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Chapter 22
“O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN”
The Silk Road tribe didn’t just like their leader’s new name; they fucking loved it. It was a
rallying cry for everyone involved. A masked face for the leader of a revolution. If Cuba had
Che Guevara and Ireland had Michael Collins, then the war on drugs would have the Dread Pirate
Roberts.
The site’s forums, where people could discuss anything about the Silk Road, were bubbling with
chatter about its leader’s nom de plume. The dealers and buyers were galvanized with a feeling that
they weren’t simply buying or selling drugs but were on the fringes of an insurrection that was going
to change the entire legal system forever.
Ross’s employees also immediately took to the new moniker, as it gave an identity to someone
who, until now, had had no selfhood. One minute their boss was an anonymous elusive figure behind a
keyboard; the next he was a feared pirate who was going to lead them into battle with the U.S.
government. And by fucking God was he going to win that battle.
Everyone started respectfully referring to Ross as either the Dread Pirate Roberts or DPR for
short. And those closest to him (mostly his employees) chose an even more important title: “Captain.”
Dozens of times a day they addressed their commander this way.
“Mornin’, captain.”
“Ready when you are, cap’n.”
“My thoughts exactly, Captain.”
“Sweet dreams, captain.”
“Night, captain.”
Ross loved it—all of it. For the first time in months he felt invigorated by the site and the
direction he could steer the ship. And it was his ship. No one else’s.
“O captain, my captain.”
Before meeting Variety Jones, Ross had questioned what he was doing. Was all of this worth it?
At first he had lived with the constant fear that running the site could land him in jail for the rest of his
life, or even force him to walk the green mile to an electric chair. He had come to terms with this by
reminding himself that he was fighting for something he believed in, and because he was helping