The submarine base looked like a gray fortress against the dark hills of Groton.

I watched the red and green lights of the drawbridge downriver.

“You did good, Doc,” Hayes said, leaning against the rail.

“I only did my job, Hayes,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You did more than that. Most civilians would have run when Turner started threatening them.”

“I couldn’t leave the crew,” I said.

The tug bumped gently against the black rubber bumper of the *Providence*.

The submarine’s steel skin was wet and glistening under the searchlights.

I climbed the metal ladder onto the sub’s deck.

The wind was stronger out here, whipping my hair across my face.

The hatch was open, a warm stream of air rising from the interior of the vessel.

The smell of hydraulic fluid and recycled air hit me as I looked down.

Commander Miller was waiting at the bottom of the ladder.

He looked tired, his uniform shirt wrinkled and damp.

“Dr. Mitchell,” Miller said. “We felt the pressure stabilize. What happened?”

“Turner is gone,” I said. “The federal authorities have him.”