The Gulfstream’s flight lasted eight hours before the aircraft circled and began its final approach. After touching down, it taxied to a secure location at the Geneva Airport and slowed to a stop.
In the darkness, two black SUVs stood waiting, surrounded by several CIA agents. The three men descended the stairs and approached their security detail. Hayes then immediately climbed into the first truck, leaving Langford and Miller to the second. Conducting a final scan of the area, the agents opened their own doors and climbed in around them.
The traffic along the route was light, allowing the two-car caravan to reach Vernier in less than thirty minutes. The small municipality was well-known as home to one of the wealthiest offshore drilling companies in the world. A conglomerate with immense power, yet now perhaps one of the most tarnished reputations in the industry. Transocean Limited would forever be known as the owner of the drill rig responsible for the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, and the largest accidental marine spill in petroleum history.
When Langford, Miller, and Hayes were escorted into the lobby of the company’s headquarters, a member of the Transocean staff was waiting for them.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” an attractive female said pleasantly. With short black hair, she was impeccably dressed in a red and black colorblock skirt suit. “I’m Alessia Bierle. We’re privileged to have you here and hope your trip was enjoyable.”
“It was fine. Thank you,” Langford replied.
“Can I get you anything before heading upstairs?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. Then please follow me and we’ll head up.”
The woman led them to the elevator and held it open for their visitors. Once inside, Bierle pushed the button for the top floor and turned to them, smiling. “Our executive team is waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bierle,” Miller nodded. Hayes had yet to speak.
The elevator opened into an elaborate meeting room with light marble flooring and a modern design, giving it a clean and efficient look. Bierle led them across the room and gestured to the three closest chairs at the table. On the other side sat several men, all in their fifties and sixties, who immediately stood with welcoming yet cautious expressions.
The man in the middle smiled at all three men and extended his hand across the dark table.
“Good morning,” he said in a thick French accent. “We are very pleased to meet you.”
Admiral Langford shook his hand and quickly selected a chair, signaling his desire to dispense with pleasantries. He sat down, followed by Miller, Hayes, and the rest of the room.
A man named Abel Abegg, the president of Transocean, was dressed impeccably in a dark blue Brioni suit and eased himself down, studying the three Americans. They were clearly not there to waste time.
“What is it that we can help you with, Admiral?”
“We’re interested in one of your mobile drill rigs in the Caribbean. The one that you’re replacing.”
Abegg nodded. “Ah, you’re referring to the Nordic. We just put the newer ultra-deepwater unit in place two weeks ago and are running simulation tests.” He looked curiously among all three men. “What is it about the Nordic that you’d like to know?”
Miller cleared his throat. “It’s not the newer one we’re interested in. It’s the older rig being removed.”
Abegg looked confused. “The old rig? You mean the Valant?”
“Correct,” answered Langford.
“I don’t understand,” Abegg replied, glancing briefly at the rest of his team.
“You are removing it?”
“Yes, of course. We must. Regulations mandate all rigs be replaced if they pose a significant structural risk.”
At this, Langford grinned. “Regulations haven’t exactly been your strong suit.”
His comment caused several eyes to narrow across the table, and the pleasant expression on their president’s face disappeared. “You’re speaking of the Deepwater accident.”
“We’ve come here with an opportunity, Mr. Abegg.”
He stared at Langford. “Is that right? An opportunity for whom may I ask?”
Langford met the man’s gaze. “For your redemption.”
Abegg slowly smiled. “Redemption?”
“That’s right.”
“Redemption of what, exactly?”
“Redemption for knowing that cutting the wrong corners resulted in the largest oil spill and manmade disaster on record. And an expensive lesson.”
“A very expensive lesson,” Abegg replied.
“Indeed.”
“So, what sort of redemption are we speaking of?” Abegg asked.
Miller answered. “Another mistake.”
“Excuse me?”
“Another mistake,” repeated Langford.
“I don’t understand.”
“The old rig you’re bringing back to dismantle. It needs a problem.”
“It needs a problem?” The president looked again at his officers on either side, then turned back to Langford with a grin. “And this problem is supposed to be our redemption?”
“That’s right.”
Abegg merely stared at Langford. “Exactly what kind of problem do you have in mind?”
“That’s up to you. We only care about the location.”
94
John Clay awoke and slowly examined the light-colored blanket tucked neatly around him. The high rails on either side told him it was a hospital bed. Without moving his head, he followed the blanket up to his chest, where he found clear tubes running to either side.
The room came into focus quickly. It was sparsely decorated with little more than a service table and a television high on the opposite wall. He moved both hands and felt something soft to his right.
He turned his head to see a chair pulled close to the bed. Curled up uncomfortably and still sleeping was Alison. Her arm extended across the edge of the bed with her hand resting on top of Clay’s.
Clay watched her as she slept. Even with tussled hair and her head resting awkwardly on a pillow atop the chair, he smiled at how beautiful she was.
He was overcome with emotion, staring longingly into a face he thought he would never see again. He took a deep breath and smiled.
Alison’s eyes fluttered open and stared at him. But only for a moment before jerking upright. “You’re awake!”
Clay smiled. Even her voice was beautiful.
Alison leaned forward to hug him gently.
“When did you get here?” he asked.
She smiled and pulled his hand to her cheek. “As soon as I could.”
A flood of emotions overwhelmed him and Clay’s eyes began to well with tears. “I–I didn’t think-”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m here now.”
He smiled again and nodded.
Alison lowered his hand, then stood up and leaned in closer to kiss him. When she sat back down, it was on the edge of his bed.
“How do you feel?”
“Old.”
She chuckled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Everything hurts.” He grimaced and pulled the blanket to the side, examining the cast he felt on his leg. “What day is it?”
“Saturday, the twelfth.”
He peered through the window into a blue sky with soft scattered clouds. “Where are we?”
She grinned. “Honolulu. At the Queen’s Medical Center.”
“Hawaii?”
“Yep.”
He leaned his head back. “Not exactly how I would have wanted to bring you here.”