He thought his medals made him untouchable, until the woman he’d just struck opened an envelope and found his name inside.

A security officer stood by the open inner door.

“Where does that lead?” Cora asked.

“To the service road.”

“Who opened it?”

“We’re finding out.”

Chen crouched beside the pallet. Dark blue grease marked one corner of the wood.

“Photograph that,” Cora said.

Chen looked up. “You recognize it?”

“Mateo found the same grease on the cases before North Shoal.”

It came from the old hoists at a private dock across the harbor. Cora had noticed it in Mateo’s photographs after she recovered, but the dock manager had said half the harbor used similar equipment. At the time, she’d had no second shipment to compare it with.

Now she did.

A uniformed captain entered the bay, followed by two security personnel. Rowan Pike commanded Bellwether’s harbor operations. He was broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and accustomed to being heard without raising his voice.

“Admiral Wren tells me you’ve returned,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I wish it had happened under better circumstances.”

“So do I.”

Pike glanced at the empty pallet. “The vehicles that used this road are being identified.”

“Before or after they leave the gate?”

His jaw tightened. “All gates have been notified.”

Chen stepped between them. “We’ll need the vehicle logs, loading records, and camera footage for every exit.”

“You’ll have them,” Pike said. “Once my staff locates them.”

Cora had once trusted that answer. At North Shoal, it had taken four days for anyone to produce the launch checklist. By then, every original had disappeared.

“Agent Chen will collect them directly,” Wren said from the doorway.

Pike had not heard him approach. For the first time, he looked uncertain.

Wren studied the pallet. “How long?”

“The cases left less than an hour ago,” Chen said.

“Inside help?”

“Whoever moved them had a vehicle and access to the service road.”

Wren turned to Pike. “Give Agent Chen what she asks for.”

Pike nodded, though Cora saw the effort it cost him.

That afternoon, the inquiry moved into a conference room without windows. Chen assembled the pieces they still had.

The new shipment had arrived at 6:10 that morning. Its paperwork listed twenty-four tested locator beacons. The pallet in Bay Six had held twelve cases, two units in each. Theo had opened one. No sailor had recorded a test.

At 7:42, Reed had asked Theo to certify that testing was complete.

At 7:51, Nina Cole had challenged him.

At 8:03, after Reed punched her, someone opened Bay Six’s service door.

“It happened while everyone was watching the dining hall,” Theo said.

“Someone planned to use the distraction,” Chen replied.

Theo looked ashamed. “My access card opened the bay this morning.”

“So did six others,” Cora said.

“But mine was on the log.”

“Where was it during lunch?”

“In my pocket.”

Chen studied him. “We’ll check the camera. I’m asking because the log makes you a witness.”

He nodded.

An electronics technician named Owen Ellis brought a portable beacon to the room. He had tested emergency equipment at Bellwether for twelve years. On its side, a black plate carried a serial number.

“Each unit broadcasts identifying information,” he explained. “Search crews need to know what sent the signal and where to look. We check the code, battery, and transmission before issuing one.”

He switched on the demonstration unit. A small green light blinked.

“The shipment Reed wanted signed off was marked as new,” Owen said. “But someone entered Beacon 4187 as one of its units. That beacon was recorded as lost at North Shoal.”

“Could the number have been entered by mistake?” Wren asked.

“Once? Maybe. The same number appears on an internal warehouse label and the issue sheet. Someone printed the label before the truck arrived.”

“What about the beacon itself?” Cora asked.

“If we find it, I can tell you more.”

Chen projected a photograph of an empty case Theo had taken that morning. Its foam had been cut unevenly around the space where a beacon would sit.

Owen leaned closer.

“That insert is for an older model.”

“Can you be sure?”

“I cut those for the training sets five years ago. They don’t fit the current batteries.”

The room went quiet.

If the cases held old units, somebody had tried to pass untested rescue gear off as new. The serial number on the paperwork connected that attempt to the fatal North Shoal operation. It did not yet prove who had made the switch.

Chen sent officers to locate Miles Doran. His assistant said he had gone to a contract meeting off base. No one could reach him.

The inquiry also needed the original North Shoal photographs. Cora had kept copies in a protected file, but the images Mateo took before the launch had belonged to him.

Theo held up the picture of his father.

“His phone was never returned to us,” he said. “His watch was.”

“Could it take photographs?”

“Voice recordings.”

Cora turned toward him. “Does your mother still have it?”

“I think so.”

Before anyone could say more, Owen’s phone rang. He answered, listened, and sat down slowly.

“What is it?” Chen asked.

“Beacon 4187 just transmitted.”

Cora felt every muscle in her shoulders tense.

“From where?”

Owen checked the message on his screen. “The receiver logged it from a rescue boat east of Bellwether.”

“Was the boat in distress?”

“It’s out with a training crew. They weren’t scheduled to activate an emergency beacon.”

Chen called harbor operations while Owen tried to confirm the signal. After a minute, his expression darkened.

“The code is old,” he said. “The system lists the transmitting vessel as the North Shoal launch.”

“Where is the actual boat?” Wren asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to find.”

Cora remembered the night at North Shoal: rain across the windows, Mateo reading a position aloud, and then the sickening realization that the position belonged to a vessel they could no longer see.

“Call the crew directly,” she said.

Chen was already dialing.