“Wow, was this always here?” the Mayor asks, stepping down into the bunker-like space beneath the Lighthouse. “When did you build this?”
“We didn’t,” Aquila says. “But it’s been here since the Cold War.” She leans over a the console of a complex, old-school computer terminal to look outside through a small round window. “Optimal conditions.” She smiles looking at the water.
“Oh,” Nynke says, standing in front of an open single-person submarine slash torpedo, “You really weren’t kidding about the pressurised tube thing, were you.”