Minh’s voice became quieter.
“There was no time.”
“So what did you do?”
“I took parts from my own van.”
Maya stared.
“You dismantled your van?”
“It was ugly van.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Minh smiled.
“No, it does not.”
He continued.
“I repaired both. They left before water covered the road.”
“And Vance remembered?”
“Apparently.”
Maya shook her head.
“That still doesn’t explain why she said you picked something up for her.”
Minh looked toward the shelf above his workbench.
There was an old wooden box.
He reached for it.
Opened it.
Inside was a faded photograph.
A much younger Evelyn Vance stood in rain-soaked fatigues beside a civilian mechanic.
Minh.
Both were covered in mud.
Maya took the photograph.
“What happened?”
“Her cover blew off.”
Maya looked up.
Minh shrugged.
“I picked it up.”
The coincidence sent a strange chill through her.
Minh continued.
“She tried to pay for repairs.”
“You refused.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“They were evacuating families.”
He looked genuinely confused by the question.
“What kind of person charges extra during flood?”
Maya sat beside him.
“You kept this from me.”
“It was not important.”
“It was important enough for the Army Chief of Staff to remember twenty-four years later.”
Minh smiled faintly.
“That says more about her memory than my work.”
Maya stared at the photo.
Then another thought struck her.
“Is that the only reason she knows you?”
Minh’s smile disappeared.
Maya saw it immediately.
“Dad.”
He looked away.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing bad.”
“That is exactly what people say before describing something bad.”
He sighed.
“Three months ago, a Mercedes came into my shop.”
Maya slowly stood.
“No.”
Minh did not answer.
“A silver Mercedes?”
“Yes.”
Her heart began racing.
“Victoria Sterling’s car?”
“Yes.”
Maya stared at him.
“How?”
“She had noise from rear suspension. Dealer appointment was too far away. Someone recommended my shop.”
“Did you know whose car it was?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Minh looked suddenly older.
“I removed rear interior panel to reach mount.”
Maya already knew the answer.
“You found the compartment.”
“Yes.”
The garage seemed to shrink around her.
“What was inside?”
“A black case.”
Maya stopped breathing.
Minh continued.
“I thought maybe aftermarket electronics. But case had serial plate.”
“Military?”
“I recognized government inventory format from old contract work.”
“What did you do?”
“I took picture.”
Maya stared at him.
“And?”
“I called the number.”
“What number?”
“Army CID tip line.”
Maya covered her mouth.
Her father had started the investigation.
Minh continued.
“Agents came that night.”
“You never told me.”
“I was ordered not to.”
“You let me work on the same installation where—”
“I did not know you would be involved.”
His voice cracked for the first time.
“You think I would allow that?”
Maya stopped.
Minh stood.
“They photographed compartment. Documented case. Told me to repair car normally.”
“What was in the case?”
“They did not tell me.”
“Did they take it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They needed to know where it went.”
Maya’s anger turned to dread.
“So they put it back.”
“Yes.”
“And Victoria drove away.”
“Yes.”
Maya thought of the checkpoint.
The case.
General Vance’s stare.
The hidden compartment.
“Dad…”
Minh nodded.
“The case you saw may have been the same one.”
Maya stared at him.
“General Vance came because of you.”
“No.”
“You reported it.”
“I reported a strange box.”
“That started everything.”
Minh shook his head.
“Someone had to notice.”
Maya laughed once, emotionally overwhelmed.
“You.”
He looked confused.
“What?”
“You always say that.”
“Say what?”
“That people make hero stories too complicated.”
Minh frowned.
Maya wiped suddenly wet eyes.
“You tell me heroes are usually just people who notice something and refuse to walk away.”
Minh looked down.
“I am not hero.”
“I know.”
He looked offended.
Maya laughed through her tears.
“I mean—you’re my dad.”
“That is worse.”
She wrapped her arms around him.
For several seconds, they stood in the garage smelling of motor oil and summer rain.
Then Minh whispered something against her hair.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“There is more.”
She pulled away.
His face had gone pale.
“What?”
“The case I found three months ago…”
He swallowed.
“It was not the first.”
Chapter 8 — Five Years
Minh had seen three cases.
The first appeared almost five years earlier.
Different vehicle.
Government SUV.
Nothing obviously suspicious.
A communications officer had brought it into the shop because the rear door would not latch.
Minh found a small shielded case beneath the cargo floor.
He assumed it belonged there.
Two years later, another vehicle arrived.
Different driver.
Same type of compartment.
Same kind of case.
This time Minh remembered.
He wrote down the serial number.
He compared it with the first number he had saved on an old work invoice.
The sequence was close.
That bothered him.
But he had no proof of wrongdoing.
Then Victoria Sterling’s Mercedes arrived.
Private vehicle.
Same compartment design.
Same style of black case.
That was when Minh called CID.
Maya listened without interrupting.
“Why did you keep the first serial number?”
Minh shrugged.
“Mechanics remember strange things.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Good mechanics do.”