The desert had a magnifying effect as it dipped over the sand dunes of the United Arab Emirates and far-off Saudi Arabia. Basilisk was not looking at the celestial display but at the towering oil rig that stood in the tranquil waters of the Persian Gulf. A fiery plume flickered continuously from a chimney, burning waste gas and acting as a beacon. Basilisk flew low over the water. He had to approach the platform with stealth, since armed naval vessels constantly patrolled the water on the lookout for pirates and terrorists. At this stage in the operation he couldn’t risk any problems, and that’s why he had taken the most potentially dangerous part of the plan himself. If Doc Tempest had betrayed him, then it would be here the Enforcers would pounce. All Hunter had to do was pay the Russian contact and return to the base with the warhead. That was tantamount to walking to the store to buy milk. Ahead he could make out the helicopter landing pad poking from the side of the rig. He swooped close to the massive steel legs of the structure, then pulled vertically up, approaching the landing pad directly underneath.
