The Chrononauts

Fred was killing time trolling the web at his desk in the CIA main office. He liked looking for strange videos on YouTube. He was surprised to see one titled Our T-Rex Vacation. He was bored and trying to stay awake. The 5-hour Energy drink and latte weren’t cutting it.

He yawned. “Well, let’s check it out.” The video started with a guy asleep on a rock. “Well, so much for the weird and wonderful.” He reached for the mouse to click it off. “Whoa. He saw the one-foot high mosquito land on the man’s chest. “Wow, that’s a great effect.” The guy in the video brushed the bug off and stood up. He slipped and fell into a slow-moving stream and crawled out, swearing.

He stood up and got hit in the chest by an eight-foot pterodactyl youngster. They both fell in the river. The squawking bird got eaten by something under the water.

Fred yelped, “Shit!” The man screamed and crawled out of the water, swearing loudly. A gigantic gray-green female T-Rex was watching him from behind about a hundred yards away. All the jungle noises suddenly stopped and there was dead silence.

The man slowly stopped yelling and turned around. He saw the huge animal looking at him. The T-Rex stood motionless staring. It finally took one step towards him. The man panicked and took off running. Unfortunately so did the T-Rex.

Fred mumbled to himself, “Damn. It’s fast!” The T-Rex got a hold of the Dave’s pant leg and dangled him in the air. He undid his pants and squirmed out of them. He fell to the ground wearing a powder blue thong.

Fred laughed, “You got to be kidding.” The T-Rex was mesmerized by the thong. The man climbed into a ginkgo tree and promptly got attacked by a three-foot mosquito and started swearing again. The video ended there.

Fred, being a scientist, calculated the T-Rex’s speed at thirty-five miles per hour. He laughed. “Man, that baby was fast. That was great.” He looked at all the Mrs. B. videos but the rest were mundane. He mailed the link to all his friends. “We ought to hire the guy who made this,” was his header.

One of Fred’s friends was a slick software engineer nicknamed, Mike Microcode. He traced the feed to an obscure Massachusetts police station. His curiosity made him check their e-mail histories. He saw one to MIT and looked at it. Mike chuckled. “This ‘Matt99’ said the pictures are genuine. Okay, dude, let’s see them.” They were of dinosaurs and a panorama of the sky with a large asteroid or comet.

He laughed. “This Triggva character he sent these to believed him. What a chump this guy must be. He is probably a janitor.” He looked him up. “Whoa! He’s a freaking astrophysicist with a doctorate and published. He copied the pictures and e-mailed them to Fred.

Mike typed, “Have your lab guys check these out. There is something funny going on here.” Fred had a degree from Princeton. He had talked to a paleontologist friend that said a T-Rex, due to its bone structure, could only run twenty-five miles an hour.

Fred laughed. “Yes, and it is impossible for the Bombus lucorum to fly.”

He had his lab look at the sky pattern and picture integrity. He would have Princeton’s Astronomy department calculate the year the pictures were taken if they were deemed genuine, off the record, of course. It cost him a pair of Patriots’ fifty-yard line tickets for the Jets game. The day had become otherwise boring as usual.

He got a late afternoon e-mail beep from the lab. “Very funny, Fred. Your scumbag lived sixty-seven million years ago. Oh, and nice job on the star map. We couldn’t find any mistakes. Thanks for the tickets, Lab Rat Ron.”

Fred chuckled and leaned back to think. Prehistoric media from two different people both tied to the Massachusetts police... He laughed. “That is wicked cool.”

Fred got an e-mail from the director himself. “I loved the video, Fred. I got a strange request from the Museum of Natural History. They want a forensic scientist to look at something for them. We need their help occasionally. Take a flight down there. The director sounded really weird. Bring a hard copy of the T-Rex video for laughs. When you’re done, take the rest of the week off. Mr. D.”

Fred sighed, “You’re all heart, director. I always get Saturday and Sunday off.”

Fred flew down and stood waiting for his ride to the museum. A dorky old man trundled towards him. Fred whispered, “Well, this ought to be exciting.” There was no conversation on the way there. He was led into a room where he was handed cotton gloves and he watched them turn on a video recorder.

He looked down on the examination table and was shocked to see a fossil specimen. “Oh, come on, really guys?” They were not laughing and just stared at him. He sighed, “Fine, you win. We have a very nice juvenile pterodactyl with a...an eight-foot wingspan. The left wing has a clean break...huh, that’s odd…there is a round hole in the skull.”

He continued, “The fracture occurred while the animal was alive. He measured its diameter. He chuckled. “That is funny. The width matches a nine-millimeter bullet.”

A man at the table swung a metal detector over the fossil and Fred was shocked to hear it buzz. He fished gently in the hole with a plastic probe. “There is something loose in here.” He nudged out a nine-millimeter slug. He put it in a glass vial. He decided not to give them the T-Rex video.

Fred flew back all charged up. He could not sit still on the plane. He kept saying, “No freaking way” all the way home. He handed the specimen bottle to the director, Mr. D. It sure looked like a nine-millimeter bullet to him.

He laughed at Fred’s expression. “Get it to the lab, Fred, and make up some story that it is some sort of a test. And tell them if they damage it, I will personally shoot them myself. And, Fred, this project is above top secret.”

The next Friday, Fred had an e-mail from Lab Rat Ron. “That sample was very funny again, Fred. We know you’re testing us, but really?? Your shooter murdered his victim sixty-four to seventy million years ago. Carbon dating was screwed up by the large amount of iridium and unknown biologics in the sample.”

It continued, “Your bullet came from the gun of a Detective Thomas Brady of the Lancaster, Massachusetts Police Department. There is unknown plant and animal DNA in the damaged slug. This was the best test sample anyone has ever given us.”

Fred talked to the director. “And, sir, he is in the same squad room where the T-Rex video and star map pictures originated.” Fred had a huge smile on his face.

Mr. D. laughed. “Okay, Fred, you can handle it, but no mail. Just face to face. And, Fred, when you have a moment, would you take down the damn T-Rex video from YouTube?”

Matt arrived to the precinct early and was surprised to see an e-mail from his pal, Triggva. “No one can figure out how you made the dinosaur picture and star maps. They appear genuine, as does the video. Our old friend Krissy works for the CIA. She says you’re being investigated by them for something and its hush, hush. Watch your...” Strangely, the e-mail was sent before his friend signed off.

Matt e-mailed him, “Are you okay Trig?” He got no response. Huh, he didn’t finish his message, Matt thought as he sipped his coffee and sent him another e-mail. He got back an ‘unknown address’ error. He was getting a bad feeling.

Grogan gave Brady a message from his wife. “If Matt’s staying for a while, she will need more K-Y Jelly.”

Harvard laughed. “You were not dumped again, hotshot.”

Matt chuckled, “All I said was that using logic to argue with a woman is like picking a door lock with a ping-pong ball.”

Harvard cringed and laughed hard at that one. “I heard the little girl talked to you. Can she identify my vandals?”

Grogan yelled, “She said a black guy and a short, sleaze ball white guy paid her fifty bucks to stand there and eat an ice cream. The little white guy even told her to lick it slow. We have some known gentlemen coming in for a lineup.”

Brady and Matt brought the captain up to speed.

Brady chuckled. “Well, I bought my wife a purebred German shepherd. She named him Larry. Victoria loves him. He will keep her occupied and out of trouble. The dog sleeps on her bed already.”

Matt told the captain who the shooters were. It wasn’t a big surprise to him. He asked, “What the hell was she doing down there?”

Brady laughed, “You will love this. She picks horse race winners for Dave the Dork and she was there to get paid and give him the weekend picks.”

Matt chimed in, “Get this; he paid her five hundred clams a day. She is too young to make bets herself but she forced him to bring her there twice a week for the action.”

The captain chuckled, “Why I am not surprised? Okay, set up a lineup for tomorrow afternoon. Have our two friends come in for it. They will think it is just for the vandalism. I will fill in the D.A.”

The next morning, Papa Doc and his lawyer came in for the lineup. They complained about the early eleven a.m. time. They fully expected to walk out with no identification. Harvard stood behind the viewing screen and watched Victoria enter. He figured he had time to grab a Coke; it might take a while.

Papa Doc’s lawyer, also known as Sammy the Snake, came in and was shocked to see Victoria. She walked by him and whispered, “You should have bought me a large cone, Sammy.” The D.A. moved her away from him. Harvard came back and spilled his Coke on his Crimson tie. He was shocked to see Sammy the Snake in the room with the D.A.

The lineup came in and Harvard was shocked again. “What the hell is going on around here?”

Victoria looked at them. Number four was the man. “The imposing-looking black gentleman gave me fifty bucks to stand in front of the camera. The sleazebag lawyer here wanted to give me a bubble bath for twenty bucks. Of course, his main interest was to help in the vandalism of Harvard’s beautiful 1958 Corvette.”

The lawyer went crazy. “You lying little bitch; I’ll sue you.” Victoria looked feigned shock and giggled. “Wow, you just told a whopper, Mr. Snake. So, how is your nose that the vendor broke when you offered me twenty bucks for a bubble bath?”

The detectives all laughed. Harvard walked out of the viewing room in shock. The two vandals glared at Harvard as they passed by on their way to booking.

The D.A. smiled. “We have an ironclad ID, Lieutenant Harvard.”

Victoria walked by. “Those are the two guys, Lieutenant.”

He asked, “Are you absolutely sure?”

She laughed, “Sure I am sure. Go ask the ice cream vendor who broke his nose.” Harvard didn’t know what to think. He stumbled back into the squad room in time to see Matt being handcuffed.

Incredulous, Harvard asked, “What the hell is going on in here?”

The captain was leaning against the door eating a Bavarian crème doughnut. He chuckled. “Oh, they are just arresting Matt for being an alien.”

Harvard laughed. “Matt is not an American citizen?”

Captain Brown smiled. “Not that kind of an alien.” He returned to his office. Harvard watched them empty Matt’s desk and box up his computer equipment. He followed the parade downstairs to a government van and watched them help Matt into the back seat.

Matt yelled to him, “Tell Gort.”

Harvard laughed, “I’ll alert Commander Dave.” The van left and Harvard saw his car. “Ah. That is the perfect ending to the day.” He was surprised he wasn’t mad.

He walked out the garage and found the vendor. He showed him a picture of Sammy the Snake. The guy nodded, “Yeah, I know that piece of shit. He offered a little girl twenty bucks for a bubble bath. I hope I broke the little pervert’s nose.”

Harvard walked to the cop bar and had a double Bloody Mary. He headed back to the squad room. Grogan gushed, “Guess what?”

Harvard laughed, “I know. I know. My car has been vandalized again.”

Grogan shook his head. “It was? No, that’s not it. Bomb Squad Dave has been arrested for being an alien.”

Harvard chuckled. “That is the only event of the day that makes any sense.”

Grogan continued, “The FBI is also searching for Brady and Mrs. B.”

Harvard chuckled and shook his head. “Of course they are.”

Bomb Squad Dave sat in a room that was empty, except for two chairs and a camera. He was dressed in faded blue bellbottoms with an Area 51 tie-dyed shirt and his lucky silk polka-dot socks. After a while, Dave started playing air guitar while making string sounds. Dr. Potter got excited. “Tape it, Ronnie; its real alien music.”

Dr. White laughed. “Don’t bother. That is ‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Starship played backwards.” Everybody stared at him. He chuckled. “Oh, come on, guys; you all smoked pot in college during the sixties. Everybody could do that.”

The interviewer in a dull gray suit came in and held up the Vulcan salute. “Hi Commander, my name is Fred.”

Dave stared at him for a few seconds, and returned the salute. He chuckled. “My friends call me Gort, Fred. So Fred, how did you find out I am a commander?”

Fred nodded, “One of your men, a Lieutenant Harvard, let it slip when we arrested Matt. Harvard is under surveillance as we speak.

Dave kept a straight face. “Can you give me a sec?” Dave shut his eyes and shook: he gave a straight salute and punched his chest. “Okay, where were we, Fred?”

Fred smiled. “That was very funny, Commander.”

Dave yelled at the mirror, “I am not a freaking commander. I am Dave. I’m a lab rat. I work in a freaking lab at a police station in Massachusetts.”

Fred chuckled. “Fine, you want out of here? Then simply explain this picture to us.”

Curious, Dave picked it up and looked at it. Dave snickered, “What? Are you telling me T-Rex were out of season? That’s understandable. I’ll pay the fine. So, you guys are the cream of the crop in the FBI, CIA, or whatever acronym that is appropriate? What a freaking joke.”

Fred just stared at him. Dave sighed, “It is a photoshopped picture, ladies. T-Rex has been extinct sixty-five million years. I am twenty-eight years old. Do the math. How did I get back in time: thumb a ride with Dr. Who? How could I get away from a T-Rex with no weapon and why would I come back to the crappy twenty-first century?”

Dave finally looked down and snickered, “Okay, I get it. Harvard put you up to this because I posted the video of him having sex with the female Bigfoot.” All the scientists got excited and ran for their laptops.

Matt sat in the chair and looked around. He held his watch to his face, and then he spoke into it. “Commander Dave, I have been compromised. Commander Dave? Damn primitive ECL logic. I told them to switch to tin monoxide junctions.” He looked at the one-way mirror. “I have a date at the Red Lobster. It is half-price drink night. Can we get on with this farce, please?”

The door opened. “Hi I’m Fred.”

Matt chuckled. “I’m Gort.”

Fred laughed, “You and Commander Dave have the same comedy writer. You and Dave must be in the same orbit.”

Matt snorted, “Different orbits, but apparently in apogee.” Fred chuckled, “That’s a good one. Okay, let me try this. We found these pictures on your laptop.”

Matt looked at them and laughed. “Very funny, I never saw them before. What is this: a slow time of year for you guys? Dave and I do not vacation together; trust me on that.”

Fred smiled. “Fine, let’s try something else. You went to MIT. If you went back in time, what pictures would you take, Matt?”

Matt shrugged. “Okay, I’ll play along. Well, I would take pictures of animals, plants, and the night sky, of course...”

Fred opened a file. “Do you mean pictures like these?” He threw down copies of the pictures he had found on the computer.

Matt chuckled. “Yes, like those.” Harvard felt good enough to go down and clean the bumper sticker off his car. He took his homemade ham and cheese sandwich with him. He chuckled at the bumper sticker: “Senator Howard for President, The People’s Pedophile.”

He chuckled to himself. “Actually, that sticker is pretty funny.” He stopped in his tracks when a large white owl hooted at him. She stared into his eyes. Harvard broke off a piece of sandwich. “Hey, beautiful, how would you like a nice piece of ham sandwich?” The owl gave him an enthusiastic hoot. She flew right over to his hand and scooped up the piece of sandwich from a surprised Harvard.

He chuckled, “By any chance, are you a friend of Miss Snowflake?”

He got one hoot. The owl looked at him and readjusted her talons.

“Would you like to have the whole sandwich?”

The owl hooted once.

He said, “I will give you the whole sandwich if you quit dumping on my car.” The owl took a few seconds but then hooted once. He held out the sandwich and the owl flew by and took it. It was gone in ten seconds.

Harvard laughed and took her picture. He started towards his car but the owl landed in front of him. Harvard chuckled. “I don’t have any more pieces of sandwich.” He stepped around the owl. She landed in front of him again and hooted feverishly.

He stopped and laughed. “This is stupid.”

He got two hoots.

“You don’t want me to go to my car, is that right?”

He got one hoot from the owl.

“Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

He got one hoot.

He laughed. “What? Is there a bomb in it?”

He got one hoot. The owl tipped her head and flew out of the garage.

Laughing, Harvard walked quickly to his car. He reached out his hand to unlock it and stopped. He looked out of the garage and slowly put his key in his pocket. He headed back up the stairs. He looked back at his car once. He sat down at his desk and called the bomb squad. “This is Lieutenant Harvard; I got an anonymous call that my car was rigged to blow up. Could you check it for me, please? And be careful.”

Sergeant Rand chuckled. “Yes sir, Lieutenant Harvard. We will check it out for you.”

Harvard said, “Thank you, Sergeant.” Rand hung up the phone and laughed at it.

His friend asked, “Who was it?”

He snorted, “It was some smart ass pretending to be Lieutenant Harvard.”

The officer chuckled. “How did you know it wasn’t him?” Rand replied, “He said ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘be careful’.”

The officer hesitated for a moment. “There will be a record of the call. Go check it out, Randy, and be careful, just in case.”

Randy asked, “If there is a bomb, do I have to remove it?” The officer thought about it. “Yeah, maybe it is the brass testing us or something.”

Mrs. B. took Victoria shopping for a couple of dresses. Victoria laughed, “You don’t have to take me shopping Mrs. B. I have plenty of dresses.”

Mrs. B. smiled. “Don’t you ever go shopping for fun?”

Victoria looked confused. “What is fun about shopping?”

Mrs. B. laughed. “You were brought up by your grandfather, weren’t you?”

Victoria looked up at her. “Yes. How did you know that?”

Mrs. B. shrugged. “Oh, it was just a lucky guess. So how did you know Dave the Dork?”

Victoria chuckled, “Oh, I picked horse race winners for him. He paid me five hundred dollars a day.”

Mrs. B. stopped walking and looked at her. “Why in the world would he pay you that much money?”

Victoria pushed her brown hair out of her eyes and laughed. “Well it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart; I can tell you that. I would give him six winners a day. I would also give him four losers.”

She continued walking. “I could have given him ten winners but the idiot had no self-control. He won five or six thousand dollars a day. Ten percent was a fair fee, if you ask me.”

Mrs. B. laughed. “You’re not trying to tell me you can pick the winner of every race, are you?”

An insulted Victoria stopped. “Yes, that is exactly what I am telling you, Mrs. B.”

One of Abel’s detectives heard the conversation. He chuckled. “That is not possible. The best handicappers only hit two or three a day if they are lucky.”

Victoria laughed at him. “If Dave the Dork was alive, he would beg to differ. The first race is in forty minutes, Mrs. B.; let’s go show him.” Mrs. B. hesitated.

Victoria gave her a hurt look. “You don’t believe me, either.”

Sergeant Smith leaned over to Mrs. B. “Well, somebody was picking winners at the track. Who’s to say it can’t be a girl with a 200 IQ doing the picking?”

Victoria’s sadness broke Mrs. B. down. “Well, okay, but if we get noticed, we are going to leave.” She e-mailed Brady where they were going.

Brady read the e-mail with Matt and laughed. “Sure, nobody will notice you there, dear.”

Captain Brown got a call and waved Harvard into his office. “So, who called in this bomb threat?”

Harvard blushed and asked, “Can I tell you after they check it, please, Captain?”

The captain thought a moment. “I guess I can live with that, Lieutenant.

Harvard smiled. “Thanks, Captain.”

The Three Stooges theme rang on the captain’s phone. “Yeah, there really was? It was a real pro job? Thank you, Sergeant Rand. If he touched that car, it would have blown him to smithereens?” The captain looked up at Harvard’s ashen face.

He said softly, “Victoria’s owl told me there was a bomb in my car, sir.”

Randy got back from disarming the bomb. The officer on duty was laughing, but everyone else was quiet. “You won’t believe this, but Harvard is buying us supper at the Red Lobster. I thought it was a joke, so I called the restaurant. It includes all our families and drinks. What really happened? Did Harvard get hit in the head with a falling object in the garage or something?”

Randy laughed. “No, nothing I know of.”

The ladies approached the entrance to the track. Victoria looked at Mrs. B. and with a straight face casually said, “Okay, I will call you Grandma so they won’t get suspicious.” Mrs. B. gave her a nasty look. The three men started laughing loudly. Victoria smiled. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself, Mom.”

Mrs. B. laughed. “Okay...I guess I can live with that.”

They got to the gate and a uniformed man tipped his hat and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Victoria.” She leaned over and gave him a hug. “Tell the boys four and six in the daily double.”

Mrs. B. watched the interaction. “I take it you come here often?”

Victoria nodded. “I made Dave take me twice a week.

Mrs. B. asked, “Do you get all smiles when you’re wrong?”

A trite Victoria answered, “I wouldn’t know.” They got to the window. “Okay, Mrs. B., tell him number four, twenty on the nose. Very good, Mrs. B., um, you have to give him twenty dollars and he gives you a cute little rectangular thingy.”

The two investigators and Smithy gave Victoria a pleading look. She chuckled and flashed them a four. The horse paid twenty-four dollars and forty cents. Victoria sighed and reluctantly gave the men the next nine race winners, including the triple in the last race.

Mrs. B. watched and smiled. “It was nice of you to give them the winners after they had laughed at you.”

Victoria looked guilty. “Well, I want you to know that is not why I did it, Mrs. B. We are about to win ten races in a row plus the triple at the end. It has never been done in racing making single bets. We will attract attention. We don’t want to attract attention.”

“We have three men with us. Men have no self-control. They will not hide winning well. We, on the other hand, will.” Victoria kicked the ground. “I didn’t want you to think I did it out of the goodness of my heart, Mrs. B.” Mrs. B. laughed loudly and patted Victoria’s head.

The ladies won every race including the triple. They placed their bets at different windows. They walked out unnoticed with three thousand dollars.

The men bet at the same window every time with the “babe” betting attendant. They cashed out each race with another “babe” cashier.

They were on the radar after the fifth race. They won ten thousand each. They didn’t get to go home for several hours and were under investigation. The men did get back in time to see Mrs. B. and Brady getting arrested by the FBI. Brady told Smithy to call the captain and keep an eye on Victoria. Victoria smiled broadly at that.

Fred was back with Dave. “Okay, Commander, we took these pictures off Matt’s laptop. Do you know these people?”

Dave sighed and shook his head. “Why don’t you ask Lieutenant Commander Matt?” Fred smiled at the mirror. “Sure, I know them. They are all in my pod. That is what we call groups where we come from.”

Fred nodded, “Let’s get back to the T-Rex. So, if a T-Rex had you in its mouth, why aren’t you dead?”

Dave laughed. “The freaking pictures are fake, Fred.”

Fred shook his head. “No, they are real.”

Dave was getting frustrated. “Okay Fred, you say I am a time traveler. You say we can’t travel in time. You say the pictures are real. So we have the technology to do something you say is impossible and we wouldn’t be able to fool you with fake pictures if we wanted to? Get real, Fred.”

Dave looked at the mirror. “Look guys, if you want me to communicate logically, I will need three espressos and four 5-hour Energy drinks in here, pronto.”

Mr. and Mrs. Brady sat alone in a room with a one-way mirror. Mrs. B. put her head on her arm and yawned. “Why are we here, dear?”

Brady had his feet on the table and his hands clasped behind his head. He smiled at her. “Well dear, the CIA and FBI somehow got the idea that we are aliens.”

She laughed. “We can clear this up quickly.” She looked at the mirror. “Our passports are in a safety deposit box at the DCU in Lancaster.”

Brady gave her a really big smile. “They don’t mean that kind of alien, honey.”

She started to ask. “Well what...” she looked at him and he smiled broadly and nodded slowly.

She tried not to laugh. “How did they find out we are aliens, honey?”

Brady chuckled. “Well, dear, somebody thought it would be fun to put our vacation movies on YouTube…sweet cheeks.”

Mrs. B. smiled. “Well, dear, you know how mother likes to watch movies on our home planet.” Mrs. B. looked at the mirror. “Are you people out of your minds?”

A haggard Fred came in. “That was very funny. But we have physical proof. Do you have a hunting license, Brady?”

Brady chuckled. “No. I don’t kill animals for sport.”

Fred continued. “Then it would be out of the realm of possibility that you would say...kill an endangered species.”

A curious Brady nodded. “Yes, that is true.”

An angry Fred yelled. “Well, we have proof you did twelve months ago…in Earth time.”

Brady chuckled, “Earth time?”

He looked over at his wife. “Dear, we weren’t visiting your mother twelve months ago, were we?”

She shook her head. “No, that was five months ago, Earth time, sweet cheeks.”

Brady was getting mad. “Fred, quit beating around the bush. Just spit it out.”

Fred got in Brady’s face. “Brady, you are accused of killing a juvenile pterodactyl and we can prove it.”

Brady just stared at him. “That is so ridiculous that I can’t even think of a smart-assed answer.” He glanced at his wife, who was laughing hysterically.

Fred sighed, “Okay, we’ll get back to this in a minute. Being a fun guy, I will play your vacation movie, titled Our T-Rex Vacation that we copied from YouTube. You tell me what you see, Brady.”

Mrs. B. stopped laughing and watched the screen. Brady nodded. “Okay, blue flash and Dave appears on a flat rock...big deal. Oh, Dave has a one-foot mosquito land on his chest.” Mrs. B. started laughing again. Brady tried to ignore her. “Dave falls in a river. Okay, he crawls out. He is hit in the chest by a giant bird and ah, they both fall in the water. Something big in the water pulls the bird under.”

Fred said, “It’s a pterodactyl, Brady.”

Brady stuttered, “Aren’t they extinct? Um, Dave crawls out of the water and is spotted by a...T-Rex? Ah...it grabs him by his pant leg. Dave undoes ah...his pants and ah falls to the ground wearing a blue ah powder blue police-issue thong. The T-Rex is spellbound and Dave gets away and hides in a tree, where he is attacked by an uh three-foot mosquito.” He glanced at his wife, who was convulsed in laughter.

Grogan asked the captain, “How long can they hold our guys without charging them with something?”

Captain Brown laughed. “I figure two years, tops.”

Grogan’s face brightened. “Do you think I can have Brady’s desk?”

The assistant looked at the phone and e-mail records. “We got taps on all their phones and we got zilch, Fred.”

Fred looked through the glass at the Bradys. “They all should be talking to each other. This makes no sense.”