“Sir?” Carter whispered. “Is that true?”

“Shut up, Carter,” Turner snapped without looking back.

“He knew the hull plates were fatigued,” I said, looking directly at Carter. “He cleared the ship for patrol anyway.”

“She’s lying to save herself,” Turner said. “Secure the room. Now.”

The security guards hesitated, their eyes darting between Turner and Hayes.

Outside, in the distance, a new sound began to filter down the concrete corridor.

It was the high-pitched, warbling siren of a federal escort vehicle.

It was accompanied by the heavy, rhythmic thrum of multiple helicopter rotors approaching from the south.

The sound grew louder, vibrating through the thick concrete walls of the submarine base.

Turner’s head jerked toward the high windows near the ceiling.

The shadow of a twin-rotor helicopter swept across the frosted glass, its searchlight cutting through the mist outside.

“What is that?” Carter asked, his voice cracking.

“That’s our ride,” I said.

The sound of heavy tires screeching on the wet asphalt outside the building echoed through the open door.

A loudspeaker boomed from the courtyard below, the words distorted but clear enough to understand.