“Oh, you think so, do you?” Rizzo snapped.
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, I don’t, sir. I mean I never considered it, sir.”
Rizzo winked at him. “Go do your job,
The young man looked at his superior with uncertainty. Then he gave a nod and a slight smile, not knowing what else to say.
Rizzo knew what to say, however, but it was wildly profane. So, defender of public morals that he was, he kept it deep inside.
TWENTY
A week passed. Busy days for Alex, not happy days. The weekend became inseparable from the week. Robert drew Sunday duty as well, this time at the Secret Service Training Center at Beltsville, Maryland.
The Beltsville complex was officially known as the James J. Rowley Training Center. It had a fake town, driving courses, helipad with a helicopter, bunkers, an obstacle course, twelve miles of roads, caves, a simulated airport apron, an “instinctive” firing range, a protective driver training course, a K-9 training area, and outdoor training and tactical response areas. Best of all, the center had six miles of paved roadways where the Secret Service Mountain Bike Patrol could drill. Once during a previous administration a president had been off on a seventy-five minute bike ride while Homeland Security had been on Red alert. No one bothered to tell the president. So here was where Robert got to wear what Alex jokingly always called “his sexiest outfit.” The helmet, the colorful red, white, and blue USA bike shirt, the black bike shorts, the SIDI shoes, and a nifty little Beretta 9000S on his hip.
For Alex, more prosaic stuff: language lessons on top of language lessons, then back to the firing range, where at least she could blow off some steam.
Then back to language lessons. Robert went on an overnight trip with the president to Boston. Nasty hecklers intruded on the motorcade. Lots of street scuffling and placard waving. Irritating but innocuous. “Typical Boston,” Robert said.
No big deal. No significant incidents. Fifteen arrests, including a drunk with a carton of eggs he wanted to hurl. The new American president had then continued on to Kansas to do some political fundraising with the party faithful. Corn country was more receptive and respectful. Or maybe the president hadn’t worn out the newly elected welcome just yet.
For Alex on day eight, Olga droned on far into each afternoon of instruction, her grasp on Ukrainian strong as a bull, her grip of English somewhere short of perfect, even after all these decades in the West. Privately, Alex and Robert had nicknamed Olga, “the baroness of the Black Sea.”
“Another terminology point,” Olga said, as Alex stifled a yawn. “You so will have noticed and perhaps been mystificated by the fact the name of the capital city on the embassy website is spelled K-y-i-v,”she said. “Why is it this?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Alex answered.
“Of course, you do not. But we are about to discuss and you will learn,” Olga said. “Ukrainian, like Russian, has two
Alex’s mind was drifting. She was maxed on this stuff. “Uh huh,”she said.
Olga, bless her, must have realized this because, just to be mean, she started to amp up the small killer details about the Cyrillic alphabet.
A soft knock and then the door opened. Michael Cerny came into the room with a nod and a smile. He seated himself at the table, saying nothing. He was carrying a green interoffice folder that was tied shut.
“Olga, my dear,” Cerny interrupted gently, “I need to talk to Alex for a moment. Why don’t you take a break?”
Without speaking, Olga stood and marched out the door. She looked angry. The door closed with a high profile.
Cerny rolled his eyes when she was gone. “Having fun?” he asked.
“She’s brutal,” Alex said. “Who’s side is that woman on anyway? Is she trying to get me there in one piece or kill me first?”
“Now, now,” he said with a smirk.
“Thanks for rescuing me. I needed a break.”
Alex leaned back in her chair.
“Thought you might,” Cerny said. He opened the green folder. Alex waited.
“Alex,” he said, reaching into it, “let me show you some things. We’ve set you up quite nicely.”
“Set me up?”
From the folder, Cerny pulled a variety of IDs in the name of Anna Marie Tavares, all with photographs of Alex. The most impressive was the US passport. It looked just like standard government-issue because it was. But it had been backdated to reflect an issue in 2007. Entry stamps had been impressed into it from Ireland, France, and Mexico.
“Please memorize your new date of birth,” he said, “as well as your location. I know there’s a lot on your plate right now, so we took your normal birthday, October 20, and cut it in half. Ten twenty becomes five ten. May 10. Get it?”
A pause as she shook the remnants of the day’s Ukrainian lesson out of the forefront of her mind. “Got it,” she said.
She examined the passport.
“We made you a year younger and set the birthplace as Los Angeles,” Cerny continued. “You look young and LA would fit with the ‘Tavares’ name.”
Alex looked at one of the photographs that she had sat for a day previously. She had gone undercover with the FBI, but the thoroughness of this was impressive even by law enforcement standards.
“If you have monograms on anything,” Cerny said, “be sure not to bring it. Same with magazines with labels or books with your name in it. If you want an address book, create a new one. Better, don’t even bring one.”
“Uh huh,” she said.
“Notice those travel stamps,” he said. “Ireland, France, and Mexico. You’ve been to all three places. Have cover stories for your trips. Note the days of entry and exit. Just in case you’re ever quizzed.”
“Why would I be?” she asked.
“Ukraine is an old Soviet republic,” he said. “Paranoia is still the plat du jour. Nice mixed metaphor, right?”
She didn’t answer.
Cerny began opening envelopes and pulled out supporting material.
There was a Maryland driver’s license, valid, he claimed, which employed the second picture that had been taken the day before. Then there were a trio of credit cards: Discover, Visa, and American Express, plus a bank ATM card.
“All of these are live credit cards,” he said. “We have a special relationship with a bank in northern Virginia, which issues these. However, you’re only to use the Visa if you see fit. You can expense up to five thousand dollars on it, no questions asked, so buy yourself a nice fake Cartier watch in Kiev if you have the chance. They do great work on counterfeit brand names in Eastern Europe, so might as well take advantage.”
“That’s perfectly illegal, you know,” she said.
“Of course it is, but who cares?” he answered blithely. “You can score some nice stuff before some rival gangsters put them out of business.”
She tried to ignore the point. She examined the credit cards individually.
“The other cards are ‘fly traps,’ ” he said, continuing. “If used, they will function up to two hundred dollars but will issue an immediate alert that something has happened to you. They will only work in an ATM that takes photographs. If primed, they will send a picture immediately to the State Department as to the location plus the
