CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–2015): Season 12, Episode 21 - Dune and Gloom - full transcript

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.

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.

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Who, who, who, who? ♪

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Who, who, who, who? ♪

♪ I really wanna know ♪

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Oh-oh-oh ♪
♪ Who...♪

♪ Come on, tell me who are you,
you, you ♪

♪ Are you! ♪

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

and 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.

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?

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 Athrokis 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.

They 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.

SANDERS
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:

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?