Once the door was closed, Mr. Takata proceeded around the corner, where the room opened up to reveal yet two more armed guards flanking a vault. Mr. Takata turned to face the group. "Mr. Thornbacker," he said, addressing J.T. by name for the first time. "Please place your hand on the scanner to verify your identity."
He motioned to the hand scanner mounted to the side of the vault door. A bar of light passed up and down the scanner screen, scanning J.T.'s hand, and then the whole screen turned green. Mr. Takata then scanned his own hand with a similar result. Finally, he placed his key card in the card reader and typed in a code on the keypad. The electronic locks could be heard disengaging from the large vault door. Mr. Takata turned the manual locking wheel counter-clockwise and slowly pulled open the eighteen-inch thick door.
He was only inside for a few moments before he returned, pushing a cart before him which was stacked high with large bundles of one hundred dollar bills. He motioned to one of the guards, who shut the door and locked it. The large locking pins could be heard sliding back into place once again as Mr. Takata pushed the cart over to a table that was off to the side.
"Seven million, nine hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills, as you requested," Mr. Takata announced. He handed J.T. a clipboard with a withdrawal slip attached to it, then handed him a pen. "Please sign here Mr. Thornbacker."
J.T. signed the slip and handed it back to Mr. Takata. Nick opened the briefcase he had brought along and produced two duffle-bags that, when expanded, were large enough to hold the huge pile of cash sitting on the cart. The two commandos helped divide the money between the two bags, each taking one. The group then proceeded back the way they had come and up to the bank lobby. Mr. Takata shook hands with Nick and J.T., then made his departure.
On the way back to the marina, Nick, who was seated in the front of the car, turned around to face J.T. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to put on a blindfold, old friend." Nick nodded to the commando in the back seat. The commando produced a blindfold and secured it in place, covering J.T.'s eyes.
About thirty minutes went by while he was blindfolded. The car stopped for about ten minutes. It sounded like two people exited the vehicle, but when J.T. started to reach up and loosen the blindfold, a strong hand reached over and prevented him from doing so. "No. Leave the blindfold on," came a stern warning.
A few minutes later, the car started moving again. When the car finally came to a stop, J.T.'s blindfold was removed and he saw that they were back at the marina where they had left the cigarette boat earlier in the day. They got into the boat and headed back in the direction of the yacht.
Chapter Nineteen
Later that evening, dinner was served on the yacht. Angel-hair pasta topped with a local variety of fish that James didn't quite recognize, with grated Parmesan cheese and diced jalape?os to top it off. It was better food than he had eaten in his whole life. Laura seemed to be enjoying herself, and even J.T. seemed more relaxed than he had been at breakfast. James allowed himself to relax a bit and even enjoyed the banter back and forth. The guards standing around with guns at their sides seemed the only reminder that they were still prisoners.
Shortly after dinner, they were dismissed to their cabin for the remainder of the evening with a complimentary bottle of wine. The door was shut and locked in place. Laura sat down on the couch and reached out her hands towards the corners of the room in a long stretch before interlacing her fingers behind her head and leaning back on the comfortable cushions. She seemed like she didn't have a care in the world.
J.T. walked over to the table where the bottle of wine had been placed and proceeded to open it up, letting it breathe for a few minutes before pouring himself an inch of the dark red liquid in one of the glasses they had been provided. He closed his eyes and lifted it up to his nose, inhaling slowly and deeply. At last, he sat the glass down on the table, finished filling it along with the two others, and then walked over to Laura, stretching his arm out to hand her the glass.
"Here, take this," he said.
Laura opened her eyes and reached out her hand to take the glass.
"Thanks, although I'm not certain I could put anymore in my stomach right now."
"We have some decisions to make," J.T. responded cryptically. He walked over to the table and handed James the other glass before sitting down on a chair that he had placed between them so that he could see them both equally well. He motioned for them to draw in close to him and he began to speak in a whisper.
"They may be listening to us, so speak quietly. We have to decide what we are going to do."
J.T. took a sip of wine before he continued.
"I know that Nick has offered you each a lot of money to go along with his plan. I think that we need to look at all of our options and decide together what our next move is going to be. Whatever we do, we need to do it together. First off, I'm not entirely certain that Nick won't decide to kill us all. However, if he doesn't and he keeps his word, then we need to think it through. If any one of us decides to go back to the states and turn ourselves in, then we should all go. Otherwise, those who don't go back will be hunted down all the more quickly."
"Wait just a minute," Laura interrupted. "What do you mean, turn ourselves back in? Like Nick said, if we turn ourselves in, there is no guarantee that we won't get even more jail time tacked on to our sentences. And even if we don't, we all have long sentences to finish, regardless. If I have a million dollars to live on, why do I want to go back and turn myself in?"
"Well," J.T. responded. "There are a few things you need to consider. First off, if we don't go back, there is the fact that the FBI takes a very dim view of escapees. We are all likely on the most wanted list by this point, which means that a team of FBI and other law enforcement officers are looking for us this very minute. If they catch us, and they often do catch those on the most wanted list, then we are all likely to end up with more jail time than we can shake a stick at, and in a maximum security prison."
"If they don't catch us, then we are going to be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives, waiting for the moment when someone might. I don't know about you, but that is not the way I plan to spend the remainder of my life on this planet."
"So what do you suggest we do?" asked James.
"I'm not suggesting anything just yet. Let's just put all the cards on the table first and see what kind of a hand we've got. Let's consider what happens if we go back. Turning ourselves in is easy enough. We show up at the United States Consulate in George Town and tell them who we are and that we want to surrender. What happens after that is debatable. We will likely each get interrogated separately for as long as it takes to convince them that we are telling the truth. If we tell them the truth, then any money we have been given by Nick will be forfeited. Next, we get shipped back to prison - and likely NOT Utopia, to serve out the remainder of our sentences. Unless, of course, they don't believe us and decide to revoke the contracts we signed, and put us in for the remainder of our original sentences and then some. If we try to lie and pretend we didn't get any money, then we're depending on them not finding out that information. If they catch Nick, then he will tell them outright we have the money and we're on the hook for lying to the FBI - not a good idea."
"So you're saying we're screwed either way," Laura lamented. "There's no way they are going to believe us. We're three convicted felons! It's not like we're all paragons of truthfulness or anything."
"Listen to me," J.T. continued, "I'm not saying I have this all figured out either and I'm certainly not suggesting we decide tonight. We have almost two more weeks before we're going to be cut loose, whatever that means. All I'm saying is that we should begin to consider our options and come up with a plan together. Can we agree on that?"
After a few moments of silence, Laura responded, "I'm willing to talk about it, but that's all I'm going to commit to at
this point." She took a long drink from the wine glass, wanting to rewind to the good feeling she'd had after dinner, before she was so abruptly confronted with the reality of their situation.
J.T. looked over at James, who had been silently considering everything that had been said. James slowly nodded his head up and down. "O.k., let's make a plan. But like she said, we're just talking. I'm not ready to commit to anything either."
Satisfied that they had at least agreed to talk about making a plan together, J.T. stood up from his chair and walked over to the starboard portal, where he could just see the sun setting in the distance. He stared at it for several minutes, finishing his glass of wine and watching the darkness descend.
Silas McGruder immediately spotted the slightly beat-up silver van and the lanky driver who was sticking his long arm out of the window and waving at him as he exited the terminal at Owen Roberts International Airport. He ambled over to the passenger side of the vehicle and deposited his tired body in the seat, uttering a tired greeting to his driver as he did.
"Hi, Marty."
"Helloo, Mr. Silas," came the cheery response. "Welcome back, my friend."
Marty pulled the van away from the curb and guided the van back towards George Town.
"Tell me everything you saw," Silas prompted him wearily.
"I see dah man in dah nice suit from dah picture you sent me. He came in with tree otha people." He held up three fingers to emphasize the point.
"You mean three other people?" Silas asked.
"Dat is what I said, mon, tree otha people," Marty continued. "One of dem look like dah man in dah orange shirt wit dah beard, but he had shaved it off."
"Yeah, I could tell from the pictures you sent me. What I want to know is, where did they go after they left the bank?"
"I try to follow dem, but dey take da narrow streets, mon. I could not follow dem o dey see me. So I did what you tell me to do. I stop an' call you."
"Good job, Marty. Good job. Now get me to my hotel before I pass out."
The rhythmic noise and vibrations from the road lulled Silas to sleep as he leaned his head against the window. When he awoke, the van was pulling in to the hotel that he had booked the night before on the internet. He turned to Marty as he got out of the van.
"Pick me up tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. I want to make sure we get everything ready before they come back to the bank tomorrow."
"O.k., Mr. Silas, I see you den."
Silas checked in to his room and sat down in one of the chairs. He took out his cell phone and began scrolling through the pictures that Marty had sent to him. From the pictures, he could tell that the two unidentified men were probably the hired security. It wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but he had about ten days or so to plan things, so time was on his side. He set the alarm on his phone for 5 a.m., took off his shoes, and laid down on the bed. As he fell asleep, he thought to himself, "J.T. Thornbacker may have pulled off the great escape, but the game is definitely not over, not by a long shot."
Chapter Twenty
The alarm on his phone was blaring and Silas wearily opened his eyes, willing the alarm to silence and allow him another hour of sleep. After a few seconds of fumbling, he retrieved the phone and turned off the alarm. He located an energy drink he had purchased at the airport the day before, opened it up, and drained the bottle. He was going to need all of his wits about him, and quickly, if he wanted to get the jump on these guys.
He grabbed a cream-cheese bagel at the continental breakfast bar provided by the hotel and was finishing off the last bite as Marty drove up under the awning to pick him up. It was one of the things he liked about Marty - he was punctual.
He had Marty drive him to the bank and go over everything, step by step. Next, he had him drive the route that Thornbacker's car had taken once they had left the bank. Marty stopped at the narrow alleyway where he had lost the car the day before. "And dat is where I stopped following dem," Marty said, pointing at the entrance to the alleyway.
"Drive down the alleyway," Silas instructed.
The alleyway led to a small open park where five other streets dispersed.
"This is perfect," Silas said out loud.
"What do you mean?" Marty replied.
"This is the perfect place to lose a tail," Silas replied. "Anyone following them would need to wait to come down the alleyway or else they would be recognized. Once they make it here, though, they have five choices to take them where they really want to go. By the time anyone following them makes it to the park, they are long gone." Silas excitedly turned to Marty. "O.k., here is what I want you to do. They will probably use this same route every day. You stay here in the park on that bench over there, facing the alleyway. Once they come out, make sure you see which street they take next, but don't make it obvious. If this is going to work, they can't know someone is onto them. I'm going back to the bank and follow them from there as far as the alley. I'll call you when they leave the bank."
Back at the bank a short while later, Silas saw J.T. Thornbacker and Nick Bartonovich get out of the car with their escorts at 9:30 a.m. sharp. Nick was carrying a briefcase. The way the two guards looked around, surveying the area, he would have bet money they were former military. Silas drove slowly past the front of the bank and was just able to see J.T. Thornbacker sit down on one of the couches beside the central desk before he drove out of range. He turned the van around and positioned it so he could see their car clearly and follow them when they left.
They were inside the bank for about fifteen minutes before they came back out, got in the car, and drove away. Silas thought it was odd that Mr. Thornbacker got in the back, while Nick sat in the front. "They must not like each other very much," Silas thought to himself.
He called Marty to let him know they were on their way and followed them to the alleyway where Marty had lost them. He kept his foot off of the accelerator after breaking as the car carrying J.T. Thornbacker slowed to make the turn down the alleyway. He wanted to coast past the alleyway slowly, without needing to break and possibly draw attention to the van. As the alleyway was almost out of his peripheral vision, he thought he saw their tail lights go on. He quickly pulled over to the curb and got out of the van, walking back in the direction of the alley. He stopped and pretended to be window shopping in front of an old antique store directly across from the alleyway. He tried to be nonchalant as he studied the alleyway's reflection in the store's large plate glass window.
The car had indeed stopped. They were close enough that he could tell that one of the passengers in the back was putting something on the head of the man next to him. Then they proceeded down the alleyway. A minute later, his phone rang.
"I see where dey go, Mr. Silas."
"Yeah, o.k., I'm coming to pick you up."
As he drove down the alleyway, he stopped right where the other car had stopped, got out of the van, and looked around. There was nothing there. He processed what he had just seen, trying to make sense out of it. In a few moments, it came to him. "J.T. Thornbacker was kidnapped," he said out loud. He smiled as he jumped back in the van and drove down the alley to pick up Marty.
"Did you see anything unusual about one of the men in the back of the car?" he asked Marty, once he was back inside the van.
"Yes, I did. One of dem had a black cloth over his eyes."
"Yes!" Silas exclaimed. "This is good."
"Why is dis good?" asked Marty.
"J.T. was kidnapped!" Silas exclaimed, proclaiming his earlier revelation as if he had just won the pot at a poker game. "Why else would they blindfold him? Ole' Nick Bartonovich kidnapped J.T. Thornbacker and is using him to get the money out of the bank. That explains why he sent me down here to get the bank documents, the blindfold, the fact that a guard rides in the back with J.T., the whole business. They aren't in business together; J.T. is simply the key to the piggy bank." He slammed his hand down on the dashboard
of the van for emphasis.
"I am glad you are happy, Mr. Silas," Marty proclaimed. "Dis is good, yes?"
"This is very good, Marty, this is very good!" Silas responded. "Now I need you to find me the best pick-pocket in all of George Town."
"What do you need wit a pick-pocket, Mr. Silas? A pick-pocket can never get what is in dat briefcase."
"Just trust me, Marty. Just trust me."
James had decided to swim around the yacht to see if he could shake the sense of cabin fever that had been building since they'd arrived. He had become accustomed to the daily exercise regime in Utopia and needed to burn off some energy to calm his nerves. As he swam, he thought about both the future and the past.
He thought about how he was potentially about to get the big score he had dreamed of before, when he was planning a bank robbery. He had thought that would make everything better. He had thought that his problems would be solved by a big wad of cash. Yet now that the big score was potentially in his sight, he only wanted to rewind to a few days earlier when he was serving out the remainder of his sentence in Utopia, headed for a changed life, a life free from being chased by law enforcement officers. He'd just been beginning to believe he could find a better, more peaceful, and fulfilling way to live. Now all of that seemed so far away. How do I get back there? he thought to himself as he swam.
Even if he got the money, he would never be able to go back to the States without looking over his shoulder constantly. And even if he stayed here or somewhere like this, a million dollars wouldn't last him forever. He would need to find some other way to make money eventually, and being a criminal was all he really knew how to do. He couldn't think of a way out of it. He knew in his heart that he couldn't live the rest of his life on the run, but he also knew that he couldn't survive twenty-three more years in prison - or longer if they threw the book at him once he got back.