The California sun blazed over Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, turning the parade field into a shimmering sea of tan uniforms.

Kane choked against my forearm, his heels kicking uselessly against the metal floorplates. The blood from his shattered shoulder was soaking his tactical vest, pooling around our boots.

“Lower hold!” he gasped, his eyes wild with terror. “Sub-deck three! He’s locked in the secure vault with the quantum transceiver!”

I tossed Kane to the ground. Jax stepped forward with heavy plastic flex-cuffs, binding the contractor’s hands and ankles behind his back with vicious efficiency.

“Bridge secure,” I spoke into the comms. “Doc, status on the engine room?”

The radio crackled with the sound of static and two sharp gunshots.

“Engine room secure, Ghost,” Doc’s calm voice replied. “Four hostiles neutralized. We pulled the fuel cutoffs. The ship is coasting on momentum. She’ll stop dead in five hundred yards, safely within sovereign waters.”

“Good work. Consolidate at the central companionway. We’re going down to pull the asset.”

Leaving two men to guard the bridge and keep watch on the radar, Jax and I moved down the narrow, dimly lit steel stairs leading into the bowels of the research vessel. Sub-deck three was a claustrophobic corridor of heavy pipes, humming electrical conduits, and damp air.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy reinforced vault door—the kind installed specifically for transporting sensitive military research.

Suddenly, a loud banging sounded from inside.

“Is someone out there?” a muffled, frantic voice cried out. “Please! They have explosives on the door!”

“Dr. Aris Thorne?” I called out, pressing my ear against the cold steel.

“Yes! Yes, I’m Dr. Thorne! Who are you? The contractors—they told me they were going to execute me once the submarine rendezvoused!”

“This is Captain Hayes, United States Navy. Step back from the door, Doctor. We’re taking it off the hinges.”

Jax inspected the locking mechanism. “Electronic magnetic deadbolts with a secondary manual tumbler. Simple, but effective. Give me thirty seconds with the thermite strip.”

Jax applied a strip of specialized incendiary compound across the bolt casing and sparked the ignition. A blinding, white-hot glow hissed through the corridor as the thermite melted through four inches of hardened steel like butter. Jax kicked the door with the heel of his boot, and the heavy slab swung inward with a groaning screech.

Inside sat Dr. Thorne, a sixty-year-old physicist with disheveled gray hair and thick glasses, huddled behind a desk. In the center of the room sat a Pelican case the size of a footlocker, glowing with faint blue telemetry indicators.

The quantum transceiver.

Undamaged. Uncompromised.

“You’re safe now, Doctor,” I said, extending a hand to pull the trembling scientist to his feet.

Thorne looked at our sterile uniforms, the black gear, and the bloody reality of the hallway behind us. “Are you the SEAL team Commander Sullivan promised would protect us?”

I smiled faintly beneath my helmet. “No, Doctor. Sullivan was the one who sold you out. We’re the ones who clean up his mess.”

Before Thorne could respond, Elena’s voice cut through the comms with urgent sharpness.

“Ghost, we have an inbound fast-attack boat closing on our stern! Bearing one-eight-zero, thirty knots! They aren’t answering our hails. Looks like the foreign extraction team is tired of waiting!”

I gripped my rifle tightly. “Jax, get the Doctor and the asset to the upper deck. Secure them in the mess hall. Team, set up a defensive perimeter along the aft railing. We hold this ship until Vance’s carrier strike group arrives.”

“They picked the wrong night to go fishing,” Jax growled, slapping a fresh drum magazine into his automatic shotgun.

We sprinted up the stairs, leaving the bowels of the ship behind.

As we reached the upper deck, the cold Pacific wind lashed across my face. Through my night-vision goggles, I could see the silhouette of a fifty-foot black interceptor boat skipping across the waves, closing the distance at terrifying speed.

Mounted on the bow of the incoming boat was a heavy .50 caliber machine gun.