A roiling gale hammered the remnants of the oil‑rig data farm as the stolen rescue vessel drew close under cover of night. The rig, half-sunken but still bravely alight, glowed like a twisted beacon against the black waves. Three figures crouched behind the wheelhouse's overturned crate—Adrian Lu, Mia Lu, and the defecting Dr. Park—each clad in drenched tactical gear, faces lit by the flicker of sodium lamps.
Adrian peered through binoculars. “They've set automated turrets along the main deck. No easy landing."
Mia swallowed. “We have to breach the lower scaffolding port. The old maintenance ladder should still reach the helipad level."
Dr. Park consulted his tablet. “The ladder's hatch is accessible via the service gangway on the southwest flank. I can disable the electric locks, but o
