Santa Fe Edge

15

Lauren Cade woke up and found Teddy looking at her. “Hey, there,” she said.

“Hey, yourself,” he replied. He was sitting up in bed with the morning newspapers.

They had been in Santa Fe for several days now. “I love this town,” she said. “Let’s look for a house to rent.”

“I’ve got the real estate section right here,” he replied. “We’ll start looking today, but first there’s something we have to talk about.”

“What’s that?”

“Your new name.”

“I noticed that you checked into the hotel as Charles Tatum,” she said. “Shall I call you Charlie?”

“That’s good,” he replied, “when others are around.” He handed her a plastic envelope containing a passport, a driver’s license and a credit card.

She took the envelope but didn’t open it. “Tell me why we need new names.”

“I’m officially dead,” Teddy replied, “but there’s always the possibility that someone may be looking for me. Holly Barker, whom we met in Orchid Beach, may be the catalyst for that.”

“Why Holly?”

“She’s an official of the CIA,” he said, “and she may have suspicions.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t necessarily think she does, but I have to prepare for the possibility.”

Lauren thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” She opened the envelope, took out the passport and opened it. “Theresa Tatum,” she read aloud.

“How about Teri, with an I?”

“I like it,” she said. “Who made these IDs?”

“I did. It’s one of the skills I acquired when I worked at the Agency. I also learned how to insert these document numbers into the various federal and state databases, so for all practical purposes, they’re real.”

“What about the credit card?”

“It’s from a bank in the Cayman Islands,” he said. “It will work the same as any other credit card, but the charges will be deducted from my investment balance at the bank, and the statement is available only online, identified by a number instead of a name.”

“That’s very clever,” she said. “How do you cash a check?”

“I open a local bank account with cash, which I always travel with, then use those funds locally. I can always replenish it from the Cayman account with a wire transfer that’s untraceable.”

Her brow furrowed. “I read in a newspaper that the U.S. government can now force offshore banks to give them a list of their depositors.”

“Doesn’t matter. Mine is a numbered account, and the bank doesn’t have a name and address for me, not even a false one.”

“You’re very good, Charlie,” she said, kissing him.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Teri,” he replied.

“One question: I understand why you have to change your name, but why mine?”

“Holly knew you by your real name in Orchid Beach. Her people could trace us through you.”

“Sorry. That was a dumb question.”

“There’s a bio for you in the envelope, too. You have to memorize every detail, like your maiden name, your high school, your college-both of which have very good transcripts for you-your parents’ names-they’re both dead-and every other detail. You have a credit record under both your maiden and married names, too. If you memorize the bio perfectly, you could withstand a prolonged interrogation. You can make up your own details, as long as they fit. After all, there would be details of your childhood that even your husband wouldn’t know about.”

“How long have we been married?”

“Three years. Read the bio.”

“Teri” started reading while “Charlie” ordered breakfast and began calling realtors.

AT MIDAFTERNOONTHEY STOOD in the living room of the fourth house they had seen, while the agent waited outside to give them some privacy.

“You like it?” Teddy asked.

“I love it. Can we afford it?”

“We can,” Teddy replied. The house was in the East Side neighborhood of Santa Fe, on a quiet tree-lined street. It had a living room with a dining area, a kitchen, two bedrooms, two and a half baths and a study where he could work. It was nicely furnished. “Let’s do it.” He called the realtor back in and filled out the rental application.

“I’ll run this,” she said, “and assuming everything is confirmed, I’ll have a lease for you by six o’clock, and you can move in tomorrow.” Teddy gave her a check on the local account he had opened earlier that day.

They celebrated with a dinner at Geronimo, a restaurant on Canyon Road. The following morning they checked out of the hotel and moved into the house.

“I’m going to need a big safe,” Teddy said, looking for one on the Internet.

THAT SAME MORNING, Holly Barker and Todd Bacon sat in Lance Cabot’s office at the Central Intelligence Agency.

“Todd,” Lance said, “what I have to say to you-indeed, our entire conversation-is limited to the three of us. Do you understand?”

“Certainly,” Todd replied.

“We have reason to suspect that Teddy Fay may not be entirely dead.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Todd replied. “When I pumped those rounds into his airplane’s wing it occurred to me that he might be able to make an airport or a field, then disappear.”

“He must still have the airplane,” Holly said, “because I saw it at the Vero Beach Airport the first time I saw him.”

“Did you get the registration number?” Todd asked.

“No,” she replied, “because I had no reason to suspect him at that time. In any case, it would have been changed by now.”

“It’s a Cessna 182 RG, isn’t it?”

“I can’t remember whether it had fixed or retractable gear,” she said.

Holly told him of each encounter she had with Teddy in Orchid Beach, giving him every detail she could recall.

“Did anybody die while he was there?” Todd asked.

“There was a series of murders of women at the time,” Holly replied.

“That’s not Teddy’s thing,” Todd said. “He kills only for very good reasons-or what he believes to be good reasons.”

“I agree. There was one death with which he may very well have been involved. The victim was a retired army colonel named James Bruno, and Teddy’s girlfriend had once been a victim of rape by Bruno, so he had a very good reason to kill. He was fortunate that the death was declared a suicide.”

“He never bothered to make a killing look like a suicide before,” Todd pointed out.

“No, but in this case he didn’t want to run, so an apparent suicide was the best way to dead-end the investigation.”

“Give me the best physical description you can of Teddy,” Todd said.

“Six feet, a hundred and sixty pounds; wiry, athletic build; gray hair, probably bald or balding, but he wore a hairpiece when I saw him, and a very good one that I didn’t suspect. I don’t remember an eye color, and he had no other distinctive features. That’s why he’s so good at disguises.”

“Am I going to have any help?”

“No,” Lance said quickly. “Just Holly by phone. We’re going to carry you on the Agency’s rolls as active but on extended leave. You’ll have an Agency laptop and communications equipment and the usual access to our computers here in Langley. If there’s anything you can’t dig up on your own, Holly will do it for you.”

“All right.”

Lance handed him a slip of paper. “You can draw this in cash, and you can use your Agency credit cards.”

“I want a light airplane,” Todd said. “That’s how Teddy travels, and I want to travel the same way.”

“Holly will arrange that for you. No jets, however.”

“I’m not trained for jets,” Todd said, “but I’d like something fairly fast.”

“I can do that,” Holly said.

Lance stood up and offered his hand. “Good luck,” he said.

Todd shook the hand. “One thing: You didn’t tell me what you want me to do when I find Teddy.”

Lance walked him to the door. “I didn’t hear the question,” he said, closing the door behind them.