Chapter 13 - The Secret in the Safe
They abandoned the sedan and navigated the labyrinth of drainage tunnels beneath the old shipyard, emerging two miles south in an industrial park choked with shipping crates and abandoned factories. Callahan’s phone—a burner retrieved from an emergency cache hidden inside a rusted junction box—vibrated against his hip.
“The perimeter around the pier is locked down,” Callahan muttered after reading a scrambled text message. “They’re declaring it an anti-terror drill. The local police are being diverted. Sterling knows he missed, and he’s closing the net.”
“He won't look for us where he thinks the dead stay buried,” Michael replied.
He led them toward an old masonry building that had once served as the administrative office for a defunct tugboat company. Michael kicked aside a pile of rotting lumber near the foundation, revealing a steel cellar door padlocked with heavy chain. He reached into his boot, retrieved a small brass skeleton key that had hung around his neck under his shirt, and popped the tumblers.
Inside the damp, subterranean cellar, lit only by the single flashlight Callahan carried, sat a fireproof safe bolted directly into the granite bedrock.
“You kept this here the whole time?” Lucas asked, looking around at the walls lined with emergency rations, dry ammunition cans, and topographic maps of Washington D.C. and Norfolk Naval Base.
“A sailor always needs an extraction plan,” Michael murmured. He spun the combination dial with steady, delicate fingers. *Left to 14, right to 32, left to 09.*
The heavy door swung open with a dull metallic groan. Inside lay three pristine military-grade laptops, an encryption deck, and a stack of classified paper files stamped with red *TOP SECRET // ORCON* warnings.
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“These are the duplicates,” Callahan said, breathless. “The complete financial trail linking Secretary Sterling’s offshore shell companies to the maritime defense contractor that built the Sovereign acoustic guidance unit.”
“Evidence is useless if it’s presented to a judge who is on their payroll,” Michael stated grimly. “Sterling isn’t just a politician. He controls the broadcast relays for the entire Eastern seaboard naval communications grid. If we want this seen, we have to broadcast it through a frequency they cannot jam.”
