She looked at him.
"That's not an answer."
Deacon smiled.
"Fair."
Josie touched the Harley's tank.
"My dad taught me when I was nine."
"Nine?"
"He said machines don't care how old you are."
"What else did he teach you?"
"Never force a part."
"Why?"
"If it doesn't fit, you're missing something."
Deacon nodded.
"Good rule."
"For engines?"
"For life."
She smiled.
"Maybe."
The Missing Part
The parts arrived the next morning.
But one component was wrong.
Josie opened the package.
Her face fell.
Deacon saw it.
"What?"
"Wrong tensioner."
"Can we modify it?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Metal composition."
Deacon looked confused.
She explained.
"This engine gets hotter than the newer model."
"So?"
"So the part will fail."
"How long?"
"Maybe fifty miles."
Deacon shook his head.
"We're stuck."
Josie stood.
"No."
"What now?"
She walked to her father's bench.
There were dozens of old boxes.
She searched through them.
One by one.
Nothing.
Then she opened a steel cabinet.
Inside were old military parts.
Deacon watched her pull out a small metal housing.
She froze.
"What?"
"My dad."
She turned the piece over.
A number had been stamped into it.
She compared it to the motorcycle.
"Same dimension."
Deacon looked at her.
"You think?"
"I know."
"Where'd he get it?"
"I don't know."
"Can it work?"
Josie smiled.
"Let's find out."
They spent six hours modifying the old part.
Grinding.
Measuring.
Testing.
Welding.
Rechecking.
At three in the morning, Josie finally stepped back.
"It's ready."
Deacon looked at the engine.
"Start her."
Josie shook her head.
"You start her."
Deacon turned the key.
Nothing.
He tried again.
The engine coughed.
Then turned.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then the Harley came alive.
The sound filled the barn.
Deep.
Strong.
Steady.
Deacon closed his eyes.
Josie smiled.
Then the engine suddenly changed.
A metallic knock.
Deacon killed it.
Silence.
Josie's smile disappeared.
She looked toward the old part.
"No."
"What?"
She shook her head.
"That's not the engine."
"Then what is it?"
Josie turned toward the wall.
"I think something else is wrong."
The Secret in the Barn
The next morning, Josie went through her father's records.
Deacon helped.
They found service manuals.
Military invoices.
Engine diagrams.
Old photographs.
Then they found a notebook.
Caleb's handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
Measurements.
Serial numbers.
Names.
Locations.
And one sentence repeated several times:
THE ENGINE WAS SABOTAGED BEFORE DELIVERY.
Deacon stared.
"Sabotaged?"
Josie nodded.
Her hands trembled.
"What does that mean?"
Deacon flipped through the pages.
Caleb had documented unusual failures in several engines.
Not accidents.
Failures that looked like accidents.
Josie sat down.
"My dad knew."
"Knew what?"
"That someone was damaging equipment."
Deacon looked at the final pages.
There was one last entry.
Only four words.
I KNOW WHO DID IT.
No name.
No explanation.
Just that.
Josie stared at the page.
"My father didn't die in an accident."
Deacon didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But he knew one thing.
Someone had been hiding something.
And Caleb had been close to discovering it.
The Man from Omaha
The following afternoon, a black pickup arrived.
A man in a gray jacket stepped out.
His name was Raymond Voss.
He introduced himself as an old colleague of Caleb.
Josie didn't trust him.
Neither did Deacon.
Voss asked about the barn.
Then the motorcycle.
Then Caleb's tools.
"What are you looking for?" Deacon asked.
"Nothing."
"Then why are you here?"
Voss smiled.
"Curiosity."
Josie stepped forward.
"You knew my dad."
"Yes."
"What happened to him?"
Voss's smile disappeared.
"Your father was a complicated man."
"That's not what I asked."
Voss looked at Deacon.
"You should leave this alone."
Deacon stepped closer.
"You're talking to the wrong man."
Voss's expression hardened.
"This isn't your business."
Deacon smiled.
"That usually means it is."
Voss left.
But before he drove away, he looked at the barn.
Not the house.
Not Josie.
The barn.
Josie noticed.
"So did you."
"Yeah."
"What?"
"He wasn't interested in your father's tools."
"What was he interested in?"
Deacon looked at the old motorcycle.
"Whatever your father was hiding."
The Ride
The Harley was ready.
Mostly.
Deacon wanted to test it.
Josie insisted on coming.
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
"It's my repair."
"It's my motorcycle."
"You wouldn't know what you're listening for."
Deacon stared.
She stared back.
Finally he sighed.
"Helmet."
She smiled.
They rode into town.
Josie followed in Mae's old pickup.
Deacon took the Harley slowly.
The engine sounded clean.
Strong.
The road opened ahead.
For the first time in four days, Deacon felt free.
Then he heard it.