The Transatlantic Conspiracy
Page 17
by G. D. Falksen
Charles strapped himself into his chair. “Are you certain about this?” he asked, but he’d started to smile.
“Not particularly,” Rosalind said, pressing on the lever for descent as the blue-green water rushed up over the windows. “But I want some answers. It seems the only way I’m getting them is by finding them myself.”
And with that, she plunged the submersible back into the murky depths.