Chapter 67 - Ghost in the Iron Core
A deep, shuddering impact slammed into the lower hull of the Bastion, sending shockwaves through the reinforced concrete foundations. Warning sirens erupted in rapid, deafening staccato pulses. Red emergency beacons replaced the cold fluorescent lighting.
*BREACH: LOWER CATWALK SECTION DELTA.*
Miller rushed to the tactical station, his fingers flying across the controls. "Submersible assault pods. Two of them. Fast-attack commandos from the North Sea corridor. They didn't come to negotiate."
Emma spun around, gripping Lily’s shoulder. "Who are they?"
"The Directorate’s black budget forces," Miller snarled, pulling a tactical carbine from a wall locker and cocking the bolt. "Blackwater mercenaries funded through Zurich shell corporations. Evelyn didn't wait for Vance to fail. She dispatched the cleaners the moment *The Leviathan* went dark."
Suddenly, the primary communications console blared. A secondary military frequency tore through the jammer shields.
"Emma! Can you hear me? Emma, do you copy?!"
The voice was rough, breathless, and choked with sea brine.
Emma lunged at the communications console, slamming down the receive toggle. "Daniel?! Daniel! Where are you?!"
Static hissed, followed by the deafening roar of automatic gunfire in the background.
"I pulled... *cough*... I pulled myself into an auxiliary torpedo hatch before *The Leviathan* broke," Daniel's voice crackled, cutting in and out. "I'm on a fast-intercept cutter thirty klicks south. But Emma, listen to me! The Bastion’s override codes were leaked six hours ago! The man inside the rig—Miller—he's not Francis's loyalist! Check the access logs on terminal three!"
Emma froze, her blood turning to pure ice.
Behind her, the click of a carbine's safety being disengaged sounded sharply in the silence between siren wails.
Emma didn't turn around. She kept her back to Miller, her muscles coiling with lethal precision.
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"You should have let the girl scan her hand, Emma," Miller said, his raspy voice suddenly devoid of any weariness, replaced by cold, mercenary efficiency. "It would have saved a great deal of mess."
***
