The rain lashed at Marcus's face as he sprinted down Ballard Dock's wooden planks. The clock on his phone flashed 8:22—eight minutes left until the syndicate's boat departed for Canada. Jake led the way, his boots slipping on the wet wood, while Sophia stayed close behind, her switchblade flipped open, glinting in the dock's dim streetlights. Claire ran beside Marcus, her dad's notebook pressed to her chest, her hair plastered to her neck.
"Boat's at slip 17," Jake panted, pointing to a rusted white speedboat bobbing in the water. Two syndicate men stood on the dock beside it, their guns holstered but their hands hovering close—on edge. "Raymond's inside. They've got him tied to the cabin floor."
Marcus glanced at his team. "Plan: Sophia, you take the guard on the left—use the crates for cover. Jake, you cut the boat's fuel line—slow 'em down if they try to leave. Claire, you find the cabin key—my dad's notes said syndicate boats usually hide keys under the starboard seat. I'll distract the right guard."
They nodded, splitting up. Marcus adjusted the fake poker chip in his pocket—rigged with a GPS tracker, just in case—and walked toward the dock, hands in his pockets, pretending to be a lost fisherman.
"Hey!" the right guard yelled, stepping forward. "This dock's private. Get lost."
Marcus grinned, pulling a deck of cards from his jacket—Raymond's old trick deck. "Just looking for a game. Heard you guys play. I'm good—real good."
The guard narrowed his eyes. "I said get—"
A crash echoed from the left. Sophia had tackled the other guard, slamming his head into a wooden crate. The right guard spun, reaching for his gun, but Marcus threw a card—hit him square in the eye. He yelped, and Marcus tackled him, pinning his arms to the ground.
"Claire!" Marcus yelled.
She sprinted to the boat, sliding her hand under the starboard seat. Her fingers closed around a metal key. "Got it!"
Jake cut the fuel line with a pocket knife, gasoline dripping into the water. "Boat's not going anywhere. Not for a while."
They boarded the boat, the cabin door locked. Claire inserted the key, twisting it. The door creaked open, and the smell of sweat and blood hit them. Raymond was tied to the floor, his shirt stained red, but his eyes were sharp.
"Marcus," he said, his voice hoarse. "They planted a bomb. Under the driver's seat. Set to go off when the engine starts."
Claire dropped to her knees, sliding her hand under the seat. She pulled out a small metal box—wires red and blue, a digital timer counting down: 00:47. "Dad's notes," she said, flipping through her notebook. "Syndicate bombs—red wire first, then blue. Don't cut green."
Marcus knelt beside her, holding the box steady. Claire's hands shook, but she took a deep breath, gripping a pocket knife. She cut the red wire—timer paused at 00:32. Then blue—timer stopped.
They sighed, relieved. Jake cut Raymond's ropes, and Marcus helped him stand. "You okay?"
Raymond nodded, rubbing his wrists. "They wanted the ledger's code. Thought I knew it. But I didn't—only Claire's dad did." He glanced at Claire. "You have it, don't you? The code."
Claire nodded. "0714. My birthday. Dad hid it in the notes."
The dock's lights flickered. Jake froze. "They're back. More of 'em. We need to go—now."
They sprinted off the boat, heading for the rental car. Behind them, syndicate men yelled, their footsteps thudding on the planks. Marcus looked back—three men, all with guns, closing in.
"Split up!" Sophia yelled. She ran toward a stack of crates, drawing the men's attention. "Over here!"
Marcus grabbed Claire's hand, pulling her toward the car. Raymond and Jake followed, their breaths ragged. They reached the car, and Marcus fumbled with the keys—his hands shaking from adrenaline.
The engine roared to life just as a bullet hit the rear window. Marcus slammed on the gas, the car skidding onto the main road. In the rearview mirror, the syndicate men stood on the dock, yelling.
Raymond leaned back in the passenger seat, closing his eyes. "Thanks, kid. I thought I was done for."
Claire looked at Marcus, her face pale but smiling. "We make a good team."
He nodded, gripping the steering wheel. His phone buzzed—an anonymous text:
"Syndicate's not after Raymond. They wanted you to find the ledger code. Now they know it's 0714. They're heading to LA. Your mom's restaurant."
Marcus's blood ran cold. LA. His mom.
He slammed on the brakes, pulling over. "We need to go back. Now. My mom's in danger."
Claire nodded, pulling out her phone to call Miller. "He'll send agents to the restaurant. We'll catch the next flight to LA."
Raymond opened his eyes, his voice serious. "They're not just after your mom. They want the ledger's code to access Ivan's offshore accounts—millions. With that money, they'll rebuild the syndicate in LA."
Sophia leaned forward from the backseat. "I'll call my dad. He knows people in LA—can guard the restaurant until we get there."
Marcus started the car again, heading for the airport. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark—like a warning. He thought of his mom, folding dumplings in the restaurant, unaware of the danger heading her way. Of the syndicate, greedy for the code, willing to kill for it.
Claire put a hand on his arm. "We'll get there in time. I promise."
He nodded, but his chest felt tight. Time was against them again. LA was three hours away by plane. The syndicate could be there in two.
As they drove, Marcus pulled out the trick deck from his pocket—Raymond's deck, the one with the ledger hidden under the ace of spades. He flipped to the ace, sliding out a tiny piece of paper—Raymond's handwriting: "Syndicate's leader—'The Boss'—is in LA. He's been there all along."
Marcus showed it to the group. Claire's eyes widened. "The Boss. Dad's notes mentioned him. He's the one who ordered my dad's death."
The airport came into view. Marcus gripped the steering wheel tighter.
LA was waiting. The Boss was waiting. His mom was waiting.
The rescue was over. But the real fight was just beginning.