Helicopter

     Have you ever seen a police chase on the news? The car seems like it's going so slow, you think "Why aren't they trying to run?" They are. see, it's just like planes in the sky, the farther away they are, the slower they appear to be moving. Those people are driving a hundred miles an hour, but from the chopper, it looks like their car is powered by flintstone feet. When you're in the car, though, everything speeds by.

     The hardest part of the whole thing is trying to figure out how to lose the chopper. Cars are easy to ditch, since you can usually blend into a large group of cars, and if you drive smart enough, they'll lose sight of you, and then you split in a way they're not expecting. A helicopter, on the other hand, has a crazy field of view, so it's more than a matter of driving in front of a semi-truck. If you're clever, though, and I tend to think that Allen was a pretty clever guy, you find a way to make that height useless.

We Shot up the 405, with the helicopter and several cars tightly in tow, and made our way toward Mulholland Drive. Allen told me to get unbuckled, and to start packing our gear, especially anything identifying, and everything related to the hunt, into as few bags as I could manage. He, meanwhile, was flicking around on my phone, looking at maps. I grabbed everything I could, opening the back seat to get to the trunk, and digging through everything. Living in a car can really take a toll on your tidiness. I had two bags packed when we got off of the freeway, and got onto Mulholland, Which we were only on for a couple of minutes. The cars weren't behind us anymore, but the helicopter had tight eyes on us. Allen warned me that we were about to get into some real dangerous shit, and I laughed, as he pulled us into someplace very residential. He switched on cruise control, and steered as he put on his pack, and shoved any last things he could manage into it. Then, he turned us into some little side street/culdesac/suburban nightmare, and told me to be ready to jump. He swung a hard left through a side yard, and shouted while the car was under some trees, and we both rolled out of the car. One of the smaller bags I had with me snagged in the door, and I almost got pulled along, but I tore it off my arm, luckily. We dashed for cover as the car continued down the path it was on. The chopper followed it, and we scrambled away. The car headed down a dirt road toward the "Upper Stone Canyon Reservoir" which yes, I did look up afterward. The bag that was caught on the door was full of cash, and scattered bills all down the road. We didn't stop to think about it, we still had plenty of cash, and, more importantly, we had to get the hell out of there.

     We headed to opposite direction of the car, hiding in the trees, and making our way toward the 405 again. We spent a long time hiking through the very posh woods out there, just trying to outrun the search crews radiating from the crash of our car. It was another long while before we had any contact with the world. But we spent a lot of time sitting around small, dark fires thinking. I waited four months before I ever found out what happened to Kevin. I've never felt guiltier about anything.

UCLA

When last we saw our heros, the scientist at Ucla had locked us into his lab. Allen freaked, and charged the door, and the scientist, who was clearly shaken by Allen's berserker attitude tried to compose himself. As soon as he saw what the compound we had sent him was capable of, he called the FBI. He alerted them that he had found potential terror suspects, and they had arranged this trap. He then turned and ran.

Allen stood by the door a moment, then he smashed his fist against the glass of the door. It was one of those ones they have at schools, with the narrow slit of wire-reinforced glass. He didn't get through it, but he did crack it up, and messed up his hand pretty badly. He barely batted an eyelash. He grabbed his gun from his coat and shot through the lock, nearly knocking kevin deaf. The door hinged inwards, but with some tugging and jimmying, we had it open. We split down the hallway immediately, only to turn the corner into a group of vest-wearing policemen. We turned back around ,and got going through another corridor. Then up a set of stairs. then through two more hallways, until we found ourselves stuck in a classroom. We barricaded up the door, and we could hear the cops outside smashing at the door already.

We were cornered in the classroom on the second floor, and I had no idea what we were going to do. They were smashing at the door, breaking the desks we had shoved against it. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. when I finally did, I found Kevin standing by an open window, with no sign of Allen anywhere. Kevin looked at me, and stared back out the window. Allen had jumped right out, and made it in one piece. He had drawn his pistol and was gesturing for us to follow. I didn't know what to do, I could make the jump, but I knew that Kevin would never make it that far, the guy was 65, after all. We started searching the room for some way to get him down, but there wasn't really anything. We found some power cords, and tied them together, and then to an anchor in the room. I made the jump, and then Kevin made to follow me. He was about halfway down when a surge protector cracked under his weight, shaking the makeshift rope, and shaking him loose. He fell maybe 6 feet, but it was enough. He twisted his ankle on impact, and his foot was twisted all sorts of crazy.

I ran to him, and slung him over my shoulder, Allen started running ahead, like he was going to leave us. But when the cops burst from the door nearest us, he turned and opened fire on them. I ran as fast as I could, but my body wasn't used to the extra weight, too much time on the computer. I was moving so slowly, I knew, and the cops were gaining on me. One of them caught Kevin's good ankle and pulled. I was so top-heavy that I fell backwards. Another cop was on to of me in no time, and before I knew it, Allen was there again, swinging a stick he had gotten from somewhere. He bashed one cop upside the head, and sent blood spraying everywhere, and with his other hand, he grabbed my arm from the growing dog pile of cops. I tried to go back for kevin, but he was covered in cops, and shouting "Go, go, get out of here!" So we did. We ran as quickly as we could, and made it back to the car. Allen jumped in to drive, and we shot off, with nothing in our minds but escape. We wouldn't think of Kevin again until we were safe. But we weren't there yet, because we could hear the search chopper overhead.

January 12, 2011

     January twelfth we got a call back from a scientist at UCLA. He had been working over the formula for about a week, and said he had synthesized a small amount of it. As he put it, the results of his tests with the chemical were terrifying. he didn't want to say more over the phone, and wanted us to visit his lab. We had been travelling around at this point, killing time and trying to make the best out of being fugitives, so we were in northern california. It took us most of the night to get to the university.
   When we got there, we parked in the back, and made our way into his lab. We walked through a small room where there were cages filled with rats. they were kinda like fish tanks. About half of the rats were dead. and the ones in the chambers labeled "Control" watched us walk by. We made it into the doctor's office and he greeted us. Then he lead us to another room where he had been working. The formula was written on the wall, over three different chalkboards, each piece of it broken up into sub-compounds. It looked like a scene from a movie, the scientist, surrounded by his scrawlings on the walls. He took us to a table in the center of the room, one of those chemist countertops, with the burners and crap, and brought out another rat in a cage. He explained to us that the chemical we had sent him was a form of plastic, but that it was modified heavily. The reader's digest version is that the plastic could be made inexpensively, but extended the usability of normal petroleum plastic. It was a filler plastic, so you could make more plastic, but at a smaller price. But that wasn't all he had found out about it. There was one portion of the formula that didn't sit right with him. He felt that if it were combined with certain compounds, it would become very volatile. So, he had gathered a sample of those compounds, and done an experiment. What he discovered then is what had scared him so badly. The compound, when mixed with certain plastic explosives, would create a unique compound. Then he showed us the scary part.
     He placed the rat in a small box with windows on it, and used tongs to insert a portion of the compound, mixed with the plastic explosives, into a small container that was also inside the box. He closed the lid, sealed it up, and made sure we were looking in through the window. Then he detonated the explosive. Really, it was a very small explosion, smaller than most firecrackers. The rat seemed startled, and moved further away from the explosion, but seemed otherwise fine. For about thirty seconds, we thought it was. Then the rat started moving around the box very quickly. It started running laps, as quickly as it could, until one of its legs stopped moving right, and it began to limp. Soon, half of its body was running, and half was dragging on the floor. Then a thick foam poured from its mouth, and it stopped moving.
    We were, understandably, shocked. The scientist explained that the compound was a neurotoxin that didn't seem to activate until it was combined with the plastic explosive, and then detonated. Then, he calmly walked to the door, stepped outside, and locked us in.

Round Room

     We woke the next morning not sure about what to do next. Should we try to build the room from the message? Should we hunt down more clues? We just didn't know what to do. It wasn't until I suggested that we take the formula to a chemist that Allen seemed Excited. But He didn't like the idea of taking the original, it was too valuable, it was evidence against whoever the enemy was. He referred to an enemy all the time by this point. We didn't know who the enemy was, but there was definitely an enemy.
    Anyway, we decided to build the chamber, and copy the formula from the walls. Then we'd take one of the copies to a chemist. So we built it. We rented a small warehouse, the seedy sort of place that doesn't ask questions when you rent it for a week with cash. We bought a bunch of thin plywood and small boards and put the room together. It was a jury-rigged sort of thing, but it held up well enough. Then we spent three days copying it onto small pieces of paper, and then moving it onto one big sheet. It was gigantic, and I didn't understand any of it. None of us did, but we had it laid out flat now. So, by the first day of December, 2010, we had the formula. We took it to a kinko's place and got three copies made. Then we went to three schools that had good chem programs, and Hoped for the best. We really couldn't do anything else for another month. It was january 12th 2011 before we heard anything back from the schools. We spent most of that time laying low, so there's nothing really to tell.
I'll get to the results of the tests next post, but I wanted to get this out first:

I just want to apologize to everyone about that last post. I shouldn't have said that about Allen. I meant it, but that doesn't mean I should have said it. I think by the time I knew him the paranoia of being stalked had really affected Allen. I don't mean offense to the people who knew him before all of this started. I just knew the man I traveled with. I personally didn't really like him, but I knew that he, and everything he was doing was important. I know that more now than ever. So, I'm sorry to Allen and everyone who knew him.
so... yeah.

The Lightning Strike at Thunder Road.

Allen, Keith and I were back on the road as fast as we could manage. Which is pretty fast, as it turns out. Robbing a bank will do that to you, put a little speed in your step, y'know? So, we were in California within three days. Thunder Road is not a real road, you know. It's actually kindof a strip of dirt, not a real place at all. It's marked on google maps, but I guess that's more for city planning. We scoured the area in the picture for about a day, and when the sun went down, we found a hotel, and got some food. Keith and I didn't know what we were looking for, but allen was determined. We spent two days like that, sifting through a desert. There was a small trailer-town nearby, and that's where we found what we wanted. It was the Omega symbol spray-painted on the back of a sign. We dug around the sign that night, a huge pit, actually. But there was nothing there. We were stumped again. We filled the pit, and stewed on it for a day. Keith studied the post that day, all day. He took notes on everything about it he could think of. Then he noticed the sticker on the back of it it looked like a normal I.D. sticker on a stop sign, you've seen them, with the manufacturer, date of printing, etc. Except for the fact that all of that info was changed. The manufacturing date was actually a time, and one of the slots said 500 yards. So, we waited till the time marked on the post, and stared out from the post for about 500 yards, but we didn't see anything to indicate to us. The next day, we tried again, and we figured it out. We used the shadow of the post at that time, and moved in a line from that point for 1500 feet. We marked the spot, and came back after dark.  We dug for fifteen minutes, and found it: A small metal plate, in the shape of the omega symbol, with three numbers welded onto the front of it. 184. Allen flipped his shit. We had finally found the clue for the little electronic device. We went back to the hotel and punched it in. Then the machine beeped out these words:

"The chamber should be a round room, 12 feet in diameter, and 8 feet high. Place the light three feet from one side of the wall, and two feet off of the ground. Use a 200 watt lightbulb. Align the triangle tick marks on the plate with one another, and point them toward the far side of the room. This is what they have been keeping from everyone. This is the formula that killed them."

We went to bed that night, pondering what we had heard. Allen listened to it again and again that night, sitting in the empty bathtub. I wasn't sure he even slept anymore. He scared me a lot. I'm almost glad he's gone.

Escape

So, escaping a bank job is even trickier than getting in. Getting in is always easy. Here's the trick we used. It'd only work once anyway, so I don't really feel bad telling you. Basically, everything in a bank is computerized, actually, basically everything in a city is computerized nowadays. So, we gathered our hostages and headed for the front door. See, cops don't like to mess with people with hostages, and they don't like to negotiate. But, if you don't let them try, they don't really know how to handle you. So, we just walked out the front door with our guests, before they had even gotten in a call to try to talk us down. We seriously just walked out, and grabbed a cab we had called for, bringing along one of our hostages. I mean, honestly, how fucking great is that? It was scary as hell, of course, but it worked. they didn't know what to do with us. Then came the tricky bit. I should have mentioned, when we walked out, Allen showed off a little backpack he had brought. he placed it against the rear bumper of the taxi before we drove off, and waved at the cops, smiling and pointing at the backpack. He did a kindof "Boom" gesture and laughed as he got in the car. Then we left in our cab. So, we had left the cops sitting at the bank, scared to death of the bomb we had left behind us, and drove off in a cab. Allen had placed it so that between us and the cops was a bomb, which of course they were going to take heed of before making chase. So, in the meantime, I texted The old man, and told him to fire up the program I had built that week. The Gps tracking number of this cab, (which by the way, is easy to look up, ) was suddenly splitting down several different roads. I mean, there are all sorts of bits of info that cabs drop out, and I had researched a lot of them, and set up a program to dump out decoys. Then, we had the cabby drop us off at a random location and gave him a huge tip for his trouble, and the fare to return the bank teller to her car. Then we split off down a few alleys and trick paths we had looked up, and bought a gallon of gas before meeting back up at the car. We filled up the car and got the fuck out of town.

Bank job

     See, the secret to a bank job is never to mess with people. You see in the movies, or on tv, the robbers always bust in during the day, guns blazing, themed masks, and lots of shouting. A good bank job takes place at closing, when the only people you'll encounter are staff. We didn't bother with a theme, or anything like that, because we didn't have the cash to buy masks, and that sort of thing makes a trail. I don't know if you know this, but they can track cash now. Anyway, when a bank is closing up, the manager has to lock everything up. But the trick is, you have to get in, get your pay and get out in a certain timeframe, because all vaults have time-locks on them. It's a technique invented in the cowboy days. The vault locks itself automatically at a certain time, so that you can't force the manager to open it for you after hours. They used to make very intricate locks with clockworks inside of them. Now it's all done by computer. Anyway, we tore up a blanket we had found behind a house, and cut it into masks. They were uncomfortable, but they covered our faces.
     It was a monday, so there wasn't a lot of business going on, they weren't holding the door for anyone. The manager usually locks up at five, so that the cashiers can count up, and get everything locked up for the night, without people wandering in. That was basically the crux of our plan. The manager moved to the door to lock up and two men with guns pulled the door away from him. We each trained our gun on him and told him to lock up as usual. We stepped in and he locked it behind us. That part of the plan made me nervous, but Allen had apparently given this a lot of thought. The manager was told to leave the key in the door, and he did. Allen very calmly announced that we were robbing the bank, and that everyone should put their hands up. The lexan around the bank protected the tellers from our guns, but they all did as they were told anyway. The manager lead us to the door that opened to the back of the bank, and the tellers walked out into the center of the bank. We sat them down in the middle. Allen put me on guard while he and the banker walked the back. He looted the registers, and then they headed for the safe. It was 5:07, the vault locked at five thirty. We were making very good time. Allen packed everything into bags and headed for the door. Just in time for the sirens to arrive. The police headed for the front door, but it was locked. Thank goodness. Allen took over guard duty, and I headed for their computers. We figured if we were going to take the risk, we'd better make some good out of it for someone. First of all, I formatted the security computers. That way they couldn't track our faces, or anything else we had done in the bank. Then I headed to a teller's computer. Allen made one of them log in, and then I got systematic. I erased the details of the money we had stolen. They lost track of every serial number that'd gone through the bank, so that the money couldn't be tracked. Then, while I was in the terminal, I did a little robin-hooding, and destroyed as many Details as I could, so the banks couldn't track the loans they had made. Basically, everyone who had ever borrowed money from the bank was getting out scott-free. So, instead of a hundred thousand or so in cash, we kinda stole millions. But most of it we gave away. We've been debating about whether or not that was a good thing ever since. Well, I mean, we used to debate it. Anyway, let's build some suspense for this, since I have got to stop writing soon, and the escape is going to take some time to detail. Here we are, two guys with guns, in a bank full of hostages, and two duffel bags full of cash, Standing in a bank surrounded by cops. Our only help  was a sixty year-old man sitting in a gassless car with a laptop, four blocks away.