The heat inside the garage was thick, clinging to the air like a heavy blanket.

They drove back to the perimeter of Marcus's ruined garage just before dawn. The police hadn't arrived yet; Vance’s men had likely jammed the local frequencies. The garage was a smoking ruin, but the heavy steel workbench in the back was still intact.

And beneath it, covered by a fireproof tarp, was the vintage Indian motorcycle.

Marcus pulled the tarp away. The bike was beautiful, a masterpiece of chrome and steel. But it was what lay inside the custom-built, oversized gas tank that mattered.

Marcus grabbed a wrench and rapidly unbolted the false bottom of the tank. Inside lay a waterproof, shock-resistant cache.

He pulled it out and opened it on the floor.

Inside were two suppressed Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine guns, bricks of C4 plastic explosives, a collection of state-of-the-art electronic bypass decoders, and half a million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds.

Elena let out a low whistle. "You were preparing for a war."

"I always knew the past would catch up," Marcus said, loading a magazine into one of the MP7s. "Vance thinks he’s dealing with a grease monkey. We’re going to show him exactly why I was his most dangerous asset."

They loaded the gear into the trunk of the Charger. As the sun began to rise over the Nevada desert, painting the sky in violent shades of red and orange, Marcus threw a lit flare into the remains of his garage.