The transmission progress bar on the monitor reached ninety-five percent.

The red light on the bulkhead continued to flash, casting a bloody glow over the narrow steel corridor.

The screen behind the glass flashed green.

The progress bar hit one hundred percent.

“Data transfer complete,” a synthetic voice announced over the intercom.

The stranger in the room did not look back at us.

He picked up a handheld radio and spoke into it, his voice muffled by the thick double-paned glass.

“Initiate,” he said.

Hayes slammed his fist against the reinforced window.

The glass did not even chip.

“Carter!” Hayes roared, turning on the lieutenant. “How do we override the automated slip sequence?”

“We can’t from here,” Carter stammered, backing away until his spine hit the damp conduit pipes of the bulkhead.

“The control terminal is locked out.”

“The boat,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He’s unlocking the berths remotely.”

“We have to get to the pier,” Hayes said.

He did not wait for an answer.

He grabbed my jacket sleeve and pulled me toward the heavy exit door at the end of the access corridor.