Oil Exploration Vessel – Romanov Star
South Atlantic
A bitterly cold wind whipped across the open helipad, buffeting the gold-painted helicopter as it maneuvered to land. The helicopter, a Eurocopter Dauphin, seemed to hover for only the briefest of times above the heaving deck. The pilot’s eyes were fixed on a man in a yellow survival suit standing on the pad with bright orange paddles in his hands, indicating the pitch of the ship. When he judged that the time was right, the pilot brought the copter down as if he were landing on a pillow instead of the deck of a vessel rolling around in rough seas.
The second the rotor blades slowed, another sailor wearing a survival suit darted forward, opened the passenger-side door, and helped Alexandra Romanov from the helicopter. No sooner had they cleared the rotors than the pilot revved up the craft’s powerful engines. Gracefully, the helicopter rose from the deck and then headed back out of the storm and to the safety of the mainland.
Dressed in a dark-blue outfit, with matching down-filled parka and rain pants, Alexandra was dressed for the downpour soaking the deck of the ship. She followed her guide along the cluttered deck of the Romanov Star. The spray caused by the cold, slate-gray waves breaking against the sides of the vessel felt like a thousand needles poking into any exposed skin. This, combined with the rocking motion of the ship, made movement for those unaccustomed to rough seas extremely treacherous. Fighting her way to the ship’s bridge, Alexandra found herself having to grab hold of anything she could to prevent herself from being tossed around like a rag doll on the slippery deck.
The Romanov Star was one of three ultra-modern oil-exploration vessels owned by the Romanov business empire. It had a unique design with a twin hull, better known as a SWATH, or small waterplane-area twin hull. To most people, it looked like a super-sized, high-tech catamaran, but the ship was designed to have its floats below the surface, thereby giving it greater stability in rough seas. That notion was lost on Alexandra as she swore that she still felt every wave in her stomach as they struck the ship.
Alexandra opened the door to the bridge and happily stepped inside away from the freezing storm. Quickly, she removed her rain-soaked parka and rain pants, revealing another form-fitting jumpsuit. Taking a breath, the noxious smell of stale cigarette smoke and body odor from the unwashed men jammed inside the cramped bridge assaulted her nostrils, and she almost fell over. Before she could say a word, someone handed a piping hot cup of sweet tea to her; she gladly cupped it between her frozen fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them.
A skeleton crew of men loyal to the Romanovs currently manned the ship. Alexandra knew these men were in it for either the cause or the money; either way, she knew that no one on board was going to say a word about what was happening.
“So, where are they?” Alexandra asked, as she took a seat beside a pimply faced technician who looked young enough to still be in high school.
The young technician had been so engrossed in his work that he had not heard her enter the room, and was startled when she spoke. “Oh my,” said the youth, looking up at Alexandra’s sleek figure, causing him to drop the pen he had been absentmindedly chewing on. “One second,” said the engineer as he called the ship’s captain over.
A man with a thick mane of gray hair walked over and stopped in front of Alexandra. His huge belly hung over his belt and his stained clothes looked like they had not been washed in days, if not weeks. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from one of the boss’ daughters? How can we humble employees help?” asked the captain, with a strong Greek accent.
Alexandra’s nostrils rebelled at the overpowering reek of body odor coming from the man. “For starters, Captain, have you ever thought of taking a shower?” said Alexandra.
A loud, raucous laugh burst out from the other men on the bridge; the captain even joined in.
“Our hot-water lines have been acting up recently, so none of us has had a shower, nor washed any clothes, in over a week,” replied the captain, patting his giant stomach.
Alexandra shook her head; she knew the Romanovs were not paying them to be clean, just to do their job. “I won’t belabor the point, Captain. I came aboard to see the packages.”
The captain barked a set of orders at several of the younger men on the bridge, who moaned aloud and started putting back on their wet-weather clothing.
Alexandra also cringed at the thought, but she knew that she would have to go outside into the squall once more if she wanted to personally verify that Chang had lived up to his end of the bargain.
Five minutes later, Alexandra Romanov again found herself struggling along the deck of the ship, as it rose and fell with the tall, dark waves. Each time the ship dipped, her stomach felt like it was going to come out of her mouth. She vowed to herself to never do anything this foolish ever again. The aft deck of the ship was like an obstacle course, only ten times worse. Equipment had come loose in the storm and littered the deck, making walking along the slick surface a dangerous proposition.
The lead man stopped beside an ordinary-looking sea container fastened to the deck of the ship. Alexandra nodded at the man and with that, he bent down and unlocked the metal doors. With a loud screech, one of the doors opened. Alexandra felt herself shivering, not from the cold, but from anticipation as she moved inside the poorly lit container. It was barely warmer than a fridge inside, but Alexandra was thankful to be out of the rain. Pulling the hood of her jacket back, Alexandra ran her fingers through her rain-drenched hair and walked toward a pair of large wooden crates secured to the floor of the container to prevent them from moving around in the rolling waves.
“Open them up,” ordered Alexandra.
The men quickly did as they were told, and soon both of the lids were removed, exposing the bombs.
Alexandra felt butterflies in her stomach as she stepped forward and looked inside each crate. The nuclear bombs looked sleek and somehow almost sexual to her. A smile crept across her pale features. She stood gazing down at the bombs for close to a minute, her heart racing in her narrow chest, before ordering the men to seal them up once more.
With the bombs secure, Alexandra left the sea container and reluctantly stepped back into the raging storm. She quickly pulled her hood up around her face and leaned forward as she struggled to make her way back to the bridge. Once there, she demanded to be patched through to her father on a secure line. With the line established, Alexandra smiled as she passed on a single word: RETRIBUTION.
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