Chapter 11 - The Call from the Depths
The galley was silent around us.
I looked at the gold Trident lying on the table—the pin Miller had worn like a badge of nobility, without understanding that every inch of that metal was forged in tragedy and loss.
"Tom," I said, my voice steady, the weariness disappearing as the old instincts took over. "Those boys trapped down there. Who are they?"
Vance hesitated.
For the first time since he walked into the room, the Admiral’s gaze flickered with an agonizing emotion.
"Commander David Sterling," Vance said quietly. "Your grandson, Arthur. He was leading the dive team."
The air in my chest seized.
David.
My grandson. The boy who used to sit on my knee while I told him stories about the ocean. The boy who had graduated top of his BUD/S class five years ago, carrying on the family name with pride and quiet humility.
He was down there. Trapped in the dark. Breathing bottled air in the exact same underwater hell that had nearly taken my life fifty-six years ago.
Before I could speak, the aide-de-camp's tactical radio buzzed loudly, shattering the tense silence.
The aide listened for three seconds, his eyes widening in pure shock. He immediately stepped toward the table, leaning down to the Admiral's ear.
"Sir," the aide whispered, his voice trembling so hard everyone at the table could hear it. "Command Center just intercepted an emergency pulse from the Shoal of Skulls."
Admiral Vance sat up straight. "Did they breach the surface?"
"No, sir," the aide swallowed hard, glancing nervously toward me. "The pulse didn't come from Commander Sterling's mini-sub."
"Then where did it come from?" Vance demanded.
May you like
The aide took a ragged breath.
"It came from the *USS Leviathan*, sir. The nuclear research submarine that disappeared in those caverns in 1968. The signal is transmitting on an active, automated emergency frequency... and someone inside just manually keyed the mic."
