Page 311 of Hidden Depths

“Not this time.”

I closed the laptop.

“If we don’t stop these people, no Sinclair yacht will ever be safe. Every family we charter to will become a possible target. Every employee. Every captain. Every guest.”

Calle’s smile faded.

“You’re right.”

“This isn’t the SEALs' fight anymore.”

“It never was.”

“No,” I said. “It’s ours.”

A knock sounded above us.

Ward called my name.

When I returned to the deck, Lieutenant Akana stood aboard again.

The metal case rested on the table between us.

A red evidence tag hung from the handle.

“No explosives,” he said. “No chemical or biological hazards detected.”

I stared at Grandpa’s initials.

“Can we open it?”

Lieutenant Akana inserted a tool into the corroded lock.

It broke after the second attempt.

The lid lifted.

Inside was a collection of water-damaged photographs.

An old compass.

A brass key.

And a small leather journal wrapped in oilcloth.

My hands trembled as I picked it up.

Grandpa’s name was written inside the cover.

The first pages were filled with dates, coordinates, and descriptions of vessels he’d seen near Blackwater.

Some entries were more than forty years old.

Then I reached the final page.

The handwriting was different.

Rushed.