Buried Treasure Ch. 31-35

"Politics and reality. The reality is that the only DEA link is that Sean used to be an agent and that started it all. Now we've got three dead and one injured cop, bodies stacking up like cordwood, plus a budding gang war. The Attorney General is putting the FBI in front because it fits their mission more than ours." I sat down and gestured for him to take a seat. "I didn't fight it."

"Why not, sir?"

"Because my interest is in the drug pipeline and the leak in our witness protection program that allowed Sean's identity to be compromised. Neither has answers in Florida. I'll leave you here to keep the pressure up, but I'm heading back to Los Angeles, which is Jesus's territory. I'm going to personally arrest that sonofabitch if he so much as tosses a gum wrapper on the ground."

"So you're not giving up." He smiled a little. "At least you get to sleep in your own bed."

"There's that too. Keep these guys moving; I'll be talking to you several times a day." I got a call from Reception; the Commander was here. "Get out of here; I need to turn over everything and catch a flight."

Heather's POV

Northern Minnesota

"Where are we," I asked as he shook me to wake me up.

"Lunchtime, we're near Wadena. I saw a sign for Pizza Ranch; they have a buffet so we can be in and out."

I looked at him and laughed. "I've seen you eat, Greg, there's no quick 'in-and-out' for you, is there?" He grinned and looked back at the road, taking a drink of his bottled water. "Although a quick in-and-out can be fun sometimes."

My timing and delivery were perfect, and water sprayed the dash while he tried to breathe. "Jeez, Heather," he complained.

"What? I was talking about fast food. It's not MY fault you have a dirty mind." I looked out at the trees and fields as we got closer to town on Highway 10, a four-lane road in northwest Minnesota. "Do you know what Wadena is famous for?"

"Not a clue."

"They were hit something like ten years ago with an EF-4 tornado that went through town. Nobody died, but dozens were injured. The TV series Stormchasers featured the super-outbreak and the aftermath. One-third of the homes in the town were damaged or destroyed; it was a quarter-mile wide when it tore through."

"Damn, that's one huge tornado."

"They got lucky. It started as a multiple-vortex tornado, then formed into a wedge with 170 mile-an-hour winds. At one point the path was a mile wide. It was a monster storm, and that day was the biggest tornado outbreak in Minnesota history."

"How do you know so much? Didn't you live in Florida?"

"I'm kind of a weather geek. I had a crush on Reed Timmer from Stormchasers, and it led me to watch a lot on television and Youtube about them. I thought about being a meteorologist, but I'm afraid I'd be branded a 'blonde weather babe.' I want to be taken seriously."

"That's kind of out of the question now, you can't attend a school, and you sure can't get a job on television," he said.

"Oh, you don't think I'm good looking enough to be on television?"

He turned and stared me down. "If you were on the news, I'd watch every damn night." My insides flipped from his look. He slowed as we entered the town, and we soon had parked on a side road. "It doesn't look packed, but keep your hair under a cap in there and try to avoid looking at people. I don't want you recognized." He came around and helped me out; my wounds were sore, but getting better.

"Got it." He went in and paid for us while I used the restroom, then we took a table in a quiet section. "What can I do while we're running like this," I asked over a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

"It's limited. I'd want you to be in the hotel room as much as possible. All it takes is one person to recognize you, and you're in danger."

"I'm going to go stir crazy. You were going to teach me self-defense, right?"

"I will," he said before inhaling half a slice of pizza.

"How? In the hotel room?"

"Maybe. I'll figure something out, but only after you are healed enough to work out again."

I frowned. "I can't watch television for a month straight. I'm used to being active; I played softball, judo four times a week, plus I was a full-time student. What about my education?"

He shook his head no. "Your old self is dead, along with your college. The identity we gave you might allow you to be accepted, but there is no way you can go to class."

"Can't I do online classes?"

"It creates a vulnerability." I looked at him quizzically. "Let's say we set up something under your new name, enrolled you in a college with online classes. We might be moving every week or two, right?" I nodded. "Having an account that you log in can be traced if they learn who you are. It's too much of a risk."

"I want a computer, though. At least I could watch stuff or play games."

He sat back. "Everything you do leaves a trail, even if it is just the computer you use. I'm sorry, Heather. When I headed out on this detail with you, I left my electronics behind."

"I can't believe it," I said. "I don't even get the thousand dollars."

"What?"

"My Mom was concerned I spent too much time on my phone and computer when I was a junior in high school. She offered me a thousand dollars if I would give both of them up for a month. I thought it would be easy money."

He started laughing. "How long did you last?"

"Thirty-seven hours." He laughed even harder. "It's not funny."

"It is," he said. "You'll be like your parents, forced to talk to people and play board games for fun." I rolled my eyes at him. "Want more?"

"Another Mountain Dew and some pepperoni and sausage pizza," I said. He set his plate aside and came back with more. "I'm going to be so bored it won't even be funny."

"I will do what I can to make your stay with me more fun, Mrs. Barks."

"And after the three minutes of fun is over, then what?"

"Cute." I finished my second plate, then asked him to help me to the bathroom. He left a tip before getting assisting me in standing without straining my injury. As I was coming back out to the table, I saw a couple sitting in the other room, and I caught her staring at me.

"We have to go," I said quietly.

"I'm going up for another plate," he said. "Don't you want dessert?"

"Now, Greg." He looked at me and I stared him down, flicking my eyes towards the couple. She was getting out her phone. "My coat."

He must have figured it out, so he helped me put it on before putting on his jacket and walking me out. I pulled my hat down over my ears and brought a hand up as we walked out, ruining the shot as the woman tried to get my photo. "She made me," I said as we got out the door.

"We go now," he said. I could never get used to the stupid cold temperatures up in this area. I'd been in Florida for five years, Virginia before that, and ice belonged only in a drink. He led me around the corner to the parking space and set me in the passenger seat. He got in and took off, moving away from Highway 10 for a few blocks before cutting over. "Did she get your photograph?"

"I don't know. Not a good one."

"Shit." We pulled onto the highway and headed west.

Ch. 35

Chase's POV

San Jose Park

I looked over at Spider Monkey as I took the flash drive and put it in my pocket. She was such a tiny thing, she was barely taller than I was when she walked up and I was sitting on the bench. Her pink hair from last year had changed, now bright mint-green hair mixed with black over her Asian-heritage face. The hairstyle and clothes helped her look younger than her actual age of thirty-nine. "What have you been up to?"

"I told you, at Google, we know everything. I put out the call to the hackers in my group, none of whom like the idea of torturing women. We grabbed everything we can find on the Sons of Tezcatlipoca, and I've taken the last couple days off as I was putting the information together. What I didn't find, I had people get."

"Just how much do you have?"

"Everything the task force has in on this drive," she said as she handed me another flash drive. My jaw dropped. "What? Their data security is a joke, the hacker who got that is all of fourteen years old."

I just shook my head. "You've been looking at this, what do you think we should do?"

"This gang is into drug distribution, big time. There are some things I've figured out that we could feed the Feds to shut that down, but I think the Club deserves a little first." I raised my eyebrow. "I want to empty their bank accounts before the Feds can seize them."

"Wait a minute... you can steal their money?"

"Click-click. I was waiting to hear from you. I didn't want to do anything unless someone high up in the Club said it was all right." I started to say something, but she raised her hand. "I know, you're not Club, but you're the one the National Council turned loose to get these fuckers. Do you want to do this or not?"

"Hell yes I do," I said.

"Then come on. Bring your buddy with, no point in him sitting outside all night." She got up and started walking back towards her house while I tried to catch up on things.

"Vic, meet me at her door. She made you, said you should come inside with her."

I could sense his shock. "I've been laying low for hours, how the hell did she pick me up?"

"She's good; you'll have to ask her how she did it." I caught up with Spider Monkey, and Vic met us by her front door. "Spider Monkey, this is Vic. He's my backup."

"Nice to meet you, handsome." Vic blushed as Spider blatantly checked him out. She was smiling her approval; Vic appeared a little older but was in great shape. "I'm Spider Monkey. Come on in."

"Where did you get your riding name from," Vic asked. I smirked, knowing the answer.

"It's how I like to have sex. I'm small and light, so I like to hang like a spider monkey from my man's neck while he pounds the shit out of me standing up or against the wall. I get the best orgasms from a strong man just taking me like I'm his fuck doll." She walked up to the main floor, leaving Vic at the door, dumbfounded.

"Take your shoes off, Vic," I said to the stunned warrior as I followed her. We had been friends for almost a year; she was a wild biker chick who loved to ride, fuck, and party. She'd lost her husband over a decade ago when a drunk driver knocked him off the road, and she wasn't interested in marriage or relationships. She had her sights on Vic. He was just her type, and this could be fun to watch.

Most people had a living room; she had a computer room. There were four huge screens on the desk, surrounding a comfortable chair and a U-shaped computer desk with the keyboard and trackball. We pulled chairs out of the dining room and brought them over as Spider pulled up the screens. "As soon as the Sons messed with the Club, I had a friend start working on their computers. We infected their computers with a custom malware bot that granted backdoor access and mirrored their keystrokes. When they sent emails to other Clubs, it infected them as well."

"English, please," Vic asked. "I'm not very tech-savvy. I'm lucky if I can set the clock on my microwave after the power goes out."

She laughed a little. "It's all right; you didn't get shoulders like that in front of a keyboard. We put something in their computers that made them our bitch. We were able to get all the files they stored on there, and while they used it, we could see everything they typed. The Presidents panicked when the news came out that three cops died in the attack on our Clubhouse. They transferred all their Club money into new accounts, sending it through a half-dozen offshore accounts first. Then they destroyed all the computer hard drives so the Feds couldn't get them. I'm sure they thought they were safe from search warrants because they haven't touched the money since then."

"Where is it," I asked.

"A bank in the Cayman Islands," she said. She pulled up the accounts, laying balance sheets side by side until there were fifteen different accounts on the screen.

"Holy shit, are those numbers real?" Vic let out a whistle as well. "How much is that total?"

"Just under ten million dollars. They've been running drugs for a long time, and it's a lucrative business. How much do you know about the drug trade?"

"Nothing other than what I've seen on television."

"It's like a pyramid scheme, but the biggest fucking pyramid scheme you can imagine. The drug trade represents about eight percent of all international trade; we're talking four hundred billion dollars a year! That's more than half of our defense budget."

"Damn."

"Yeah. At the bottom is the dealers, they sell the drugs and keep a small amount of the profit. It's a shitty job; you have a seven percent chance of being killed every year you are in the racket, and a better chance of going to jail. They never have much product; they have to get it from their supplier. Suppliers may have a dozen or more dealers working for them on a cash basis. Suppliers get their drugs from local Distributors, who hold large swaths of territory. The Distributors get their product from the Cartels via the Traffickers. They are the ones who bring the product into the country, divide it up, and ship it to the Distributors in each city. Every time you go up a level, the amount of money and security goes up."

"I follow it so far," he said. "Just like on Breaking Bad."

"Yes, except cocaine and heroin production is from Central and South America. The Cartels also supply meth, fentanyl, and other drugs. It's a cash business, the Sons were raking in lots of cash from their take in the trafficking, but lots of cash creates problems, too. It's unwieldy, and you can't buy cars with fat stacks of Benjamins without the IRS taking notice."

"That cash in the accounts, that's their take," I asked.

"Well, it's a small fraction of it. Some of the cash can be distributed directly to members for their use. A big chunk disappears when you launder it, and every bank transfer takes a percentage. By the time it gets into the accounts, there's about half of what you started with."

"Why give up that much?"

"Well, when it comes out, it's usable. The money becomes taxable profits from shell corporations and can be brought back into the country. Money laundering is just as complicated as running drugs and far more lucrative. Many a lawyer and banker has made their fortune by processing cash."

It was a lot to deal with. "So how do we empty their accounts?"

"We transfer it through other accounts we have set up. I have all their passwords; I just need your help."

I didn't know anything. "I don't know how you can."

"I can walk you through, but I need you to be the one who does it. That way we're in this together."

"Then what?"

She looked at me funny. "What do you mean, then what? You and the Club have a shitload of money in YOUR accounts, and they are sad pandas with nothing."

I just shook my head. "No; if I do this, I have all the tax and money problems they had. How am I going to explain suddenly having ten million dollars? I'm just asking for the IRS to come after me, and you." I sat back, closing my eyes.

Vic broke the silence. "The goal is to hurt the Sons, not to make the Brotherhood rich, right?" I nodded. "So we don't take the money for ourselves. We make anonymous donations from their accounts to worthy charities; then we give the banking records to the Feds. Nothing leads back to the Club or us, and all that money does some good."

Both of us turned and stared at him. "You're a fucking genius, Vic," Monkey said. "We don't have checks, but I've got a solution." She pulled open a drawer and pulled out some Visa cards. "Reloadable debit cards. We transfer the money into these cards, then use the cards to make the donations. I'll get started on that; you two start making a list of the charities you want to donate to." She tossed me a tablet. "Leave the donation pages open."

Vic and I moved to the dining room table. "The Club set up Go Fund Me pages for the victims," I said. "Let's find those first." We opened multiple tabs, checking the balances as we did. Donations were rolling in, more for the Police Officers and Harleigh, and not small amounts. Thousands of people had already donated. Their families would have to pay taxes on the money, but they would keep most of it.

"What else?"

I rattled off a few that I knew; I hated donating to charities that spent more than they gave out, or spent it on things other than what you donated money for. The Marine Corps/Law Enforcement Scholarship fund, because it helped children of those killed in action and passed through all of the donations to the beneficiaries. The Gary Sinise Foundation built adapted homes for soldiers with severe injuries. The American Federation of Police and Concerned Citizens. The Firefighters Charitable Foundation. When I ran out of ideas, we went to a Consumer Reports list of the highest-rated charities and picked a few more. "Are you guys finished picking them yet," Monkey asked.

"We are ready."

She handed me a stack of cards, sticky notes saying how much money was now on them. "The top fourteen are from the different Chapters, the last is from their National account. Start donating, Chase. Vic, you come with me."

"Wait, where are we going?"

"We're getting ice cream because I'm hungry, and I can't carry all of it back on my motorcycle. Grab your keys, big guy." She hugged me as I sat at the table. "You're doing a good thing here, Chase. It didn't feel right before, but this has me as excited as a kid at Christmas." They walked out the door as I sat at the notebook.

First off was the GoFundMe's. There were fourteen chapters, and fourteen victims in the Club when you added the Ryder's plus the eleven that died at the Clubhouse. I looked at the cards; the lowest balance was $224,219.87. I transferred that into Harleigh's page. Quickly going through the others, I donated the same amount, one from each chapter, into each person's page. The National club put that amount into each of the three Police Officer accounts.

I threw the empty card away and updated the numbers on the remaining cards. I made big donations to the various charities, tossing cards in the trash as they were used up. By the time a laughing Monkey opened the door for Vic, I was done. "I hope you're hungry," she said.

Vic set everything down on the table; she'd bought some quarts for the freezer, but there were three huge sundaes with everything. "That's a lot of ice cream," I said.

"Grab one and follow me." She brought it out to her back porch, which was hidden from the neighborhood by a lattice fence and had a hot tub. She set the sundae down on the table, then pulled the cover off and fired it up. Pulling off her clothes, she hopped in and grabbed her ice cream. "Nothing better than this," she said. "Come on, boys, don't be shy. I won't bite."

"I might," Vic said. He pulled off his clothes, to her delight, and eased into the tub next to her. I handed him his ice cream before I pulled my own off and joined them. "Rori won't mind?"

"Spider's been in our hot tub naked, and she would never do anything with the old man of a Steel Lady. You, on the other hand, are the dessert, not the ice cream." I dug in, hungry for the hot fudge and the five or six scoops of ice cream in there. I didn't miss her leg ending up over his as we caught up on her life since she visited back in August. I finished up and got out, taking the empties to the table as I toweled off. "I have to make a phone call or two, you guys relax," I said.

"I'll take good care of your friend," Monkey promised. I left the main door open, the screen door letting the cool evening air in. I looked back at them after I had tossed the stuff in the trash and washed up; she was deep-throating his cock as he sat on the edge of the hot tub, and he was leaning back with a big smile on his face. I hated to do it, but I needed to get her computer open again. I went out and whispered in her ear as she worked him. "SpiderM1980," she said before going back to work.