ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, the training class was called into the auditorium, where they were addressed by the director of training.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “You may have noticed that your ranks have been noticeably depleted since we last met in this room. Some of your classmates have not met the standards we set here or have failed their polygraphs or have otherwise not survived our security checks. Should you ever encounter any of these people in the outside world, the procedure is to not know them. If you are approached by one of them simply say you’re sorry, but they’ve made a mistake; you have never met. If they persist, disengage them—rudely, if necessary. If they still persist, report the incident to your case officer at the earliest possible moment, giving a full description of the person and the name he or she is using.
“We’d like you to know that those of you who have survived the initial training have all done well, and we are pleased with your performance. As a reward, you’ll have a pass to leave the installation tomorrow night, between the hours of six p.m. and twelve midnight. You must have checked in at the front gate by midnight, no exception. Failure to do so will result in appropriate action up to and including expulsion from the training program.
“There are other requirements: you are to travel in pairs or threes, and only with people from your training subgroup—Johns, Harrys, et cetera. Each of you will be given an envelope containing a valid driver’s license from one of the fifty states, two credit cards and one or two other forms of identification, along with a written legend. You will memorize the legend and use only that name, even among yourselves, while you are off the installation. Feel free to embroider your legend, but use only those facts that you can remember, in line with the training you have had. If any person on the outside shows too great an interest in your background, you are to report it to my office. When you return to the installation, you are to resume your normal form of address, by subgroup.
“Your movements are restricted to the county, and you will be given a map of the county. You are not to contact any person—even friends or family—during the time off the installation, or to make any phone calls, landline or cell. You may take a cell phone with you, but it is to be used only to contact the duty officer, whose number you will be given, or to call 911 in the event of an emergency. If you receive a call from the duty officer’s number, you may answer it or return the call immediately and follow explicitly any instructions you are given.
“If you should have an encounter with law enforcement, you are to stick to your legend, unless you are otherwise identified by fingerprints or your identity comes into question and you are unable to talk your way out of the situation. In that case, call the duty officer, and someone will deal with the situation.
“Finally, you are to conduct yourselves as responsible citizens. You are not to get drunk, commit traffic violations or otherwise break the law. Any questions?” He looked around the room. There were none. “Pick up your envelopes at the rear of the auditorium, and do not leave the installation until you have committed your legends to memory.”
The group left their seats and lined up to receive their envelopes. Holly took hers and repaired to her room. She ripped open the fat envelope and spread the contents on her bed. She found a wallet; maps of the county, of Virginia, and of the District of Columbia; a college transcript showing her to have graduated from Georgetown University with a B.A. in elementary education; and a typed, six-page document that was a detailed biography of one Helen Bransford.
She opened the wallet and found the promised driver’s license and credit cards, along with a voter’s registration card for Washington, D.C., and a laminated ID card identifying her as a teacher at a private school in D.C. She also found a Virginia license to carry a concealed weapon, giving an address in Floyd, Virginia, the home of Bransford’s parents. There was a map of D.C., with the address of Bransford’s apartment in Georgetown marked on it. Holly began reading the legend, memorizing items as she went. She read it three times, then recited all the relevant names aloud.
There was a knock on the door, and Harry Three opened the door. “Hi, you’ve got a car, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I go out with you tomorrow tonight? I’m without wheels.”
“Sure.”
The woman walked into the room and stuck out her hand. “I’m Lee Wan,” she said, spelling the last name. “I’m from New York. Chinatown, to be exact.”
“I’m Helen Bransford,” Holly said, shaking her hand.
“I hear there’s a hot spot down the road called Buster’s,” Lee said. “Want to try it?”
Holly shook her head. “I’ve been warned off the place,” she said. “Maybe you’d better ride with somebody else.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Lee said. “Why don’t we try the Holiday Inn? I hear there’s a restaurant and a piano bar.”
“That sounds good,” Holly said. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot tomorrow night at seven?”
“Sounds great.”
Holly went back to her legend, going through it twice more.