The Identity Thief

by C. Forsyth

  "Yes, but tell the Marines to retreat from the caves. The Chief flooded it with some kind of gas. It's not sarin. I don't know what it is."

  "Roger that. I'll bring them out."

  They heard her barking orders in the background.

  "Why did you order the attack?" he asked.

  "We received the transfer."

  "You got a confirmation on that?"

  "I got a call from Mr. Jones himself."

  "A call. Let me guess. A cell phone call."

  "Well, yes."

  "Contact Jones. I guarantee you the money isn't there."

  More than 100 miles away, in the command center outside Gardez, Traci blanched. It had SOUNDED like Jones. But X was a master mimic, wasn't he?

  Harry turned to X. "How did you make the call?"

  The identity thief sighed. "The Chief has a cell phone he leaves charging in his office. He left me at his desk for five minutes. There was a security code, but of course in my line you get a lot of practice listening to keypads. "

  Harry shook his head in disbelief.

  "And you sent that email blowing my cover, using my own laptop, didn't you? So you would be the one at The Chief's terminal, not me like we planned."

  X couldn't think of a comeback.

  Harry was red in the face, shaking with rage.

  "They beat the shit out of me, threatened to castrate me, you asshole," he shouted.

  "I apologize. Didn't know about any ball-cutting."

  "When we get back to the U.S., I'll see to it that you rot in jail for the rest of your stinking life," Harry shouted at the top of his lungs. "And believe me, you WILL cough up the location of that mon -"

  Before he could finish the sentence, a rocket slammed into the helicopter blowing right through the floor, through the roof and into the rotors. As Harry, X and the gunner tumbled about in the cabin the way beans might knock around in a maraca, the aircraft swirled around like a dragonfly with a missing wing.

  "Mayday, mayday," the pilot hollered as the chopper careened toward the mountainside.

  At the base, Traci heard the horrific sound of an explosion.

  "Harry! Harry! Harry!" Traci shouted into the phone. But the radio was dead.

  Chapter 24

  REQUIUM FOR A BELOVED ROGUE

  It was Mr. Jones - the real Mr. Jones - who relayed the news to Traci.

  "Only one person survived the wreck. Our man Harry Assad, or as we now know, the Israeli's man Harry Weinstein, son of Malik and Alia Assad of Lebanon, or, in actuality Noah and Rachel Weinstein of Michigan. He was airlifted to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center hospital in Germany.

  "X?" she said hopefully.

  "The radio signal from that tooth implant was detected among charred remains in the wreckage. The retrieval team had to leave the bodies behind because they were coming under enemy fire."

  "It's not possible ...?"

  "No, I had the Office of Security requisition the fingerprints taken for Harry's original FBI background check. The OOS received them from the Bureau and relayed them to me this morning. It's Harry all right, 100 percent match."

  Traci didn't want Jones to hear her sigh, but he did.

  "I suppose a Christian burial wouldn't be too important to X," Traci said.

  "No, I don't suppose so."

  "How's Harry?"

  "Half the bones in his body were broken and he was badly burned. He'll be undergoing facial reconstructive surgery and they have some of the best people in the world for that at LRMC. We supplied file photos of Harry's face and they'll come close. I've seen them work miracles on soldiers who were horribly disfigured by IEDs."

  "What will happen to him, now that we know he's a mole?"

  "We'll flip him, of course. He'll be sent back to Israel as a reverse double agent."

  Traci thought about Harry's rigidness and generally ornery disposition. "You think it will be that easy to flip him?"

  Mr. Jones chuckled. "Of course not. He'll continue to spy for Israel."

  "So ... you can feed them disinformation."

  "You're getting the hang of this. Yes, and moles within the Mossad will pass on the false information back to their handlers in Iran."

  "Isn't that exactly what they'd expect us to do?"

  Mr. Jones hesitated, then laughed. "Why, Agent Kingsmith, don't tell me you're developing a sense of humor."

  "What about The Chief? Was he caught?"

  "Slipped away. Wily devil has nine lives. But now at least he's broke and won't be able to do much damage for a while. The mission was a complete success."

  "Except for X dying. And the missing money."

  "Oh, we'll track that down. If your identity thief comrade were still alive, he'd probably keep moving it like a game of three-card monte, but sitting in an account, we'll trace it within a few months."

  Traci fell silent, contemplating the fates of the two men under her command.

  "You are to be commended, Agent Kingsmith," Mr. Jones told her, in a surprisingly soothing tone. "You've earned the respect of the Committee. We'll be calling on you again."

  "Thanks," Traci replied. "I think."

  * * *

  She visited the Israeli spy in Germany on a stopover back to the States. Although he was in traction his face and head were bandaged, mummy-style, she recognized Harry's familiar, irritating voice at once.

  "I hear Uncle Sam won't be prosecuting you for espionage," she said.

  "Yes, luckily for me no one wants this fiasco to ever see the light of day. Imagine the blowback? As soon as I recover, they'll be putting me on a plane to Israel with nothing but a clean suit and a one-way ticket."

  "Maybe we'll work together again some day. After all, our countries really are allies. What did Netanyahu say? 'We are you and you are us'? "

  "Well, it's a small world," Harry agreed.

  She nodded.

  "Any luck tracking down the $45 billion?" he inquired.

  "Frankly, I don't think we'll ever recover that money, though Mr. Jones is optimistic. Wherever X stashed it, he stashed it good. Not in a Swiss bank - or one in Zimbabwe, that's for sure."

  "Well, at least those Islamofascist sons of bitches won't get their hands on it," Harry said. There was a bowl of candies next to the bed and Traci took one. She sucked on it thoughtfully.

  "He was a strange guy, wasn't he?" she said. "His actions probably saved millions of lives, who knows, maybe the solar system, if The Chief wasn't totally demented. But I don't know if he ever really understood right from wrong."

  "He wasn't much of an enigma to me," Harry growled. "He was a greedy, calculating snake."

  "Maybe, but I think in the end he became a hero, didn't he? I mean, he did go back for you. He saved your life. He didn't have to do that."

  "I don't know why he went back. Probably had some self-serving motive we don't know about, some reason the sociopath needed me alive for his crooked scheme."

  She waved her hand as if shooing the notion away. "I believe there was something decent in him and in the end he found it."

  "Christ, you talk like you had a crush on him."

  She shook her head.

  "Come on now, admit it."

  Traci relented and smiled. "I guess us girls have a weakness for bad boys."

  "Well, I have a bit of bad boy in me," the injured man said. "Maybe when I have my face back, we can have a drink or something. They say I won't look like the Elephant Man, just different. Maybe they can give me Cary Grant."

  Traci smiled at his attempt at humor. He'd never tried to be funny before. Perhaps there was a hidden side of Harry she hadn't seen before.

  "Maybe," she said. "Yes, I'd like that." She gave him a peck on her cheek, and as she leaned in, he took the opportunity to pat her ass. She didn't complain. She figured he'd earned it.

  The patient watched the woman exit the hospital room, leaned back and sighed. He reached into the jar on the nightstand and selected a candy. Lemon had always been his favorite.

/>   He thought, Sri Lanka is supposed to be beautiful this time of year.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C. Michael Forsyth was born in New York City. He is a Yale graduate with an MFA in film from NYU. For 10 years he was senior writer for Weekly World News, the outrageous satirical tabloid. Many of those stories can be found in a collection titled Batboy Lives. He is the author of Hour of the Beast, The Blood of Titans and the children's book Brothers. Forsyth taught film and journalism at Coker College in Hartsville, SC. More about him can be found at http://freedomshammer.com.