The supervisor watched as a huge column of water erupted around him. It was so huge that it dwarfed the rig.

“Oh my God…” he muttered watching it.

Suddenly there came a rumble from deep below his feet. At first it was just a sound but quickly grew into a vibrating reverberation. It was so intense that he couldn’t stand and fell to the floor gripping onto the console for support.

Then the rig started to tip.

Moments later, it toppled displacing millions of tons of water as it hit. The supervisor was either too scared to scream, or muted in shock. In any event, his last sight was the force of the rig hitting the water catapulting his body against the wall and the incoming rushing water. It didn’t take long for the rig to upend itself the last two pontoons holding it just below the surface. Debris was scattered everywhere along with the bodies of the people who hadn’t made it to the lifeboat. The only lifeboat that did make it quickly returned. Sweeping their searchlights over the disaster area they hoped find any survivors.

Luvick gripped the steering console of the submarine as the shockwave slammed into them. Sparks showered everyone inside and the lights blinked. The submarine was turned over and over the power of the blast carrying them along. Slowly he began to regain control, the submarine was damaged, how much he didn’t know. He would have to surface and have his men go over the hull. They were losing ballast control, but there were no leaks internally.

Still though, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t plummet to the ocean floor.

The control wheel was sluggish and he pulled with all his might as he began to blow the submarines internal air tanks. Slowly the submarine responded, until it bobbed gently on the surface.

“Check and repair the hull, we need to be underway within the hour,” Luvick said turning to one of his men.

The man nodded then unscrewed the hatch opening it up to the darkness of night beyond. Luvick sat there checking the gauges, many of them were destroyed. Electronics were impressive, running everything these days. But, they were extremely vulnerable and could easily be damaged. If they didn’t repair the submarine in time and rendezvous with the Omicron, they would be presumed lost. In any event, they would be lost. The submarine didn’t have the range, or the power to make it to the American shoreline.

His men didn’t know this and he didn’t want to tell them. There was much they didn’t know, they thought they were working for the Russian military…not for Russian organized crime. There wasn’t much of the Russian military that was under the Family’s control, but there was enough to get any piece of hardware they required to achieve their objectives. Luvick glanced at his watch, he wanted to get back more than any one else…and collect his pay.

Marco raised his night vision binoculars and peered out at the open ocean. He was surprised that he couldn’t make out the silhouette of the oil platform. According to their coordinates they should have come to it by now…and the trouble his team had created. Suddenly, something shot up into the air, then burst. Distress flares were being fired, they were at the right spot. The ship slowed, Marco went out on the railing as the crew turned on their huge floodlights. His breath was taken back at the sight that greeted him. Bodies drifted through the beam of the light. Then, he caught the shape of the huge pontoons as they barely stuck out of the water. It became obvious to him that the explosive he had given Luvick had done more damage than it should have. The devastation was more than he had expected…or counted on.

“Ahoy!” a voice yelled from the darkness.

The searchlight quickly shifted towards the voice. A lifeboat full of people moved steadily towards them a few of the people waving their arms.

“At least there were survivors,” Marco thought.

Max stood on the bridge with Captain Logan and Mac. They were traveling as fast as possible towards the oil platform. Max only hoped that the Omicron would reach there in time. In the back of his mind he wondered what had happened. Marco was capable of anything…including slaughtering all the innocent people on the platform. His mind then drifted to Sandy, he was astonished at her actions in the motel room earlier. He never expected her to turn him down, even if it meant danger. Still though, she was a woman, and he didn’t blame her for wanting some semblance of a normal life. Looking out over at the others he wondered what type of lives they held at home. Or…if theirs were as screwed up as his was.

“There!” one crewmember blurted out pointing to South.

Everyone turned to see the brilliant lights of a ship shining. Then they all gasped at the grisly sight that the lights displayed. Even Max gasped, he had the best designers build his oil platforms. What had happened, shouldn’t have. Unless, it was sabotage and this was Marco’s way of inflicting revenge on him. He was sure that the newspapers had publicized his death so Marco should have felt relief at his demise.

“My God,” Chad said softly. “What the hell happened?”

“The whole damn rig is overturned.” Mac breathed.

“Where are the survivors?” Max asked.

“Probably aboard the Omicron,” Chad said.

“Sir, we’ve been asked if we can escort the Omicron to shore. It appears that their prop has been damaged on debris,” the radio operator called up from below.

“How many survivors have they taken aboard?” Chad asked.

“54 sir, only one lifeboat was retrieved,” the operator said.

“Tell them, after we’re sure there are no more survivors and we transfer the one’s they have over, we will escort them to port,” Chad said.

The bridge was silent as they all watched the disaster area draw closer. Max felt rage, a rage so intense that he clenched his fists to control it. What purpose did this serve? Why had Marco done this? It wouldn’t help him bring the drugs into the country, if anything he had destroyed the means to accomplish his task.

“Sir, the Omicron said they don’t mind keeping the survivors on board until we reach port,” the radio operator said.

“Do any need assistance? Do they have a doctor aboard?” Chad said into the mike then turned and looked at Max.

“They have a doctor aboard and nobody has been injured,” the operator quickly responded.

“Tell them that would be fine,” Chad added, then hung up the mike.

The weather front from shore had finally reached them and it began to churn up waves scattering the debris further. Dawn was beginning to break as they continued to look for survivors. They had pulled many of the bodies from the water. Divers had gone down into the rig to search for more. Finally, they had to be recalled. The weather was becoming worse the waves were now increasing steadily.

One of the divers still in his diving suit came up onto the bridge. Max watched as Chad talked with him briefly, then he turned and left. Chad looked up at Max a frown appearing as he walked over to him.

“Max, I don’t know how to tell you this…” Chad began. “My divers are not experts, but they said they saw the damage below the surface. Two of the support pontoons are gone…destroyed. It looks like they failed and collapsed inward, or the metal failed and they broke apart.”

“That’s impossible! This rig was designed by the worlds top designers, there is no way that the ballast system could have failed…no way!” Max snapped.

“Look, I’m not saying it did, and like I said, my men are not experts…but it looks to them that the ballast system did fail, and the rig upended. The torn cables indicate that there was a tremendous stress on them, which could only happen if the pontoons failed. I’m sorry Max,” Chad said turning away.

The Coast Guard cutters and the Omicron began their slow but steady return to shore. Max sat on the upper deck as the rain began to come down hard. He didn’t feel it as it pelted his body. All he could see were the dozens of body bags that lined the rear deck. Those were his men, employees that had trusted their lives to him believing he had created a safe workplace. He knew all too well that even the best designers made mistakes…the Titanic was one good example. He then thought of all the families that had lost a love one…and it was his fault. At least that’s what he felt, he knew that personally it wasn’t. He had spared no expense when he had the rig designed, none.

Still the rain poured down.

Sandy sat in the office watching the rain come down. She had hoped that it would let up enough for her to get one of the helicopters off the ground. Instead it continued to pelt the window. Behind her a rowdy group of military flight jocks chattered and joked. She knew that their eyes were on her…probably stripping her naked as she sat there. They were so full of themselves, she had met many like them in her past.

“Hey! You want a drink?” one of them called out.

“No thank you,” she said looking over her shoulder.

“This weather isn’t going to clear, the forecast says that the front will last at least another 8-10 hours.”

“Why don’t you relax and have a drink with us?” another one of them chimed in.

“Because I don’t want one,” she said coldly.

“Get a load of her…she’s too good to drink with us!” another pilot, added.

“Look…I just don’t want one OK? I’m worried about my friend,” she said trying to change the direction of the conversation.

“Yeah, that rich dude Storm! Right lady,” they all began to laugh.

Sandy became angry, she suddenly wanted to take the bottle on the table and break it over one of their heads. Instead, she took a different tack.

“If you jocks had the balls you’d be up there right now!” she snarled. “I can out fly each of you bozo’s.”

She watched their faces drop at the force of her voice. They then began to laugh hysterically taking long swills off their beer bottles. All except one man who sat in the corner of the room reading a magazine. He was military, tall, dark and handsome. She found it particularly odd that the man said nothing. Getting up she quickly left the room, she was tired of waiting. Bad weather or no bad weather she was going to get one of those helicopters in the air. She wouldn’t leave Max on his own that was for sure.

“Hey, wait up,” a voice called from behind her.

Turning she watched the man she had seen in the corner run up to her. He was well built as she watched his muscular body move beneath his flight suit.

“What?” she snapped not knowing why.

“Look, I’m a fighter jock…I fly support for these oddball missions. I’m trained on helicopters too. It’s going to be dangerous but I’m willing to give it a try if you want to,” he said looking deep into her eyes.

“You want to fly with me?” she looked at him surprised.

“I think that’s what I said, yes,” he grinned.

“Well, you sure you don’t feel like your buddies?” she shot back.

“Listen…huh…Miss?”

“Knox…the names Sandy Knox,” she shot back.

“Miss Knox, most of those guys don’t think it’s wise to attempt going up in weather like this. I don’t blame them there, it is too dangerous if you ask me.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because I know you’re going to try…I know you’re type. You don’t have clearance but you’re going to try just the same,” he added.

“That would require me stealing a helicopter,” she grinned.

“And I’m absolutely positive you’ll do it!” he smiled back. “And with this weather you’re going to need another person at the stick.”

Sandy stared at the man wondering if what he said was the truth or if was trying to deceive her. Finally she nodded, then turned to the open hanger. In the distance, a huey helicopter sat waiting. The rain came down in sheets sounding like gunfire on the thin tin roof of the hanger. Racing out they both climbed into it. Looking at each other’s dripping wet faces they both grinned.

“You’re just as crazy as I am,” she said hooking her harness together.

“No, I just don’t want to see a beautiful woman get herself killed,” he added softly.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she began to flip switches.

“Mark…Mark Jackson,” he said checking his instruments.

“Well Mark Jackson, you might be getting yourself killed right along with this beautiful woman,” she said as she began to put power to the huge rotors overhead.

By the time, the rest of the flight crew heard the whirling of the rotor blades it was too late. They dashed to the hanger doors and watched as the helicopter, buffeted by the heavy wind took off. It swayed side to side giving the appearance that whoever was piloting it was drunk, but they knew better. The wind was howling and even the slightest wind shifts could spell disaster for them.

“Good luck lady,” one of the flight jocks breathed aloud.

Both Sandy and Mark struggled with the cyclic as the helicopter swayed from side to side. The rain pounded against the window and visibility was poor.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Sandy breathed.

“ Lets just get this thing out over open water. If something happens I don’t want this bird coming down on some crowded suburb,” Mark added.

Sandy briefly looked at him not wanting to take her eyes off the windscreen in front of her. There was something about this man, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Mac pulled the hood over his head and headed out into the pouring rain. The boat pitched wildly from side to side forcing him to cling to the railing. Squinting, he saw Max, his body wedged against the stairs to keep him from being tossed about. Struggling, he made his way to him.

“What are you nuts?” he yelled.

Max turned upon hearing his voice and just looked up at him. A crack of lightning burst giving the man an aura of omnipotence. He had heard him, but at this moment in time, he just didn’t care. Reaching out, Mac gripped his shoulder shaking him, then resumed his grip on the railing.

“What?” Max finally said not turning to look at the man.

“We need to talk…”

“About what? I failed, my people were killed.”

“The drugs Max…the drugs!” Mac reminded him.

For a moment the words made no sense to him, then reluctantly he got up and followed him back into the ship. Once inside Mac slipped his hood off letting the water run off his coat onto the floor.

“I’ve been doing some checking. It appears that the Omicron is a registered Russian vessel. They just left port not more than eight hours ago bound for the Mediterranean. Nothing too unusual there, right? Well, dock records show that the Omicron has been berthed for the last three weeks without heading to sea,” Mac explained.

“Yeah so?” Max asked.

“It’s a fishing vessel Max...a fishing vessel. You would have thought that they would have put to sea to fish. There has also been a lot of activity around it, men working on fishing lines and nets, people coming and going…some suit types hanging around. Get my drift?” Mac said.

“What your saying is…” Max began.

“That Marco may be using the Omicron to bring the drugs in…with our help,” Mac said smiling.

“Then the disaster on the rig was a ruse…a way of getting us to escort the ship into port…and past customs?” Max looked at him wide eyed.

“Exactly, and it’s the perfect cover too. Who would think of checking a vessel that just left port? Plus, one that just saved 52 men from a watery grave?”

“We need to get on the Omicron before we reach port. If we don’t the vessel will be tied up with customs again…and that ‘s going to take time. I also don’t have jurisdiction once we’re on our own soil,” Mac explained.

“Let’s get the Captain in on this we’re going to need his help,” Max said turning to head towards the bridge.

Marco sat in his office, he didn’t want to be up on deck when there was any interaction between his men and the Coast Guard. The whole mission would fail if someone recognized him. So far, everything was going pretty much as planned. Their only problem was that Luvick and his team never met them at the designated area. There must have been problems, the team must have perished in the blast. Men were expendable and the less that survived the better the pay out. Luvick was getting big money to pull of his mission. Now, that large sum could be funneled elsewhere. A gentle knock came on the door.

“Enter” he said sitting back up in his chair.

“Sir,” a man entered not closing the door behind him.

“Yes, what is it,” Marco added.

“The American vessel is requesting that their doctors come over and check on the survivors.”

“Tell them it is not needed, but allow them to if they persist,” Marco said. “But…under no circumstance should you allow them to wander. Keep them with the survivors…and no where else.”

The man nodded and left. Marco sat back in his chair his little voice fluttering in his ear. Something was amiss, he felt it. Reaching down he pressed a button on his desk.

“Yes” a voice, said.

“I want your team armed, we have the Americans coming aboard. I want you to keep an eye on them, but don’t allow them to know you’re armed. If something goes amiss…”

“We’ll know what to do,” the voice said.

Max climbed into the motor launch. Mac was already in waiting along with twelve others, carrying what appeared to be medical bags. There were no actual doctors, the men were all CIA, FBI, and DEA agents, and their bags contained medical equipment…and their personal weapons. The crew lowered the launch, the pilot started the engine just as the launch touched the water. He increased the speed until it matched the ship speed, then the launch was released. As they moved towards the Omicron, they watched the gangplank lower. The pilot would have to stay on the launch keeping speed with the Omicron. It was a very tricky maneuver but Coast Guard pilots were excellent at handling their boats, the pilot slid the launch right along side the Omicron.

The men scrambled for the gangplank. Once everyone was aboard, the pilot veered off maintaining a close distance to the ship until the boarding party was ready to return. Mac was the first one on deck, Max quickly following. What appeared to them to be the first officer approached smiling his hand outstretched.

“Hello, could you please take us to the survivors?” Mac asked wondering if the man understood English.

“Yes, please follow me,” the first officer said motioning them to follow.

Max looked around, all seemed normal. Men went about their business working on fishing lines and equipment. It all looked too natural…too perfect. Then something caught his eye, some men stared at him suspiciously as they worked. Max’s attention was then diverted to the ship itself. It was the oddest shaped fishing trawler he had ever seen. The sides were very square and boxy with very few portholes. The decks were much the same layering four high until it reached the bridge level. The decks bothered him for some reason. There was something familiar in their shape and it wasn’t anything he could immediately put his finger on.

They were led below decks to a section of rooms that housed the crew, there were four men to a room. Max and another man entered the first one. All the survivors looked healthy a few had cuts and bruises but nothing serious.

“Max” Mac called to him from the hallway.

Max walked out of the room following Mac down the hallway, under the suspicious eye of the first officer.

“Is there something wrong gentlemen?” the first officer asked, interrupting them.

“No, actually we’re very pleased with how you and your crew adapted to the situation. The survivors appear to be well taken care of,” Mac said smiling.

“I would like to thank your doctor personally,” Max said smiling also.

“I’m sure we can arrange that if you wish,” the first officer beamed.

“While we’re here, when we return we might as well take as many as possible off your hands,” Mac added.

“That won’t be necessary, we are well equipped to handle them until we reach port,” the first officer said his smile fading.

“Are you sure?” Mac asked.

“Absolutely gentlemen,” he said again grinning.

“Well then, it looks like our job here is finished,” Mac said shrugging his shoulders.

“Would you and your men care for a drink before you leave?” the first officer asked politely.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Max said waving his hand. “We really must be going.”

As they walked back down the hallway, one of the survivor’s came to the door watching them go by.

“M…Mr. Storm?” the man croaked out softly.

Max instinctively turned and looked at the man without thinking. His error instantly took hold and he turned to see the shock on the first officer’s face. He then reached beneath his jacket producing a pistol. Everything happened in slow motion, Max dove towards the survivor who stood there not knowing what was going on. Mac snapped open his medical bag producing a 9mm Glock pistol. Just as the first officer pulled the trigger Mac’s gun went off. The first officer recoiled, the bullet striking him square in the chest turning his white dress uniform red. The bullet he fired slammed into the doorway just above Max’s head.

“We have to get out of here! All hells gonna break loose in a hurry!” Mac yelled moving down the hallway.

“Get as many of the others as you can, hurry!” he yelled to the survivor then followed Mac down the hallway.

Outside the sound of bullets firing echoed into the hallway. Max pulled his own gun out, behind him groups of survivors followed. The outer deck was in chaos. Men lay dying everywhere, others scrambled from behind protective cover firing their weapons. In the distance the two Coast Guard cutters turned sharply to come along side. Their men racing along the decks manning their guns.

“Hurry over the side!” Max yelled to the survivors.

Men dashed out from the hatchway onto the open deck. Max followed firing his weapon at a group of men. Below, Marco heard the gunfire erupt. Something had gone wrong…just like he suspected. Getting up he opened a corner chest pulling out a fully automatic weapon. Snapping the bolt back he chambered the first round, then headed out the door into the fray.

Max watched as some the survivors jumped over the side. Then, abruptly there was gunfire from behind him. Some of the survivors fell to the deck their bodies riddled with holes. Swiveling, Max shot four rounds off hitting one of the men and wounding another.

Chad Logan watched concerned from the bridge of his Coast Guard cutter. It was clearly a bloodbath, men were dropping everywhere. Suddenly, something caught his eye…something that rooted him where he stood.

The walls of each deck on the Omicron fell forward revealing artillery and missile battery installations. The ship was a phony…similar to the German Raiders used in World War II. The Germans had used merchant ships, flying a neutral flag as a ruse to get close to enemy vessels…then drop their cloak destroying the enemy.

“Hard to port! Get us out of here!” he yelled to his first officer.

It was too late.

The Omicron opened fire on both sides cutting into the Coast Guard cutters broadside. The third support ship was too far behind to get caught in the fire and it slowed further not being able to assist in any way.

“Sir do we return fire?” one officer yelled.

“Negative… do not return fire! There are too many of our own we could hit…do not return fire!” he yelled back.

The Omicron continued to fire point blank the damage increasing with every second. Slowly the Coast Guard cutters began to turn away, smoke and fire erupting from the decks. Huge holes gaped from the sides spewing dense black smoke. A shell hit the forward deck of Chad Login’s ship exploding inward killing the helmsman instantly along with the radar operator and the first mate. Shrapnel dug deeply into his arm and leg knocking him to the floor.

Struggling he got to his feet. Instantly he went to the helm turning the wheel hard over. He increased the ship’s speed to flank, at first it didn’t respond, and then slowly it began to pick up speed.

Marco dashed out onto the deck a hail of gunfire echoing around him. The constant fire of the ship’s artillery drowned the screams and moans of the dying. Moving as quickly as possible he made his way to the bridge. The Captain stood pistol in hand yelling into the mike.

“Who gave the order to fire on the other ships?” Marco blurted out.

“We had no choice…the Americans discovered that the survivors were actually hostages,” the Captain quickly replied.

“Who gave the order?” Marco snarled.

“I did,” the Captain said turning towards him.

Marco said nothing, he quickly raised his weapon and fired. The Captain yelled collapsing to the floor in a pool of blood.

Marco looked out from the bridge windows. There was no use ordering them to stop, the ruse was up…his plans were destroyed. Soon the Americans would have the Navy bearing down on them. There would be no way to bring the shipment into the States now, his life was abruptly terminated. The Family wouldn’t stop until he was dead, he would become worse than Ariana was. Turning he gasped, one of the Coast Guard cutters had turned.

The impact threw him violently to the floor the automatic weapon sliding across the floor. The bow of the Coast Guard cutter tore into the Omicron in the stern crumbling decks on both ships. Fires burst and burned from the impact. Men scrambled for the lifeboats, some diving directly over the side. Max was knocked off his feet as was everyone around him.

“Over the side!” he yelled to the rest of the survivors getting up.

Climbing over the rail he was amazed at how many people were already in the water. Some were the crew of the Omicron, the others were the survivors along with the agents. Marco again looked out of the shattered windows on the bridge. There was no doubt that both ships were going to the bottom. Then something grabbed his attention.

“Storm!” he snarled his rage exploding like a nuclear blast from within.

Turning he spied his weapon lying in the corner. Dashing for it he raced from the bridge.

Max ran along the deck avoiding all the twisted jagged metal that protruded like knives. He had to be sure that there were no others aboard, he was confident that Mac’s men had gotten the survivors off, but he wasn’t sure about his men. Flames grew around him the heat searing his clothing and the ends of his hair.

It was time for him to go over the side also.

Tucking his pistol into his waistband he was about to slip over the side when he glanced up at the bridge of the Coast Guard cutter. Someone was still there, someone that hadn’t gotten to a lifeboat. Pulling himself back over he covered his face from the intense heat and dashed along the deck. Climbing he slowly and carefully climbed up the twisted metal onto the crumpled deck of the cutter. When he reached the bridge he had to step over bodies to get inside.

“ Chad!” he yelled rushing to his friend’s side.

“Get out of here…this ship isn’t going to stay afloat for very much longer,” Chad said coughing.

“Come on, give me your arm, let’s both get out of here,” Max said grabbing the man.

“There’s no time, my legs are broke, I can’t support myself,” he said wincing from the pain.

“Damn it! Give me your arm, I’m not going to leave you here,” Max growled.

Reluctantly, Chad gripped Max’s arms. Max grabbed the man hoisting him up onto his shoulders. He heard Chad yelp in pain as he moved him. There was no choice though, they had to get off the ship. Stepping on bodies, he climbed his way out onto the deck. Peering over the side there were lifeboats below retrieving survivors from the water.

“Storm!” Marco yelled standing on the end of the deck.

Max heard Marco yell, but ignored him as he hefted Chad over the side and into the water below. Turning he looked at Marco standing there his automatic weapon pointed directly at him.

“You killed her…you!” he snarled.

“She killed herself Marco,” Max replied.

“Liar! You shot her…and I’m going to shoot you!” Marco said moving closer. “Then I’m going to kill all the rest of your friends and family.”

“What about the Family?” Max questioned keeping his hands slightly raised.

“What about them? The shipment will still get through…this means nothing,” Marco snarled.

“It’s over Marco, put down the weapon. There is nowhere to go…soon the Navy will be here and you’ll be taken into custody.”

Suddenly, everything turned white.

Sandy and Mark arrived on the scene just as a huge explosion engulfed the whole top of the Coast Guard cutter and the stern of the Omicron. The explosion was so great they could feel the concussion even from the distance they were at.

“Dear God! I hope nobody was in the middle of that,” Sandy said softly.