Gideon pressed his thumb against a hidden catch beneath the hinge.
The back of the compass opened, revealing seven initials scratched into the metal.
G.R.
E.V.
M.F.
I.R.
T.B.
S.K.
J.M.
The initials belonged to the original team.
No copy could have included them.
Mira reached into her backpack again.
“There’s something else.”
She produced an old handheld voice recorder sealed inside a plastic bag.
“My father told me to give this to you only after you opened the compass.”
Gideon took the recorder.
A strip of gray tape had been placed across the front. Four words were written on it in black ink.
PLAY IT SOMEWHERE SAFE.
Gideon looked around the crowded terminal.
“This isn’t safe.”
He rose from the bench and turned to the others.
“Equipment room. Now.”
The terminal manager tried to stop them from entering the restricted corridor, but one look at Gideon’s face changed his mind.
Minutes later, the six divers and Mira gathered inside a narrow room filled with emergency radios, ropes, life jackets, and tool cabinets.
Gideon locked the door.
Then he pressed play.
For several seconds, the recorder produced only static.
A man began to speak.
His voice was older and rougher than Gideon remembered, but there was no mistaking it.
“Gideon, if Mira reached you, then I failed to keep her out of this.”
Gideon gripped the recorder so tightly that the plastic creaked.
Elias continued.
“You have every reason to hate me. You buried an empty coffin because I asked men with badges to tell you I was dead. I let you mourn me. I let my own name become a lie.”
Mercer whispered a curse.
“But I did not disappear because of the Morning Star,” the recording said. “I disappeared because of what was inside it.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
According to the official investigation, the Morning Star had been carrying machine parts, canned food, and medical supplies.
Nothing worth killing for.
Nothing worth vanishing for.
Elias’s voice continued.
“The ship was transporting sealed military containers that were never listed on the manifest. After the wreck, those containers were moved through Port Briar under the protection of the harbor authority. The operation never stopped. It only became larger.”
A metallic crash sounded somewhere in the background of the recording.
Elias paused.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“The proof is beneath Breakwater Nine. Go at low tide. Enter through the eastern maintenance tunnel. Do not use the main road. Do not contact the local police. And whatever happens, do not trust Harbormaster Silas Crowe.”
The recording ended with the sound of a door being forced open.
Then a man shouted in the distance.
Elias whispered one final sentence.
“They found the house.”
A violent impact followed.
The recording stopped.
For a long moment, the equipment room was silent.
Mira stared at Gideon.
“Is my father alive?”
“He was alive when he made this.”
“That was yesterday.”
Gideon looked at the tide clock mounted above the radio equipment.
Low tide would arrive in ninety minutes.
Breakwater Nine was an abandoned lighthouse standing on a blade of rock north of the harbor. The main structure had been closed after a fire twenty years earlier. Officially, the tunnels beneath it had collapsed.
Gideon had never believed that story.
He placed the recorder inside his coat.
“Mercer, get the truck. Isaac, bring cutting tools, lights, climbing gear, and two diving sets.”
“What about the storm?” Isaac asked.
“The storm is why we have a chance.”
Mercer glanced at Mira.
“We can’t take a child out there.”
Mira stepped closer to Gideon.
“My father said I had to show you the second entrance.”
Gideon frowned.
“He said the eastern tunnel.”
“He lied on the recording.”
“Why?”
“He thought someone might force me to give them the recorder.”
She reached beneath her raincoat and pulled a thin chain from around her neck. A flat iron key hung from it.
“He said the real entrance opens only with this.”
Gideon looked at the other men.
Thirteen years of grief had suddenly become anger.
“Bring another life jacket,” he said.
They left the terminal through a service exit.
The Blackwater truck waited beside the docks, an aging red vehicle with a reinforced roof and emergency lights that had not worked in years. Mira sat between Gideon and Mercer in the front cabin while the other divers rode behind the equipment racks.
As they drove north, the streets of Port Briar emptied around them.
Rain flooded the gutters. Fishing boats strained against their ropes. The lighthouse at Breakwater Nine appeared and vanished through curtains of mist.
Mira watched Gideon from the corner of her eye.
“Were you really his friend?”
Gideon kept his attention on the road.
“I thought I was.”
“He talked about you.”