The Velcro tore with a sharp, ripping sound that seemed to echo in the small room.

Harris dropped the patch onto the metal desk.

It lay there next to the blinking red light.

“Take him down to the transport,” Harris ordered.

The shore patrol officers turned Turner toward the door.

Turner stumbled slightly on the slick linoleum.

His shoulder hit the doorframe as they led him out.

We could hear his boots dragging on the floor as they walked him down the hall.

The sound of his protests faded as they reached the stairwell.

The female agent at the terminal clicked her mouse.

“Transmission terminated,” she said. “The files are secure.”

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for days.

My hands were shaking slightly, so I shoved them into the pockets of my jacket.

“Are you alright, Dr. Mitchell?” Hayes asked, lowering his rifle.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Is the *Providence* safe?”

“The sub is holding at two hundred feet,” Hayes said. “The backup seals are holding.”

“We need to get her back into the dry dock,” I said.