BEYOND THE RED LINE: THE ADMIRAL'S SEALED ORDERS

Before anyone could celebrate, a deep, shuddering groan vibrated through the entire structure of the Valkyrie.

The lights inside Hold 3 flickered wildly, and from the depths of the lower hull came the muffled, terrifying roar of water rushing under immense pressure. The entire deck tilted sharply to the port side at an alarming fifteen-degree angle, sending unsecured tool crates and empty oil drums sliding violently across the deck.

"What was that?!" Master Chief Miller yelled, bracing himself against the bulkhead.

Reed, his face pressed against the floor, began to laugh—a broken, maniacal cackle that rose above the sound of rushing water.

"Sterling had a dead-man's switch on the sea-chest valves!" Reed spat through bloody teeth. "The moment the bridge controls were bypassed, the scuttling charges detonated in the engine room! This tub is going to the bottom in four minutes, and all your shiny evidence is going with it!"

"Cut the hostages loose! NOW!" I ordered, forcing myself upright despite the blinding agony in my chest.

Miller and his three operators drew their rescue shears, slicing through the heavy zip-ties securing the seven civilian engineers.

"Move! Up the ladder to the weather deck!" Miller barked, herding the terrified civilians toward the emergency escape trunk. "GO, GO, GO!"

The ship listed harder—twenty-five degrees now. Seawater, black and icy cold, began to burst through the lower bilge grates, rising past our ankles in seconds.

"Commander, we have to move!" Admiral Bennett urged, grabbing my arm to support my weight. "The helo is hovering over the aft helipad for extraction!"

"The hard drives!" I shouted, pointing toward the waterproof duffel bag that had slid into the flooding corner of the hold. "The offshore transaction logs, the foreign intelligence contacts, the names of every corrupt official who took Sterling's money—it's all in that bag! If it sinks, they walk away with clean hands!"

"I'll get it!" Miller yelled.

"No, Miller! Get the engineers and the Admiral onto the roof! That is a direct order!"

I tore myself from Bennett's grip and plunged into the rising waist-deep water. The cold was shocking, knocking what little breath I had left out of my lungs. Floating debris slammed against my bruised torso as I swam toward the submerged corner.

My fingers brushed the nylon strap of the duffel bag just as a massive wave of seawater crashed through the breached hatchway, completely submerging me.

Underwater, in the pitch-black darkness, a hand clamped around my throat.

Reed.

He had managed to slip his bound wrists beneath his legs, bringing his cuffed hands to the front, and his fingers were locked around my windpipe with the desperate, dying strength of a drowning predator.

Bubbles exploded from my mouth as we tumbled beneath the black water. The ship was rolling over, the ceiling becoming the wall as gravity lost all meaning in the flooding tomb.

I couldn't breathe. My lungs burned for oxygen. My broken ribs felt as though they were puncturing my heart.

Don't fight the room. Read it.

My hand swept down along Reed's forearm until my fingers found the edge of his combat dressing—and the open bullet wound beneath it.

I drove my thumb directly into the bullet hole in his shoulder.

Reed's mouth opened in a silent, underwater scream of unimaginable agony. His grip on my throat shattered as his body convulsed in shock.

I grabbed the duffel bag with my left hand, planted both feet against his chest, and kicked off with everything I had left, rocketing toward the shimmering rectangle of light that marked the open weather deck hatch.