After swimming across the bay, Mr. Sanchez had a problem. Here he was, featured on the nightly news as a dangerous criminal, standing sopping wet, in the middle of one of San Francisco's biggest tourist areas. Not exactly an inconspicuous landing point.
He had to get out of town. He had to do it fast. Most importantly, he had to go somewhere he could lay low, while he pulled his contacts back together. Somewhere no-one in their right mind would go.
ALASKA!
In less time than it took for KFC serve a plastic box distinguishable from its contents only by its colour, Mr. Sanchez was at the airport.
This uprated airport security may work effectively at stealing lighters off innocent smokers, and forcing people to run the risk of being stuck without a bottle opener when their swiss army knife is confiscated, but it is no match for a mastermind like Mr. Sanchez. Jump the queue, stash yourself in someones coat pocket for a quick trip through the x-ray machine (those things are safe aren't they?), and you are there.
The biggest problem is finding an empty seat to stretch out on. Stowing away on a plane is simple when you are 10cm tall. These days, if the seat is empty, there are two 200 kilo guys on either side of it, and not enough space for even a particularly small chicken. Mind you, given the outstanding service US airlines these days, by hiding in the overhead bins, Mr. Sanchez did not even miss out on a meal, and managed to get a little shut eye in the dark. Plus he avoided sitting between smelly overweight people.
A few short hours later, he was out in the bright sunlight of Anchorage.
Luckily, he had a few contacts, even up here.
After just a short amount of time, he had found one of his old contacts who had advised him to jump the train to Seward.
The train ride was the first time he had the ability to stop and think. Watching the tourists provided some useful distraction. Why will tourists take photos of anything, even pictures of bears? Are people gullible enough to believe that a photo of a picture of a bear meant that they actually saw a bear? Apparently so.
Despite the tourists, Mr. Sanchez was glad of the time to think. The untamed nature would allow his creative side to start to flow and come up with a scheme to turn himself around. But there was a nagging problem, which he couldn't put his feather on.
There were still too many people in Seward for Mr. Sanchez to be able to relax, so he jumped on a boat so he could get out into the fiords where there was no-one around and he did not have to worry about recapture.
On the way out though he figured out what was wrong. Why it was not the place for him to sit and lay low.
It was cold.
Bloody cold.
And it rained a lot.
He was outta here…