Thorne panicked. Sub smiled. “You forget, Irene. I’m a student of pressure.”
Thorne stared at the churning Thames. “So what now?” sherlock sub
He’d noticed the glove’s stitching—a rare waterproof sealant used only in deep-sea industrial fans. And the oil slick wasn’ engine oil; it was a synthetic lubricant for hydraulic thrusters . Someone had built an underwater conveyor—a giant, silent pump—to suck the barges into this lair. Thorne panicked