“Onto an oil rig in the Caribbean.”
“Wonderful. I’m sure this is going to turn out well,” muttered Jackson.
A darkened fishing boat rose and fell with the waves as it made its way towards the massive oil rig on the horizon. The ship’s captain was an elderly man with deep lines on his weathered face. Aside from being a legitimate fisherman, he was known from time to time to do the odd job that wasn’t strictly legal, if the money was right and the chances of being caught were low. As the stakes were high, he had been paid more than triple his usual fee.
Brightly lit up like a Christmas tree, the oil rig looked a city that had been transplanted out in the middle of nowhere. A bright red-orange flame shot high into the black night sky, the flammable gas venting from a tall tower leaning out over the side of the rig. Numerous cranes hung over the side of the platform like so many metal skeletons. The Bolivar V was a semi-submersible platform with part of her tall pontoons submerged under the water to keep it buoyant. Four massive, tower-like legs that disappeared thirty meters below the surface supported the platform. Sitting twenty meters above the warm waters of the Caribbean, the rig was one hundred and fifty meters long and one hundred and fifteen wide. Like an apartment block, it had multiple levels built onto it. In all, the Bolivar V weighed in excess of thirty-two thousand metric tons. It truly was a marvel of engineering.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” said Jackson to Mitchell as he joined him out on the deck of the old fishing boat.
“No, no you don’t,” replied Mitchell.
Both men were dressed in black shirts and pants. Bought for twice what they were worth from a tailor who was locking up his shop when they ran up and asked him to keep it open for ten more minutes.
A couple of seconds later, Grace walked over. “We can’t risk going any closer. If we do, we’ll most certainly draw the attention of the people on the platform, and they’ll have the Venezuelan Navy breathing down our necks in the blink of an eye.”
“What can you tell us about the oil rig?” Mitchell asked Grace.
“It works on a two-week cycle. A crew change took place only a couple of days ago; that’s how I managed to insert one of my people onto the rig. There are fifty people working day and night to extract the oil. They’re split into two shifts, so there shouldn’t be more than twenty-five people awake when we climb aboard. They’re focused on the drill and all of its equipment, so we should be able to move about without drawing too much attention.”
“What’s the old guy’s story if someone comes nosing around?” asked Jackson.
“Squid,” replied Grace. “Night is the best time to fish for them around here.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder at the black Zodiac secured to the back of the fishing boat. “I guess you’re telling us that it’s time to get into the water.”
“Correct. The three of us will take the Zodiac over to the rig while my partner, Midori, remains with the fishing boat. We’ll be able to talk with her using these,” said Grace as she held up a pair of military-grade Motorola radios.
“What’s her cover?” asked Jackson.
“Trust me, no one will ever find her if they board this old rustbucket,” replied Grace confidently.
“Enough chitchat,” said Mitchell. “What else do you have for us?”
Grace pulled back a canvas tarp on the Zodiac, revealing three assault rifles, pistols, a set of NVGs and several sets of coveralls with Bolivar V stenciled on the back.
“I see you come prepared,” said Mitchell to Grace as he picked up a set of coveralls and put them on over his clothes.
“No point going off half-cocked,” replied Grace.
A couple of minutes later, the captain slowed his boat and dimmed the lights in his cabin as the Zodiac was lowered into the water. Quickly jumping into the boat, Jackson sat down beside the electric outboard motor and turned it on while Mitchell and Grace picked up their weapons and made themselves comfortable near the front of the craft. Designed to be as quiet as possible, the Zodiac’s outboard motor barely made a sound at all as it propelled the boat towards the waiting platform.
Mitchell leaned over towards Grace. “I take it you chose to approach from the seaward side because the majority of the platform’s surveillance equipment is facing the shore.”
Grace nodded her head.
The Zodiac skimmed over the water at just under twenty knots. Jackson aimed for the nearest leg of the massive platform. A minute later, he brought their boat to a complete halt alongside the huge, square, metal support.
Grace raised her arm and triggered a small hand-held laser in her hand, immediately blinding a camera situated directly above them. “We’ve got to hurry. The camera will only be out of commission for about one minute, so let’s get moving. Jackson, once we’re gone, move the Zodiac directly under the platform. You won’t be spotted if you stay to the shadows.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jackson asked Mitchell.
“Trust me, I’d rather you came with us. But we need someone down here in case we run into trouble,” replied Mitchell as he jammed a Glock 9mm pistol into a pocket of his coveralls.
Mitchell looked at his watch, “Okay, Nate, it’s coming up on two in the morning; if we’re not back in one hour, we won’t be. If that happens, I want you to head back to the fishing boat, make for shore, and call for the marines.”
“One hour,” repeated Jackson.
Mitchell knew that his friend would drag it out until the very last possible second, as it was precisely what he would do for him.
“Okay, see you soon,” said Mitchell as he shook his friend’s hand.
He turned his head and saw a metal ladder running up the tall support. Mitchell prayed that Grace was right and that the bulk of the security cameras were on the other side of the rig or this was going to be a very short mission, indeed.
Mitchell, climbing hand over hand, followed Grace up the metal ladder until they came out on a slender metal deck that arched around the leg. He turned to ask Grace where they were going when she raised a finger, telling Mitchell to wait.
Grace dug out her cell phone and made a quick call. Mitchell was surprised to learn that Grace spoke fluent Spanish.
“My contact is on her way down to meet us,” said Grace. “Come on, let’s climb up to the next floor, and wait for her there.”
Less than a minute later, Grace’s agent climbed down a set of stairs and joined them in the shadows. She was a short, thin Hispanic woman dressed in sweatclothes. Mitchell guessed that she had been off-duty when Grace called her. She dug into a laundry bag that she brought with her and handed Mitchell and Grace each a plastic orange safety hat. “You have to wear one at all times when you are moving about the rig,” explained the woman in English.
“Is the probe still on board the rig?” asked Grace.
“Si, I think it is,” replied the woman. “I haven’t seen anything resembling it leave the platform since I arrived. There is a secure section on the other side of the platform that is strictly off-limits to the workers. I tried to take a look around yesterday, but was shown off by a couple of security guards. If it’s here, I’m certain that’s where you’ll find it.”
“What about McMasters?” asked Mitchell.
“He’s never far from the secure area. There is a small command post down there. Apart from the odd meal, he never leaves his post,” explained the woman.
“Okay, you’re done here,” said Grace to the woman. “Grab what you need and then wait for us here. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
With a quick nod, the woman spun around on her heel and bounded back up the stairs.