They open the hatch
The decision to open the submarine came down from the city’s director of infrastructure at nine the following morning, after a night of calls between the council, the Ministry of Defence, and some government bodies Declan had never heard of. The instruction was simple: assess structural integrity, log any contents, seal, and await further guidance. A structural engineer and two members of a specialist underwater retrieval company were brought in.
The hatch on the conning tower was stuck—not welded shut, but simply locked by decades of oxidation. It took thirty minutes and a hydraulic cutter to break the seal. When it finally gave, a gust of stale, pressurised air exhaled from the opening like a long-held breath. Everyone standing nearby stepped back involuntarily.
Declan was not supposed to go in, but he was persistent. With a torch in hand and a safety cap, he went in. They were led by the retrieval firm’s lead diver, a quietly intelligent woman named Sorcha, who had explored two wrecked freighters and a sunken trawler and looked entirely unimpressed by her years of work. They descended through the hatch into the dark.