Do not adjust your radios.
That roar you hear in the distance is real.
Because we're broadcasting live
from the middle of the merciless Mojave.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Desert Blast 200
Off-Road Championships.
Boss, we got something gnarly out here.
I never heard of anything like this.
Crashes, sure, but...
this is downright Twilight Zone.
Whoo!
You're not gonna see this, pal.
You guys got here quick. Might be
a trophy in it for ya.
This is Bo Martin the race manager.
Gentlemen. Sir.
Whose race managed
to turn into a crime scene.
We're not playing Frogger out here, are we?
No, no, the race has been stopped.
BO: Jimmy Delton over there,
he's the one spotted the wreck.
Big ol' blaze.
Whoo. Nasty.
So, uh...
so why are we here, Lou?
Where's the crime part?
Call it a mystery. Definitely suspicious.
When this truck started the race,
there were two people in it.
Saw for myself.
It was a driver
and a co-driver.
The driver's a Crispy Critter.
In his own personal hell-on-wheels.
And the co-driver?
Dust in the wind. Okay.
So, it's not just a crash site.
No. It's an 80-mile-an-hour missing persons case.
Well...
On your mark, get set, go.
Live fast, die young.
Not me.
The wife's pushing for a minivan.
Bugging me about safety ratings and...
car seat compatibility.
So, do you have some news to share?
No, no, it's still hypothetical. But hypothetically...
I don't want my kid's first impression of his dad
to be some minivan- driving geek.
What are you worried about? Your kid's
still gonna think you're the coolest guy on the planet.
That is till Uncle Nicky comes over
and picks him up in a GT500.
Thanks, man. You're welcome.
Race Manager is getting the event records,
the name of the driver and the co-driver.
The surrounding area's already been canvassed,
but there's no sign of the co-driver.
Hmm. Maybe he bailed at some earlier point.
I've had dates end that way.
Argue, pull over, slam the door,
and sulk home to watch The Notebook.
The Notebook? Really?
What's that?
Same logo as the driver.
Co-driver's helmet.
All right. Puts him at the scene of the wreck.
Truck comes flying over this jump...
blows the landing,
hits nose first...
and rolls.
Maybe the fuel tank ruptured on impact.
Spark. Boom.
Well, there's something over here.
Fiberglass from the wreck.
It looks like somebody drove right over it.
Wasn't that guy,
Jimmy Delton. He called it in.
Besides, he's not
sporting tires with this pattern.
Good eyes, Brody.
So...
somebody drives by flaming wreck with loss of life
doesn't stop?
Doesn't even radio for help?
That's intense.
I thought this was just
a bunch of gearheads having fun not...
Death Race 2012.
Let's circle out.
Maybe we can reconstruct the crash.
You found a piece of the fancy
fuel tank, too? Yeah.
Even better...
I think this possibly caused the explosion.
A suspension link arrow to the heart of it.
Reckless speeds over brutal terrain.
There's no surprise that something gives.
Ka-boom.
I got the records here.
Truck was entered
by a team name of "A Pharaoh's Motorists."
Driver, co-driver, Tim, Paul White.
Team captain, Doug White.
So are these guys brothers, or what?
I guess.
I don't know. I asked around, nobody knew em'.
Team Captain's not answering his cell, so...
Anybody check their pit?
No. Bit of a drive,
but I could lead you there.
Yeah, let's do it.
Slow down in the pit.
Okay...
they are right over...
Now this is bizarre.
What is?
These Pharaoh's Motorists,
they just picked up and left.
Looks like in a hurry, too.
So the driver's dead,
the co-driver, the team captain, and the trailer
are now all missing?
That's what it looks like.
Doesn't get much stranger than that.
Lose your truck, your life,
shotgun-riding buddy runs off--
sounds like a country song.
Yeah, and our man in black also has a secret.
Vartann ran the names and license numbers
of this guy and his teammates...
they're phony.
Aliases? Mm-hmm.
Weird.
Hey, take a look at this.
Is that blood?
No.
I think that's ink. Yeah, it's still tacky.
Looks like a silk screen design
that melted from the truck fire,
then transferred to the inside of the fire suit.
Like a t-shirt iron-on.
You know, it looks like it could be a logo
that's been flipped and smeared.
Yeah, could help us get an I.D.
Let's iron out the iron-on.
Our mystery race team didn't leave us much to go on here.
Sorry, boys.
Oh, man.
Bo, you kidding me with this?
Some rookie bends his fender and the whole race is postponed?
It was a little bit more than a bent fender, ma'am.
I was winning the damn thing.
I hit the 50-mile mark in record time.
Well, maybe you can help us out then, Ms.--
Uh, Kathy Veck. She's the CEO of Veck Oil.
She's one of our premier racers
and a very generous sponsor. Hitch a "former"
on the last one, Bo. I didn't fly from Houston
to have my truck in park.
Ms. Veck,
the accident that we're investigating
happened at around the 47-mile marker.
You didn't happen to see anything, did you?
I-It would've been a fly in my rearview
at the pace I was hauling.
Well, maybe your co-pilot saw something?
It's not a plane, okay?
And I drive alone. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'd like to get back
to reaming this sorry son of a bitch.
Yes, ma'am. Let's go.
Been a pleasure.
In life, he may have been
a weekend road warrior,
but in cause of death he joins
some of racing's greats.
Blood and cerebrospinal fluid excreted from his ear
suggest C.O.D.
was a basal skull fracture.
Same way Earnhardt and other champions met their finish line.
When a driver's body is strapped in,
but his head is free...
the crash transfers
the vehicle's momentum
to the head, driving it forward.
The neck strains to hold the head back.
Tension Fractures the base of the skull,
severing blood vessels near the spinal chord,
resulting in massive hemorrhaging.
So he was dead before the fire got to him.
Yeah, but perhaps his fate
was fated by biology.
What do you mean, Doc?
The odd growths on his eyelids
in his brain,
they present like
Urbach-Wiethe disease. A rare genetic disorder
that causes waxy obstructions
to grow throughout the body.
Wow. That sounds horrifying.
Not to him.
In our young man's case,
the growths
surround the amygdala.
The region of the brain
controlling memory and emotional response.
I read a study
where obstructions of the amygdala
resulted in a patient being absolutely fearless.
Not a bad trade for a guy with a need for speed.
Except when it gets you killed.
Okay, so I'll do it at your place tonight.
And, um, I'll call you if I'm gonna be late.
Oh, there is no way that I would ever let you go to sleep.
Oh, my goodness.
Can I call you back?
Oh, I'm so sorry.
That is really embarrassing. Don't be embarrassed.
I'm just glad someone around here
is having a personal life.
Really?
Aren't you going out with Greg?
Oh, no.
Nick?
No.
You're with Hodges.
No.
So that phone call was...
Detective Moreno?
Oh, that is a definite yes.
All right then.
Well, since we're on the subject of men,
what do you say we try and identify
Racer X?
So we start by cleaning up the smeared logo.
Then apply edge detection.
It's military.
Okay, let's see if he's in that battalion.
Top row, second from the right.
Looks like our vic.
The dead driver's name is Jack Breslin.
25, from Mesquite. Served in Iraq.
Two tours. Bronze Star.
He's a regular war hero.
Yeah, we're trying to locate his next of kin.
But we did locate his apartment.
- Find anything? - Uh, not in the apartment.
But we were able to find a very interesting voice mail.
Jack, listen, they're onto us.
We're not going to be able to pull this off. Walk away.
Don't get into that truck.
Sorry, man.
Ran a trace.
Call came from a disposable phone.
According to the phone company's server,
this was the last message
left on Breslin's voice mail.
I'm betting he never got it.
What are you doing, homework?
You know I've been studying
for my criminalistics certification.
I never really liked math in school,
but you throw in a little ballistics,
some TNT, bit of blood-- it's pretty cool.
Cool. But shouldn't you be doing that on your own time?
I'm actually working the case.
And I think that we're looking at it all wrong.
Cite your source.
The debris field.
It's way too big for an accidental explosion,
like you theorized.
No offense.
None taken... if you're right.
Well, based on
the size and direction of impact to the fuel tank,
we're looking at a seriously big bang.
First calculation.
I estimated that at least 25 hundred mega joules of energy
were released by that blast.
That is a lot more than just fuel igniting.
Sounds like an explosive.
Which would explain the indentation to the
bottom of the fuel tank.
The explosion goes out in all directions.
Upward causing the tank to indent,
and downward sending the initiator and switch
into the ground at the point of detonation.
Now, the crime scene sketches show the distribution of debris
extending out about 200 feet in a roughly conical pattern.
So the truck-- it's moving at 80 miles per hour.
That's about 117 feet per second.
Oh.
Don't patronize me, mathlete.
The truck's momentum
would have given all of this debris
an extra hundred or so feet of flight,
putting the actual point of detonation...
A hundred feet back. Here.
Explains why
we didn't find an initiator or a switch at the scene.
They were buried back there.
Want to test your big bang theory?
Nitroglycerine residue.
Dynamite. Plus all that gas.
That's one hell of a bomb.
Good call. Mm. Thank Russell.
He's the one who pushed me to get my IAI certification.
So, we're looking for a bomb, but why?
It's not like the Desert Blast 200 is the Indy 500.
A bunch of weekend warriors out in the desert.
I just don't see them killing each other.
Maybe it's not about the race itself,
but who's in the race.
We need to find those bomb components.
I'll grab Morgan.
Go back to the crash site and start digging.
I feel like my grandfather.
All I need are a pair of suspenders
and an egg salad sandwich.
Only we're not looking for watches and gold doubloons.
I know. We're looking for a detonator.
Huh.
Beer can pop-top.
BRODY: Keep digging.
See if you can find the rest of it.
I could use a beer right now.
I'll buy you a beer when we're done.
How about that?
Unless you and Hodges and Mrs. Hodges have plans.
Try my dad and Mrs. Hodges.
Ha-ho, look at this.
Different kind of pop-top. Detonator.
Wow. It's an RF receiver.
Says that this bomb was detonated remotely.
You know, whoever built this thing had some expertise.
And it means they could have set it off from a distance.
What you got there?
Metal frag.
Has some kind of serial number.
No. Looks more like a VIN number.
Judging from the size,
I don't think it's part of the bomb.
Well, maybe from the truck.
Oh, I found so many
cannibalized parts on that rig.
I ran all the numbers, didn't get any leads.
Well, maybe this is the lucky number.
I hope you're right.
Have a little faith.
And you still owe me a beer.
Mr. Weber,
this is your truck, right?
Yeah.
What's this about?
We found a fragment of an oil pan out in the desert.
It was part of a racing truck.
But based on the VIN number, we believe
that that pan started its life under your vehicle.
Racing truck? You got to be kidding me. No.
Any idea how that might have happened?
(sighs)
You're not gonna believe this.
Try me.
A month back,
I was at Desert Palm Hospital.
My wife...
Well... she passed.
Cancer.
I'm so sorry.
Left me with a broken heart, and a hell of a bill.
I've been trying to work something out with the hospital.
Anyway, I came out and found my truck leaking oil,
bad enough I couldn't drive it.
I knew I couldn't afford to fix it.
That's when these fellows came up.
Who?
I'd never seen 'em before.
They checked under the hood.
Bad fuel pump and
a leaking oil pan, they said.
They went and bought me a new one.
Just like that?
It's crazy, I know.
Just like those Good Samaritans who pay off people's
layaways at Christmas.
By chance... is this one of the Samaritans?
Yeah.
Uh, there was another guy with him.
Um, wore glasses.
While the fellow with the glasses
was working on the engine, this...
this guy said something kind of weird.
A lot of bad in this world.
But we're trying to make something good.
And sir, we're gonna
make you part of something really special.
These guys have a name?
No, they never said.
Times have been kind of tough lately.
What they did
was the first true kindness to come my way in a while.
These boys didn't do any harm, did they?
Oh, I-I don't think so, but I'm afraid
that harm may have found them.
Oh, hey, I have something for you.
Ooh. Whoa.
What is that?
What is... what is what?
That...
scent. Oh.
It's my new musk. Rosa Misteriosa.
Right. Your Italian kick.
It's like a boot to the nose.
Too much?
Yeah. Huh.
There are some women who like it.
Are we talking about your mother?
We are talking about none of your business.
So, I was able to track down
the RF receiver that you and Greg found at the crash site.
It's a fairly common component
in do-it-yourself household devices,
like doorbells or garage door openers.
Too common to trace.
Yes. However, the tire treads from the vehicle that drove over
the debris at the crash site, those treads were unique.
It's a Minooka Tires model
that hasn't yet been commercially released.
Only demo'd to a few select racing teams.
Look at the name at the bottom of the list.
"Veck Oil Race Team," as in Kathy Veck.
Russell told me about her.
Hmm.
Hope he's got
his seatbelt fastened.
Ms. Veck, you said that
you were ahead of the Pharaoh's Motorists truck
when it crashed, is that right?
Yes, that is right.
Are you sure about that?
Because the evidence says that you were behind it,
and that you didn't even stop to lend them a hand.
You just drove right on by.
Well, maybe I was mistaken in my first recollection.
Well, why don't you tell me what did happen, then?
Okay, look, uh... I barely saw the fire
through the dust and the heat of the race,
and I figured, whoever they were,
they would be all right.
And what the heck. You'd be in first place, right?
Racing is a dangerous sport, Mr. Russell, okay?
Accidents happen.
Are you accusing me of something?
You lied about where you were and what you saw.
It makes me wonder what else you might have lied about.
Like eliminating the competition maybe?
Competition?
You're talking about a rookie race team
no one's ever heard of,
driving a junkyard mess of spare parts.
I thought you were just accusing me of bad sportsmanship.
You're talking about, what, sabotage now?
No, actually, much more than that.
I'm talking about placing a bomb
in a racing truck, and then,
detonating it remotely.
Look, I don't know who those Pharaoh boys were, okay?
But if anyone had a target on their back
in that race, it was me.
And why do you think that?
I run a petroleum company, okay?
I've got lots of enemies.
Earth-liberators,
big-oil haters.
People who hate paying at the pump, you name it.
Well, I'm in law enforcement. A lot of people hate me, too.
Do they send you a hundred of these a day?
I decided a long time ago
not to give them the satisfaction
of running and hiding.
Screw 'em.
You Veck Oil bitch.
One thing certain is death and taxes,
but since you don't pay taxes, the only thing
certain for you is death.
You destroyed my life, and now I'm going
to soak you in your own oil... Ooh.
...and light a match.
Kind of reminds me of the e-mails I used to get
from my third wife. I mean, come on, it's horrible,
but is it credible? Well, it's credible
enough to look into, don't you think?
I mean, you got three guys who show up out of nowhere,
using aliases,
calling themselves some vaguely Middle Eastern name.
And they got a bomb strapped to their truck.
Wait a minute-- you think these guys are terrorists?
Well, domestic, maybe.
I mean, it fits the message they sent to the driver.
"Walk away. We're not going to be able to pull this off."
Sounds to me like someone's trying
to abort the mission, doesn't it?
We get anything else off that voice-mail?
Henry's working on it.
Jack, listen, they're onto us.
We're not going to be able to pull this off. Walk awa--
Jack, listen, they're onto us.
Jack, listen...
I dug out the background audio
in the voice mail; I thought it might help us
pin down a location of the anonymous caller.
Athrok, we're running out of time!
To the fire service cave! Now!
Athrok the Conqueror, that dragon movie.
You know it's not in theaters anymore,
and I'm pretty sure it didn't come out on DVD
because I wanted to see that.
Wait, you-you like fantasy movies?
Yeah. I saw Lord of the Rings, like, 40 times.
That's awesome.
Okay, now, I called around and Athrok is currently is on
just one video-on-demand service
being used by ten Vegas hotels.
Voicemail came in at 8:17 p.m..
Yeah, only one hotel had a customer rent the film
at that time.
Bridgemoor Hotel, Room 20.
So the room is registered under the same fake name
as the captain of the Pharaoh's Motorists team,
Doug White.
He paid in cash, and this is it.
LVPD! Open up!
Bathroom's clear.
Yeah, it's clear out here.
Ah, pictures of Kathy Veck.
Maybe some other targets, too.
We got a Malcolm Platt.
"Clive Morris."
Our other two White brothers.
Look at this.
U.S. Army Field Manual,
Anarchist Cookbook,
Guide to U.S. Government Facilities.
Guess these guys are serious.
I thought you said it was clear. It was.
Well, this is a new one.
Usually we gotta stop them from going out the window.
Get up.
Keep your hands where I can see them.
Right here.
Let's see which White brother we got.
"Clive Morris."
My name doesn't matter.
There are more just like me.
You'll never stop us all.
Looks like Kathy Veck
isn't the only one you have issues with, Clive.
You have no right to these documents.
Clive, we know where Jack is.
Wh-wh-where's Malcolm?
Clive?
You said there were others out there like you.
Where's Malcolm?
What are you all planning?
Another attack?
Whatever the battle calls for.
Well, I'm sorry.
What battle is that again?
I stand in solidarity with all people targeted
by government control and economic violence.
What about Jack Preston?
Did he stand with you before he blew himself up?
I know you have cameras taping this.
They're for your protection, Clive, and ours.
I like your glasses.
Thank you.
Yeah, my, uh,
my wife helped me pick these out.
Do you wear glasses, Clive?
Don't need them.
Glad we got that straight.
Look, I get it.
Veck Oil are Earth vampires, and your mission...
Oh, so you know what's going on inside my mind now,
do you?
I know what you're doing.
I know who you are,
and I'm done talking.
I can't tell you what's going on inside Clive Morris's mind,
but I can tell you what's going on inside his laptop.
I pulled some of these images from his hard drive,
the rest are from the motel room.
Pictures of the municipal court,
Federal Building, City Hall...
Kathy Veck.
These guys entered the race anonymous
looking for an opportunity to blow her up.
Yeah, well, good plan, bad execution.
Driver's dead, co-driver's missing.
You think it was Clive?
No, it can't be Clive.
He has no injuries,
and he tested negative for any bomb residue.
So the co-driver's still out there,
hopefully not shifting their focus
from a rich CEO to other targets.
Big, bad government.
You know, I'm not buying any of this.
Really? You're the one
who brought up this whole domestic terrorist theory.
I know, but we-we processed that entire motel room.
We didn't find any trace of nitrates,
we didn't find any bomb-making material.
Well, maybe their bomb factory was someplace else.
You know, I'm beginning to think their heads are someplace else.
Clive Morris asked me
about my-my glasses.
So?
It was the way he asked me.
You know, it was like...
A-Anyway, I've known a few revolutionaries in my time,
true believers,
all anger, no fear.
With Clive Morris, it was just about the opposite.
Because he's paranoid.
I ran him through missing persons.
Turns out he wandered off from Desert Palm
where he was being treated for paranoid personality disorder,
and he wasn't alone.
Malcolm Malcolm Platt is also AWOL from the psych ward,
and Jack Breslin was an out-patient.
DR. BERKThey called themselves "The Three Musketeers."
They met here in group therapy,
as part of our treatment program.
What can you tell me about them?
Jack Breslin was a decorated war hero.
The very thing that made him a great soldier
is what made his reentry into civilian life so difficult.
Urbach-Wiethe syndrome, predisposition toward reckless behavior.
Yes.
Clive Morris was the exact opposite,
consumed by fear, paranoia.
The courts referred him to me five months ago.
Police say he's led them on a number of high-speed car chases?
Clive believed he was being followed by the CIA,
the FBI, the usual paranoid fantasies.
What about, uh, Malcolm Platt?
What's his diagnosis?
Malcolm is schizophrenic.
Suffers delusions of grandeur.
Is he dangerous?
I would describe him more as, uh... volatile.
When the three of them were together,
did they ever discuss acts of violence?
Oh, hardly.
They all shared one love.
What's that?
Auto racing.
Every weekend, without fail,
The Three Musketeers would get together
for popcorn and a race, cheering on their favorites.
Whoo!
I asked Clive once why he liked racing so much.
And he said, "Where else
can a bunch of mechanics become heroes?"
Do you think Clive is the leader of the group?
Clive? No.
Malcolm was the one always leading the charge.
Yeah, we've been looking for him.
Any idea where he might be?
All I know is Malcolm's mother said he called her two days ago
from a pay phone,
told her he was on some kind of mission.
I pulled Malcolm Platt's rap sheet.
I'd say volatile is putting it mildly.
Three attempted auto thefts, three attempted assaults,
The guy has delusions of being rich and owning fast cars.
He walks into a dealership, grabs a key
and conducts his own grand-theft test drive.
That's a good way to avoid haggling, right?
Yeah, until the salesperson tries to stop you.
Are you playing hangman?
No, no, more like a brain teaser.
"A Pharaoh's Motorists."
"A" at the beginning was bothering me,
so I started rearranging the letters.
What do you think?
"Athos, Porthos, Aramis."
The Three Musketeers.
Yeah, see, I don't think we're looking at a sleeper cell.
I think we're looking at-at dreamers, you know?
Misfits.
Guys who were obsessed with racing
wanted to win the big one.
And how do you explain the bomb?
I can't right now,
but I-I just know when I'm looking at Clive Morris
that I'm not looking at a killer.
The glasses, right?
Paranoid personality disorder.
Yeah.
I've seen it before, and um...
growing up the way I did
with my crazy, wandering family,
I was always the weird one.
Couldn't have been easy living in a van.
No, but every summer, I got this little taste of normal.
You know, we'd always land at my cousin's house
for a-a whole month.
He was a really good kid.
Great at basketball.
But one summer,
he started telling me about this birdhouse
that a neighbor had built across the street.
He was convinced
that there was a camera inside it, right?
Every time we walked by it,
he'd look up and smile
and then, pfft, flip it off.
Yeah. "They're watching."
Yeah.
The way Clive Morris was looking around the room for the cameras,
reminded me of my cousin.
It got worse, too.
Towards the end, he, uh,
he even thought that my glasses were cameras,
and that I was recording his every move.
What happened to him?
Not a happy ending.
Yeah, I know a little bit about, uh...
that kind of sad ending myself.
My mom.
I didn't know that. I'm sorry.
Me, too.
Oh, Henry.
Huh.
Excuse me.
What do you got?
I've been tracking
how Kathy Veck received her digital death threats.
Now, the majority of recent ones came from an e-mail account
belonging to Malcolm Platt.
I had a feeling about this guy.
The last one was sent an hour ago.
Now, I traced it to his active IP.
It was routed though a hotspot in the middle of the desert,
the middle of nowhere.
More like a middle of The Desert Blast 200 course.
I heard the race was back on,
so Kathy Veck's probably there, right?
Veck never showed at the starting line.
Nobody's seen her all morning.
They figured she probably dropped out of the race.
Yeah, then what's her camp still doing here?
Good question.
Wait, hold up.
That looks like blood right there, boys.
LVPD!
It's Malcolm Platt.
Malcolm, what happened?
It's Vartann. I need a paramedic ASAP.
He took her.
Took who?
Kathy. Veck.
He's gonna kill her.
Who's gonna kill her, Malcolm?
Paramedics are en route.
Malcolm.
Malcolm?
It's too late for that now.
Where's Kathy Veck? He didn't say.
But with all this carnage left behind her,
she can't be headed anywhere good.
Vartann put a BOLO out on Kathy Veck's racing truck.
You got to figure whoever took her, took her in it.
And look what Nick found
next to Veck's pit.
Empty box of dynamite.
That used to have 20 pieces.
Maybe our guy with the gun
took them along on his ride with Kathy.
That is a lot of firepower.
Who would Malcolm trust this much
that he went along with him?
I mean, with Jack dead
and Clive in custody, there aren't any other Musketeers.
You know, I don't want to sound like Russell,
but wasn't there a Fourth Musketeer
in the original story? Yes.
And...
we still have a Musketeer in lockup
who may be able to tell us who that is.
I've never raced a car before.
I guess I don't like to go fast.
What about you, Clive?
Why do you race?
Oh, no,
it's not a camera.
And these... these aren't, either.
Here. I'm sorry, I'll... put 'em away.
Why do you care?
We're profiling you; it's what we do, Clive.
My guess is that you love the danger of racing.
It's a way for you
to embrace all of your fear and channel it into adrenaline.
You don't know what you're talking about.
I think we do.
I don't even think that you knew there was a bomb in that truck.
Neither did Jack.
Malcolm, though, I'm not so sure about.
No.
Malcolm was committed to winning the race, too.
Winning the race-- that's all you guys wanted,
isn't it?
The message you left for Jack
about not getting in the truck...
it wasn't about the bomb, you didn't even know it was a bomb.
So what were you afraid of?
I saw the way she was looking at us.
The night before the race.
Her and her goons.
Kathy Veck?
I knew she wasn't gonna let us win.
I knew she was gonna ruin our one chance.
What do you mean, your...
Our chance to show Kathy Veck
that money doesn't always rule.
What does rule, Clive?
Heart.
Truth.
Loyalty.
You know, I know I'm not gonna ever convince you to trust me,
so I'm just gonna tell you what I believe.
I don't think you're a stupid man.
I think you're very bright.
People like Kathy Veck don't have
to get their hands dirty to win.
She didn't put that bomb on your truck,
but somebody did, and that someone
had access to your truck.
There's a Fourth Musketeer, isn't there?
Oh, come on, Clive,
what just happened to... to heart,
truth, loyalty?
I mean, whoever did it
killed your friends.
Don't you think you owe them a little justice?
Clive...
...you've got to help us.
Entering the truck was his idea.
He helped us build it.
He said he was gonna make us part of something really special.
There was a lot of bad in the world.
He was trying to make something good.
I've heard those words before.
Your Fourth Musketeer told me the same thing.
Art Weber is the Fourth Musketeer.
He didn't expect us to follow that oil pan back to them.
He even said himself that he was
gonna tell me a crazy story,
which I fell for.
He's a retired engineer.
Worked at Ferndale Mining Company. Wait a minute.
Serial number on the empty box of dynamite we found at the scene
traces back to Ferndale Mining Company.
Guess we know who the bomb maker is.
And according to my math,
Art used only two sticks of dynamite on that racing truck.
Dynamite crate held 20.
I mean, he's got enough to...
take down a building.
Okay, Web search
brought up some posts made to an Internet forum:
SickWithRage.com.
And this one is
from about a month ago.
Used to be you work your ass off for a company,
they'd take care of you and your loved ones, but no more.
Corporate scum come in, pillage our pensions,
strip our health care, leave my wife to die,
leave me bankrupt...
"Hey, just following orders." Bull.
I will not go gently!
They started this war; I'll finish it!
What put Kathy Veck in his crosshairs?
Ferndale Mining Company, a subsidiary of Veck
Oil International.
He blames Kathy Veck
for his wife's death,
for leaving him penniless... So Weber
learns that Veck's gonna be out in the desert racing, alone,
vulnerable.
He sees a rare opportunity
to get at her.
Then he meets the Musketeers, also vulnerable
in their own way... He used them.
He secretly turned their truck into a bomb on wheels.
Weber knew from driver radio
when that truck was gonna be near Veck's.
He detonates the bomb and he misses his target.
All right, so Weber switches gears.
He kidnaps Veck instead.
But why not kill her? Why take her for a ride?
The dynamite.
He wanted to blow her up at the race, right?
Maybe now
he's planning to make an even bigger statement.
Get out of my way if you want to live!
Mr. Weber? I'm not talking to the cops!
You people protect scum like her
and make guys like me the criminals!
Get me out of here! This guy is crazy! Keep your mouth shut!
Sir, sir, I'm not even gonna try to talk to you, I promise.
But there's someone here who wants to.
Please.
Clive, come here.
Hey, look at me, look at me.
Settle down. Look at me. Look me in the eyes.
You can do this.
All right? Just talk to him, just talk to him.
We were supposed to win, Art.
You're not gonna win like this.
Get out of here, Clive.
No!
You said you wanted to make something good.
This isn't what your wife would have wanted...
I don't want
to talk about my wife!
I know.
I-I know you loved her.
Like I loved Jack and Malcolm.
Please...
don't-don't hurt anyone else.
Look, i-if you do this, people like her,
they win-- you don't want that.
You don't know what you're talking about.
But I do.
He's right.
'Cause if you do this, Art,
tomorrow morning, newspapers are gonna say
that some crazy guy went nuts
and killed a pillar of the community.
Wh-What am I supposed to do?
Just do the right thing, Art.
Come on, you don't want to do this.
You're not like her.
You're right.
I'm not.
Poor Clive.
Can you imagine, the whole world seems upside down to you,
enemies in every shadow,
never knowing for sure what's real and what's not,
and then you finally meet two friends?
People you have a dream in common with.
For once you fit? Yeah.
Like three gears, three damaged gears
that are finally meshing, and they're working,
they're racing, they're not just dreaming.
Until it all goes up in flames,
because... there really was someone lurking in the shadows.
Crazy, isn't it?
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