The Rig Read Online Free PDF Page A

short woman – just five feet and change. At a shave under six feet, Drake towered over her. She had pale skin and dark hair, cut short pixie-style, and looked to be around thirty. A smattering of freckles covered her face and she wore a professional business suit. The room itself, her office, was rather fancy. Aside from the desk, which held a state-of-the-art desktop computer, a row of bookcases lined the far wall stuffed to burst with leather-bound tomes. Twin windows overlooked the southern platform of the Rig and the ocean beyond. A high-backed chair rested at an angle in front of the desk. The carpet was soft underfoot, and a leather sofa sat behind a glass coffee table. A collection of magazines were scattered over the table. Drake recognised one –
Peacekeeper
. An Alliance-issued magazine detailing the good work its private military arm, Crystal Force, was doing in hot spots around the globe, alongside the United Nations.
    Drake’s mind flashed back to the night before and the tattoo he’d seen on Brand’s arm. Twin swords crossed over a wreath under a silver crown. It was the same crest on the cover of
Peacekeeper
magazine.
C-F ’13
, the inscription under Brand’s tattoo, stood for Crystal Force, and most likely the year he joined.
    Damn, he could probably kill me just by blinking …
Drake filed that troubling revelation away and concentrated on the present. Doctor Lambros was staring at him, letting him take in the new surroundings.
    All in all, Drake had been expecting something a lot more … clinical, for a doctor’s office.
    â€˜You’re not a “doctor” doctor, are you, Doctor?’
    She smiled. It was friendly enough, and revealed shining white teeth. ‘I’m a practising psychologist, Mr Drake. The Rig’s counsellor for all the inmates here. We weren’t supposed to meet until later in the week, after you’d had a chance to settle in, but fate had other plans, it seems.’ She gestured to his bloody hand. ‘And although I’m not part of the Rig’s medical team, I have had quite enough training to take care of that little cut. Please, come and sit down.’
    Drake sat in the comfortable leather chair and rested his hand on the edge of the desk. Doctor Lambros fetched a large first-aid kit from atop the cabinets lining the right side of the room. The cabinets were labelled alphabet-ically:
A–L, M–R, S–Z
. Patient files. Drake wondered if he had one yet, perhaps transferred from Harronway or Cedarwood before that, and concluded that he probably did.
    â€˜Now then,’ Doctor Lambros said. She pulled over a stool next to Drake, sat down, and put on a pair of surgical gloves from the first-aid kit. ‘Let’s have a look at this hand.’
    The paper towels had done their best to stem the trickle of blood, and had dried to the gash. The cut stung as Doctor Lambros removed the wad of paper and revealed the wound.
    â€˜Yikes, that’s a bit of a nasty one.’ She removed a spray canister of Betadine antiseptic from the kit and doused Drake’s hand liberally with the brown, smelly liquid. ‘So tell me, William – or is it Will?’
    He met her eyes and found them kind. ‘Will’s fine.’
    â€˜Will, then. How are you finding life on the Rig so far?’
    Drake shrugged. ‘Same shit, different location. All these places are the same.’
    â€˜Please don’t curse in my office. And what do you mean by “these places”?’
    â€˜Prisons.’
    â€˜Best not to think of it as a prison, Will. You’re in a rehabilitation facility – to get you back on the right track and back into society.’
    â€˜By sticking me out in the middle of the Arctic Ocean hundreds of miles from society?’ He snorted. ‘With a bunch of violent thugs, heavily armed guards, and God knows who else? Please.’
    Doctor Lambros chuckled as she threaded a