THE RIG:
STORM WARNING
The Rig Trilogy Book 2
by
STEVE ROLLINS
Acclaim for Steve Rollins:
“An absolute blast! Steve Rollins is my new go-to guy for action and adventure. This is pure genius!”
—K.T. Tomb, bestselling author of The Minoan Mask and The Holy Grail
“Steve Rollins is a lot of writer...and a rising new star. Inventive, fast, witty. Great stuff.”
—J.R. Rain, #1 bestselling author of Moon Dance and Silent Echo
“Suspense and action mingle in one of the finest debut thrillers I've read in a long time. The Rig is a lot of fun.”
—H.T. Night, #1 bestselling author of The Fourth Sunrise and
Vampire Nation
“Lightning fast. Sweeping storytelling. This is everything an action adventure should be. Mr. Rollins, I am your new fan.”
—J.T. Cross, author of Lost Valley and Beneath the Deep
OTHER BOOKS BY STEVE ROLLINS
STANDALONE BOOKS
The Jade Dagger
THE RIG THRILLERS
The Rig: Rough Seas
The Rig: Storm Warning
The Rig: Eye of the Hurricane
MAX HARPER ADVENTURES
Jerusalem Gold
The Peaches of Wang Mu
The Sorcerer's Stone
ALLAN QUATERMAIN ADVENTURES
The Road to Shambhala
The Seal of Solomon
The Shroud of Turin
The Rig: Storm Warning
Published by Steve Rollins
Copyright © 2014 by Steve Rollins
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Rig: Storm Warning
Prologue
Elly Boukhari was finally airborne. The FBI had finally released the CBS helicopter and it was on its way to ‘The City’. She could see the blaze of the flames from miles away. In her hand, she held the clipboard she had been given by the agents. One of the men in black suits had gotten on board the helicopter with her and now sat beside her. He had his arms crossed and his hands tucked under his armpits. She kept looking at the small bulge underneath his jacket.
She kept looking him up and down, trying to make out what he was thinking and feeling. But he wore dark aviator sunglasses that completely shielded his eyes. She noticed he looked at her from time to time and it creeped her out, but there was nothing she could do about it.
The rig came closer and closer. They flew over a U.S. Coast Guard ship that lay several miles away from ‘The City’. The pilot flew closer to it and the radio crackled into life.
“This is the United States Coast Guard Hurricane. You are now flying into restricted airspace. Identify yourself.”
“This is N6933NA, working for CBS, San Diego. We plan to fly over the oil rig to shoot some footage and then return to a safe distance.”
“Negative N6933NA. The airspace for five nautical miles around ‘The City’ is closed. You will limit yourself to filming from outside that parameter.”
Elly looked at the pilot. She wanted this story to be done well. It could be her big break as a news reporter.
“Keep going.”
“USCG Hurricane, we will only be a few minutes inside the parameter before returning.”
“N6933NA, you will return to the five mile limit or we will open fire on you. Nobody is to come any closer to the rig than that.”
The pilot looked at Elly again and she motioned to him to keep going. The FBI agent sat quietly.
“USCG Hurricane, we will only be a second.”
A rattle sounded below and Elly could hear bullets whipping past. Almost instantly, the pilot jerked the stick and turned around.
“Sorry kid. I’m not getting her shot down!”
Elly nodded.
“That’s okay!” She turned to the cameraman. “Can you get a clean shot of me, with the burning rig in the background?”
The man frowned. “I’ll try, but no promises.” He turned to the pilot. “Can you keep her steady?”
“I’ll try.”
Elly bullied the FBI agent out of the way and took her compact from her bag and checked how she looked in the little mirror, fluffing her hair up a bit. She checked again and swore under her breath.
“Need a fluffer?” The cameraman asked her with a grin. She looked perplexed and then poked her tongue at him.
“You ready?”
“Yep. Let me check with the director.”
Elly quickly put her IEM in and listened to the countdown given to her by the director in the van at the heliport. “Ready? Do a sound check.”
“Testing one, two, one, two, three.” Elly spoke into the microphone.
“Got you loud and clear. Going live in five, four, three, two, go!”
Across San Diego and southern California, CBS stations broke. A news anchor came on the air from the studio.
“We interrupt our regular programming to bring you live reports on the emergency at ‘The City’. We’ll now go live to our reporter, Elly Boukhari.”
“Thank you, Dan. Elly Boukhari here, reporting live from the CBS News Helicopter about five miles from ‘The City’, which earlier today was rocked by a shocking terrorist attack. During a music event in the Central Plaza of this great product of American enterprise, a powerful weapon of mass destruction was set off. The man suspected of the bombing is a U.S. citizen of Egyptian descent; thirty-three year old Akhmed Hussain Abbasi. He allegedly set off the powerful blast, which is thought to have killed hundreds of people. The blast then caused an oil spill and a massive fire, which is now causing a huge blaze that envelops ‘The City’.”
“Have you had any confirmation of the casualties of this tragic event, Elly?” the news anchor asked.
“No, Dan, we have not. All contact with ‘The City’ seems to be impossible. We think the terrorist first disabled the radio systems and the wireless communications of ‘The City’. This was a very well-planned attack, indeed.”
“And has a motive been determined? Why was this attack made against the American people?”
“Well, Dan, we have just received an update that Akhmed Hussain Abbasi published a manifesto on social media. He uploaded a number of radical Islamic videos onto YouTube as well. In the manifesto, he claims to be fighting a holy jihad against the crusaders. He wants to make sure the U.S. does not double-cross the true believers. He is thought to have suffered from mental health issues and to have been radicalized in the last year.”
“Thank you, Elly. We will come back to you as soon as there is more news.”
The news anchor looked into the camera and put on the most serious face that he could muster.
“Next, we will talk to a former security advisor to the president about this shocking development off the coast of San Diego. Stay tuned.”
When the light on the camera went out and the cameraman indicated they had stopped filming, Elly took her IEM out and looked at the FBI agent next to her.
“Was that all correct?”
The FBI man just nodded. He did not speak or even lift his sun glasses.
Chapter One
Akhmed had no idea how it happened. He found himself kneeling on the floor, his face in the urinal, and his trousers around his knees. Dazed at what he discovered, he looked around and noticed the urinal had been shattered. His head was bleeding from a cut and it throbbed like crazy. He scrambled to his feet and looked around. Then he saw the woman behind him and suddenly, he remembered what had happened.
Fatím
a stirred and her hand closed tightly around the pistol. Slowly she brought her head up and she began to raise the gun toward Akhmed. He made to kick the gun out of her hand, but the trousers around his ankles would not allow him. He toppled over and fell onto Fatíma’s head. There was a sickening noise as her head slammed into the floor tiles under the weight of his body. Her hand went limp, she sighed and went silent.
Akhmed scrambled to his feet again and hurried to pull his pants up. He saw a trickle of blood coming from Fatíma’s head. It was strangely bright on the white tiles. He looked around, still wondering what had happened and what was happening. He could barely believe the whole thing.
Akhmed reached for his cell phone and selected his girlfriend’s number. He needed to check whether or not she was safe. It didn’t ring. He looked at it and saw there were no bars. He sighed. For a moment, he was tempted to pinch his arm to check whether this was a nightmare he was in, but then the throbbing of his head reminded him it was all too real.
Fatíma groaned. Akhmed’s eyes opened wide and he bent down to take the gun from her hand. He looked at it. He knew nothing about guns, but had seen enough in the movies to notice that Fatíma had taken the safety off. He flicked the little switch back up and tucked the pistol into his belt. His hands were shaking. His lips were trembling. This was a nightmare, he determined. A nightmare made real.
His legs were barely working, his knees hurt from the impact of the fall, his head was a piece of pure agony and his sense of balance was gone. His ears buzzed from the double blast and emotionally he was in complete shock. Akhmed managed to stagger out into the small corridor and then onto the Central Plaza, where he had spent most of the day setting up the stage for Fatíma; DJ Medina.
The Plaza was like a scene from hell. Akhmed had no idea what hell might look like. His mother had never sent him to Sunday school, and his father had described the Islamic interpretation of hell, but the Quran forbids Muslims to use images when it comes to matters of faith. But he was convinced that this was what hell must look like.
Limp and torn bodies were everywhere. Close to the toilets, there was a severed leg. It was a woman’s leg, shaved and with the remnants of nylon stockings, wearing a red pump. Akhmed tried to trace its owner. He saw a man a few paces away that was missing an arm. Next to him, he saw a red pump identical to the one on the leg. He went toward the shoe and then saw the woman underneath the armless man. She had barely been a woman. She had the face of a teen. He figured she could not have been more than twenty years old, just blossoming into full womanhood. And now she was not even human anymore. She was a mangled piece of flesh and blood and guts. It made him feel sick.
Tears sprung to his eyes as he bent down. He did not know why he did it, but he reached down to close the woman’s eyes. He looked at the man without the arm, but for some reason he felt numbed to this man’s plight. His chest was not moving. He was dead as well. He must have been; the puddle of blood that was under his stump was too large for him to be alive.
Akhmed staggered on, his tears now flowing freely as he noticed the mayhem caused by the explosion. He was responsible for this. Not that he had ever wanted to be, but he had trusted Fatíma, Smith, and Garcia, and they had used him. He’d realized that now. Fatíma had told him she could sabotage the rig with sound waves during her DJ gig. He had checked the science and found out she was on to something. It would have been the perfect protest against ‘The City’ after all his protests against this whole failed project had been silenced.
But he had been had. Somehow, they had made him smuggle a bomb on board and set it off. Then Fatíma had shown up in the toilets just before she would start her set and pointed the gun at him.
Akhmed’s mind was racing as he tried to figure out everything. He had checked the gear and all the boxes when he picked them up and there had been no bomb. Yet somehow, they had managed to get it in there. He shook his head in a reflex, trying to come back to reality from his thoughts. His hearing began to return then. He noticed silence first, but then began picking up the small noises. There were the raspy breaths and soft moans of the wounded and dying and then he heard the noise that came through in the background. He looked around but could not figure out what was causing the roar. Finally, he looked up and saw something through the skylight. He saw the flames and knew then that the rig was on fire.
Chapter Two
Wes looked up over the edge of the bathtub he had used to shelter them. Underneath him, Sheila stirred. He looked down and saw her looking around, completely dazed.
“What...”
“They must have struck oil earlier today,” Wes said. His mouth was dry somehow. “That first blast probably severed a pipe and set it on fire.”
He placed his hands on the rim of the tub and pushed himself up. Then, he stepped out of the tub and went to the door. The doorknob was very hot. He twisted it and opened the door. Immediately he recoiled. The heat in the other room was immense.
The oil and gas outside had taken out the porthole and the flames roared into Sheila’s apartment. The entire room was ablaze. The flames were still roaring in through the shattered porthole. They were stuck. Wes looked around and saw Sheila watching him. He sat down on the edge of the tub and shook his head. Sheila looked at him dejectedly.
“You mean...”
Wes shook his head again.
“We can’t get through there.”
Sheila was silent. She realized the position they were in.
“That fire is going to suck the air out of there as well, isn’t it?”
Wes nodded again.
Sheila stood up and got out of the tub, too. Wes just realized what she was wearing. They had been here so she could change for dinner, but she had decided she preferred staying in and had come out dressed to seduce him in a black thong and a pair of ‘fuck-me’ pumps. It was when she was in his lap that the first explosion had taken place. He had laid her down in the tub and covered her with his own body when he saw the oil spill and the flames.
She was a gorgeous woman, he mused again. Her body was taut and lean. She had perfectly shaped breasts and an open and bright face; framed with blonde hair. She had long, slim, muscular legs, which were now accentuated by the pumps. Despite everything he felt he wanted to touch her and continue what they had started before the blast.
Suddenly, Sheila sank to her knees and reached for his belt. “What... um...” Wes stammered, completely taken aback.
“Do you know that joke?” Sheila looked up at him and continued to undo his belt and undress him. “One man asked another man, ‘What would you do if the world would end in five minutes?’ The other man answered, ‘I would shag everything that moved. What about you?’ And the man said, ‘I would stand perfectly still.’”
She bit her lip.
“If there’s no way out, then I know what I want to spend my last minutes doing.”
She ripped his pants down and pulled him off the edge of the tub, onto the floor with her. She pushed him down and began to mount him.
Wes did not move as she clambered on top of him and moved her thong out of the way. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to look at her dazzling bright eyes. But he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He sat up straight and gently pushed Sheila away.
“There’s an aircon vent.”
Sheila sighed at the interruption and looked up as well.
“Yes. There is.”
She stated it matter-of-factly, but was slightly puzzled by what he was trying to say.
“There’s no fire in them. It leads to the outside, but if there’s no flames coming through, then it’s still shut. We might be able to reach the corridor.”
Sheila stood up and gazed at the vent, then at Wes.
“Do you think you can lift me up? I could go and get help.”
Wes looked at her and shook his head.
“There might not be any help. Maybe I can reach it.”
He walked up to the vent and jumped, bu
t just scraped it with his fingernails. He tried again and was able to grab the raster. He clung on to it and reached up with his other hand. He held the bars with both hands and then tried to pull down on it. He shook and whipped his body down again and the raster moved. He tried again and it gave way. Wes fell backwards and landed on his feet. With the vent now opened before him, he looked around, picked up the shower curtain that had fallen to the ground, and tucked it into the back of his trousers.
Wes jumped up again and his fingers clasped the edge of the vent straight away. He hauled himself up and into the vent. When he was inside, he turned and took the shower curtain into his hands, bracing himself.
He beckoned to Sheila.
“Grab a hold of the shower curtain. I’ll haul you up.”
He felt when the weight was added to the shower curtain as Sheila took a hold of it. With all his strength, he tugged at it, praying it wouldn’t rip. He used his whole body, pulling with his arms and slowly moving his body back as far as he could. He pushed off gently with his legs so that he would not lose his foothold.
Sheila’s face appeared in the vent hole and then the rest of her body. When she almost lay on top of him, he let go of the shower curtain. He clambered backwards and turned around. He looked left and saw the flames flickering at the end of that passage as they licked through the small gaps of the closed vent. Right was the way out, so he turned there, heading away from the heat. He noticed the metal was hot under his touch again and he looked behind, knowing Sheila was practically naked. “You alright?” he asked, not stopping.
“Just keep going.”
Wes could hear her gritting her teeth and biting away the pain of the hot metal against her skin. But he saw another raster in front of him. It was in the side of the tunnel and as soon as he reached it he looked out. It was the corridor, but the vent was not straight above the walkway. He swore. There was no other way out, and he knew they could not stay where they were. Sheila especially would be in serious trouble if they did not move. He went past the raster and turned onto his back. He kicked the raster out and heard it fall a long way, then looked at Sheila.
The Rig 2: Storm Warning Page 1