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Once aloft, Lola circled the rig twice. Spires of metalwork, drilling derricks, and cranes sprouted like a heli-pilot’s worst nightmare. She stayed well clear as she continued her inspection. The infrared imaging was wonky with all of the heat streaming from the control room and the machinery, but she didn’t spot any lurkers in the rigging.
On her next circuit she spiraled the DAP Hawk down along one of the submersible rig’s pylons to the boat dock. Definitely empty.
She pulled to hover on the north side of the rig. “Which way?” The whole Gulf Coast spread before them. Alabama to the right, Mississippi and Louisiana close enough to straight ahead.
“I’m guessing that Florida Panhandle and Texas are too far,” Tim spoke slowly over the headset.
“Why?” She aimed the question at him.
“
