“We document everything. We keep Leo safe. We make sure the authorities have the information. And we find out what Project Lantern actually means.”
Moose looked toward the bridge.
“You think this is bigger than us.”
“I think somebody wants it to look smaller than it is.”
The radio crackled again.
This time, the voice belonged to Evan.
“Riker, we have a problem. Leo says his mother has been taken from the hospital.”
Riker went completely still.
“What?”
“He called the hospital supervisor from the clubhouse line. They confirmed she left the building about twenty minutes ago. She never signed out. Her supervisor thought she was responding to an emergency call.”
“Did anyone see who took her?”
“Security is checking.”
“Get the police involved immediately. Give them the hospital's address, the time she disappeared, and the names of anyone who was supposed to meet her. Don't send anyone after her alone.”
“Already doing it.”
Riker looked down at the city.
For the first time, the scale of the threat became unmistakable.
The men at the factory were not simply preparing to attack twelve motorcycles.
They were controlling information, manipulating movement, and applying pressure to people connected to the intended victims.
They had access to the club's public event page.
They knew Riker's name.
They had a child frightened enough to believe his stepfather could destroy his family.
And now Leo's mother had vanished from a hospital.
Riker felt an old instinct rise from the deepest part of his memory: the urge to move immediately, to put himself between danger and the people he cared about, and to trust that action would somehow produce an answer.
He recognized the instinct.
He also knew how many good people had died because they mistook urgency for clarity.
“Moose,” he said, “we need a clean line to the sheriff's office. Not a number supplied by anyone in the city administration. Find the county dispatch supervisor and ask for the duty commander.”
Moose nodded.
“Dale, photograph the vehicles and the factory from where we stand. Do not get closer. Record the time, location, and direction of travel.”
Dale took out his phone.
“Evan, keep Leo away from windows and entrances. Make sure he has someone with him at all times. Tell him his mother is being looked for. Don't promise anything you can't know.”
Riker paused.
“And find out whether Darren Montgomery has left his house.”
Evan's reply came quickly.
“You think he took her?”
“I think we need to establish where he is. That's all.”
“Understood.”
Riker ended the transmission.
Below him, a dark SUV started its engine.
Another vehicle moved toward the railway bridge.
Then the factory's loading doors began to close.
Someone inside had realized that the situation was changing.
Riker turned toward the riders.
“We're not going to solve this by charging down the mountain,” he said. “But we are going to make sure nobody gets to bury the truth just because they have more money, more weapons, or a better story.”
He looked once more at the abandoned factory.
“By nightfall, they'll know we aren't leaving.”
At the clubhouse, Leo Montgomery sat on a worn leather couch beneath a framed photograph of twelve motorcycles lined up outside a children's hospital.
He had finished half a sandwich and abandoned the rest on a paper plate.
Moose's wife, Linda, had arrived shortly after Evan called. She was a retired school counselor who volunteered at a local youth center, and she had immediately recognized the difference between a child who had been frightened by an isolated incident and a child who had learned to live in constant anticipation of danger.
She did not bombard Leo with questions.
She did not tell him to be brave.
She simply sat nearby and asked whether he wanted water.
He accepted.
Then he asked if she could call his mother.
Linda explained that the adults were working to locate her and that the police had been informed. She told him he had done the right thing by reporting what he had seen.
Leo looked at the photograph on the wall.
“Are those the same motorcycles?”
“Yes,” Linda said.
“Were they always friends?”
She considered the question.
“Not always. People argue. Sometimes they make mistakes. Sometimes they have to decide whether their friendship is worth more than their pride.”
“Did they ever fight each other?”
“Probably.”
“Did anybody get hurt?”
“I'm sure people got hurt sometimes. But that's not the only thing that matters.”
Leo frowned.
“What matters more?”
“What they do afterward.”
He thought about that.
Then he looked down at his shoulder.
“Darren says people like them are bad.”
“People like whom?”
“People who wear leather jackets and ride motorcycles.”
Linda followed his gaze toward the photograph.
“Some people wear leather jackets and do bad things. Some wear expensive suits and do bad things. Some wear uniforms and do bad things. Clothing doesn't tell you what a person will choose when nobody is watching.”
Leo looked at her.
“Then how do you know?”
“You pay attention to what they do, especially when doing the right thing costs them something.”
The boy was silent for a long time.
Then he whispered, “My mom says that too.”
Linda felt her heart tighten.
“What does your mother do?”
“She works at the hospital. She's a nurse. She says you should always help people who are scared, because sometimes they're scared for a reason nobody else can see.”
“That sounds like good advice.”
“She helped a man who came into the emergency room after a motorcycle crash. Darren was angry because she came home late. He said she cared more about strangers than her family.”
“Was she late because the patient needed help?”
Leo nodded.
“Then she was doing her job.”
“I told her that.”
“What did she say?”
“She hugged me.”
Leo rubbed his eyes.
“Darren doesn't like it when she hugs me after we argue.”
Linda did not ask the next question that came to mind.
She had learned that children often needed time to approach the truth in their own words.
Instead, she asked whether Leo wanted another sandwich.
He shook his head.
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
It was a basic device with a cracked screen and a protective case that had once been blue. His mother had bought it for emergencies, and Leo normally used it to send messages about school, homework, and the occasional photograph of a particularly interesting insect.
He stared at the screen.
The caller identification showed his mother's number.
“Mom?”
Linda immediately moved closer.
Leo answered.
“Mom, where are you?”
For two seconds, there was no response.
Then a woman's voice whispered, “Leo?”
The boy sprang to his feet.
“Mom!”
“Listen to me, sweetheart. Are you safe?”
“Yes. I'm with Mr. Cross's friends. I'm at their clubhouse.”
“Good. Stay there.”
“Where are you?”
A muffled sound interrupted her.
Then another voice spoke in the background.
A man's voice.
“Tell him you're fine.”
Leo stopped breathing.
He knew that voice.
Darren.
His mother whispered something Leo couldn't understand.
The man spoke again.
“Tell the boy to stop making trouble.”
Leo's face drained of color.
“Mom, are you with Darren?”
A sharp noise came through the phone.
His mother gasped.
Then the line went silent.
Leo stared at the screen.
“Mom?”
He pressed the call button.
The call failed.
He tried again.
The same result.
Linda took the phone gently from his hand and immediately alerted Evan.
Within seconds, Riker's voice came through the clubhouse radio.
“Leo, are you there?”
The boy grabbed the microphone.
“Darren has my mom.”
Riker's voice remained steady.
“Tell me what happened.”
“She called me. She asked if I was safe. Then Darren told her to say she was fine. He told her to make me stop causing trouble.”