Free Santa Fe Edge by Stuart Woods Page A

card.
    She took the envelope but didn’t open it. “Tell me why we need new names.”
    “I’m officially dead,” Teddy replied, “but there’s always the possibility that someone may be looking for me. Holly Barker, whom we met in Orchid Beach, may be the catalyst for that.”
    “Why Holly?”
    “She’s an official of the CIA,” he said, “and she may have suspicions.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “I don’t necessarily think she does, but I have to prepare for the possibility.”
    Lauren thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” She opened the envelope, took out the passport and opened it. “Theresa Tatum,” she read aloud.
    “How about Teri, with an I?”
    “I like it,” she said. “Who made these IDs?”
    “I did. It’s one of the skills I acquired when I worked at the Agency. I also learned how to insert these document numbers into the various federal and state databases, so for all practical purposes, they’re real.”
    “What about the credit card?”
    “It’s from a bank in the Cayman Islands,” he said. “It will work the same as any other credit card, but the charges will be deducted from my investment balance at the bank, and the statement is available only online, identified by a number instead of a name.”
    “That’s very clever,” she said. “How do you cash a check?”
    “I open a local bank account with cash, which I always travel with, then use those funds locally. I can always replenish it from the Cayman account with a wire transfer that’s untraceable.”
    Her brow furrowed. “I read in a newspaper that the U.S. government can now force offshore banks to give them a list of their depositors.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Mine is a numbered account, and the bank doesn’t have a name and address for me, not even a false one.”
    “You’re very good, Charlie,” she said, kissing him.
    “You’re not so bad yourself, Teri,” he replied.
    “One question: I understand why you have to change your name, but why mine?”
    “Holly knew you by your real name in Orchid Beach. Her people could trace us through you.”
    “Sorry. That was a dumb question.”
    “There’s a bio for you in the envelope, too. You have to memorize every detail, like your maiden name, your high school, your college—both of which have very good transcripts for you—your parents’ names—they’re both dead—and every other detail. You have a credit record under both your maiden and married names, too. If you memorize the bio perfectly, you could withstand a prolonged interrogation. You can make up your own details, as long as they fit. After all, there would be details of your childhood that even your husband wouldn’t know about.”
    “How long have we been married?”
    “Three years. Read the bio.”
    “Teri” started reading while “Charlie” ordered breakfast and began calling realtors.
     
     
    AT MIDAFTERNOONTHEY STOOD in the living room of the fourth house they had seen, while the agent waited outside to give them some privacy.
    “You like it?” Teddy asked.
    “I love it. Can we afford it?”
    “We can,” Teddy replied. The house was in the East Side neighborhood of Santa Fe, on a quiet tree-lined street. It had a living room with a dining area, a kitchen, two bedrooms, two and a half baths and a study where he could work. It was nicely furnished. “Let’s do it.” He called the realtor back in and filled out the rental application.
    “I’ll run this,” she said, “and assuming everything is confirmed, I’ll have a lease for you by six o’clock, and you can move in tomorrow.” Teddy gave her a check on the local account he had opened earlier that day.
    They celebrated with a dinner at Geronimo, a restaurant on Canyon Road. The following morning they checked out of the hotel and moved into the house.
    “I’m going to need a big safe,” Teddy said, looking for one on the Internet.
     
     
    THAT SAME MORNING, Holly Barker and Todd Bacon sat in