her rage.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Purdue. I hope you are paying him enough to keep your secret," she said, and looked out on the angry ocean, akin to her own frustration. Shamelessly she coveted a cigarette and wondered if there was any alcohol on Deep Sea One.
At the airfield Sam Cleave waited for the helicopter pilot to collect him from the lounge. On the table in front of him were his cell phone and an ashtray with four crumpled butts in it. He rhythmically kicked his duffle bag under the table while he looked out from the wide window to the goings-on of the airstrip. A blunt headache chiseled away at his brain, filling his skull with burning waves every time something loud happened. On the tender spot above his navel, nausea persisted that he could not rid himself of, no matter how many potions he prepared to alleviate the discomfort. There were few things worse than a hangover and today he had the pleasure to host one. Checking his watch he realized that there was time for one more cigarette before his ride would arrive. The orange fire of the burning tobacco brightened as he sucked in the smoke and he wondered what Purdue was up to this time.
He had not been given any more detail than the basic. Most important, his camera gear was needed. Apart from that he was not quite sure what it was all about, but he knew it was on the North Sea and had to be kept discreet. The money was extravagant, so Sam was happy to comply with anything Purdue wished to bribe him for. Knowing the flamboyant billionaire it was probably an island of mermaids he bought or maybe he managed to perfect what the USS Eldridge could not complete during the Philadelphia Experiment. Nothing would surprise him.
"Mr. Cleave," a man in a uniform addressed him. His voice was remarkably clear in the din of the roaring planes, something Sam did not appreciate.
"Yes."
"This way for the Purdue party," the man said loudly and led the way.
Good God, can your voice be any sharper? Sam thought, as he gathered up his gear and followed.
A few hours later he was circling over Deep Sea One, marveling at the deserted location. It was far offshore and immediately Cleave grew suspicious. It was in international waters, not bound by any specific country's laws and that roused his bullshit meter. Cynicism was part of his job, not to believe what he saw on the surface. Why would the location of Purdue's oil rig be so far out? Unless he discovered a potent vein deeper in. The platform was enormous and it reminded him of the Eiffel Tower if it had been swallowed by the sea and lived there for two hundred years. His journalistic inquisitiveness took over and a thousand questions darted through his mind as they landed with a swaying jerk on the deck. What could be so damn secretive to a bloody oil rig? Exactly what kind of secret could possibly be kept here?
Sam saw a few men move up and down the iron stairs, as the pilot led him to the control rooms where he recognized Purdue's boisterous yapping. He heard another voice too, that of a woman.
"Nina," he gasped a little too loudly, as he entered the doorway and saw the small fire breather standing against the wall. Even though she expected him, she did not think that his actual arrival would ignite her hurt so much and she bit her lip in Purdue's presence.
"Welcome to Deep Sea One, Mr. Cleave," Purdue smiled. "Tea?"
Sam nodded briefly and looked at Nina, who glared at him with a hint of abhorrence from the brim of her cup. He had no idea that she was involved. Purdue sure had a knack, or is that a perverted amusement, for uniting foes just to watch the chemical chaos it birthed. This was probably why he was not told who else was involved, but now he was here, packed, ready and well paid. His imbursement was incentive enough to bear with Nina Gould and her fury.
"Mr. Purdue," Liam peeked in, "Phone call for you."
"Excuse me, Sam. Here—finish making your tea. I shall be back shortly," he smirked and shoved a
"Whatever you say, Mr. Purdue. I hope you are paying him enough to keep your secret," she said, and looked out on the angry ocean, akin to her own frustration. Shamelessly she coveted a cigarette and wondered if there was any alcohol on Deep Sea One.
At the airfield Sam Cleave waited for the helicopter pilot to collect him from the lounge. On the table in front of him were his cell phone and an ashtray with four crumpled butts in it. He rhythmically kicked his duffle bag under the table while he looked out from the wide window to the goings-on of the airstrip. A blunt headache chiseled away at his brain, filling his skull with burning waves every time something loud happened. On the tender spot above his navel, nausea persisted that he could not rid himself of, no matter how many potions he prepared to alleviate the discomfort. There were few things worse than a hangover and today he had the pleasure to host one. Checking his watch he realized that there was time for one more cigarette before his ride would arrive. The orange fire of the burning tobacco brightened as he sucked in the smoke and he wondered what Purdue was up to this time.
He had not been given any more detail than the basic. Most important, his camera gear was needed. Apart from that he was not quite sure what it was all about, but he knew it was on the North Sea and had to be kept discreet. The money was extravagant, so Sam was happy to comply with anything Purdue wished to bribe him for. Knowing the flamboyant billionaire it was probably an island of mermaids he bought or maybe he managed to perfect what the USS Eldridge could not complete during the Philadelphia Experiment. Nothing would surprise him.
"Mr. Cleave," a man in a uniform addressed him. His voice was remarkably clear in the din of the roaring planes, something Sam did not appreciate.
"Yes."
"This way for the Purdue party," the man said loudly and led the way.
Good God, can your voice be any sharper? Sam thought, as he gathered up his gear and followed.
A few hours later he was circling over Deep Sea One, marveling at the deserted location. It was far offshore and immediately Cleave grew suspicious. It was in international waters, not bound by any specific country's laws and that roused his bullshit meter. Cynicism was part of his job, not to believe what he saw on the surface. Why would the location of Purdue's oil rig be so far out? Unless he discovered a potent vein deeper in. The platform was enormous and it reminded him of the Eiffel Tower if it had been swallowed by the sea and lived there for two hundred years. His journalistic inquisitiveness took over and a thousand questions darted through his mind as they landed with a swaying jerk on the deck. What could be so damn secretive to a bloody oil rig? Exactly what kind of secret could possibly be kept here?
Sam saw a few men move up and down the iron stairs, as the pilot led him to the control rooms where he recognized Purdue's boisterous yapping. He heard another voice too, that of a woman.
"Nina," he gasped a little too loudly, as he entered the doorway and saw the small fire breather standing against the wall. Even though she expected him, she did not think that his actual arrival would ignite her hurt so much and she bit her lip in Purdue's presence.
"Welcome to Deep Sea One, Mr. Cleave," Purdue smiled. "Tea?"
Sam nodded briefly and looked at Nina, who glared at him with a hint of abhorrence from the brim of her cup. He had no idea that she was involved. Purdue sure had a knack, or is that a perverted amusement, for uniting foes just to watch the chemical chaos it birthed. This was probably why he was not told who else was involved, but now he was here, packed, ready and well paid. His imbursement was incentive enough to bear with Nina Gould and her fury.
"Mr. Purdue," Liam peeked in, "Phone call for you."
"Excuse me, Sam. Here—finish making your tea. I shall be back shortly," he smirked and shoved a
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