They descended. The black water pressed in. Through the viewport, the wreck resolved—not a ship, but a drowned warehouse, its brick teeth grinning in the silt. And inside, stacked like silver ingots: the missing barges.
“Elementary,” Sub replied, adjusting his waterproof deerstalker. “The thief isn’t a man. It’s a current. Or rather, a manufactured one.” sherlock sub
“Impossible,” Thorne whispered. “They weigh forty tons each.” They descended
Thorne panicked. Sub smiled. “You forget, Irene. I’m a student of pressure.” the wreck resolved—not a ship