Black Horizon Read Free

than the previous one. A wave of heat rose up from directly below him, a rush so intense that he could feel it through the soles of his work boots. Again the deck lights blinked on and off. The red and yellow flash of emergency beacons seemed to highlight the swirl of confusion below him. One man went overboard, and another followed. It wasn’t clear if they had jumped or if they had been swept from the platform. Either way, Rafael knew they were caught up in a force more powerful than the storm. Another vibration, another intense wave of heat, and a blinding flash of light told him so.
    Rafael closed his eyes and gripped the ladder with all his strength.
    “Mother Mary,” he said softly, “I’m a dead man.”

Chapter 3
    T echnically, it would be lunch in bed,” said Jack.
    Andie had room service on the line. She rolled over, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and checked the clock on the nightstand. It was one o’clock in the afternoon.
    “Never mind,” she said into the phone, then hung up. Jack pulled her close beneath the sheets.
    “Let’s eat by the pool,” she said.
    “Let’s stay in bed,” said Jack.
    “Don’t you want to see me in my new Brazilian bikini?”
    Seeing as how they were naked, it was hard to know the right answer. “Uh . . . yes?”
    “Good one, Jack. You’ve got this husband thing down pat.”
    Andie popped out of bed first, and Jack followed.
    The honeymoon was at the Big Palm Island Resort in the lower Keys, about twenty-five miles up the chain of islands from Key West. Thatched-roof bungalows in a secluded tropical setting made it a favorite destination for newlyweds and couples who didn’t care how much it cost to reexperience Life B.C. (before children, that is). Jack and Andie followed the sandy footpath through the scrub of sea grapes and hibiscus to the pool area. The tiki bar was open, but it was as quiet as the warm ocean breeze, until a shirtless baby boomer arrived with his much younger woman. The boomer pulled up a couple of bar stools and flagged the bartender, his accent pure Texas.
    “Could you turn that up, pardner?”
    He was pointing at the television. The bartender obliged.
    It had been Jack’s intention to spend his honeymoon on a news blackout, but the soothing sounds of the ocean were suddenly mere background for CNN. He tugged at Andie to join him for a walk on the beach, leaving the real world behind, but the story caught her attention:
    “For many Americans, memories of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, the biggest man-made environmental disaster in history, have not even begun to fade. Once again, millions of gallons of oil are spewing from a hole in the ocean floor, this time in some of the most pristine waters in the world. In a matter of just days, huge black slicks may be headed straight toward Florida’s coastline.”
    Jack stepped closer to the bar, staring in disbelief at the ominous satellite images of the spill area on television. “You gotta be kidding me.”
    Andie shooshed him. The newscast continued:
    “Critics point to lessons that should have been learned from the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe that devastated the Gulf Coast. But last night’s deadly explosion of a massive oil rig in the Florida Straits presents an even bigger challenge. The oil company in charge of drilling, Petróleos de Venezuela, is owned by the Venezuelan government, which has done little to improve relations with the United States since the death of its very anti-American president, Hugo Chávez. The manufacturer of the $750 million, semi-submersible rig is Sinopec, the state-owned petroleum giant from China. The owner of the rig and the company in charge of cementing the well for periodic pressure tests is Gazprom Neft, the oil-producing arm of Russia’s largest natural gas exporter. And even though the rig exploded just sixty-five miles from Key West, Florida, it was in Cuban waters northwest of Havana, and the entire operation is controlled by a mineral lease