Turner gasped in outrage but did not try to push past the chief again.

My fingers flew across the glass interface, setting up a packet capture protocol.

The air in the room felt hot, heavy with the smell of ozone and damp concrete from the lower levels.

The red warning light rotated on the ceiling, casting long, rhythmic shadows across the control panels.

“The transmission protocol is military grade,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Can you block it?” Hayes asked.

“Not from here,” I said. “The physical bridge bypassed the firewall. I have to intercept the receiver or cut the power to the main array.”

“If you cut the power, the cooling pumps for the sub’s reactor will fail,” Turner warned, his voice rising in panic. “We’ll have a thermal event in the dry dock.”

“He’s right,” I said, not looking at him. “I can’t cut the main power.”

I zoomed in on the data stream, my eyes scanning the repeating patterns of code.

The transmitter wasn’t just downloading diagnostic files.

It was accessing the core navigation archives.

“They’re after the sea trials,” I whispered.