| |
Dalton woke up in his pirated apartment and checked the news online. He found it was a warm, partly cloudy day, the stock markets were closed, and the American embassy had issued a ten million dollar bounty on his head. Nice day, except for that one little thing. Fortunately for him, the bounty clearly specified that he had to be delivered unharmed.
If I turn myself in, can I keep the reward?
His photo was everywhere. The streets were crowded with people looking for him.
Well, that sucks. I can’t go out without a disguise. But I don’t have a disguise. Maybe I could hire a birthday party clown and take his costume. But do I hit him over the head? That’s not my style.
He considered ordering a wig over the internet from a store in Florence that delivered. He could claim he was a cancer chemo patient who couldn’t go out. But that would require using a credit card or PayPal. He decided he didn’t need to take that much risk yet. Better to check with Benny and see if he could help.
Benny texted back:
Benny: What gives? It’s getting late here in San Francisco.
Dalton: I’m sorry, but I’m in a bind here in Italy. There’s a ten-million-dollar price on my head and I’m out of options. I’m hoping you or your friends in Anonymous can help me somehow.
Benny: Let me think. Yeah. Maybe Anonymous can help. I’ll hook you up with them. Maybe they’ve got someone in Italy.
Ten minutes later Dalton was messaging directly with Anonymous member Sal.
Sal: Yes, Dalton. I live in Venice. And I’ve got a safe house for you here. All we need to do is get you here.
Dalton: That’s a tall order, considering the price on my head.
Sal: Yes, I noticed. You’ve certainly made the morning news more interesting for all of Italy.
Dalton: Yeah, it’s a problem. But before we get started, that is, before I describe my exact situation ... well ... how do I put this politely ... with a ten-million-dollar price on my head, how can I trust you?
Sal: Ah, I see your problem. Well, first, Anonymous trusts me. And I can’t turn you in without someone investigating how I found out about you. I’d probably be giving away my own ... shall we say ... questionable activities. I’d likely be in prison longer than you. But there’s another, stronger reason from my perspective. You’re being chased by soldiers and state police. And I’m Jewish. My great-grandfather was a rabbi who died in a concentration camp. His wife and six children were taken to the same camp. Only one child survived. She was my grandmother. There’s not enough money in the world to make me turn you in.
Dalton: Oh. Makes sense. I apologize for questioning you.
Sal: No problem. Let’s get started. If you agree, I think our goal should be to get you to Venice, yet make the police think you’re still in Florence. How’s that sound?
Dalton: Sounds great. I’ve been thinking about it a bit. We’ll need diversions.