“I’ve felt better,” I muttered, moving to the tactical lockers. I stripped off the wet silk and pulled on black fatigues, securing my backup weapon — a suppressed Heckler & Koch USP — to my hip.

“I dug into your mother’s charity,” Jonas said, not looking away from his screens. “Cole was telling the truth. The accounts are hollowed out. Vale holds the promissory notes.

He basically has a gun to her head.”

I tightened the straps on my vest, trying to lock away the pain of my mother’s betrayal. She didn’t know about the treason, I told myself. She thought she was trading a dusty old coin for her freedom. It didn’t soften the blow.

“What’s the infiltration route?” I asked, stepping up to his monitors.

Jonas brought up a blueprint of the USS Leviathan, a Virginia-class nuclear attack submarine. “It’s a fortress, Serena. Heavily guarded. But with the reception for Admiral Blake, there’s civilian catering staff moving supplies onto the upper deck.