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

executed. It was the way it was: no time for regrets.
    Garcia knew what would be next, or what should be next. The next thing Smith should do was shoot those people who had just witnessed the murder. But to his growing astonishment, Smith just stood there, talking to them. It almost seemed like he was watching Smith speak one of Shakespeare's soliloquies. He could not believe his eyes. He buried his head in his hands for a moment, sinking onto the desk.
    When he looked up, Smith was still talking. He cursed him. But then something caught his eye. A minute detail he saw. He saw the man pull out his phone and move through the menu. He did not have to see what exactly the man did, he knew it just from watching. He was recording everything Smith was saying, and Smith did not realize it. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he pulled out his own gun and checked the magazine. There were enough bullets there. He sighed again and got up. If Smith was not going to do the job properly, he would have to do it for him.
     
    ***
     
    Dave stood on the bottom step of the stairs. He heard everything Smith said and barely believed his ears. Though when he thought about it for a second, he had no problems believing it. He was a former soldier and he knew a thing or two about what went on in the higher echelons of society and government. But all in all, it had him nailed to the spot.
    He felt frozen, unable to move an inch. And Smith kept talking; he kept saying things he probably should have never said. Perhaps he told them because he already knew what he was going to do, or what he was supposed to do. And he knew that he would have to do something when Smith finally did what he was supposed to do.
     
    ***
     
    Smith suddenly realized he should not have said anything to these two. And as he realized that, he acknowledged what he had to do to fix his mistake as well. Then he noticed the phone that Wes had half pulled from his pocket. He raised the gun at him.
    “Give me that phone!” he shouted.
    Wes shook his head and then the gun was pointed at his head. Sheila shrieked. Her reaction was not just out of concern for Wes, but also from the sudden realization that she would be next.
    The gun shook in his hand. He was angry, not just at this man, but at himself. Wes shook his head, enraging him even more. It was too much to bear. The whole day had been rotten and now these bastards were messing with him, too. They would not get out of here anyway, but he could not take any chances.
    Smith's finger slowly curled around the trigger. He drew it back, micrometer by micrometer.
    “Goodbye...” he muttered and then pulled the trigger back fully, in a sudden move of his finger.
     
    ***
     
    Commander Lovell was still shell-shocked by what the FEMA officer said. He’d heard some heartless things, but this took the biscuit. FEMA did not need survivors. He could not believe it. And slowly, his mind began to foment a plan.
    If he got the order not to help anyone, he would dispose of the man. He could do nothing else. Lovell was not a killer; that’s why he had joined the United States Coast Guard and not the Navy, but he would do what was needed.
    But, first things first. He excused himself from the bridge and went to the head. His smart phone had a single bar on it; he hoped it would be enough to make the call he wanted to make. He searched for his niece's number and called.
    Elly picked up the phone and was surprised to hear her Uncle Dan's voice.
    “Hi Uncle Dan!” she said perkily. “I'm a bit busy, but I'm glad to hear from you! Haven't spoken to you in like forever!”
    “Elly,” Dan Lovell said seriously. “Listen carefully; I will say this only once. Don't have long and I need to get back to the bridge. There's something going on with this damned rig, ‘The City’. I have a guy from FEMA on board. They won't be mounting a rescue and he just said they only wanted two FBI agents on that thing to escape, nobody else. I don't think this