Like a Woman Scorned

by Hart, Randi

  “Madame, please sit at the bench with me and make nice to my baby. Emil sent me. My name is Eva and I have the information you need.”

  Alison was taken aback for a moment, surprised at the subterfuge in spite of realizing that’s how she wanted the encounter to happen. She turned to look at the woman. They made eye contact and then Alison bent over to do the admirations of the …baby. Why a baby? But Alison did as instructed. Eva pointed to the bench and they both sat down to begin their conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” Alison said. “I did not mean to seem rude, just thought it would be a man contacting me. I’m not used to this kind of thing and feel like I am in a spy movie or something.” Alison brushed her hair with her hand quickly several times, knowing she was sounding like an idiot.

  Eva laughed, which was something of a relief to Alison.

  “I understand,” Eva finally said. “But I had to be sure it was you and not have any confusion. So that you know, Emil is a close friend of my family, and the work you require is a specialty of my family business. Emil says he trusts you with his life, so I have no reason to be concerned about you. But he couldn’t give you any of these details in advance, because of the rules of the family business. I’m sure you understand.”

  Alison looked at her directly and smiled. “Of course I understand. But I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “Yes, Emil told me all about you. That’s why you’re getting such a good price on this.”

  They discussed the details of what Alison needed. Eva knew more about that than Alison did, which was encouraging. Identification that could be traced to a database so she wouldn’t come up as a blank should anyone run a background check. The proper papers to travel throughout Europe and confirm her identity—passport, visa where needed, birth certificate, and a working American Express card tied to a real bank account. Eva told her it would take one week and the delivery would be made in person. She also told Alison not to carry any identity with her when the delivery was made.

  Alison knew that meant she had to secure her real documents in a Zurich safe deposit box before picking up the new ones from Eva. She also had to be prepared to leave the country at that time, and could not go back to the same hotel. She would be assuming a new identity at that moment, one which must coincide with all the new documents.

  As Alison played with the baby in the carriage, she slipped a leather case out of her purse and into the blanket—the case that held $100,000 in USD, plus passport photo negatives of Alison in her blonde wig and blue contacts. Eva nodded and covered it with another blanket. The baby whined a little.

  Alison then asked Eva about places she should visit while in Zurich, suggestions as to what to see, where to eat, what to avoid. They chatted for twenty minutes or so, and then Eva said she had to leave and would be in touch one week later. More fussing over the baby and then Eva and child were gone.

  The days dragged by. Alison was not used to waiting like this, and was too jittery most of the time to truly enjoy sightseeing. She wandered through the museums with her brain going a hundred miles an hour, not really taking in the paintings and artifacts, and ate little meals all over the city rather than go out for lunch or dinner. It was a beautiful time to be in Switzerland, with sailboats in the harbor, flowers blooming, and the snow-covered Alps in the background. Alison was sure she would be falling in love with it all, if only she were there for leisure.

  At the end of the week, Alison went to the Bank of Zurich to get a safe deposit box. There she would leave her identity in that long steel container for the next year. The charge was only 124 francs and the account was easy to open. This was the kind of thing Swiss banks are known all over the world for—easy, secure, private banking services. She followed the banker into the vault and was presented with box 171. It was put on the table, the banker handed Alison her new key, and left. Access to a safe deposit box in Switzerland is much simpler than in other countries; all one needs is the key. Alison knew she couldn’t lose that damn key. It was about to become the only connection to Alison Carson.

  Alison sat at the table and looked over the contents of the small attaché case she brought in with her. There was her California driver’s license, bank cards, and U. S. passport. She also brought along $10,000 in U.S. dollars that she’d decided to put in the box as well. Finally, she turned off her cell phone and dropped it in. It took her a while to close the box up. She felt strange and a little nervous. Here she was, about to bury herself. This bank vault was very much like a mausoleum.

  When Alison left the bank she felt emotionally drained. She needed rest, and was not at all like a person who just spent seven days on a leisurely vacation. The week was over. In a matter of hours, she would hear from Eva. When Alison got back in her hotel room, she fell on the bed without bothering to remove her shoes. There she stayed, not even changing positions.

  A short while later, a knock at the door woke her up. Alison was hesitant, as no one had been at her door the entire week she was there. When she opened it, the concierge presented her with a sealed envelope. She thanked him.

  The time had arrived for Alison to put her plan in motion.

  She phoned the desk and asked for them to prepare her bill, as she would be checking out. Then she opened the envelope and read the note inside.

  Your order is complete. Two hours from now, same location.

  It couldn’t have been simpler, could it?

  Alison looked around the room that had been home for the last eight nights and had no hesitation whatsoever at leaving. It was comfortable, but she was over it. Now it was time to go. She put the pictures of those damn mothers with babies back on the wall.

  The front desk presented the bill. Alison took a roll of Swiss francs out of her purse and counted it out to the clerk. He had a surprised look on his face, but reached for the money quickly. No doubt, paying a hotel bill in cash was a rarity—but if you could do that anywhere without arousing suspicion, it had to be in this country. Still, Alison was glad to be checking out, as she was beginning to become nervous over the tremendous amount of cash she was forced to carry with her. She had to lie on those customs cards pretty seriously about not having more than $10,000 currency. Her bags were loaded with money, nearly ten times that amount. It was probably wise to not stay in one hotel too long. Their business complete, Alison walked out the front door to a clearing blue sky and streets filled with tourists.

  Back to the park to meet Eva. It was only an hour before she showed. The baby was with her again. First the small talk, which was considerably more aggravating than it was pleasant this time around. Alison didn’t want to be Eva’s friend. She just wanted to get on with business, and find out if this stuff was really going to work. If it didn’t, Alison knew the consequences would be extremely embarrassing, and possibly criminal. So small talk wasn’t what she wanted right now—but she knew it was part of the procedure, so she made an effort at it, hurt her stomach as it may. It was all fake. Everything was fake. She was about to become a totally fake human being.

  In the stroller, under the same blanket, was the leather case again. This time Eva handed it to Alison. She told Alison not to open it here and went on to explain the contents: A driver’s license from the state of Massachusetts, a working American Express card, an ATM card with the pin number written on the back for a bank account with $5,000 in it, and a passport for one Carley Morrison, a resident of Springfield, Massachusetts. The passport was even stamped with entrance to Switzerland at the Zurich airport one week ago today. There was also a new cell phone. Eva explained that a trail was in place, with no holes in it, all the way back to Carley’s birth 36 years ago.

  They agreed that if “Carley” had to get in touch with Eva, the code would be “cable car.” If possible, she was to leave a note with the same bartender at the ZeigerHut who was working that first day. Otherwise, Emil could put her back in touch by phone. They talked a few more minutes and then Eva was on her way. Alison was left alone with a leath
er case containing $95,000 worth of merchandise. It seemed awfully light for that. Is this how spies do it? If it’s this easy, it’s a wonder anyone with the financial resources carries real documents anymore. How in the world do authorities figure out who is legitimate these days?

  She sat for a while, checking her watch, trying to estimate again how far she was from the airport. The flight she wanted to buy a seat on left just after seven this evening. Might as well take a taxi now and get the scary business over with. She would have to give the new documents a complete test in order to buy that ticket and get out of the country. If they didn’t work—well, she didn’t want to consider the possible consequences now. She had come too far and was committed in her mind. She trusted Emil, and was going through with it. She could memorize the information on her new driver’s license during the cab ride.

  Alison moved to a different bench on the other side of the park, took the documents from the leather case, looked them over briefly, and then arranged them in her handbag in the places they should naturally be. The passport appeared slightly used. Everything looked good. The transfer was complete.

  Alison was now officially Carley Morrison, her own identity safely ensconced in a bank vault in Zurich. She phoned her parents from a public payphone using Carley’s American Express Card. It worked! She let them know she was safe and traveling throughout Switzerland, and that she would be moving on to Germany, Austria, and France soon, and would try to remember to call them periodically. Her mother asked if she actually planned to be gone for a whole year. Mom just didn’t understand that there was no reason not to be gone, travelling, seeing the world. Mom was never very adventurous. But then, she married fairly young. Alison’s dad then got on the phone and told her not to worry about calling too often and just have fun. Good old Dad. Alison knew he didn’t really mean it, but it was very possible his request would be met.

  In the stall of a nearby train station restroom, Alison then put on her blonde wig and inserted the contacts. At the mirror behind the sink she stared at herself and made sure the wig was completely secure. The thought crossed her mind that she’d never really looked at her eyes before. Hazel is just a normal color, not one that ever struck people as deep blue did.

  The Zurich airport was less stringent security-wise than many of the world’s other big-city airports. It was a good place to test everything. Alison figured her nervous demeanor might have flagged her to airport officials in some US cities.

  Purchasing the ticket was easily done at an electronic terminal, and using the American Express card to complete the transaction was again successful. That gave Alison more confidence. She showed her ticket and passport to check her bag with no problems, and then the boarding pass and passport again going through security. Being a knockout blue-eyed blonde had its advantages; the security guys seemed more concerned about flirting with her and directing her to the gate than scrutinizing her documents. Things were going okay, but a drink sure sounded good at this point. Alison was glad she booked a business-class seat and accepted a glass of champagne as soon as she sat down. There she was, on the plane. Everything was working. Maybe everything would go as planned.

  Her seat was next to the window. She took off her jacket and made herself comfortable. It was another 40 minutes until the plane finally took off and she was on her way home.

  Well, not really home, but at least back on United States soil. She fell asleep within a few minutes of take-off, the exhaustion from the frenzy of the last week finally catching up to her. All she had to worry about now was not making any stupid mistakes for the next year. Piece of cake, right?

  When she finally woke up, the plane was getting ready to land. She looked out the window. There it was, the Statue of Liberty. A few minutes later, they sat on the runway at John F. Kennedy. “Carley” felt tears on her cheeks. That was unexpected. She needed to get ahold of herself. Wiping her face and fluffing her hair was about all she could do at the moment.

  Clearing customs and getting luggage took almost an hour. Outside the baggage claim, drivers held signs with people’s names on them. None of them said Carley. She was no one important. Carley took a taxi to the Belvedere Hotel on W. 48th Street, just above midtown and in the theatre district. Perfect for the few days she planned to stay in New York. She’d stayed there before and $250 a day was well worth it.

  At least Carley wasn’t tired. She had a great day’s sleep and was ready to hit the bricks of New York City nightlife. When she registered at the hotel, the staff viewed her driver’s license and ran a check on the American Express card as a deposit for the charges. No problems.

  After checking into her room, Carley headed to the theatres to see what show she could buy tickets for, but decided she needed a decent dinner first. It had been a while. Passing by Armando’s on 8th, it looked just like where she wanted to eat. Good pasta with Chianti was hard to beat.

  For the next four days, Carley slept, ate well, shopped, and in general thought nothing of the next part of her life. Then she had to get back to reality. It was time for the flight to Boston. She booked the short hop on a small United Express flight. Carley had only one bag more than when she arrived from Zurich—not too bad for a woman with unlimited time and funds.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The two doormen at the Lenox Hotel in Boston nearly tripped over themselves fighting to be the one to hold the door for Carley. She knew she looked good in her new business clothes and tipped the porter well who brought up her bags. After settling into her room, she put on her walking shoes and headed for Filene’s Department Store basement for some additional shopping.

  But her phone rang before she could get there. It was the realtor she contacted prior to leaving New York. A furnished apartment was available now, as in right now, as a wealthy couple was leaving for an extended stay in Europe. The window of opportunity would be short. Rent was steep at $3,000 a month, but the building had amenities such as a gym and parking spot.

  Carley postponed shopping and met with the realtor and landlords. The landlords were a tough looking, no-nonsense couple who appeared to be well-traveled and only wanted to discuss business. Carley managed to talk them into a one year lease at $2500 a month, without checking her references, since it was being paid all in advance with a one-time payment of $33,000 including a $3,000 security deposit. They couldn’t resist that, and doubtlessly recognized the expensive designer brands Carley was wearing. The place was beautifully furnished.

  Several hours later she signed the lease and produced eleven $3,000 American Express gift checks, which Carley had gotten by going to six different banks as not to seem too conspicuous in any one of them. At the last bank, she also opened a checking account under her new identity using the address of the new apartment. Everything was now in place to live the life of Carley Morrison.

  Carley was excited about living in Back Bay, an area she had once visited when it was still being built up. Her new address was 175 Newbury Street, above a small nautical museum, with only three other residential units in the building.

  The same cab driver who took her back to the hotel waited for her there and made the return trip as well, then helped her get her luggage up to the new place. With considerable joy, Carley tipped him with a twenty dollar bill—which he was quite smitten with.

  The apartment had expensive furnishings and lots of indoor plants. She looked in the fridge and found it full with a note across the front saying, “Welcome to Boston—Sullivan Realtors.” There were cheeses, smoked fish, deli salads, wine, breads, and sliced meats. Too much perishable food for one person, actually. She sliced herself some cheese and pumpernickel, poured herself a glass of wine, and then called American Express to make sure Carley Morrison’s bill would start coming to her new address. They were glad she called, as it turned out, because they were becoming somewhat concerned about all the recent charges on a new account. Carley assured them a check from her new bank account in Boston for the current balance would be in the mail by the end
of the next business day.

  Carley spent the next four days settling into her new living situation and getting to know Boston again. So much had changed since she last fully explored this city. There were new restaurants and clubs. The city seemed to now have a high energy she had not felt in the past. Younger people were everywhere. Students from across the Charles River at Harvard were always in the streets and pubs.

  She was in a book store near her new home when she saw a tourist book titled How to Speak Bostonese. Carley bought it. The book was mostly intended as a joke gift, but did have actual usable instructions for developing a Boston accent.

  Carley then went on the internet and found a website on learning how to change your voice. Every day she practiced. As she normally talked in a low tone, she learned how to speak from a higher octave, and worked in the Boston accent with it, dropping the r’s at the end of words like car and bar. Hanging out at a local pub around the corner during happy hour really helped with this new hobby. Carley often engaged the locals and politely flirted with men who were trying to pick her up, but always declined their invitations, claiming to be engaged. Within a few weeks’ time, even the locals took her for a bubbly-blonde Boston native. The new voice and accent became second-nature, easier to perform than her natural voice at times.

  Then the day arrived to take her first stab at Rick’s office. Sitting in the Starbucks and staring at the elevators through the glass doors was beginning to become too much of an afternoon habit. Today she would take the elevator up to the 12th floor and see the inside of his office. This is what it all was for, this whole game of becoming Carley Morrison. If Rick was going to be made to pay for what he did to Alison, Carley needed to gain access to that office. Up the elevator she went, down the hallway, and through his office door.