The Marshal Pt. 06

Britney returned to her room with the packet the marshals had given her. She opened the large manila envelope, dumped the contents onto her bed, and began looking through her new documents. She picked up her driver's license and studied it as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She was no longer Han Bo-bae. Now she was Britney Bailey Hadley. She looked at the photograph on her Maine driver's license. It was a typical driver's license photo and she looked like warmed over death.

After the ordeal in the court room, she'd spent four days cooped up in the Four Seasons before Martinelli released her. The case was still underway when she boarded the flight to Washington D.C. under the careful supervision of Michelle Walpole. She'd first begged, and then demanded, that Rob escort her to D.C., but the Marshal Service steadfastly refused. When they arrived in the nation's capital, Bae was turned over to another marshal who had taken her to a nondescript building somewhere in the Washington suburbs. That building had been her home for the past two weeks, and she had at least another week to go.

She didn't know what to expect when she entered the witness protection program, but getting a new identity was nothing like in the movies. There wasn't some guy sitting at a computer digging through various government databases and the internet, deleting any trace of her existence. Han Bo-bae still existed, but she was deceased. As it was explained to Bae, her dying was primarily to stop the collection of taxes and payment of benefits. There were procedures already in place to perform those functions, so witsec simply piggybacked on those.

Officially, Bae died in her apartment on September eighth of a ruptured abdominal aorta aneurysm, and her body had been discovered a couple of days later after Bae had stopped responding to friends. As she was estranged from her father, Bae's body was cremated less than a week later without family in attendance, and her ashes were shipped to her father's family in Korea as she'd requested in her will. Bae hadn't had a will, but the Marshal Service showed her one they'd worked up, dated two years previous, complete with an embossed notary stamp.

Seeing the will explained why the marshals had asked questions about how Bae wanted her estate disposed. She'd asked why Britney couldn't inherit Bae's small estate, and the witsec people had explained there could be no connection between Britney Hadley and Han Bo-bae, including the transfer of assets. When the witsec people said Bae had to leave everything behind, they meant everything.

Bae didn't have a lot, but since she had no family other than Kwang-hoon and her father, and she wouldn't give Kwang-hoon a pile of her shit, she had her estate liquidated and the proceeds given to Rob. That had caused some raised eyebrows when the Marshal Service realized who Rob was, but she didn't care. It'd take some time for the case to work its way through probate, but it was a legal will as far as the courts were concerned, and he'd eventually get what little Bae's had.

The people creating Bae's new identity gave her a few days to think about where she wanted to go and what she wanted her new name to be, giving her a long list of suggested names to help her get started, along with various other decisions she had to make. She had nowhere to go. She'd lived her entire life in New York City, but she couldn't stay there. The only stipulation to where Britney could live was she had to select a town within fifty miles of a marshal's office. They'd given her a map that showed all the marshal offices in the country, along with all the eligible surrounding towns highlighted in a faint blue circles. The fifty-mile limit was enforced only for the first five years, so Britney's handler could more easily keep track of her. After the five years were up, she was free to relocate to anywhere as the Marshal Service was confident her new life was firmly in place, and during her five years under a Deputy Marshal's guidance, she would have become comfortable with what she could and couldn't do so that her new identity was no longer in danger of being discovered.

When she found out she had a marshal assigned to her, she demanded it be Rob, but once again, the Marshal Service refused to even consider it. She'd argued strenuously for Rob, and even went to far as to demand to speak to the marshal in charge of processing people into the program, but she got nowhere with her demands.

She'd given the idea of her new home some thought and finally settled on Maine. As Rob had warned, they'd taken everything from her, including the battered business card he'd given her months ago, but she still had his number in her head, and they couldn't take that. When Maine was approved, she'd selected Wurth as the town where she wanted to live. That had also been approved before her handlers wised up to why she wanted to live there and reversed the decision, rejecting her request because the citizens of Wurth knew her from her old life. She'd finally settled on Bangor, and so far, nobody had objected to that.

Britney placed the driver's license aside. In addition to the new driver's license, she had a new social security card, credit card, passport, and a birth certificate that stated she'd been born in Portland, Maine. Britney's birthday was the same as Bae's, but Britney was thirty-three instead of twenty-nine. Britney had asked the service to age her up instead of back because she decided she'd rather be a young looking thirty-three than an old looking twenty-five.

She still had her long hair, even though her handlers had wanted to cut it short to better change her appearance. She'd always had long hair, and she liked it long so her lovers could pull her hair when he was fucking the shit out of her from behind, but a compromise was reached where she allowed the stylist to shorten her hair to the middle of her shoulders, that she'd wear it down most of the time, and if she just had to put up in a ponytail, she'd wear it low on her head instead of higher up as she used to. The stylist had also stripped Bae's green out of Britney's hair and woven in blonde highlights. She was still adjusting to having her hair always blowing in her face, and she'd taken to tucking it behind her ears a lot, but she approved of her new look.

By the time her orientation was over, she'd have a new apartment waiting for her in Bangor. After that, she was on her own, though she'd have a marshal watching over her like a guardian angel to make sure Britney's true identity was never discovered.

Everyone was polite and helpful, but she missed Rob desperately. They wouldn't allow her to make or receive phone calls. Understandable, since she was dead, but as soon as she was settled in Bangor, she was calling Rob. Britney had to know if Bae had heard what she thought she heard in the stairwell.

She'd been terrified, so scared she remembered little of what happened after Rob shoved her into the corner and covered her with his body as bullets whizzed and cracked over their heads. She thought he said he loved her, but she couldn't be sure. Had she imagined the words because it was what she wanted him say? The uncertainty was driving her crazy.

There was a soft rap on her door. "Britney?"

She smiled. Nobody called her anything other than Britney or Ms. Hadley anymore, ever, to get her used to thinking of herself as Britney Hadley. "Come in!"

The door opened and Missy stepped into her small room. Melissa Guetlind was Britney's coach. In addition to all the technical stuff she had to deal with to become Britney Hadley, Missy was teaching her to think like Britney. Missy was annoyingly good at tripping her up and making her say or do something that gave away Britney's true identity. She was a sweet, personable woman of about forty, and was Britney's self-appointed best friend. She knew it was part of Missy's job, but it was nice to have someone who treated her like something other than a number on a sheet of paper.

"I came by to see if you wanted to grab some lunch."

Britney smiled. She'd learned this was all part of the orientation, and every time she slipped and became Bae, Missy pointed it out, but even so, it was nice to have someone to talk to.

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Great! I have a treat for you."

"What?"

"We're going out for lunch. Just you and me."

"Really?"

"Yep. You've been working hard, and I think you deserve a break."

Britney narrowed her eyes. "This isn't one of your tests, is it?"

Missy grinned. "Would I do that to you?"

"Yes. Yes, you would."

Missy's smile grew. "You're right, I would, but no tricks this time. We're really going out for lunch. I'm taking you to The Dixie Café. They have the best fried chicken."

Britney rose from the bed. "Great! I'd love to get out of this building for a few hours."

"Don't forget your credit card and stuff."

Britney turned back to the pile on her bed. She put her passport, birth certificate, and social security card back into the envelop, but kept her driver's license and credit card. She'd put them in her wallet on the way to lunch.

She followed Missy out to a plain, white Ford Explorer. It was hotter than seven hells, the summer heat of Virginia sweltering. As Missy drove, they talked about Britney. They always talked about Britney as they worked to fill in details of her life. The only thing Britney knew about Missy was she was married and had a couple of kids.

"So, you're from New York?" Missy asked.

"No, I'm from Portland, but I moved to New York with my mom and dad when I was about six."

"Oh. That explains your accent. What brings you back to Bangor?"

"Got tired of the city. A friend of mine was shot and killed in her car, and a guy tried to mug me. If it hadn't been for some guy stumbling onto us, I don't know what he would have done. I decided I'd had enough."

"You were lucky."

"Very."

"Family around?"

"No. My mom's dead, Dad is still in New York, and my grandparents died years ago."

"Then why Bangor?"

Britney shrugged. "It's home, sort of, and I vacationed up here one summer and loved it."

Missy nodded. "Good. Very natural."

She and Britney had worked out the basics of Britney's backstory together, incorporating as much of Bae's life into it as possible. Bae's friend Lisa really had been shot in a car, but it had been Bae's car, and it had happened in Los Angeles when Kwang-hoon's gunman mistook Lisa for Bae. The mugging was a modified version of what happened in the grocery where Rob had fought and killed a man to protect her. Britney was an only child because her mother had committed suicide not long after she was born, and her Dad wasn't a gangster but an accountant. Her parents' fates were carefully chosen because nobody wanted to talk about accountants or suicides, but if they did, she had a whole backstory for her parents as well, just in case.

The two women pulled into the parking lot of The Dixie Café, the smells coming from the building making Britney's mouth water. She followed Missy into the delightfully cool restaurant and glanced around. The place was welcoming with brick walls, hardwood floors, and an unmistakable southern country vibe. The hostess greeted them and then showed them to a table.

"The fried chicken is to die for," Missy said.

As a general rule, Britney tried to avoid fried food as much as possible, but when in Rome... "Okay. That's what I'll have," she said.

Missy grinned. "Want to go full on southern girl and try the collards and fried okra?"

"What the hell are collards and fried okra?" Britney asked, her face quirking at the strange name.

Missy snickered. "Girl, you don't know what you're missing. Collards are greens, like spinach, but way better, and they're good for you too. Okra is a vegetable that looks kind of like a big green pepper that's full of seeds."

"Sure, I guess," she said, putting her menu aside.

The waitress showed up and they placed their order, the young girl looking at Britney like she'd grown another head when she said she asked for unsweetened iced tea. If Britney were living in the south that would seem out of place, but up north, where she was going, it would be the norm.

"Are you planning on working when you get to Bangor?" Missy asked.

The witsec program would pay Britney a stipend for the first five years, but after that, the gravy train stopped and she had to be able to support herself. "I thought I'd try to get back into voiceover work. That's why I picked Bangor. They have several television and radio stations and they're a small market. There shouldn't be a lot of competition and maybe they'd like a new voice."

Missy nodded. "Good thinking. Does voiceover pay pretty good?"

"In New York? It pays okay. In Bangor? I have no idea."

"I'd imagine the cost of living is a lot less up there."

"Yeah. I have a friend that has a house on a lake up there. God knows what that'd cost in New York, but he implied it wasn't all that expensive up there in Maine."

"Bo-bae? Han Bo-bae?" a man said behind her. "Is that you?"

Britney turned toward the voice. "Yes?" The moment the word was out of her mouth she realized what she'd done. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting out a long breath. "Shit," she muttered, drawing the word out.

"You have to watch that," Missy said as the man sat down with them. "I know it's hard. You've been answering to Bo-bae all your life. Britney Hadley, meet Deputy Marshal Allen Richie. Allen, Britney."

Britney extended her hand. "Nice to me you, Deputy Marshal."

The deputy grinned as he shook her hand. "Same. Don't worry about it. Almost everyone falls for that the first time."

Missy nodded. "It's why we put the voice behind you. If you'd seen Allen, and didn't recognize him, you would have probably remembered not to respond."

"I've been practicing too," Britney muttered, annoyed that she'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

Missy's smile grew. "I know. That's why we kicked it up a notch. Like Allen said, don't worry about. You've got at least another week with us, maybe two if you need it. That's the hardest test to pass. When you hear your name, it's instinct to turn, but by the time we're done with you, you won't remember being anyone other than Britney."

"Are you joining us for lunch?" Britney asked Allen.

He grinned. "Only a fool would turn down a chance to have lunch with two such beautiful women." He was old enough to be Britney's father, but she smiled at the compliment anyway.

As they ate, Allen talked to them, asking Britney questions. She didn't know if it was part of the test, but she fell into her Britney persona and the answers came easily. She didn't have to become a whole new person, so she didn't try. Britney still liked espresso and movies that made her cry, just like Bae. Where Britney differed from Bae was Britney liked kayaking and walking in the woods. Rob hadn't known it at the time, but he was building the Britney personality and making her a real woman.

The meal finished, they sipped their tea. Britney had like the chicken, couldn't tolerate the collards, much to the amusement of Allen and Missy, and she found the okra underwhelming at best. The cornbread was good, though.

"Excellent, Britney. If I didn't know who you really were, I'd never guess you were anyone other than who you said. Your answers are completely natural, don't sound rehearsed, and are full of little details that really flesh them out and make them seem completely real." He grinned at her. "Are you an actress, or do you want to be?"

"No, why?"

"You're a natural."

She smiled at his compliment. "Maybe Britney will give community theater a try."

Missy and Allen glanced at each other. "Not a good idea," Missy said. "You don't want to draw any attention to yourself."

"Oh, right," Britney said. She was still stumbling over the idea that people might be looking for her for the rest of her life.

"Ready, Bo-bae?" Allen asked as he rose from the table.

"It's Britney," she corrected. "But, yeah."

They paid their bill, Missy picking up Britney's lunch, before she followed Missy to the parking lot.

"That was a dirty trick," Britney grumped as they crawled into the stifling hot Ford. "You said this wasn't a test."

"Oh, right, I did say that, didn't I?" Missy said, but she didn't look the least bit chagrined. "You never know where something like that will come from. You have to be ready."

"You won't get me the next time."

Missy grinned. "Wanna bet? Don't worry about it. Like Allen said, almost everyone fails that test at first. We'll keep working on it. I've not lost anyone I've coached yet, and you're not going to be the first."

"I hope not," she said with a smile of her own.

They returned to the witness protection building. Britney knew she wasn't Missy's only project, but the protected never saw each other, or maybe they did and they didn't realize it. After lunch, Britney sat through another boring lecture on what the Marshal Service was going to do and what was expected from her in return.

After another coaching session by Missy, Britney was allowed to return to her room. Tomorrow would be another day much like this one. She had dinner at the on-site cafeteria and spent the rest of the evening in her room. Missy had given her another packet of information to study. The key to building a new identity were the details. Included in this packet were Britney's fictional friends in New York and what they did. She thumbed through the information. She knew tomorrow Missy would ask her some random question in an offhand way that she'd know the answer to if she'd read the information.

She watched a little television and then turned in. The bed was comfortable, but not as comfortable as the bed in Rob's house, largely because Rob wasn't in it. She lay there, waiting for sleep to take her, and again her mind turned to the moment in the stairway. It always did when she was alone and had time to think.

Rob had crouched over her and surrounded her in his arms. He'd said something into her ear, but she couldn't recall what it was. His pistol was near her nose and she could smell the burned cordite. She could hear the deafening roars of pistols, their shots like cannon fire in the enclosed stairway, and the sharp cracks of the bullets hitting the concrete walls. He said something as he shoved her down, trying to make her as small as possible as he spang to his feet.

I love you... I love you... Her heart thudded with the thought. If only she could be sure! Had she imagined it? She didn't know. She strained to remember what he'd said just before that, sifting through her memories at the finest detail, hoping they'd help her remember, to help her be sure, but his words simply weren't there. She could remember him speaking, and his words filling her with dread, but the words themselves were lost.

What she remembered most vividly was the terror she felt when they'd separated her from Rob. The marshals had tried to calm her, but the thought of being away from Rob had sent her reeling in panic. In hindsight, she realized they were concerned for her wellbeing and wanted to get her to safety as soon as the situation was under control, but at the time she wasn't thinking clearly.

She smiled at the memory. Lou had told her the next day, after she'd calmed down, that one of the marshals trying to get her away had said it would have been easier to shove a Velcro cat headfirst into a boot than it was to get her into the Chevy. Britney didn't remember any of it, but Lou said it took three marshals to get her into the SUV as she held onto every surface she could get her hands while screaming for Rob the entire time. They'd finally shoved her into the SUV, and she'd wept until she began to calm down.