Mitchell and Grace took off running through the metal passageways in a race to get to the helicopter before it took off.
“Jesus, did you see that?” said one of the control room operators, pointing up at the screen.
“I sure did,” replied his partner, looking at the bodies of the two guards lying unconscious on the floor outside of the lab. He reached over and slammed his hand onto a large red button on his console. Instantly, a klaxon alarm sounded throughout the oil rig.
The other operator picked up a phone. His voice boomed over dozens of loudspeakers spread all over the platform. “Attention, we have intruders on the platform. I say again, we have intruders on the platform. All security personnel are to report to their duty stations immediately.”
23
“This is why you don’t let officers go off by themselves,” said Jackson to himself as the ear-piercing alarms sprang to life above him. He switched on the outboard motor and brought the Zodiac out from under the cover of darkness. He positioned it directly below the ladder that Mitchell and Grace had used to climb up onto the platform.
Mumbling to himself that there was no point in hiding anymore, Jackson picked up a silenced MP-5 submachine gun from the bottom of the boat and began to shoot out every camera and light he could see.
Jackson looked up at the platform. “Come on Ryan, pick up the pace. I don’t want to end up in some squalid South American prison for the rest of my life.”
McMasters slid to a halt and looked back over his shoulder. With the shrieking alarms echoing throughout the rig, he half-expected to see a horde of commandos rappelling down from helicopters. Instead, all he saw were confused oil workers scurrying for cover. A second later, he saw a handful of security personnel, still pulling on their clothes, run towards him.
“Sir, what are your orders?” asked one of the security personnel as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Take two men and escort the package to the helicopter,” replied McMasters, pointing over at the sealed box carried by two scientists in protective clothing. “I’ll take the rest back with me and see what the hell is going on.”
“Si, señor,” replied the guard, who quickly barked out the orders to his men.
McMasters pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster and pulled back on the slide, loading a round into the chamber. “Okay, follow me,” he said to the four men still with him.
The alarm system turned off, plunging the platform back into silence.
“What?” snarled McMasters into his Motorola.
“Sir, someone attacked the guards at the lab,” replied one of the control operators.
“Did you see who it was?”
“No, sir; if the intruders are still on the platform, they are undoubtedly dressed as workers,” said the operator as he frantically switched between dozens of cameras located all over the platform, trying to spot the trespassers. “Sir, you should also know that all of the cameras above leg number four have ceased to work.”
“Send some men to check it out,” ordered McMasters, knowing that it couldn’t be a coincidence.
As he walked off the helipad, McMasters heard the loud whine of the Venezuelan military helicopter as its engine warmed up. He was almost at the stairs when he heard the sound of people running up. He stepped back slightly to let them pass and then swore loudly when he recognized Mitchell barreling up the stairs towards him. He swiftly brought his pistol up to take a shot.
“Look out!” yelled Grace, as she pulled Mitchell back by the collar of his coveralls.
A split-second later a shot rang out, striking the metal right beside Mitchell’s head.
With his heart in his throat, Mitchell almost fell straight back into Grace’s arms.
Grace aimed her pistol up the stairs and fired off two quick shots, trying to throw off their attacker’s aim.
“Thanks, I could have been killed.”
Before Grace could reply, a flurry of shots flew down from above, hitting the stairs where Mitchell had been seconds before.
“The way up is blocked. We’re too late to stop the helicopter,” said Grace bitterly.
“Looks that way,” replied Mitchell as he looked back over his shoulder to see if the path behind was clear. “Come on, we’ve overstayed our welcome. It’s time for us to go.”
They ran as fast as they could for the lower levels and their only way out. From above they could hear the sound of people coming after them. As they turned a sharp corner, Mitchell almost ran into a surprised security guard. Both men went to raise their weapons. Unlike the poorly trained guard, Mitchell was an expert. He quickly fired off a shot into the man’s right shoulder, making him drop his weapon. In a flash, Mitchell ran forward and hit the man square in his chest, bowling him over. He kicked the guard’s pistol over the side of the platform and then turned to look at Grace, who had an incredulous look on her face. “He didn’t deserve to die,” was all Mitchell said before taking off again.
Grace swore, turned around, and fired off a couple of shots up the stairs so slow their pursuers before sprinting after Mitchell.
McMasters heard the shots. On the level below him, a man cried out in pain. McMasters’ blood was up. With the sample safely away, all he could think of was killing Mitchell. The man had become a major pain in the ass.
McMasters brought his Motorola to his lips. “Control room, this is McMasters, the intruders are armed and highly dangerous. Send everyone you have to support number four immediately.”
Angrily, he pushed past a guard who had stopped to help his injured friend. He called on the two remaining men with him to keep up as he sprinted down the metal stairs. When they arrived on the lowest level, McMasters, expecting an ambush, warily stepped out with his pistol held out in front of him. When he saw the guard Mitchell had shot rolling around on the floor, moaning in pain, McMasters screamed Mitchell’s name at the top of his lungs. If was the last thing he ever did; McMasters swore that he was going to kill Mitchell.
The two guards with him stopped in their tracks, looked down at their wounded comrade and over at McMasters.
He could see the fear in their eyes. They were finished.
McMasters had not time to waste on them. He tossed his Motorola to the closest guard and told him to call for more backup. McMasters took up the pursuit by himself.
Mitchell came to a sliding halt. He was relieved to see that they were on the narrow walkway that arched around the support leg. They had to go down one more level before they could begin to climb down the support.
“Hurry up,” said Grace as she pushed Mitchell towards the nearby flight of stairs.
His instincts told him to be careful.
Suddenly, a shot rang out from below, barely missing Grace as she pushed her way past Mitchell in her hurry to escape.
With skills honed in combat, Mitchell fired off a shot. From below, he heard the sound of a man yelp in pain. Mitchell dashed down the stairs with his weapon held out in front of him, ready to engage in a moment’s notice. He swore when he saw Grace’s contact lying facedown on the metal floor with a pool of blood underneath her. In the corner, a wounded guard sat there with both hands on his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.
A loud shot cut through the air.
Mitchell looked over at Grace as she fired once more, killing the guard. He wanted to say something, but knew that now wasn’t the time. He grabbed Grace by the arm, pointed at the ladder leading below and said, “You first.”