The Rig 3: Eye of the Hurricane (8 page)

“See, ‘The City’ is a failure... oh God, you're a good little bitch aren't you?... Well, Portis knew it was a failure. Would not run on its own power and all, and then it did not strike oil for too long either. Their own food supply, with the gardens and everything, nothing there seemed to work the way it should, so he contacted some people.”

Senator Jacobs moaned and put his hands on the back of Elly's head, pushing her down.

“Among the people he asked for help was one of our former presidents, whom he works with on charity stuff, and he called on his college friend Charles Palermo, who had just been appointed Secretary of Homeland Security. Then, he came to me to ask me about some stuff here in San Diego. People who could help him and all that. And I put him in touch with some FBI guys while Palermo took care of the top stuff. Procured explosives and made sure the operation could go ahead. I heard about the plan not long ago, just before it happened. Those FBI guys had gotten together with someone else and found a patsy to use. By then, Stryker had taken over management of the project, so Portis could spend the time working with that bitch Chloe on his idiotic education program. Stryker organized a DJ gig and that would allow the explosives to come aboard. The DJ was also an agent, see. Then the patsy, this stupid half-breed Muslim dumbshit would set it off. They would take care of the bastard, give him the old two shots to the head, and then the whole rig would be fucked.”

His breathing became heavier now and he kept pushing Elly's head down into his groin hard. She was gagging in disgust, but grateful the senator was so poorly endowed.

“Perfect plan, but the whole fucking thing has been a nightmare. Bit like WTC 7. That was a fuck up as well. Fucking mess. This just did not go over well, either. But I'm sure it will be resolved. It will turn out okay and then Portis claims insurance, the FBI would be said to have done a damned good job and I get a chance to get some shitizens on my side for the upcoming midterms.”

He growled and kept Elly's head down, bucking his hips. She wanted to pull away, but she resisted the urge. When he finally let her go, she looked up at him with the best porn star look she could muster and swallowed, then licked her lips.

Senator Jacobs pulled her up again, setting her down on the seat, intent on continuing his mauling of her body. Elly saw a gas station, she recognized from the corner of her eye, just as he reached beneath her dress again.

“Could we pull over here for a second? I just want to freshen up. I must look a frightful mess.”

She knew tears had come to her eyes as she was gagging and her makeup must have run, but she did not need to check that. Jacobs looked disappointed, but gave his driver an order to pull over. The door opened and Elly gave Jacobs a tender kiss on the cheek before stepping out. She walked to the restrooms. When she rounded the corner and knew she was out of view she shuddered. She almost vomited, but she stopped the reflex. It took her a while to recover herself, but when she did, she fingered the rhinestone that glittered on her dress, right between her breasts. “You got all that? Come and pick me up here, I can't take a minute more of that bullshit.”

***

The cameraman took his headphones off and checked the GPS locator. Elly was only two blocks away and he nodded to the other guy who drove off immediately. They were at the gas station only minutes later and the cameraman grabbed a trench coat from the back seat. He ran out to the back of the building and wrapped Elly up in the coat, caringly helping her to the car. Elly looked a mess, and she had a strange look on her face. She seemed slightly broken, but there was pride there too. Pride that only grew when the audio file was played back to her in the car as they drove. Everything was there. Jacobs' whole story was there and it would serve to cause a big fuss, if not a trial. Most of all, it would clear Akhmed's name, just like she had promised Helen.

Chapter Sixteen

Commander Lovell knew the dangers when he gave the order. He knew the storm was heavy and he was putting his cutter at risk, never mind disobeying direct orders; he had to do it. He felt he had no other choice but to take the USCGC Hurricane out. He knew ‘The City’ was beginning to collapse and he could not live with his own conscience if he sat back and did nothing.

The moment they cast loose, troopers ran onto the dock to try and stop him. There was a man in civilian dress, too. He vaguely recognized the man through the pelting rain. It was Charles Palermo, the secretary for Homeland Security; and he was fucking furious. It surprised Commander Lovell to see the man on that dock. Lovell had known that he was on the station, but he had not bumped into him at all. It was strange to see him now.

Palermo even tried to jump on board his ship; he seemed that desperate to stop him heading to sea again. It was a good thing his aides stopped him, because he would never have made it. The gunwales of the cutter were moving up and down by yards, not inches, and the man was a bit fat. The sea, even close to the shore, was wild and Commander Lovell doubted the best swimmers could make it safely to shore.

The radio crackled to life only a few moments later. It was the panicked voice of the station commander that came through first. He did not want to lose the cutter and gave Lovell a piece of his mind for taking the risk. He did not mention orders. But it was only a few minutes that he was on the line. Commander Lovell actually heard the noise of the microphone being ripped from the man's hands. It was Charles Palermo. And the secretary was angry. But Commander Lovell ignored it. He dismissed the man’s incessant raving, and he ignored the threat of the navy. He had no doubt the secretary would follow up on that one, but he knew it meant nothing. The navy would be reluctant to sail their smaller vessels away from the dock and he knew the larger ships were nowhere in the area. Besides, the secretary would have to contact the DOD. He would manage to get things done faster than any member of the Coast Guard, but it would take time and persuasion nonetheless.

He made the master set course for ‘The City’. It was hard to see anything outside, but the GPS worked. The USCGC Hurricane rode the high waves and he felt his stomach drop each time she plunged down into the water again. He had great sea legs, as did most of the men, but nearly all of the crew had balance problems now.

Five miles from the rig, they held still. They could not drop anchor, so instead they began circling, trying to keep the ship as close to ‘The City’ as possible, keeping the cutter as close to the structure as he thought could be done. He saw the fire dying out and immediately ordered his man on the radio to try and reach them.

A nurse responded to the call and told him the place had to be evacuated. She had heard some metallic groans and was terrified the place would collapse. And as she heard it, Commander Lovell saw it. He just managed to make out the shape through the pelting rain and thrashing waves. The whole structure was lopsided now. One of the pillars was crumbling, another was bending and slowly but surely the whole thing was toppling. The place was doomed, and so were the people inside if there was no help.

The nurse reported there were a good hundred people still alive, a lot of them injured. They might be able to make it to the few rescue vessels, but there was already a note of panic in her voice. She knew the vessels were unlikely to be able to ride these seas. All those people would be lost if there was no help.

The secretary of Homeland Security came onto the radio again, cutting through the nurse's appeal. He ordered the USCGC Hurricane back to port again. This time Commander Lovell did not ignore him. He rammed the button and swore at his chief. He could not let a hundred people die. He refused to let a hundred people die, even if FEMA and DHS would not help them. And the other side of the conversation went dead.

Chapter Seventeen

Dave felt it first. He could not see the man, but he knew he was there. It was that prickly feeling on the back of the neck, but amplified a hundred times. He had learned to trust that feeling and he found it never erred. He did not look around, but decided to check a window display ahead of them to see whether his instinct was right. And just before they turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of him. It was a dark man, not the fair-skinned, light-haired man he had exchanged fire with. The man wore the same sort of cheap suit, but he seemed far more in control, checking the corridors carefully ahead him. He did not have his weapon raised, even though it was drawn. He held it calmly by his side as he walked.

Dave listened. There should be more footsteps coming soon. Joy noticed the change in his demeanor, but said nothing. They knew their friends would come to help, and Dave was sure he could hold this man, perhaps even disable or kill him in a fair fight. As long as they stuck together and did not panic, they would be alright. Then Dave's ears picked up a small noise from far away that made him feel more at ease. Vaguely and distantly, he heard the sound of Sheila's heels on the metal floor.

***

Garcia slowed his run to a walk. He kept the gun low and moved surely. He was certain he was almost upon the two people he had seen on the camera. The thought struck him that he did not know where the others were, but he was not worried. Smith would have been handy in this situation. The man was sometimes good to have at your back, but the state he had been in had made him more of a liability than an asset. He was better off without him.

It could be that the others would show up at his back, but that would mean they had planned to ambush him. He could not think of why they would do that, or that they would even think to do that. There were precious few people who would be able to think straight enough to make a plan like that.

Yet something worried him more. He had felt the tremors in ‘The City’. He needed to make this quick. It would be best to make his way down to the docks, get into that submarine and let the sea take care of the mistakes Smith had made. But he could not run the risk that they escaped. It was unlikely anyone who could make it to the boats would survive the storm outside, but there was a chance. And that chance had to be dealt with.

He turned another corner and saw his prey round the corner ahead. They were close to the hospital now, so he knew he had to move quickly. He quickened his pace, but did so silently. He turned the next corner and saw that he was only a few yards behind them now. They would round the corner ahead and then another and they would be in front of the sickbay. Now was the time. He raised the gun and marched silently forward, ready to fire the moment he was certain of his aim.

***

Sheila cursed her shoes, cursed the noise they made. But she had to keep going now. She was surprised to see there was a shoe shop on one of the corridors they passed through, but there was no time to shop around. She felt the tremor of the structure and when she looked around, she saw Wes had noticed it, too.

They were close behind the man with the gun. When they turned a corner, they saw him turn the next one. Wes stopped Sheila from going faster and getting closer. He did not want to take the risk of startling the man. They needed to make sure Dave and Joy were in a place where they could make a stand. The last corner before the hospital was the spot for that, and they would be right behind to catch the man in the crossfire.

One corner to go after this one, Wes knew, then they would be upon him. They rounded the corner carefully, just in case the man was more careful than they had thought, but as they did, they saw him go around the next corner and they ran. They ran towards him now. This was the place.

***

Dave pushed Joy behind the corner and dropped to a knee and took careful aim. He could not miss the moment the man rounded the corner. He needed to make sure this man was eliminated. So he made himself as small a target as he could and readied himself.

Garcia rounded the corner at a run and he ran several yards before he realized Dave had stopped and was aiming straight for his heart. He stopped dead. His weapon was pointed straight at Dave. He steadied himself and smiled. “I believe this is what they call a Mexican standoff, isn't it?”

Dave nodded slowly, the gun in his hand not moving at all. His hands were steady as stone. “Guess this is now a matter of who pulls the trigger first.”

Garcia nodded now. “I believe it is.”

And then Wes and Sheila both rounded the corner, Sheila's gun raised already, Wes with his finger on the trigger of the harpoon gun. Garcia turned, fast as a snake and pulled the trigger, letting himself drop to the floor. Wes's harpoon bit into his shoulder and he screamed as the metal barbs exited on the other side of his body. But there was another scream too. Wes fell down, blood pouring from his chest.

Both Sheila and Dave fired twice. They saw the body of the agent shudder as the bullets struck home. His body jerked with the impacts and blood exploded from his wounds, but he was dead before he hit the deck.

And then the entire City began to tilt.

***

Joy lead the way, her balance still off and her feet unsteady, but there was no other way. Dave and Sheila carried Wes's lifeless body. They knew they only had one chance to make it out of there, and that was by way of that sub.