The top half of the “clam” groaned on hidden hinges. Elias pushed it up. It was heavy, lined with rubber gaskets to keep the water out.
He peered inside, expecting to see machinery or perhaps drugs. Smugglers used weird methods, he knew that.
But the interior was empty of water. It was perfectly dry.
Sitting in the center, cushioned by rotting foam padding, was a single, waterproof Pelican case. It was black, military-grade, and stenciled with white letters that had faded but were still legible.
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Elias leaned in to read the stencil.
PROJECT AZORIAN. 1974. CLASSIFIED.
He froze. He knew that name. Every old sailor knew the rumors. It was a CIA operation from the Cold War, a mission to recover a sunken Soviet submarine.
His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the crowbar. If this was from that mission, he shouldn’t be touching it.
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