Sherlock Sub -

“Impossible,” Thorne whispered. “They weigh forty tons each.”

“The barges carried industrial diamonds,” Sub said calmly. “You didn’t want the barges. You wanted the cargo. And you hid them here to divert suspicion.”

He flipped a switch. A high-frequency pulse screamed from the sub’s speakers—not a weapon, but the precise frequency of the hydraulic pump’s resonance. The drowned warehouse began to tremble. Bricks rained. The pump overloaded, reversing current. sherlock sub

He’d noticed the glove’s stitching—a rare waterproof sealant used only in deep-sea industrial fans. And the oil slick wasn’ engine oil; it was a synthetic lubricant for hydraulic thrusters . Someone had built an underwater conveyor—a giant, silent pump—to suck the barges into this lair.

“Now, Thorne, the game is still afloat.” “Impossible,” Thorne whispered

“Elementary,” Sub replied, adjusting his waterproof deerstalker. “The thief isn’t a man. It’s a current. Or rather, a manufactured one.”

But who?

On the surface, as the river police hauled up diamonds and a furious Irene, Thorne asked, “How did you know the frequency?”

“You destroyed your own trap,” she hissed over the dying comm. You wanted the cargo