The Rig 3: Eye of the Hurricane Page 5

  He had sent his town car for the press bird. Elly, he thought she was called. He had seen her briefly on the television, reporting from a chopper on the fire at ‘The City’. She looked positively ditzy there. A bit like the Danish prime minister, he thought. He remembered seeing a bit of YouTube video of the selfie woman going up to Sarah Jessica Parker in Oslo, declaring herself to be the Danish prime minister in the happiest, dizziest manner he had ever seen. This press chick was on the same level, he figured. And she seemed quite keen as well.

  The town car pulled up outside the restaurant and the driver rushed to open the door. Jacobs almost fainted on the spot as the woman got out. She was dressed like a porn star. The semi he had been sporting as he’d absent-mindedly thought about her immediately sprang to full attention. His jaw dropped. He had seen her earlier and thought she dressed to a certain standard he liked in women, but this was something come out of his dreams.

  Elly felt even more self-conscious when she got out of the town car. She tried to maintain as much of her dignity as she could getting out, keeping her knees together and trying to stop her dress riding up as she slid out of the seat. She was desperate to keep her upper body as straight as possible, knowing her breasts would flop out of the small dress if she did not.

  She managed to stand on her high stilettos with some amount of grace and she looked around. Then she saw the senator and remembered her act. She waved and smiled the prettiest smile she could muster up. She saw instantly the effect she was having on the douche bag. The front of his trousers was bulging a bit. Her false smile turned to a genuine one when she realized the man must have a rather small member.

  She stepped up to him and gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek. As she did, she felt his hand on her bottom. She resisted the urge to slap his hand away and just leaned against him. She felt his small erection press against her thigh and repressed a shudder. And suddenly she wished men – and especially men in power – were not such sleaze bags. She hoped she would one day find a man who would actually like her with some clothes on. But for now, it was back to business.

  Chapter Twelve

  Smith woke up with a groan. He immediately heard the raging storm outside the doors of the dock. He looked over to the submarine and saw Garcia sitting in front of it. His hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the bag of white powder and grabbed a little scoop from his pocket as he sat up. He picked up some of the white powder with the scoop and brought it up to his nose.

  Garcia coughed discreetly. It was a discreet but potent noise. Smith looked up and saw the angry look on his colleague's face. He stopped short of snorting up the powder and looked up at him quizzically. “What?”

  “You absolute fuckwit,” Garcia said calmly.

  As so often, the calmness in his voice was a surer measure of anger than a voicing of passion. He was the opposite of Smith in many ways, but in that, the difference between them was more than obvious.

  Smith wanted to give an angry retort, but he saw Garcia's hand twitch towards a harpoon gun next to him on the crate. He saw the look in Garcia's eyes and knew then Garcia would not hesitate to use it on him. “Calm down...” Smith said eventually. “What's gotten into you?”

  “You know perfectly well what's gotten into me,” Garcia said in the same chillingly calm voice.

  “No, I don't!” Smith protested.

  “The drugs, the women and the attitude is one thing.” Garcia's eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched. He still sounded eerily calm, but his face was a rictus of anger. “You jeopardizing not only our mission, but the agency and above all, our lives, is not something I can live with any longer.”

  Smith said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He knew he should say he would change things and would stop the liberal use of hookers and blow, but he knew Garcia would not believe him now and would quicker lodge that harpoon in his body than let him make the promise.

  “I'm going back to the security rooms to try and find them on the monitors,” Garcia said after several moments of deadly silence. He picked up the harpoon gun and watched Smith recoil. “Pull yourself together,” Garcia snarled at him. He stood and walked up the stairs, making his way back to the screens he had left earlier.

  Smith was fuming. He did not like Garcia's judging ways. He knew Garcia was right as well, but he did not need the bastard to tell him that. He had lucked out on a drug test earlier and he carried the scoop for his blow for a reason. He could not carry razor blades or let a finger nail grow as a scoop lest the FBI find out. He was already under scrutiny for the routine visits of call girls, so the last thing he needed was them finding out about his drug habit.

  Now he would have to make sure Garcia did not talk to their superiors. Not that he thought Garcia would. Given his monumental fuck up, he reckoned Garcia might actually get rid of him here and now instead. The rig was destined for the scrap yard anyway, most likely it would tilt and sink, and nobody would be able to find him if Garcia did use the harpoon gun on him.

  ***

  Garcia opened every drawer in the camera room. The last drawer finally yielded what he was looking for. There was a locked box, but with the picklock he carried in his pocket, it only took a minute to open the box. Inside were two Walther PPK's and ample ammunition. He took both the guns out and put them in the holsters he carried. The holsters were not made for those guns, but they fit well enough.

  He buttoned his jacket and brushed over it. He made sure the gun did not show under it. He did the same with the gun he hid in the ankle holster. He kept the harpoon gun with him. It would be useful if Smith, or indeed the prey they were hunting, did not know he was carrying a gun again.

  He sat down again, the harpoon gun in his lap. He reached for the keyboard, using the keys to flip through all the cameras he could see. He smiled. He liked this work for some reason. The bone dry work of going through data and camera feeds, trying to establish a lead in a case, or like now, in surveillance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The meteorologist at San Clemente was surprised to see Commander Lovell enter his office. It was unusual to see the commanders from the base at all. Commander Lovell was a man who trusted his intuition when it came to storms and his intuition had proven right more often than the models of the meteorologist.

  “How long do your models think this damned storm will last?” Lovell wasted no time with pleasantries.

  “And good evening to you, Commander.”

  “Lieutenant Roberts.” Commander Lovell acknowledged him.

  “Why the question?”

  “Because I want to be out there again as soon as possible.” Lovell smiled brightly. “But as it is, I don't want to risk my cutter out there.”

  “You'll be staying put at least another day, as far as I can see.” Roberts answered him without even looking at the screens on his desk.

  “You sure?”

  “Roberts nodded.

  “Don't have to see any models for that. Just watched the radar feed a moment ago. This storm will get more intense in a few hours and it won't stop until sometime late tomorrow.”

  Commander Lovell just swore and walked out the door. He might not trust Lieutenant Roberts and his models, but there would be little discussion possible in dispute of the weather radar.

  Lovell walked back along the quay of the San Clemente station harbor, his head low and his collar turned up. The thought crossed his mind that he must look like an old fisherman or whaler, one of those guys of the old world that was long and gone who walked along the quays in their oilskins and sou'westers. He walked along the gangway onto the USCGC Hurricane and went straight below, not bothering to check in on the bridge. There was little they could do wrong there as long as they were docked. He tramped into his cabin and slammed the door shut behind him. He stripped off his raincoat and threw it at the hook on the door, kicked off his boots and dropped himself onto his bunk. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then closed his eyes and thou
ght. He thought about the people who would still be trapped on that rig and about how he could make the DHS orders go away.

  He found it preposterous that he would be disallowed from helping people. It was the one part of his job that he always found the most worthwhile. He thought about his niece, Elly, again, thinking how she had always found herself obsessed with finding the truth. It seemed she had more recently let go of her obsession. It seemed as though being a journalist now was more important than finding the truth.

  He reached for his mobile phone and called her. No answer to his phone call. He sank back onto the bed and then sat up again to text her. He asked her what she was doing, that he hoped she was okay in this storm and said that he wanted to talk to her.

  ***

  Elly looked at her phone under the table and read Dan Lovell's message, but did not answer it. She did not dare raise the impression that she was distracted from the awesomeness of the senator. She needed him to be completely enthralled and not have the least impression of her attention being divided.

  She suppressed a yawn as the senator explained the inner workings of the senate again, using a comity on climate change as an example. She smiled and nodded politely as she heard the climate change argumentation again. The smile was genuine as she realized she was more prone to disbelief of climate change even as he tried to convince her. His arguments were completely idiotic and the way he put the argument together was rattling on all sides.

  It must be quite funny to work in DC, she reflected. If all the men were this incompetent and insane, the place must be quite comical if considered with an open mind.

  “So you see, we have decided that climate change is a real and potent threat and one that must be dealt with,” the senator concluded.

  Elly smiled and curled a strand of hair around her index finger.

  “Oh yes, indeed so.”

  She leaned forward, her arms pressed slightly inwards so her cleavage was even more pronounced in the tight confines of her dress.

  “Tell me, are there more senators as sexy as you?”

  It conjured a huge smile from Senator Jacobs. He leaned forward and took her hand in his.

  “Say, do you maybe want to skip dessert here and have some at my place?”

  Elly ran her tongue over her lips and pretended to ponder the matter. She did not need to think. She needed him to talk and the way she could do that was to take it that one step further. Quite honestly, she did not fancy having the dessert here either. The man was such a tedious bore she could not stand anymore, so she slowly nodded.

  Not long after they were in the town car and the senator's hand was on her knee, sliding slowly upwards. She held a glass of champagne in one hand. The senator had a glass in one hand, too, as his other reached the top of her stockings. She sighed. Senator Jacobs smiled and leaned in to kiss her, mistaking her sigh for one of the anticipation of pleasure. She kissed him back, but not with any passion. She bit her lip and looked at his as she pulled away. She laid a finger on his lips and then let her hand run through his hair.

  “You know, maybe I should ask you some questions before we both forget I am a journalist, too.”

  The senator seemed a little taken aback, but he smiled at it and nodded.

  “Quite so.”

  Knowing she had to keep him going, Elly kissed him again and this time with more gusto.

  “‘The City’,” she whispered. “There's something more to this terrorist thingy right?”

  Senator Jacobs smiled as his hand travelled further up Elly's thigh. She felt his fingertips brush against the miniscule strip of silk that prevented them from touching her sex.

  “You are a clever thing, aren't you?”

  She kissed him, but then moved ever so slightly away, so his fingers no longer reached her thong. “Well?”

  “You tease...” He leaned in again, but she scooted a bit further away. “Oh, alright. Yes. The FBI sets some stuff up sometimes, if they need people to remember they're there and need funding.” Again he tried to reach her and kiss her, and she let him touch her now, but did not let him kiss her.

  “But there is something more to this affair, isn't there?” She kept her lips close to his and spoke in a low whisper.

  “Confidential, I'm afraid...” He tried to kiss her again, but she pulled away. “Oh, alright.” He sighed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They decided to split up again. Dave and Joy would make it to the hospital and then stay there. Sheila and Wes would be leaving later and follow behind them, in an effort to trick up the men who would inevitably pick up on their trail.

  It would be Dave and Joy first because of Joy's condition. She was not capable of making a difficult shot if it was needed. Sheila and Wes would be more capable of that. Dave was best capable of helping Joy. He was, after all, the only one with military training. More than the others, he was capable of getting her through this in one piece. And Joy was happy it was him who would be by her side. She knew he would lay down his life for her. She would never want him to, but it was good to know someone so dedicated to her would be with her.

  When she headed down earlier, Joy did not feel any nervousness. She might have been anxious for her friends and colleagues, but she had not been nervous. She was nervous now though. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. She supposed it was the knowledge that there was actually someone trying to kill them now.

  She held on tightly to Dave as they stepped onto the landing, looking carefully to every side before venturing out. They walked a little way on the landing and at suite number one, turned onto the corridor that lead to a health spa. Outside and inside the spa there was carnage. Some pipes had burst and the place had flooded with boiling water and gas. Whoever was in there at the time – which could not have been many people in the first place given the concert – would have been killed very quickly or succumbed to the injuries from the boiling water.

  Joy did not want to think about it. She wanted to focus on happier, pleasant things. Then she remembered the dream she’d had not long before.

  “Dave...” she began tentatively, as they turned a corner to make their way onto the next landing.

  “Yeah?” Dave was looking around, trying to spy out any trouble.

  “If we get out of here...” She caught and corrected herself as Dave looked at her. “When we get out of here, I want to set up a research project on the Samoan reefs again.” She was silent for a moment. “If I can set things up, will you come with me?”

  “Samoa?”

  Joy nodded slowly. “I did my PhD there. Pago Pago has some great facilities.”

  Dave smiled and took her hand.

  “I'd love to join you there.”

  ***

  Smith had found a harpoon and a flare gun and he decided they were better weapons than anything else he could find. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He threw open the door to the camera room and fired the harpoon gun from the hip. It ran through the back of the chair and he saw the black haired head fall forward. Slowly, he walked up to the chair, the flare gun pointed at it. He turned the chair around. Garcia was not there. Then the Walther PPK pressed against the back of his head.

  ***

  Garcia immediately noticed Smith running up the stairs. He had kept the camera from the docks open on the screen, knowing the rage the man would get in once he had had his fix. He looked around the room the moment he realized what would happen. There was a football in the corner and a black mop. He quickly pulled the business end off the mop, laying it over the football. From the back, it would pass for the top of his head. He stacked two cardboard boxes onto the chair and laid the ball on top. He switched over to another camera and saw Smith was just down the corridor from him. He took up a position behind the door.

  Smith burst in and fired at the chair without even a word. He turned the chair and that was when Garcia made his move. He raised the pistol he had found and pushed it into the back of Smith's head.

  “So I will commit
suicide now?” Smith asked. “You can't face me, Garcia? You're a coward. Traditional two to the head? Just for having some fun? Well, fuck you...”

  “Fuck you, John,” Garcia said calmly.

  He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The second bullet hit just above the first one as it struck when Smith began to fall. He sighed. That was one problem solved. He wiped the gun with his handkerchief and placed it in Smith's hand. It was almost an automatic motion to do this, but he checked as he stood over the body of his colleague. He bent down again and picked up the gun. There was little chance anyone would actually examine the body anyway, and he needed the weapon. He needed it to clean up after Smith. Again.

  He pulled the harpoon out of the chair, pushed the boxes onto the ground and sat down with a sigh. Almost immediately, he noticed the movement on the screen. That was them. Or one of them anyway. He did not recognize the woman, but the man had been in the docks. He checked where the camera was located and pulled up a map of ‘The City’ to find the quickest route there. He checked his guns again and then darted out of the door, stepping over Smith's dead body. At least he had one less problem to deal with; time to go deal with the others.

  ***

  Wes and Sheila waited another five minutes before venturing out. Just before they left the suite, Sheila pushed Wes against the wall and kissed him.

  “What was that for?” Wes asked her when she let him go. He was completely surprised by her show of passion.

  “If we're heading into a situation that might get one of us killed, I want to have done that.” Sheila stepped out, her heels making a strange noise on the metal of the walkway. She stopped as she noticed it. She thought about taking them off, but then realized she could not. Every part of ‘The City’ was littered with glass and shrapnel. She would cut her feet open within moments.