Chapter 40 - Resurrection on the Grid
"Get aboard!" Marcus barked across the freezing water. "Now! We have less than ninety seconds before Vance's strike aircraft acquires our thermal signature!"
I shoved Chloe forward into the knee-deep surf. She gasped at the agonizing cold, but I pushed her mercilessly until she scrambled onto the sub’s non-skid decking. I vaulted onto the hull immediately behind her, securing the hatch as Marcus pulled us down into the tight, steel-walled belly of the vessel.
The hatch sealed with an airtight *thud*. Marcus slammed the dive levers forward.
The submersible pitched down sharply, flooding its ballast tanks as the dark waters of Lake Tahoe swallowed us whole, dropping beneath the reach of infrared targeting.
The interior of the sub smelled of recycled oxygen, copper, and hydraulic fluid. Multi-screen consoles glowed with encrypted Navy tactical data, displaying real-time tracking of three federal helicopters circling uselessly over the burning ruins of our family's estate.
Chloe collapsed onto an equipment locker, weeping uncontrollably, staring at Marcus as if he were an apparition risen from the grave.
"You're... you're real," she stammered. "You didn't drown."
Marcus didn't look at her. His eyes, cold as the Sierra granite outside, were locked on the tactical navigation grid. "Charles thought he was playing chess," Marcus said, his voice flat. "He didn't realize Vance was playing demolition. Evie, did you secure the ledger from the villa vault?"
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I unzipped my tactical jacket and pulled out the hardened satellite drive. "Everything is here. The bank accounts, the shell corporations, the signed contracts from Vance’s private office in San Diego."
Marcus took the drive, his scarred jaw clenching. "Good. Because Vance isn't acting alone."
