Hayes walked beside me, his flashlight cutting a yellow beam through the mist.

“Turner was selling the data to a private maritime firm in Europe,” Hayes said.

“I know,” I said. “He wanted to blame the failure on my design so he could cash in on the replacement contract.”

“Greed,” Hayes said, spitting onto the wet ground. “It always comes down to something small and stupid.”

“He almost killed forty men for it,” I said.

“He would have,” Hayes said. “If you hadn’t caught the telemetry mismatch.”

We reached the edge of the pier.

The wooden timbers were slick with green algae and rain.

A small harbor tug was idling nearby, its exhaust pipe puffing gray smoke into the night.

Two sailors in yellow foul-weather gear stood near the mooring lines.

“Is the Captain of the *Providence* on board?” I asked.

“He’s in the control room,” one of the sailors said, pointing toward the sub’s sail. “They just finished the pressure equalization.”

We boarded the tug.

The engine rumbled beneath my feet, a steady, comforting vibration.

As we pulled away from the slip, the lights of the naval base began to recede.