I looked across the room at my father.

The triumphant smile vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, pale rigidity.

“What is the status of the auxiliary pressure couplings?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“Unconfirmed, Admiral, but telemetry showed a sudden pressure drop in the starboard manifold right before the alarm.”

Those were Hart Precision Marine couplings, the very ones my father had falsified the metallurgical reports for.

“Keep me updated every sixty seconds,” I said and hung up.

I turned to Vice Admiral Bell, who was still holding the black leather binder.

“The *Oregon* is in critical trouble,” I said.

Bell looked from me to the terminal, his jaw set in a hard line.

“We need those testing reports now,” Bell said to the federal agent at the keyboard.

The agent clicked his mouse twice, his fingers flying across the keys.

“The data wipe stopped when the emergency military override kicked in,” the agent said, exhaling a long breath. “The telemetry files are intact.”

My father took a step back toward the door, but the escorting agent placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.