“They’re taking the keys to sea,” Hayes said.

“If that sub dives with those files, they can read every secure transmission in the Atlantic fleet,” I said.

Hayes looked at Turner.

“You stay here,” Hayes said. “Carter, you keep him in this room. If he tries to touch a console, you use your sidearm.”

Carter looked terrified, but he drew his service pistol and held it at his side.

“Understood, Chief,” Carter said.

Hayes opened the heavy door fully.

The cold air of the basement corridor hit us, smelling of wet concrete and old oil.

The red strobe light painted the concrete walls in rhythmic pulses.

“Keep behind me, doctor,” Hayes said, drawing his weapon.

We stepped out into the hallway.

The sound of the fire alarm was much louder out here, a physical pressure against my ears.

We moved quickly down the corridor toward the maintenance exit.

My boots clicked against the concrete floor.

I held the tablet against my chest, the screen casting a pale blue glow on my chin.

“The physical transmitter room is down this level, to the left,” I said.