Read Online The Rig 1: Rough Seas by Steve Rollins - Free Book Online Page A

been given to finish her job.
    She made her way down to the offices and went straight for Stryker's office. Stryker was not there, but that was only a small snag in the plan. She reached for her phone to call him, but then she saw the man had left his own phone on the desk. For a moment she doubted what she would do, but then she walked over to the desk and reached into a drawer. She took a notepad from the drawer and began looking over the desk for a pen.
    “Hey. Who are you? What are you doing in Mr. Stryker's office?” a voice said from the doorway. Fatíma looked up and saw a man there with a tablet in his hand and a tired look in his eyes.
    “DJ Medina. I was told to meet Mr. Stryker before the performance.”
    Her tone was innocent and sweet. She managed to perfectly hide the fact that her heart was beating at a million miles an hour. It was the result of years of training.
    “He's not here. Been trying to get to him for ages, but he's not answering his phone either.”
    Fatíma shrugged.
    “Don't know where he is either. I just got here. Why are you trying to get ahold of him?”
    “I'm Reg McCoy, his PA. And we struck oil earlier. He doesn't know yet.”
    “Well, if I see him, I'll let him know you're looking for him.”
    “Thanks.”
    Reg was stressed and he barely realized he walked out of the office, leaving someone unknown to him in his boss’ office.
     
    ***
     
    When Akhmed came back from the mosque, Fatíma was already plugging her laptop into the sound system. She smiled at him and complimented him with the work he had done. Everything had been set up perfectly. He nodded and sat down on the edge of the stage. Fatíma sat down beside him and gave him another dazzling smile.
    “You've done very well, you know,” she said. “I think everything worked out perfectly.”
    “Are you sure you can do this?” Akhmed asked her softly.
    Fatíma nodded, a bright look in her eyes.
    “Of course I can. Don't worry about that.”
    “I just hope nobody gets hurt.”
    “Maybe some cuts and scrapes from breaking glass, but nothing more.”
    She looked at him sincerely.
    “I promise you that.”
    Akhmed nodded and sighed.
    “I'll hold you to it.”
    Fatíma got up and sighed.
    “I'm going to open a playlist and then go up and change. Can you start the playlist in ten minutes?”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Fatíma took the lift up, back to the offices to change and Akhmed was alone again. He could see people beginning to gather. Most of them were in a party mood already and beer and wine was in ample supply. The cafes and pubs around the Plaza would be doing well tonight, until Akhmed and Fatíma's protest started, that is. He kept a watch on the clock and found the minutes ticking by very slowly. They passed so slowly now and he tried to retain that tranquility he had been able to find in the mosque, but he grew more nervous with every idle second.
    Finally ten minutes had passed and Akhmed got up and walked to the laptop. He clicked the play button on the player and sat down again. It took a few seconds before anything happened, but then music began to flow from the speakers and Akhmed's nerves seemed to disappear again. He sat down on a chair by the boxes of records and closed his eyes. He tapped his foot to the beat and finally felt that nothing could go wrong any more.
     
    ***
     
    Fatíma swore as she came back to Stryker's office and still found it empty. She had just realized the significance of the oil find. If the rig blew now, it could lead to a massive environmental disaster and somehow it struck her as something she could not face doing. But she had been paid to do the job, and she decided she would follow orders. As long as she knew what those orders were. She took out her own phone and sent a text to Smith. She said they had struck oil and asked whether she should proceed as planned. Then she began to undress.
    When she got down to her thong, her phone buzzed. A text from Smith. ‘Proceed as