The Coast Guard intercepted the Bellweather seven miles south of Block Island.

At first, the captain claimed they were conducting oceanographic research.

Then armed men appeared on deck.

The boarding became a standoff.

Dana kept me updated through secure messages.

I sat beside Miles inside the federal facility.

Rachel slept in the next room.

Neither Miles nor I could.

At 4:17 A.M., Dana sent one message.

Grant is onboard.

Then nothing.

Minutes passed.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

Miles stared at the clock.

Finally, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

“Hello?”

Breathing.

Then Grant.

“Laura.”

I stood so fast the chair fell backward.

“Are you okay?”

“For now.”

“Where are you?”

“Engine level.”

I heard metal in the background.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because Vale knows you have the drive.”

My chest tightened.

“How?”

“Owen.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

Relief surprised me.

Grant continued.

“Vale made him tell him everything.”

“I don't understand.”

“Owen knew I would never trust one copy.”

“Did he know I had it?”

“No.”

“Then we're fine.”

Grant went silent.

“Grant?”

“There is a tracker.”

I froze.

“Where?”

“The drive casing.”

I looked toward my purse on the table.

“Vale's people can locate it?”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“I don't know.”

Miles was already standing.

He had heard enough.

I grabbed the purse.

“What do I do?”

“Don't destroy it.”

“Why?”

“The encryption key is inside.”

“Then tell me where to take it.”

Grant's voice became urgent.

“Find Dana's deputy.”

“He's downstairs.”

“Give it directly to him.”

A crash sounded through the phone.

Then Grant cursed.

“Grant?”

“If you hear from me again and I ask where the drive is, don't tell me.”

“What?”

“Vale may be listening.”

“Grant.”

“Listen to me.”

His voice sharpened.

“I will never ask you where you moved it.”

I understood.

A verification phrase.

“What will you ask?”

Grant paused.

Then he said something so ordinary it hurt.

“What did Miles name the red fish?”

I almost laughed.

Miles looked at me.

When he was four, Grant had bought him a red betta fish.

Miles had named it Captain Pickles.

Only the three of us knew.

“Okay.”

Another crash sounded.

Grant whispered.

“I have to go.”

“Wait.”

He stopped.

I closed my eyes.

There were too many things I wanted to say.

I chose the one I could live with.

“Miles loves you.”

Grant's breathing changed.

“I love him.”

I looked at our son.

“And Grant?”

“Yes?”

“Come back before we decide everything else.”

A long silence.

Then he answered.

“I will.”

The connection ended.

Miles took my hand.

“Mom.”

I turned.

A red light had begun flashing near the secured entrance.

An alarm sounded.

Someone shouted from the hallway.

“Lockdown!”