DeCamp did not reply.
Helms turned to look over toward the helipad, which was blocked from view by the edge of the superstructure containing the project control room. “Goddamnit, wait!” he radioed.
McGarvey raised the Franchi and pulled off two shots, destroying the front of the operator’s face and torso and shoving him backwards, the MP5 briefly firing overhead before it was flung away.
The helicopter sounded as if it were taking off, and McGarvey started up the stairs when five pistol shots, pulled off in rapid succession, came from inside the workshop. He spun around, bringing the Franchi to bear, prepared to fire from the hip, when the body of one of DeCamp’s mercs slumped out of the doorway, blood immediately spreading from his head and the back of his neck.
“Clear!” Gail shouted from inside.
“Clear!” McGarvey shouted back.
Gail appeared in the doorway, a pistol, but not her SIG-Sauer, in hand. Even in the harsh light from the overheads McGarvey could see that she was out of breath and flushed.
“They separated,” she said. “I figured you could handle one and I’d cover the other guy on your back.”
“Good job,” McGarvey told her. “But we need to get to the helipad right now before DeCamp lifts off.” He turned and raced up the stairs.
In the corridor he could hear the helicopter, and he knew damned well it was already away and accelerating, but he redoubled his efforts, emerging from the hatch just below the pad in time to see the Bell Ranger dip down out of sight to the west.
Gail was right behind him as he dashed across the lower landing, took the stairs up to the helipad two at a time and ran immediately to the edge, but the helicopter was already out of range for his Walther and certainly for the shotgun.
“Christ,” he said, a rage building. He’d failed. Again.
“Eve’s aboard with him,” Gail said. “Did you get to the explosives?”
“Just one of them, and he’s going to pull the trigger on the other any second now.”
Gail turned to look down at the main deck. “The techs are still locked in down there.”
“Get them out, and down to the lifeboats.”
“I’ll need Semtex to blow the lock.”
“Mine’s gone,” McGarvey said. He was watching to see if the helicopter would turn to the east, toward Florida, when he spotted something drop out of the hatch and fall to the Gulf sixty feet below.
And he got the momentary impression of flailing arms and legs at the same instant a tremendous explosion rocked the entire platform, and Vanessa began to slowly list to port.
SIXTY-EIGHT
McGarvey sent Gail below to get the Semtex and fuses from her room so that she could blow the lock on the pipe storage container and release Eve’s people, promising to be with her in five minutes. Standing now just down the slanting corridor from the delivery control room, Franchi in hand, he stopped to listen.
Blood had pooled in the doorway, but there was no body. Two pairs of footprints, one set larger than the other, led down the corridor to the hatch. DeCamp’s and Eve’s.
Gail had told him how she’d managed to escape. “DeCamp shot him and the last I saw the guy was on the deck. Looked dead to me.”
All the boat horns and whistles were shrieking loudly now. Schlagel’s followers had finally gotten what they wanted and the hell with the loss of lives they had to know was inevitable. They had to have seen and heard the explosion, and he could only hope that someone had the decency to send a Mayday.
But there were no other sounds, and McGarvey approached the doorway with caution, careful not to step in the blood, and he looked inside. The control room was deserted, the SSB radios had been destroyed, leaving only a short-range VHF unit intact, exactly what he’d hoped to find.
He stepped inside, sweeping the Franchi left to right, when Wyner stepped out from a dark corner. The merc was badly wounded, and barely able to stand, blood frothing from a hole in his chest. He held a small pistol, what McGarvey recognized as a 5 .45 mm Soviet-made PSM semiautomatic, but his aim kept wavering, as if simply holding the weapon was at the extreme limit of his strength.
“The son of a bitch left me,” he croaked.
“He left all of you,” McGarvey said. “It was his plan from the beginning.”
“We’re sinking. Why the hell did you come back? You can’t call for help, we shot the radios all to hell.”
“Not the VHF,” McGarvey said, his shotgun steady. “I need to call the tug, tell them to back off.”
Wyner shook his head. “They’re all dead. Tug’s on autopilot.”
It was a possibility McGarvey had considered. If this had been his operation it’s exactly what he would have done.
A small, sharp explosion went off below on the main deck, and Wyner looked toward the window. “She made it,” he said, a touch of admiration in his ragged voice, and he had to hold on to the port radar cabinet to remain standing. “Tough broad. Knows what she’s doing.” He turned to look at McGarvey and he let the pistol drop to the deck. “Get the fuck out of here before it’s too late.”
“I’ll take you out of here, maybe you can make a plea bargain,” McGarvey said. “We’ll want to find DeCamp and you can help.”
Wyner shook his head again. “Even if I survived, which you and I both know is impossible without medical help right now, there’s no way in hell I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison.”
“Why?” McGarvey asked, even though he knew the answer.
“I’m a merc because it’s what I do. How about you? You’ve killed a fair share this evening.”
“It’s what I do,” McGarvey said.
Wyner smiled. “Too bad you’re on the wrong side,” he said. “We could have used you.” He crumpled to the deck, and before McGarvey could reach him his breathing stopped.
The rig slipped a few feet to the right, as if it were an airliner suddenly hitting a downdraft, but then it stabilized, but at a greater angle of list.
McGarvey first made sure that Gail had gotten Eve’s people out of the pipe locker and was hustling them below to the lifeboats, then he switched the VHF radio to channel sixteen, the calling and emergency frequency. “Any vessel hearing my voice, I’m aboard the Vanessa Explorer. We’ve have casualties and we are abandoning the rig. Please relay a Mayday for us.”
“Vanessa Explorer, this is
“Thank you,” McGarvey said. “You’ve won. Shut off your horns and whistles.”
Another voice came on. “Not until that godless abomination is on the bottom, Mr. McGarvey.”
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Oh, yes, we know you. And your harlot. We pulled her out of the water, like a dead fish.”
“Mr. McGarvey, this is the
“Have Dr. Larsen ready to be transferred to our lifeboats,” McGarvey said. “We don’t want to interfere with your celebration because of the people who lost their lives tonight. We’ll wait for the Coast Guard.”
“You don’t understand,” the man said, but McGarvey had already turned and was out in the corridor, racing for the lifeboat deck.
SIXTY-NINE
As the lifeboat approached the fifty-foot twin flybridge cruiser
