It was zero degrees in Denver on a late December morning, and the ice-covered streets were mostly empty. Mark Mason, wearing a full-length black coat, green wool hat and sunglasses, sat in a white Buick LaCrosse, eyeing the squat building across the street. It was the local branch of the Federal Reserve Bank.
“Behind that gate, that’s where the armored cars come in,” he said, pointing to a parking lot. “They’ve got a bunch of money in the basement — a bunch.”