He flipped a switch. A high-frequency pulse screamed from the sub’s speakers—not a weapon, but the precise frequency of the hydraulic pump’s resonance. The drowned warehouse began to tremble. Bricks rained. The pump overloaded, reversing current.
“Brilliant. But now you’re in my tide pool.” Her sub’s claws scraped the St. Mary’s Log ’s hull. “Flood your ballast tanks, or I’ll crack you like a crab.” sherlock sub
“Now, Thorne, the game is still afloat.” He flipped a switch
The answer surfaced in the form of a woman’s laugh, echoing through the sub’s hydrophone. sherlock sub
Thorne stared at the churning Thames. “So what now?”
Sherlock Sub lit his pipe—waterproof, naturally—and puffed a ring of smoke that dissolved into the fog.