I gave him the truth anyway.
“It’s what they use,” I said, “when they want something to stay buried forever.”
We landed at a quiet coastal strip with waves crashing beyond the fence line.
By nightfall, I’d made calls I swore I’d never make again.
Old favors.
Old debts.
Old loyalty.
A small crew gathered—an engineer with tired eyes, two silent men who moved like they’d done this kind of work in the dark before.
I pointed to the coordinates on the map.
“We go there quietly,” I said.
The engineer frowned. “That’s against orders.”
I met his gaze, and my voice went flat.
“Orders left us to die once before.”
No one argued after that.
We boarded a research vessel disguised as a civilian survey ship.
Moonlight on black water.
Engines low.
The ocean swallowing our lights.
Near dawn, sonar began pulsing.
The same rhythm.
