Free The Rig 2: Storm Warning by Steve Rollins Page A

the president for that matter. Quest for power, he supposed. Lately he had wanted to change the world. His wife had started him on that course and he was glad he could do something for the world now he had the money to do it.
    But he shook all that off and thought about Jacobs’ proposal again. He needed the senator on his side for the educational program to go national.
    “Sure. You can come in and claim the limelight on every good thing that happens with ‘The City’ now. But remember, it’s to go down.”
    Jacobs nodded and winked.
    “We have a deal then.”
    The rest of the evening was long and dull and Portis was glad when he got home. He turned on the news, poured himself a whisky and sat down in front of the screen. He watched CNN report on the terrorist attack. He changed the channel. CBS was showing the girlfriend again. Canadian CBC had something on the possible oil spill and the environmental consequences. It did not seem too important to him. He laughed when the reporter overlaid a prognosis from the disaster area in Vancouver. It was a new trick the media used and he found it immensely funny. Finally, he changed to the Spanish channel. The Mexicans did not seem to be too concerned with the disaster; instead, they had the weather report on. His Spanish was not great, so it took him all the power of his befuddled mind to understand, but he managed to do it. And his eyes opened wide as he suddenly understood what was coming. The weather girl was talking about El Niño and a massive tropical storm about to hit the Pacific coast, rolling up from Baja California. He realized that same storm would soon be battering ‘The City’. And in that moment, he had his doubts about what had transpired. This could turn into something much worse than he had ever dared to plan.
     
     
    To be continued in:
    The Rig: Eye of the Hurricane
    (read on for a sample)
     
    Prologue
     
    Wes knew the man was not paying any attention to him. He saw him looking at Sheila's bare legs and the bits that showed from beneath her thong. He slowly put his hand into his trouser pocket and drew out his phone. He knew he could not call anyone, but he could do something else. Without looking, he keyed in the code to unlock the touch screen. He scrolled through the menu and selected the audio recorder. He glanced down and adjusted the volume, then pressed record.
    “What did you do?” he asked Smith.
    Smith laughed again.
    “We set this whole fucking thing up.” He gestured around. “This whole damned rig is a failure, so someone offered it up to us to use as a setting for our six-week cycle event. ‘Cause he was right. We do need people to remain scared. We need people to remain scared so the politicians will keep funding us, instead of sending their money to those idiots at the NSA or the CIA. Or maybe spend it on buying more crap from some manufacturer in Virginia.”
    “So you, the FBI, is responsible for all of this?” Wes asked, with his voice calm.
    “Yup, not that it's anything to you. You will be going down with this damned place when it finally goes up in flames.”
     
    ***
     
    Garcia could not hear what was going on in the docks, but he had a fair idea. He saw the shot and he cursed. He had known this would happen when he saw Smith appear from the office, completely revitalized. He knew Smith would become too reckless, but he never expected to see the scene he just watched on the monitor.
    He saw Smith pull the trigger and he saw Akhmed fall. The boy must be dead. He regretted it. Akhmed had been a nice guy, but things were what they were. There was nothing to do about it; nothing could have been done about it the moment he allowed Smith to choose Akhmed Hussain Abbasi as a target. As a means to accomplish the ends they had in mind.
    It was sad, really. But it had to be done. They needed a patsy and Akhmed had been the best choice Smith was able to come up with. He had not found a better one himself, so the plan was made and