Time Bomb Town - Chapter Five
The late afternoon sun burned down on the Mara Vista campus. A cool offshore wind kept the temperature in the low eighties. Dalton and Wyatt were in the college library which overlooked the tennis courts. The crash of the surf was a constant sound in the background. They sat near the windows, across from a young African-American man, Osirus “Sy” Barlteby. Sy was wearing a 'Pennywise' concert t-shirt. He had a baseball cap on that read 'CORPORATE ANARCHY.' He had the papers Wyatt and Dalton took from Agent Turner stacked next to his computer. His laptop was open and one of the flash drives was plugged in. After a few moments he popped the drive off of his computer and handed it back to Dalton.
“Ok, this is heavy duty. It's what's called an IronKey. U.S. Military grade encrypted drive.”
“Can we hack it?”
“I can't. No one I know can. Here's the deal with the IronKey. They have no known unlocks or backdoors. Even the NSA can't get in. I've heard they counter brute force hacks by making just three mistakes entering the password fatal. The whole drive smokes. Like, Mission Impossible style. It's just nuked and everything on it is destroyed. So I'm not even gonna touch that. Ask Assmanhauser. Maybe he knows something, but I doubt it. Whatever is on here, your dad didn't want anyone to see it.”
Wyatt and Dalton looked at the little drive and then Dalton put it back in his pocket. “Okay, what about the other one?”
“Weirdly, this one isn't encrypted at all. I mean nothing,” Sy glanced up over the rims of his thick prescription eye-glasses. “But considering the information here, it seems like it should be...”
“What information?” said Wyatt.
Sy pulled some of the papers out of the stack, spinning them around so that Wyatt and Dalton could read them. “These papers are printouts of the information on the drive, or at least, a significant amount of it.”
Wyatt and Dalton looked at the spreadsheet of numbers, dates and information. “Can you walk us through it, Sy?”
“In language that non-CPA's can understand?”
“All right, look. These pages here, they list information by date. Correlated with time of day, something, maybe addresses and what look like some kind of code names. Is this your dad's writing? See he's scribbled 'Failed' or 'Compromised' in red next to some of these. I'm guessing here...I think he's tracking something but I don't know what it is. It's not financial. Not my area,” Sy pushed those pages to the side. “But check these out. It looks like your Dad opened several bank accounts around four years ago. He began making deposits every two weeks or so. They start off relatively small and get gradually bigger. Then there's this,” Sy pulled up a folder on his computer, from the flash drive. “This is a list of wire transfers it looks like he made from these accounts to an account in Switzerland.”
Wyatt leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “Dear Lord...”
“I don't get it,” said Dalton.
Sy looked seriously at Dalton. “It looks like your dad had a stream of income that was outside his pay from the F.B.I. He was hiding it in various bank accounts and then transferring it out of the country. Didn't your parents go through a divorce about four years ago? Maybe he was just hiding money from your mom.”
Wyatt frowned.
“That's ridiculous,” said Dalton.
“Look here. About six months ago, the deposits jump significantly to a half a million every two weeks. The last deposit, for three mil, was made two nights ago. See, your Dad has it highlighted in the computer and circled on the printout.”
“I just don't get this...” muttered Wyatt.
“Look, here's what's weird. It's almost like he wanted to leave a trail. I mean this isn't how you get illegal money overseas. And why Switzerland?”
“Well, obviously because they have those private accounts that other governments can't touch.” said Wyatt.
“Not so much anymore. These days those accounts can no longer be numbered only. They have to have a name attached. And your dad's name is on this one. Swiss banking is not the safe and anonymous place it used to be. And with the Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act, Switzerland has to report American accounts to the IRS or face heavy penalties. And it looks like that's what happened,” Sy pulled another document from the stack of pages. This one was a letter from the I.R.S. “See this? The I.R.S. was coming after your dad for tax evasion, because he hadn't declared any of this income.”
“There is just no way Dad had a secret Swiss bank account,” exclaimed Dalton.
“It looks like he did. And the I.R.S. sure as hell thinks so too. But it gets weirder. According to the I.R.S. there should be close to twelve million dollars in this account. But there's only eight hundred thousand. It's been transferred out again to a blind numbered account in the Cayman Islands or Hong Kong or Dubai. Somewhere still secure, anonymous and unknown.”
“So...there's a trail of money...”
“Very large amounts of money,” Dalton shook his head.
“...leading to dad,” Wyatt leaned forward, “Sy...what if dad only found out about this when he got the I.R.S. letter? When is it dated?”
“Two days ago.”
“So... someone was framing him and he found out?” said Dalton.
“That might also explain why this drive isn't encrypted.” Sy held out the flash drive to Wyatt, who took it back.
“No point in encrypting it since everything in there was public record or about to be.” Wyatt stood up.
“Uh, who in the world would possibly want to do this to your dad?” asked Sy.
“A man named Midas Jones,” Wyatt shook Sy's hand. “Thanks Sy.”
Dalton and Wyatt started to walk away. Sy sat looking at the back of his hands on the table. Deep in thought. Then he looked up and called after them.
“Hey guys. If you're right...you need to be really careful. People that play with millions of dollars and frame F.B.I. agents are generally...not safe.”
Wyatt and Dalton walked quickly through the hallway to Dalton's dorm room on the fourth floor of the Starr Building. It was a typical late afternoon in a college dorm. Rock music was blasting, students were lounging, televisions were blaring. As they approached Dalton's room, the sounds of combat could be heard. Explosions and gunfire rat-a-tatted from behind the closed door. Dalton opened it.
The room had a giant TV and a game console with huge speakers dominating one wall. Two sets of bunk beds and three desks sat against the other walls. Two of the desks were covered with junk. Dalton's was spotless and organized. The floor around one of the bunk beds was piled with clothes, books, papers and magazines. As if a line were drawn in the room, the other bunk bed was neatly made. The lower bunk was set up as bookshelf/extra-workstation. It was Dalton's.
Inside, Dalton's roommates were hanging out. Sitting on his bottom bunk, Sigmund “Ziggy” Assmanhauser was noodling on his electric guitar. Ziggy was tall, thin and pale. His hair was almost white and very thin. He'd be bald before he was thirty. Dalton's other roommate, Thom “Beef” Djandjevic was getting destroyed on a first-person shooter by Alina Ruiz.
“OH yah! Eat that, Beef!” Alina laughed in Beef's face. Alina was Dalton's fiance. She was only five-foot-two and maybe one hundred and five soaking wet. She had long black hair and dark olive skin. Stunning Asian eyes combined with high, latina cheekbones gave her an exotic and alluring look. One which she took for granted. At this moment she was dancing a victory dance in front of Beef.
Beef was huge. He was wearing an Ultimate Fighting Championship T-shirt and sweat pants. His muscles rippled as he moved. He could, literally, crush Alina, but he was swallowing his humiliation at the hands of the tiny woman like the nineteen year old man that he was. He cursed at her and threw the game controller across the room.
“Hey!” shouted Dalton. “That's mine, man.”
He kissed Alina hello.
“Hey, baby!” Alina grabbed Dalton's ass. “I missed you at lunch. Where have you been?”
“You won't believe it,” Dalton felt better just being around Alina. She could see the tension in his face and she was concerned.
Wyatt called for their attention. “Guys, forget the games. We need your help. We need to find out everything we can about someone named Midas Jones.”
Dalton, Wyatt, Beef and Alina were gathered around Ziggy as he worked on his computer. A picture of Midas Jones was on the screen. It was his Wikipedia page.
“I've never heard of a drug dealer having his own Wikipedia page,” said Alina.
“This isn't your typical drug dealer,” said Ziggy. “His bio is a trip. He was an international chess champion at the age of twelve. Then he had some kind of nervous breakdown, but still graduated college at fifteen and got his doctorate in biochemistry at nineteen. Then he...”
“Started doing drugs?” asked Dalton.
“Started making them.”
“He looks odd. What's up with his nose?” Beef leaned over to get a closer look.
Ziggy scrolled down. “Apparently it's a prosthetic. He snorted so many of his own experimental drugs his nasal passages rotted away.”
“That can happen?” Wyatt asked with concern in his voice. The others stared at him.
“Why, Wyatt?” said Dalton.
“He's got his own website similar to the Silk Road. It's a TOR hidden service.” Ziggy navigated to the address. Odd pictures and a menu filled the screen. Strange Chinese Music emanated from the speakers.
“So this guy had something to do with Mr. Vance's disappearance?” Alina crossed her arms and studied Midas' picture as it faded up into the center of Ziggy's monitor.
“Check this out. You can order meth right over the web. It's called 'Golden Noseflake'.” Ziggy was amazed.
Dalton responded to Alina, “From what we can gather, there was an operation to take down Midas Jones last night, it went bad, lots of people died and dad disappeared during it.”
“With a bank account that makes him look like he was on the take,” added Wyatt.
Beef sat down on the ratty couch and popped open a bottled water. “So how much money?”
“Millions of dollars.”
“Whoa,” said Ziggy, “Don't suppose you have access to his accounts?”
“Funny, but it's not millions of dollars anymore. There's only a few hundred thousand left in Dad's account...the account that has Dad's name on it, I should say.”
“Well, we can assume your dad didn't take this money...where'd it go?” asked Alina.
Wyatt looked at Dalton. “You know....”
“That's a great question...”
“Someone knew about the operation last night. Someone tipped off Midas. I'll bet the money actually went to that person.”
Wyatt pulled the papers from his backpack and laid them out on Dalton's desk. Dalton bent over next to him. “But Wyatt, there's no way to find out who that person is...”
“Hold on.”
They looked at the list. Some of which their father had scribbled 'Failed' next to.
Wyatt looked back at Dalton “I'll bet these code names are F.B.I. operations.”
“Ones that failed...”
“Someone was feeding Midas information.”
“For a long time.”
“And Dad figured it out when he got the I.R.S. letter about his millions of dollars in the Swiss account.”
Ziggy spun away from the monitor and peered at the papers. “The F.B.I. has a mole. Tight.”
Alina rested on Dalton's shoulder as he bent over the pages. “You think your dad figured out who it was?”
“Dunno. But the mole must have been behind framing dad to cover his own tracks,” replied Dalton.
“We find the mole, maybe we find dad,” Wyatt crossed his arms grimly.
Beef leaned forward on the couch. “How do we find the mole?”
“Midas Jones pays the mole. Midas Jones knows the mole,” said Wyatt.
None of them were paying attention to the computer screen behind Ziggy. It fritzed. Static disrupted the screen and the Chinese music from the website began to fade.
“So let me get this straight. You want us to help you get Midas Jones so you can find out who the mole is?” Alina crossed her arm. “The guy who framed your dad, killed a whole bunch of F.B.I. agents and also happens to be a genius? That's so not a stupid idea.”
Laughter poured into the room from Ziggy's laptop. On screen was Midas Jones. Not a photo or video, but a live webcam feed. His maniacal cackle got their attention.
“What's going on, Ziggy?” asked Wyatt.
Ziggy was working on his computer, but the keyboard was dead. “I don't...I'm locked out...”
“What's going on? What's going on? I am the one, the way, the player who is always twenty-four moves, movies, full-length feature presentations ahead of you CARRION-EATING BUDGIE BIRDS!”
Wyatt leaned down to stare into the bizarre face of Midas Jones on the laptop screen. “Is he talking to us?”
“Is he talking to us?” Midas mocked him, “And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Wyatt. OF COURSE I'M TALKING TO YOU, YOU CHEAP DINGO. AREN'T YOU COMING TO GET ME? COMING TO GET MEEEEEE! WHEEEE!”
Midas spun around in his chair and pushed his crown low down on his forehead. “Just to be sporting, just to play, I'm gonna give you a chance. You got about five minutes before the F.B.I. gets there to arrest you. SEE, ANOTHER AGENT HAS DISAPPEARED! AND HIS LAST KNOWN LOCATION WAS YOUR FATHER'S HOUSE! Go! Scurry to the window and see, they are coming for thee!”
Dalton and Beef ran to the window. It overlooked the grassy hill leading down to the highway and the Pacific Ocean. A line of dark SUV's was coming up PCH. Heading towards the Mara Vista Campus.
“Better RUN! Better get away, this time they won't be coming to play. Buh-bye! Buh-bye!” Midas waved at them as they fled the room. “CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU! SEE YOU SOON! COME AND GET ME!”
Dalton and Wyatt exchanged a look. Dalton turned on the stereo, blasting music and Wyatt started up the showers, shutting the bathroom door. The brothers pushed Ziggy, Beef and Alina out the front door of the dorm room, locking it behind them. A couple of students stared at them. Wyatt grinned and held his finger to his mouth, indicating silence and whispering “Shhhhh.” The five of them rushed down the hallway towards the back staircase.
They reached the student parking lot as the F.B.I. was pulling in. The Feds moved straight to Dalton's truck, then swarmed towards the building. Wyatt nodded toward the upper staff lot where they had parked their dad's corvette. He and Dalton made their way that direction while Alina and Ziggy nonchalantly followed Beef towards his Honda Accord. Beef nodded to an agent as he pulled out of the parking lot. They hoped that Dalton and Wyatt would get away as easily.
Dalton dropped Wyatt off by his Dodge Challenger which was illegally parked in the shopping center to the south of the Campus.
“I'll call you at the Von's payphone with the info...if I can get it... and tell you where to meet up. Go get mom. Remember, don't turn on your cell.”
Dalton nodded and peeled out. Wyatt started up his car and headed for Venice Beach.
“Ok, this is heavy duty. It's what's called an IronKey. U.S. Military grade encrypted drive.”
“Can we hack it?”
“I can't. No one I know can. Here's the deal with the IronKey. They have no known unlocks or backdoors. Even the NSA can't get in. I've heard they counter brute force hacks by making just three mistakes entering the password fatal. The whole drive smokes. Like, Mission Impossible style. It's just nuked and everything on it is destroyed. So I'm not even gonna touch that. Ask Assmanhauser. Maybe he knows something, but I doubt it. Whatever is on here, your dad didn't want anyone to see it.”
Wyatt and Dalton looked at the little drive and then Dalton put it back in his pocket. “Okay, what about the other one?”
“Weirdly, this one isn't encrypted at all. I mean nothing,” Sy glanced up over the rims of his thick prescription eye-glasses. “But considering the information here, it seems like it should be...”
“What information?” said Wyatt.
Sy pulled some of the papers out of the stack, spinning them around so that Wyatt and Dalton could read them. “These papers are printouts of the information on the drive, or at least, a significant amount of it.”
Wyatt and Dalton looked at the spreadsheet of numbers, dates and information. “Can you walk us through it, Sy?”
“In language that non-CPA's can understand?”
“All right, look. These pages here, they list information by date. Correlated with time of day, something, maybe addresses and what look like some kind of code names. Is this your dad's writing? See he's scribbled 'Failed' or 'Compromised' in red next to some of these. I'm guessing here...I think he's tracking something but I don't know what it is. It's not financial. Not my area,” Sy pushed those pages to the side. “But check these out. It looks like your Dad opened several bank accounts around four years ago. He began making deposits every two weeks or so. They start off relatively small and get gradually bigger. Then there's this,” Sy pulled up a folder on his computer, from the flash drive. “This is a list of wire transfers it looks like he made from these accounts to an account in Switzerland.”
Wyatt leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “Dear Lord...”
“I don't get it,” said Dalton.
Sy looked seriously at Dalton. “It looks like your dad had a stream of income that was outside his pay from the F.B.I. He was hiding it in various bank accounts and then transferring it out of the country. Didn't your parents go through a divorce about four years ago? Maybe he was just hiding money from your mom.”
Wyatt frowned.
“That's ridiculous,” said Dalton.
“Look here. About six months ago, the deposits jump significantly to a half a million every two weeks. The last deposit, for three mil, was made two nights ago. See, your Dad has it highlighted in the computer and circled on the printout.”
“I just don't get this...” muttered Wyatt.
“Look, here's what's weird. It's almost like he wanted to leave a trail. I mean this isn't how you get illegal money overseas. And why Switzerland?”
“Well, obviously because they have those private accounts that other governments can't touch.” said Wyatt.
“Not so much anymore. These days those accounts can no longer be numbered only. They have to have a name attached. And your dad's name is on this one. Swiss banking is not the safe and anonymous place it used to be. And with the Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act, Switzerland has to report American accounts to the IRS or face heavy penalties. And it looks like that's what happened,” Sy pulled another document from the stack of pages. This one was a letter from the I.R.S. “See this? The I.R.S. was coming after your dad for tax evasion, because he hadn't declared any of this income.”
“There is just no way Dad had a secret Swiss bank account,” exclaimed Dalton.
“It looks like he did. And the I.R.S. sure as hell thinks so too. But it gets weirder. According to the I.R.S. there should be close to twelve million dollars in this account. But there's only eight hundred thousand. It's been transferred out again to a blind numbered account in the Cayman Islands or Hong Kong or Dubai. Somewhere still secure, anonymous and unknown.”
“So...there's a trail of money...”
“Very large amounts of money,” Dalton shook his head.
“...leading to dad,” Wyatt leaned forward, “Sy...what if dad only found out about this when he got the I.R.S. letter? When is it dated?”
“Two days ago.”
“So... someone was framing him and he found out?” said Dalton.
“That might also explain why this drive isn't encrypted.” Sy held out the flash drive to Wyatt, who took it back.
“No point in encrypting it since everything in there was public record or about to be.” Wyatt stood up.
“Uh, who in the world would possibly want to do this to your dad?” asked Sy.
“A man named Midas Jones,” Wyatt shook Sy's hand. “Thanks Sy.”
Dalton and Wyatt started to walk away. Sy sat looking at the back of his hands on the table. Deep in thought. Then he looked up and called after them.
“Hey guys. If you're right...you need to be really careful. People that play with millions of dollars and frame F.B.I. agents are generally...not safe.”
* * *
Wyatt and Dalton walked quickly through the hallway to Dalton's dorm room on the fourth floor of the Starr Building. It was a typical late afternoon in a college dorm. Rock music was blasting, students were lounging, televisions were blaring. As they approached Dalton's room, the sounds of combat could be heard. Explosions and gunfire rat-a-tatted from behind the closed door. Dalton opened it.
The room had a giant TV and a game console with huge speakers dominating one wall. Two sets of bunk beds and three desks sat against the other walls. Two of the desks were covered with junk. Dalton's was spotless and organized. The floor around one of the bunk beds was piled with clothes, books, papers and magazines. As if a line were drawn in the room, the other bunk bed was neatly made. The lower bunk was set up as bookshelf/extra-workstation. It was Dalton's.
Inside, Dalton's roommates were hanging out. Sitting on his bottom bunk, Sigmund “Ziggy” Assmanhauser was noodling on his electric guitar. Ziggy was tall, thin and pale. His hair was almost white and very thin. He'd be bald before he was thirty. Dalton's other roommate, Thom “Beef” Djandjevic was getting destroyed on a first-person shooter by Alina Ruiz.
“OH yah! Eat that, Beef!” Alina laughed in Beef's face. Alina was Dalton's fiance. She was only five-foot-two and maybe one hundred and five soaking wet. She had long black hair and dark olive skin. Stunning Asian eyes combined with high, latina cheekbones gave her an exotic and alluring look. One which she took for granted. At this moment she was dancing a victory dance in front of Beef.
Beef was huge. He was wearing an Ultimate Fighting Championship T-shirt and sweat pants. His muscles rippled as he moved. He could, literally, crush Alina, but he was swallowing his humiliation at the hands of the tiny woman like the nineteen year old man that he was. He cursed at her and threw the game controller across the room.
“Hey!” shouted Dalton. “That's mine, man.”
He kissed Alina hello.
“Hey, baby!” Alina grabbed Dalton's ass. “I missed you at lunch. Where have you been?”
“You won't believe it,” Dalton felt better just being around Alina. She could see the tension in his face and she was concerned.
Wyatt called for their attention. “Guys, forget the games. We need your help. We need to find out everything we can about someone named Midas Jones.”
* * *
Dalton, Wyatt, Beef and Alina were gathered around Ziggy as he worked on his computer. A picture of Midas Jones was on the screen. It was his Wikipedia page.
“I've never heard of a drug dealer having his own Wikipedia page,” said Alina.
“This isn't your typical drug dealer,” said Ziggy. “His bio is a trip. He was an international chess champion at the age of twelve. Then he had some kind of nervous breakdown, but still graduated college at fifteen and got his doctorate in biochemistry at nineteen. Then he...”
“Started doing drugs?” asked Dalton.
“Started making them.”
“He looks odd. What's up with his nose?” Beef leaned over to get a closer look.
Ziggy scrolled down. “Apparently it's a prosthetic. He snorted so many of his own experimental drugs his nasal passages rotted away.”
“That can happen?” Wyatt asked with concern in his voice. The others stared at him.
“Why, Wyatt?” said Dalton.
“He's got his own website similar to the Silk Road. It's a TOR hidden service.” Ziggy navigated to the address. Odd pictures and a menu filled the screen. Strange Chinese Music emanated from the speakers.
“So this guy had something to do with Mr. Vance's disappearance?” Alina crossed her arms and studied Midas' picture as it faded up into the center of Ziggy's monitor.
“Check this out. You can order meth right over the web. It's called 'Golden Noseflake'.” Ziggy was amazed.
Dalton responded to Alina, “From what we can gather, there was an operation to take down Midas Jones last night, it went bad, lots of people died and dad disappeared during it.”
“With a bank account that makes him look like he was on the take,” added Wyatt.
Beef sat down on the ratty couch and popped open a bottled water. “So how much money?”
“Millions of dollars.”
“Whoa,” said Ziggy, “Don't suppose you have access to his accounts?”
“Funny, but it's not millions of dollars anymore. There's only a few hundred thousand left in Dad's account...the account that has Dad's name on it, I should say.”
“Well, we can assume your dad didn't take this money...where'd it go?” asked Alina.
Wyatt looked at Dalton. “You know....”
“That's a great question...”
“Someone knew about the operation last night. Someone tipped off Midas. I'll bet the money actually went to that person.”
Wyatt pulled the papers from his backpack and laid them out on Dalton's desk. Dalton bent over next to him. “But Wyatt, there's no way to find out who that person is...”
“Hold on.”
They looked at the list. Some of which their father had scribbled 'Failed' next to.
Wyatt looked back at Dalton “I'll bet these code names are F.B.I. operations.”
“Ones that failed...”
“Someone was feeding Midas information.”
“For a long time.”
“And Dad figured it out when he got the I.R.S. letter about his millions of dollars in the Swiss account.”
Ziggy spun away from the monitor and peered at the papers. “The F.B.I. has a mole. Tight.”
Alina rested on Dalton's shoulder as he bent over the pages. “You think your dad figured out who it was?”
“Dunno. But the mole must have been behind framing dad to cover his own tracks,” replied Dalton.
“We find the mole, maybe we find dad,” Wyatt crossed his arms grimly.
Beef leaned forward on the couch. “How do we find the mole?”
“Midas Jones pays the mole. Midas Jones knows the mole,” said Wyatt.
None of them were paying attention to the computer screen behind Ziggy. It fritzed. Static disrupted the screen and the Chinese music from the website began to fade.
“So let me get this straight. You want us to help you get Midas Jones so you can find out who the mole is?” Alina crossed her arm. “The guy who framed your dad, killed a whole bunch of F.B.I. agents and also happens to be a genius? That's so not a stupid idea.”
Laughter poured into the room from Ziggy's laptop. On screen was Midas Jones. Not a photo or video, but a live webcam feed. His maniacal cackle got their attention.
“What's going on, Ziggy?” asked Wyatt.
Ziggy was working on his computer, but the keyboard was dead. “I don't...I'm locked out...”
“What's going on? What's going on? I am the one, the way, the player who is always twenty-four moves, movies, full-length feature presentations ahead of you CARRION-EATING BUDGIE BIRDS!”
Wyatt leaned down to stare into the bizarre face of Midas Jones on the laptop screen. “Is he talking to us?”
“Is he talking to us?” Midas mocked him, “And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Wyatt. OF COURSE I'M TALKING TO YOU, YOU CHEAP DINGO. AREN'T YOU COMING TO GET ME? COMING TO GET MEEEEEE! WHEEEE!”
Midas spun around in his chair and pushed his crown low down on his forehead. “Just to be sporting, just to play, I'm gonna give you a chance. You got about five minutes before the F.B.I. gets there to arrest you. SEE, ANOTHER AGENT HAS DISAPPEARED! AND HIS LAST KNOWN LOCATION WAS YOUR FATHER'S HOUSE! Go! Scurry to the window and see, they are coming for thee!”
Dalton and Beef ran to the window. It overlooked the grassy hill leading down to the highway and the Pacific Ocean. A line of dark SUV's was coming up PCH. Heading towards the Mara Vista Campus.
“Better RUN! Better get away, this time they won't be coming to play. Buh-bye! Buh-bye!” Midas waved at them as they fled the room. “CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU! SEE YOU SOON! COME AND GET ME!”
Dalton and Wyatt exchanged a look. Dalton turned on the stereo, blasting music and Wyatt started up the showers, shutting the bathroom door. The brothers pushed Ziggy, Beef and Alina out the front door of the dorm room, locking it behind them. A couple of students stared at them. Wyatt grinned and held his finger to his mouth, indicating silence and whispering “Shhhhh.” The five of them rushed down the hallway towards the back staircase.
They reached the student parking lot as the F.B.I. was pulling in. The Feds moved straight to Dalton's truck, then swarmed towards the building. Wyatt nodded toward the upper staff lot where they had parked their dad's corvette. He and Dalton made their way that direction while Alina and Ziggy nonchalantly followed Beef towards his Honda Accord. Beef nodded to an agent as he pulled out of the parking lot. They hoped that Dalton and Wyatt would get away as easily.
* * *
Dalton dropped Wyatt off by his Dodge Challenger which was illegally parked in the shopping center to the south of the Campus.
“I'll call you at the Von's payphone with the info...if I can get it... and tell you where to meet up. Go get mom. Remember, don't turn on your cell.”
Dalton nodded and peeled out. Wyatt started up his car and headed for Venice Beach.
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