Mitchell put his hat on his head and indicated to the stairs with his right hand.
“Gentlemen first,” replied Grace with a smile on her face.
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders, climbed the stairs, and saw that they had come out on the main platform deck. White, compartmental living quarters three-stories high filled this section of the platform. Above them was a large square helipad that jutted out over the side.
He pointed down the narrow pathway that led to the back of the rig. “According to your friend, we know that it’s not around here, so I suppose we should take a look back there.”
“Lead on,” said Grace. “I doubt there are too many women working the drill, so if we bump into anyone it should be you they meet first, not me.”
“Also, I can act as a human shield should they open fire,” remarked Mitchell dryly.
“Well, there’s that, too.”
Mitchell pulled his hard hat down to cover his face in case there were any security cameras covering the walkway. He strode down the metal path trying his best to look like he belonged there. A minute later, they arrived at a set of stairs that led up to the next level. He quickly climbed the stairs and then froze in his tracks when he saw McMasters standing there talking to two armed guards. With his heart racing, Mitchell ducked down and waited a few seconds before slowly raising his head. It was difficult to hear what was being said over the sound of all the machinery operating in the background. However, Mitchell could clearly see McMasters giving orders to two well-armed men outside of a closed door, who nodded their heads each time he spoke.
“What’s going on?” asked Grace from behind.
“I think we may have found what we’re looking for,” replied Mitchell, barely above a whisper. “McMasters is busy talking to a couple of goons guarding a door.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that unless we want to start a fight, we can’t go that way. Come on, let’s double back a bit. There was another set of stairs back about fifty meters behind us. Let’s take them and see if we can find another way around.”
Mitchell took one last look at McMasters. The image of Maria lying dead on the ice filled his mind. He gritted his teeth in anger. Mitchell had to fight the urge to draw his pistol and kill McMasters where he stood. Although it would have given him great satisfaction to see McMasters die, he knew that it would have to wait, for now.
Quickly making their way back to the other set of stairs, Mitchell ran up to the next level and looked around.
The hallway was empty.
Mitchell swore when he saw that the passageway stopped short of the guarded secure area on the floor below. “Up,” was all he said to Grace before climbing to the next floor. As before, the hallway stopped short.
“What is with this place?” Mitchell muttered to himself.
He led Grace up one more flight of stairs. They came out into the open. Directly in front of them Mitchell could see the helipad brightly lit up. Turning his head, he saw on the other side of the platform a wall of massive pipes that ran back and forth like the iron intestines of some insatiable beast. In the middle of the platform, men in oil-stained coveralls worked to keep the drill running at peak efficiency.
Mitchell was about to head off and try to find a way back down when he heard a sound. A couple of seconds later, running lights from a helicopter emerged from the dark as it sped towards the platform.
All around the helipad, more lights burst to life, bathing the pad in light. Mitchell placed a hand on Grace’s arm and pulled her back towards him. They took refuge in the shadows. From belowdecks, a couple of men in bright-orange suits ran up onto the helipad. One man with large orange paddles in his hands stood ready to guide the helicopter in to land. From out of the night sky, a large helicopter painted dark-gray descended towards the landing pad. Mitchell recognized it as a Russian-made MI-38 transport helicopter. Capable of carrying thirty passengers or up to five metric tons of cargo internally, the MI-38 was a popular helicopter with the Venezuelan military.
Landing smoothly, the helicopter’s pilot switched off the engine and powered down the helicopter. A squad of heavily armed soldiers jumped out of the back and took up position around the helicopter.
A feeling of foreboding fell over Mitchell when he saw that the soldiers were all dressed in chemical suits. “I don’t like the look of this.”
“Nor do I,” replied Grace.
“We’re wasting time, let’s get back to work.”
They hurriedly walked along a narrow path when unexpectedly a man turned a corner in front of them with a pissed-off look on his face.
“You two, what are you doing here?” called out the man.
Mitchell looked over at the man without making eye contact. “Sorry, sir, we must have taken a wrong turn,” Mitchell said in Spanish.
“Who are you?” asked the man “I don’t recognize you.”
“Sorry, sir, I’m new here.”
“Give me your name and yours too,” demanded the man, looking past Mitchell at Grace.
Before Mitchell could say a word, Grace stepped out from behind him and smashed her upturned palm into the man’s nose, shattering it. Blood poured like a river from the man’s broken nose.
The stunned man brought his hands up to his face, leaving his midsection wide-open to attack. In a flash, Grace shot out with her right leg and slammed her foot into the man’s stomach, painfully doubling him over. A second later, she reached over, grabbed hold of his coveralls, turned the stunned man about on his heels, and smashed his head straight into the wall, knocking him unconscious.
“Well, that was none too subtle,” said Mitchell.
“You said it, it was time for us to get to work,” replied Grace as she grabbed the sleeping man by his coveralls and dragged him out of sight.
Mitchell opened up a storage closet, grabbed some rags, and helped Grace bind and gag the man before jamming him inside the metal locker. Mitchell grinned when he saw stairs nearby, leading below.
“Follow me,” he said to Grace as he walked over and looked down below to make sure the coast was clear. A minute later, they were back on the same floor as the guarded secure area; only now, they were somewhere behind it.
“This place is worse than a maze,” whispered an exasperated Grace.
“Where’s a clever mouse when you need one?” replied Mitchell.
McMasters checked his watch; the helicopter was ten minutes early. He strode back along the walkway towards the oil rig’s command center, cursing the helicopter pilots under his breath. If there was something he couldn’t abide, it was people who couldn’t stick to a simple schedule. He brusquely motioned for a guard to step aside as he reached for the door to the control room. Inside, two men sat behind a console that looked like something out of a science-fiction film. The wall in front of them was covered with multiple screens, showing over a dozen camera feeds all at once.
“Is everything quiet?” asked McMasters.
“Aside from a flare up on camera nineteen a little while ago, there’s nothing to report,” responded one of the technicians.
“Where is camera nineteen located?”
“It covers support number four on the seaward side of the platform,” explained the technician.
“Bring it up.”
The technician brought up an image from camera nineteen on the main monitor. All it showed was the dark sea below the rig.
“What about radar? Anything unusual to report?” asked McMasters.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” replied the other technician, an older man with short, white hair. “There are a few fishing boats a few kilometers away and that’s it.”
“Good, keep me informed if anything changes,” said McMasters before leaving the room. As he headed back through the labyrinth of passageways, his mind was awhirl with questions. He hadn’t heard a word from the men he had hired to kill Mitchell and Jackson and in his line of business, it could only mean one thing. They had failed. With a pissed look on his face, he quickly made his way back to the secure area belowdecks.