Chapter 64

"Some form of the name Sarah. If you call her Sarah she will understand," Andrew said. "You will leave in the morning for New York to set up your cover. We are working on it now."

"And what will Jeremy and Alice be doing?" I asked.

"They will be learning how to make a movie with no camera," Andrew said with a smile. They have to shoot it and have it ready within hours. So we are giving them a crash course in cinema arts, I guess you can call it art," he continued.

"So what is my cover?" I asked.

"Freelance writer with a very leftist and socialist leaning. You will not be posing as a Muslim, so your learning curve is a little less than it might be. We need you to get up to speed on your background and move into your apartment. You know the drill take nothing with you. There are new clothes and a travel bag in your cabin. When you awake tomorrow leave all your things in the cabin we will have them when you return," Andrew said.

"Very well," I replied. "Anything else?"

"If you let her get away after you screw her, she will have her bodyguards kill you. She most likely has done that with other one night stands. We found records of two women she has been seen with who died within 24 hours of their time together," Andrew said.

"Gee whiz Andrew that's a real plus," I said.

"She will have no problem doing it herself Rose, so be careful. She only lets the women live long enough to establish an alibi for the time of death. If she gets away, disappear quick," Andrew suggested.

"Okay I understand. No matter what you think, I do not have a death wish." I went back to the cabin and tried to imagine how the job would work out. I knew that it was a waste of time, but I had time to waste and I couldn't fall asleep.

I took an over the counter allergy pill and masturbated. That worked a lot better than trying to second guess myself.

When I awoke at 5 AM to the sound of the bugle, I staggered out of bed. I was able to brush my teeth before the second bugle call. I had brought my running gear that time, so I tried to run with the big dogs. I was gasping for breath and choking back vomit before the end. I did get a little farther than usual but I still felt like shit.

I managed breakfast before my trip to the airport. I still hadn't met a real cook but the food was pretty average which made it better than usual.

I rode to the airport in a panel van with seats. Usually those things had windows, but the church camp one carried people they obviously didn't want to be recognized. I for one appreciated it. The drive was well over a half hour, and the wait at the gate was another half hour. My carry on bag was a large purse. I had my ID and some cash in the purse. Along with what for all the world would look like three number two wooden pencils of various lengths. The graphite had been replaced with a ceramic rod that was almost half the hardness of steel, but totally harmless looking on xray machines. They were always improving the dagger and I for one didn't mind at all. The golf balls with a hole drilled in them were the handle for the daggers.

I got on the plane at the Metropolis Airport, then flew directly to NYC's JFK International Airport. Since I didn't have any luggage, I walked straight out the door, and into a taxi. "Where to?" the driver asked in a what sounded like a foreign accent. Hell it could have been a Brooklyn accent for all I knew.

"425 East 95th St," I said. The apartment supposedly had been rented at the last minute for me. I had no idea what the rent might be or how long I was supposed to have lived there. That information would be sent to me in a cryptic dump after I arrived.

The building's hallway was dark and dreary leading to the ground floor apartment. I used the key, which had been left on the door frame, no more than twenty minutes earlier for security reasons.

Once inside I took the required newcomers look around. There were frozen and canned food items in the kitchen area of the one room apartment. The bathroom and a huge closet shared a door on the left of the main room. The closet was empty of course.

On the desk in the main room sat a well used lap top computer. When I turned it on it went directly to the icon screen. The laptop used an updated version of my Puppy Linux. I felt right at home.

I recovered the encoded dump along with the volume and page number of the Globe tabloid. The only thing left for me to do was find a convenience store nearby. I took the three Porter daggers along as I walked out of the building. The small neighborhood grocery, with the required foreign clerk, was two blocks north on Third Avenue. I picked up a six pack of diet cokes, a frozen pizza, and the paper then returned home. It was really a beautiful night and the neighborhood seemed pleasant enough.

When I got back to the apartment, I used the stove to toast the pizza. The pizza wasn't too awful, but calling it a pizza had to be ground for a fraud suit. It didn't matter my attention was riveted to my cover story facts anyway.

I was an Internet sensation, according to my Facebook entry. Facebook has been hacked so many times one more won't hurt, I thought. Obviously Wilson didn't take anything. He loaded a new biography and history for me. The history went back several years. The name he chose for me was so close to a real blogger and magazine writer, that we could easily be confused. I, in effect, became a real person, just for that one particular job, I hoped. After the job I would go back to being a figment of someone's imagination. I would just sit on my shelf till they needed my particular skill set again.

I was sorry, that I had been feeling sorry for myself. It was time to learn about Laura Edwards. I spent all that evening memorizing all I had to know. I had to do more than just pass for Laura to stay alive. I had to be Laura Edwards. I went to bed knowing Sarah wouldn't be in the country for at least two more weeks. I had exactly that amount of time to establish my new Identity. Not just establish it, but to make it believable to everyone around me.

I began my first day back in New York with a run. I ran a half hour out and then a half hour back. The days were long enough so that I ran in the daylight. I also didn't start at 5 AM, the way they did at Church Camp. It was after 7 AM when I staggered into The Corner Coffee Shoppe.

"How about I get a cup of coffee while I take a look at the menu," I suggested to the waitress. I was sitting at the counter, since I was alone and the booths and table were reserved for couples according the sign on one of those free standing chrome posts, standing guard in the middle of the floor.

I really did not like eating six inches from a total stranger, but when in Rome, I thought. I also thought I was going to find a friend just so that I could get a fucking table next time. After breakfast I went to the apartment to shower and dress for the day. Well I would have, if I had any clean clothes. I had run in my jeans from the day before. "Son of a bitch," I said aloud. "I need to get organized. I have to do some shopping, but damn it I stink. I quickly showered washed my hair which had been cut for the road trip. I looked in the mirror at my stringy hair and my limp grubby clothes and decided I had to do something and do it quick.

I walked out the front door. I passed a young woman walking with a baby stroller. "Excuse me Miss, could you tell me the closest place I could buy some jeans," I asked. " I just got to town and the airline lost my luggage."

I could see her trying to decide if I was dangerous or not. She evidently was a poor judge of character because she said, "Of course, there is a thrift store in the next block."

I didn't want a thrift store but it would do for a start. "Thank you so much," I said.

"Good luck," I must have looked questioningly at her, because she added, "with the lost luggage."

"Oh thanks, right now I just need some clean clothes. Thanks again, and that is one cute baby," I said.

I walked the almost two blocks to the thrift store. I realized I had run right past it earlier. "Hi," I said to the woman behind the checkout counter. She didn't even smile, so I went to the racks that filled the floor space, leaving little room to walk. There were a lot of clothes in the small space. I picked out two pairs of designer jeans and four tee shirts. There was no way I was going to buy underwear in such a place.

I paid her the price she asked in cash, then returned to the apartment to change clothes. I knew it was risky to wear the clothes with no underwear. It was bit of a gamble not knowing who wore them last or their level of hygiene, but I had no choice.

I called a cab and took it to a Local discount store, which I had found on line. I went ape shit crazy. I did not want to be in the same situation again. I needed everything. The things I bought were not sexy at all. It seemed from the background file that Laura was a dyke. She wasn't the quiet hide in the shadows kind of lesbian. She was an agitator who wrote mostly about the 'movement' and female sports. She had several pieces in sports magazines over the last few years. I had no idea where Laura was at the moment, but I assumed she wasn't in New York City.

I received a dead drop of an article which I was to pitch at a current affairs rag name 'Out of the Shadows'. My article was on the plight of women in the Middle East. It wasn't about gay women. It was just women in general. The article was ten thousand words. I am not a writer, but I do know good writing when I see it, and it was good.

I carried it in my hand to the rag's editor. Laura's reputation got me in to see the editor in person. The woman's section editor knew of Laura, but had never met her. She also had seen pictures but not really good pictures since Laura was camera shy.

"Laura, I'm Ellie. I have heard so much about you. I have also read your pieces in 'Now' and 'Genie'," the editor said.

"Well I hope you thought they were good enough to move into current affairs writing. I have mostly done sports and some women's issue pieces," I said.

"Don't be so modest your work is stellar. The in depth pieces on women in sports are always inspiring. So what did you bring me?" Ellie the editor asked.

"I have been doing some research on the plight of women in the Middle East. I don't think we here in America really have a good idea of what their living conditions are like. We don't give them any thought since there is so little we can do. I think understanding may be the answer to changing their life for the better. If we bring the problems to the front, maybe we can pressure the leaders for a change in women's status," I said. That speech was written by the same person who wrote the article I was sure.

"Well said," Ellie the editor replied. Ellie was well over forty but she had some work done to make her look thirty. It worked until you were with her awhile. Then you realized her skin didn't move like it should. She looked like an older Barbie doll, all plastic.