The Rig 2: Storm Warning Page 4

  He waited again and when she was gone, he ran. He ran as quickly as he could toward the entrance of the football stadium.

  The gates of the stadium were open and he dashed through them. Immediately he saw the tunnel coming from beneath the stands and he raced across the field, into the tunnel. He saw the referees’ changing room and an equipment shack. Behind those were the players’ changing rooms. The elevator was supposed to be behind it. He walked past those doors, now more at ease.

  Then he heard someone running across the field. He gasped in shock when he heard it and turned around to look down the tunnel. A man was there, a man he did not recognize. He pulled the gun from his belt and pointed it at the man. The man stopped and raised his hands. Akhmed slowly began to walk backwards, glancing to his side. He saw the door of the service elevator now. Slowly he walked backwards until he was level with it. He held the gun in one hand as he pushed the button. The doors immediately opened and he jumped inside the lift.

  ***

  Wes ran toward the elevator, but the doors closed just as he got there. He swore. This armed man must have been the alleged terrorist, and now he was gone. In his mind, he tried to find out where this elevator went, but he could not remember. Maybe Dave or Joy would know.

  He strolled back toward the hospital and found Dave and the nurse waiting. She went down with them to see Joy. She had not gone down earlier for fear of what might be there and in the knowledge that nobody there could have survived. Instead, she had been helping to treat patients on the floors close to the hospital; people who suffered from ruptured eardrums and broken bones. There were a lot of terrible injuries on many of the decks. Only the two top decks seemed to have remained relatively injury free. Apart from poor doctor Luciano Sylvio and his ‘patient’, that was.

  It seemed Wes noticed the smile on the nurse’s face when she mentioned the late doctor. Even she could not stop herself from laughing at that, too.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Wake the fuck up!” Smith kicked at Garcia’s chair.

  He was agitated beyond anything Garcia had seen yet.

  “What the fuck?!” Garcia demanded of him, quickly rising to his feet.

  “You were fucking sleeping!” Smith was fuming.

  “Well, I have been up for twenty-four hours!” Garcia snipped at him. “And I don’t use any magic white powder to keep going!”

  That was a low blow and Smith rammed his fist into Garcia’s stomach. Garcia doubled up, but recovered quickly enough to drive his fist into Smith’s groin. Smith gasped in pain and recoiled.

  “Why don’t you go look for some blow you idiot!” Garcia roared at him. “At least then you’ll be able to fucking function again!”

  Smith did not reply. For the first time, his bravado had left him and he almost looked ashamed of his dependence. Then he reached for his phone and pulled up a text message. He held the phone up for Garcia.

  “San Diego office said the coffee girl got a call from him.”

  Garcia breathed deeply and righted himself again. He did not take the phone, but asked Smith about the message instead.

  “They got a ping from the NSA. Went to the FISA courthouse to get a warrant half an hour ago. They should have the NSA recording and making an analysis within the next half-hour.”

  “I thought we had a tap on his phone?” Garcia frowned as he asked the question.

  “We do, but I don’t think it’s working. Most phones will not be able to connect with this fire going on. The call wasn’t from his phone either, just that they pinpointed the origination from ‘The City’.”

  “We didn’t have a tap on her phone?”

  Smith shrugged.

  “Apparently not; should have had one, though. Regardless, we’ll be able to listen to the call this way.”

  “Fucking waste of time,” Garcia grumbled.

  Smith shrugged again.

  “Well, it’s not like he’s going to go anywhere.”

  “No, I guess you’re right.” Garcia looked back at the screens. “Still, it might hold a clue as to where the bastard is.”

  Half an hour later Smith’s phone rang. An email with a sound file attached flashed onto the screen. He opened it and the two agents listened carefully to what was being said.

  It was at the end Garcia swore. Smith was unmoved.

  “What are you swearing for?” He asked in an edgy tone.

  “His girlfriend is pregnant?” Garcia was stunned by Smith’s cluelessness.

  “Yeah, I got that.” Smith shrugged. “What about it?”

  Garcia just stared at him.

  “You think this makes sense in the plan?” He raised his hand and ticked things off on his fingers. “He’s never had a troubled childhood, successful academically, sound financial situation, and his girlfriend is pregnant? You think it’s credible that he’s a disturbed terrorist?”

  “Ah.” Smith looked down. “Hadn’t thought of that. Still not a problem. Do you really think anyone in the media actually looks at that?” He smiled at Garcia. “They’re puppets, and I doubt the ‘shee-ple’ will look beyond what’s put in front of their noses.”

  Garcia snorted.

  “I suppose you’re right about that, but it won’t make our job any easier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think he’s just going to give up now? He’s going to try and find a way to get back to her.”

  “Hmmm.” Smith looked down again. He had not thought of that part. “Well, at least he’ll be moving; means it will be easier to find him.”

  Garcia just shook his head and grabbed the phone out of Smith’s hand. He looked through the data given in the email and selected a phrase.

  “How did you miss this?”

  “What?” Smith looked at the phone. “I didn’t miss anything.”

  “Look at the number you idiot.” Garcia was the one getting angry now. Smith was being useless right now. He grabbed his own phone and pulled up the web browser.

  “It’s not his number.”

  He began typing the number into the search box of an online database and pressed enter. A few moments later the result showed up.

  “Thought it couldn’t be his own phone. Normal phones will be disrupted with this damned fire.” He showed the result of his search to Smith. “Number registered to Reginald Michael McCoy.”

  Smith got up.

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s Stryker’s PA. Knowing how useless Stryker actually is, I guess he’s the guy who actually runs this place.”

  Smith smiled and pulled out his gun. He checked the magazine.

  “Let’s go and find him then.” He clicked the magazine back in and walked out. Garcia sighed and sat back down in his seat. He waited, knowing what would come next. Moments later Smith reappeared. “Where would this guy be?”

  Garcia turned in the swivel chair.

  “Probably in his office, top deck.”

  “Right!”

  And with that, Smith was gone again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wes stayed in the staircase as Dave took the nurse to see Joy. He did not want to be there at that time. The man he had been chasing had not looked like a terrorist, but he acted like one. The gun had said it all, really. But somehow he did not look confident in pointing the gun. He had looked frightened. It was strange. It had felt like the man did not even want to be holding it; pointing it at him. It did not make sense to him.

  Sheila came out of the room and sat down on the one step of the stairs which was not covered in broken glass.

  “She’s conscious again, but she’s in bad shape.” She laid her hand on Wes’ shoulder. “What are you thinking of?”

  Wes sat down beside her and pulled her close. He kissed her and sighed.

  “I saw this guy running through the corridor outside the hospital.”

  “Oh?” Sheila rubbed his knee.

  “He had a gun and looked like the dude the FBI guys described.” Wes ran a finger over
Sheila’s cheek. “I followed him. He disappeared in an elevator behind the changing rooms of the football stadium.”

  Sheila kissed him.

  “I’m so glad you’re ok. You shouldn’t run after dangerous terrorists on your own. And unarmed, as well.”

  Wes shook his head.

  “He had a gun, but he didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look like a terrorist.”

  “He must be very disturbed. Maybe he’s not on his meds and his mood changes and...”

  “Stop.” Wes interrupted her. “He looked scared. Not at all like a killer.”

  “Of course he looked scared. He knows what he’s done and that the FBI is going to get him,” Sheila said in a soothing tone, but her tone had the opposite effect on Wes.

  “No. He didn’t look like a killer, he looked like a frightened kid. I can’t accept he did this,” he said agitatedly.

  “But, Wes, the FBI says...” she tried again in the same soothing tone.

  But Wes got to his feet.

  “Fuck the FBI. I don’t trust them.”

  He went to the top of the stairs and called Dave. Dave came out of the room and looked at him curiously. “What is it, Wes?”

  “You know this rig better than anyone, right?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “That elevator behind the changing rooms in the football stadium. Where does it go? Not a regular elevator.”

  Dave frowned and thought for a moment.

  “I think it leads to the docks. Not always possible to get a whole team in by chopper, so they got a special elevator to the docks to get the guys and their gear in.”

  “Thanks, Dave.”

  Wes clapped him on the shoulder again and stepped down the stairs. He pulled Sheila to her feet. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, pulling herself free.

  “To the docks. I want to find this guy to show you I’m right.”

  Wes held Sheila’s hand and pulled her along as he made his way across the Plaza. He made straight for the main staircase. Sheila stumbled along. It was hard to keep up with Wes’ large paces in the shoes she was wearing. She cursed the universe for it. She wished she had been able to gather her clothes before they escaped from the bathroom.

  Wes let go of her when he opened the door to the staircase. He ushered her down the stairs and kept shepherding her down.

  “Where are you taking me?” Sheila asked him, slightly frightened.

  “We’re going down to the docks. If he’s there, we might get to talk to him. Then you’ll see I’m right in trusting my own instincts instead of the announcement.”

  “But...”

  “No buts. I trust my instincts far more than some announcement coming over a PA system from God knows who. No one, especially that announcer, has shown us any credentials, have they? For all we know it was the real terrorists trying to get us to help them locate and catch their fall guy. I want to talk to this man myself.”

  He halted and pulled Sheila’s shoulder, making her face him.

  “Why didn’t you trust me earlier, but you take the word of some invisible voice over mine?”

  Sheila opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She honestly could not say why she did that.

  “I...” Her lips moved again, but still no words came out. “I... I don’t know...” She looked down, not knowing how to respond or where to look.

  “I want to talk to him,” Wes said resolutely and pushed past her.

  Sheila followed. She was confused now and a little frightened. She hardly ever felt frightened, but she did not want to be left there alone.

  They came to the doors to the docks that Wes had left earlier that day with Dave and Joy when they had loaded backup copies of their research and nearly all the samples they had collected during their months on the rig, onto the supply ship. Dave had told him then that he suspected something was wrong, because the boat did not come from San Diego as usual. Instead, it came from Los Angeles. Dave and Joy had already discovered that Stryker, the CEO of ‘The City’, had booked that ship in for no other apparent reason than to collect all the valuable research done in ‘The City’.

  Wes pushed the doors open and stepped in. He saw something move in a corner, close to the small research subs they had used. Slowly he walked in, his hands raised.

  “Don’t shoot; I’m not going to turn you in. I just want to talk.”

  Then he waited. Something appeared from around a corner. It was the barrel of Akhmed’s pistol.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elly Boukhari was fit to be tied as the chopper landed again. The commander of the USCG Hurricane would not let the helicopter come closer, so that was pointless. And with the FBI agent watching over her shoulder, there was nothing she could do. It was pretty pointless reporting from the helicopter that way. She watched as some technicians fixed a camera below the helicopter. They had discussed using one of their drones, which would probably be able to get closer before the United States Coast Guard intervened, but they opted not to. The helicopter would be much more stable.

  The cameraman joined her by the van and sighed.

  “Well, not much more to do then.”

  Elly sighed as well.

  “I’d hoped this would be my break, you know. Seems the FBI doesn’t like me getting my break.”

  The cameraman grinned.

  “I doubt that’s the case, but maybe we should try and report on this outside of the FBI?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Maybe we can find out something about this Akhmed Hussain Abbasi on our own?”

  Elly thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Ok, let’s do that.”

  The FBI agent got in the van with the producer to monitor what came in from the helicopter, then Elly, the cameraman and a technician got into a car. They drove away from the heliport, off the tarmac, through the gates and back onto the road. An FBI van was at the entrance. Suits were checking everyone going in, but they paid no attention to anyone leaving the heliport.

  “Right,” Elly sighed as she steered. “Now what?”

  The cameraman looked at her.

  “You’re the journalist. How about Googling the guy’s name?”

  “Ah, yeah.” Elly wondered why she had not thought of that herself. She handed her phone to the cameraman. “Can’t Google and drive at the same time.”

  “You should get one of those glasses,” the cameraman said, as he began to do the search.

  Elly reached out and slapped him around the head.

  “I’m not going to be a gl-asshole.”

  The cameraman grinned. “Ah well.”

  It took a minute before the cameraman showed her the phone again. He had pulled up the Facebook page of the alleged terrorist.

  Elly glanced at it.

  “Wow... creepy...”

  “Yeah...”

  “Pull up that note?”

  “Sure.”

  Death to the Infidels.

  For too long, the Americans infidels have raped and plundered the land of Allah. For too long, the United States Government has raped the faithful followers of Allah.

  Last month, Allah spoke to me and he told me to do this work in His honor. He told me to strike back at the infidels who have killed His people.

  Today I will ascend to heaven as a martyr of Allah, taking out the biggest target since 9/11 in one fell swoop, in one big strike against the whores of the Church. Today will be the day I earn my place at Allah’s side. I will join the greatest martyrs and rejoice in the Glory of Allah.

  Today, the United States of America will know how to fear us again. Today will be the day that the United States of America is shocked to the core.

  9/11 shocked America, but caused the government to strike against the faithful in Afghanistan and Iraq. It then struck in Libya and is sending terrorists into Syria and Egypt, causing more deaths of innocent women and children of the faithful.

  No longer can anyone sit by and wa
tch this injustice without revenge. And today will be the day of my revenge, in the honor of Allah.

  “Wow...” Elly said again. She stared at the screen, transfixed.

  “Road!” the cameraman shouted.

  Elly jerked at the wheel, pulling the car back into the right lane. Her eyes were wide open and her heart was racing. She had been so focused on the Facebook note, she had not been paying attention to the road. She sighed.

  “And you wanted me to get some of those damned glasses.”

  The cameraman looked up the rest of the data on the Facebook page.

  “Seems he’s in a relationship with a woman called Helen Schneider.” He tapped the name with his finger. “She just posted she’s pregnant.”

  “She’s a radicalized convert? And pregnant with a terrorist’s baby?”

  Elly looked at the cameraman, ignoring the phone this time.

  “Nah, she seems to just be normal.”

  “That’s weird... must be a ruse...”

  “Yeah, must be...”

  ***

  Helen did not know what she could do, so she just went about her day. She was due to be at work in forty minutes and so she got dressed and went downstairs. Nothing showed yet of her baby bump when she looked in the mirror. Baby bump; she hated that term, it was so disrespectful. Yet it was used so often, she found it had crept into her mind as well.

  After her breakfast, she walked outside. The coffee shop was only a few blocks away and she could easily walk it. She would do her shopping when going back. She would have done it earlier, but then Akhmed had called. She did not understand how any of that could have happened. She saw the note on his Facebook page as well, but it completely perplexed her. There was no way that Akhmed could have posted that. He did not even care about God, he was an agnostic. It did not make sense. And he had his phone on him it seemed.

  It all raced through her head as she walked down the stairs and stepped out the door. She just hoped the day would be quiet. But outside the door, a spotlight shone in her face. Immediately, a microphone was shoved under her nose.