We exit the bank's gates into a world of honking horns, the push of crowds, and jammed-packed streets.
"You do know your Australian accent is god-awful," Sun says as the two of us clip down the dusty street side street toward the café we are supposed to meet the guys at.
"I used all my TV experience to replicate my accent to perfection."
"It was evident," she says sarcastically, but her cheeks are flushed and eyes bright. Despite her tone, I know she's pleased with our outcome.
Rickshaws pass by us, their drivers asking if we'd like a ride while street vendors continue to entice us to try their food. Electric wires cut across the sky above and dust kicks up in the air from the traffic. The shops' doorways and windows are wide open, allowing me to peek at what they're selling. I'm guessing they keep their doors open to not only tempt shoppers inside but also to allow some type of breeze to pass through because it sure is hot here.
Soon we find our rendezvous location. Café Burger. A tin-roofed awning juts out, providing shade over plastic tables. Javier, Jake, and Tony are sitting at one of them, staring intently at a laptop.
"There they are," Tony says, spotting us. "Little stinkers. Leaving me behind like that."
"Hey," I greet them. "Where were you this morning Tony?"
"Why didn't you wake me up?" He crosses his arm and glares at me like he's completely offended we left him behind.
I pass Jake the thumb drive, ignoring Tony. Jake slips the thumb drive into his computer. "Now for the truth. Let's hope it works."
"We made a bit of a scene," Sun says. "Actually, Aria made a scene. I picked up the pieces. Or, more accurately, mopped it up."
"Any trouble?" Javier asks.
"Just a super annoyed banker." I drag a chair over and join them at the table.
Jake's fingers fly across the keyboard and after a few clicks, video clips pop up organized by dates. Jake chooses this past Friday at 11 a.m. Bangladesh time, which would've been after we entered Jake's dream Eastern Standard Time.
"The person we're looking for should've come into the bank around this time," he says. "It's just before the Bangladesh Bank discovered the money was transferred and lost. Actually, it wasn't until after the Bangladesh Bank's printer was fixed that they saw all the reports coming in."
"Sounds like someone rigged the printer as well," Javier mutters.
"There are so many people." Sun studies the footage. "How will you know who it was?"
"Eeny meeny miny moe," Tony jokes.
"Here." Jake points to one of the tellers where a man with dark hair and a suit stands, his back to us. A teller hands the man a stack of cash.
"That looks pretty suspicious, doesn't it?" I ask.
"Maybe." Jake sighs. "Keep watching that clip while I continue working on the coding to see if I can get into their system."
"In the U.S.," Javier says. "If you withdraw large portions of cash, it alerts the feds for suspicious activity."
The man on the screen talks to the teller, nods a few times, and then signs a paper. He taps his pen on the paper three times. I can't help but wonder if that was just a nervous habit or if it was a signal. In the Dreamscape, it would mean something: impatience, excitement, or the beginning of a transition to a new dream segment. But in this real-life scenario, there doesn't seem to be anyone else suspicious there. The teller passes the man a slip of paper.
"What is that?" I ask.
"A check for a million dollars?" Tony guesses.
"No." Javier squints at the screen. "Doesn't look like it."
It's when the man turns to leave, we get our first good look at him. He's a native of Bangladesh. Brown skin, fairly young looking with glasses and short, black hair. But it's when he glances up at the camera, my heart stutters. It is as if he's staring right at me. As if he were concerned about surveillance.
"Whoa," Tony says. "Tell me you didn't see that."
"He knew someone might be watching him," Javier mutters. "Amateur."
"Or he wanted us to think he was an amateur," Sun points out.
Moments before the man exits the building, our Mr. Bosu strides up to him and shakes his hand.
"Look!" I say. "It's Mr. Bosu and he's talking to the guy who supposedly withdrew the millions."
Jake pauses from his search. "That's odd."
The two chat for a brief minute before stepping off to the side, out of the camera's view.
"Something's going down," Tony says.
"Let me check the other cameras." Jake begins going through the different pieces of footage. "This is too coincidental."
Sun and I order sodas while Jake keeps searching, but after nearly an hour, he leans back in his chair, tossing his hands up.
"I've got nothing," he says. "It's like they both disappeared for ten minutes. And look here. Your Mr. Bosu pops up again back on the screen by his desk. And then at that same time, in camera sixteen, the other guy leaves the bank, empty-handed."
"Okay," Javier admits to Jake. "You're not so bad. Maybe Aria was right to let you come along on this mission."
"Do you think he gave Mr. Bosu the money?" I wonder.
Jake rubs his chin. "Don't know. It will take some digging, but I have a feeling the money never left the bank with that man. We don't even know if the money was picked up here. It could've been transferred elsewhere after this bank. And I don't have the means to find out. I'm sure the feds back home are working on this right now."
"So basically our trail has ended and it's getting colder by the second," I say. Unable to deal with that thought, I push back my chair and stride to the other side of the café underneath a TV where a newscaster relates news of flooding in the south.
"What if we got answers our way," Javier says.
"Dude, no." Tony shakes his head.
My body goes rigid. I know exactly what he means and I know exactly how wrong that would be on so many levels. I pull up our family photo from my phone. My finger traces the outline of Dad's face, and it takes everything inside of me to push down the sobs that threaten to release from deep within my chest.
I turn back to face the group. "Yes," I say.
They all stare at me, a mix of horror and understanding. No one says anything at first. And then Tony sighs, sinking his head into his palm. Sun presses her lips together and Javier doesn't look up from the napkin he's folding.
I'm surprised it's Jake who speaks first. "I can get Mr. Bosu's address," he says. "We can pick him up and bring him back to the hotel."
"We brought the supplies, right?" My voice is tight.
"Yes," Sun says and then clears her throat, looking away.
Because the moment we didn't call the cops at MaxLife and entered our intruder's dream without his permission, deep down we knew it was our means to an end. After all, it was the only way.
Wasn't it?