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Ross wouldn’t be out long. Maybe just a couple of hours to mooch Wi-Fi from a nearby coffee
shop, download the show, and do some work on the Silk Road.
2:50 p.m.
Tarbell was watching the street when his phone vibrated with a message from the undercover FBI
agents who had been monitoring Ross. “He’s on the move,” they wrote.
Tarbell quickly ducked into the coffee shop to alert Jared and Thom.
“Our friend is coming down the street!” Tarbell said aggressively to Jared. His voice was gruff
and to the point. Jared looked back at him, exhausted and confused by what Tarbell was saying.
“Which friend?” Jared asked, thinking this could be another Tarbell joke.
“Our. Friend,” Tarbell said firmly, “Is. Coming.” He couldn’t exactly blurt out “Ross Ulbricht”
or “Dread Pirate Roberts” or “the criminal mastermind you’ve been after for two fucking years.”
And then it hit Jared. Holy shit! Our friend!
He grabbed his coffee and laptop, came rushing outside, and ran across the street to a park bench
with Thom, where they tried their best to blend in with the world around them.
2:51 p.m.
Tarbell exited the coffee shop. “Description and Direction?” he wrote on his BlackBerry to the
undercover agents. Everyone in Tarbell’s crew scattered. Brophy cut right to hide in the library a few
doors down. He had seen Thom rush across the street, taking a seat on a bench in front of a pizza
place. Jared was not far behind him. Tarbell turned in the only direction left and started walking south
along Diamond Street, right into the path of Ross Ulbricht.
Tarbell knew that the undercover FBI agents would be following Ross, but he wanted to get a
glimpse of him firsthand.
Cars and people flowed by in all directions as Tarbell approached the crosswalk. The world
was moving at a perfectly normal pace. Yet for Tarbell it was operating so much slower; his heart
hammered in his chest, as he knew he was about to come face-to-face with the Dread Pirate Roberts.
And then he did.
As Tarbell crossed the street, as if he were doing so in slow motion, he noticed every detail of
his surroundings: the birds flapping through the air, the colors of the cars on the road, the chipped
paint of the yellow crosswalk, and the man now walking into his path, who was wearing blue jeans
and a long-sleeved red T-shirt and had a brown laptop bag over his shoulder. Tarbell took another
step forward into the median of the road and looked directly into his eyes as Ross looked back.
3:02 p.m.
Ross continued along the crosswalk and walked up to Bello Coffee. The coffee shop was bustling.
Every seat was taken by someone with an open laptop or a mother with a stroller. He had told his
employees the importance of being safe in a coffee shop, once offering Inigo this advice: “Take your