make a difference using a hashtag or changing their twitter icon. She had also noticed he spoke of the oil spill, but when she had flown close by the rig not hours before, there was no spill, simply because the oil burned up the moment it came up to the surface. But she stopped herself shaking her head and laughing, instead looking intently at the senator.

  He said a few more things, which were barely audible over the roar of the mad crowd and then he left the stage. She saw him talking to a PA at the side of the stage and then the PA came pushing through the crowd towards her. He asked her if she wanted to have an exclusive interview with the senator, and of course, she only too happily agreed.

  Chapter Seven

  Dave rubbed his eyes as he walked back into the living room of the suite. He did not even notice the two sleepers on the sofa as he came in. He crashed down onto a seat and automatically reached for the television remote. When he had it in hand, he realized there would be little point in turning it on. If cell phones were not working, the television would surely be out. He thought about it all for a moment and then pressed the on button. To his surprise, the screen did not only come to life, but there was actually something showing.

  In astonishment, he watched as Senator Jacobs gave his speech. He could not believe the guts of this man. When he heard about the hash tag, he began roaring with laughter. It shocked both Wes and Sheila awake.

  “What's so funny?” Wes asked instantly.

  “Jacobs wants to save us all with a hashtag!” Dave roared.

  “What?” Sheila asked, confused.

  Dave shook it off and he pressed the mute button as the news anchor began to drone on about Jacobs' plans.

  “More importantly. If they're talking about a hash tag, I doubt they are talking about a rescue plan.”

  Sheila bit her lip and thought about that. What Dave said was true. If they were treating them as dead already, then it was unlikely that they were planning on mounting a serious rescue mission. She g
ot up and walked to the window. From it, she could see San Clemente and its naval base in the distance. Between them and the base, there was only one ship.

  “You might be right.” She turned around. “But if they're not going to rescue us, we will just die.”

  Wes took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the menu, eventually selecting the audio file he had recorded. The one which was proof of FBI Agent Smith being involved in setting this whole thing up. The one with proof that the FBI was on board, not to save lives or to arrest someone, but to tie up loose ends.

  “I think that's the point of it...” he said softly. “I don't think they intend for us to survive.”

  Sheila looked at him. She was flabbergasted. She had heard all the evidence and she had been through hell in the past few hours, but she had not stopped to think about that. But Wes would be right. If the authorities were behind the attack, it was unlikely they had any intention of there being survivors who could tell people what had actually happened. She thought the problem had been solved with Akhmed being shot, but it must include them, too. Everyone aboard could have heard or seen something, and thus, everyone must be a liability for the perpetrators.

  “So...” She sighed. “So, what do we do? I don't want to die.”

  There was a long silence.

  “What was that man doing down there when you found him?” Dave broke the silence.

  “He was looking at one of the research subs for some reason.” Wes answered. He suddenly frowned. Why had Akhmed been looking at that sub? he thought. He must have had some reason. Then he smiled. “The research subs. If we can open the lower hatch, we can use it to dive underneath the fire.”