One photograph showed a young Bill standing beside a machine.

On the back was a handwritten date.

The same date as one of the shipments.

Jerry turned another page.

Then froze.

"What?"

He pointed.

There was a name.

A company.

A government contractor.

And beneath it, an authorization signature.

Frankie recognized the signature.

"Douglas."

Jerry nodded.

"But look here."

He pointed to another line.

A second signature.

Someone higher.

Someone who had been receiving the shipments.

Frankie sat on the bridge.

"Bill knew."

Jerry nodded.

"Enough to make someone afraid."

Frankie looked toward the desert.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because he was trying to protect you."

"But he died anyway."

Jerry sat beside him.

"Maybe he thought the evidence would disappear."

Frankie shook his head.

"It didn't."

"No."

"Why?"

Jerry looked at the metal case.

"Because he hid it in a motorcycle."

Frankie smiled sadly.

"Bill always did like complicated solutions."

They played the second tape.

Bill's voice returned.

This time, he sounded frightened.

"I don't know who I can trust."

Static.

"Douglas knows someone took copies."

A pause.

"I moved everything."

Another pause.

"Mercy carries the last piece."

Frankie looked at Jerry.

Bill continued.

"The final record is inside the engine."

Jerry froze.

"What?"

Bill's voice crackled.

"I couldn't hide it anywhere else."

Frankie stared at the tape.

The recording continued.

"If they find the bike, they'll think it's worthless."

A short laugh.

"That's exactly what I need."

The tape ended.

Nobody spoke.

Then Ray said:

"So the engine isn't broken."

Jerry looked at him.

"What?"

Ray shook his head.

"Think about it."

Jerry slowly understood.

"You think someone sabotaged it."

"Yes."

"To stop us from opening it."

Frankie looked at Mercy's absence.

"Someone knew."

Jerry stood.

"We need to get back."

They drove through the desert as fast as they safely could.

The landscape blurred outside the windows.

Frankie barely spoke.

Finally Jerry said, "You okay?"

Frankie looked ahead.

"No."

Jerry nodded.

"Fair."

Frankie took a breath.

"I keep thinking about the last time I saw him."

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

Frankie looked down.

"He said, 'If they come for Mercy, don't let them take her.'"

Jerry frowned.

"You think he knew?"

"I think he knew more than he told me."

"And now?"

"Now I think he was afraid."

They reached Oakland late that night.

The garage lights were still on.

Pete had waited.

The moment Frankie entered, Pete said:

"You were right."

Frankie stopped.

"About what?"

Pete pointed toward the engine.

"I found another cavity."

Jerry walked over.

"What?"

Pete showed him.

A small compartment.

Machined into an internal component.

Invisible unless the part was completely removed.

Inside was a thin metal strip.

A data plate.

And a folded piece of paper.

Frankie stared at the paper.

He opened it.

One sentence.

Bill trusted the wrong people. Don't make the same mistake.

Jerry looked toward the garage door.

Someone was standing outside.

A man.

Older.

Expensive coat.

Gray hair.

He entered slowly.

Frankie recognized him immediately.

Douglas Vane.

Thirty-one years had passed.

But Frankie had never forgotten his face.

Douglas looked at the dismantled motorcycle.

Then at Frankie.

"You finally opened it."

Frankie stepped forward.

"You knew."

Douglas didn't answer.

Jerry stood between them.

"Who are you?"

Douglas ignored him.

He looked at Frankie.

"Bill should have destroyed those records."

Frankie clenched his jaw.

"He didn't."

"No."

"Why did you come here?"

Douglas sighed.

"Because the past has a way of becoming expensive."

Frankie stared at him.

"You killed him?"

Douglas's expression hardened.

"No."

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Frankie stepped closer.

"You expect me to believe that?"

Douglas looked toward Mercy.

"I came to offer you something."

"Money?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Douglas looked tired.

"Truth."

Frankie laughed bitterly.

"Thirty-one years late."

Douglas nodded.

"Yes."

Jerry watched him carefully.

"Start talking."

Douglas looked at the old Harley.

"Bill discovered the shipment network."

"We know."

"He copied records."

"We know."

"He hid evidence."

"We know."

Douglas swallowed.

"But he didn't know the whole story."

Frankie stared.

"Then tell us."

Douglas looked at the three mechanics.

Then at Frankie.

"There was another man."

"Who?"

"Arthur Vale."

Frankie frowned.

"Who was he?"

"The man above me."

Jerry's expression hardened.

"And where is he now?"

Douglas looked toward the floor.

"Dead."

"How?"

"Heart attack."

Frankie laughed.

"Convenient."

Douglas didn't react.

"Before he died, he destroyed most of the records."

"But not all."

"No."

"Why?"

Douglas looked at Mercy.

"Because Bill was smarter than we thought."

The Last Ride

Douglas told them everything.

Not because he suddenly became noble.

Not because he regretted everything.

But because the people who had ordered the shipments were gone.

Some had died.

Some had disappeared.

Some had spent decades protecting themselves.

And Douglas was old enough to understand that secrets eventually became heavier than guilt.

The illegal components had been part of a private network operating through legitimate manufacturing companies.

Bill had discovered the records.

He copied them.

He hid them.

He intended to expose the operation.

Then he became sick.

Douglas claimed he hadn't ordered Bill's death.

Frankie didn't know whether to believe him.

But the evidence supported enough of the story to make one thing clear:

Bill had been telling the truth.

The documents were real.

The serial numbers were real.

The shipments had happened.

The records inside Mercy were the final proof.

Frankie looked at Douglas.

"Why did you come here?"

Douglas answered honestly.

"Because I saw the memorial ride announcement."

Frankie frowned.

"You've been watching us?"

"I've been watching you."

"For thirty-one years?"

Douglas looked away.

"Not every day."

Frankie stepped closer.

"You were afraid."

Douglas nodded.

"Yes."

"Of Bill?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"The people who would come after the evidence."

Jerry folded his arms.

"They're gone."

"Some are."

"Some?"

Douglas looked at him.

"Power doesn't disappear when a person dies. It changes hands."