Chapter 40 - The Leviathan’s Echo
Two weeks later.
The private study inside Admiral Vance’s coastal home in Annapolis was quiet, save for the soft crackle of pine logs burning in the stone fireplace. Rain tapped gently against the French doors overlooking the darkened bay.
Liam and I sat across the antique mahogany desk, reviewing the finalized blueprints for the *USS Eleanor’s* sea trials. Everything was running ahead of schedule. The fleet was safe, the corrupted components had been replaced across every allied vessel, and our new automated diagnostic network had officially gone online yesterday.
Suddenly, my secure satellite terminal on the desk let out a low, urgent electronic pulse.
It wasn't a standard naval transmission. It was a encrypted priority burst coming through an emergency quantum frequency—one that had supposedly been decommissioned after the trial.
Liam froze, his eyes instantly tracking the glowing red LED. "Ellie... that's Croft's classified transponder frequency."
"Croft is in maximum security at Florence," I said, my brow furrowing as I dragged my laptop closer. "He doesn't have access to an encrypted terminal."
I bypassed the firewall, entering the master override key. The screen flickered, throwing a harsh blue glare across our faces.
It was an automated message from the oceanographic listening post at the Mariana Trench, logged less than ten minutes ago.
Attached was a deep-sea acoustic sonar capture. At depth: thirty-six thousand feet.
The audio file played. Through the speakers came the terrifyingly familiar, rhythmic hum of an ultra-heavy nuclear propulsion turbine—moving at impossible underwater speeds beneath the trench floor.
And then, text began to auto-type itself across the black terminal screen, character by character:
*PROJECT LEVIATHAN WAS NOT A CORPORATE CONTRACT.*
*IT WAS A DISTRACTION.*
*HULL NUMBER 00 HAS BREACHED DEEP WATER.*
*THANK YOU FOR CLEARING THE ADMIRALTY OUT OF OUR WAY, ELEANOR.*
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My blood turned to ice.
From the dark, storm-swept waters of the bay right outside our window, the deep, gut-shaking blast of an unknown submarine horn suddenly ripped through the night air.
