The gap between the submarine’s hull and the pier was widening as the mooring lines strained against their bollards.

One of the thick nylon lines snapped with a sound like a gunshot, whipping back into the dark water.

Carter jumped back, dropping his flashlight onto the concrete.

The beam rolled into a puddle, casting a sickly yellow glare upward onto his pale face.

“I can’t!” Carter yelled back, his voice cracking with terror.

“The alarms are locked out from the main deck! The commander said to secure the perimeter!”

“The commander is sinking this boat!” I yelled.

I scrambled across the slick, curved steel of the deck, my boots losing traction on the wet black paint.

The water of the Thames River was cold and brackish, already washing over the toe caps of my boots.

A heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, pulling me back just as my foot slipped toward the edge.

I turned and saw Chief Walker Hayes, his face streaked with grease and river water.

His orange life vest was unbuckled, and his dark eyes were wide with a calm, dangerous focus.