His fingers were flying across a terminal keyboard.

On his secondary screen, a progress bar was frozen at ninety-two percent.

The warning message read: *SIGNAL LOST – RECONNECTING*.

I looked at the sailor’s shoulder patch.

It was the insignia of a Chief Electronics Technician.

“Step away from the terminal,” Harris said.

The sailor didn’t move.

Slowly, his hands stopped typing.

He reached up, took his headphones off, and set them on the console.

He turned his head toward us, his face pale under the white fluorescent light.

It was the man I had seen in the administration building earlier that morning.

“Chief Miller,” Hayes said, his hand moving toward his holster.

Miller didn’t stand up.

He looked down at the flashing screen, then back at us.

“You’re too late,” Miller said.

A small, black cellular phone on the ledge beside him suddenly lit up, vibrating against the metal.

Hayes grabbed the phone before Miller could reach it.

The screen displayed an incoming call from an unsaved number.

“Who is this, Miller?” Hayes asked, his thumb hovering over the screen.

Miller remained silent, his gaze fixed on the flashing terminal.