Andrew Klavan: The Identity Man

Shannon nodded. "Sure. Foster. I'm just trouble for him, aren't I? That whole stupid operation. Now he's a hero and I'm just an embarrassment to him."

The foreigner gave another of his disreputable chuckles. "There is no one who wants anything from you except you disappear."

"Right," said Shannon. "Right." Thinking of Foster, he felt a wave of gratitude toward the seedy little agent. Or something. He did not know what he felt. There was too much to take in.

After that, they drove for a long time in silence. Shannon looked out the window, thinking about things, a lot of things, letting his mind range over it all. He kept coming back to Teresa. He kept wondering if there was any way… Probably not, but he couldn't help hoping. That was the thing: he just couldn't help it. He thought about being with her all the time. He didn't seem to be able to let her go.

At one point, after a long silence, the foreigner broke into his thoughts. "I hear you make statue," he said.

Shannon came out of his reverie. "What's that? Oh. Yeah. Yeah."

"I am curious. You can do this?"

"I can carve wood, yeah."

"You learn this somewhere?"

Shannon shook his head. "Not really. I can just do it. I always could."

"Yes?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"You read book or…"

"No, I just… I just find a piece of wood, that's all. And I see something in it. It's kind of, like, it's partly in the wood and partly in my head. And I carve, I guess, until the thing in the wood and the thing in my head come together into one thing. It's cool. I like it."

The foreigner studied him thoughtfully.

"What," said Shannon.

"You are interesting case."

"Oh yeah?"

"Different."

"Really? Different how?"

"I did not expect."

"Well," said Shannon. "There you go. You never can tell, right?"

The foreigner shook his head, his eyes humorous.

"What?" said Shannon. "What's so funny with you all the time?"

"You Americans," said the foreigner. "You are so stupid you don't even know what you know." He turned away to study the passing landscape.

Shannon shrugged. Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he was American. Let the foreigner laugh. It was all right with him.

They drove on a long time and passed over mountains into meadows. Towns went by with mountains in the distance against the sky. Then there was a cluster of towns, more and more traffic on the freeway around them. They were coming to the outskirts of a city.

The foreigner cleared his throat. He took a manila envelope from the pouch on the door beside him. "Here," he said. He handed the envelope to Shannon.

"What's this?"

"You wanted life. It is life. Papers, records, license, and so on. Some money to start with." He reached down to the floor. There was a small, soft overnight bag there that Shannon hadn't noticed. The foreigner set it on the seat between them. "Change of clothes," he said.

"But no new face this time, huh."

"You do not need. No one is looking for you. No one wants to find you. They hope you are gone for good."

Shannon took the envelope. "So who am I this time?"

"Your name, you mean."

"Yeah. What's my name?"

The foreigner's eyes gleamed with wit and contempt. "You are John Shannon. But not that John Shannon. You are new John Shannon. No crimes, no record with police, no-what you call?-strikes against you."

Shannon weighed the envelope in his hand. He made a face of appreciation. "Not bad. How'd you manage that?"

"I am very good identity man."

"I guess so. Whole new life again, huh. Just like that."

"Not even scars on arm."

One corner of Shannon's mouth lifted. "Right. Just… identity like stain."

The foreigner hesitated. He seemed more thoughtful than usual. "You are interesting case," he said finally.

"Oh yeah? No identity like stain?"

The foreigner tapped the envelope with a thick finger. "We will say it is like block of wood with shape inside and shape inside your head."

Shannon laughed. "Fair enough." He unzipped the overnight bag and wedged the envelope inside and zipped it up again.

Soon after, the car pulled to a stop.

"Here we are," said the foreigner.

For a moment, Shannon just sat there. He didn't know what to do.

"Well?" said the foreigner. He gestured toward the door.

"I just get out?" said Shannon.

"Unless you want to live in car."

A dozen questions went through Shannon's mind. Where would he go? Where would he work? Where would he start? But he didn't say anything. He would figure out the answers himself. They were no one's business but his. He would find his way.

"Well…" he said. He offered the identity man his hand. He didn't know what else to do. The foreigner smiled contemptuously and shook it. Shannon took the handle of the overnight bag and got out of the car.

He found himself standing on a road that passed through a small field. Wheat was growing high on either side of him. Up ahead, he saw a little house, and beyond that he saw another house and then houses spreading away into the distance until there was a city glinting silver in the afternoon sun.

He shut the door of the limousine. He set the bag down on the road at his feet. He stood beside it. He looked back over his shoulder at the fields and then off toward the silver city. He figured he would start walking toward the city and see what was what.

While he stood thinking about it, the limousine backed up on the road and maneuvered through a Y turn and turned around. It came to a stop beside him. The identity man lowered his window and looked out, considering him.

"You are interesting case," he said again.

Shannon smiled.

The next moment, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to it-it had come from the nearest house. It was a small green house with a gray roof. It was right at the edge of the field of wheat. The door of the house was opening. As Shannon stood watching it, Teresa stepped out onto the front step.

Shannon drew a slow breath. He had known it was going to happen as if he had seen it in a dream, and yet when it did happen, it was too big, his heart could barely hold it. He had never had a good break in his life and now it seemed like there was one good break after another and, even if they weren't much in the way of the whole world and all the powers working in it, they were a lot for him and he was moved and grateful.

Teresa held the door open and looked out of the house, this way and that. She was looking for him, Shannon realized. She was waiting for him. Then she saw him, and her face brightened with a smile. She lifted her hand to wave. His heart could barely hold it.

"Shannon," said the identity man.

Shannon forced himself to turn away from Teresa and look at him. Looking out the window of the car, the foreigner glanced back to where Teresa was standing in the doorway and then glanced back at Shannon with the gleam of old humor in his eyes.

"Carve good, yes?" he said.

Then he laughed and the window went up and the limousine rolled away.

Shannon didn't watch it go. Teresa was waving eagerly to him from where she stood in the doorway at the end of the field of grain.

He picked up his bag and started walking toward her up the long road.

Andrew Klavan is the author of such classic suspense novels as True Crime, filmed by Clint Eastwood; Don't Say a Word, starring Michael Douglas; and Empire of Lies. He is a contributing editor to City Journal and his essays and commentary have appeared in the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, and elsewhere. He also wrote the screenplay for A Shock to the System, starring Michael Caine. He's been nominated for the Edgar Award five times and has won it twice.