Early in the morning Caldwell went to the office to check out of the motel. The night’s work of scrapping his car without anyone’s knowledge had left him worn, but he had to begin the next phase.
He had known from the beginning that the only way to survive would be to drop out of sight completely for a while. He took out his disposable cell phone and texted Emily. “Can you talk now?”
The answer came back about a minute later. “With a patient. I’ll call.”
He opened the door of the new car and let the dogs examine it. They were a bit hesitant at first, because it wasn’t the car they considered theirs. Its smells were not their smells. But because he was holding the door for them they jumped up onto the seat, sniffed a little, flopped down, adjusted their positions, and then lay still.
He got in and drove out the far end of the parking lot so the motel owners wouldn’t see he had a different car. Then he headed west through Erie and turned south onto Route 6 toward Cleveland and Sandusky. After a few minutes the phone rang.
“Hi,” he said.
“Are you still all right?” Emily said.
“So far. You?”
“No changes yet.”
“I wanted you to know that it’s time to get rid of the phones we’ve been using. You can reach me on the second one from now on, if you need to.”
“Okay,” she said. “What prompted this?”
“I’m going to have to sink beneath the surface now. It will be months before I try to call again, so don’t worry about the long silence. Don’t ever go near the house. There’s nothing left there that you want.”
“I know,” she said. “You’re the only relic I have left.”
“If you get the feeling that somebody’s watching you, or anything like that, call. Otherwise, just wait. Don’t look as though you’re being watchful, but be watchful.”
“I know all this. I’ve known it since I was ten. I’m going to be thinking about you every day if this takes thirty years. We all will be. You have a family that loves you. Now go get lost. With your heart and lungs, you could live to be a hundred and six. Do it.”
“I’ll try. Bye, kid.”
“Bye, Dad.”
He could almost see her standing up from the big leather chair in her office in her white coat and striding along with that straight posture and determined walk, ready to see her next patient. She looked a bit like her mother did at thirty, only taller and straighter.
He was going to settle somewhere. Traveling gave too many people a chance to notice him. And since the last time he had needed to disappear, a hundred new layers of danger had been added. The last time, right after he had returned from North Africa, technology had been more primitive.
When he got home from Libya he wrote a letter to his section of military intelligence. He told them he had made it home with the money he had recovered from Faris Hamzah. He included a few facts that an outsider could not have known, to prove he wasn’t a fake. He asked them to reactivate the phone contact number so he could make arrangements to deliver the money to his section.
He had felt wary and very angry. He had not liked the way his contact people had treated him near the end of his mission. They had abandoned a comrade behind enemy lines. But he had also ignored his orders, so he was prepared for some kind of unpleasant reaction. He rented a small retail space in a Virginia shopping center and placed the money there before he mailed his letter to Fort Meade. He suspected that the minute he had given them a location they would put it under surveillance, so he didn’t mention one.
On the day he had set for the delivery, he made a call to the contact number from a pay phone a hundred miles away. He never heard the ring, just heard the faint hiss of an open line and a male voice that said, “Hello.”
He said, “Hello. Thank you for activating the number. I’m calling to turn the money from my mission over to army intelligence. I just need—”
“I advise you to be quiet and listen carefully. You are wanted for a number of serious offenses, and the United States government doesn’t bargain with fugitives. There will be a team of federal officers for you to surrender yourself to at the rendezvous point. You will be taken into custody and transported to a secure facility where you can be interviewed regarding events that occurred during the past five months. You will be given ample opportunity to explain anything you like. Is this all clear?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to finish my mission and—”
“Quiet.”
“Get the money back where it belongs.”
“Here are your instructions. Proceed to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center at 8901 Rockville Pike in Bethesda. Park your vehicle, and walk to the front entrance. Step inside, and they’ll be waiting for you. Do you understand?”
He hung up the phone. Two weeks later he parked behind the retail space he had rented, picked up the boxes of money, and drove away. He used some of the cash to live for the next few months while he worked on the first fake identities he built. It was easy for him to earn a license to work as a truck driver under the name Daniel Chase, because he had learned to drive a semi in the army, while he was training in false identities. The work kept him moving, mostly at night, and gave him plenty of time to think.
Each step led to the next steps, and each deception was easier because he had performed the last one and had begun to understand how various bureaucracies worked. Birth certificates led to Social Security numbers and then to driver’s licenses, and then to bank accounts and credit cards. Eventually even passports became possible because he could submit the supporting documents by mail.
He stayed angry, but it was about a year before he gave up trying to devise schemes for returning the money that would restore his reputation. He knew he could simply mail the boxes of money to Fort Meade, but that wasn’t going to exonerate him. He had hauled the money to Libya and done his best to complete a dangerous mission, and when he had finished, his own superiors had abandoned him and then decided to treat him like a criminal.
He began to invest the money. He would deposit small sums in cash in his bank accounts in various names, then write checks to financial services companies—brokers, mutual funds, and later hedge funds. Once he got started, the whole process became almost automatic. Money deposited or invested became more money, and produced the impression of solidity. Time made new money into old money, and old money into wealth.
It took him seven years to get all of the money out of boxes and invested with financial institutions under various false names. At the end of each year he would have his four accountants prepare tax returns for Dixon and Chase and Caldwell and Spencer, then mail them to a fictitious lawyer who was just a mailing address. He took advantage of legitimate deductions, but always paid the taxes without making questionable claims or forgetting to report income. For over thirty years, he had managed to elude the people who were looking for him. But over the years, one after another of the methods he had used became obsolete. If he’d had to start again now, he had no idea whether he could do it or not.
Caldwell needed to go under the surface as soon as possible. The least troublesome way would be to reach Chicago and stop. It was only about a day away. The Peter Caldwell identity included an Illinois driver’s license and a few other bits of identification that he had acquired to pad his wallet—a Chicago library card, a gym membership. On paper he looked like a longtime Chicago resident.
When he reached the city he checked in to a hotel, bought a laptop computer, and began to look for the right apartment. He decided the place should be at least modestly upscale, because police spent less time in affluent places and were less aggressive and suspicious when they were there.
He knew what he was looking for, but he would have to search in the right places in the right way. He started in the northern suburbs—Lake Forest, Kenilworth, Barrington Hills, Winnetka, Glencoe, Wilmette. Houses in the northern suburbs were too expensive to buy invisibly, and there were too few apartments. The southern suburbs were closer to the thing he was looking for, and he looked on Craigslist and found a promising place in Geneva.
It had been many years since he had been in the Chicago area for more than a day or so on the way to somewhere else. He had to do some exploring. He liked the look of Geneva, and the apartment seemed promising. It was 1,800 square feet, with three bedrooms and two baths. When he drove by the building, he was pleased with it. The place was made of gray limestone like a dormitory in an eastern college, with a rounded lintel over a thick wooden front door that looked as though it would be hard to open with a battering ram. There was a back staircase that led to what looked like a kitchen door on the second floor.
He stopped the car and called the number in the ad. He described himself to the woman who answered the phone as a sixty-year-old retiree who wanted the benefits of Chicago but didn’t want to live in the center of it. She asked him how soon he could come and see the apartment. The way she said it intrigued him. He said he could be there in a half hour, and went to get a cup of coffee.
When he knocked on the door, the woman materialized in the doorway. She was slim and appeared to be about forty years old, wearing tight jeans and a short black jacket that might have been designed for a male Spanish dancer. She said her name was Zoe McDonald, and she had blue eyes and chestnut hair. He studied her as they talked in the foyer. She had a pleasant, soft voice, no strange mannerisms, and there was nothing about her to make him feel worried.
She seemed satisfied with the way he looked. He was an inch or so taller than average and he had kept himself in the same physical condition since he’d joined the army, because he had the sort of enemies who were physically dangerous. But his training hadn’t made him muscle-bound or threatening.
She led him from the small foyer up a set of stairs to the second-floor landing and the apartment entrance. He followed her inside to a large living room with two couches and a couple of armchairs all bathed in light from a set of three large windows.
She explained that she had rented the place for $2,000 a month and wanted two roommates of either sex to defray the costs. His share would be $650 for one bedroom. The bathrooms would be shared or private, depending on the sex of the third roommate. As she talked, Caldwell studied the furnishings, searching for things that would tell him more about her.
In an alcove there was a grand piano, and on it were three framed photographs, turned toward the keyboard. One was a picture of her with a young woman—little more than a girl—who looked a bit like her, and another was of her with a boy and the same girl in a boat with a set of water skis leaned upright behind them at the stern. He asked if she played piano while he looked at the third picture. She and the kids were in it again on a green lawn, but the picture was oddly asymmetrical, because it had been cropped. He knew that the missing person was the husband she must have divorced. He must have been the one who took the other two pictures.
She said she only practiced the piano once a day, and would be considerate to him and the other roommate about when she did it.
He said, “Don’t worry. If I were to live here, you could practice whenever you felt like it. I like the piano. My daughter played for about ten years, and it’s a good memory.” He knew it was a slight risk to mention a daughter, but he took it because he knew this woman would like the idea, and if he lived here he might want to call Emily.
He could tell that he’d made a good impression, so he decided to build on it. “I’d like to make a proposal that might help. I would like to stay for at least six months, possibly a year. And I would like to rent both empty rooms. That way we’d each get a private bathroom, and there wouldn’t be a third person to object to your practicing. If you agree, I would pay you the first six months in advance. But I have pets, and you would have to be all right with that.”
Her face acquired a look of doubt. “What sort of pets?”
“Two dogs.”
“Dogs.” Her voice was like a door closing.
“Yes. They’re waiting for me in the car. Would you be willing to go outside and meet them?”
“I just don’t know, Mr. Caldwell. I don’t mind dogs. I like them. But this isn’t really the sort of building where dogs are happy. There’s not much of a yard. And I have a landlord. Are they small dogs?”
He smiled. “Better than that. They’re good dogs.” He detected a slight tremor of amusement at the corners of her mouth. “Please,” he said. “Don’t say no yet. Just come out for a minute to say hello.”
He was beginning to hope he had judged her correctly. She had rented an apartment she couldn’t afford alone, because she had assumed she could easily attract two roommates. But it was now the last day of March. She obviously had not found any, or found acceptable ones. The rent was due. She hesitated. “All right.”
They both began to move toward the door, and he used the time to work on her. “I’d like to move in just as soon as I can, because I’m paying for a hotel while I search. And I can pay you in cash.”
When they were beside his car he opened the back door and said, “Okay, you two. Come out.”
The two black dogs jumped down from the backseat, and Zoe seemed to stiffen, as though she were afraid. But the dogs sat on the grass strip by the sidewalk, studying his face and waiting to hear what was expected of them. He said, “This is Dave, and this one is Carol. Dogs, this is Zoe McDonald.” She held out her hand and the two sniffed it, so she petted their heads.
He said, “They’re not mean, they’re not dirty, and they don’t have accidents in the house. They do pretty much whatever I do, or what I ask them to.” The dogs brushed against her, letting her pet their backs.
But she said nothing, so he said, “I can post an extra thousand-dollar deposit just for their sake, so you won’t have to worry about them doing some kind of damage.”
He watched Zoe McDonald’s face as she touched the two dogs and tried to figure them out. An hour ago she must have been thinking she was going to have to come up with two thousand dollars. She had no other tenants in sight. Now she had an offer that would pay the whole rent for both of them for three months, and a special security deposit to protect her. The traffic in the living room and the kitchen would be two people instead of three.
He could see that her time with the dogs was helping his case. She seemed to like the feel of their fur, and their affectionate tail wagging was disarming. He said, “There’s a big park around here somewhere, isn’t there?”
“Yes. It’s right down the street that way.” She pointed.
“How far?”
“Close. I’ll show you.”
“Thanks.” He took the two leather leashes out of the car and draped them around his neck.
“You’re the one who wears the leashes?”
“They look better on me. If the dogs being loose seems to bother anybody, I use the leashes. Does it bother you?”
She shrugged. “No.”
He said, “Dave. Carol. Let’s walk.”
He and Zoe McDonald started down the sidewalk. It was a bright, pleasant early spring day with high, puffy clouds and a breeze that was mild but cool. The dogs widened their wanderings around Caldwell to include Zoe in the circle.
She said, “You told me on the phone you were retired. What did you do?”
“Nothing exciting. I worked for the government for a while, and then went into the investment business for the next thirty years. This seemed like a good time to retire.”
“People don’t come to Chicago to retire much.”
“I like a lot of things about big cities, but I’m happier if I don’t live in the thick of it.”
“What did you do in government?”
“Pretty much what I did for clients after I quit. I tried to help them use their money wisely. How about you? What do you do?”
“What I still do. I played the piano. Then I taught piano. Got married, had kids, got older, got divorced. Still play the piano.”
“I’ll bet you’re really good at it.”
“Better than I was at the other stuff. My kids turned out great, but I suspect they did most of that on their own.”
He said, “If they had been screwed up, would you have thought it must be your fault?”
“Probably.”
“Then you have to take some credit that they aren’t.”
“All right,” she said. “I will.”
They came to the park, which had a small lake and a lot of lawn, with a fringe of trees and some benches. The dogs were delighted with the place, which seemed to be full of new and intriguing smells. They were tentative about straying too far from the pair of humans, but they let their distance grow to about forty feet before they looked at Peter Caldwell to see if he wanted them back.
As they walked, Zoe McDonald’s mood seemed to change. She talked about how good it was to walk to a park and to live in a neighborhood with mature trees. Caldwell merely nodded and kept her talking, because it seemed to him that she was beginning to turn her remarks into a sales pitch. She was selling the place to both of them. Only once did he add anything. When she said, “Of course we’re right next to a huge city, and walking alone at night isn’t a good idea,” he shrugged. “Dave and Carol help with that. In daylight nobody thinks it’s worth trying to get past them for my wallet. In the dark they grow about fifty pounds each.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet they do.”
She pointed out to him the bus stops, the restaurants she’d tried, the delicatessen and the grocery store.
When a police car appeared up the street, Caldwell said, “Carol, Dave.” The dogs trotted up to him and let him snap the leashes on their collars. He patted them and said, “Good work, my friends.” He reached into his pocket and produced two bone-shaped biscuits. He looked at Zoe. “Would you like to give them their treat?”
“Yes.” She took the biscuits and let the dogs clamp their jaws on them. They crunched them into pieces and ate them from the lawn. She looked at her watch. “We’d better get back. Our rent is due today before six.”