The room was quiet as a tomb. Below them, on the plaza, life went on as normal. People rushed and jostled to catch the PATH home.

Here, the floor had just fallen out from beneath the pair of computer executives.

Stern rose and headed for the door. He grasped the doorknob, but then turned and looked back at Smythe and Andretti. “You won’t have any more problems with the SEC. Sanderson will play ball. I expect the system will be up and running, ready for launch by the end of the week.”

Both Smythe and Andretti opened their mouths to protest, but their words would have been directed to a closed door.

It was an intense, agonizing pain that yanked Quartermaster Dennis Oshley from a deep sleep. It knifed through his gut, the blinding flashes of distress doubling him into a fetal lump. His tormented cries woke Bill Dooley, a torpedo man who was sleeping in the bunk above Oshley’s in the tightly packed bunkroom.

“Hey, Dennis,” he called out. “You okay, man?”

The only reply was another groan. Dooley hopped out of his bunk and stood on the deck, then yanked back the blue curtain to see Oshley, deathly pale and bathed in sweat. The quartermaster was bent double, squirming as he clutched his stomach.

Dooley turned and ran out of the bunkroom, bumping into Sam Wallich, the COB, in the passageway.

“COB, it’s Oshley,” he panted. “He’s real sick. In his bunk.”

Wallich rushed into the darkened bunkroom to find Oshley hunched over and groaning in the center of the narrow passageway. Even as Wallich approached, another wave of pain seemed to course through the quartermaster’s body. He screamed and fell to the deck, writhing in agony.

“Go get Doc,” Wallich cried to Dooley. “He’s sleeping in his rack in the goat locker.”

Dooley disappeared, heading for the Chiefs’ Quarters to roust the ship’s corpsman. “Doc” Halliday dispensed medicine and fatherly advice for the crew of the sub, and, like most submarine corpsmen, he was specially selected and trained to do his work all alone and far from any medical facilities. He could handle most medical emergencies that might arise, or at least be able to stabilize the situation until the boat could get to a location where the patient could be transferred to a better-equipped facility.

Halliday had over fifteen years of experience treating people. That included combat duty with the Marines during the Iraq War. He knew when he could handle a problem and he also knew when he was in over his head. One look at Oshley and he knew he was outclassed by whatever was causing the quartermaster’s agony.

He yelled over his shoulder to Wallich, “COB, tell the XO I need him right now and tell the CO we need to do a medevac real quick.”

Wallich didn’t question the corpsman or hesitate for a second. He disappeared in search of Edwards and Glass.