The seven-hour drive from the Arizona desert to the Los Angeles coast was a blur of tactical driving, disposable credit card use, and near-silence. Liam performed a textbook "scrub"—burning the rental car with the shell company registration, acquiring a new, inconspicuous vehicle paid for in cash from a legitimate private seller, and ensuring they changed their clothes and appearance to shed any connection to the desert excursion.
By the time they reached the sprawl of Long Beach, the clock was ticking toward 1:00 AM.
"San Pedro Harbor is chaos at night," Liam stated, navigating the maze of container yards and desolate warehouses. "It's high-risk. We need to find the specific coordinates Vance gave us: an old section of fishing docks. It'll be dark and loud with ship traffic, which works in our favor, but it also gives Thorne's people plenty of cover."
Evelyn's heart was a dull, anxious thud in her chest. They were no longer dealing with legal filings; they were engaging in a physical extraction.
"Thorne must be watching Vance's immediate circle," Evelyn realized. "He'll be monitoring bank transfers, burner phone activation, and any contact with the outside world. He won't know we sent the laser code, but he'll know Vance is moving the moment he leaves that compound."
"Exactly," Liam confirmed, parking the car several blocks from the target area, near a brightly lit industrial complex—a calculated risk. "Vance has to be discreet. If he's traveling far, he'll have used a private jet or helicopter, which Thorne's intelligence network can track globally. If he's moving by road, he's gambling."
They proceeded on foot, walking past stacks of towering, brightly colored shipping containers that smelled of rust and diesel. The coordinates led them to a dilapidated section of the docks, where old, decommissioned trawlers listed in the dark water.
At precisely 1:50 AM, Liam pulled Evelyn behind a rusting winch machine. "Eyes up. We scan first. I don't see any obvious surveillance—no drones, no vehicles running without lights."
"What about private security?" Evelyn whispered.
"They'd be here before Vance. Thorne's protocol would be interception. They'd grab Vance before he even made it to the harbor and bring him back." Liam paused, his senses attuned to the noise of the port. "He's either not here, or he's already in the water."
Just then, a small, battered fishing skiff chugged past their hiding spot. It was so unremarkable, Evelyn almost dismissed it. But as it slowed near the old docks, she saw him.
Dr. Elias Vance.
He was dressed in a dark jacket and a fisherman's beanie, looking pale and exhausted. He climbed onto the dock, his movements stiff. He was alone.
"He came by boat," Liam murmured. "Smart. Hard to track over water. He must have arranged the transport weeks ago."
Vance didn't look around nervously. He looked up, directly at the looming structures of the cranes and the high-density lighting—the only places a discreet watcher would hide. He knew he was being watched, just not by whom.
Evelyn was about to step out when Liam grabbed her arm, his grip iron-firm.
"Wait."
A luxury black sedan—a vehicle that screamed wealth and inappropriate presence—slowly rolled past the industrial complex where they had parked. It stopped about a hundred yards away, the headlights turning off.
"Thorne's not using his usual private security," Liam analyzed, his voice low. "That's a team from Aethel's corporate intelligence division. They handle 'sensitive assets.' They knew he was moving, but they only just confirmed the location."
The car was a distraction. The real threat was the three figures who silently appeared from behind a stack of containers on the opposite side of the dock. They were moving fast, converging on Vance.
"Thorne didn't want a public abduction," Liam realized. "They want to 'escort' him back to the compound discreetly."
"We have to move, Liam!" Evelyn urged, desperation creeping into her voice.
"We move now, and we engage three trained agents. Vance is collateral damage." Liam pulled a tactical baton from his jacket—non-lethal, but intimidating. "We're going to create a diversion and force them to choose. The asset, or the anonymity."
Liam pushed Evelyn behind a stack of fishing nets. "Stay here. Do not move. Do not interfere."
Then, with a speed that belied his solid build, Liam sprang out, not toward the agents, but toward the large, rusting winch machine. He slammed the end of his baton against the emergency stop button for the nearby cargo lift, which instantly brought the entire system to a grinding halt with a violent, screeching alarm that tore through the harbor's noise.
Every head—Vance's and the agents'—snapped toward the sound. The agents broke their convergence pattern, looking for the source of the mechanical failure.
Liam used the second of confusion to race across the dock. He wasn't aiming for the men; he was aiming for the darkness behind Vance.
"Dr. Vance! Over here! Cure! Silence! Aris!" Liam shouted, using the pre-arranged code words as both a signal and a distraction.
Vance's head whipped toward the sound, recognition flashing in his eyes. He didn't hesitate. He broke into a stumbling run toward Liam.
The agents recovered quickly, drawing close, focused on the fleeing asset. Liam slammed his baton against the closest agent's thigh, eliciting a sharp cry of pain, and propelled Vance toward Evelyn's hiding spot.
"Go! Get to the car!" Liam ordered Evelyn, pushing Vance into her arms. "I'll hold the dock!"
Evelyn grabbed Vance, her hands finding his arm. He was heavier than he looked, trembling with fear and exhaustion.
"We have the evidence," Vance gasped, clutching a small, metallic flash drive hidden in his jacket. "The full enzyme patent!"
Evelyn shoved Vance ahead of her, running toward the parking area. The final battle for the truth was no longer in the courts; it was a desperate, silent sprint across a dark, dangerous dock.