David Morrell - Assumed Identity

“Holly.”

“-going on that-?”

“I’ve got a question of my own,” Buchanan said. “I had something with me. If anyone found it, I’m sure the police would have-”

“Sure,” Holly said.

“-given it back or-”

“Wanted to have a very deep heart-to-heart with you about it.” Holly opened her purse. “Is this what you lost?”

Inside the purse, Buchanan saw his Beretta 9-mm semiautomatic pistol. His eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t drop it,” Holly said. “I felt it while I was trying to stop you from bleeding. Before the police and the ambulance arrived, I managed to get it off you without being noticed.”

“No big deal. I carry it for protection.”

“Sure. Like when you’re meeting an old friend. I don’t know what the gun-concealment laws are in this state, but it’s my guess you need a permit to carry this. And for certain, if you’re legitimate, I know the Army wouldn’t approve of you walking around armed while you’re on furlough.”

“Hey, a lot of people carry guns these days,” Buchanan said. “That attempted mugging last night proves why.”

“An attempted murder, not a mugging.”

“That proves my point. Some nut gets drunk, maybe cranked up on drugs. He’s wearing a pirate costume. Suddenly he thinks he’s a real pirate. So he stabs somebody. The equivalent of a drive-by shooting. Only this is a walk-by stabbing.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Look, I have no idea why he stabbed me. It’s as good a theory as any,” Buchanan said.

“But would the cops buy it if they’d also found the other thing you lost?”

Other. .? Buchanan felt suddenly cold.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me about it.” After glancing at the door to make sure no one was looking in, Holly reached under the pistol and removed a passport from her purse. “The ambulance attendants had to get your jacket off so they could check the wound. I told them I was your girlfriend and hung on to the jacket. A good thing I did. For your sake.” She opened the passport. “Victor Grant. My, my.”

Buchanan felt even more chilled.

“Not a bad picture of you. Your hair was a little shorter. Yep, the gun along with a passport that didn’t match the ID in your wallet would definitely have made the police wonder what was going on,” Holly said. “For starters, they’d have suspected you were running drugs. Actually, that’s not so far from the truth, given your involvement with covert operations like Scotch and Soda.”

Buchanan stopped breathing.

“So?” Holly put the passport back under the gun in her purse. “You’ve always got so many reasonable explanations for your unusual behavior. What’s your story this time?”

Buchanan pulled his salad toward him.

“Suddenly hungry? Trying to fill the time while you come up with a reason for the fake passport?”

“Holly, I. .”

He picked up his fork.

“Can’t think of one, can you?” she asked.

He put down his fork and sighed. “You don’t want to mess around with this. Do yourself a favor and bow out quietly. Forget you ever saw that passport.”

“Can’t. I’ve always wanted a Pulitzer. I think this’ll get me one.”

“Pay attention. Let’s assume for the moment that you’re right.” Buchanan held up a hand. “I’m not admitting anything, but let’s assume. The people you’d be up against don’t play by any rules you know about or can imagine. What you might get instead of a Pulitzer is a coffin.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a hypothetical, well-intentioned warning.”

“Don’t you think I’ve protected myself? I’ve made copies of my research. They’re with five different people I trust.”

“Sure. Like your lawyer. Your editor. Your best friend.”

“You’ve got the idea.”

“All predictable,” Buchanan said. “A good black-bag man could find where the research was hidden. But it’s probable that no one would even bother looking. If your research was so wonderful, the story would have been published by now. You’ve got nothing but suspicions. All deniable. But if anybody feels threatened by that research, they might not know or care that you’ve left copies of the research with other people. They might just decide to get rid of you.”

“What about you?” Holly asked.

“You mean, would I think about getting rid of you? Don’t be absurd. I’ve got nothing to do with any of this. I was only giving advice.”

“No. What about you ? Don’t you feel threatened?”

“Why on earth would I. .?”

“If you were on a sanctioned mission, you wouldn’t be traveling under your own identity, not while you carried a passport under someone else’s name. Your controllers won’t like that. After what happened to you in Mexico and Florida, they’ll think they’ve got a loose cannon. They’ll wonder what in God’s name you were doing with a gun and a passport that you weren’t supposed to have. You’ve got other problems besides me. You and your controllers must have established a schedule for staying in touch. If you’ve missed any part of that schedule, they’ll be very nervous. You’d better call them.”

“If I’m who you say I am, do you honestly think I’d call them in front of you? On an unsecured phone?”

“You’d better do something. They’ll be getting impatient. And don’t forget this-the longer you’re out of touch with them, the more suspicious they’ll be about your ability to do your work.”

Buchanan felt pressure behind his ears.

“I see your appetite improved,” the doctor said, coming back into the room.

“Yeah, I’m almost done with my salad.”

“Well, finish your Jell-O, Mr. Lang.”

“Buchanan.”

“Then take your walk to the bathroom. After that, I might be encouraged enough to think about releasing you.”

Wearing sneakers, jeans, and a short-sleeved blue shirt that he’d asked Holly to buy for him to replace his bloodstained shoes and clothing, Buchanan felt trapped in the wheelchair that a nurse insisted he keep sitting in while she wheeled him from the elevator and through the hospital’s crowded lobby to the main doors.

“I told you I can walk,” Buchanan said.

“Until you trip and fall and sue the hospital. Once you’re out those doors, you’re on your own. Meanwhile, you’re my responsibility.”

Through the doors, amid the din of street noises, Buchanan was forced to raise a hand to his eyes, the bright sun making him squint painfully.

The nurse helped him out of the wheelchair. “You said somebody was going to meet you?”

“Right,” Buchanan lied. He hadn’t seen Holly for quite a while and had no idea what had happened to her. Normally, he would have felt reprieved from being pestered by her questions, but at the moment, he felt nervous. Worried. The gun and the passport. He had to get them back. “I’ll just sit over on that bench. My friend ought to be here any minute.”

“Enjoy your day, Mr. Buchanan.”

“Lang.”

The nurse looked strangely at him as she took the chair away.

He wondered why.

Then he realized.

His skin prickled.

What’s happening to me?

The moment the nurse disappeared into the hospital, he stood. The reason he hadn’t wanted to be brought down in a wheelchair was that he didn’t want to leave the hospital before he had a chance to get to a pay phone.

Managing not to waver, he reentered the lobby and crossed toward a bank of telephones. His hand shook as he put coins in a slot. Thirty seconds later, he was talking to a contact officer.

“Where have you been?” the gruff voice demanded.